Page 4 of Christmas at Sturcombe Bay (Sturcombe Bay Romances #3)

“Yes, I can see that. But mostly it only needs some paint and polish. It’s not like it’s crumbling or anything.”

“The structure’s sound enough, but it needs more than a bit of paint and polish.

” Lisa sighed. “Some of the window frames on the side facing the sea need replacing, and those are our best rooms. It’s about due for rewiring throughout, the central heating boiler’s on the blink, and the guest lift has broken down twice in the past three months. ”

“Not good,” Jess conceded.

“Ah, well. We keep plodding on. Quite a lot of our guests have been coming down here for years, celebrating anniversaries and such. Sadly, a lot of them are growing older now, and each year there are fewer of them. But the golfing enthusiasts keep us going, just about.”

Jess gazed around. “You know, it’s got a lot of potential. With that view, it could be really popular.”

“It could. There’s been a rumour that there’s going to be another takeover. I just hope the new owners are a bit better than the current ones. Anyway . . .” She sipped her coffee. “How long are you staying?”

“Oh, I don’t know. A few days . . .” She drew in a long breath, struggling to suppress the tears that were welling up again. “I really don’t know. I was supposed to be getting married next month, but I found out the scumbag was cheating on me.”

Lisa’s eyes widened, appalled. “The rat! So you dumped him? Good for you.”

“Yes, I suppose.” Impatiently she scrubbed her eyes. “It’s difficult, even though it wasn’t the first time. But we’d been together for five years, and I really thought that he was my future. I feel . . . cheated of so many years of my life. And stupid, for not bailing out sooner.”

“Oh, honey, not at all.” Lisa leaned over and took her hand, squeezing it.

“It can happen to anyone. You ought to speak to Vicky — she was in more or less the same boat. Her fiancé was screwing her step-sister, of all people. Now she’s just got married to Tom Cullen, who’s a really nice bloke as well as being absolutely gorgeous, and they’re off in Spain on their honeymoon. ”

Jess laughed without humour. “I can’t see that happening to me. I’m seriously off men.”

“Well, I suppose I don’t blame you. So, what are you going to do now?”

Jess shook her head. “I’ve no idea. Glenn’s got a motorbike shop — that’s how I met him. I used to ride out with his group, then I got a job there. I worked on sales, did the admin and stuff. Now . . . Well . . . No job, no home, no boyfriend.”

“You’re welcome to stay with us for as long as you like,” Julia assured her quickly.

“Well, if you want something for a stopgap, we need a receptionist,” Lisa suggested. “And you could live in, if you want to.”

Jess’s eyes widened. “Really? That would be perfect.”

“It would be perfect for us, too. With Christmas coming up, it can get a bit crazy.”

“Oh, yes.” Julia’s eyes danced. “The Turkey-and-Tinsel invasion.”

“Turkey and tinsel?” Jess queried, bemused.

Lisa grinned. “Coach parties. They come from all over, for three or four days, starting in late November. There can be anything upwards of fifty guests at a time, and it’s full on. Christmas on steroids: entertainment, decorations, excursions.”

“Sounds like fun,” Jess remarked uncertainly.

“It is. But it’s hard work. An extra pair of hands would be more than welcome.”

“And it would be great if you were working here, at least for a while,” Julia pointed out. “It would give you a chance to sort out what you want to do long-term, without having to bother about Glenn.”

Jess laughed. Yes, it was the perfect solution. “Okay. When do I start?”

“No time like the present!”

* * *

The quiz show they’d been watching had ended, and Luke glanced at the programme page in the newspaper. “There’s not much on now, unless you want to watch the news,” he remarked. “Fancy popping down to the Smugglers for a drink?”

“That sounds like a good idea.” Julia glanced across at Jess. “Fancy it?”

“Okay.” Better than sitting here pretending to watch television, trying to still the thoughts churning through her brain like a washing machine on an endless wash cycle.

“Come on then. I’ll just let Mum know we’re going out. She’ll keep an ear open for Ben. Liam and Cassie will probably be coming down later. Better put your jacket on — it’s a bit windy out there.”

Jess swung to her feet. In the hall she hooked her black leather motorbike jacket down from the rack and shrugged into it, tucking her hands into the pockets.

She was glad of its warmth as they strolled along the Esplanade. The sea, which earlier in the day had been a peaceful blue-green, lapping quietly against the sandy beach, had run in on a high tide and was now thumping against the sea wall, throwing up showers of white spray.

“Phew!” She had pulled her hair into a loose bun with a scrunchy, but the wind was tugging it loose and blowing long, curling strands across her face. “This is some weather!”

Julia laughed. “This is nothing. It’s only October yet. Wait till we get really into winter. It can blow up some fabulous storms, straight in off the North Atlantic.”

At least the pub looked welcoming, warm amber lights glowing through its windows.

As Luke pushed open the door, that warmth greeted them — the rich dark oak of the slightly uneven floor and the beams across the low ceiling, a bar of the same gleaming wood, and rows of bottles and glasses and brass beer pumps.

People were chatting and laughing, the jukebox playing some classic rock-’n’-roll hit from the sixties.

With the main season for holidaymakers over, the place wasn’t crowded. Most of the customers looked like locals, and Jess realised as she looked around that they were probably the youngest people there.

“Ah, there’s Lisa and Ollie.” They were sitting at a table in the corner. Julia raised her hand to acknowledge them. “Let’s join them.”

“I’ll get the drinks in,” Luke said. “What are you having?”

“Oh, a white-wine spritzer please.”

“Right.”

Lisa greeted them with a smile. “Hi, I thought you might be down. Jess, I don’t expect you remember my husband, Ollie.”

A tall man with floppy brown hair and glasses rose to his feet and held out his hand. “I think we’ve met, probably at Julia’s wedding. Come and sit down.”

There was plenty of room on the banquette seat for Jess and Julia to squeeze in. “How did you get on in Exeter?” Julia asked Lisa.

Lisa rolled her eyes. “It was packed, and the shops are all putting out their Christmas stuff already. Honestly, they seem to start earlier every year.”

Julia laughed. “How many shopping days to go?”

“It must be about ten weeks, I should think. Noah’s already started making his wish-list for Santa.”

“So have Ben and Robyn. Santa’s going to need an extra-large sleigh if they get half of what they’re asking for. Still, I expect we were the same — Tracy Island, My Little Pony . . .”

“Ah, those were the days! Anyway, I managed to get a couple of things I wanted. A new coat for Noah for school — that boy’s just shooting up! And a cute little winter onesie for Kyra. It’s yellow teddy-bear fur, with teddy-bear ears and a teddy-bear face on the tummy!”

“I’ll turf out those school trousers for Noah if you like. Ben hardly wore them — he grew out of them so quickly. Ah, thanks, my luvver,” Julia added as Luke brought their drinks over and sat down beside her.

Jess thanked Luke and sipped her drink, letting herself absorb the atmosphere of the pub.

It was very different to the pub she and Glenn had usually drunk in — that was at least three times the size of this place.

The wood had all been an ugly yellowish veneer, and the floor was covered in a lurid red-and-green carpet that was sticky when you walked on it.

It had always been busy, noisy, with a young crowd and music that was too loud to hear yourself think.

And she had usually been with Glenn and his mates from the motorbike club, talking about the relative merits of mechanical slide or CV carburettors, struggles with changing out oil filters and great runs to Pendine Sands.

It felt . . . odd not to be with Glenn. He had always been the loudest, the centre of the group, sometimes a little overpowering. Good-looking too. She had always been aware that other women were attracted to him, were envious of her for being with him.

But . . . she had often felt uncomfortable. Especially after having twice found out about him messaging women online, quite possibly meeting up with them. Quite possibly for sex. Quite possibly with any of the women in the pub.

Here . . . She had a feeling she could be much happier.

* * *

Paul Channing parked his car on the gravel hard standing in front of his house at the top of Cliff Road.

He leaned back in the comfortable leather seat, closing his eyes to relax for a moment.

It had been a long drive from Manchester, though the Aston Martin ate up the miles as if it was riding on silk.

But it had been a productive trip. The start of each football season brought in a new crop of eager young players earning more than they could ever have dreamed of, with no idea what to do with it. Having been there himself he knew what that was like, and they trusted him.

When he’d signed his first professional contract, at seventeen, he’d felt invincible, as if his career would go on for ever.

But wiser heads had warned him that the bubble could burst at any time, and he’d been sensible enough to listen.

And he’d found that he had as much flair for picking good investments as he had for scoring goals.

By the time he’d retired from the game, fourteen years later, forced out by an aggravating knee injury, he’d had a very successful portfolio and a growing group of fellow players asking for his advice. So he’d gained legal authorisation and set himself up as an investment consultant.