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amaze her. She watched as he bent down and picked up his discarded T-shirt from the night before, then sat on the edge of the bed to pull it over his head. As all men do, he looked faintly ridiculous and even vulnerable as he stood up displaying his naked lower half. He checked his testicles unconsciously, before shuffling his feet into an ancient pair of leather slippers and reaching for an equally ancient dressing gown that had been draped over a chair.
    Bosun and Sprat’s ears pricked up, their eyes watchful in case this was a false alarm or whether it was looking good for breakfast. At the words ‘Come on, boys’ they both sprang off the bed and followed their owner downstairs.
    Helen sank back into the tangle of soft cotton sheets and blankets (Piran was never going to be a duvet man) and closed her eyes. She could hear him talking to the cats and the scrape of their food bowls as he placed them on the tiled floor of the kitchen. She could hear the whoosh of the water from the tap as he filled the kettle, and then the radio came on, tuned to the local news. With a sigh she snuggled into the pillow and was almost drifting back into sleep when she heard a loud ‘Oh, for chrissake!’ and the sound of Piran’s footsteps marching towards the bottom of the stairs.
    ‘Helen, come down here. They’re on the bloody radio.’
    ‘Who?’ she called back, but he had returned to the kitchen and was out of earshot.
    Hurriedly pulling on one of Piran’s old shirts, she made her way to the kitchen. He was standing at the counter, staring at the battered radio and listening intently.
    ‘What …?’ she asked.
    ‘Shhh.’
    She shut up and listened.
    It seemed to be a phone-in. Pam, the show’s presenter, was talking to a female caller:
    Caller: The point is, Pam, this is an important and much-loved part of our heritage. The community still uses the Pavilions building and it mustn’t be allowed to fall into the hands of some global coffee chain.
    Pam: This wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that you run three of Trevay’s cafés and you don’t want the competition?
    Caller: It’s not about money. It’s about what the Pavilions means to us as a community.
    Pam: And when did you last go to the Pavilions?
    Caller: That theatre is a piece of Trevay history and should continue to be so.
    Pam: When did you last buy a ticket to attend an event there?
    Caller: That’s irrelevant. It’s not a matter of when I last went or when you last—
    Pam: I last went six months ago, to an antiques fair. I was shocked at the state of the place. It reeks of damp, the window frames are rusted, some of the panes of glass are cracked and boarded up. It needs a lot of money spending on it. Café Au Lait taking over might just be the best thing that could happen to the Pavilions. Let’s see what the caller on line two has to say.
    Second caller: Good morning, Pam. My name is Mrs Audrey Tipton. I have lived in Pendruggan for the last forty years. It’s a quiet, unspoiled village with a strong community—
    Pam: Audrey, do you think the Pavilions should be preserved as a theatre?
    Audrey: Well, yes, that’s my point. Trevay is a ten-minute drive from my house in Pendruggan and offers everything I need for shopping and entertainment. The Pavilions should be fully restored by the council so that it will once again be the top attraction for our summer visitors.
    Pam: The council say it’s a white elephant they can no longer afford. Café Au Lait promise that their redevelopment of the site will not only attract more visitors to the area, it will guarantee jobs for local people. That’s a good thing, surely?
    Audrey: I have started an action group with several high-profile local supporters and we will fight the council all the way.
    Pam: You’ve got a fighting fund, have you?
    Audrey: We are establishing one right now with the help of a local television producer – Penny Leighton. She’s our vicar’s wife and very hands-on with local