A Seaside Affair

by Fern Britton

  He spotted a worried-looking Colonel Stick being helped out by Ollie.

  ‘This is terrible, my dear boy, after all we’ve done – to lose the Pavilions now …’

  ‘Let’s just make everyone safe, Colonel, and worry about the bricks and mortar later.’

  ‘Have you seen Jess?’ asked an anxious-looking Ollie. ‘I don’t know where she is, was she out the front?’

  Jonathan felt a tremor of panic in his stomach. ‘No, now that you mention it. Look, you get the Colonel out and I’ll see if I can find her.’

  He hurried down the narrow passageway to the dressing rooms. It was here that the smoke was at its thickest. Before long his eyes were stinging, it was hard to breathe and the water from the sprinklers was making the floor slippery underfoot.

  ‘Jess, Jess, where are you?’ he shouted between coughs. Nothing. He made his way further down the row of dressing rooms. ‘Jess, can you hear me?’

  It was becoming hard to see. He stood still and listened, straining to make out sounds. At last he heard a muffled response: ‘Help, I’m in here, in the loo. I can’t get the door open, it seems to be jammed.’

  Jonathan ran to the loo next door to the burning dressing room and tried to turn the door handle. It wouldn’t budge.

  ‘Oh God,’ cried Jess from the other side of the door.

  ‘Don’t panic, I’ll try and break it down. Stand back.’

  ‘OK, I’m not panicking. I’m standing back.’

  Jonathan put his shoulder against the door and pushed. The door held firm. ‘One more time,’ he told himself.

  He took a step back and, with an almighty effort, hurled himself against the door. To his huge relief, it gave and he was through. Grabbing Jess’s hand, he led her back the way he’d come.

  By this time the corridor was thick with smoke and it was impossible to see a hand in front of them. In the enveloping darkness they completely lost their bearings and Jess felt the panic start to overwhelm her.

  Then they heard a voice through the smoke.

  ‘Thank God! Here, take my hand.’

  It was Ollie.

  With Ollie to lead them in the right direction they were outside within minutes, gratefully breathing in the cool, clear air.

  ‘That was a close shave,’ said Jonathan.

  ‘That door had been sticking for ages. I kept meaning to mention it, but never got round to it. Jonathan, if you hadn’t come back for me, I might …’ Unable to finish the sentence, Jess took his hand in hers and squeezed it. ‘Thank you.’

  Jonathan found it hard to meet her gaze. ‘And thanks to Ollie – without him we might both be toast.’

  Ollie shrugged nonchalantly. ‘Hey, I’m just an ordinary, run-of-the-mill superhero, right?’

  The wail of the fire engines cut through their reunion. They watched as the firefighters poured from the engines and set about their work capably and with no fuss.

  It was then that it dawned on the entire cast and crew that their dress rehearsal might just be the one and only performance of Hats Off, Trevay!

  *

  Mercifully, the fire had only destroyed Brooke and Jess’s dressing room. But the water from the sprinklers and the damage from the smoke had caused almost as much devastation as the fire.

  Colonel Stick’s dressing room, which was next door, was in a terrible state, along with the wig room and wardrobe room directly above. The sprinklers in the auditorium had saturated everything and the tip-up seats were dripping miserably.

  Brooke was distraught and was quick to tell the fire officers about her candle. They took down her details and thanked her for her honesty while making it clear what they thought of her stupidity. ‘As soon as they can gain access, our investigating officers will determine the cause of the fire. Candles should never be left unattended.’

  ‘But she blew it out, officer,’ said Jess, holding on to a sobbing Brooke.

  ‘I’d better take your details too, miss.’

  Ollie, Jess, Jonathan and Brooke drove back to Pendruggan together. As Jonathan and Jess sat in the back, he felt her shiver. Instinctively, he put his arm round her and kissed the top of her head. She leaned in to him.

  ‘Are you cold?’ he asked.

  ‘No. But I was thinking, what if someone had died in there? What if I had had the girls with me tonight? They would have been shut up in the dressing room.’

  ‘Stop with the “what ifs”. Nobody died. Everyone’s fine. Ethel and Elsie were at home.’

  She turned and looked behind her at the Pavilions, illuminated by the emergency services’ arc lights and the flashing blue lights of the fire engines.

  ‘But the Pavilions – after everyone’s hard work. We didn’t even make it to the first night.’

  *

  As soon as she’d heard the news, Penny had got in the Jag and driven to Trevay. There she joined Piran and Helen, watching their dreams going up in smoke. There was no need for words. When she eventually got home, Simon made her scrambled eggs on toast and apologised for not coming out to join her. He had been holding a confirmation class in the church and hadn’t known about the disaster until he came home and found Penny’s hastily written note on the table.

  ‘The bloody car wouldn’t start or I’d have been there.’

  He was expecting her to have another go about his clapped-out car, but instead she patted his hand, finished her glass of milk and took him up to bed.

  *

  The following afternoon, Penny held a council of war.

  All of the SToP campaigners were present, except for Brooke. She was too upset to come, blaming herself for the fire, though all of her friends had been completely supportive. Jonathan and Jess were there, along with the Colonel and Dan the stage manager and Liz Parker the publicist.

  It was Penny who voiced what they were all thinking: ‘What on earth do we do now?’

  ‘I’ve spoken to the fire brigade and the council this morning,’ said Simon. ‘According to the fire brigade, most of the damage is superficial. The building is quite sound structurally, but the cost of the repairs will run into tens of thousands of pounds.’

  ‘Our coffers are running on empty as it is. We needed the box office income to pay the next round of bills.’ Penny bit her lip, her eyes brimming with tears. ‘But now …’

  ‘This venture’s been doomed to failure from the start, if you ask me. That building is an eyesore and a money pit. Even if we could raise the money, it’d be like throwing good money after bad. Might as well go and toss your money off the harbour at Trevay—’

  ‘Piran, darling, that really isn’t a very helpful attitude,’ chided Helen.

  ‘It’s the truth.’

  Helen ignored him. ‘There must be something we can do. If we had the money, could we get the theatre open in time?’

  ‘Where there’s a will there’s a way – but the company don’t have anywhere to rehearse now,’ said Jonathan.

  ‘We have the church hall. It’s seen many a performance in its time and could certainly accommodate you all, if you didn’t mind roughing it,’ replied Simon.

  ‘I hate to be the voice of doom, but we have NO money,’ said Penny. ‘All of this is academic.’

  ‘Well, yes …’ Simon took a deep breath. ‘And I’ve got more bad news, I’m afraid. I spoke to Councillor Joan Goodman this morning and she tells me that if the company were found to have been negligent or to blame for the fire, then we could lose our right to use the building.’

  ‘That’s downright unfair!’ Penny was incensed.

  ‘Maybe, darling, but as the SToP campaigners are managing the building, we should have made sure that all Health and Safety regulations were enforced. They’ll blame us for it, I’m afraid.’

  ‘And bloody Chris Bedford won’t cut us any slack, will ’e?’ added Piran.

  This threw them all into silence.

  ‘What we need right now,’ said Helen despondently, ‘is a bloody miracle.’

  Colonel Stick said nothi
ng. He was deep in thought.

  31

  Helen and Brooke were sitting in Colonel Stick’s cosy sitting room, wondering why he’d invited them over. Helen had noticed that he’d been unusually quiet at yesterday’s meeting, and when she got the call asking her to come over for a cup of tea, her first thought was that the old boy was feeling bereft and in need of company. Instead it was Brooke who looked to be in the depths of despair, as if she hadn’t slept a wink since the fire.

  ‘You really must stop blaming yourself,’ Helen told her. ‘It was a complete accident and the whole building is like a tinder box anyway. Right, Colonel?’

  ‘Indeed, a complete accident. Retreating into yourself won’t help anybody, my dear girl. We must all do our bit. Which is why I have asked you both to come here today.’

  ‘Have you had a bright idea?’ asked Helen hopefully.

  ‘Better than that. Follow me, both of you.’

  Helen and Brooke followed the Colonel down the corridor into his cold study. Much of the clutter had been cleared away and in the centre of the room a projector and screen had been set up. Helen noticed a box that appeared to be full of reels of old 8mm film. Two seats had been set up in front of it.

  ‘Please, take a seat if you would. I’m terribly sorry about the cold in this room. Never seems to warm up, no matter what the time of year it is.’

  Helen and Brooke looked at each other, not sure what to expect.

  ‘Helen, my dear, I owe you an apology. Some time ago, you asked me if I knew anything about a film archive. I’m afraid I was lying when I said I couldn’t help. Nothing could be further from the truth.’

  The women looked at each other and then back at the Colonel. ‘Go on.’ They chorused.

  ‘Yes. I didn’t tell you what I knew because … well … I suppose I have become so used to part of my life being secret that old habits die hard. You see, I never married, but if I could have married … it would have been Peter.’ His eyes wandered to a photograph of the young and handsome man. ‘We were soul mates. He and I met many decades ago and bonded for life. The London theatre scene has always attracted … shall we say “flamboyant” gentlemen, but in the fifties and sixties it was still very dangerous to be openly homosexual. It was illegal; we could have gone to prison, so relationships were conducted in secret, away from prying eyes. Even in the permissive sixties exposure could prove very damaging to one’s career. Peter was a respected director, but jealousy and spitefulness are universal, I’m afraid, and some unkind and cruel colleagues had started a whispering campaign against him. He and I decided that life in Trevay would be infinitely quieter and happier. We moved here and never regretted it. The Pavilions and the people of Cornwall gave us a wonderful life together.

  ‘What happened to Peter?’ asked Brooke.

  ‘The same thing that will happen to us all, child, but Peter was cruelly struck down by cancer well ahead of his time.’ His voice started to break. ‘I’ve been without my love for nearly thirty years now.’ He took a clean hanky from his trouser pocket and wiped his eyes.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ said Helen, getting up and kneeling beside the grief stricken Colonel.

  ‘Thank you. But these past couple of days have been a wake-up call for me.’ He blew his nose and sat up straighter. ‘One can’t go on living in the past, and I’ve kept silent for far too long already. The survival of the Pavilions is at stake and I have something that may just help …’

  He stood, placed his handkerchief back into his pocket and went across to draw the curtains, then moved to the ancient projector and clicked a switch. In front of them a creaky black-and-white home movie started to play.

  They were looking at a theatre stage, where a man was moving chairs around a table. Brooke recognised him at once.

  ‘It’s Peter.’

  ‘Correct,’ said the Colonel. ‘Keep watching.’

  From stage left, a man and a woman appeared and started to chat with Peter. They all laughed at something the woman said and then Peter offered a packet of cigarettes to each of them. The woman took one, lit it and inhaled deeply as the camera moved in towards her face.

  Helen and Brooke both let out gasps of astonishment.

  ‘It can’t be!’ exclaimed Helen.

  ‘It is!’ said Brooke.

  They were looking at Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton. Burton was craggily handsome, captured in his prime, before all the drink had taken its toll. Taylor was surely as beautiful as she had ever been. Other figures appeared at the edge of the stage and the two actors began reading from a script. For the next fifteen minutes, Brooke and Helen watched as Burton and Taylor rehearsed, relaxed and laughing with the other cast members, teasing and affectionate with each other.

  When the reel finished, Helen and Brooke sat transfixed.

  ‘There are sound tapes too,’ said the Colonel. ‘But I don’t have the technology to play them here. I expect someone somewhere will know what to do to get them working.’

  ‘Where on earth did this come from?’ asked Helen.

  ‘Burton performed Doctor Faustus in Oxford in the sixties. His wife, Elizabeth, had a part in it too. It has become the stuff of legend.’

  ‘But the film …’ interjected Brooke.

  ‘Peter was involved because he was a friend of the director.’ He stood and began to thread another film reel into the machine. ‘By the way, your friend Piran was wrong about one thing,’ said the Colonel, his eyes twinkling mischievously at Helen. ‘It was Peter who was the film buff, not me. He loved making home movies of his work, and this box here is just one of many. All the greats of the London stage are there: Alec Guinness and John Gielgud, Laurence Olivier and Ralph Richardson … And then there are the comedy greats like Morecambe and Wise – who came to Trevay for a summer season at the Pavilions – and Peter Sellers, Joyce Grenfell, Kenneth Williams. They’re all here.’ He indicated the box of film reels. ‘There’s such a wealth of material, I’ve rather lost track.

  ‘Colonel, this is incredible! This is something that people would pay good money to watch,’ said Brooke.

  ‘That is what I am hoping. Peter filmed these for his own pleasure, but he loved to share them and never would have wanted them to be locked away, gathering dust. I haven’t been able to watch them since he died. Too painful, too many memories. But if Peter were here, I know what he would want me to do. Helen, do you think Piran would be willing to help me organise these?’

  ‘I’m sure he will,’ said Helen.

  ‘I’ll help too,’ said Brooke.

  ‘You have both already helped me more than you can imagine,’ said the Colonel, his eyes misting again with tears.

  *

  Helen was on the phone to Piran immediately.

  ‘And here’s me not believing in miracles,’ he told her.

  Once word was out, it didn’t take long before Piran’s mobile was ringing non-stop. Representatives from institutions all over the world had heard about the archives and a bidding war had started.

  ‘But do you want to sell them?’ Piran asked the Colonel as the two of them sat in the small study, working through reel after reel of footage. Piran had lost count of the many gems that they had rediscovered.

  ‘If selling some of the films helps to keep the Pavilions going, then I know that is what Peter would have wanted. He loved the place as much as I do.’

  Piran and the Colonel agreed on selling two or three movies of Laurence Olivier and Vivien Leigh to a wealthy Japanese film school. The money was wired overnight.

  Penny was on cloud nine. ‘The Colonel’s films have raised enough to pay a professional shop-fitting company to come in and replace the damaged flooring and carpets, as well as paying for the material to repair the damaged dressing rooms and corridors and mend the stage curtain.’

  With seven days to go until Hats Off, Trevay! was due to open, Simon and Piran went to see the bank. Thanks to the Colonel’s contribution to the fund, the bank agreed to give them an extension on their
overdraft against future ticket receipts.

  Penny phoned Jonathan and Simon with the news: ‘It’s time to rally the troops.’

  *

  Over the next few days, Trevay showed what it was really made of. The whole town turned out to help and Brooke was able to pull a few strings with Louis, who turned up at the theatre and took lots of great photographs. The story of the Pavilions and the bad luck which seemed to be dogging the theatre had now made national news. BBC South West ran a feature on its early evening magazine programme and Louis’ photos made the Daily Mail under the headline ‘Last Chance Café for Seaside Landmark’. And that was just the beginning; Liz Parker had got plenty more publicity lined up.

  In the meantime, while the cast continued their rehearsals at the church hall, Piran had been supervising the building work. He certainly seemed to have succeeded in galvanising the team of shop-fitters, the dehumidifiers were on full blast and within days the dressing rooms had been repaired, new carpet and flooring were in place – everything seemed to be coming together nicely.

  ‘Do we dare hope that we can pull this off?’ said Penny.

  ‘I daren’t jinx it by even hoping,’ Helen replied, as they sat watching the frenzied activity in the theatre auditorium. ‘I spoke to Queenie on the way in. She’s doing wonders in the box office. Apparently, tickets are selling like hot cakes.’

  ‘Even though we haven’t officially got the go-ahead from the council?’

  ‘Seems that way.’

  ‘Speak of the devil.’ Penny had spotted the square, businesslike bulk of Joan Goodman walking up the central aisle.

  ‘A word, if you please, Reverend Canter.’

  Simon, who had been lending Piran a hand directing the works, welcomed the councillor and offered her a newly refurbished seat next to Helen and Penny.

  ‘I must say, Vicar, I’m amazed at what you have managed to achieve in so short a time.’

  ‘Colonel Stick’s contribution was the miracle we were waiting for. God moves in mysterious ways.’

  ‘Indeed He does,’ said Joan. ‘I think He may have been moving for you in another department too. I’ve had word from the fire service investigation team this morning. Apparently, they’ve discovered that the fire was caused by an electrical fault and was nothing to do with the candle. The wiring in the whole building is a problem. It should all have been replaced years ago – by the council.’