Chapter 14

The drive down to Weymouth only took half an hour but finding a parking space near the beach took almost as long. School Summer Holidays had started a couple of weeks earlier and the beach was heaving with people.

Penny silently stared around her.

“It’s ever so long,” she said at length. “The pictures I’ve seen have all been little coves. And the sand! I thought there’d be lots of pebbles. Oh, Peter! Thank you, thank you for bringing me here! Can we go down to the sea itself?”

“Of course. We’ll have to find some steps down onto the beach though.”

That was easy but then they had to pick their way between family groups, avoid children running helter-skelter, beach balls, tennis balls and kites. At length they reached the water’s edge and Penny kicked off her shoes, held her skirt up above her knees and paddled in.

She turned. “It’s not nearly as cold as I thought it’d be,” she said excitedly.

“If you were to swim out a bit I reckon you’d find it a bit nippier.”

“Maybe but I can’t swim, so there.”

A slightly bigger wave rolled in and, despite her jumping, caught her above the knees. She squealed.

“Why didn’t you warn me?”

“Sorry! I was watching you rather than the waves. Someone once told me that every seventh wave is a bit bigger.”

“OK!”

She watched, saw one building and jumped, then counted. “Five ... six ... seven ... ooh! It’s getting bigger.” She jumped successfully and looked very pleased with herself.

She did that for a bit longer and then came out. “Actually, it’s getting a bit cold now.”

“I’m sorry, poppet. I never thought of bringing a towel.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll soon dry off. What a pity we didn’t bring the dogs! I bet they’d have loved it.”

“Maybe but they would have needed towels with their shaggy coats.”

“Dead right!”

“Right! Fishy lunch!” ordered Peter.

By the time they reached the promenade Penny was dry again but had to brush the salt and sand off her legs and feet before putting on her shoes.

They meandered slowly along the front, looking at menus as they did. Suddenly Peter stopped.

“Moules!” he exclaimed excitedly. “Just the job!”

“Mools? What are they?”

“Mussels. The French call them moules and they were fresh in this morning.”

“What are they like?”

“Yummy! They come in their shells which have opened and have been cooked in a bisque which is a thin French soup, all vegetably with garlic. You’ll love them.”

“OK!”

They went in and ordered. Peter had a lager and Penny a lemon squash.

In due course their moules arrived in soup plates with big napkins. An empty soup plate was placed in the middle of the table.

“For the shells,” explained Peter. “Now watch me as I open one up. You break off the empty shell and use it as a spoon.”

He showed her and cautiously Penny followed him.

She watched again as he popped the moule in his mouth, chewed briefly and swallowed it.

Penny copied him.

“Oh wow!” she breathed. “It’s special.”

“Good! Keep your ‘spoon’ and attack the next.”

It did not take either of them all that long to polish off their moules. Penny copied Peter when he picked up his desert spoon and started to finish the bisque. She also copied him when he broke his bread roll and used it to mop his plate dry.

“Thank you, Peter,” Penny said softly. “That was magic.”

Peter smiled warmly at her. “Good! I love them.”

“Can we get them at home?”

“Yes at Waitrose but you need to catch the same day that they were brought ashore.”

“How often’s that?”

“Two or three days a week.”

“You’ll have to teach me how to make the bisque.”

Peter grinned. “Not without a recipe but the internet is a bit more up to date than Mrs Beeton.”

“Do you think the cook here would let us have her recipe?”

“I doubt it but as you won’t be in competition she might.”

Penny nodded a bit ruefully.

When the waitress came round to offer them a sweet Penny asked her. The waitress sucked her teeth.

“I’ll ask her. Coffee?”

“Yes please!” came the chorus.

The landlady herself brought them their coffee.

“I couldn’t not after what Allie told me all you’d said about the bisque. Is that the first time you’ve had moules marinières?”

“Yes!” Penny almost whispered. “It was magic.”

“Where do you live?”

“Netherbourne, north of Pitsbury.”

“So you won’t be in competition.”

“Good Heavens no!” chimed in Peter. “Private use and we’ll bind ourselves not to give the recipe to anyone else.”

“Right! I’m really flattered so I’ll let you have the recipe. What’s your email address?”

Peter gave it.

“OK, I’ll get the recipe off to you this evening. It’ll probably be quite late.”

Penny leapt to her feet and gave the landlady a hug.

“Thank you! Thank you!” she gushed.

The landlady gave her a gentle squeeze, winked at Peter and left them.

Allie returned with the bill. Peter left considerably more than the standard 10% tip.

They walked back to the car. Actually, Penny skipped most of the way. As Peter unlocked it Penny wound her arms round his waist and pressed against him. Finally, she slackened her grip.