Page 32 of Christmas at Sturcombe Bay (Sturcombe Bay Romances #3)

Shelley brushed another tear from her eyes with an impatient hand as she stuffed her second-best cotton sweater into her backpack.

Why was she crying anyway? She had known all along that the fairy tale would come crashing down round her ears sooner or later.

She just hadn’t expected it to end quite like this.

Why hadn’t he told her the truth? She had known he was quite well off, but to be able to buy the hotel, outright, just like that! Like someone might decide to buy a packet of crisps. That was a whole different league.

After struggling to fasten up the backpack, she sat down on the bed and looked around the room.

It wasn’t much — just a narrow single bed, an ancient wardrobe, a dressing table with a wonky drawer, a slightly threadbare carpet — but it had been her home, her haven, for the past three years. The closest thing to a home she had ever known.

The tears were flooding down her cheeks now. She had to go. She couldn’t stay, knowing she’d see Alex every day. It had been bad enough when he was a guest, but now . . . The owner of the hotel didn’t have a relationship with a chambermaid — it was as simple as that.

Or not a proper relationship anyway. She smiled bitterly. He might sleep with her, keep her on the side while he dated women on his own level. Married a woman on his own level.

She couldn’t live like that. And if she was crying now, it was her own stupid fault for letting herself fall in love with him. She should have known better.

The only things left to pack were those on her bedside table — a box of tissues, a packet of mints, and her small alarm clock, a gift from the charity who had got her this job three years ago.

The tissues could go in the bin, the mints into her pocket, and she tucked the clock into the side pocket of her backpack. If she left now she could catch the bus into town before anyone realised she had gone.

Slipping across to the tiny bathroom the staff shared she splashed her face with cold water to try to cool the redness of her eyes. But as she stepped back across the hall she almost collided with Jess.

“Oh, sorry . . .” She ducked her head and tried to dodge past into her own room.

“My fault,” Jess responded, her voice buoyant. “I wasn’t looking where I was going. Isn’t it great news about Alex and Paul buying the hotel? I didn’t know a thing about it, did you?”

“No, I . . . never heard anything.”

“It’s brilliant. They’ve got so many ideas. They’re really going to make something of the place . . .” She stopped suddenly, her hand on Shelley’s arm. “What’s wrong? Have you been crying?”

“No.”

“Yes, you have. What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. Leave me alone.” The tears were welling up again, and she dived into her room before they started to fall, trying to shut the door.

“What’s going on?” Jess stood in the doorway, her gaze taking in the empty wardrobe, the stuffed backpack. “Where are you going?”

“I don’t know. I don’t care.” Her heart felt like a lump of cold lead. “I’m just leaving.”

“But why?” Jess stared at her. “Everything’s going to be okay now. The hotel isn’t going to close.”

Shelley shook her head fiercely. “That’s got nothing to do with it,” she insisted. “I’ve been here long enough. I hate to stay in one place too long.”

Jess’s expression told her that she didn’t believe her, but she stood aside as Shelley shoved past her and hurried for the stairs.

It had started to rain. It wasn’t heavy, but it was cold. Shelley pulled the hood of her parka up over her head as she walked briskly past the front of the hotel and up to the bus stop on Church Road. She only had a few minutes to wait for the bus, so hopefully no one would see her.

No such luck.

“Shelley! Shelley, wait!” It was Lisa running after her.

Shelley scowled angrily as she turned. “What?”

“What are you doing? Where are you going?”

“It’s none of your business.” She felt as if the pressure inside her was going to burst. “Just . . . Just go away. Leave me alone.”

Lisa’s eyes widened in shock — Shelley had never spoken like that since she had come to Sturcombe. “Why? What’s the matter? Has someone done something? Said something? Tell me.”

Shelley turned away, hunching her shoulders, squeezing her eyes shut to try to hold back the tears. “Just leave me alone.”

“Whatever’s wrong we can sort it out,” Lisa coaxed.

Shelley shook her head fiercely. “I said leave me alone.”

Lisa sighed. “Okay,” she conceded after a moment. “But you can’t walk out just like that. You have to give a week’s notice.”

“Why?”

“It’s in your contract.”

“What contract?”

“You were given a copy when you started.” Lisa’s voice was beginning to sound strained. “Didn’t you read it?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Ah, there it was. The crunch. Her stomach roiled — dammit, was she going to be sick?

Lisa laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Why didn’t you read it, Shelley?”

Shelley looked away. There was no point trying to come up with an excuse. Lisa knew. She was too astute not to have guessed.

“You can’t read, can you?”

Where the hell was that bus? It never came along when you needed it. As the tears spilled over, Lisa folded her in a warm hug.

“It’ll be okay. Look, let’s not stand here in the rain. Come on over to my house and we’ll get a cup of tea and talk about it.”

“What about the baby?”

“She’s fine. She has her Uncle Paul and a whole squad of honorary aunties and uncles making a big fuss of her. Come on.”

There was no point trying to resist Lisa when she was determined. They crossed the road and walked a little way up the hill, turning right past Lisa’s husband’s surgery.

Her house was a short distance further on — a large white detached house with bay windows and orange roof tiles, and a pretty front garden behind a low brick wall, with a neat lawn and well-tended flowerbeds where roses were still blooming bravely.

Shelley had been here a couple of times before and it always seemed like paradise to her. She hesitated on the doorstep as Lisa opened the front door.

“I’m wet. I’ll drip all over your floor.”

“Don’t worry,” Lisa insisted. “It won’t hurt the tiles. Come on in. Give me your coat.”

She hung their coats in a closet beside the front door and led the way through to the kitchen.

The whole house was light and bright, with white walls and pale wooden floors, and at the back there were huge windows looking out over a lovely garden and beyond to a view of the rain-drenched bay.

“Sit down while I put the kettle on.”

Shelley perched on a stool at the granite-topped centre island, wiping her eyes on her cuff. Lisa put a box of tissues beside her, and Shelley took several, scrubbing her eyes and blowing her nose. She had never felt more miserable or ashamed of herself in her life.

“Now.” Lisa brought over two cups of tea and sat down opposite her. “Tell me.”

Shelley shrugged, still feeling sick. “There’s nothing to tell. I can’t read, that’s all.”

“Are you dyslexic?”

“No. Just thick.”

“No, you’re not,” Lisa retorted sharply. “I’ve known you for three years, and I know darned well you’re not thick. So, tell me.”

Shelley drew in a deep breath. “It was just that I changed schools so often, every time I moved to a different foster home. Sometimes I’d be at one only for a few weeks before I got moved again. It was all so confusing.”

She could feel the tears welling up again as the bitter memories surfaced.

“I couldn’t understand what was going on and the teachers never had time to help me catch up. And sometimes the other kids could be really nasty, called me dumbo and that. In the end I just gave up.”

“I’m not surprised. It sounds like a right mess.” Lisa reached across and took her hand. “But you’re bright, Shelley. I know that. You could learn, if you want to.”

Shelley shook her head. “I tried, when I was at the hostel in London. I went to classes, but it was just like being at school all over again.”

“It doesn’t have to be like that. Listen, my mum was a primary school teacher. She’s taught hundreds of kids to read. She’d be really happy to teach you.”

“Oh, I couldn’t.” Shelley drew back. “No. I wouldn’t want to bother her.”

“Rubbish, it wouldn’t be a bother. She’s retired now, and since my nanna died she’s been complaining that she hasn’t got enough to do. She’d really enjoy being able to use her skills again. One-to-one tuition. What do you say?”

Shelley hesitated. “I’d pay her.”

She saw Lisa ready to refuse, but then she smiled wryly. “Okay, if you insist. I’ll call her now and arrange for you to meet with her and talk about it.”

Before Shelley could change her mind, Lisa had picked up her phone and clicked on her mum’s number. It rang a couple of times, then Shelley heard Helen Channing’s voice.

“Hello, dear.”

“Hi, Mum. What are you doing?”

“Not much. Tidying the kitchen drawers, as a matter of fact. Just sandpapering the anchor, as your grandfather used to say. Why?”

“Can you spare half an hour or so?”

“Happily. What do you want?”

“How would you like to take on a pupil for literacy lessons?”

“You mean Shelley?”

Shelley felt that roiling in her stomach again.

Lisa laughed. “How did you know?”

“Sweetheart, I taught primary school for thirty years, give or take. I know how to recognise when someone’s trying to cover up.”

“Brilliant. Look, she’s here at my house. Could you pop down and have a chat with her about it?”

“Right now?”

“If you can.”

“Of course — no time like the present. Give me ten minutes.”

As they ended the call, Shelley gazed bleakly across the table. “Does everyone know?”

Lisa shook her head. “No, only Mum, and you heard why. And she won’t have said a word.”

“You knew.”

“It was just a guess.” Lisa smiled. “Like I said, I’ve known you for three years. I had a feeling that might be why you didn’t want to try the reception job. Shelley, not being able to read isn’t something to be ashamed of. The system let you down when you were a kid.”

“Yeah . . .” She’d always tried to tell herself that, but it was hard to believe when your teachers, your foster parents and your classmates were telling you that you were stupid, lazy, wicked.

“Anyway, what about Alex?” Lisa asked gently.

Shelley stiffened, instantly wary. “What about him?”

“Were you really going to leave without telling him, without saying goodbye?”

No words would come. Shelley turned her head away, staring with unseeing eyes at the garden and the cloud-smudged sky.

“Shelley, he likes you — a lot. And I thought you liked him.”

Shelley laughed bitterly. “I did. Until I found out about him.”

Lisa’s brow furrowed. “What? What did you find out?”

“Only that he’s a millionaire — a multi-millionaire. He never told me that. I only found out when I heard he was going to buy the hotel.”

“So he’s rich? What’s the problem?” Lisa sounded genuinely puzzled.

“You can’t see it? He’s going to be the owner of the hotel. I’m just a chambermaid.”

Lisa shook her head. “If that’s all, well . . . I think you’re doing both him and yourself a great disservice. He’s a good man. Look at how kind he is with his grandfather.”

“I know, but . . . It’s just a fairy tale, isn’t it — Prince Charming and Cinderella.

That sort of thing doesn’t happen in real life.

Although it probably didn’t in the fairy tales either,” she added cynically, “before they got all prettied up with pink and glitter. The prince probably married some princess from the neighbouring kingdom and kept Cinderella in a nice little cottage in the village, visiting her twice a week and every other Sunday. Well, I’m not going to be that Cinderella.

” The tears were welling up again, and she blinked them back, struggling to maintain what was left of her fragile pride.

“I won’t live like that. I can’t. So, that’s why I have to leave. ”

“You’ve just agreed to have literacy lessons with my mum,” Lisa pointed out gently.

“Well, yes, but . . .”

“Look, I don’t want you to leave, especially knowing you’ve nowhere to go and no job.

I’ll just be worrying about you all the time.

Stay. Just give it a month. You can keep out of Alex’s way now that he’s moved out of the hotel.

It’s probably best that you back off anyway if it’s making you feel uncomfortable. ”

“I don’t know. I . . .” She could feel herself wavering. Running away had been an impulse, something she had always done when things had seemed too much for her. But this time, was it really what she wanted?

“Hello-o?” Helen Channing’s voice called from the front door.

“Hi, Mum,” Lisa called back. “We’re in the kitchen.”

The older woman appeared in the doorway. “Hi. I left my coat in the closet. Is there a cup of tea going?”

“Of course. Sit down, Mum. You know Shelley, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. How are you, dear?”

“I’m . . .” Shelley had to swallow the catch in her throat. “Fine.”

“That’s good.”

Shelley had always liked Lisa’s mother. Warm and friendly, her dark hair laced with threads of silver, her eyes full of smiles. If any of the teachers at the schools she had attended had been like her, she was sure things could have been different.

Helen came over and sat down at the centre island. “So, you want to catch up with your reading.” Her voice was very calm and matter-of-fact. “Were you ever tested to see if you were dyslexic?”

“Yes, twice. They said I wasn’t.”

Helen nodded. “Okay. So tell me, what parts of reading do you have trouble with?”

“All of it, really. No . . .” She shook her head. If she was going to do this, she had to start in the right place. “I can read some things. Like a notice or something, where there’s just a few words. But if it’s a whole sheet of paper . . .”

“Well, that’s a good start. Maybe it’s your confidence as much as anything — that’s not unusual. And, of course, you have a very good vocabulary — I’ve heard you speak. In fact, haven’t I heard you speak a little French, and even German?”

“Well, yes,” Shelley confessed awkwardly. “Just how to say hello and things like that. I’ve picked it up when we’ve had people over for the golf tournaments.”

“See.” Lisa grinned. “I said you were bright.”

Shelley managed a smile. They both seemed to have so much faith in her. Maybe she could do this.