The Picture House by the Sea

by Holly Hepburn

  ‘Well, like I said, let me know fast,’ Ben said. ‘The Preservation Society has held a few fundraising events like this before and they’re always popular. And this time, there’s an added bonus – part of the money raised will go towards the opening day celebrations of Polwhipple station.’

  ‘That’s great,’ Gina said warmly. Ben had spent months restoring the station in his spare time, at his own cost, to encourage the Preservation Society to re-open the heritage line from its current final station to Polwhipple; it was only right that they should invest in the project too and an opening day celebration had a lot of PR potential. ‘Let me know if you want any advice.’

  Ben flashed her a grateful look. ‘I was hoping you’d say that – the Preservation Society are handling most of the planning but they’ve invited me to a few committee meetings and I’ve realised I know even less about this stuff than Gorran.’

  Gina smiled. What Gorran knew about events management could be written on the back of a ticket stub. ‘Just let me know what you need.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘You can be Yoda to my Skywalker.’

  She shook her head in amusement; Ben was probably the only person in the world who knew her well enough to fire a Star Wars joke at her. ‘Flattered I am,’ she said gravely. ‘Although obviously from a looks point of view I’d rather be Princess Leia.’ She raised her wine. ‘Here’s to working together, anyway, and saving the universe.’

  Ben’s eyes crinkled as he tapped his glass against hers. ‘I’ll definitely drink to that – cheers!’

  Gina was surprised to see the window of Ferrelli’s was very firmly closed when she crossed the car park to the Palace early on Saturday morning. Manda Vickery was standing outside the cinema, her usually cheerful face looking thunderous in the already fierce mid-July sunshine.

  ‘Manda? What’s going on?’ Gina asked, as soon as she was near enough for the other woman to hear her.

  ‘I’ll tell you what’s going on,’ Manda burst out, her Cornish lilt growing stronger with each furious word. ‘That bleddy Gorran Dew hasn’t shown up yet.’

  Gina glanced sideways; sure enough, the ornate silver and glass double doors that led into the Palace were uncompromisingly shut.

  ‘I can’t get into the kiosk,’ Manda went on, waving at the blind-covered window of Ferrelli’s. ‘And we’re supposed to open in three minutes. I need to get the freezers on before the rush starts.’

  Polwhipple might be sleepier than a lot of other Cornish seaside towns but Ferrelli’s was always popular, especially when the sun was bouncing off the waves and it promised to be a gloriously hot day. The beach already had its first families laying out deckchairs and blankets.

  ‘Have you spoken to Ferdie?’ Gina asked, dreading to think how her grandfather might react. He didn’t suffer fools gladly at the best of times and Gina knew he’d have plenty of choice things to say about Gorran if he cost him business.

  Manda nodded. ‘Of course. But he said he’d give Gorran a ring and I’ve already done that. The dozy lump’s not answering his phone.’

  An uneasy thought sprang into Gina’s mind. ‘You don’t think something’s happened, do you? An accident, I mean.’

  Manda considered this. ‘Nah,’ she said after a few seconds had passed. ‘I reckon he overdid it at the Mermaid’s Tail last night and is sleeping it off.’

  As she finished speaking, Gorran hurried around the corner from the promenade, his Einstein-esque hair in even more disarray than usual. ‘Sorry,’ he puffed. ‘Got a bit held up at home.’

  ‘By his hangover,’ Manda muttered to Gina under her breath.

  He rummaged in the pocket of his crumpled trousers and pulled out a bunch of keys. Avoiding their gaze, he wrestled a key into the lock and pulled open the door. ‘Sorry,’ he said again, standing back as Manda swept past, and Gina saw that he was sweating. Maybe he is hungover, she thought, although there was no tell-tale smell of stale alcohol.

  ‘Are you still okay for our meeting?’ she asked him. ‘There’s something I need to talk to Carrie about – I can pop along to her shop now and come back here later if you’d rather.’

  Gorran mopped his brow with a large white handkerchief. ‘No, I’m fine. Just need to catch my breath and sit down for a minute or two.’

  Gina studied him more closely. His normally florid cheeks were much less ruddy than normal and there was something behind his eyes that she couldn’t pin down. He looked slightly shell-shocked. ‘Let’s reschedule,’ she said, deciding to give him time to pull himself together. ‘How about nine-thirty?’

  ‘Perfect,’ Gorran replied, and Gina thought she saw his shoulders sag in relief. With a sheepish wave, he turned and escaped into the Palace, just as Manda opened the blind of Ferrelli’s and slid the window back.

  ‘He looks like death warmed up,’ she observed to Gina. ‘I hope you haven’t got anything important to sort out with him today.’

  ‘Just the next screening event,’ Gina assured her. ‘Although I think Dirty Dancing will be hard to beat.’

  ‘You’ll think of something,’ Manda said confidently. ‘I’m starting to wonder how we ever managed without you.’

  ‘You got along just fine,’ Gina said, laughing. She checked the time and looked hopefully at the other woman. ‘Is it too early for a Strawberry Sensation skinny shake?’

  The door of Carrie’s Attic was propped open as Gina approached five minutes later, two ice-cold milkshakes in her hands. She glanced into the window as she passed, pausing for a second to admire the polka-dot swing dress at the heart of the display, and then ducked inside the already warm shop.

  Carrie was halfway up a stepladder, hanging a wide-brimmed My Fair Lady hat from fishing wire from the ceiling. Her assistant, Tegan, was standing underneath with a box of safety pins and a pair of scissors. Both were concentrating hard on the task at hand and had their backs to the door.

  ‘Morning,’ Gina called.

  Carrie turned sharply, causing the stepladder to wobble and the hat to slip. Tegan clutched at the metal steps, steadying them as Carrie smiled. ‘Hello. This is a nice surprise.’

  Gina held up one of the milkshakes. ‘I brought you this.’ She fired an apologetic look at Tegan. ‘But I didn’t know you were working today so I’m afraid I only have one.’

  ‘She can have mine,’ Carrie said, reaching up to finish attaching the enormous black and white hat to the ceiling. ‘Give me a minute and we can walk back to Ferrelli’s for another. Unless you’re here to shop?’

  Gina shook her head with a regretful sigh. ‘No, as gorgeous as your stock is, it’s you I’m here to see.’

  Once the hat was secured, Carrie climbed down and folded the steps away. Tegan took the milkshake with shy thanks and retreated behind the counter.

  ‘You’ll be okay to mind the shop for a little while, won’t you?’ Carrie asked her assistant.

  The twenty-year-old smiled. ‘Of course.’

  Outside on the promenade, Carrie blew her brown fringe from her forehead. ‘It’s going to be a scorcher today. Ferrelli’s is going to do a roaring trade.’

  Gina nodded. ‘And it’s only going to get hotter, according to the weather forecast. I’m going over to Nonno’s later, to build up our gelato stocks. Something tells me we’re going to need a lot of ice-cream.’

  Manda was only too pleased to whip up another milkshake. Carrie took a long sip and sighed. ‘Heaven.’

  They began to stroll back to the shop. Gina raised one hand to shade her eyes as she gazed at the sea, azure blue as it lapped against the golden beach at the base of the promenade wall. She fired a questioning look Gina’s way. ‘Fancy a quick paddle?’

  Kicking off her flip-flops, Gina smiled. ‘Always.’

  They picked their way through the early sun-seekers to the shore. The water was deliciously cold against Gina’s hot feet. The sea was one of the things she’d miss most when she went back to London the following month, she thought, splashing through the shallows and s
ipping her drink. In fact, there was a lot she’d miss about Polwhipple: her family and friends, the less frantic pace of life, her work at her grandfather’s dairy. There was plenty waiting for her in London, of course, but leaving Cornwall was going to be more of a wrench than she anticipated when she’d first arrived back in March. But then, she’d always found it hard to leave; the summers she’d spent as a teenager with Nonna and Nonno had been idyllic. She’d never wanted to go back to her real life then, either.

  ‘So what did you want to see me about?’ Carrie asked as they walked slowly along the shore.

  Gina explained about the murder mystery evening. Carrie interrupted her as soon as she mentioned the dress code. ‘Okay, I’m in. I bet I can find us some killer costumes.’ She stopped and grinned. ‘See what I did there?’

  ‘Nice work,’ Gina replied, laughing. ‘Do you think Davey might be interested?’

  Carrie walked along in silence for a moment. ‘I don’t know. He’s been working in Chester – we haven’t spoken for a few weeks.’

  Her voice sounded unruffled but Gina wasn’t fooled. ‘But I thought everything was going so well,’ she said, nonplussed. ‘I thought you really liked each other.’

  ‘So did I,’ Carrie said, with a sigh. ‘But we both must have read too much into it because he’s gone all quiet on me. I suppose it’s just because he’s busy, but it doesn’t take much to fire off a message, does it? I’m not expecting War and Peace.’ She kicked at the water and sighed again. ‘Men.’

  Gina frowned. She didn’t know Davey very well but he hadn’t seemed like the type to play games. ‘It’s probably just work. Ben says there’s more info on the Railway Preservation Society website – why don’t you send Davey a link?’

  And then Ben can follow up and see what the problem is, she added mentally.

  ‘Okay,’ Carrie said. She looked pensive for a moment, then her expression brightened. ‘I do love the 1920s fashions. You should persuade Gorran to show The Great Gatsby at the Palace – the Baz Luhrmann version, obviously – then we could turn the whole place into a speakeasy.’

  ‘It’s too recent to be a classic,’ Gina replied. ‘Although it is a gorgeous-looking film and I love the speakeasy idea. There are loads of other famous films set during Prohibition – Bugsy Malone, The Untouchables, Midnight in Paris.’

  Carrie pursed her lips. ‘What’s that old black-and-white movie – the one where the two musicians dress up as women and join a band?’

  Gina thought for a heartbeat, casting her mind back to her teenage years when she’d spent many a rainy Sunday afternoon on Nonna’s sofa, watching classic movies. ‘Some Like It Hot?’ She took a slow sip of her milkshake. ‘That definitely qualifies and it’s full of cosplay opportunities – there’s plenty of overlap with the murder mystery theme.’

  ‘Plenty of cross-dressing opportunities too,’ Carrie said, sliding Gina an amused sideways look. ‘I’d pay good money to see the men of Polwhipple in high heels and dresses.’

  ‘Some of them, anyway,’ Gina replied, trying and failing to imagine Gorran in drag. She considered the film; from what she remembered, it was brilliantly funny. Marilyn Monroe lit up the screen as the unlucky-in-love singer, Sugar Kane, but it was the male stars, Jack Lemmon and Tony Curtis, who really stole the show. Part of the action was set aboard a steam train, which dovetailed neatly with the opening of Polwhipple’s station – they’d be able to cross-promote both events. It was perfect, Gina decided with a fizzle of satisfaction. All she needed to do now was convince Gorran.

  She glanced across at Carrie. ‘You’d better start sourcing large ladies’ shoes and gangster spats.’

  The other woman pulled out her phone. ‘Consider it done.’ Her mouth quirked into a grin. ‘I think Ben would make a marvellous Daphne.’

  The thought of Ben’s muscular frame squeezed into a dress almost made Gina snort. ‘Don’t buy anything yet – I still have to persuade Gorran it’s a good idea.’

  ‘Are you kidding?’ Carrie said, scrolling through images. ‘A black-and-white classic film starring actors who are all dead? He’s going to love it!’

  Carrie was right: Gorran loved the thought of screening Some Like it Hot.

  ‘It’s a masterpiece,’ he said when Gina suggested it. ‘Way ahead of its time. Did you know that the director, Billy Wilder, insisted on shooting it in black and white instead of Technicolor because Jack Lemmon and Tony Curtis looked too ugly in colour?’

  Gina laughed. ‘I didn’t know that. So you’re happy to go ahead?’

  ‘Of course,’ Gorran said, rubbing his hands together. ‘I think I might have a copy of it in the archives. Want to pick a date?’

  They compared diaries.

  ‘How about here?’ Gina said, pointing to the second Saturday in August. ‘That gives us four weeks to pull everything together and should allow us time to spread the word at the murder mystery evening too. I’ll ask Ben to speak to the Preservation Society.’

  Gorran threw her a grateful look. ‘Thanks. I don’t know how I’m going to manage when you go back to London. I might have to lock you in the projection room so you can’t leave!’

  He was smiling as he spoke but Gina picked up more than a little panic behind the words. ‘You’re going to be fine,’ she reassured him. ‘And I’m not falling off the face of the planet – I’ll still be able to give you advice.’

  Doubt shadowed his eyes as he nodded. ‘Of course. It’s just –’

  Gina leaned forwards. ‘You’ve been running this place for years, Gorran. You do know what you’re doing – all I’ve brought is a pinch of inspiration.’

  ‘You’ve done a lot more than that – thanks to you, the Palace has a bright future ahead of her.’ He rubbed at his forehead, looking tired. ‘I’m just not sure I’m the best person to manage it, that’s all.’

  ‘Of course you are,’ Gina said, frowning. ‘You and the Palace are inseparable. You’re like Bogart and Bacall.’

  Gorran let out a reluctant-sounding laugh. ‘You’re very kind, but we both know I’ve lurched from one almost-disaster to another. And when I think about what you’ve achieved in just a few months . . .’ He shook his head. ‘It makes me wonder whether I’m too old, that’s all.’

  Gina studied him in alarm. She’d never seen him so defeated. ‘Rubbish,’ she said briskly, casting around for more famous cinematic partnerships. ‘You’re Thelma and Louise.’

  He gave her a grim look. ‘That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.’

  Chapter Two

  The beach at Mawgan Porth was one of Gina’s favourite places, especially early in the morning. She’d come to recognise most of the surfers she saw and, thanks to Ben, she was on first name terms with the regulars; he’d introduced her to some of his friends whenever they bumped into each other on the sand. Today, however, the surfers were outnumbered by the bodies on the beach, despite it being seven-thirty on a Monday morning.

  Gina waited beside Nonna’s mat, her feet sinking into the already warm sand, and tried not to panic as her seventy-something grandmother rolled her body into a perfect headstand. Elena did yoga several times a week and Gina knew there was no reason to worry but folding an elderly body into a downward dog was one thing – lifting her legs into a headstand was something else.

  ‘You really don’t need to hover,’ Elena murmured. ‘I’ve been doing this since before you were born.’

  Gina glanced around. There were eighteen other students on the beach – some were balancing independently; Gina assumed these were the hard-core regular attendees. Others were working in pairs, helping their partner to balance. And that was something else to worry about, because Gina was under no illusions about her own yoga abilities – what if she accidentally kicked Nonna in the face while trying to get into position when it was her turn? She’d carry the guilt for the rest of her life. Not to mention what her grandfather would say . . .

  Doing her best to relax, Gina stepped back a fraction. ‘I know,’ she told Nonn
a. ‘I have no idea how you manage it.’

  Elena closed her eyes. ‘Practice, core stability and a good centre of gravity.’

  She took a long, deep breath. Then, as the teacher called out more instructions, she lowered her legs and stretched into the child pose. Around them, Gina saw the others do the same. After a few more moments, Nonna sat up. ‘Your turn.’

  Gina smothered a groan and bent her head to rest it on the sand. Feeling her muscles protest, she pulled her knees into her chest and lifted them into a wobbling headstand that was nowhere near as graceful as her grandmother’s.

  ‘Steady,’ Nonna said. ‘Find your balance. Now lift.’

  Gina knew she’d fall long before she actually toppled. For one amazing moment, she managed to straighten her legs and point her toes but then Elena started to cough. The sound broke Gina’s concentration and she felt herself start to slide. She fought to balance but it was a lost cause; she was going down. With an involuntary squeak, she leaned left to avoid Nonna and allowed herself to crumple into an undignified heap in the sand beside her other neighbour.

  Blushing, she got to her feet. ‘I don’t think I’m cut out for yoga.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Elena said, patting her chest as though trying to clear it. ‘You just need to work on your balance, that’s all. Again.’

  ‘Are you okay?’ Gina asked, frowning slightly. ‘That cough sounds painful.’

  Nonna waved away her concern. ‘I’m fine. It’s just the tail end of that cold Nonno and I both had a few weeks ago.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t think you can distract me, Gina Callaway. Try the headstand again.’

  It took Gina three more attempts but she finally mastered the pose. Elena gave her arm a warm squeeze at the end of the lesson. ‘See? I knew you could do it.’

  They were making their way across the steps that led to the top of the cliff when Gina heard someone shout her name. She looked up to see Ben jogging towards them, his surfboard tucked under one arm. Like all the serious surfers at the beach, he was wearing a wetsuit, in spite of the hot sun, and Gina knew it was for protection; the sea floor could cause some nasty grazes.