The Girl at the Bus-Stop (29 page)

‘No, but interestingly if you look at that marble column rising up from the reception area to the roof,’ he said, ‘can you see all those silver stars?’

‘Yes,’ said Becky, ‘are they real silver?’

‘Plated, but amazingly they’re still here.’ he replied, ‘Each star can be removed with a master key, which I have in the office. Thorley Pickford’s idea was that whatever film was made locally, the stars staying at the Cassandre would have their names, the title of the movie, the director and producer and date engraved on a star. It would then be put back in the column for posterity.’

‘Perfect, I think I might have a very good use for them,’ said Rudge with a grin.

‘So this Thorley Pickford character must have been well-devastated when his dream didn’t come true.’

‘Oh, but it did, almost.’ replied Wyngarde, ‘He still managed to welcome the rich and famous to the hotel, but they weren’t quite at the Hollywood superstar level he’d envisaged. Some of them came here on holiday, but most were here working. Singing stars appearing at The Winter Gardens such as The Beatles, Ronnie Carroll and Frank
Ifield
, and quite a few well-known actors and variety turns as well.’

‘We saw the Pier Theatre this morning and it looks almost derelict,’ remarked Rudge, ‘which is a real shame.’

‘Back in the 50s and 60s all the local theatres attracted huge names, not the long-forgotten has-beens off the telly you get nowadays. The stars of the day loved to perform at seaside venues because the audiences were so huge. If they wanted to remain in the spotlight, summer seasons were crucial to their careers. Today they just seem to pop-up on the screen every five minutes in
Celebrity Big Brother
or dreary daytime TV.’

‘I’m pleased that it was a success,’ said Becky, ‘but what happened to Thorley Pickford?’

‘He sold the hotel in 1970 when her retired, and passed away in a Bournemouth nursing home at the grand old age of ninety seven.’

‘What needs to be done to bring the place up to scratch,’ asked Rudge, ‘apart from being dusty and neglected it seems reasonably sound.’

‘Oh, it is, Mr Rudge,’ replied Wyngarde, ‘the present owner had the fire alarm and sprinkler system upgraded, new wiring and emergency lighting, new fire doors in the style of the original doors and the swimming pool re-tiled. The kitchens were fitted out to a very high standard only two or three years ago, and all the stainless steel equipment is in tip top condition. Apart from redecoration, a new central heating boiler perhaps and attention to the gardens and the car park it’s all pretty much there.’

‘But no takers yet?’ said Rudge.

‘We’ve had a lot of interest from developers of course. This is a prime location for apartments in Bournemouth, so it would lend itself quite easily to conversion. Access to the beach is directly opposite, it’s close to the town and the pier and the sea views are stunning.’

‘It would be a shame to knock it about,’ said Becky, ‘I could imagine people staying here and having a wonderful holiday.’

‘Which is why the present owner won’t let it go for re-development,’ replied Mr Wyngarde.

‘Why’s he selling?’ asked Rudge, ‘He’s obviously invested quite a bit of money in the place.’

‘He and his wife separated, and he’s off to live in The Algarve with his new girlfriend.’ replied Wyngarde, ‘Apparently she doesn’t want anything to do with the hotel business, and so he’s quite happy to call it a day.’

‘I see, well thanks for the wonderful tour, Mr Wyngarde,’ said Rudge, ‘and I am definitely interested in making an offer. My accountant will be in touch later this afternoon.’

As they walked back towards the gardens along the beach, Rudge was still singing the hotel’s praises as a silent Becky scooped up sand between her toes.

‘What’s brought all this on?’ she asked, ‘Why on earth do you want to buy a huge place like that?’

‘I thought you’d have guessed by now.’ replied Rudge, ‘Remember I said I’d come up with the perfect solution to offload all that unwanted cash?’

‘So you want to use it to buy the Hotel Cassandre?’

‘Yes, and no,’ Rudge replied, ‘I was going to surprise you, but you may as well know now.’

‘Know what?’

‘The accountant is setting up a new charity,’ he replied, ‘and its funds so far total the amount you were given by La Buckingham and her cohorts.’

‘What sort of charity?’

‘It’s going to provide free summer holidays to children who have parents just as horrible and selfish as ours, or none at all.’ he said, ‘Under-privileged kids who’ve never seen the sea, built a sandcastle or even held a stick of candy floss.’

Becky leaped up and kissed him, and they fell backwards on to the sand. She carried on snogging with him until he shrugged her off to breathe.

‘That’s the most wonderful thing I’ve ever heard,’ she said laughing, ‘you’re brilliant, Reuben Rudge.’

‘Thank you,’ he replied, looking surprised, ‘but we’ve a long way to go yet. Mr Hewlett’s started the ball rolling with the charity’s paperwork, but we need to come up with a suitable name.’

‘That’s easy,’ she said happily, ‘we should call it
The Reuben Rudge Children’s Foundation
.’

Rudge thought for a moment or two before shaking his head.

‘It’s not me who’s coughing up the money,’ replied Rudge, ‘it’s all your celebrity pals.’

‘Well it’s your idea,’ she said.

‘No, I wouldn’t feel comfortable, Becky. Besides, you’re the successful author. I’m just your secretary, so my name would be meaningless.’

Becky bent down and pulled something from out of the sand.

‘Starfish,’ she exclaimed.

‘Yes, I know it’s a starfish,’ replied Rudge, ‘what about it?’

‘No, that’s what we’ll call it, silly,
Starfish.
’

‘That’s brilliant,’ he said, ‘but
Starfish
what?
 
The Starfish Foundation,
or maybe even
The Starfish Children’s Trust
.’

‘
Starfish
nothing,’ she replied, ‘it will be just fine on its own.’

‘What about,
The Starfish Enterprise
?’

‘You and your bloody sci-fi,’ she said, laughing.

 
  
As Becky stood in the kitchen making tea, Rudge walked into the apartment carrying a fistful of letters.

‘You’re just in time, Reuben, the kettle’s just boiled,’ she said, reaching for another mug, ‘how was your workout?’

‘Frankie reckons I’m as fit as a butcher’s dog, but I don’t know,’ he replied, collapsing on the sofa, ‘I just feel worn out all the time.’

‘You handled yourself pretty well against Darius Spode,’ replied Becky, ‘he’s not exactly a lightweight. I was well impressed.’

‘Well it served him right for chucking my laptop in the river,’ said Rudge, ‘it may have been a
 
knackered old thing, but I’d had it for years. I wrote some of my best stuff on it. ’

 
‘Is there anything interesting in the mail?’

‘A Christmas card from Fantasy Lit, and the rest are just more Christmas Party invitations,
 
I assume,’ Rudge replied, ‘I’ll let you go decide if there are any you want us to attend.’

‘Probably none,’ she said, carrying the tea over to Rudge, ‘as soon as you see who’s hosting it, you just know it’s not going to be a normal party.’

‘Funny you should say that, there’s one from Gale Buckingham and her two mistresses.’

‘You do surprise me,’ she replied, ‘what’s the theme for their ‘do’?
 
I bet it’s not black tie and party frocks.’

‘It’s what she calls a ‘black ball lottery’,’ said Rudge, ‘which basically means black tie and party frocks, but upon arrival each guest has to pull out a ball from a bag.’

‘I can see what’s coming,’ she said, ‘something rude no doubt.’

‘Of course, and from the look of it Gale’s imagination has been working overtime,’ Rudge replied, ‘so she’s written an explanatory note on the back of the invitation. Apparently if you pull out a white ball that’s fine, a black ball means you have to go naked for the whole evening, a pink ball entitles you to choose any other guest to go naked, a gold one means you swap partners with the other person who drew a gold one, and a silver one means Gale has to strip.’

‘I bet there are a few silver ones in the bag knowing her, probably all of them.’

‘I’ve never known anyone who wants to show off her body all the time like Gale,’ said Rudge, ‘she’s completely obsessed.’

‘Gerhard Henshall, maybe,’ said Becky, ‘and if he and his girlfriend are invited they’ll just turn up in the nude anyway.’

‘Well I don’t particularly want to be there to find out,’ said Rudge, ‘and as for this other invite, who the hell is Bess Botox?’

‘You used to watch late night TV, didn’t you ever see her on the Triple X Channel?’

‘I only had Freeview, you had to subscribe to get Gynaecological View.’

‘I’ve watched it here a few times,’ said Becky, ‘she does that programme where bored couples want to spice up their sex lives.
Orgy
and Bess
I think it’s called.’

‘It sounds predictably cringeworthy.’

‘She usually turns up on the doorstep with a film crew and persuades the unwitting couple to join her in a threesome.’

‘You do surprise me.’

‘She arrived with a bloke once and while she was giving the wife what for, the husband and him ended up, you know.’

‘Laying laminate flooring?’

‘No, silly, having anal sex,’ she said coyly, ‘they didn’t actually show them penetrating each other. You just heard the noises and saw close-ups of their faces.’

‘Were their gritted teeth suitably whitened?’ replied Rudge, ‘I can imagine what Bess Botox’s Christmas party will be like. Stand under the mistletoe too long and you’ll end up with a more than just a peck on the cheek.’

‘We won’t be going there then,’ said Becky, ‘any others?’

‘Nikki Blandford is having one at her place,’ he said, ‘but I think she must have posted it before that recent unpleasantness.’

‘No, not necessarily’ replied Becky, ‘ever since I gave her arse a good spanking she’s been sending me incredibly suggestive texts.’