Page 37 of Christmas at Sturcombe Bay (Sturcombe Bay Romances #3)

They crossed the Memorial Gardens, the fallen leaves crunching beneath their feet, and turned into the hotel’s car park. And she stopped dead. There was a large motorbike parked beside the front steps.

Paul slanted her a questioning look. “That’s Glenn’s bike?”

“It is.” Her mouth was a grim line. “What the hell’s he doing here?”

“Just go in through the staff entrance,” he suggested. “You don’t have to see him.”

She shook her head, gritting her teeth. “No. I might as well get it over with. Let him know once and for all that I want nothing to do with him.”

His eyes were dark as they searched her face. “Is that true?”

“Yes, it is.” She could hear the jagged edge in her own voice. “You don’t think I’d forgive him after what he did, do you? Not in this phase of the universe.”

He nodded. “Look, I know you wouldn’t want me to interfere . . .”

“I don’t. I can deal with him. Though there might be a few broken bones,” she added on a note of acid humour.

“Okay. But I’ll be right behind you if you need me.”

She smiled grimly and marched up the steps.

Neil, the relief night manager, looked up a little nervously at her entrance. “Ah, Jess. There’s someone here to see you.”

“I know. Where?”

He pointed to the lounge.

Glenn was sitting in an armchair reading the paper. He tossed it aside and rose to his feet as Jess stalked across the reception hall. “Where have you been?” That old familiar whine when things didn’t quite go his way. “I’ve been waiting hours.”

She felt her anger spike like hot lava. “How dare you ask where I’ve been? What I do is absolutely none of your business.”

She watched as he struggled to rein himself in. “No. I’m sorry.” He held out a hand to her. “Jess . . .”

“That’s my name,” she snarled. “I’m surprised that you can remember it, among all those other women you’ve been texting.”

“That’s all over now. I don’t do that anymore.” Oh, that little throb of sincerity in his voice — she could almost believe he meant it. “I made a huge mistake and I hurt you. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Jess . . .” He took a step towards her. “You were in love with me. We were getting married this weekend.”

“And am I glad that’s not happening!”

“Are you saying you don’t love me anymore? Can you really say that?”

“Watch my lips.” She could sense Paul standing a few paces behind her.

Glenn shook his head in disbelief, reaching out to grasp her shoulders. “Jess, please, don’t say it’s over . . .”

“Let me go.” Her voice would have etched steel. “Don’t touch me.”

“Jess, I still love you. And I can’t believe you don’t love me, not after everything we’ve been to each other.”

“Let. Me. Go.”

“Jess . . .”

There was a note of anger creeping into his voice, and she felt Paul move up beside her. “I believe you heard the lady.” He spoke slowly and clearly. “She would like you to let her go.”

Glenn blinked at him as though he hadn’t even noticed him before. “Who the fuck are you?” he demanded belligerently.

“I’m a friend of Jess’s.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, she’s my fiancée, so butt out.”

“I am not your fiancée.” Jess could feel the tears of anger stinging her eyes, and blinked them back fiercely. “I haven’t been since the moment I saw those dick pics on your phone.”

“She’s not your fiancée.”

Paul’s voice was quiet and calm, and for a moment that seemed to work. Glenn stepped back, but then abruptly swung his fist. If Paul’s reactions hadn’t been lightning quick it might have connected, but he missed by inches.

“Hey, stop!” Jess pushed herself between them. “Glenn, stop it this minute. If you think hitting Paul . . .”

“It’s okay, Jess.” Paul drew her safely back out of the way. “He isn’t going to try that again. Are you?”

Glenn was still glaring at Paul and for a moment it looked as though he would. Neil was hovering behind them anxiously, though he couldn’t do much if it came to a proper fight — he was nearer sixty than fifty.

The stand-off lasted for several long seconds, but then Glenn broke the stare, shaking his head and uncurling his fist.

“Look, Jess, can we just talk?” The force had drained from his voice. “Five minutes? Please.”

She hesitated, then sighed. “Okay. Five minutes, and that’s it.” She turned to Paul. “Thank you, Paul. Goodnight.”

“I can wait?” he offered.

“That isn’t necessary. I’ll be fine. Goodnight.”

He didn’t argue with her, but she suspected that he would wait anyway. She watched as he nodded to Neil, and walked out of the front door.

* * *

The night air was sharp with frost. Paul thrust his hands deep into his pockets and strolled over to the low wall along the front of the car park. He sat down, well in the shadow of a large horse chestnut that grew in the corner.

It would be better if the guy didn’t see him when he came out — he didn’t want to provoke another fight.

He was a good-looking dude, and the black leather motorbike trousers and heavy leather jacket made him look like something out of a Marvel comic.

From what Jess had told him he knew that their relationship had ended badly, but if he was here to plead with her to go back to him what would she do? They’d been together for five years . . .

He waited. Five minutes stretched to ten, then fifteen. He was tossing up between going back inside or giving up and going away when the doors opened and the guy came striding out. He paused to pull on his crash helmet, then swung onto his bike, revved it up, and turned out of the car park.

Paul waited until the noise of the bike’s engine had faded, then climbed the steps and walked back in through the front doors. Neil pointed to the terrace. “She’s outside,” he murmured.

Nodding his thanks, he crossed to the terrace. Jess was standing by the stone balustrade, gazing out over the bay. He moved over to stand close to her, but didn’t speak.

After a long time she turned. “He tried to hit you.”

“He missed.”

“Thank you for not hitting him back. Oh, not because he didn’t deserve it.” She shook her head, unsmiling. “But that would have been just what he wanted — a good ruck.”

“I thought as much.” He laughed with a touch of dry humour. “When I was playing, I’d often have defenders try to rile me up, try to get me sent off. I learned pretty early how to handle those situations.”

Her brow furrowed. “What is it with some men? Thinking they can just say sorry, and carry on as if nothing has happened?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I guess some of us are just idiots.”

“He brought me this.” She had a small box in her hand, a jeweller’s box. “Earrings.” She flipped open the lid to show him.

Diamonds winked in the light spilling from the reception hall. Diamonds in a pretty flower-shaped setting. He knew enough about diamonds to know that they were almost certainly real.

“Bloody diamonds.” She snapped the box shut. “They’re probably fake. He thought he could give me diamonds and I’d go running back to him. Well, this is what I think of his bloody diamonds.” She swung her arm back to throw the box into the sea.

In a swift movement he caught her wrist, folding his other hand over her fist to close it over the box. “Don’t do that. If you really don’t care about him anymore, it doesn’t matter what you do with them. Wear them, sell them, give them to charity.”

She laughed — bitterly, angrily, then shading into a wry amusement.

“You’re right. Why should I throw them away?

They’re very pretty. I’m surprised he had such good taste.

I bet someone else chose them for him. Probably his sister.

” She dragged in a deep breath, and held out her hand.

“Anyway, thanks for . . . Thanks. Goodnight.”

He took her hand and held it. “There’s a comedy night at the Corn Exchange in Exeter on Wednesday. It’s usually a pretty good evening.”

She shook her head. “No, thank you.” She looked away, then back again. “I’m sorry, but as a . . . relationship, this isn’t going to go anywhere. I hope we can still be friends, but . . .”

She drew her hand from his, and with a brisk nod, she turned and walked back across the reception hall to the staff door.

He watched her go. Well, that had been pretty clear. He’d been given the brush-off before, a couple of times, but they really hadn’t bothered him much. They’d mostly been just a case of who would say it first.

This time . . . He felt like one of those cartoon characters who’d been hit over the head with a giant hammer.

But it was no surprise. Her ex showing up like that had thrown her for a loop. She was going to need a bit of space. He drew in a long, deep breath, and sighed wryly. He’d give her space, but he wasn’t going to give up.

Cassie had warned him that he could have met his match. Maybe she wasn’t far wrong.