The Girl at the Bus-Stop (28 page)

Hand in hand they strolled through the immaculate gardens, stopping to watch the grey squirrels chasing each other up and down tree trunks. A few minutes later they were standing by the entrance to the pier.

Becky sobbed quietly as she stood on the beach and gazed out at the millpond calm sea. The breeze was strong enough to blow her long black hair across her face, hiding her tears. She sat down and quickly removed her ankle boots, scrunching her bare toes in the soft dry sand.

‘Buy me a bucket and spade,’ she demanded, ‘I’ve been dreaming about this since I was five.’

Rudge left her doing hand stands and cartwheels, and walked over to the shop selling beach requisites and souvenirs. He returned with two castle-shaped buckets and spades, and a packet of paper flags on sticks, and removed his shoes and socks. They moved closer to the shoreline, and Becky started to dig as Rudge fetched some sea water in his bucket.

‘When was the last time you did anything like this, Reuben?’ she asked.

Rudge stopped digging and thought for a few moments.

‘The last time I built a sand castle was when I was about twelve, I think,’ he replied, ‘it was on that week’s holiday when we went to Great Yarmouth. Luckily the caravan my parents had hired was close to the beach, because they were boozing in the site’s social club most of the time. I was left to my own devices and I had a great time.’
 

‘What’s that you’re building? It’s doesn’t look much like a castle.’

‘No it’s not,’ he said smiling, ‘but in order to get proper meals on holiday, I used to build sand sculptures. People used to take pictures standing next to them and throw money into my bucket.’

‘That looks fantastic,’ she said, ‘is it a lion or something?’

‘It’s The Great Sphinx of Giza, you know, from ancient Egypt.’ he said proudly, ‘I’d usually start with this and then surround it with pyramids. To finish off I’d often do a life-sized Tutankhamen, lying down on his back of course.’

‘It makes my pathetic effort look stupid,’ she said sadly.

‘Nonsense, your castle looks wonderful, and when you’ve finished it I’ll swap you.’

‘Will you?’

‘Of course I will.’

‘Where’s your sphinx’s nose?’

‘Ah, well there’s one school of thought amongst the sand sculpturing fraternity that thinks the nose should be missing, as with the real one. Others prefer to see it in place as it would have been originally, but I favour the former.’

‘Why?’

‘Mainly because I’m not very good at noses, and it would probably fall off anyway.’

‘So did you make much money at sand sculpting?’

‘By the end of the first day I’d made about twenty quid, and the second another thirty and over the whole week it came to around two hundred plus change.’

 
‘Goodness me, what did your parents say?’

‘Nothing, they didn’t know anything about it.’ Replied Rudge, ‘I had to keep it quiet in case they ran out of drinking money and started rifling through my stuff looking for cash. I put it all in a carrier bag and tied it to the axle underneath the caravan.’

‘Good thinking,’ said Becky.

‘It was the best and only proper holiday I ever had,’ Rudge replied, ‘I was eating in steakhouses, taking horse and carriage rides along the seafront. The evenings were the best, when I’d go to all the arcades and the funfair. Great Yarmouth had a brilliant roller coaster, and I used to get in the front car and stay on it, ride after ride.’

They were silent for several minutes as they concentrated on putting the final touches to their sandy works of art.

‘After we’ve finished, do you fancy walking to the end of the pier?’ said Becky, ‘We can go in the arcade afterwards if you like.’

After paying their entrance fee at the turnstile they walked slowly along the uneven planked flooring of the pier, looking over the railings at the green grey sea. Three quarters of the way towards the end, the Pier Theatre looked almost derelict. Its paint was peeling from the woodwork, and the entrance doors were chained shut. The remnants of posters from long-past summer shows were still on display, albeit torn and flapping around the edges. One was dated August 1979 and advertised.
‘The Phatt & Finn Laughter Diet Live Tour –OAP matinee tickets only 75p.’

At the very end of the pier were a few children’s fairground rides, boarded up to protect them over the long winter. Rudge found a couple of unchained deck chairs and they sat down facing France, and Rudge squeezed Becky’s hand.

‘The day I met you, Becky,’ he said softly. ‘was the happiest day of my life.’

‘It took you long enough to speak to me,’ she replied, ‘we’d been standing at the same bus-stop for nigh on four years.’

‘You wouldn’t have been interested in an old sod like me,’ he replied, ‘it was only the Raspberry Caine thing which brought us together.’

Becky pulled her hand away, cupping it around her Zippo to light a cigarette.

‘I hope you’re not suggesting I was only interested in you for the money.’

‘Not at all, and you already know that.’ he said, ‘Before all this happened I was just an empty shell. I’ll tell you something, if I lost all the money tomorrow I’d still be the happiest man alive just from knowing you.’

‘I can’t get used to people being nice to me,’ she said seriously, passing him her cigarette, ‘so don’t take it the wrong way if I don’t start gushing over you and falling at your feet.’

‘If you did it just wouldn’t be you, Becky,’ he replied, ‘and in the words of some awful bloody American hit from way back when, ‘Don’t go
changin
’ to try to please me.’

‘Don’t worry, I won’t,’ she said, ‘but talking of money, what the hell are we going to do with all that dosh from Gale and Gerhard et al?’

Rudge took another draw on the cigarette before handing it back.

‘I was thinking about that last night.’ he replied, ‘It’s not as if we can just spend it. It wouldn’t be right and we don’t need it anyway. Then there’s the money laundering procedures if we try and pay it into our bank account, and the tax we’d have to pay on it. Mr Hewlett wouldn’t be too impressed either. We’ve got more than enough coming in.’

‘Why not just return it all?’ she suggested.

‘We can’t, and they wouldn’t take it back anyway.’ he said, ‘Fifty thousand seems to be the going rate to become part of a bestseller.’

‘Had I still been in my old job, that was around four year’s salary before tax and National Insurance?’

‘Don’t remind me, we used to panic every time a window envelope came through the door.’ Rudge replied, ‘But this morning after my swim, I was cruising on the Information Super Highway.’

‘I hope it was a bit quicker than the M3.’

‘Well, I was thinking about our plans to come down here today and
 
I had a bit of an idea. So I think I may have found the solution to our problem.’

‘What, for this surplus money you mean?’

Rudge struggled out of the deck chair and offered his hand to Becky.

‘I’ll show you just what we can do with such an embarrassment of riches,’ he said, ‘but first we’re off to the amusement arcade. I’m going to win you that teddy like I promised.’

It took Rudge thirty nine goes with the grab machine and nineteen pounds fifty in change, before the sorry looking brown monkey dropped through the metal hole. Becky picked it up excitedly and hugged the little cuddly toy.

‘I’ll treasure it forever,’ she said, kissing Rudge on the lips.

‘I should bloody hope so,’ he replied, ‘I could have flown out to Africa and got you a real one for what it cost to win it.’

They walked past the Royal Bath Hotel and on to the East Cliff area of the town, with its grand apartment blocks and hotels set on the opposite side of the road to the cliff top. All the buildings enjoyed panoramic views of the Isle of Wight to the East, and to the West, the Isle of Purbeck and Old Harry Rocks.

‘Do you see that Art Deco building over there, Becky,’ said Rudge, putting his arm around her waist, ‘the Hotel Cassandre?’

‘Have you booked us in there for the night?’ she replied, ‘It looks a bit run down.’

‘Not quite, I found it on the Net for sale,’ he said, ‘and you’re right, it is in need of some ‘sympathetic restoration’ as it stated on the property website.’

‘What on earth do you want a huge place like that for?’

‘If I’m not mistaken I think that’s Mr Wyngarde from the estate agent’s waiting over by the gates.’ he said, ‘We’ll have the viewing first, and then I’ll reveal all.’

Mr Wyngarde’s knowledge of the Hotel Cassandre was comprehensive to say the least. He’d lived in the area all his life, and had witnessed the changing fortunes of the hotel over many years. The viewing wasn’t so much a quick look round, as a guided tour of some historic building.

He went through a potted history of the Cassendre, explaining that it had been used for troop accommodation during the war. A German Heinkel HE111, on its way home towards the
The
English Channel after bombing Bath, offloaded its one remaining bomb causing structural damage to the building. Fortunately there was no loss of life, and later, compensation from the War Office paid for repairs. The proprietors at the time had owned it since it was built in the late 1920s, and were looking to retire. They sold it to a local entrepreneur, Thorley Pickford, who spent a small fortune on its renovation.

‘I see it’s still got most of the Art Deco features, even the horizontal barred windows,’ said Rudge, whose knowledge of the subject had been gleaned through watching episodes of
Poirot
.

‘Yes, and thankfully subsequent owners didn’t feel the need to rip everything out in the 60s and 70s,’ said Wyngarde, ‘which sadly wasn’t the case with many similar buildings. So everything remained as the architect had
 
intended, including the bathroom suites, taps and tiling.’

‘So did this Thorley Pickford character run it as a hotel as well?’ asked Becky.

‘Yes and no,’ said Wyngarde, ‘at the time it was rumoured that Bournemouth was to become England’s own version of Hollywood. Back in the early 1950s the British film industry was thriving, and one or two of the major studios had planned to relocate to the area. With the New Forest on the doorstep, the coast of course and such a variety of landscapes close by, it offered great location shooting. The hotel is also within walking distance of the town itself, which even then was a busy commercial centre as well as being a premier seaside resort. Mr Pickford had gambled on this happening, and he had high hopes that his hotel would become
the
place to stay for the big stars of the day.’

‘But it didn’t happen,’ said Rudge.