Page 25 of Christmas at Sturcombe Bay (Sturcombe Bay Romances #3)

It was all very well telling herself that she could just enjoy this while it lasted, but she had an uncomfortable feeling that she was already getting in too deep.

Sitting beside him in the car she was all too aware of the hard muscles in his shoulder, close to hers, and the way his dark hair was just starting to curl over his ear.

And the memory of how he had kissed her . . .

They drove for about fifteen minutes, then turned off the main road onto a narrower one beneath overhanging trees.

A few minutes later they turned into a car park in front of a low building of local grey stone, not much larger than a bungalow.

As Alex opened the car door for her, she heard the soft babble of water running over rocks.

A neatly trimmed box shrub in a wooden half-barrel stood beside the front door. Inside, there were only about fifteen tables, half of them occupied. A cheerful waitress in a pink tabard greeted them with a friendly smile.

“Ah, hello. Come on in. A table for two?”

“Yes please. I phoned earlier — Alex Crocombe.”

“Oh yes, of course. Would you like to sit by the window?”

“That would be nice.”

She led them over to an empty table with a view over the stream Shelley had heard. The banks were overhung with lush green shrubs, lit up in places by amber lanterns slung from the branches of the trees. A little further upstream was an old stone bridge, spanning the water in a single curved arch.

“Oh, it’s so pretty!” Shelley exclaimed as she sat down. “You could just imagine there were elves or fairies living there.” She felt her cheeks flush with heat. Oh, lord. What a stupid thing to say! Alex was going to think she was completely crazy!

But he was smiling, his eyes warm. “You could.”

Taking one of the laminated menus on the table, she studied it, then laid it down on the table, remembering Jess’s advice.

“I really can’t decide. It all looks good. You choose.”

A flicker of surprise, but he smiled. “Okay, how about . . . salmon ceviche with mango, followed by pan-seared lamb cutlets in rosemary sauce?”

“That sounds good.”

“And I’ll have the same,” he told the waitress. “And I’ll have mineral water, please. Would you like wine with yours, Shelley?”

“Oh . . . No, mineral water will be fine for me too. Thank you.”

Relief — she’d got through that part without too much trouble. Now the conversation bit.

“Why did you decide to join the air force?” she asked.

He laughed. “It’s every boy’s dream, isn’t it?

To fly, faster than the speed of sound. I must have watched Top Gun a hundred times — I wore out the DVD, not to mention Mom’s patience.

And the Battle of Britain, The Dambusters, Flight of the Intruder .

. . When I was a kid I dragged the family to the Spitfire Museum at Biggin Hill at least half a dozen times.

They actually restore Spitfires there, and they fly them most days.

You can even fly in them. Unfortunately I was too young for that. ”

She smiled at his boyish enthusiasm. “Did you have to train for a long time to fly your plane?”

He nodded. “You do a basic officer training course at the Royal Military College, then go on to the Flight Training School in Manitoba. You have to do academic studies too. Once you’ve got your Wings you move on to Moose Jaw, then Cold Lake to complete your Fighter Lead-in Training.”

Her eyes widened. “What a weird place name — Moose Jaw. Is it really called that?”

“Oh, Canada’s full of names like that. A lot of them are even weirder. There’s a place called Sober Island, and Punkeydoodles, and Head-Smashed-In.”

She laughed. “You’re joking!”

“Not at all. I bet you have some weird place names in England too.”

“Well, yes, we do.” She thought for a moment. “There’s a river in Dorset called the Piddle. One of the hotel guests told me about it. They said it’s very good for salmon fishing.”

They were both laughing as the waitress brought their starter. She smiled as she set down their plates. “There. Hope you enjoy your meal.”

“Thank you. It looks delicious.”

“She seems very nice,” Shelley murmured as the waitress left. “I was afraid they’d be snooty.”

“If they were, we’d leave.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

A warm glow spread through her. She had been afraid he would dismiss her anxieties as foolish, but he had taken her seriously. She took a forkful of her salmon and mango — the mingle of flavours melted on her tongue.

“Mmm!”

“Good?”

“Very good.”

Why had she been so anxious? She was really enjoying the evening. The food was simple but delicious, and Alex was such easy company that she forgot to worry about keeping up the conversation. It just seemed to flow.

He was smiling at her across the table. The warm amber glow from the garden sculpted his features in shadow and darkened his eyes. She would dream of this tonight — she would dream of it for a very long time.

* * *

Alex watched Shelley as she ate. She seemed to have relaxed in his company at last, and was chatting happily, telling him funny stories about some of the hotel guests and the odd things they left behind.

“False teeth! Wouldn’t you think they’d notice they’d forgotten their false teeth?”

He laughed. “I suppose you get all sorts.”

“Oh, yes. Most of them are really nice, especially the elderly ones. They like to chat. They tell me about their grandchildren, show me photographs.”

“What about the golfers? Are they nice too?”

“Most of them are okay. They really just want to get out on the course. Some of them bring their wives. Well, some of the wives play too, of course. The ones that don’t, they can get a bit bored, and they don’t all want to spend their time on the beach.

Sometimes they go into Exeter, shopping.

It would be nice if the hotel could lay on excursions for them. Down to the Eden Project or something.”

He nodded slowly. “That’s a good idea.” Something to think about if his plans for the hotel worked out.

They finished their meal and the waitress came to take their plates. “Would you like a dessert?”

Alex glanced across the table at Shelley, one eyebrow arched in question.

She shook her head. “Ah . . . um . . . Do you?”

“No, I’ll just have coffee. But you have a dessert if you want one.”

“Oh . . . no, I don’t think so. Just coffee for me, too. Thank you.”

The waitress nodded. “Be right with you.”

Alex watched Shelley gazing out of the window, maybe looking for those elves and fairies? She would fit right in with them. She was such a dainty little thing; she looked as if a puff of wind would blow her away.

But that was misleading. He hadn’t forgotten the injuries she had inflicted on that sleazy guy who had attacked her.

And he had seen how hard she worked around the hotel — shifting tables, carting boxes around.

On one occasion he had even caught a glimpse of her in one of the rooms, turning a double mattress by herself.

When he had offered to help, she had laughed him off. “It’s done,” she’d told him.

Even so, he had to be careful with her. Physically, she might be stronger than she looked, but emotionally she was very vulnerable. The memory of her sitting on the rocks beneath the hotel, crying her heart out because the hotel might be closing down, had hit him hard.

That had been when he’d first thought of buying the place himself, an idea reinforced by his grandfather’s stories about the airmen during the war.

The day after tomorrow he had an appointment with a Mr Stretton at Lytcott Capital Management.

Then he would see if it was a realistic proposition or not.

The waitress had returned with a carafe of coffee and two cups, plus a jug of cream. Shelley smiled up at her.

“This is a lovely place.” She gestured towards the window. “We were just saying there could be fairies living out there.”

She laughed. “Oh, yes, there could be. We call them piskies here. My husband’s quite a folklore buff.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh. Bernard.” She called to a tall, lanky man with a thick brown beard who was wiping down one of the other tables. “These people were asking about the piskies.”

“Oh, yes?” He came over, beaming. “Dartmoor’s a favourite haunt for piskies. They’re supposed to look like bundles of rags, and they live in caves and holes, and under oak trees.”

Alex was amused. This man clearly loved to talk about his pet subject.

“Are they friendly?” Shelley asked.

“Oh, yes. They can be very friendly and helpful, if you’re friendly to them.

There’s a legend about a woman who got lost on the moor with her children.

The youngest disappeared, and she searched for hours but couldn’t find him.

Then, as she sat down to cry, two little piskies appeared, holding little lanterns, and guided her to where he was lying. Then they disappeared into thin air.”

“Oh, that’s lovely!”

“Mind, if you treat them badly, they can be very mischievous. Sometimes they’ll force you to dance with them for hours and hours until you collapse with exhaustion.”

Shelley laughed. “I’ll make very sure that if I meet them, I’ll be nice to them, then!”

They had finished their coffee. “Another cup?” Alex asked.

She shook her head. “Oh . . . No, thank you. Unless you’re having another one.”

“No. Shall we go then?”

“Yes, okay.” She rose to her feet and swung her bag onto her shoulder.

“Goodnight, then.” The waitress beamed. “Do come again.”

“We certainly will. The food was excellent.”

“Thank you.”

As Alex held the door open for Shelley, she glanced back over her shoulder. “What a nice place.” She smiled up at him. “I’m glad you didn’t take me somewhere posh.”

He laughed. “Maybe next time?”

“Oh . . .” She froze, like that fox in the garden when he was a kid, darting back behind the hedge. “No . . . I . . .”

“Never mind.” He tried a reassuring smile. “I was joking. I’m more than happy with fish ’n’ chips on the beach.”

The smile wobbled and faded, and her eyes flickered away again. “Maybe . . .”

She intrigued him. Just when he thought he was beginning to earn her trust, something would cause her to dart back behind her defences. As he had back then with the fox, he was going to have to exercise a lot of patience to win her over.