‘No one she’d had any contact with in a considerable period of time. Miss Bishop was of sound mind when she drew up her will, my dear, I can assure you it’s all entirely legal and above board. She put all her affairs in order last year.’ Mr Symonds removed the tortoiseshell framed glasses perched on the end of his nose and placed them on the blotter in front of him. ‘I assumed it was something she might have mentioned to you, given the closeness between the two of you. I didn’t mean to shock you like this.’
Assuming his request to meet had been to deal with a few formalities and she’d be in and out, Beth had turned down Eliza’s offer to accompany her. A decision she regretted now. She tried to swallow away the lump in her throat. ‘We hadn’t spoken much lately. Things have been very busy, and I wasn’t aware she’d been unwell.’ When the doctor had talked her through the events leading up to Eleanor’s death, he’d mentioned her suffering from angina—something her old friend had singularly failed to mention to her. Whenever she’d asked after her health, Eleanor had sworn that beyond the usual aches and pains of old age she was fit as a fiddle. And Beth had taken it at face value.
‘Would you like a cup of tea, my dear? You’ve gone quite pale.’ She nodded and the solicitor all but leapt out of his high-backed leather chair to hurry to the kettle resting on a side table. Beth turned her head to stare out of the window and across the dark brown fields. Unlike the emporium and the pub, Mr Symonds’ office was located off the seafront, facing across the rolling hills which gave the area its name. The barren soil would soon give way to green shoots, and later turn into a sea of purple in every hue from the palest lilac to a rich, imperial shade.
Closing her eyes, she pictured the lavender farm in full bloom, a heat haze shimmering over the fields carrying the heady scent of the plants on the breeze. The thing she loved about Lavender Bay more than anything was the smell of it—comforting and rich, with a unique tang from the salt air of the sea. She’d bought perfumes, oil burners, even pillow sprays back in London, but had never found anything close to matching it.
The rattle of a teaspoon against china disturbed her thoughts, and she opened her eyes to find Mr Symonds leaning over to place a cup and saucer in front of her. ‘I’ve added milk, would you like a bit of sugar, too? Might make you feel better.’
She smiled at the genuine concern on his face. Poor man must get people blubbing and wailing all the time during appointments like this. ‘No, I’m fine, thank you. Just a bit shocked, as you said. I … it never occurred to me for one moment that Eleanor intended me to inherit the shop, or anything else for that matter. I’m not quite sure what to do, to be honest. My life is in London.’
And what an amazing life it was. A disappointing job with a terrible boss, a single room in a rundown house in the suburbs. Such a far cry from the perfect flat, the perfect boyfriend, the perfect life she’d thought she’d had once. She was so far from her ambitions and expectations, and with no idea of how to get out of the rut. But no, they’d never been her ambitions or expectations, they’d been her mother’s.
It had taken only a few days back in the bay to underline the fact that the people she socialised with in London were little more than acquaintances. The girls from the office, a couple of her housemates. They’d go for a drink or maybe a trip to the cinema occasionally, but if she never saw them again, she wouldn’t feel the loss of their company. Not any more than they would hers, no doubt. It didn’t matter how many times she told herself, and her friends, that she was over Charlie’s betrayal, there was no denying the fact she hadn’t moved on—only moved into hiding. The only people she cared for were Ravi and Callum, and half the time she felt like she was imposing on their good natures.
Mr Symonds settled back behind his desk, then pulled open one of the drawers to rummage inside. ‘There’s a letter from Eleanor which might help to explain things. I thought you might want to read it later, when you have some privacy.’
He placed the thick cream envelope on the desk between them, his hand hesitating over it for a moment, before he withdrew and folded his arms across his chest. ‘I also feel I should let you know that I have a standing offer from an interested party regarding any property in the bay which may come up for sale.’
Beth blinked. ‘Sale?’
‘Well, yes. There’s no mortgage entailed on the premises. If you did decide to sell it, you could realise a fair amount of money. We’d have to get you a proper valuation, of course, but this party is willing to offer five percent below market value for a quick settlement. There’d be no agent’s fees to pay so you’d likely make more than if you listed it on the open market.’
Confused, Beth took a sip of her tea as she tried to sort through the fresh onslaught of information. It was hard to focus on anything other than the envelope containing Eleanor’s last words to her, but she forced herself to try. ‘Are you telling me someone has already offered to purchase the emporium?’
The solicitor steepled his fingers beneath his chin. ‘No, not exactly. There’s a developer chap who’s keen to invest in the bay. He left me with an instruction to advise him of any property which becomes available on the promenade. I’ve made him aware the owner of the emporium has passed away, and he asked me to table the offer. There’s no expectation, you understand, but I feel duty bound to pass this information on to you.’
And duty bound to collect the conveyancing fee on any sale, no doubt. Beth dismissed the uncharitable thought almost as soon as it arose. Mr Symonds had been nothing but kind to her since this whole terrible situation had started. As soon as he’d heard she was working on the arrangements, he’d told her the expenses would be covered by a funeral plan Eleanor had taken out, which had been a great relief. ‘Can I have a little bit of time to think about things?’
‘Yes. Yes, of course.’ He opened the top drawer of his desk again, this time retrieving a business card. ‘Give me a call next week.’
The promenade lay in the opposite direction to the train station, but Beth found herself moving on autopilot until she wound up standing opposite the emporium. The duck-egg blue signage board above the window was faded and flaking, with several of the gold embossed letters missing. Dirt obscured the bottom half of the plate glass and what stock she could see through the occluded window looked dusty and neglected. A pile of post lay scattered across the floor behind the door. Pressing her nose closer to the window, she could see past the dirt and cobwebs to a happier time.
She remembered standing in the shop just after her mother left for Florida, excitedly tearing the paper away from an enormous package Eleanor had presented her with. ‘What on earth is it?’
Eleanor, resplendent in one of the bright floral dresses she favoured and the ever-present rope of pearls at her throat, smiled at the younger Beth. ‘As soon as I saw it at the auction house, I simply had to have it.’
Beth smiled as she continued to unwrap the item. A flash of yellow, something darker nearer the top. She tapped her knuckles against it. Whatever it was, it was made of wood. After tearing free the last shreds of paper, she stepped back, mouth rounded in surprise. ‘It’s …’ There were no words to describe what her eyes were showing her. Six feet tall if it was an inch, a giant banana curved from a square base, the ugliest carved monkey she’d ever seen clinging to the top of it. No, there were no words. None that she could say without hurting Eleanor’s feelings at least. ‘It’s … unique.’
‘Isn’t it marvellous?’ Eleanor clapped her hands together. ‘We can stand it just inside the door, use it to display things.’
A woman’s shrill voice interrupted her thoughts, dragging Beth back to the present. ‘I hope they’ll finally do something with this place.’ The prim comment came from somewhere behind Beth.
Resentful of the intrusion, she turned to glare at the speaker. A middle-aged woman with an unfortunate perm and too much foundation smiled back at her. The scarf at her throat looked expensive,