Bones Under The Beach Hut (8 page)

    'What
a good idea. Isn't that rather expensive, though?'

    'The
SBHA has funds to cover the costs.'

    'And
where do those funds come from?'

    'Some
from Fether District Council.' A shadow crossed his face, as though he
regretted having to take help from that source. 'One of the first actions of
the SBHA when I formed it was to lobby the Council for a security officer. And
I won that little battle, as I have won many other set-tos with Fether District
Council.' His face darkened again. 'Though sadly they would not let me sit on
the selection board when the security officer was appointed.'

    'So
are you saying that the Council supports the SBHA financially?'

    'Only
a very little. They do no more than they absolutely have to, and even that is
after a lot of lobbying from us . . . well, from me usually. No, the costs of
running the SBHA are raised largely from subscriptions.'

    'Oh.'
Suddenly Carole realized how she should respond to this prompt. 'Well, I should
pay a subscription, shouldn't I?'

    'Yes,
that would be a good thing. The SBHA exists to look after the concerns of all
beach hut users. And your subscription also entitles you to receive our regular
newsletter,
The Hut Parade.'

    'What
an amusing title,' Carole lied.

    'Well,
we like it.' The smile that accompanied these words left no doubt that it was
Reginald Flowers who had thought up the name for the newsletter. Carole
reckoned he was probably its editor too. 'Your subscription also secures for
you a complimentary annual tide table. All new members get that.' There was
disapproval in Reginald Flowers's voice as he continued, 'I gather you have
taken over the rental of
Quiet Harbour
from Miss Rose.'

    'Yes,
but it's all been cleared with Kelvin Southwest from the Fether District
Council.'

    A
cynical light came into Reginald Flowers's watery blue eyes. 'Oh yes, well,
it's very easy to get things cleared with Mr Southwest, isn't it? Particularly
if you're a woman.'

    Now
she had formed an estimation of Reginald

    Flowers's
character, Carole was unsurprised to find there was friction between him and
Kelvin Southwest. Two control freaks for a single beach is probably one too
many.

    'He
was very reasonable about it,' she said.

    That
prompted a sardonic chuckle. 'Oh yes, I'm sure he was. Always ready to do
little favours for people, our Kelvin, isn't he? Provided of course that the
people are prepared to do little favours for him.' Carole didn't think any
comment was appropriate; she mustn't be seen to be taking sides in what was
clearly an ongoing conflict. 'One day,' Reginald Flowers continued ominously,
'one day our Kelvin is going to take one favour too many . . .'

    'Oh?'

    'There's
a very fine line, Mrs Seddon, between co-operation and corruption, you know.
Still, it wouldn't be the first time a local government officer has taken a
backhander, would it?'

    Once
again Carole decided not to comment. She moved the subject on. 'If you let me
know how much I owe you for the subscription, I'll write you a cheque straight
away.'

    'The
subscription is twenty pounds per annum.'

    'Oh
well, I think I've probably got that in cash. I'm just going for a little walk,
but when I get back to my hut I'll find my handbag and bring the money over to
you.' Carole suddenly realized that, in spite of Reginald Flowers's
reassurances about the security of the Smalting Beach, she had been very
foolish to leave her bag in the hut. She looked over to
Fowey,
but was
relieved to see that Jude, still dressed only in her bikini, was sprawled in
one of the director's chairs.

    'There
is a form for you to fill in,' announced Reginald Flowers. Oh yes, of course there
would be. Carole somehow got the feeling that becoming a member of any
organization run by him would involve a lot of form-filling. He bustled about
inside his naval museum and emerged holding a badly printed form covered with
lots of boxes that Carole could see would be too small for the information they
were meant to contain. And the form was three pages long.

    But
she took it with appropriate gratitude and said she'd bring it back with the
money when she'd filled it in. 'I'll do it the moment I get back to the hut,'
she said, gesturing in the direction of
Fowey.

    Reginald
Flowers looked puzzled. 'I understood that you were taking over Miss Rose's
hut. That's over there.'

    So he
doesn't know everything that goes on in the beach huts, does he? Carole guessed
he didn't know about the fire under
Quiet Harbour,
and for some reason
she didn't feel inclined to tell him about it. All she said was, 'There was a
bit of a problem with that one, so while it's being sorted out, Kelvin
Southwest's let me use
Fowey.'

    'Has
he?' said Reginald Flowers, as if hearing of another example in the long list
of the Council official's transgressions.

    Carole
continued her walk. The hut adjacent to
Quiet Harbour
was still being
ruled by the poisonous matriarch whom Carole had seen on her previous visit.
The downtrodden glumness on the faces of her son Gavin, his wife Nell, and
their children Tristram and Hermione, showed that their stay with Granny was
proving to be a very long week indeed. Carole once again made all kinds of vows
to herself about the way she was going to behave to Lily.

    And
then she was once again outside
Quiet Harbour.
She didn't want to make a
show of inspecting it, so she walked on past. But there was still something
intriguing about the place, oddities that needed explanation, a sense of
unfinished business.

    The
picnic lunch that Jude had prepared was very good. A chicken salad with some
nice crusty bread, suitably light for the hot weather. And, needless to say,
being Jude, she'd brought a bottle of Chilean Chardon- nay in a cool bag.
Carole said she'd just have one glass, but somehow they managed to finish the
bottle. And sitting outside
Fowey
in their director's chairs in the
sunlight, both women found themselves dozing off. To Carole it all felt
titillatingly decadent.

    She
hadn't slept for long when she woke with a start. There had been no sound,
nothing to wake her but her Calvinist conscience. In the other chair Jude still
slept, her large, sagging body as relaxed as a child's. Carole looked across
Smalting Beach with half-closed eyes, the sunlight glowing red through her
lids. And noticed to her surprise that the doors to
Quiet Harbour
were
open.

    Wide
awake now, she saw Kelvin Southwest emerge from the hut with another man
dressed in jeans and a worn T-shirt, who was carrying a clipboard and a tape
measure. They had a little discussion on the sand, then the other man moved
purposefully up the beach to the promenade. Kelvin Southwest didn't follow him.
With trepidation Carole realized that he was coming straight towards
Fowey.
She straightened in her chair and picked up
The Times
crossword,
unwilling to look as if she'd just woken up.

    Reginald
Flowers was still sitting on his wooden chair outside
The Bridge
and
Kelvin Southwest had to walk directly in front of him, but neither man made any
gesture of recognition or greeting.

    The
beach hut emperor of Fether District Council was dressed in the same uniform of
polo shirt and shorts as he had been on Tuesday, but this afternoon he looked
hot and bothered. He still greeted Carole with another of his roguish smiles,
however, together with a hearty, 'Good afternoon, good afternoon.'

    'Good
afternoon, Mr Southwest.'

    'Kel.
Remember, you're Carole and I'm Kel.'

    'Yes
. . .' she forced herself to say it'. . . Kel.'

    Their
voices had woken Jude from her doze and she looked around blearily. Carole
hoped her friend hadn't heard her using the word 'Kel'.

    'And
I am the bearer of glad tidings,' he went on. 'Because it's for
you,
Carole, that I have moved heaven and earth to get the repairs to
Quiet
Harbour
done as soon as possible. In fact, I've just been talking to the
contractor who's doing the job - someone local I've known for a long time. I
put a lot of work his way and he . . . well, let's say we scratch each other's
backs, just as I said it would give me great pleasure to scratch yours.'

    Behind
him Jude had clearly managed to identify

    Kelvin
Southwest from Carole's description, and she was grinning like a Cheshire cat.
Carole tried to avoid catching her friend's eye, fearful of starting to laugh.

    'Well,
anyway, my friend the contractor has had a look at the damage to
Quiet
Harbour.
He reckons it's only three boards that'll need replacing and not
much more than touching up the paint on the outside. So he's just going to get
his tools and he'll be starting the job straight away.' He gave her a wink,
which fortunately Jude couldn't see, or that would have really set them off.
'So who says Kel doesn't sort things out quickly for his favourites, eh?'

    'I'm
sure nobody's ever said that, er . . . Kel.'

    'Well,
let me tell you, Carole, having moved heaven and earth for you, I could do with
a little break. How would you like to join me again at The Copper Kettle?'

    'Well,
that's very kind, but I have just had lunch. And then again I am here with my
friend.'

    He
turned around to where Carole indicated, apparently noticing Jude for the first
time. She rose from her director's chair, grinned at him and said, 'I'm Jude.'

    'Kelvin
Southwest,' he responded, almost brusquely, then turned straight back to
Carole. 'So . . . do you fancy something in The Copper Kettle?'

    'As I
say, I've just had lunch. I really don't want anything at the moment, thank
you.'

    'Oh.
All right. Very well. I'll see you soon no doubt, Carole.' And, clearly put
out, the little man stumped on his little legs up towards the promenade.

    Carole
now dared to catch Jude's eye and both of them burst out laughing. And Carole
was faced with the amazing fact that she had finally met a man who fancied her
more than he fancied Jude.

    But
the thought didn't comfort her as much as it might have done. After all, the
man in question was Kelvin Southwest.

    
The
Times
crossword was a particularly tough one that day. Or maybe the wine
and the distractions of the beach prevented Carole from giving it her full
concentration. She kept looking over to see what was happening at
Quiet
Harbour.

    The
contractor's van must have been parked nearby, because he was back with his
toolbox and some planks very soon after Kelvin Southwest's departure. He went
inside the hut, occasionally reappearing to prop up against its frontage the
roll of carpet and the floorboards he'd removed.

    Then
he came out empty-handed and talked on his mobile phone. Shortly after this
Kelvin Southwest returned to
Quiet Harbour
- maybe the contractor's call
had been to him. The two men went inside. It was some minutes before they
re-emerged. By now the little man from Fether District Council seemed very
agitated. He paced up and down as he too made a call on his mobile.

    It
was less than a quarter of an hour before the police arrived. Two uniforms in a
patrol car. They joined up with Kelvin and the contractor, and all four went
into the hut.

    It
was half an hour before the other police vehicles, which must have been
summoned, started to appear. Some of their occupants began erecting white
screens around
Quiet Harbour,
while four polite but firm WPCs walked
along the shoreline asking all the holidaymakers to leave Smalting Beach.

    Human
remains. That was all that was announced on the local television news the following
morning, the Friday. Police had been summoned to Smalting Beach in West Sussex
following the discovery of what turned out to be human remains under a beach
hut there.

    The
minute the bulletin had finished Carole went straight round to Woodside
Cottage. Jude looked bleary and voluptuous in a floaty, yellow silk dressing
gown, having just stumbled out of bed. Still, catching her at that time meant
she'd got the coffee on.