Chapter 5
Felix stretched his limbs out and rested his head on the plush velvet headboard. This was the life. He stared out of the large window facing the bay and took in the view, just like he had shortly before sleeping the night before. Not wanting to block out the setting, he’d left the curtains open, and it felt so good to be able to do so, not having to worry about anyone seeing inside his home. How different it was from his apartment in London. Although he lived in the penthouse at the top, everyone else living in the tower knew where to find him. He was easily accessible and sharing the lift had on occasions made him a little uncomfortable, especially when being blatantly gawped at or asked for his autograph. If it wasn’t for his work, Felix would have cheerfully sold his Knightsbridge apartment. It had served its purpose up to now as a handy base when he’d been acting and needed to get to the studios. Hopefully now though, he wouldn’t be needing it for a long while.
He’d been pleased with the way the pre-production meeting had gone. It pleased him more that his first choice of leading lady had been agreed on. All he needed now was to see the audition takes, but that didn’t concern him, as he felt sure Polly Andrews was the right actress for the role.
Felix looked at the clock on the bedside table. He hadn’t set his alarm, choosing to have a well-deserved and rare lie in. Jennifer had returned to London the day before, not without replenishing his fridge and kitchen cupboards, bless her. She’d also left him with a stern reminder about the housekeeper and told him she was most definitely on the case. He didn’t doubt it, not for one moment. Jennifer had dutifully advertised the position and was no doubt sifting through applications already.
With that in mind Felix sighed and closed his eyes. How was having a housekeeper going to pan out? Obviously they’d have their own room, but what about other boundaries? Would they be expected to share the drawing room, for example? Or would she (or he, as corrected by Jennifer) stay boxed up in their own room of an evening, watching a portable TV?
Another thing worrying Felix was his privacy. Jennifer had assured him that nobody would initially know whose house it was. She absolutely guaranteed him that, when interviewing, honesty and discretion would be the key elements. The last thing he needed was some star-struck girl (or boy) to be goggling him in his own home. Neither did he want some wannabe actor seizing opportunities with him.
Felix groaned. How could he not have considered all this in the first place? Because he’d fallen in love with the house and the idea of working in it, that’s why. Only now was he having to think about the practicalities of living in such a huge house, with little or no idea on how to run it. His apartment had been easy, with the concierge service readily available 24/7. All he had to do there was ring down to reception and all his needs were taken care of, from running out of toothpaste to a lightbulb change. It was all too convenient for him in London. Jennifer was there, seeing to all his admin, his busy schedules, running his diary like clockwork. He’d miss the likes of her in Lancashire. Let’s hope that whoever his new housekeeper was, they’d be as efficient and capable as his PA. He reflected on just how much Jennifer did for him and how lucky he was to have her. Shame still ate inside him at her efforts over the weekend. He genuinely had let his anxiety of the meeting take over him instead of being more aware of poor Jennifer and how hard she worked. He was going to treat her, he decided, pay for a mini break for her and her husband to enjoy. He could just imagine what his mother would say to all this.
‘You’ve been spoiled,mon chéri,’ she’d tell him with a warm, knowing smile.
Perhaps hehadbeen pampered, just a touch. But certainly not by his ex, Anika. If anything, it had been him who had given her the attention she’d demanded. He shuddered at the memory of her petulant temper. Anika might be easy on the eye but not on the soul. She had well and truly sapped him of any spirit he had. And those fucking texts she kept sending him were draining him further. He never reacted to them, no matter how threatening or disturbing they were. He thought by ignoring her messages she’d soon grow bored and give up. No such luck. As if reading his mind, his phone bleeped. With a sense of dread, he reached for it.
All settled? Maybe it’s time for a visit?
He stared at the message. What worried him the most was that she knew he’d bought the house and of its whereabouts.Howdid she know? To his knowledge there were only a few close people who knew about it. He had thought of barring her name from his phone, but knowing how Anika worked, this would only antagonise her more so and he really didn’t want to do that. God knows what she might be capable of doing. He deleted her message and pulled back the bedsheets. He was in need of a nice, hot, soothing soak.
He made his way to the bathroom and turned the gold taps. A splutter of water came bursting out, then halted, followed by a clang from the pipes. Don’t say there was a problem with the waterworks, thought Felix, beginning to feel more dismay. Thankfully the pipes made a hissing noise and water began to flow steadily. Good. The last thing he needed right now was any domestic problems. The sooner he got his housekeeper, the better.
Bunty poured a cup of Earl Grey and sat back contently. Although autumn had set in, the October sun was still glimmering. Eager to make the most of it, Bunty was enjoying an afternoon tea in the garden and was expecting Perry to join her any minute. Simple pleasures, she contemplated, always appreciative of them nowadays. This time last year she would have been hitting the gin and gazing melancholily out of the huge bow window, musing on the past and regretting choices made – not anymore. Perry was back in her life and she simply couldn’t imagine being without him now. Not only had she Perry, but his daughter too.
Bunty’s life had changed dramatically in the space of such a short time. She’d always known Robin and Jack, as they were locals and had done many a manual job for her over the years, and Trish from the shop as well as various other members of Samphire Bay from the church committee. However, coming to know Jasmine had created a treasured friendship, and one she’d never expected to find so late in life.
Despite the obvious age gap the two of them had forged a deep bond. In many ways, Jasmine reminded Bunty of her younger self; she was gutsy, knew her own mind. Bunty would always admire Jasmine’s spirit and strength of courage at moving to Samphire Bay, alone and still mourning the loss of her late husband. To start again, in an unknown place, solo, was indeed commendable in Bunty’s eyes. And she, in turn, was like a mother to Jasmine, offering sound advice and comfort. It had been through Bunty’s efforts that she and Robin were now a couple; her ability to play cupid knew no bounds.
Often Bunty would sit out in her garden and see Jasmine in her studio over the hedge. There she’d be, working away, absorbed in her latest project. Jasmine was a freelance graphic designer and Bunty was often left speechless when shown her artwork. Jasmine was rather modest about her talent. The latest book cover she’d designed included a beautiful bay with golden sand dunes and colourful surrounding flora.
‘It’s exquisite!’ Bunty had raved.
With a shrug Jasmine had replied, ‘I’ve been inspired by this place.’
Bunty stole another glance at her neighbour’s studio, then noticed Perry come through the garden gate.
‘Hello, you.’ She smiled and poured him a cup of tea.
‘Afternoon tea, very civilised,’ remarked Perry, sitting down to join her.
‘How’s Emma?’ asked Bunty.
‘Hmm, a bit bored I think,’ he replied. Now that the novelty of no longer working for the bank had worn off, Emma was beginning to become a tad restless. Perry, being honest, was feeling the agitation. He was used to his own space and not having his daughter around all day, every day. Thankfully he always had his boat to retreat to, and Bunty’s cottage. This afternoon’s invitation had been most welcome. ‘The sooner she finds a job the better, I reckon,’ he added.
‘So nothing’s taken her eye then?’ enquired Bunty.
‘Not really. There are a few office jobs about, but she’s dead-set against working behind a desk again.’
‘Don’t blame her. Emma’s far too talented to do that,’ she replied with force.
‘But that’s just it,’ sighed Perry, ‘she’s always wanted that band of hers to make it big, but it’s not going to happen.’ He gave Bunty a sad smile. ‘It hurts to say it, but I think she now realises it’s time to live in the real world.’
‘Yes, but she could still find something that suits her creativity,’ retorted Bunty, remembering how well Emma had played and sang at the open day at her old house. She pictured the man who’d bought it, propped up at the grand piano, enjoying her performance. So much so, he’d offered the asking price. That thought triggered her memory. ‘There is a job advertised in the local paper. A housekeeper for my old place.’
‘Really?’ frowned Perry.
‘Apparently, so Trish was telling me. In fact,’ Bunty got up, ‘I’ll just go and get the paper and have a look.’ She soon returned with a folded newspaper and passed it to Perry to read. There in the job advertisements read:
