Starlight on the Palace Pier

by Tracy Corbett

  As Carolyn wasn’t in a fit state to discuss the repairs, she decided to ask Eddie Moriantez instead. She’d seen him fixing a door hinge and sanding down a splintered bench seat this week.

  Before she could track down the handy groundsman, she heard heated voices. As she rounded the bend, she saw her cousin locked in battle with the front-of-house manager.

  ‘You’re being unreasonable,’ Jodi said. ‘Why won’t you give it to me?’

  ‘Madam may trust you, but I don’t.’ The woman lifted her chin, looking down on Jodi like she was something attached to the bottom of her heeled court.

  Becca wanted to thump her.

  ‘Until I receive express authority from madam, I will not comply with your request.’

  ‘What is it you think I’m going to do?’ Jodi looked perplexed. ‘Open an offshore account? I’m just asking for the password to QuickBooks.’

  ‘If madam wanted you to have access, she’d have given you the password.’

  ‘Carolyn isn’t feeling well,’ Jodi replied. ‘She’s lying down. I don’t want to disturb her.’

  Becca caught sight of Eddie coming through the French doors. He was carrying a toolbox.

  As much as she wanted to stay and defend her cousin, she’d learnt over the years that Jodi didn’t appreciate people wading in to help her. Confident her cousin was more than a match for Vivienne, she left Jodi to continue her battle and went after the groundsman.

  She caught up with him as he reached the ballroom. She hadn’t been inside since returning to Brighton – the door had always been locked – but the sight that greeted her was no less impressive than it had been twelve years earlier when Tom had shown her around.

  She squashed the image of Tom that popped into her head. Nothing good would come from reminiscing.

  The grand ballroom was huge with wooden parquet flooring and a high ceiling painted in the style of the renaissance artists. Angels were depicted in full flight, armed with crossbows, flying between the clouds, the moon and the stars.

  The walls were painted white, decorated with intricate carvings adorned with gold leaf. At the far end, a grand fireplace sat beneath a gigantic mirror. Three chandeliers hung from the ceiling, ornate and fragile. A grand piano sat in the corner, hidden underneath a dustsheet.

  It was breathtaking. A stunning space, waiting to be filled with royalty and nobility. It was only as she walked further into the room that its beauty became overshadowed by disrepair. Paint peeled away from the artwork on the ceiling. Cracked plaster hung from the walls. Several panes of glass were cracked. The chairs, once plush and ornamental, looked tired and worn.

  Eddie was up a ladder inspecting the water-stained ceiling.

  Careful not to make him jump, she approached. ‘Eddie? Do you have a moment?’

  He glanced down. ‘Hey there, Becca. How was ballet class today? It sounded lively from outside.’

  She’d warmed to the groundsman the instant she’d met him. He had kind eyes and was always cheerful. Next to the sombre front-of-house manager and grumpy chef, he was a breath of fresh air. ‘Less disastrous than last week. It’s a work in progress.’

  ‘You’ll get there. Nothing worth achieving is ever easy.’

  ‘That’s just the sort of thing my mum would say.’

  He laughed. ‘Sounds like a woman worth listening to.’ He aimed his torch at the ceiling. The shake of his head indicated all was not well. ‘Did you want me for something?’

  ‘It’s about the dance studio. What are the chances of you fixing it up a bit?’

  He sighed. ‘It’s on the list, but so are lots of other jobs.’ He shrugged. ‘There’s not enough budget to get all the work done.’

  ‘But income will only increase if we get more people using the facilities. The state of the dance studio is putting people off. Is there really no way you can bump it up the pecking order?’

  He shone his light on the ceiling. ‘See that? There’s a leak in the roof, which is affecting this room and the art studio next door. If we don’t get it seen to there’s a risk the whole lot will fall down.’

  ‘Oh.’

  He climbed down the ladder and fetched a drill from his toolbox. ‘In terms of priority, this takes precedence. Sorry.’

  ‘Fair enough. I thought it was worth asking.’

  ‘What are you doing in here?’ The sound of Vivienne’s voice made Becca jump. She turned to see the woman marching towards her, her heels clicking on the flooring like rapid gunfire. Against the white walls, her black flapper dress seemed even more sinister than normal.

  ‘I was talking to Eddie.’ Although why Becca had to justify herself, she wasn’t sure.

  ‘This room is off limits. You’re not authorised to be in here. Kindly leave.’

  Eddie climbed up the ladder. ‘Steady on, Vivienne. She was only asking about repairing the dance studio.’

  Vivienne ignored him and glared at Becca. ‘The running and upkeep of this establishment is no concern of yours. You’re engaged to deliver two dance classes per week. Nothing more. Kindly know your place.’

  Know your place? Well, that told her.

  Becca glanced up at Eddie, who shrugged as if to say, ‘What can you do?’

  Not a lot, it would appear. ‘Apologies, Vivienne. I was trying to help.’

  ‘Madam doesn’t need your interference…’ And then she froze, her eyes widening as though she’d seen an alien. ‘What are you doing with the office keys?’

  Becca glanced down. She’d almost forgotten about them.

  Before she could answer, Vivienne snatched them from her. ‘I’ll take those.’ There was a definite accusation in her tone. Although quite what Becca had done, she didn’t know. ‘That will be all, Miss Roberts.’ The woman gestured to the door.

  Becca was being dismissed like a naughty chambermaid caught stealing from the minibar.

  No wonder Jodi referred to her as the Woman-in-Black.

  Vivienne King was positively evil.

  Chapter Nine

  Monday 25th September

  Jodi read the details again just to be certain she wasn’t imagining it. Nope. She wasn’t going mad. The invoice was for the purchase of one inflatable unicorn. How on earth was she supposed to categorise that? She certainly couldn’t list it under utilities or maintenance. Perhaps it counted as publicity? She’d enter it under miscellaneous and check with Carolyn later.

  Not that she’d seen her boss so far today and Jodi had been in since eight, despite a late finish at the restaurant last night. But she didn’t mind. She was eager to get to grips with the accounts. Except, she wasn’t. Her uni course had covered many things, but not how to deal with lost receipts, unknown expenditure and a boss whose behaviour swung from boisterous, to morose, to sleepy, on a daily basis.

  A knock at the door preceded Eddie’s jovial face appearing. ‘Am I interrupting?’

  ‘Not at all. Come in.’

  ‘You asked me to look for a couple of receipts.’ He entered the office, smelling of freshly cut grass. ‘I managed to find one for paint, but not Polyfilla.’ He pulled out a crumpled receipt. ‘Sorry about the Sellotape – I had to stick it back together. I’m moving house so I’ve been having a clear-out. I must’ve shredded the other one.’ He was like a big kid apologising to his teacher because the dog ate his homework. ‘I’ve never been asked to keep receipts before.’

  Jodi’s heart sank. ‘I wonder how Carolyn keeps her accounts in order?’

  ‘I’m not sure she does.’ He wiped his grass-stained hands on his combat trousers. ‘In future, receipts will be kept, ma’am.’ He gave her a military salute.

  She laughed. ‘Navy, right?’

  ‘Twenty-five years.’ There was a note of pride in his voice.

  ‘How did you end up here?’

  ‘I took early retirement after my wife died. I needed a change of lifestyle. A slower pace.’ Judging by his relaxed demeanour the change had worked. ‘I miss being at sea, but I get to be outdoors workin
g here, which is the next best thing.’

  ‘The grounds are amazing.’ The house might be in a shocking state, but the gardens were immaculate.

  ‘The grounds were landscaped a couple of centuries ago. It’s mainly maintenance now, which fortunately doesn’t cost a lot.’

  He made a good point. It was the house that drained all the funds. Although it was difficult to assess the financial state of the playhouse due to poor bookkeeping. It was bad, but as to how bad, was anybody’s guess.

  He smiled. ‘You need anything else?’

  ‘If you’re moving house I’ll need to update your personnel records. Can I have your new address?’

  He grimaced. ‘The place I was due to move into has fallen through. I’m looking for another room. I’ll let you know when I find somewhere.’

  ‘When do you need to move out?’

  ‘Three weeks.’

  ‘Boggin’ hell, that’s tight.’

  He laughed. ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘Good luck finding somewhere.’ She turned back to her PC. ‘Oh, Eddie, have you seen Carolyn this morning?’

  He stopped by the door. ‘She mentioned something about meeting with the local council to discuss a grant. No idea whether the meeting was here or at the council offices.’

  ‘Oh, okay, thanks.’ She returned to updating QuickBooks, now that she had the password, and entered the paint purchase. She had no problem categorising that one. Unlike the unicorn. ‘Right. One down, thirty-seven to go.’

  She printed off the list and headed into the foyer. The Woman-in-Black was sitting behind reception, her bony shoulders visible through the thin fabric of her blouse. She looked like a Chanel waxwork dummy. Stylish, yet rigid.

  ‘Morning, Vivienne. Everything okay?’

  The woman assessed Jodi’s very non-designer Primark skirt and top. ‘Can I help you?’

  In two weeks of working at the playhouse Jodi had yet to see the woman smile. ‘I’m trying to track down a few receipts.’

  Vivienne turned away. ‘Madam never requires receipts.’

  ‘So I gather, but I’ve spoken to the accountant and he needs them to certify the accounts. Without them, he can’t evidence the expenditure.’

  Vivienne bristled. ‘Are you accusing me of subterfuge?’

  ‘Not at all.’ Particularly as Jodi wasn’t sure that was the correct word. ‘I’m simply asking if you have receipts for any of these purchases.’ She showed Vivienne the printout, but the woman refused to look at it.

  Jodi sighed. None of her lecturers had warned her it would be like this. She tried a different question. ‘Do you have a record of the room hirers, or class attendances for the last five months?’

  Vivienne looked dismissive. ‘I do not.’

  Count to ten, Jodi told herself. ‘Well, from now on can you log any income received and keep receipts so that I can reconcile the books?’

  ‘Until madam informs me of the change herself, I will continue as before.’

  Jodi sighed. ‘You’re obviously very loyal to Carolyn. I would’ve thought you’d want to support me in trying to help her sort out the accounts.’

  Vivienne turned her head. ‘That is not my concern. You have no authority to change the terms and conditions of my position.’

  Jodi blinked. ‘I’m simply asking for a few receipts. Is that really so hard?’

  ‘If madam wishes to change the procedure then naturally I will comply.’

  ‘Fine. I’ll speak to Carolyn and ask her to talk to you.’ If she could find her.

  Jodi left reception, her confidence dented. She’d never let Vivienne see it affected her, but she’d be lying if she didn’t admit it hurt. It wasn’t just the bookkeeping. Whatever she asked for it was met with resistance and rudeness. Why was she resented so much?

  She headed towards the café, expecting to have an equally challenging time with the churlish chef. He hated her too. She tried not to take it personally, but it was hard. But then, she reasoned they were rude to Becca too, so maybe they had a problem with all interlopers.

  The sound of loud laughter hit her the moment she turned the corner.

  She’d found Carolyn.

  Jodi passed through the bar, glancing across to see if Leon was there. When he smiled her mood lifted a little. And then she reminded herself that she was an independent woman who didn’t need a man to validate her worth. Yeah, good luck with that.

  Leon nodded to where Carolyn was entertaining a group of men. His wary expression told her trouble was looming. Oh, good. Like she didn’t have enough to deal with.

  Four men were seated in the café, mesmerised by the exuberance of the woman regaling them with the history of the playhouse. Either that, or they were stunned into submission. Both, probably.

  Carolyn was wearing a suit, which should have given the impression of a professional businesswoman. Unfortunately, it was a raspberry colour and full of creases, and her cream blouse was a little too sheer. With the sunlight hitting her from behind, the men were getting a good view of what lay beneath, which wasn’t much.

  ‘In 1891, noted architect Temple Moore remodelled the manor house designing the hard landscaping at the rear.’ Carolyn gestured to the gardens, her arm nearly smacking one of the men. ‘The east wing remains untouched along with the four-storey tower.’

  Jodi crept past, not wanting to distract her boss in full flow.

  Her arrival in the kitchen elicited a grunt from Petrit, who was beating the life out of a lump of dough. ‘What you want?’

  ‘I need to ask you about receipts, Petrit.’

  ‘Too busy.’ He slammed the dough down on the worktop.

  She ignored the speckles of flour landing on her grey skirt. ‘You said that yesterday and the day before.’

  ‘I cook. No time for receipts.’

  She was tempted to point out that if he arrived for work when he was supposed to he’d have the time. But Petrit’s poor time-keeping was a battle for another day.

  She was about to leave, when she spotted a stack of empty wine bottles by the bins. Were they Carolyn’s? She’d never seen her boss drinking, but she must be consuming a lot of alcohol to act the way she did. ‘Are those yours?’ They were the same brand used in the bar.

  ‘For use in kitchen. For cooking.’ He thumped the dough.

  ‘All of them?’ What was he cooking, coq au vin for the entire population of Brighton?

  He glared at her. ‘You accuse me of stealing?’

  ‘No, I’m asking if they came from the bar?’ When he shrugged, she tried again. ‘Petrit, I need to know if bar stock is being used in the kitchens.’

  ‘You speak with boss. Not me.’

  ‘It’s a simple question.’

  ‘You ask too many questions!’

  She held her ground. ‘And you don’t answer any of them.’

  ‘Speak with boss.’ This was followed by a tirade of Romanian. ‘Leave kitchen! Too busy to answer questions from peoples like you.’

  She flinched. ‘I’ll leave the printout here for you to look at. I’ll be back tomorrow to see how you’ve got on.’ Unwilling to turn her back on him, she shuffled sideways and hurried out of the kitchen.

  Unnerved as she felt, it was quickly overshadowed by the sight of Carolyn holding her skirt above her knees and doing what appeared to be the cancan.

  Jodi hurried over to the bar so she could observe from a safe distance. Should she intervene? Or stay out of it? As she mulled over her options, she realised she was thirsty. She’d kill for a coffee.

  Leon placed a cappuccino in front of her. ‘You look like you need caffeine.’

  What was he, a mind-reader? ‘That obvious, huh?’

  He leant on the bar. ‘Are Petrit and Vivienne giving you a hard time?’

  ‘No more than normal. They don’t seem to like me.’

  Leon shrugged. ‘Don’t sweat it. Vivienne’s annoyed because Carolyn didn’t give her the business manager job.’

  ‘You mean, she app
lied for my job?’

  Leon slid a bowl of chocolates towards her. ‘Yep. She’s been here for years, so it didn’t occur to her Carolyn wouldn’t give it to her.’

  Things were starting to make sense. ‘No wonder she hates me.’

  Leon frowned. ‘It’s not your fault. Vivienne wasn’t the right person for the job. You are.’

  She glanced down at her coffee. ‘You don’t know that.’

  ‘Sure, I do.’ When he grinned, her belly flipped. ‘And Petrit’s problem is that he’s a lazy arse. He figured with Vivienne in charge he’d continue to get away with stuff, but you’re no pushover. He’s met his match and he doesn’t like it.’

  ‘Well, at least now I know.’

  Leon glanced over at Carolyn. ‘I’ll have a word with them.’

  ‘Please don’t. It’s my problem, not yours. I’ll talk to Carolyn…’ who was at that moment laughing flirtatiously at something one of the men had said. ‘Talking of Petrit, what’s the deal with him taking wine from the bar? Is that usual?’

  Leon dragged his eyes away from the floorshow. ‘He’s supposed to log what he takes, but I’m not here all the time, so I don’t always know he’s taken stuff until I do a stock check.’

  That surprised her. ‘How often do you check the stock?’

  ‘Weekly.’

  ‘And do you keep receipts for everything you buy?’

  A smile played on his lips. ‘They’re in a folder under the till.’

  ‘You’re the only person who seems to understand the need for accountability. Everyone else reacted as though I was asking for their spleen… Well, apart from Eddie.’ She sipped her coffee. It was heavenly.

  ‘Must be my upbringing. I’ve always been a good boy.’ He winked at her.

  She laughed. ‘Why do I find that difficult to believe?’

  He leant on the bar. ‘How’s your coffee?’

  ‘Lovely.’ She took another sip. ‘So, how long have you worked here? If you don’t mind me asking.’