The Picture House by the Sea

by Holly Hepburn

  ‘My bad influence?’ Ben said, sounding half-shocked, half-amused. ‘I seem to remember you teaching me how to blow the perfect smoke ring.’

  This time, Gina grinned. ‘And I remember you turning so pale you outshone the moon. Then you threw up.’

  Gorran looked back and forth between them, as though working something out, while Ben let out a quiet laugh. ‘Good times.’

  The dark wood door opposite opened and a smartly dressed woman appeared. ‘Callaway, Dew and Pascoe?’ she said, after consulting her clipboard. ‘Come with me, please.’

  ‘We sound like a bunch of bleddy solicitors,’ Gorran mumbled, running a finger around the inside of his collar.

  She led them into a high-ceilinged room surrounded by wood-panelled walls, lit by another chandelier. This one had a long, highly polished table running through the centre, with five council committee members sitting along the far side: three men and two women. The men nodded in greeting as Gorran, Gina and Ben approached the table, and the elder of the two women smiled. The other woman, who was blonde, in her fifties and looked very much as though she had a terrible smell under her nose, did not smile.

  ‘Your names?’ she snapped, glancing down at a sheet of paper on the table in front of her.

  Gorran stammered as he introduced himself, making Gina want to squeeze his hand in solidarity. She concentrated on her own introduction, then listened to Ben, who sounded cool and calm in spite of the nerves she knew he was feeling. The woman did not look impressed at anything she had heard. ‘According to this, you’re requesting tax-payers’ money to invest in two privately owned businesses, is that correct?’

  Gina glanced at Ben and cleared her throat. ‘That is true, however—’

  ‘I’m afraid we don’t invest in private businesses,’ the blonde woman snapped, her blue eyes cold. ‘Next.’

  ‘We might as well hear what they have to say, Valeria,’ the older woman admonished.

  The man with the handlebar moustache nodded. ‘Quite right. What is it you’d like funding for?’

  Gina took her folder from her bag and laid it on the table. She flipped open the cover and glanced down for a second. Then she began. ‘Our application falls into two parts. Firstly, we’d like to apply for funding to refurbish the Palace Picture House on the promenade. Once the jewel in Polwhipple’s crown, it’s been falling further and further into disrepair with every passing year, but the good news is that with a little time, attention and money, I think it could soon be the heart of the community once more, drawing in audiences from much further afield and boosting our economy.’

  She glanced sideways at Gorran, who, she was glad to see, looked a little less like he might vomit. ‘It’s a good little place,’ he said quietly. ‘I’d be the first to admit I haven’t managed things as well as I might have done but now Gina is here and she’s shown me how good the Palace could be. But to make it really shine, we need money – investment – and that’s something I don’t have. That’s why we’re here.’

  Gina gave him an encouraging smile before continuing. ‘Secondly, we’d like to ask for funding to finish the restoration work to Polwhipple’s own train station, with a view to encouraging the Bodmin and Wenford Railway Preservation Society to extend the heritage line to Polwhipple from Boscarne Junction, where it currently terminates.’

  Most of the committee were watching Gina, Gorran and Ben, their expressions curious and interested. The blonde woman called Valeria had her eyes fixed on her sheet of paper on the table. Every now and then, she made a small mark, making Gina wonder if she was doing the crossword or Sudoku. There was something almost familiar about her, although Gina couldn’t work out where she might have seen her before. She wasn’t going to let Valeria’s rudeness deter her, though; straightening her shoulders, Gina raised her voice a little more and went on.

  ‘We’ve brought detailed plans to accompany our application forms. The sums of money we’re asking for aren’t large but they will make all the difference to our proposed projects and to Polwhipple itself. Imagine the town thronging with visitors, waiting to see a film at the newly refurbished cinema. They might want something to eat, or to grab a coffee while they wait, which is extra income that Polwhipple’s small businesses wouldn’t have had otherwise.’

  ‘Or maybe they’ve hopped on the steam train at Bodmin Parkway, looking for a day out,’ Ben put in, as Gina handed out copies of their application forms. ‘There’s not much to see at Boscarne Junction, unless you want to walk the Camel Trail, so they go straight back to Bodmin. But what if they could stay on the train to Polwhipple and spend a few hours browsing in the shops?’

  There was a brief silence as the committee skimmed through the forms. The man with the moustache eventually lowered his reading glasses to study Ben. ‘It says here that you’ve already invested substantial amounts of your own money to renovate the station yourself. Why?’

  ‘It was my dad’s dream,’ Ben replied simply. ‘He was a driver on the line and wanted to bring the trains back to Polwhipple more than anything. Unfortunately, he died before he could do anything about it.’

  Another of the male committee members lifted the application forms, his gaze suddenly sharp. ‘You’re Davey Pascoe’s boy?’

  Ben nodded. ‘That’s right.’

  ‘I used to work with him,’ the man said. ‘Never met a man who loved trains as much as he did.’

  A smile spread over Ben’s face. ‘That sounds like him.’

  The older woman eyed Gina appraisingly. ‘And what’s your connection to Polwhipple, Miss Callaway? You’ll forgive me for saying you don’t sound like a local.’

  ‘I’m not,’ Gina said. ‘I live in London now, although I was born in Truro. My grandfather runs Ferrelli’s, the gelateria that sits inside the Palace. I’m working with him while he recovers from an accident.’

  ‘I see,’ the woman said. ‘But that doesn’t explain why you’re here, asking for funding to refurbish the picture house.’

  Gina fired a swift smile Gorran’s way. ‘No, it doesn’t. I’ve been a fan of the Palace ever since I spent several summers in Polwhipple, with my grandparents. I have many happy memories of the films I used to watch there and I’m happy to give something back now. Gorran and I have been working together to run some film-centred events and they’ve been very popular. I think that proves that there’s a demand in Polwhipple for a well-equipped, well-managed cinema.’

  The man with the moustache looked over the top of his glasses. ‘You were behind the Brief Encounter screening?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes. And we’re showing Singin’ in the Rain this Saturday, if you’re interested? Ferrelli’s is supplying an exclusive new gelato and the Scarlet Hotel has devised a cocktail especially for the evening.’

  The woman called Valeria lowered the paper she’d been scanning. ‘Do you have any experience of project management, Mr Dew? Miss Callaway has been quite disparaging of your abilities – it doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.’

  Gorran blushed. ‘Not dreckly, but—’

  Valeria fixed Gina with a humourless smile. ‘How about you, Miss Callaway? Do you have any experience of project management on this scale?’

  Gina tried not to bristle. ‘No, but I run my own business and I’m well aware—’

  ‘Running a party business is quite different to managing a major refurbishment,’ the woman interrupted. ‘I see that Mr Pascoe here has quoted to undertake the bulk of the restoration work – this is in addition to managing his own project of renovating the station.’

  Heat began to crawl up Gina’s cheeks. ‘Ben is a master craftsman who specialises in restoring old buildings. In point of fact, the renovation work at the station itself is almost finished and the funding will mostly be directed towards restoring the train tracks themselves.’

  ‘But there’s a clear conflict of interest here,’ Valeria persisted. ‘How do we know Mr Pascoe is as good as he says he is?’

  Gina gritted her teeth and count
ed silently to five. ‘There are three quotes in total, and you’ll see that not only is Ben’s the most competitive, he’s also the only builder with direct experience of restoring historically important buildings. I’ve seen some of his work during a recent visit to Lanhydrock House – I can assure you, he’s perfectly competent.’

  The final committee member, a sandy-haired man who put Gina in mind of an accountant, glanced along the table at the others. ‘I see. We’ll read through your application in detail and come to a conclusion over the next seven days. You’ll be notified of our decision. Thank you.’

  And just like that, it was over. The older woman gave Gina an encouraging smile as they left, and the man who’d worked with Ben’s father came around the table to shake their hands. Valeria did not look up and showed no sign she acknowledged they were leaving.

  None of them spoke until they were outside in the fresh air. ‘That was . . .’ Gorran swallowed hard and shook his head ruefully. ‘That was downright terrifying.’

  ‘You can say that again,’ Ben said, sounding as though he’d just run a marathon. ‘Drink?’

  Gorran backed away. ‘Not for me. You go ahead, though.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Gina said fervently. ‘Maybe more than one.’

  They bid Gorran a good night and started to walk in the direction of the Mermaid’s Tail.

  ‘I think that went as well as could be expected, under the circumstances,’ Ben said, after a little while.

  Gina shook her head. ‘What circumstances? That shark-eyed Valeria woman, you mean?’

  He tipped his head. ‘Yeah. I wish I’d known she was going to be there.’

  ‘How could you have known?’ Gina shrugged. ‘I don’t know what her problem was – she seemed to have it in for all of us.’

  ‘Mmm,’ Ben agreed, and gave her a sidelong look. ‘There’s probably a reason for that. Well, you and me at least.’

  Gina frowned. ‘What?’

  ‘That was Valeria Arundell. Rose’s mother.’

  Gina stopped walking and groaned. ‘Bloody hell. Of all the bad luck . . .’

  Ben let out a heartfelt sigh. ‘There’s more. That fair-haired bloke who only spoke up at the end? He’s Valeria’s brother – Rose’s uncle.’

  Gina swore softly and began to walk fast. ‘Come on,’ she said to Ben. ‘I don’t know about you but I think I’m going to need a double.’

  Chapter Seven

  Max arrived at Bodmin Parkway late on Tuesday evening, crumpled and tired-looking from the journey. Gina had borrowed Nonna’s car and driven over to meet him from the train and the moment he saw her waiting on the platform, he strode forwards to wrap her in a long embrace and bury his face in her neck. ‘I’ve really missed you,’ he murmured against her skin, holding her tight.

  ‘I’ve missed you too,’ she said, closing her eyes and breathing in the familiar scent of his aftershave. ‘I’m so glad you’re here.’

  It wasn’t a lie, Gina reflected, as she navigated the pitch-black roads back to Polwhipple; she had missed Max. She suspected that was what had made her so vulnerable to her flights of fancy about kissing Ben. But now that Max was here, those thoughts would vanish. It was Max she loved, after all.

  ‘Sorry, what?’ she said, suddenly aware he had asked her a question. ‘I was concentrating on the road.’

  ‘I said, how did the meeting with the town council go?’ Max repeated. ‘It was yesterday, right?’

  Gina frowned. She didn’t remember mentioning the meeting to Max but she supposed she must have done. ‘Hard to say,’ she said cautiously, not sure how to explain what her worries were without raising unnecessary suspicions about her relationship with Ben. ‘They were a tough crowd. We won’t know their decision until next week, anyway.’

  She and Ben had spent an hour and a half in the pub after the meeting, analysing every aspect of the committee’s response over a bottle of very nice red wine. Afterwards, Ben had insisted on walking her to her grandparents’, where she’d arranged to stay over, and Gina had felt like she’d gone back in time and was a teenager again. Except that she’d never reached up to kiss his cheek when she was fifteen, and she’d never secretly wished she could invite him inside for another drink.

  Max was speaking again. Gina forced herself to concentrate on his voice. ‘—and they’re notoriously corrupt. I think you should prepare yourself for the worst and think about other options.’

  ‘What other options?’ Gina said, glancing over at him. ‘The Palace belongs to Gorran, not me. It’s up to him what he does with it – maybe he’ll be able to follow my example and put on screenings that pull in a decent crowd.’

  ‘He might,’ Max said. ‘You’ve certainly done more than anyone could reasonably expect. I’m sure he knows you can’t go on propping him up like this.’

  ‘I’m not propping him up,’ Gina said in a cool voice. ‘I enjoy organising the events and people seem to like coming to them. I’ve made friends here.’

  Max was quiet for a moment, then rubbed his face. ‘You know what, I’m being an arse. Of course you enjoy it – it’s what you do best, you help people to have a good time. And it’s one of the reasons people like you, because somehow you make everything seem fun.’ He paused, then reached across to squeeze her arm. ‘I’m just worried this Gorran is taking advantage of your good nature, that’s all. He’s not paying you to manage these events, is he?’

  ‘No, he’s not,’ Gina said. ‘But money isn’t everything, Max.’

  He sighed. ‘I know, I know. You can take the man out of property development . . .’

  Neither of them spoke for a few minutes. Gina was filled with a growing sense of guilt; she wasn’t being fair to Max. Of course he was primarily concerned with money – it was his job, and the truth was she would never have considered working for free in London. But down here it was different – she wasn’t being paid by Nonno either, because he was her family. She couldn’t continue to work for free indefinitely, however; sooner or later, she’d have to get back to her real life.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said aloud. ‘I know you’re only looking out for me.’

  ‘I am. And I don’t want to argue with you, especially not over something like this. Why don’t we start again?’

  A gentle, apologetic smile was curving his mouth and she was filled with a sudden rush of happiness that he’d made the time and effort to be with her. ‘Okay, you’ve got a deal. Why don’t you tell me what’s new with you?’

  Gina awoke early on Wednesday morning.

  She lay still for a few moments, listening to the now unfamiliar sound of Max’s breathing beside her and watching the sun’s rays creep through the gaps around the blind at the window. Slipping stealthily out of bed, she went to the kitchen to make coffee. In London, Max would have been up and at the gym by now, but they’d been awake long into the early hours, reacquainting themselves with each other’s bodies and she wasn’t surprised he was still sleeping. Gina stretched and yawned; maybe she’d go back to bed for an hour too.

  She took Max to Nonno and Nonna’s for lunch and she was pleased to see how much of an effort he made to charm them both. In the afternoon, they went to the Palace and Gina introduced him to Gorran, who insisted on giving him an access-all-areas tour while she went through ticket sales and confirmed that her VIP attendees could still come, including the local press, Polwhipple’s mayor and the Director of the Cornwall Film Festival.

  Max had a slightly glazed look about him when Gorran returned him to Gina. She hid a smile and made an excuse so that they could leave. Outside on the promenade, well out of earshot of Manda in the window of Ferrelli’s, Max puffed out his cheeks and sent an admiring look Gina’s way. ‘He’s a bit—’

  ‘Disorganised?’ Gina suggested, with a smile. ‘Eccentric? Scatter-brained?’

  ‘All of the above,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘How do you work with him?’

  ‘Gorran’s not all bad. He’s also enthusiastic, open to new ideas and kind-hea
rted.’

  Max appeared unconvinced. ‘Not character traits that get you very far as a businessman.’ He aimed a critical gaze at the careworn exterior of the Palace. ‘I can see why you want to refurbish it. With the right kind of attention, it could be fabulous. And the view is stunning.’

  He turned to study the Polwhipple beach. The tide was out, so golden sand stretched almost as far as the eye could see and azure blue water twinkled in the distance. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. ‘I understand why you love it here,’ Max said, turning to take Gina’s hand. ‘But don’t forget London has its good points too.’

  She squeezed his fingers. ‘Of course I won’t forget. London is my home, after all.’

  His hazel eyes searched hers for a moment, as though he wasn’t sure he believed her. ‘Good,’ he said at last. ‘I’m happy to hear that. Nothing is the same without you.’

  He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. And once again, Gina told herself that she hadn’t really lied, but she hadn’t entirely told the truth either.

  Their table at the Scarlet Hotel was booked for eight o’clock, but Gina had arranged to meet the head bartender beforehand so that he could give them a sneak preview of his Moses Supposes cocktail. She almost laughed out loud in delight when he presented the drink; not only was it the most perfect shade of raincoat yellow, each cocktail was also topped with a red or black paper umbrella, exactly like the film poster.

  ‘Amazing,’ Gina said, pulling out her phone to snap a photograph for social media. ‘You’ve really outdone yourself, Miquel.’

  ‘Tastes good, too,’ Max said, taking a sip. ‘You should think about upgrading, Miquel – with mixology skills like these, you’d take the London bar scene by storm.’

  The bartender smiled politely and shook his head. ‘I’m happy here.’

  Gina felt a shiver of embarrassment. ‘Not everyone wants to move to London, Max.’

  He shrugged. ‘Sooner or later, that’s where all the real talent goes.’