Parting of the Waves Read online

  PARTING OF THE WAVES

  Fourth in the Gil and Bridget Honeyman mystery series

  By

  Leah Hope

  Copyright © Leah Hope 2018

  This book is sold subject to the conditions that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar

  condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent publisher.

  The moral right of Leah Hope has been asserted.

  Cover design Ryan Ashcroft - LoveYourCovers.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  chapter two

  Chapter Three

  CHapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Chapter One

  “Hurry up Gil, or we won’t get a seat!” Bridget Honeyman called out impatiently to her brother as he struggled up the stairs in front of her.

  “I'm going as fast as I can, besides, there’ll be loads of room, there usually is on this crossing.”

  Gil arrived at the top of the stairs and, spying a group of four get up from a table in the corner of the lounge, made a bee-line for it. He sat down on one of the seats just as an out-of-breath Bridget clambered up the last step. She puffed her way past a handful of tables and flopped down heavily in the seat opposite her brother.

  “I can’t believe we nearly missed the ferry because of the car, and you a mechanic too. I told you to get that problem looked at. If it had been anything more serious than a loose fan belt our trip would have been ruined. All that planning gone to waste. And what would Heather have said if we’d missed the christening?”

  “Ok Bridge, I’ve apologised a hundred times so can we let it rest now please. I know I messed up but we made it, so let’s just relax and look forward to our trip.”

  Bridget was still inwardly fuming but she softened a little when she thought of how bad Gil must be feeling. After all, he hadn’t done it on purpose. In fact it was the first time she could ever remember their breaking down. He really was a first class mechanic, his successful garage business was testament to that. Which is why she was still so annoyed with him, he was usually so careful about checking the car over, especially when they were setting out on a long trip. Still slightly irked, Bridget sighed as she glanced idly out of the window until the sight of a couple of seagulls fighting over some titbit or other, no doubt thrown to them from passengers on the upper deck, brought a smile to her lips. Come on, let it go, she told herself, there’s no harm done and besides, we’ll be at Les Cerisiers by this evening.

  *

  Siblings Gil and Bridget Honeyman lived a comfortable existence in Whytecliffe-on-Sea on the south coast. Born to a bank manager and teacher, they had enjoyed a happy, typically middle class upbringing. Until a tragedy ended all of that and changed their lives for ever.

  Many years ago their father, Frederick, had been knocked down and killed on his way home from the bank on Christmas Eve. The driver didn’t stop. What made things even worse was the discovery that the accident had taken place in a part of town nowhere near Frederick’s usual route home. The family racked their brains to come up with a valid reason why Frederick, a creature of habit if ever there was one, should have been in Fareham Place that fateful day. Everything from a secret affair to “dodgy dealings” at the bank had been mooted as possible explanations but rapidly dismissed as being so out of character as to be laughable. Worn down by the stress of it all and with the police investigation being wound down, their mother simply gave up. A broken woman, Sylvia Honeyman took to her bed and was never the same again.

  By then, Bridget’s career as a pastry chef at the Regent, Whytecliffe’s most prestigious hotel, was flourishing. Heroically determined to look after her mother and pursue her career, Bridget soon discovered to her dismay that she wasn’t super-woman after all. Gil’s suggestion that they employ a carer for their mother was dismissed out of hand. Instead, against her brother’s wishes, Bridget took the decision to give up the job she loved to care for her mother full-time.

  Ironically, the death of their father changed Gil’s life for the better. He had by this time returned to live at home after the breakup of his short and disastrous marriage to Pamela, the daughter of his boss at the garage where he worked. Gil had always harboured a desire to set up on his own, but with the stress of seeing reminders of Pamela everywhere, things were becoming intolerable.

  Gil was at a loss to explain to Bridget later how a seemingly innocent conversation with his mother ended up with her giving him enough money to buy a small garage business. Bridget was initially furious, accusing him of “manipulating a vulnerable woman”. But knowing her brother as she did, she also knew that this was something he was genuinely incapable of. Gil’s business flourished as strongly as Bridget’s career had. As time passed, and with his trusted head mechanic Mick Sumner now virtually running the place, he found himself in the enviable position of being able to work as many or as few hours as he wished.

  Life settled into a new, but nonetheless, satisfying routine for the siblings. Bridget was content to run the home as her own mini-hotel whilst Gil was never happier doing what he loved best - playing with cars, as Bridget rather disparagingly called it. Things continued in this vein until Sylvia’s sudden, but not entirely unexpected demise, precisely thirty years after her husband.

  Finding themselves comfortably off and free of responsibility, Gil and Bridget embarked on a road trip to Spain, or maybe it was Italy. They never got round to deciding the final destination as they didn't get any further than France. Seduced by unbelievably low property prices, no doubt aided and abetted by the wine that had accompanied their lunch in a quaint little village, the pair found themselves unexpectedly viewing a property one afternoon. By the following morning, the place was theirs. Les Cerisiers and the little community of St Rémy soon became part of their lives. Whilst the decision to buy a house in France had very much been Bridget’s idea, Gil reluctantly had to admit it was one of her better ones.

  *

  “Earth to Bridget, come in please” Gil said to Bridget through cupped hands.

  “Oh sorry Gil, I was miles away. Did you say something?”

  “I asked if you wanted some breakfast. That tea and slice of toast we had at five this morning seems ages ago.”

  “Hmm, now you mention it, I am feeling a bit peckish. What do you fancy?”

  “I’ll have a bacon sarnie, if they’ve got one, with ketchup and a large cup of tea. Do you want me to go?”

  “No it’s ok, I need to pop to the ladies so you stay here and keep our seats. Won’t be long.”

  Bridget returned ten minutes later. “Sorry I was so long, there was a huge queue. I hope the tea hasn’t gone cold.”

  “Don’t worry about the tea, it’s the sarnie I’m more interested in.”

  Bridget tucked in to her croissant and looked in disbelief at Gil’s plate which was already empty.

  “That h
it the spot, I wish I’d asked you to get two now” he said, wiping his mouth.

  “Well I’m not queuing up again so if you want another one, you’ll have to get it yourself” Bridget replied as she fished in her handbag for a tissue.

  “Excuse me, are these seats free?”

  Bridget turned round to see a middle-aged couple who were hovering at the end of their table.

  “Yes they are, help yourself.”

  “Oh thanks very much, we almost gave up hope of finding a seat. We’ve been up on deck watching us leave port. I don’t know why but it always gives me a thrill, and then my husband said we’d better be making a move, unless we wanted to stand up for the whole crossing! I must admit, I didn’t expect it to be quite so full at this time of the season” said the woman, sitting down next to Gil.

  “I know what you mean, but I think a lot of people prefer to travel at this time of year, for all sorts of reasons. It’s a lot cheaper for one thing” replied Bridget.

  “You sound like a seasoned traveller” said the man with a smile, who had now sat down next to Bridget.

  “Oh I don’t know about that but we do this trip quite often. We’ve got a holiday home in France” said Gil, looking up from his paper.

  “How lovely” said the woman with a broad smile. “That’s something I’ve always wanted. Are you on the way there now?”

  “Yes, we’re going to a friend’s christening, or rather their baby’s christening” said Bridget, correcting herself. “What about you?”

  “Oh we’re just going for the day, a booze cruise no less! Well not exactly, we’re going to stock up a bit for our son’s twenty-first birthday party in a couple of weeks. We live just outside Dover so it’s quite handy for us. We try to get over a few times a year, usually in the summer months though. It’s our first time out of season. I was worried the sea would be rough, but I’m surprised how calm it is.”

  “It makes a difference travelling on these larger ferries” said Gil. “They’re very stable and you hardly feel any bumps at all.”

  “That’s just as well. After we’ve been to the hypermarket we’re going to do a bit of shopping in Calais and then we’ve booked an early supper at a little seafood restaurant we know. I wouldn’t want a rough crossing after a plate of oysters!” the man said with a laugh.

  “Talking of food, I think I’ll get myself a cup of coffee and something to eat” the woman said. “Do you want anything love?” she asked her husband.

  “No thanks, I’m still full after that big fry-up I had earlier.”

  As the woman made her way to the cafeteria, the man suddenly stood up and called after her. “Sheil”. The woman didn't appear to have heard him so he tried again. “Sheila, sorry love I’ve changed my mind, get me a coffee would you.”

  “She’ll be cursing me now” the man said to Gil. “I’m always changing my mind at the last minute.”

  “Man’s prerogative” said Gil with a grin.

  As she spotted Sheila precariously making her way back from the cafeteria with a full tray, Bridget suggested to Gil that they should be making a move if they wanted to look around the gift shop before the ship docked.

  “Say cheerio to your wife for me” said Bridget getting to her feet. “I hope you have a good time in Calais.”

  “Thanks, all the best for your trip too” said the man with a smile.

  chapter two

  Gil and Bridget had an uneventful journey from Calais to St Rémy. Bridget was grateful there were no more car problems whilst relief would have better described Gil’s emotions. They stopped for lunch en route and also for some basic provisions for a light supper later that evening. Bridget would do a “big shop” the following day.

  The next day dawned bright and sunny. Bridget threw open the shutters of the French doors which led onto the rear garden of Les Cerisiers and stepped outside. She was thrilled to feel the warmth on her face and couldn’t help but break into a smile. The garden was still looking good with the hibiscus and hydrangeas providing plenty of early autumn colour but the asters, one of Bridget’s favourites, were sadly now going over. She would need to do some serious dead-heading before they left she thought to herself, making a mental note to add it to her list of tasks.

  Gil had got up early and had shouted through Bridget’s bedroom door to tell her that he was popping into the village for bread and croissants for breakfast. Hearing the front door shut which heralded his return, Bridget headed back into the kitchen to make coffee.

  Gil and Bridget always relished their first breakfast at Les Cerisiers and would take it outdoors whenever they could, weather permitting. This morning was no exception and after switching on the coffee machine, Bridget stepped outside again to wipe down the table on the little terrace where Gil had already taken his seat.

  “These look good” Bridget exclaimed, peeking into the bag of bread and croissants, still warm from the oven. “That smell too, if only I could bottle it” she said as she closed her eyes and breathed in the heady aroma.

  Gil had bought an English newspaper, it was two days old but he didn’t mind. Ignoring the lurid headlines he turned quickly to the sports pages where he hoped to find a report on how England were faring in the latest test match on foreign soil. Although he had been following progress on the radio, he always enjoyed reading the pundits’ analyses. For once it was good news. Things were looking up. Two wins out of two. Only a third victory needed to guarantee the series. This one was in the bag.

  “Did you bump into anyone we know?” Bridget asked, spreading a thick layer of marmalade onto half a croissant.

  “No, I think it was a bit early for any of our crowd”. “Our crowd” meant Heather and Tony Lloyd-Jones who lived next door to Gil and Bridget and the proud parents of baby Thomas. Doug and Helen Faulkner, a well-to-do couple, were definitely part of the “in-crowd”. They had arrived in France a good ten years before Gil and Bridget, spoke fluent French and had been invaluable with their advice ranging from where to find a good plumber to sourcing inexpensive (as opposed to cheap, the Faulkners didn’t do “cheap”) wines and cheeses. Despite their plummy accents, Doug and Helen had hearts of gold and Bridget loved them dearly.

  “Maybe we’ll see some of them around when we pop in to do the shopping later” Bridget replied brightly, relishing the thought of catching up with the latest news. “I thought we might book a table at the Mirabeau this evening. What do you think?”

  “Yes why not, I know it’s Saturday night but the holiday crowd should have left by now so we should be ok.”

  The Hotel Mirabeau was a rather grand building which occupied one of the shorter sides of St Rémy’s “square” which in reality was more of a rectangle. Its bar and restaurant were a favoured meeting place not only for the many ex-pats in the area but for French locals too. It was part-owned by Pete McNally, an ebullient Australian, whose larger-than-life personality was ideally suited to the hospitality trade.

  The previous year though, the Mirabeau had been centre stage for all the wrong reasons. The local Mayor, Bernard Sellier, was murdered during the village’s Bastille Day celebrations. A second violent killing followed and St Rémy went into shock. Although an arrest was soon made, Bridget was convinced they had the wrong man. Her intuition proved right. Pete had been dragged into the nightmare too and had been left badly shaken. Thankfully the perpetrator was brought to justice and life in the peaceful little community soon returned to normal. But the murderous events of that summer would be engraved into St Rémy’s heart for evermore.

  “I’ve just got to fetch my purse from the bedroom and I’ll be ready to go” Bridget said as she hurried up the stairs.

  Gil was about to check that he still had his wallet in his pocket when there came a loud knock at the door.

  “Heather, how lovely to see you, come in, come in” he said as he opened the front door. “Bridge, Heather’s here” Gil called up the stairs.

  “I say, you’re looking well Mr Honeyman, come here let
me give you a hug” Heather said as she wrapped her arms around Gil.

  “You’re not looking bad yourself, motherhood obviously agrees with you.”

  “Well if you don’t look too closely at the bags under my eyes, I might be tempted to agree with you!”

  Heartfelt greetings were exchanged once more when Bridget arrived from upstairs.

  “You’re looking very well Heather” she said “how’s the little one?”

  “Fast asleep in daddy’s arms, at last. We’ve shut the bistro for the weekend so it’s great that Tony can spend more time with Tommy.”

  Heather and Tony owned a bistro, L’oie d’ Or, in the centre of the village. The English translation, The Golden Goose, was very apt. The couple had struggled when they first arrived in France after opening a little shop, The Best of British, which did what it said on the tin. The problem was that after the Brits left in the autumn, Marmite and baked beans, unsurprisingly, didn’t quite have the same appeal to the French. After the business nearly went under, and threatened to take poor Heather with it, Doug Faulkner came to the rescue. After the decision had been taken to close the shop and open a bistro, Doug had very generously offered to pay for a chef for several months whilst the Golden Goose ‘fledged and found its wings”. Not only providing financial assistance, Doug and Helen frequently stood in for Tony and Heather to give the pair a break. Helen secretly believed though that part of the appeal lay in allowing her husband to “strut around like a Parisian Maître d”. Whatever his reasons, Heather and Tony were eternally in the Faulkners’ debt.

  “Are you all ready for the big day tomorrow?” Bridget asked eagerly.

  “Almost, I’ve just got to pick up some flowers from the florist, in fact I’m on my way there now and then to the hairdressers to see if they can work their magic on this” she replied with a grimace as she ran her fingers through her shoulder length, dark blonde hair. “We’re so grateful to Doug and Helen for lending us their gorgeous house and garden for the naming ceremony, we’ll never be able to repay them, and that’s on top of what they’ve already done for us at the bistro. The least we could do was to invite them to be godparents, as well as your good selves of course. It’s such a comfort to know that Tommy is surrounded by so many kind and loving people. If anything happened to me or Tony…”