A Seaside Affair: A heartwarming, gripping read from the Top Ten bestseller. Fern Britton
supporters and we will fight the council all the way.
Pam: You’ve got a fighting fund, have you?
Audrey: We are establishing one right now with the help of a local television producer – Penny Leighton. She’s our vicar’s wife and very hands-on with local issues. Also Piran Ambrose—
Pam: A local historian we know well here at Cornwall Radio.
Audrey: Indeed. Piran has assured the action group that he can prove the historical importance of the Pavilions and—
Audrey was cut off mid-flow by Piran pulling the plug. Pointing at the now-silent radio in frustration, he turned to Helen. ‘That bloody Tipton woman! I have assured her blasted action group of no such thing – I haven’t even been approached by them. And if she had bloody well approached me …’
Leaving him ranting at the kitchen sink, punctuating each sentence by slinging one of yesterday’s dinner plates noisily into the bowl, Helen picked up her coffee and tiptoed back to bed.
*
Piran wasn’t the only one left apoplectic by Audrey’s comments. Over at the vicarage, Penny was pacing up and down the kitchen in a fury.
‘How can she be allowed to say that stuff? Now she’s put my name out there, people will think I’m committed to the cause.’
Simon ran a hand over his balding head and ventured tentatively, ‘I know she’s put you in a terrible position, darling, but …’ his chocolate eyes took on a pleading look. ‘I’m sure you could phone a few of your actor friends to help, couldn’t you?’
‘It’s not as simple as that. These people have lives of their own and busy diaries. Plus they’re swamped with requests to do something for nothing. No – I can’t do it. I won’t. Besides, what time do I have to get involved? We’re about to start filming the Tibbs series – I won’t have a moment to call my own until that’s done and dusted.’
‘I see.’ Simon’s expression hovered somewhere between expectation and disappointment.
‘Now don’t give me that look.’ Penny hated letting down her loving and devoted husband, especially when he asked so little of her.
He turned away. ‘Well, I must get on. Things to do.’
Penny could feel the hot itch of guilt and duty creeping up the back of her neck. Bloody Pavilions, what did any of it have to do with her?
‘Oh, all right,’ she sighed.
Simon’s face lit up and he stepped forward to kiss her, but she restrained him with a gentle hand on his chest.
‘No, darling, I’m not saying I’ll do it. I’m saying all right, I’ll think about it.’
‘Really?’ He beamed at her in delight. ‘Oh, Pen, I knew you wouldn’t let us down.’
‘No promises, Simon. This won’t be easy and I’m not a miracle worker.’
‘Oh yes you are,’ said Simon, giving her a hug before heading off to prepare for morning service.
‘And don’t forget,’ Penny called after him, ‘I’m doing this for you, not Audrey bloody Tipton!’
*
In the Tiptons’ kitchen, Geoffrey was dutifully congratulating his wife. ‘Well done, Audrey. You were magnificent.’
‘Thank you, Geoffrey.’
‘When did you get Piran on board?’
‘I haven’t actually spoken to him – Simon was supposed to do that, but he went about it in his usual wishy-washy way and got a wishy-washy response in return. He can’t go backing out of it now though, can he!’ she announced smugly.
‘Aud, you’re a genius!’ Geoffrey was about to say more but was interrupted by the phone ringing. He lifted the receiver: ‘Good morning, Tipton residence – Geoffrey Tipton speaking.’
An angry voice growled, ‘Is your meddling wife there?’
‘Excuse me, but who is calling?’
‘Piran Ambrose.’
Geoffrey felt a squirt of fear in his stomach, ‘I’ll just get her for you.’ Thrusting the phone at his wife as if it were a hot potato, he whispered, ‘It’s Piran – he wants a word.’
Audrey’s lips, stained with carmine matte lipstick, curled in something approximating a grin. ‘So, the mountain has finally come to Audrey Tipton,’ she said, sotto voce, holding out an imperious hand for the receiver.
*
Piran’s truck rattled loudly as he hit a lump of dry mud, left by the tyres of some long-gone tractor. ‘That woman thinks she’s Margaret Thatcher. She’s touched in the head! “No, no, no, Mr Ambrose –”’ Helen was reduced to giggles by his booming attempt to emulate Audrey Tipton’s dominating voice – ‘“We are not going to let the Pavilions go without a fight, Mr Ambrose.” I’ll give ’er a fight, all right.’
Despite his protestations, it looked to Helen as though Audrey had indeed got the better of Piran – for now.
They were on their way to the Pavilions, where Audrey had organised an emergency press conference.
They pulled up in the car park, its once smooth tarmac now a craze of cracks, rudimentary repairs and an astonishingly lovely display of willowherb gently going to seed.
A small crowd had formed on the steps to the theatre. Audrey was standing on the top step, and as Helen and Piran approached they could hear her penetrating voice, hectoring the group and one man in particular.
‘Councillor Bedford, you call yourself a man of principle, a man of Cornwall – nay, of Trevay. We, on the other hand, call you “Liar”!’
‘Now steady on, Mrs Tipton.’ Councillor Bedford, a pugnacious man in his forties, squared up to her. ‘This is all a storm in a coffee cup! I want the best for the community. If the council comes to a satisfactory agreement with Café Au Lait, the Pavilions will have a new lease of life and there will be many more jobs for local people.’
There was a smattering of applause from the crowd. Audrey quelled them with a look. ‘So, we have traitors in the ranks, do we? We think a few jobs and the loss of an important community facility is OK, do we?’ The crowd shuffled and looked at their feet.
Helen, standing a short distance away, was distracted by the arrival of a small white car containing the journalist from the Trevay Times and a photographer. She nudged Piran, but failed to get his attention as he was listening to Councillor Bedford, who was beginning to lose his rag.
‘Mrs Tipton, if you or any of your followers had bothered to look after this building, to use it and support it over the last decades, we wouldn’t be in this situation. People like you are hypocrites. If you hadn’t sat idly by, this theatre could have been saved years ago.’
‘How dare you speak to my wife that way, you insolent pipsqueak!’ Mr Audrey weighed in. ‘I demand an apology.’
‘You’re not getting one,’ snarled Councillor Bedford. He turned to the wider audience: ‘You have five weeks from today to come up with a viable business plan for this place. After that, the council’s negotiations with Café Au Lait enter the formal stages of agreement. Good day to you all and good luck.’
‘’ang on a minute, Councillor.’ Piran moved to bar his way. ‘What will you and Café Au Lait be agreeing on? There are rules to follow about this sort of thing – planning applications, consultation with local businesses and residents, public hearings … Seems to me like Café Au Lait are being given a fast track through the back door.’
Councillor Bedford looked Piran up and down with contempt and spoke at a level only the two of them could hear. ‘Oh dear,’ he hissed. ‘She’s got our eminent local historian