Bones Under The Beach Hut

Chapter Five

They arrived at Fethering's only pub, the Crown and Anchor, before Philly, and were greeted in his usual lugubrious manner by the shaggily bearded landlord Ted Crisp, dressed in his summer uniform of faded T-shirt and jeans. He was actually now having difficulty in justifying his customary air of gloom. In the past he could always put it down to bad business. At times the Crown and Anchor's finances had been quite rocky and once the pub had nearly had to close, but those days were gone. The fine June weather was bringing the holidaymakers in in droves and Ted now had a very efficient staff to back him up. His Polish bar manager Zosia had taken away all his anxieties about staffing, and his chef Ed Pollack was going from strength to strength. The landlord responded very sniffily to the word 'gastropub', but in the view of many restaurant guides and well-heeled clients, that was what the Crown and Anchor was becoming known as throughout West Sussex. Anyone who wanted evidence of that should have tried booking a table for a Saturday evening or Sunday lunchtime. Often there would be nothing available for a month ahead.

Ted Crisp had even extended the premises. At one side of the sea-facing frontage there now stood what looked like a Victorian conservatory. Though used by the pub's ordinary customers — particularly on a fine June day when all the doors and windows were open — it could be shut off from the main bar area. This was now the 'Function Room', available for wedding receptions and other private parties. There was no way round the fact: the Crown and Anchor was doing really good business.

Though deprived of his traditional excuse for grumpiness, Ted Crisp was not about to change his habitual mien. From behind the bar he looked up gloomily at Carole and Jude's entrance. 'Two large Chilean Chardonnays, I assume,' he pronounced, in the manner of a newsreader reporting a tsunami.

'Cheer up, Ted, it might never happen,' said Jude.

'How d'you know it hasn't already?' he demanded, as he handed the glasses across.

'Getting a lot of bookings for the Function Room?'

'Mustn't grumble.'

'But you still will, won't you, Ted?' That was rewarded by a grunt.

'What's good for lunch?' asked Carole.

'Ed says the Dover sole's to die for.'

'Ooh, that sounds nice.'

'Shall I take your order?' Ted reached for a pad of paper.

'Not quite yet. We've got a friend joining us,' Jude explained.

'Please yourself,' said Ted, in a manner that people who didn't know him so well would have regarded as rude, and he turned to serve another customer.

In spite of the sunny weather Carole and Jude decided they'd sit inside. The alcove tables in the bar were less full than those in the sun and, although their conversation with Philly Rose was not exactly confidential, a degree of privacy would be welcome.

They had hardly sat down before she arrived, looking around the bar and waving when she saw Jude. Philly Rose was small, thin as a whippet, with almost ash-blond hair and surprisingly dark brown eyes. She wore a sleeveless eau de Nil top over white jeans and red Converse trainers.

Once they'd been introduced, Carole went to get the woman a drink, just a mineral water with ice and lemon. And they thought they might as well order food at the same time so all three opted for the recommended Dover sole.

As she returned from the bar, Carole saw that Philly and Jude were deep in conversation. She felt a familiar pang that was almost too resigned to be jealousy, just a wish that she had her neighbour's ability to put people at their ease. For Carole dialogue rarely flowed, it was something that had to be carefully constructed and worked at.

But whatever intimacies the two women may have been sharing up until that point, Jude immediately moved on to the subject of Quiet Harbour. Carole began by saying how grateful she was for the opportunity to use the beach hut.

'No problem,' said Philly wryly. 'I'm afraid I'm not going to need it now. And I need the money.' So she wasn't attempting to hide her financial problems.

'But Carole did find something odd in the beach hut when she got there,' prompted Jude, and Carole repeated exactly what she had seen in the place.

'A fire?' asked Philly in puzzlement.

'Yes. A fire which had been lit underneath the floor. And which could have caused a lot of damage if someone hadn't put it out. You didn't notice that when you were last there, did you, Philly?'

'No, certainly not. Mind you, it is a month or so since I was at Quiet Harbour. We only went a few times after our rental had been confirmed. We went to kit it out with everything, but then ... I mean, I've walked past it often enough since then with the dogs, but I haven't gone inside. Not since . . .' Her silence was eloquent of the pain she still felt about her boyfriend's departure.

Jude broke in gently, asking, 'Have you heard much talk in Smalting about vandalism to the beach huts?'

Philly shook her head. 'Nothing specific I can think of. I mean, there are always plenty of old farts sounding off in The Crab Inn about the disgraceful, loutish behaviour of the young, but it all seems to be pretty generalized, you know, how the country's gone to pot since the war and how they should bring back national service. Anyway, that lot of old fogies would regard dropping a lolly stick on the prom as vandalism.'

'How many keys are there to Quiet Harbour?' asked Carole suddenly.

'We were given two when we signed for it. I presume the Council keep duplicates in case they need access.'

'Jude only passed one on to me.'

'Yes, well . . .' The blush on the girl's cheeks stood out against the whiteness of her hair. 'I had one and, er, Mark had the other.'

'So you reckon he went off with his when he left?'

'I don't know. I expect he did.'

'Haven't you looked through his things?'

'He didn't leave that much and ..." Emotion threatened. 'No, I haven't looked through his things.'

'So he probably still has got his key?'

Jude, whose brown eyes had been flashing messages to Carole to soften up her interrogation, interceded. 'I don't see that who had keys matters much, because the fire was clearly started from outside the hut.'

'Yes, I'm sorry. I was just asking for information.' Carole had got the bit between her teeth and was not about to back off from what she was beginning to think of as her investigation. 'So, if you haven't been in Quiet Harbour recently, Philly, presumably it wasn't you who put down the carpet'

'Carpet?' the young woman repeated wretchedly.

'Yes, the green carpet that was laid over the floorboards.'

'Oh, that carpet,' said Philly, although Carole felt sure she was hearing of it for the first time. 'Yes, we had it ready to put down there.'

'But you didn't put it down?'

'What do you mean?'

'It had been put down after the fire, because the carpet was unmarked. So, if you haven't been to the beach hut since the fire, it means you can't have put it down.'

'Oh, I'm sorry, you had me confused,' said Philly, apparently relieved that she now understood the line of questioning. 'Yes, I did put the carpet down. I'd forgotten. I just dropped in one morning last week when I was walking the dogs, and the carpet was rolled up in there, so I unrolled it and laid it down.'

'And you didn't notice that the floorboards had been burnt through?'

'No, I didn't,' replied Philly, having regained her self-possession.

Carole opened her mouth for another question, but caught the deterrent look in Jude's eye and restrained herself. At that moment the direction of the conversation was diverted by the arrival of their Dover soles, served by a grinning and pigtailed Zosia who greeted Carole and Jude warmly.

When talk resumed, it was about the differences between Smalting and Fethering, a subject on which Philly Rose had some amusing insights. Though even humour could not disguise her underlying melancholy. She was in a state of shock, nearly two months on and still unable to come to terms with no longer having Mark in her life.

'Sometimes,' she admitted, 'I do find the gentility of Smalting almost suffocating. It's like being permanently at a posh dinner party. I'm constantly afraid of saying the wrong thing. And as a result there's a strong temptation to say or do something totally outrageous.'

Tethering can be a bit like that too,' said Jude.

'Can it?' asked Carole, genuinely surprised.

'Oh, come on, some of the types round the Yacht Club are pretty stuffy, not to mention all the old biddies who play bridge every afternoon.'

'Yes, I suppose so.'

'Anyway, Carole and I aren't like that,' said Jude with a grin. 'We are representatives of the Bohemian sector of Fethering.'

Her neighbour didn't think that was probably true, not of herself anyway. It was certainly the first time in her life that anyone had ever described Carole Seddon as 'Bohemian' and though she suspected that Jude was teasing, she found she was rather attracted to the idea.

'Do you find that the locals in Smalting have accepted you, Philly?' asked Jude.

'Oh, I don't think "accepted" quite. That takes a good few years.'

'And they'd feel happier if your family had been there for three generations,' suggested Carole.

'Well, no, not really, because none of the people in Smalting have actually been there that long. House prices are far too high for the locals. The place has been bought up mostly by retired couples with whacking great pensions. Mind you, even if they've only been there a couple of years, they still make you feel your lowly status as an "incomer".'

'Does it get you down?' asked Jude gently.

That prompted a rueful grin from Philly. 'It used not too. We used to find it quite funny, giggle about it. But that was . . . well... It does get me down a bit. Doesn't take much, I'm afraid, to get me down these days.' Again Carole and Jude could sense the depth of her pain.

Conversation flowed easily enough for the rest of the meal, but they kept to uncontroversial subjects of local interest. When Jude raised the question of dessert or coffee, Philly Rose looked at her watch and said, 'Sorry, I must dash. I have actually — thank God — had a commission designing a brochure and I'm up against a deadline.'

'Good you've got some work,' said Jude.

'Yes. Anyway, must be off.' She reached for a wallet in the back pocket of her white jeans. 'Now how much will my share be?'

'No, my idea, my treat,' said Jude.

'Well, if you're sure . . But Philly didn't take much convincing. 'I'm very grateful, because things—'

'It's fine,' Jude interrupted sensitively. 'By the way, when we last spoke you said you were thinking of selling the house. Is that still your plan?'

'I think it must be. I can't really see much alternative.' And a new level of bleakness came into her brown eyes.

'Things'll sort themselves out,' said Jude.

'Yeah.' Philly's response was almost brusque, as if she was embarrassed by having shown how much she was hurting. 'Well, I can't thank you enough, Jude. And lovely to meet you, Carole. I must be off.'

'Oh, one thing,' Carole interposed. About the fire at Quiet Harbour — will you report that?'

'Report it?'

'To whoever it should be reported to. Someone at the Fether District Council, presumably.'

'Oh.' Philly seemed nonplussed. Clearly the idea didn't appeal to her. 'Would you mind doing that, Carole? I mean, you're the one who's renting the beach hut now.'

'Yes, but am I renting it officially? I mean, as far as the Fether District Council is concerned?'

'They are aware that I've made an agreement with you.'

Are they? thought Carole. I wish I'd known that earlier. It would have saved me a good deal of anxiety. 'So it's all official, is it?'

'Well . . . sort of.'

'What does that mean?'

'The guy who looks after the beach huts for the Council — his name's Kelvin Southwest — said he shouldn't really allow it, but he'd stretch a point.'

'Why?'

Philly Rose blushed. 'Well, I'm almost embarrassed to say this, but I think it was because he took a shine to me.'

'Oh?'

'Yes, I'm rather afraid our Kelvin sees himself as something of a "ladies' man".'

'Oh?'

'Anyway, Carole, would you mind contacting him about the fire? His number's on the Fether District Council website. Go into "Leisure" and he's under "Outdoor Recreation Office".'

After Philly had left the Crown and Anchor, Carole looked beadily at Jude. 'She's hiding something.'

'What do you mean?'

'That business about the carpet in Quiet Harbour.. . She had no idea that it was there.'

'So?'

'Well, that means, as I say, that she's hiding something.'

'Look, Carole, the poor thing's in a bad state. She's been recently dumped by the man she thought she was going to spend the rest of her life with. The last thing she needs at the moment is you badgering her.'

'I didn't badger her.'

'I don't know what else you'd call it — asking her how many keys there were to the beach hut. It was like an interrogation.'

'Hm,' said Carole rather grumpily. 'Usually you're supportive when we're involved in one of our investigations.'

'Yes, I usually am. And I would be in this case too but for the fact that at the moment we don't have an investigation.'

'I wouldn't be so sure about that,' said Carole darkly.