Page 27 of The Love Game

He frowned, and then he sighed, and then he nodded. ‘Okay.’

And then he closed her door, leaving her staring at it and feeling as frustrated with him as she did with his bloody mother. One way or another the Dearhearts were driving her nuts.

Violet sat in the chair in the bay window of her mermaid bedroom and watched the sun come up, rose-gold fingers of light across a deep purple sky.

It was Saturday morning, the day she’d invited the local community to come and see the pier for themselves.

The weather forecast was for a bright May day, cakes had been baked and bought, and the new coffee machine installed and ready to dispense cup after cup of designer coffee.

Who wouldn’t fancy a slice of Barty’s carrot cake and a stroll along the pier?

He’d been a great help in spreading the word at all of his various clubs; Violet couldn’t have asked for someone more practised at banging the jungle drums.

‘Sorry Gladys, no rain today,’ Vi murmured. She was sure the Mayoress would know all about the open day by now and had no doubt been hoping rain would blow in and spoil play. She’d been well and truly thwarted on that score; the last weekend in May promised blue skies and sunshine.

From Violet’s bedroom window she could see the pier, the early morning sun slanting off the glass birdcage balanced out over the sea.

At this time of morning the swallows gathered; she could just about make them out.

The sight of them always touched a place in her heart; she could well imagine that Monica had drawn pleasure from them too.

Much had changed in Swallow Beach since her grandmother’s day, but the sight of the swallows would have been just the same.

It was a comforting thought to start the day on.

‘Okay, let’s do this,’ Keris said, trying to whip them all up into a frenzy of excitement.

It was just before eight in the morning, and the occupants of the pier were gathered bright and early in Keris’s shop at the front of the birdcage, which was looking rather splendid now that she’d worked her magic.

The old wooden and glass display case looked fabulous stocked with Cal’s work, and Beau’s cage was now inhabited by a taxidermied fox, which looked terribly avant-garde.

Beau and Cal had cleverly worked together too to create a new line of leather jewellery and accessories especially for the shop: ribbon and shell bracelets and necklaces similar to the one Cal had given Violet; funky silver rings Beau had fashioned from a box of old cutlery found in the birdcage; little delicate glass and fretwork replicas of the birdcage; and belts, key rings and purses.

It was a great idea – give the public something they could actually buy for themselves or as momentos and gifts.

Lucy had done her bit too, taking wonderfully atmospheric shots of the pier at dawn and sunset, of the beautiful old gates and of Swallow Beach town itself.

She’d made them into prints and postcards, and Keris had used them to create a breathtaking display on one side of the shop.

And to top it all off, Lola the headless showgirl stood proud in one corner, allowed a one-day pass out of Violet’s studio just to add a little extra open-day pizazz.

‘Coffee’s good,’ Beau said.

The newly installed machine was quite a hulk of a thing in chrome and green, but with a bit of coaxing it produced a cracking cappuccino and a killer espresso in cups liveried up with Swallow Beach Pier.

Violet loved them a disproportionate amount for a throwaway cup; they suggested established, here to stay regardless.

The plan for the day was for everyone to be hard at work in their studios, business as usual, except with an open-door policy for visitors to wander in and see what they were up to.

Barty was spending the day with them on cake duty, perched on a chair at a trestle table just outside the birdcage entrance doors.

It had been his idea: an elder statesman of the community acting as the welcome committee to sweeten them up.

‘And the carrot cake is rather excellent, even if I do say so myself,’ Barty said, preening in his Hawaiian shirt and fedora.

‘Someone’s coming,’ Lucy said, squinting along the pier back towards dry land.

‘God, there is as well,’ Violet said. ‘Quick, stations everyone!’

They all scattered, leaving just Keris, Barty and Violet in the shop.

Barty put his arm around Violet. ‘Curtain up, then.’ He gave her shoulders a bolstering little squeeze. ‘ Bonne chance , darling.’

Violet nodded, a lump in her throat as he headed outside to welcome the first of the open-day visitors. Bonne chance . It was the exact same phrase her Grandpa Henry had used in his letter willing her Swallow Beach Pier.

It was just after eleven in the morning, and Violet was almost drunk on delight.

There had been a steady flow of visitors all morning, and none of them had seemed especially resistant to the new use of the pier.

Perhaps it was because many were friends and acquaintances of Barty’s from his numerous clubs; his nude drawing class were particularly appreciative.

Mavis, the Rubenesque life model, went so far as to become Lucy’s first booking of the day after half an hour spent lying on the chaise in the photography studio.

Violet turned over the corset she was working on, threading the scarlet ribbons methodically through the eyelets down the back as an older woman came in and walked across to Vi’s worktable, her weight borne on a stick painted red and white like a barber’s shop light.

‘I see the rumours are true,’ she said, leaning against the table, eyeing Violet keenly. ‘Good God. It’s as if she’s come back to haunt us.’

Vi looked up and smiled, and the woman leaned in closer for a good look at her face and then backed up a little, as if she wasn’t keen on what she saw.

‘I don’t think she’d have wanted you to come here,’ she said quietly, her gaze locked on Violet’s.

‘Monica knew, you see, in the end. She knew that for all its beauty, this pier can be a cruel mistress.’ She spread her hands to the sides, moving them up and down like weighing scales.

‘It gives, it takes away.’ She picked her stick up again from where she’d rested it. ‘There. I consider my debt repaid.’

Startled, Violet opened her mouth to speak and then closed it again because the woman turned her back and walked away, clearly in no mind to elaborate or explain.

What on earth had that been all about? Her mind raced.

It was obvious that the woman had known Monica; Violet laid her work down carefully and headed to her doorway just in time to see Barty touch his hat at the woman as she passed his table on her way out.

‘Who was that woman, Barty?’ she asked, walking outside to stand beside him, turning her face up towards the warmth of the sunshine.

‘Why?’ He lifted the brim of his fedora and looked at her over the top of his sunglasses, his eyes guarded. ‘Did she say something to you?’

Violet frowned. ‘I think she knew my grandmother.’

Barty lowered his hat, preventing Vi from being able to read his expression. ‘She’s certainly old enough,’ he muttered. ‘Got a good ten years on me, in any case.’

Violet caught the tang of dislike on his words. ‘Who is she?’

‘Her name is Hortensia Deville.’

Well, there was a name Violet wasn’t likely to forget. ‘I got the impression she isn’t very fond of the pier.’

Barty sighed. ‘Possibly not. She did sell it, after all.’