Blue Moon by Pam Weaver Read Free Book Online Page B

the table in the staffroom. Breakfast for them would come much later, between nine and ten, and would have to be taken in haste, and in shifts. No guest had to be kept waiting, so their needs came first. Ruby was grateful for her meals. Some were much better than she could expect at home, but she often ate cold bacon and congealed eggs because she had been delayed in coming to the table.
    She had lunch at the hotel as well. Once her shift was done, she came back to the staffroom to eat pie and vegetables or fish or, best of all, her firm favourite of chicken stew. Apart from the occasional broiler, the chances of eating chicken at home were slim, except maybe at Christmas. With a few hours off in the afternoon, Ruby would be back at five for a cup of tea and a piece of cake, before she had to turn the beds down while the guests were eating dinner.
    Cleaning the bedrooms passed without incident today, which was just as well because Ruby was tired from the day before. She had barely started on her plate ofbeef stew and dumplings when Mrs Fosdyke burst through the door.
    ‘Mr Payne wants to see you, Bateman,’ she blurted out. ‘In his office – now!’
    The Warnes family might own the hotel, but Mr Payne was the manager. A strictly no-nonsense man, a stickler for punctuality and strong on personal hygiene, he had only been seen once by Ruby in passing, but she’d heard about his reputation. Until now, she had never once spoken to him or been to his office.
    Ruby’s knees buckled. A summons from Mr Payne meant only one thing: the sack. But what had she done? She glanced around helplessly, but the other chambermaids avoided her eyes.
    ‘I’ll keep your dinner warm,’ said Phyllis, putting a clean plate over the top of Ruby’s meal.
    ‘Come along, Bateman,’ Mrs Fosdyke snapped. ‘Mr Payne doesn’t want to be kept waiting all day.’
    It had been another warm day, so Nelson was preparing his boat and the driftnet, ready to set off in the early evening, an ideal time to catch mackerel. The net itself would drift with the current and form a curtain underwater; and the fish, going into the net, would be trapped by their gills. Nelson always did well, catching everything from herrings to pilchards, sprats and sea bass, as well as mackerel. Although the waters around Worthing had been depleted since the halcyon days of the Victorian era, he made a decent living. He knew exactly where to find a shoal congregating in the upper wateroffshore, which was fast-flowing and where the gulls often dived down. He planned to stop his boat and drift through it. If finding mackerel there was a problem, he could move on to Goring, where there was a good chance of finding some flounders or plaice, both of which were popular with the locals. At this time of year the sea yielded up her plenty, and he was doing all right.
    A shadow fell over him, blocking the sunlight. ‘Oh, so you decided to turn up after all,’ he said sarcastically. He looked up to see not his son Percy, as he was expecting, but Albert Longman, dressed in what looked like his Sunday best.
    He frowned. ‘What are you doing on the beach dressed like that?’
    ‘I’ve come straight from work,’ said Albert. ‘I wanted to ask you something.’
    Albert lived with his mother north of the railway line somewhere near St Dunstan’s Road. He’d met Percy through the social club, although he and Percy had never been great friends. At nearly thirty, Albert was unattached. He was dark-haired and had a rather large nose and narrow eyes. He had high cheekbones and wore his hair short, cut in an old-fashioned pudding-basin style. Being a reporter, he was – in Nelson’s opinion – a bit of a big-head. Nelson’s lip curled as Albert took off his trilby and coughed into his fist.
    ‘Well?’
    ‘I’ve come to ask your permission to step out withyour daughter, Mr Bateman,’ he said, licking his fingers and pressing down his hair at the front.
    Nelson snorted. ‘Good