Brief Encounter at the Picture House by the Sea Page 7

  Ben’s dad had died long before Gina had known him, back when he was seven or eight, and his mother had raised him on her own. Teenage Ben hadn’t talked about his father much and Gina hadn’t wanted to pry. ‘And now you’re restoring it yourself,’ she said slowly. ‘How are you funding it? Have you got a grant?’

  ‘No,’ Ben said. ‘I’m paying for it myself. Like I said, it’s a labour of love. A nod to my dad’s memory, if you like.’

  ‘But—’ Gina stopped as sensible objections crowded into her brain. Max would never embark on a project like this, not without having a clear idea of the outcome at the other end. But then, Max was a businessman through and through – he didn’t have a sentimental bone in his body. Which wasn’t to say that Ben wasn’t good at what he did too; from the sounds of things he’d worked on some very prestigious restorations. But pouring his time and money into a project that had no guarantee of achieving his ambition at the end . . . that sounded foolhardy to Gina.

  ‘Why don’t you come over and I’ll show you round?’ Ben said. ‘I know it sounds crazy but I think you’ll understand once you stand inside the building.’

  He looked so earnest and enthusiastic that Gina couldn’t say no. ‘Okay,’ she said, letting out a little laugh. ‘When did you have in mind?’

  He smiled at her. ‘What are you doing this afternoon?’

  The road to Polwhipple station was closed off with ornate iron gates. A heavy padlock had been threaded through the black metal, and sturdy wire fencing ran off to either side. Ben was waiting in front of them; his wetsuit had been traded for a pair of jeans and a warm woollen coat. Nonna would approve, Gina thought wryly as she got nearer.

  ‘Ready?’ he said, holding up a bunch of keys.

  She gazed beyond the gates at the low sandstone building a short distance away. There was a white combi van parked in front of it, next to a yellow skip that seemed to be half-full of rubble. ‘I think so.’

  As Gina got nearer, she could see that some of the windows had been boarded up.

  ‘Local yobs,’ Ben explained, waving a hand. ‘They love sneaking in to throw stones at the glass so I boarded the windows up. Some of these windows date back to the Victorian era and I’d like to preserve as many as I can.’

  He unlocked the solid wooden door. ‘This chocolate colour scheme was standard across the whole Great Western Railway network,’ he went on. ‘I’ve had a bit of trouble finding the exact shade of brown, although the blokes at Bodmin Parkway have been very helpful. Can you imagine if I used the wrong colour?’

  Gina could. She didn’t know any train enthusiasts but they were famous for being sticklers over details and the exact shade of paint was something that they would probably be aware of; the last thing Ben needed was for his pet project to be historically inaccurate.

  He flicked on a light switch as they stepped inside and Gina almost gasped. It was like travelling back in time. The ticket hall gleamed beneath hanging brass light fittings, its chocolate and cream walls immaculate and the high coved ceiling smooth. Facing them was a double door, complete with frosted glass arches halfway up and small stained-glass windows above, and at their feet the floor was inlaid with black and white tiles. There was a ticket window in one wall, picked out in the same rich brown as the main door and all the other woodwork. On the opposite wall there hung a wooden station clock with Roman numerals and golden hands and a space for a key to wind the mechanism. And beneath that, there was an ornate coat of arms emblazoned with the words Great Western Railway Company. Hanging signs pointed the way to the trains and the waiting room.

  ‘Wow,’ Gina said, gazing around her. ‘This is incredible.’

  Ben smiled. ‘Thank you. I haven’t done the ticket office yet, but the waiting room and the toilets are finished.’

  ‘And you’ve done all this in your spare time?’ Gina said, stepping forward to admire the intricate blues and greens in the stained-glass panels over the door to the platform. ‘How long has it taken you?’

  ‘About eighteen months, so far,’ he replied. ‘Obviously, I get more done in the summer months but living on site helps—’

  ‘Wait,’ Gina interrupted, staring at him. ‘You live here too?’

  He shifted slightly. ‘Not in here, obviously. But in the grounds.’

  She frowned. ‘In a house?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ he said. ‘Look, it’s probably easier if I show you.’

  Mystified, Gina watched as he unlocked the door that led to the train tracks and disappeared through it. She followed him all the way along the platform, through a low white gate and down some steps, towards a side track where a chocolate and cream painted railway compartment stood.

  ‘Here?’ Gina said, trying not to gape. ‘This is where you live?’

  Ben smiled. ‘It’s actually quite cosy inside.’

  Gina summoned up a mental image of the train carriages she’d travelled in before. ‘If you say so.’

  ‘Come inside and see for yourself.’

  He climbed a set of metal stairs outside the middle of the compartment and opened the door. ‘After you,’ he said, stepping back down and waving her inside.

  If walking into the ticket hall had been like being whirled back to a bygone era then the room Gina found herself in after she’d climbed the stairs was even more unexpected. It was compact like a train carriage, with a rounded ceiling and standard train windows but that was where the comparison ended. There were no rows of tables and seats, no luggage racks; the room had been fitted with comfortable-looking winged-back leather armchairs pointed towards a coffee table piled high with books in front of a wood-burner. The floor was a gleaming dark wood, contrasting with the honey-coloured panelling along the walls and the rounded ceiling, and was dotted with thick rugs. A door in the middle of the end wall suggested there was more to explore.

  ‘Do you mind?’ Gina said, pointing.

  ‘Not at all,’ Ben replied. ‘I tidied up before you came, just in case this happened.’

  Gina laughed. ‘I did think it was suspiciously neat.’

  She turned the door handle and found herself in a galley kitchen. Another door led her to a bedroom, with a large brass double bed at one end, luggage racks at head height along either side and a glimpse of what looked very much like an en-suite bathroom through a final door. Gina turned back towards Ben. ‘I’m impressed.’

  He shrugged modestly. ‘It’s not a bad place to live. Handy for the station, at any rate.’

  Gina peeked into the en-suite, admiring the modern fittings and custom-built shower cubicle. ‘And you did all this yourself?’

  He nodded. ‘I did tell you I liked trains.’

  ‘You did,’ Gina conceded. ‘But there’s liking trains, Ben, and then there’s this – restoring your own station and living in a converted railway carriage. Didn’t your mum ever buy you a train track?’

  Ben laughed. ‘I suppose it does look a bit like a second childhood. But I enjoy restoring old things, mending their broken bits and giving them a second lease of life.’ He raised his hands in a shrug. ‘People are too quick to move on these days – if something breaks, they throw it away and get a newer, shinier version. Sometimes they don’t even wait until it’s broken. But I prefer things that have a bit of history to them.’

  He gazed at her then, his blue eyes unreadable and Gina wondered if he meant her too. But she knew what he was getting at; there was something comforting and warm about spending time with someone she had known for more than half her life, someone she shared a history with. She took a deep breath. ‘Do you live here alone?’

  His expression was steady. ‘Yes, just me.’

  She glanced discreetly around, looking for any signs that a woman might visit regularly. ‘I suppose it’s a bit small for two people.’

  Ben tipped his head. ‘You’d be surprised. The bed’s big enough for two.’

  Gina swallowed. Was he flirting with her or suggesting that the bed saw a lot of action? She couldn’t tell.
Except that she found herself hoping it was the former, if only because she didn’t want to believe that Ben was the type to pull a different girl every night.

  She shook the thought away. ‘It’s a lovely place. Really nice. When do you think the station will be finished?’

  He turned and led the way back into the living room. ‘It depends on how good the weather is over the next few months, and how busy my real job gets. It could be as early as June, or as late as September.’

  ‘Great – I’m here until June but I can always come back down to see it if things overrun.’

  Ben nodded. ‘That would be nice. But don’t feel you have to – I know you have plenty to get back to in the real world.’

  He meant London, and Max, although she’d never actually mentioned the fact that she had a boyfriend; wasn’t the real world the exact phrase she’d used to describe her life when she’d met him on the beach? The trouble was that the longer Gina spent in Polwhipple, the more distant the real world was starting to feel – it had been that way when she’d been younger too. ‘Yes,’ she said simply.

  They watched each other for a moment, then Ben reached for the door that led outside.

  ‘Did you have any more thoughts about arranging an event at the Palace?’ Ben asked, once they’d reached the station platform again. ‘Or did Gorran run screaming when you mentioned it?’

  ‘He didn’t,’ Gina said, grateful for the change of subject. ‘In fact, he’s totally on board. We just need to find the right film to show – something that will really capture people’s imaginations.’

  ‘Brief Encounter,’ Ben said instantly. ‘It’s a classic, everyone loves it and the characters even go to the cinema.’

  Gina laughed. ‘And it’s got nothing to do with the fact that most of the action happens at a station?’

  He grinned. ‘Pure coincidence. So what do you think? The film is set in the late 1930s – I could do a bit of work on the bar, make it look like the station café from that era?’

  She nibbled her lip thoughtfully, casting her mind over what she remembered from the film. ‘That might work. Costumes wouldn’t be too hard or expensive for people to find and I’m sure I can find a few cocktail recipes to encourage people who don’t know the story to come along. And I’m sure Gorran will be able to get hold of a copy.’ She smiled at Ben. ‘I think it’s a really clever idea. Thank you.’

  ‘If you build it, they will come,’ he said. ‘Just let me know what I can do to help,’

  Gina smiled, recognising the famous misquote from Field of Dreams. ‘Oh, I will,’ she said. ‘If this goes well it could be just what the Palace needs.’

  She took out her phone. ‘I hope Gorran knows what he’s let himself in for.’

  ‘I don’t think he has any idea,’ Ben said, looking cheerful. ‘But don’t let that hold you back.’

  ‘Believe me, I won’t,’ Gina said as she dialled Gorran’s number. ‘I’m going to make him an offer he can’t refuse.’

  Chapter Eight

  Things started to move very fast over the next few days. Gorran confirmed he could get the film and they agreed on a Friday evening screening in two weeks’ time. He seemed happy with the choice, which surprised Gina; she’d been expecting a battle. Even more surprisingly, Tash the projectionist was enthusiastic too.

  ‘Top film,’ she said, twiddling her eyebrow piercing. ‘I love a bit of repressed emotion and stiff upper lip.’

  In fact, it seemed to Gina that everyone was excited, especially when she explained the theme.

  ‘Brilliant,’ Manda said, rubbing her hands. ‘I’ve got just the costume. I saw it in the window of the vintage shop a few months ago and couldn’t resist buying it. You should see if they’ve got anything for you.’

  ‘Great idea,’ Gina said, feeling a surge of anticipation at the thought of stepping inside the gorgeous-looking boutique. ‘I’ll check it out right now.’

  It was early afternoon and the promenade was quiet. Gina glanced into the window of Carrie’s Attic, the way she usually did when she walked by, and then pushed open the door.

  A bell tinkled as she entered, causing the dark-haired woman behind the counter to look up. She was around Gina’s age, in her early thirties, with a friendly smile and an inquisitive expression. ‘Hello. Do you need any help or are you just browsing?’

  Gina gazed around; inside the shop was even more tantalising than it had appeared from the window and everywhere she looked something screamed for her attention. She reached out to touch a silky soft kaftan hanging from the nearest rail. ‘I think I probably need some help.’

  The woman eased around the counter. ‘No problem. I’m Carrie and, contrary to popular belief, all the things you see here didn’t really come from my attic.’

  Gina laughed. ‘No, you’d need to have some pretty eclectic tastes to own all of this.’

  ‘So what can I tempt you with today?’ Carrie said, her green eyes sparkling. ‘Something everyday or have you got a special occasion coming up?’

  ‘Definitely a special occasion,’ Gina replied. ‘I’m organising a Brief Encounter screening at the Palace a few doors up and I need an outfit that screams 1930s glamour.’

  Carrie’s eyes widened. ‘Really? That sounds like my kind of thing. When is it?’

  Gina filled her in, then took a deep breath. ‘Actually, we’re hoping to work with some local businesses to promote the event. Do you think you might be interested? Maybe put a poster in the window?’

  The other woman nodded. ‘Are you kidding? I’d be more than happy to get involved – do you need any help with the organisation?’

  Her enthusiasm made Gina smile. ‘I think I’ve got everything covered for now but I’ll definitely keep you in mind if anything else comes up. What we need most is help spreading the word.’

  ‘Count me in,’ Carrie said. She steered Gina towards a rail at the back of the shop. ‘The Thirties and Forties gear is all over here. Let’s start by finding you a knockout costume.’

  Forty-five minutes and a lot of laughter later, Gina left Carrie’s Attic with two bulging bags and a promise to send Gorran down for a fitting soon.

  ‘And make sure you let me know if you’re planning any more events,’ Carrie said as Gina waved goodbye. ‘I’ve got an amazing gold bikini that would be perfect for a Star Wars marathon.’

  Gina grinned; she couldn’t imagine the look on Gorran’s face if she turned up in that outfit. But the idea of working with Carrie on future events was appealing and it made good business sense. She’d taken a handful of Carrie’s business cards too, intending to leave them at the Palace box office – with a bit of luck, sales for the Brief Encounter event would lead to some extra customers for Carrie too.

  When Gina wasn’t at the dairy, mixing up batches of gelato, she was busy scouring Nonna’s recipe book for the perfect Brief Encounter ice-cream flavour. The rest of her time was consumed by planning. She commissioned a local website developer to put together a basic page so that people could find out more. Once that was done, she ordered flyers and posters. Together with Gorran, she set about distributing them around the local shops and businesses. Carrie was even more enthusiastic, taking a thick wedge of flyers and promising to promote the event to everyone on her mailing list as well as her walk-in customers. The owners of the Scarlet Hotel offered to loan the Palace their head bartender and cocktail expert for the night, and the nearby Pendragon restaurant gave Gina an excellent deal on canapés and snacks. She also pulled some strings with her journalist friends and arranged for the local paper to run a last-minute feature; the reporter and photographer surprised her by ordering tickets at the end of the interview. Everywhere she turned, she found people who were both helpful and keen to help where they could. Everywhere except in her grandparents’ living room.

  ‘No,’ Ferdie said, when she’d tentatively suggested she might try her hand at a themed ice-cream flavour. ‘We don’t need gimmicks.’

  Gina pulled out her iPad and brou
ght up the website. ‘But look, Nonno, it could be so good. All we need to do is find the right—’

  He pushed the screen away. ‘I said no. Gelato is a serious business – you don’t mess with time-honoured Ferrelli family recipes. Before you know it we’ll be serving Blue Bubblegum and other rubbish.’

  Elena looked up from her book. ‘But they do not all belong to the Ferrellis. You forget that you learned some of those recipes from my mother. She wasn’t afraid to experiment.’

  ‘Won’t you let me try, Nonno?’ Gina asked. ‘I promise that if you don’t like the flavour I come up with, I won’t ask you again.’

  Ferdie scowled at her. ‘And what is this flavour, may I ask? Some cocktail or another, I suppose.’

  Gina shook her head. ‘No, nothing like that. I don’t want to spoil the surprise, though. You’ll just have to trust me.’

  ‘I suppose you put her up to this, didn’t you?’ Ferdie growled, glaring at Elena. ‘You’ve been desperate to meddle with my recipes for years.’

  Elena arched an eyebrow. ‘Not at all. But now that you come to mention it, those recipes are in need of a – what do they call it now – a makeover. Why don’t you let Gina see what she can do?’

  Ferdie glowered first at Elena and then at Gina. ‘I suppose it can’t hurt.’ He wagged his finger in warning. ‘But I want to taste it first. And it had better be good.’

  Gina exchanged a triumphant glance with Elena. ‘Oh, it will be, Nonno,’ she said. ‘Trust me.’

  Gina took Nonna’s car to Truro the following Saturday morning and bought herself an ice-cream maker. The machinery in Nonno’s dairy was much faster and more efficient but she wanted the time and the space to experiment, which she couldn’t do with Nonno breathing down her neck. Besides, the recipe she’d found called for some caramelised ingredients and she couldn’t create those as easily in the dairy. And with only a week to go until Brief Encounter at the picture house by the sea, she really wanted to nail the flavour.

  By the end of Sunday afternoon, she’d perfected her recipe, or at least she thought she had. What she needed was an impartial taste tester – someone who would give her an honest response . . .