Bernard and Robbie plumped for the skate too, as much to keep Oliver company as for any other reason, although it was also less heavy on their wallets, which was also beneficial. Neither man had unlimited funds for their holiday, unlike, no doubt, the Reverend Nigel Soames.

  Oliver looked pale and drawn, despite his long days in the sun. Nigel, by contrast, looked the picture of obese, ebullient health as he stuffed himself with the Dover sole and double portion of chips. Oliver looked at Robbie, and a look of fellow feeling passed between them.

  “You look rather tired, Dr MacTavish,” said Oliver.

  “Call me Robbie, please,” said that man.

  “Robbie. Are you quite well?”

  “To tell you the truth, I didn’t sleep very well last night.”

  Bernard interrupted. “He had a nightmare, that’s all.” He was getting very hungry now as he waited impatiently for his food. The waitress kept passing their table with laden trays, none of which seemed to be for them.

  “It wasn’t a nightmare,” insisted Robbie quietly.

  “No?” said Oliver politely. There was something in his tone which suggested that he believed him.

  It was Nigel’s turn to interrupt. “Make your mind up, man. Either you had a nightmare or you didn’t. Which is it?”

  “I didn’t have a nightmare,” said Robbie with determination. He flicked the menu crossly. “It was real. My room is haunted.”

  Bernard’s heart sank. Robbie wasn’t having any truck with a mere nightmare. Were they at the start of another psychic adventure?

  “Haunted?” echoed Nigel. “Poppycock! No such thing as ghosts.” Even though it was only last year he had come into contact with his first ghost, and the hair on the back of his neck had yet to settle back into place.

  Oliver slammed down his knife and fork. “I wish you wouldn’t be so cavalier, Reverend. You know you can’t be so categorical about such things. You – of all people, after what happened – or what you told me happened last year. Are you saying it wasn’t true?”

  Nigel took another mouthful of Dover sole and looked sheepish. He only shrugged.

  Robbie was animated now. “I didn’t actually see anyone, but I felt someone. It was a woman. She was in the bed with me.” He had the grace to blush as he said this.

  Nigel’s fat eyebrows made their way slowly up the expanse of his forehead. “You two are behaving like hysterical women,” he said bluntly. “There’s no such thing as ghosts, I tell you.”

  Robbie couldn’t believe the man’s hypocrisy. “What are you talking about? You yourself saw and even spoke to a ghost didn’t you? I don’t remember calling you an ‘hysterical woman’ at the time.”

  Nigel stopped eating for a fraction of a second; that was all he would allow himself. To get so fat, he would have to consume food practically every minute of the day. “I take your point,” he said. “But I have since come to the conclusion that what I witnessed was an optical illusion of some sort. Maybe auto-suggestion.” He resumed the mastication process.

  Robbie felt like kicking him. He was astonished how much the man was in denial of what had happened. “How can you say that? It was what you discovered from the ghost – which you say didn’t exist – that unmasked a murderer. We found the evidence only because you got the information from the ghost.”

  Nigel looked even more sheepish, but continued to brazen it out. “Pure coincidence. Just a lucky guess, old man.” It was very unconvincing, but Robbie could see he was butting his head against a brick wall.

  Oliver wiped his mouth with his napkin and took a sip of water, all the while signalling with his eyebrows at Bernard. At that moment, the waitress brought Bernard’s and Robbie’s meals.

  As the two men tucked in with gusto, Oliver cleared his throat. “Can I tell them what happened to me, Nigel?”

  Nigel sighed as he finished the last of his food. “If you must,” he said grudgingly. “I can’t stop you.”

  “Thank you.” Oliver paused for a moment, then he began. “I believe Robbie’s story, because I was at Sunnyside up until a couple of days ago. I had to leave.”

  “What?” Robbie was smiling with satisfaction now. “Did you have someone in bed with you too?”

  “No, I didn’t. My experience was even worse than that.”

  Robbie smirked at Bernard, as if to say: “See – I told you so.”

  Oliver looked nervous as he began his story.

  He had dined alone on his first night at the Sunnyside. As he waded through an indifferent plate of cottage pie and baked beans, he thought with rancour of the meal the Reverend Soames would be enjoying in his swish hotel at that very moment. They were both on their own, so it wouldn’t have hurt him to invite him to dinner, he thought crossly. He left half of his tasteless apple pie and skipped coffee. The only nice thing about the meal had been the waitress. She was very pretty, a pleasure to look at, which was more than could be said for the food she served to him.

  It was just gone ten o’clock, and it had been a long day. The train journey from London had been tiring, not simply because of the distance covered, but because of the man in the carriage with him. Nigel Soames hadn’t stopped talking from the moment they had left Euston until they had pulled into Blackpool Pleasure Beach station. He tried to remember something of what he had said, but it all merged into one long diatribe about the wrongs of the world and its wife. He agreed with some of Nigel’s views, but generally was more inclined to forgive, or overlook, his fellow man’s little idiosyncrasies and peccadilloes. Not so his lord and master. Everything was either black or white with him.

  As Oliver left the dining room he thought, on balance, his lonely meal had actually been preferable to having Nigel for company. His ears were still ringing from the sound of that booming voice. He returned to his room, quite ready for a good night’s rest.

  He entered the room and switched on the light, yawning as he crossed the floor to the window. It was very stuffy, but otherwise there was nothing out of the ordinary. He realised just how tired he was as he looked at the bed. The covers were turned down. His library book was on the side table, and he remembered how he had been enjoying it on the train before Nigel had interrupted him for most of the journey. He would at least be able to read a couple of chapters before sleep would no doubt overtake him. There was a carafe of water on the bedside table too, newly replenished with a clean glass beside it. The curtains were drawn and the room looked cosy and inviting.

  He undressed and slipped on his dressing gown. He collected up his toiletries and towel and prepared to go to the bathroom, hoping it wasn’t occupied. He was in luck. There was nothing that he wanted more at that precise moment than a long wallow in a warm bath.

  Refreshed, he returned to his room to find it completely changed. It was cold, bitterly cold. The window wasn’t open, so there was no accounting for the chilly atmosphere. The bed looked as if someone had been lying on it and his book had been thrown on the floor. He hugged his dressing gown around him to no avail: he was shivering so much he thought he was about to faint.

  He collapsed onto the bed and closed his eyes. Something or someone was in the room with him. Slowly, he opened his eyes. The woman was standing by the window, her hand clasped to her throat. She was young and beautiful, but Oliver was terrified of her. What was she doing in his room? Then he saw the blood. Through her milky white fingers it oozed, dripping onto the carpet at her feet. He tried to scream, but no sound came out. Merciful blackness followed.

  When he came to, the woman had gone. There was no tell-tale blood stain on the carpet where she had been standing, and the room was warm – too warm now. He stood up and tottered over to the bed, which was now pristine, with the covers turned down ready for him. His book was back in place, the bookmark where he had left it.

  He was alone, and he had never felt more lonely in his life.

  August 1920: Blackpool

  The Sunnyside Guest House was situated in a side street off the Blackpool promenade. There were many such in Blackpool in the early part of the last century, and couldn’t compete with the splendours of the big hotels situated along the seafront. But it had its regular clientele, and Ivy Conway made a good living from the kind of people who found it more economically convenient to stay there.

  In the hot summer of 1920, the Elphinstones paid their first and, as it turned out, their only visit to Ivy’s establishment. Mr Aubrey Elphinstone entered the building, his wife, Elsa, on his arm, and their pretty daughter, Mary, following closely behind. Mary, being a callow eighteen-year-old, much sheltered from the wicked world by her doting parents, screamed when she first set eyes on Ivy. She was the living image of every evil witch she had read about in fairy stories, with that livid scar down her left cheek, and that distorted smile.

  Ivy only expected such a reaction from an ignorant child. This young woman should have known better, in her opinion.

  “Be quiet!” she ordered. “What is the matter?”

  Mary, in order to stop herself from screaming again, stuffed her hand into her mouth and buried her face in her father’s waistcoat.

  “There, there, pet,” said Aubrey Elphinstone indulgently. “The kind lady isn’t going to hurt you.”

  It was to be hoped not, at least, but Mr Elphinstone could see by the glare in Ivy’s eyes that he might not be totally correct in that assumption.

  “I do apologise for my daughter, Mrs Conway,” he said, ruffling Mary’s hair. “She is highly strung, you see.”

  Ivy wasn’t particularly placated by the handsome gentleman’s soft words, but realised they would have to do. He had apologised, but at the same time, had more or less implied she was some sort of a freak to cause his darling daughter such distress. She watched coldly as young Mary sobbed quietly, and her mother fumbled for a handkerchief in her reticule.

  That was the arrival of the Elphinstones at the Sunnyside Guest House, and it had been witnessed by Mr Elmer Smallpurse.

  Ivy snapped the register shut and put it back under the reception desk. She was angry, livid in fact. Not only had that chit of a girl screamed at the sight of her, she had the temerity to be very pretty too. Every time she saw a pretty girl it brought home to her that she was no longer able to compete with them.

  ‘Highly strung’, indeed, she thought bitterly. She’d give her ‘highly strung’. By a rope, if she had her way.

  As she was thinking this, Elmer Smallpurse approached the desk. “Good day, ma’am,” he said. “Another lovely one, I see.”

  Ivy didn’t much like Elmer Smallpurse either. She knew the domestic staff liked him because he gave them big tips. Throwing money about was so vulgar; typical yank. It showed a lack of class. If people had real money, they usually had the grace not to push it down one’s throat like that. But the Americans were hardly civilised in her opinion. However, she was polite. He was a paying guest, after all, and a well-paying one at that. Ivy Conway knew which side of her bread had the butter on.

  “Yes, indeed, sir,” she replied, her temper now under control. “Are you going to the beach today?”

  “Yes, indeedy,” he replied. “I see we have some new arrivals. Pretty gal, that.”

  Ivy’s temper was aroused once more. Men! So shallow. The minute a pretty face showed up, they slavered at the mouth.

  “Is she? I hadn’t noticed,” she said, feigning a lack of interest.

  “Are they staying long?”

  “They’ve booked for a fortnight,” Ivy informed him patiently.

  “Maybe I can tag along with them, as I’m on my little ol’ ownsome,” said Elmer, more to himself than Ivy. “Show them the Blackpool sights.”

  “You can’t have seen much of them yourself yet, sir,” said Ivy, sardonically.

  “I guess not. But, shoot, I guess they won’t mind.”

  Ivy wished him joy of little Mary Elphinstone. Did he really see himself as a suitor to that slip of a thing, she wondered. He was hardly a young girl’s dream man. Prince Charming he wasn’t. And he was old enough to be her father.

  But there was one thing is his favour, of course: his money.

  August 1919: Blackpool

  Meriel Forwood stood on the steps of the Sunnyside Guest House watching her husband as he climbed into the carriage. She secretly cursed his sister for taking him away from her. She also cursed Hermione’s husband for being so stupid as to get himself killed fighting for his country. She was crying as she waved Captain Forwood goodbye.

  “Please come back soon,” she said, dabbing her eyes with her hanky.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can, I promise,” the young soldier reassured her. “Take good care of yourself, my darling. Don’t forget to ask Mrs Conway for anything, anything at all. I know she will look after you.”

  Left alone, she felt suddenly bereft. Why hadn’t she gone with him after all? She had looked forward to her honeymoon through the long, dark days of the war, and now, in one short moment, it was ruined. But something or, more accurately, someone, had made her want to stay behind. It was that young man she saw handing in his key at the desk.

  Standing in the reception area, she observed Ivy in a detached, emotionless way. If she looked like that, she thought, she’d have done herself in. She could see no point in existing with such deformity. She had grown used to the reaction she had on men, and their admiration was what she craved and had come to expect; had the right to expect. If ever there came a time she didn’t receive it, she would surely shrivel like a flower without sunshine or rain. People were always telling her how beautiful she was, but how vain she was too. They were always warning her to just wait till she got old; it would be a different story then. But Meriel wasn’t going to get old, at least not so old she became an object of disgust or derision or, even worse, simply ignored. Her life would be over then, she was sure. Once she reached thirty-five she would have to find a painless way of ending it all. Of course her young husband worshipped the very ground she walked on now, but would he do so when she was in her mid-thirties? She didn’t think so. No woman could get that old and still be lovable.

  Her thoughts returned to the young man she had seen just before her husband’s departure. He had given her the glad eye as he had strode out of the door. That was nothing unusual, of course. She knew she was looking exceptionally lovely this morning, all in pink. She wondered when he would be returning. It was only ten o’clock in the morning; what if he didn’t return until the evening? What would she do with herself all day, on her own? She felt as if she had been deserted, not only by her husband, but by this other man, whom she didn’t even know. Then a thought struck her. What if he were married? What if he was here with his wife? And family, even?

  Mrs Conway called across to her. “Are you all right there, Mrs Forwood?” she said.

  “Er, yes, Mrs Conway, thank you. Don’t trouble yourself on my account.”

  “Would you like some refreshment? Tea, perhaps?” Ivy persisted. Nice Captain Forwood had especially asked her to look after his bitch of a wife, and she was going to do so despite the snub.

  “No – no, thank you. I think I’ll just take a stroll along the promenade.”

  “By yourself, Mrs Forwood? Is that advisable?”

  Meriel wasn’t at all sure that it was, but she didn’t think Mrs Conway had any right to cross-question her. She wasn’t her mother – thank God.

  “I am perfectly capable of walking by myself, Mrs Conway, thank you.”

  “It’s a shame that Mr Penrose has just left as I’m sure he would have been only too happy to accompany you.”

  Was it her imagination, or was that a sneer on her ugly face, thought Meriel. It was hard to tell whether she was smiling or grimacing, with that scar.

  “Forgive me, Mrs Conway, but I don’t believe I have been introduced to him,” she said haughtily.

  “No,” said Ivy, “but I’m sure we can get over that obstacle easily enough. Mr Penrose is one of my regular guests, so I’m sure I could affect an introduction for you both.”

  Meriel still wasn’t sure if she was being sarcastic or not. Probably, she thought. But that didn’t matter if it meant getting to know that handsome man. Was there a flicker of conscience about her absent husband? Again, probably. But didn’t someone once say: How happy could I be with either, were t’other dear charmer away? And she sometimes wondered, just sometimes, whether her beauty was wasted on only one man.

  Meriel was debating whether to go out on her own, when Darien Penrose walked back into the lobby.

  “Forgot my watch, Mrs Conway,” he called as he made for the stairs. “Forget my head if it wasn’t screwed on.”

  As he swept past Meriel, he caught the faint scent of lavender. He stopped and turned quickly. There she was, that lovely lass he had seen on his way out a short while ago. It must have been fate to have forgotten his watch.

  August 1957: Blackpool

  John Tapperstall seated himself at a vacant table in the Sunnyside guest house. The aroma of cooking food wafted towards his nostrils and he felt his stomach rumble. He hadn’t eaten all day, apart from a cheese roll at eleven o’clock, and he was ready for a feast. June Smart approached him with the evening menu and gave him the benefit of one of her most charming smiles.

  “Thanks, sweetheart,” said John, taking the proffered menu. “Now, what delights can I be tempted with tonight?”

  If June thought he was making some sort of pass with his flowery innuendo, she showed no signs of it. It was a hazard in her job, and most of the time she shrugged it off. That old doctor, for example. He was more obvious in his approach than this man, and maybe not quite so old, but somehow she had resented his advances more than usual. This portly old gentleman seemed rather harmless, and certainly less threatening than the doctor. She preferred Robbie’s younger companion, who seemed shy and retiring in comparison. But then he was a vicar, and so shouldn’t be flirting with young girls in the first place. Not that it ever seemed to stop them. Men, in June’s opinion, were basically all the same, whether in or out of dog collars.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21