Bones Under The Beach Hut

Chapter Six

Carole could see what Philly Rose had meant when she described Kelvin Southwest as 'something of a ladies' man'. It was definitely how he appeared to view himself, though the jury was out on how most other people might see him.

He was tubby, probably early fifties, and had taken the ill-advised course adopted by so many men going thin on top. He had grown a goatee. His remaining hair was fair and fluffy and so was the beard. It weakened rather than strengthened the line of his jaw.

He wore a light blue polo shirt with the Fether District Council logo embroidered on to it, and tightly cut navy shorts, which somehow seemed wrong to Carole. All right, he was part of the Council's Leisure Department, but she still had difficulty in taking seriously an official in shorts. Kelvin Southwest's chubby legs were hairless and pale and ended in leather sandals worn over short white socks. The combination made it even more difficult to take him seriously.

On the phone they'd arranged to meet at Quiet Harbour at eleven o'clock on the following day, the Wednesday. The idea of Jude joining Carole had not even been mooted. For one thing, she had a client booked in that morning for treatment to painful knee joints. And for another, Jude didn't share her neighbour's conviction that they were at the commencement of another investigation.

Pathologically punctual as ever, Carole had the Renault parked by the promenade and was standing outside the beach hut at ten to eleven. Gulliver wandered down by the shoreline, intrigued by a whole new palette of smells.

Of course Carole could have unlocked the hut, but something told her she should wait until Kelvin Southwest's arrival. She felt rather foolish, just standing there, particularly as she knew that anyone less uptight than Carole Seddon would have kicked their shoes off and sat down on the sand to wait. She wished she'd brought The Times crossword with her.

Kelvin Southwest arrived about ten minutes past eleven, carrying a plastic-covered clipboard. He made no apologies for his lateness, but stretched out a hand, saying, 'Carole, how nice to see you. Now I didn't get it on the phone. Am I talking to Mrs or Miss Seddon?'

'Mrs,' replied Carole, a trifle frostily.

'Lucky Mr Seddon,' said Kelvin Southwest with what he must for some reason have thought was a seductive smile.

'I'm divorced.' That was even frostier.

'Ah-hah, on the market again. That's going to be good news for someone.' If there was one masculine quality Carole Seddon disliked it was roguishness. And she would have thought her expression made that clear. But evidently it didn't, as Kelvin Southwest continued, 'So you're the lovely lady who is now the tenant of Quiet Harbour.'

'Yes. Miss Rose assured me that you knew all about the handover and were quite happy about it.' He looked at her with an enigmatic grin. 'I mean that you said it was quite legal.'

'Ooh, I wouldn't go so far as to say "legal", Mrs Seddon.' He then compounded his roguishness by winking. 'Let's say I was happy to sanction the arrangement. I won't tell on you.' He punctuated this piece of schoolboy slang with a chuckle. 'I can never say no to a pretty woman, you know.'

'Ah.'

'Still, unfortunately I can't spend my morning gazing into your blue eyes — much as I would like to.'

Carole very nearly made a sharp rejoinder to that and might well have done so, had not Gulliver, curious about who his mistress was talking to, at that moment bounded up to her.

'Is this your dog?'

'Yes.'

'Ah.' He raised a plump finger and shook it in mock reproof. 'Naughty, naughty.'

'What?'

'During the summer months dogs should be kept on a lead on Smalting Beach. Fether District Council regulations.'

'There's no sign up to say that.'

'No, I agree there isn't. It's just one of those things that everyone who uses the beach knows.'

'Well, I don't.'

'Clearly, Mrs Seddon. And I'd love to make an exception to the rule — especially when it concerns such a lovely lady as yourself — but I'm afraid in this instance my hands are tied. It's not like you taking over the rental. With dogs it'd be the other beach users who'd object, you see. They'd accuse me of favouritism, and I can't have that, can I?'

'I'll put his lead on,' said Carole shortly. 'Come on, Gulliver, come here, boy.' Once a rather miffed dog was secured, she turned back to the Fether District Council official. 'I believe we were discussing the legality of my having taken over the rental of this beach hut from Philly Rose, Mr Southwest.'

'Yes, of course we were. And I have already told you I have no problems with that. Waiting lists can always be circumvented, you know, for the right person.' He leered at her. 'But I am here this morning as a result of your phone call yesterday. I am employed by the Fether District Council to do a job, and that is what I must do.' He somehow managed to make it sound as though Carole was preventing him from discharging his duty. 'Now, Mrs Seddon, you spoke of a fire having been lit under this beach hut. . .'

'Yes. Do you want to see inside?' She reached into her trouser pocket for the key.

'Don't worry, I have a set of my own. If you don't mind, I'd rather examine the damage from the outside first.'

'Fine.' Carole led the way to the back of the hut. 'As you see, it's here, under this corner.'

Kelvin Southwest sank into a crouch, a movement which threatened to split his tight blue shorts. He inspected the burn marks and poked a stick at the scorched rags beneath.

'Vandals, do you reckon?' asked Carole.

He stood up self-importantly to his full height, about level with her shoulder. 'Possibly,' he replied. 'I will complete my examination of the damage before committing myself to a theory as to what actually happened.'

He moved back to the front of Quiet Harbour, took a bunch of keys out of his pocket and selected one. 'This was meant to be the master key for all of the Smalting beach huts. Originally all of the padlocks were from the same manufacturer, so although they all had individually different locks, this little baby opened all of them. Still, after a time the salt gets into some of the mechanisms and they sieze up. People who replace the padlocks on their huts — and I can understand why they sometimes have to do that — are meant to lodge a spare key with me at the Council offices. But do they? Do they hell!

'Fortunately, Quiet Harbour still has its original padlocks.' Sure enough, they gave easily to his master key. 'Now I will examine the interior.'

In his official, professional mode Kelvin Southwest clearly imagined himself to be the archetype of reliability and efficiency. That wasn't how he came across to Carole, though. To her he was just a pompous little jobsworth.

She stayed outside watching as he entered the hut and, following her movements of the previous day, moved across to the corner and flipped back a triangle of carpet. He again crouched, giving her a further unwanted view of straining shorts and builder's crack. On rising, he was smugly silent as he made notes on his clipboard.

'Someone put the fire out,' reiterated Carole. 'Someone must've—'

Kelvin Southwest raised a hand to silence her and she was duly — though somewhat irritatedly — silent while he completed his notes. Then he looked down at the floorboards and squatted, offering yet more builder's crack.

He rose to his feet and looked at Carole sternly. 'You haven't been fooling with these floorboards, have you?'

'No, of course I haven't.'

'Because someone has hammered some new nails into them.'

'Yes, I noticed that. I was going to—'

He raised his hand again and, to Carole's annoyance, she was again silent.

'I think I know what we should do next,' he announced.

'What?'

His chubby face crinkled again into the expression that he believed to be charming as he said, 'I think we should go and have a cup of tea and talk about things, Mrs Seddon. Or may I call you Carole?'

She wanted to say, 'Mrs Seddon to you,' but hadn't quite got the nerve. Instead, she heard herself saying, 'Yes, of course, Mr Southwest.'

'My friends call me Kel.'

Well, if you think I'm going to call you Kel you've got another think coming, was the thought in Carole's mind as, to her fury, she said, 'Oh, right you are, Kel.'

Kelvin Southwest clearly prided himself on his local knowledge. Assuring Carole that he knew the best tea shop in Smalting, he led her straight to The Copper Kettle on the promenade. She did not think that the guiding hand he occasionally put on her hips was strictly necessary, but he did it in such a way that it could have been accidental. In each instance the contact was so brief that it would have looked excessive for her to have made a fuss.

The flirtatious way with which he greeted the owner and staff of The Copper Kettle showed him to be a regular, and he made such a big deal of the treat he was offering Carole that he could have been taking her to the Savoy Grill.

'Best cup of tea in Smalting,' he assured her. 'And the prettiest waitresses,' he added with a wink to one particularly drab specimen. 'So, a pot of tea for two then.'

'I'd rather have coffee,' said Carole.

'Oh, very well. How would you like it?' he asked. 'A tall skinny latte?'

'Just ordinary coffee, thank you. Black.'

'Right you are.' He favoured the waitress with one of his roguish smiles. 'So, beautiful, that's a pot of tea for one and a black coffee. And would you like something to eat, Carole? Best cakes and pastries in Smalting here, you know.'

'Just the coffee, thank you.'

'Oh. Well, I'll have one of your Swiss buns, angel cake. Because I'm not sweet enough already,' he simpered to the waitress.

This tiresome little ritual concluded and when the girl went off to get their order, Carole became brisk and businesslike. 'Was there some reason why you wanted to talk to me further?'

Kelvin's face took on an expression of mock hurt. 'Does there have to be a reason? Isn't it enough that I should want to spend time with a beautiful woman?'

Her first instinct was to say that she wasn't a beautiful woman, but Carole curbed it. She couldn't face the inevitable blandishments and reassurances that such an assertion would provoke. 'So what is it you want to talk to me about?'

He again looked offended by her directness. 'Well, of course, about the beach hut. About Quiet Harbour.'

'Yes?'

The order arrived, so Kelvin Southwest broke off for a smirk at the waitress and a 'Thank you, my lovely'. He then took a large bite from his Swiss bun, whose icing was soft and left a pink frosting on the moustache of his goatee.

'So what about the beach hut?' Carole went on gracelessly.

'Well, the fire damage will have to be repaired.'

'Obviously. And I assume the repairs will be organized by someone from Fether District Council?'

'Not just someone, Carole.' He beamed as he pointed a chubby finger at his chest. 'By me. By yours truly, Kelvin Southwest.'

'Oh, well, good. How long do you think it'll take?'

'I'll have to get on to the contractors. Depends how busy they are. But with a bit of luck they'll get it done within the month.'

'Within the month? That's no good to me. My daughter-in-law and granddaughter are coming to stay with me on Sunday week.'

'Oh dear, oh dear. I suppose I could tell the contractors it was top priority.'

'If you would, I'd be most grateful.'

He shook his head sceptically. 'I still doubt if they could do it before Sunday week, though.'

'But that's the main reason I took over the beach hut from Philly Rose. So that I'd have it for my granddaughter.'

'Well ..." Kelvin Southwest stroked his wispy goatee with deliberation. 'We are presented with rather a dilemma, aren't we? And that dilemma is not made easier by the fact that your taking over the rental of Quiet Harbour from Philly Rose was not entirely within the strict rules of Fether District Council for the letting of beach huts.'

'But you told me that—'

He raised a placatory hand. 'Don't worry. It's down to me to make that kind of decision. The beach huts are really my empire, you know.'

This was said without irony. He really did believe what he was saying. Carole got the feeling that, to his own mind, the most suitable adjectives to describe Kelvin Southwest might include 'Napoleonic' and 'Churchillian'.

'So,' he went on, 'if I've given my approval of Philly Rose's transfer of the rental to you, that is a decision by which I will stand.'

'Oh, thank you so much, Mr Southwest.'

'Kel, please, Kel.'

'Very well,' said Carole, hiding her distaste, 'Kel.'

He looked at her with an expression of winsome complicity. 'As I may have mentioned, I'm a bit of a sucker when there's a pretty woman involved.'

Carole didn't know whether he was referring to Philly or to her — or to both of them — so her only reaction was a little nervous giggle.

Enjoying the teasing out of his narrative, Kelvin Southwest put the last piece of his Swiss bun into his mouth and masticated it thoroughly before he went on, 'Now I'm a reasonable man, Carole, and when I can I like to help people out — particularly of course when they're pretty women — and I think I can see a way round your little problem . . .'

'Oh?'

'Yes, indeed. You scratch my back and I'll scratch yours.' Carole could only think at that moment of one prospect that appealed to her less than scratching the plump back of Kelvin Southwest. And that was having hers scratched by him.

'You see, Carole, as I said, the beach huts are my empire, and in that empire what I say goes. If I get an applicant for a beach hut who I don't think to be a suitable tenant — and it does happen more often than you might imagine — then I tell them to get lost. Well, no, I don't, not in so many words. I tell them that there are sadly no beach huts available, even if there are. So you see, though I'm employed under the broad umbrella of Fether District Council, within my empire I make my own rules.'

He paused, as if expecting some commendation for this statement, and Carole found herself asking rather fatuously, 'And why not?'

'So, in the same way, Carole, if I were to decide to offer you the use of another vacant hut here on Smalting Beach while Quiet Harbour is being repaired, well, that could be done . . . just on my say-so. It would be up to me to make that decision.'

'Good. Well, I mean, if you could see your way to-'

Again he raised a podgy hand and she was deferentially silent. 'As I said, I'm always happy to oblige when there's a pretty woman involved.' Yes, as you said rather a lot of times, thought Carole. 'So I think that could be the solution, don't you?'

'That you give me the use of an empty beach hut?'

'Yes.'

'Well, that would be very generous of you.'

'I would regard it as the least I could do, Carole. You took over Quiet Harbour from Philly Rose in the belief that you were taking over a perfect working beach hut. You then discovered that it had a hole burned in its floor. Repairing that is within the remit of Fether District Council — or, to be more specific, of me, Kelvin Southwest. It is not your fault that your beach hut has been damaged and you have paid the rental money to Philly Rose in good faith. I would be in dereliction of my duty were I not to attempt to make amends to you.'

We know all that, thought Carole impatiently. Will you please get on with it, you boring little man? 'I would, as I say, be very grateful—'

'Leave it with me,' he said magisterially. 'I will find you another beach hut here on Smalting Beach. It may not be precisely what I should do, according to the terms of my employment by Fether District Council, but it's what I'm going to do. Rules are there for the unimaginative foot soldiers of life. For a maverick free spirit like myself, they are there to be broken. And I'm always prepared to break the rules ..." He brought out his roguish smile again '. . . particularly when there's a pretty woman involved.'

'Well, thank you,' said Carole, thinking that now he had announced what he was going to do, there was nothing to stop him doing it as soon as possible and ending what she was finding a rather awkward tete-a-tete.

But Kelvin Southwest was not yet ready to relinquish his hold on her. He wanted to luxuriate for a while in his magnanimity and her gratitude. So he favoured Carole with tales of other occasions when he'd seen his way to bending Fether District Council's rules in the matter of beach huts.

Eventually, when her eyes were in serious danger of glazing over, he paused long enough for Carole to ask, 'Will you be investigating?'

'Investigating what?' he asked, the wind temporarily taken out of his sails.

'The fire at Quiet Harbour. Will you be trying to find out who was responsible for it?'

'I will try. I will ask around. But without much confidence that I'll find the answer. I'm sure it was done by some kids after dark. I doubt if there were any witnesses.'

'But it looks as though someone put the fire out before it could do any more damage.'

'Maybe, but I shouldn't think anyone witnessed that action either.'

'Perhaps not.'

'And while we're talking of investigation, Carole . . .' A new beadiness came into his eyes '. . . you can assure me, can you, that you had nothing to do with the hammering in of the new nails in the floor of Quiet Harbour?'

'Of course I can. Yesterday morning was the first time I'd been in the place.'

'Yes, yes, right you are.' Finally he rose to his feet, saying, 'Well, Carole, would you like me to show you your new beach hut?'

'Yes, please . . . Kel.'

As she rose, he guided her out of The Copper Kettle, again with a proprietary hand on her lower back. He grinned saucily at the waitresses as they left.

'Oh, what about the bill?' asked Carole when they reached the door. 'For the tea and coffee.'

Winking at her and then at the waitress who'd served them, Kelvin Southwest said, 'Oh, I have an arrangement here. I have an arrangement in a number of places in the area, actually. I do favours for a lot of people and they're happy to do favours for me . . . if you know what I mean. As I said, you scratch my back ..." Rather than finishing the phrase, he let out a fruity chuckle.

Carole recoiled inwardly. She hated to think what kind of favour Kelvin Southwest might think was his due in exchange for the favour he was doing her.