Page 40 of Christmas at Sturcombe Bay (Sturcombe Bay Romances #3)

“Okay, folks. They’re here. All hands on deck. Cue music.”

The buzz had been building up for the past couple of weeks, with the decorations going up, the deliveries of heroic quantities of food and drink, the scramble to get all the rooms ready.

“Show time!” Jess pressed the button on the stereo and the jaunty sound of some cheesy Christmas song chimed out.

The first coach load of Turkey-and-Tinsel guests, fifty-two of them, stepped down from the bus and piled up the steps to the reception hall, gazing around in delight at the glittering decorations.

Most of them wouldn’t see fifty again, though there were some younger ones who’d come with their parents. And they were clearly intent on having a good time. Santa hats and reindeer antlers were much in evidence, and so were jolly Christmas jumpers with elves and snowmen and Christmas trees.

Whether or not they had known each other before boarding the coach, they were already laughing loudly and joking with each other as they formed a very British queue at the desk to book in and collect their room keys, singing along and jigging to the music as they waited.

Alex had welcomed them all at the door, and was now charming them with his warm Canadian accent.

Lisa had come down to help, and she, Jess and Vicky worked in a coordinated relay to get everyone booked in, handing them the key cards for their rooms and inviting them to the Welcome Reception in the ballroom with mince pies and mulled wine.

At last all the guests had been shepherded up to their rooms. “Phew!” Jess breathed a sigh of relief. “So, that’s a Turkey-and-Tinsel group!”

She was glad of the distraction. It was a week since she’d seen Paul. Although she was sure she’d done the right thing in telling him she didn’t want a relationship with him, she wasn’t so sure of her own resolve to stick to that.

Fortunately, he was away. He’d gone to Africa to make a television programme about the development of youth football in some of the poorest areas of Botswana. He’d be gone for another couple of weeks.

“Well done, everyone.” Alex came over to the desk, beaming. “Great teamwork. We should have a little while before they start coming down for their mulled wine so I think we have time for a cup of coffee.”

* * *

“The radio sah . . . said it was going to rain.” Shelley shook her head. “Why is that word written ‘s-a-i-d’ when it’s pronounced as if it’s ‘s-e-d’?”

Helen Channing smiled. “That’s just one of the oddities of the English language, I’m afraid.”

“There are so many oddities.” Shelley sighed impatiently. “How can anyone ever learn them?”

“By taking it a little bit at a time. Carry on. You’re doing great.”

Shelley’s mouth thinned in frustration. It was too hard. It reminded her of how she had struggled when she was at school. Back then she would shout or throw something, run out of the classroom, burst into tears. But now Helen was waiting patiently, her finger on the line.

“Remember the rule for when there’s an ‘e’ at the end of a word?”

She nodded. “It changes how you say the ‘i’. So that’s dek . . .”

“No. Think about it in context. What do you think it’s likely to be?”

“Dek . . . Deki . . . Oh, this is ridiculous.” She flopped back in her chair. It felt as if she was sinking in a wave of misery. “It’s no good. I can’t do it.”

Helen patted her hand. “Okay. Shall we take a break? Let’s have a cup of coffee.”

“Thanks.” Shelley closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again. “Why won’t you let me pay you for lessons?”

Helen laughed. “Because if you pay me, you’ll think it’s okay to give up when it feels like it’s getting too hard. If you’re not paying me, you’ll feel like you owe me — so you won’t give up, will you?”

Shelley laughed. Helen was spot on. “Most people would say it was the other way round.”

“You’re not most people.”

Shelley glanced down at the book in front of her. “Do you really think I can do this?”

“If you decide to.”

Decide . . . Ah, stupid! “It’s decided.”

“That’s right.”

Shelley looked at her sharply. “You did that deliberately, didn’t you? To give me a clue.”

Helen just laughed.

“But how are you supposed to know if the ‘c’ sounds like a ‘k’ or an ‘s’?”

“Well, mostly if it’s before an ‘i’ or an ‘e’ it will sound like an ‘s’ — but that isn’t a hard-and-fast rule.”

“It’s a crazy language. It must be really hard for foreign people to learn it. There’s so many words that look the same but sound different — like that one we did yesterday, ‘cough’ and ‘though’.”

“But you have an advantage. You already have a good vocabulary, so you have a whole store of words that you can guess at when you see them written down. I bet by Christmas you’ll be reading a whole book in a week.”

“I’ll try. And then . . .” She drew in a slow breath. “I’m going to learn to write.”

Helen brought the coffee mugs over and set them down on the table. “Good on you. You’ll do it. I have every faith in you.”

Shelley felt the tears pricking at her eyes again, but this time they weren’t of anger or frustration. She could well imagine how much the children Helen had taught at Fowey Road Primary School had loved their deputy headmistress. She already loved her herself.

* * *

One of the guests had left a magazine in their room when they’d checked out.

People often did that, and Shelley had always just thrown them away.

But in the past few weeks, since she had started working with Helen Channing, she had taken to flicking through them and picking out bits she could read — usually the picture captions and the short reviews on cosmetics and household items.

This one had a double-page spread of tips on how to prepare for the perfect Christmas. She turned the page, and found a question-and-answer interview with an Olympic athlete, and though the paragraphs were longer, she found that she could recognise most of the words.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she turned another page to an article about Agatha Christie, the mystery-novel author.

To her surprise, she learned that she’d had a house no more than a few miles from Sturcombe.

It was so absorbing that she didn’t notice the minutes passing — didn’t even notice that she’d read three whole pages with barely a hesitation.

It was voices in the corridor outside which brought her quickly to her feet.

“All these light fittings must be replaced, of course. There should be something bronze, baronial.” The woman’s voice was cool, confident. “Nothing itsy-bitsy.”

“Yes. Baronial.”

Alex! Swiftly she looked around for a place to hide, but before she could move he appeared in the doorway.

“Oh. Hello, Shelley.”

“Hello.”

She hadn’t seen him since the Remembrance Day parade down in the Memorial Gardens. He’d been there with his grandfather, who’d been proudly wearing a whole row of medals on his chest.

She’d somehow managed to avoid him ever since. Now it was like sticking her finger in the electric socket. She drew in a sharp breath, feeling a sizzle run down her spine, bringing a rush of heat to her cheeks.

“Ah, this is one of your standard guest rooms, I take it?” The woman stepped past him into the room and cast a critical look around. Her eyes swept past Shelley as if she wasn’t even there. “It’s a good size, and I like the high ceiling and the large window.”

She turned to Alex, her lashes fluttering as she laid a possessive hand on his arm. “Thank you so much for inviting me to see this place,” she purred. “It’s quite amazing. I can really feel it, the history, the dignity.”

Who was she? His new girlfriend? Of course, she was just the sort he’d go for.

Smart, elegant, almost as tall as him — aided by a pair of deadly spiked heels.

She was as thin as a whippet, with a bell of dark, glossy hair, dead straight and cut with precision to the exact line of her jaw.

Her vivid lime-green talons perfectly matched her flowing lime-green trouser-suit.

“I see something bold and vibrant in here.” She swept her arms wide. “A sharp Citrus Daze with a brave line of Imperial Purple slashing diagonally across the wall.” She gestured wildly with her hand to demonstrate. “A statement.”

Shelley blinked. Citrus and purple?

To her relief, Alex looked less than impressed. “A statement — yes.” He glanced across at Shelley with a smile. “How are you? I haven’t seen you for a while.”

“Oh, I’ve been around.” She shrugged, attempting an air of casual unconcern. “Busy.”

The woman spared Shelley a perfunctory glance then swept past her to the en-suite bathroom. “Now this will all have to be ripped out and replaced. Everything must be black. Very dramatic. With gold fittings.”

“Ah, Shelley, this is Georgina. She’s an interior designer.”

Oh, of course. “Hello.” She tried a smile.

All she got in return was a brief, cold look before the woman turned back to Alex. “I see a whole concept. Something medieval — a nod back to the history of the building, but in a way that says twenty-first century.”

“It’s Victorian.”

“Ah, yes. But it can be every period.” She trilled with laughter. “I can’t wait to begin mood boarding my ideas.”

Heaven help us! Behind the woman’s back, Shelley rolled her eyes. She didn’t intend for Alex to see her, but he did, and the slight crease of his mouth suggested that he was thinking the same thing.

Now the woman had commandeered all his attention again. “I think you should show me some of the other rooms,” she purred, tucking her hand into his arm. “Your . . . um . . . assistant can take notes.”

Georgina gestured with a flick of her fingers towards the doorway where Lisa was standing. There was nothing to read on her face but a taut smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

The interior designer’s voice was echoing down the corridor as she drew Alex along with her. “I have to tell you . . .” From the horror in her tone, it was clearly something appalling. “I saw a dog in here earlier.”

“Yes.” His voice was very level. “We’re a dog-friendly hotel.”

“Oh?” How could you tell from someone’s back view that they were wrinkling their nose in distaste? “I really don’t think that’s a good idea. None of the top-class hotels would ever permit dogs.”

“Really? I think there are actually quite a few. The Savoy does, I believe. Besides, I’m getting one myself soon.”

Lisa’s face cracked as she suppressed her laughter. “Don’t worry,” she whispered to Shelley. “I don’t think it’s very likely that she’ll be getting the contract.”

“Thank goodness for that.” Shelley shook her head. “Yellow and purple, in here? I couldn’t think of anything more hideous.”

“But she’s the very latest thing, dahling!” Lisa’s eyes danced. “She’s worked with so many celebrities, and they’ve just loved her work.”

Shelley giggled. “I’m sure. Aren’t you supposed to be taking notes?”

“I’m not bothering — we won’t be hiring her. What’s that you’re reading?”

“Oh . . . um . . .” She quickly tried to hide the magazine behind her back, but realised that there was no point. “Just . . . The guests left it here when they checked out. They didn’t want it so I thought there was no harm in me having a look.”

“Of course there isn’t.” Lisa smiled. “What’s in it?”

“Just . . . a couple of articles. An interview with that girl who won a gold medal at the Olympics.”

“Oh, yes. I remember her. Was it interesting?”

“Yes. And there’s a thing on Agatha Christie.”

There was a warmth in Lisa’s eyes. “Mum said your reading was coming on by leaps and bounds. I knew it would once you got started.”

“Well, I . . . Your mum’s been really lovely, the way she’s been teaching me. She’s so patient. She hasn’t made me feel stupid at all. And I’ve been practising as much as I can.”

“That’s good. I think we’ve got a couple of Agatha Christie paperbacks in the library here, if you’d like to try one. They’re not too long. They’d be a good place to start.”

“I . . .” She drew in a breath. “Yes, thank you. I’ll try.”

Lisa nodded. “And how would you feel about trying out the receptionist job? I know you weren’t keen before, but now . . . ? There’ll be plenty of time for you to train while we’re closed for the renovations. What do you say?”

“I . . . um . . .”

“There’s going to be a new uniform.” Her eyes danced. “Citrus and purple.”

Shelley laughed, then drew in a long breath. “Okay, I’ll think about it. I’m still a bit slow, though, and some words are just so stupid the way they’re spelled. Like, is it even ‘spelled’ with an ‘e-d’ at the end, or ‘spelt’ with a ‘t’?”

“I think it can be either. You’re right, though. English is quite hard. But you’re doing great with it. By the time we’re ready to reopen after the renovations, you’ll be off and running.”

“Well, maybe,” Shelley conceded doubtfully. “I’ll do my best.”

“That’s all anyone can do.”