Page 17 of Christmas at Sturcombe Bay (Sturcombe Bay Romances #3)

But it was more than just a physical attraction that tugged at her. She liked his sense of humour, and she liked that he got hers. Glenn could sometimes get annoyed when she teased him.

She was going to have to be careful, she reminded herself firmly. She could be standing on a very slippery slope.

Pushing those troublesome thoughts from her mind, she glanced through the menu.

The selection was small, but it looked delicious.

Jess chose pulled crab with crème fra?che and chives for a starter, followed by Suffolk lamb with mint and white asparagus.

Paul opted for fillet of veal with fingerling potatoes and rapini.

“And I’ll have mineral water with that, as usual,” he added. “Would you prefer wine, Jess?”

“Ah . . . not a whole bottle. Do you have a house wine?”

“Of course.”

“Then I’ll have a glass of that, please.”

The waiter smiled and withdrew.

Jess picked up a breadstick and nibbled on it. “Has Lisa told you what’s happening with the hotel?”

“Yes.”

“It would be a real shame if it gets closed down. There’s this lovely old couple — the Wrights — who had their honeymoon there nearly sixty years ago, and they’ve come back for a long weekend every year since, on their anniversary.

They brought their little dog with them.

They want to celebrate their sixtieth wedding anniversary there.

It’ll break their hearts if they can’t. And there are quite a few people like them — regulars who come back every year.

I’ve been looking back over the old guest lists. ”

Paul’s eyes were dark. “I know. They pretty much keep the place going through the off-season. Unfortunately there aren’t enough of them, and they’re gradually getting older and dying off.”

“What about the golfers?”

“They bring in a lot of business over the summer, but not so many want to play in the winter when it’s windy and the ground’s wet. There are only two tournaments for the whole six months.”

“But if the hotel closes, what will happen in the summer when they do want to play?”

He shrugged his wide shoulders. “They’d just go somewhere else.”

She shook her head sadly. “It’s a lovely old place. It could be really nice if only someone would invest a bit of money in it. If no one buys it, it could just get demolished.”

“It won’t be as easy as that — it’s actually a listed building. They’d need to get it delisted and then apply to the council to knock it down.”

“Can they do that?”

“Yes, though it can be a long and expensive process. But if the owners are unscrupulous enough they’d just leave it empty and derelict until it’s beyond recovery — unsafe. Maybe a convenient fire that can be blamed on squatters. Then the council doesn’t have much choice.”

She stared at him, aghast. “Oh no, that would be even worse. You could do so much with the place, with a bit of input.”

“Such as?”

“Well, weddings, for a start. Lisa told me they had two there this summer. It’s a wonderful venue, especially with those views. When we were looking for somewhere for ours, we’d have jumped at it, if it had been closer.”

“Yes, closer. That’s one disadvantage. Sturcombe’s pretty tucked away, off the beaten track.”

“So you play that up as a plus,” she argued, her enthusiasm rising. “You could offer the whole package, with the bridal party and even the guests staying for the weekend as well.”

“That could be expensive.”

She waved the breadstick in a dismissive gesture. “There’d be people willing to pay. Destination weddings are a big thing. Some people go to Ibiza or even the Caribbean for their wedding. Why not South Devon?”

“Hmmm.”

“It would be cheaper and certainly less hassle for the guests to get there, particularly older guests. Of course, if you were going to go for that you’d need to smarten the place up quite a bit,” she added judiciously.

“Go more upmarket. Maybe think about a spa, a hairdressing salon. And you could upsell by offering it as a package for hen and stag weekends.”

“What? Hordes of screaming women running around in feather boas and pink cowboy hats, blokes getting pissed up and hiring strippergrams, and tying the groom butt-naked to a lamppost? No, thank you.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Not that sort of thing. You market it as something classy. Five star. Not the sort of thing that would attract the cowboy hat and strippergram brigade.”

He nodded slowly. “Okay . . .”

The waiter had brought their starter. Jess thanked him with a smile, and took a forkful of her pulled crab. “Mmm . . .” She closed her eyes, savouring the delicate blend of flavours. “This is delicious.”

He grinned. “Do I get a point?”

“Two points,” she conceded.

“So, go on,” he prompted. “Weddings wouldn’t be enough to sustain the place. You’d still be likely to have a drop off of bookings in the off-season. What else?”

“Okay . . .” She thought about it. “You could push the dog-friendly angle, especially as dogs are allowed on the beach. A lot of places ban them during the summer or even all year round. Dog owners are always looking for places to go. A lot of them don’t want to have to deal with all the paperwork to take their pooch abroad.

And there are already websites and magazines — there’s your promotion right there. ”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Good one.”

“And I’m sure there are lots of other things they could do. Business conferences, and maybe . . . corporate team-building events. You know the kind of thing — paintballing, trekking. Being so close to Dartmoor, that could be really popular.”

“It could.”

She sighed. “All we need is someone with a few million to toss around.”

“Yes . . .”

* * *

The waiter had taken away their empty starter plates and brought their main course. Paul was particularly fond of fingerlings, with their slightly nutty, earthy tang. He ate in silence for a while, thinking over Jess’s suggestions.

He was fond of the old Carleton. When they were kids, he and Tom Cullen and the Ellis brothers used to run wild about the place, exploring all the hidden nooks and crannies that had been disused for years. That could maybe be turned to something productive.

He knew from Lisa how little had been put into it over the past . . . well, probably twenty years or so. Just barely enough to keep it up to the basic health and safety codes.

The structure was basically sound, but it would take an awful lot of money just to buy the place, never mind to renovate it to the kind of standard that would be needed. And he couldn’t bring any of his clients’ money in — not yet anyway. That would be unethical.

But if he could find a way to turn it into an attractive venue, where people would be willing to pay good prices, with a range of facilities which would free them from relying on the unpredictable English weather, it would be worth thinking about.

“You’re very quiet,” Jess remarked, a question in her eyes.

“I’m enjoying my dinner.” He wasn’t ready to share his thoughts about the hotel yet. “How’s yours?”

“Excellent.”

“More points?”

“Don’t get greedy.”

He laughed. She was fun to be with, that sharp sense of humour keeping him on his toes. He was enjoying the evening more than he had enjoyed a date with a woman for . . . a long time.

Maybe Lisa was right, he acknowledged with a quirk of wry humour. Choosing his girlfriends on the basis of having great legs might not be the best way to achieve a lasting relationship. Not that Jess didn’t have great legs, starting in a pair of sharp high heels and going all the way up to heaven.

But then he wasn’t looking for a lasting relationship. No way. Tom and Liam might have bitten the bullet, but he enjoyed the single life. Domestic bliss wasn’t his thing.