‘Here we are,’ Mr Piper said a moment later. They had arrived at Wentworth House.
It was a large Victorian building with bay windows at the front which would make the very best of the fine views. It was painted the palest of pinks like the inside of a shell, and it had a brilliant blue front door. And that was all that was needed really, for Kay was in love before she’d even crossed the threshold.
The door opened with two determined pushes and Mr Piper turned to look at her with a nervous smile. ‘Just needs a bit of oil,’ he said.
Kay nodded. She wasn’t going to let a drop of oil come between her and her dream home. Nor was she going to be put off by the strange musty smell which was like a cross between a wet dog and a peed-in bus shelter.
‘Just needs a good airing,’ Mr Piper said.
Kay nodded again, following him inside.
‘The breakfast room,’ Mr Piper announced as they entered a room at the back of the house.
Kay grimaced, thinking that she wouldn’t want to eat in there. The walls were covered in thick gnarly wallpaper that was the colour of nicotine.
‘Just a splash of paint here and there,’ Mr Piper said.
Kay nodded and he led her to the kitchen which was a long thin room in need of some modernisation. Still, it had everything she needed.
The rooms at the front of the house looked far more promising with a proper dining room and a living room, both with bay windows overlooking the sea. Unfortunately, the nicotine-coloured wallpaper covered the walls here too, but Kay could see beyond that to the rooms’ true potential.
Upstairs, there were six rooms, all en suite, and all in need of a bit of a makeover to bring them into the twenty-first century. There were tatty floral wallpapers with the edging peeling by the doors and window frames, there were carpets covered in dizzying swirls and – everywhere she looked – the ugliest brass light fittings she’d ever seen. It would all have to go.
But there was one thing about the house that didn’t need to be changed because it was absolutely perfect and that was the view. Wentworth House was situated in the very heart of Lyme Regis and that meant it had an unrivalled view of the Cobb. Kay gasped when she caught her first glimpse of it from the first bedroom she viewed. It was like a huge grey runway stretching out to sea and there were people walking along it today to enjoy the views just as they would have done in Jane Austen’s time.
‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ she said to Mr Piper. ‘Hmm? Oh, yes,’ he said, noticing what she was looking at. ‘You’re in a very good position here,’ he said. ‘You’ve got the beach, the Cobb and plenty of shops and restaurants. If you really wanted to make a go of this as a bed and breakfast, you should have no trouble at all.’
Kay nodded. A bed and breakfast would be perfect. She could make a good living without having to leave her home which meant she could paint whenever things were quiet. And she liked working with people. Peggy had always been telling her how good she was with people.
‘I’ll take it,’ she said, realising that she’d be spending every penny of her inheritance if she bought it.
Mr Piper looked astounded. ‘But this is the first property you’ve seen.’
‘It’s the only one I need to see. It’s perfect.’
Mr Piper didn’t try to dissuade her. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘shall we get back and make a start on the paperwork?’
Kay smiled. She’d just bought a house – a six-bedroom house and a business venture on the seafront in Lyme Regis. Peggy would be so proud of her.
Chapter Five
Three months later
The rehearsals were over.
Gemma Reilly stood in a corner by the bar, anxiously surveying the rest of the cast. They’d just checked into The Three Palms Hotel in Lyme Regis and welcome drinks were being served in the lounge. A pair of double doors had been opened on to a terrace and most of the cast were enjoying the views of the sea. Most of the cast except Gemma, that was. She felt more like the new girl at school. Everyone seemed to know everyone else. The director, Teresa Hudson, obviously knew everyone, as did the assistant director, Les Brown. Not that he was talking to anyone. He was known as Les Miserable because of his permanent scowl and lack of humour and he wasn’t known for his small talk. Right now, he was emptying a bowl of nuts into the palm of his hand and chasing them down his throat with a gulp of whisky.
Gemma let her eyes roam the room and they rested next on actress Sophie Kerr. Gemma knew of her work – mostly an impressive stint with the Royal Shakespeare Company, wowing audiences with her varied performances from her wonderfully witty Beatrice in Much Ado About Nothing to the most heartbreaking Ophelia in Hamlet. She watched as Sophie flirted with ease with one of the guys who was always carrying cables around. Gemma wasn’t quite sure what he did but he was absolutely spellbound by Sophie and why shouldn’t he be? With her bright blonde curls and bubbly personality, she was the answer to most men’s dreams.
Nearby stood another well-known actress, Beth Jenkins, wearing a dress that was slashed to her navel. She had striking red hair that fell to her shoulders in an immaculately straight curtain and lips that were painted a dangerous-looking red. She was beautiful. She was playing Louisa Musgrove and, from the rumours Gemma had heard, nobody would mind too much if she really did crack her head open after flinging herself from the Cobb during the famous scene from Persuasion. Beth Jenkins was a grade-one bitch.
‘I heard she ran off with the producer’s husband on the set of her last film,’ Gemma heard somebody say behind her. She turned to see two young girls serving behind the bar. They were giggling and whispering, pointing at each actor in turn.
‘Wasn’t she having an affair with that pop star at the same time?’ the other girl said.
‘What pop star?’ her colleague asked.
‘I don’t know. All of them, probably!’
The both giggled again.
Best keep my distance from her, Gemma thought.
That was the problem with filming, though. Casts became like families in that you couldn’t easily escape one another. Gemma had already learned that on her first production – a TV drama called Into the Night. Part love story, part whodunnit, it had been cruelly slated by the critics, as had Gemma’s performance.
‘Destined to play nothing more than the blonde bimbo,’ the television critic from Vive! had said.
‘Legs like runner beans,’ Star Turn had said, ‘and they were her best feature.’
Gemma had been mortified and had gone into hiding for months, dyeing her hair black and building her leg muscles up at the gym.
Things weren’t helped by the fact that her mother was the much-loved actress, Kim Reilly, who’d starred in the seventies cult TV show, Bandits. As soon as Gemma had dared to follow in her footsteps, comparisons had been made. It was inevitable, she supposed. Her mother had been beautiful, talented and lucky. Bandits had been one of the biggest shows of the time with sky-high viewing figures. It had run for five series before the lead actor had been tragically killed in a motorbike accident. If that hadn’t happened, it would probably still be running today, Gemma often thought, her mother dressed in her trademark skin-tight trousers and skimpy tops, her hair blow-dried and bouffant.
Her mother had never topped her performance in Bandits although she had tried to top herself a couple of times. In the public’s mind, she personified success; women wanted to be her and men wanted to bed her. But she was incredibly fragile and, although she adored attention, she also found life in the public eye difficult to cope with. Gemma,