He catches up with the others in his study, where Yasmin is telling Jonty and Blythe what they already know. ‘We didn’t incorporate office space into the design,’ Yasmin says, ‘because – well, we’re all supposed to be on holiday, right? But by stealing a little from the master bedroom, and the same again from the two back bedrooms, we’ve ended up with quite a usable space.’
‘Where did you find those gorgeous drawers?’ Blythe says. ‘Is it Perch & Parrow?’
Yasmin runs a playful hand over the filing cabinet. ‘How much do you think it was? Go on, guess.’ On its corners, and around the handles, the red paint has worn off, exposing bare metal. Dents and scrapes cover the sides. It is the perfect industrial foil for Yasmin’s Scandi-themed interior. Rhys knows this because Yasmin has told him. Several times. Never mind that the drawers are locked and the key long lost, as long as it looks good.
‘Oh, gosh,’ Blythe says. ‘Four hundred? Five?’
‘It was free!’ Yasmin says gleefully. ‘Rhys’s dad had it in the old shed that was here before The Shore was built. Isn’t it fabulous?’
‘Fabulous,’ agrees Blythe. ‘I love how you’ve used the same red for these shelves.’ She admires the awards displayed above Rhys’s desk. A bunch of regional trophies, two Echo awards, the Olivier he won for West Side Story.
‘I wouldn’t have brought them,’ Rhys says. ‘Yasmin insisted.’
‘She’s proud of you.’ Blythe squeezes Rhys’s arm. ‘And gosh, is this all fan mail?’ She looks at the stack of post on the desk. Yasmin opens her mouth, but Rhys jumps in. He doesn’t want the Charltons to know he’s effectively paying people to like him.
‘Total ball-ache, really, but what can you do?’
‘I can’t imagine having strangers writing to me,’ Blythe says. ‘It must be extraordinary.’
‘Well . . .’ Rhys opens his hands, as though shrugging it off.
The sound of a car arriving makes them all look up. As one, they move into one of the two single rooms looking onto the driveway. Yasmin has had Tabby’s and Felicia’s bedrooms decorated in ice-cream pastels. A black and white photograph of Yasmin, gazing into the camera, adorns the walls in each room. Blythe gets to the window first. She claps her hands excitedly and spins around.
‘They’re here!’
Rhys feels a bolt of excitement. This is it. The first of The Shore’s new residents has arrived.
THIRTY-THREE
LATE JULY | YASMIN
‘I wonder who it is!’ Yasmin rushes to the stairs, keen to establish her position as The Shore’s First Lady.
‘Who’s next to you and Rhys?’ Blythe follows her, breathless with excitement.
‘Clemence Northcote.’ Yasmin has memorised the list. ‘IT professional, teenage son.’ Downstairs, she stops to swipe a fresh bottle of champagne from the waiting ice bucket. ‘Rhys – glasses.’ She clicks her fingers, and he picks up two flutes. ‘Gosh, I feel quite nervous!’ She has been dreaming of this moment ever since Rhys outlined his visions for The Shore. A haven of well-connected, well-to-do, like-minded people, who will commission Yasmin to design interiors around the world.
‘No need for nerves,’ Rhys says. ‘They’ll fall in love with the place the second they see it. The view alone will take their breath away.’
‘I agree,’ Jonty says. ‘It’s pretty sensational.’ He winks at Yasmin, waiting until Rhys’s attention is elsewhere before letting his eyes drop to her cleavage. Yasmin practically purrs. Six weeks ago, the two couples went out for dinner, downing several bottles of wine and splitting an Uber home. Rhys was in the front, boring the driver （who had turned out to be an unlikely fan of classical music） and Blythe was nodding off. Squashed in the middle, Yasmin had felt Jonty’s hand stroking her thigh. It was such a thrill, and, although nothing has happened since, Yasmin knows it’s only a matter of time.
‘Number three’s the soap actor, isn’t it?’ Blythe says.
‘Bobby Stafford,’ Rhys confirms. ‘Middleweight champion years ago, then he started acting and now he’s pretty much retired from the ring, as far as I can tell. His wife’s the blonde who was in the jungle – the waterfall shower with the see-through bikini?’
‘Ding dong,’ says Jonty.
‘Which just leaves Deirdre Huxley,’ Rhys says. ‘I don’t know anything about her except she’s retired.’