Page 47 of Christmas at Sturcombe Bay (Sturcombe Bay Romances #3)

“Oh, hello. It’s Mr and Mrs Donovan, isn’t it?” Shelley smiled warmly at the elderly couple. “Have you enjoyed your stay?”

“We’ve had a lovely time, dear. I ate so much Christmas pudding at dinner last night that I’ve had to let my belt out a notch!”

She laughed. “Oh dear. Still, if you can’t eat too much at Christmas, it isn’t really Christmas.”

On the last night of their stay the guests had been served the full Christmas menu of Chef’s turkey special, richly basted with butter and his own mix of herbs, with all the trimmings, followed by his amazing Christmas puddings.

He always prepared them a year in advance and left them to mature, until just breathing their aroma could put you over the drink-drive limit.

She was enjoying working on reception. She wasn’t working here full time — not yet. Only on the days when the Turkey-and-Tinsel groups were arriving and leaving — those days could be very busy, with so many people to be dealt with at once.

But she was learning the ropes, and Lisa was going to teach her how to use the computer while the hotel was closed down for the renovations.

“Phew.” Jess sighed deeply. “That’s most of them checked out. Well done, Shells. You’re doing great.”

“I’m loving it. They’re all so sweet, and in such a happy mood with Christmas coming.”

“Except for that old git in the knitted waistcoat.” Jess pulled a face. “You handled him brilliantly.”

“Ah well, anyone would be grumpy at having to wear a hideous thing like that. I bet his wife knitted it for him and nags him if he doesn’t wear it.”

Jess laughed. “You could be right.”

Shelley smiled to herself as she checked through the returned key cards. In the past few weeks her life had taken a huge upturn. She was reading avidly. She had found some Agatha Christie paperbacks in the hotel’s library stock, and Jess’s sister Julia had given her some more, and she was addicted!

Helen Channing had encouraged her to copy out some passages as she learned to write, and she was making progress with that too. The more she practised the skill, the more her confidence grew.

And now here she was on the reception desk, training for a new job. Who’d have thought it?

“Hello.”

She turned sharply, her heart thumping. Alex.

“How’s it going?”

“Um . . . Very well.” She managed a smile. “We’re just doing the check-out. Most of the guests have come down. They’re sitting around in the lounge having a last drink.”

“Everybody happy?”

“No complaints so far.” Oh, those eyes. And when he looked at her like that . . .

“That’s good. And how are you enjoying your new job?”

“Very much, thank you.” She was trying for a casual air, but she wasn’t sure that it was working. “Though it isn’t actually my job yet. I’m just training.”

“Ah, yes.”

Shelley was vaguely aware that Jess had slipped back through the door to the offices, leaving them alone — just the two of them.

“So, what do you think of the plans for the renovation?” he asked genially.

The staff had all been invited to a meeting where the interior designer had explained her plans and shown a presentation of how it would look.

And they had been assured that though the hotel would be closing for two months in the new year, they would all be retained on full wages, and be involved in the preparations for reopening.

“It looks very nice.”

“Not too medieval?”

A small bubble of laughter escaped her lips. “I like the colours. And the new light fittings. I think it’ll work really well.”

“That’s good.” Oh, she liked his smile. “By the way, I was wondering if you would do me a favour?”

“Oh?” She was instantly wary.

“I’m getting a dog.”

Her eyes widened. “Really? You didn’t just say that to wind that woman up?”

He laughed. “Well, I did,” he confessed.

“But then I thought about it and realised that, as I’m staying here, it’s the perfect opportunity.

We always had dogs when I was growing up, and I miss having one around.

So I got in touch with a rescue centre, and met a few of the dogs.

They’ve done a home check, and I’ve an appointment there tomorrow afternoon to be matched up with one.

The thing is, I’m afraid that when I see a pair of sad brown eyes gazing at me, I’ll just be a sucker.

I need someone to make sure I’m sensible about it, pick the right one. ”

She laughed outright at that. “You think I’ll be sensible?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“Well, I suppose . . .”

“Tomorrow afternoon? I could pick you up at around three?”

Three o’clock? She suspected that he had checked her shifts. She really ought to say no, but when he looked at her like that, all trace of reason and common sense flew straight out of the window. “Okay.”

“Good. I’ll see you then.” With a nod and a smile he strolled away.

Shelley let go of her breath in a sigh of exasperation at her own stupidity.

A moment later Jess emerged from the back office, one eyebrow arched in question. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Are you going with him?”

“How did you know about it?”

Jess’s eyes danced. “He asked me this morning what your hours were for the rest of the week.”

Shelley laughed, shaking her head. She had been right. He was the sort of man who always had a strategy. “So why don’t you go with him?” she countered. “You’re much more sensible than me.”

“Why isn’t the moon made of blue cheese? Because it isn’t. And you’re not sensible if you let a good man like that slip through your fingers.”

* * *

A good man . . . Jess sighed, shaking her head. Wouldn’t it be nice to meet one of those? All she seemed to get were the arseholes.

Fortunately, the reception desk had been very busy over the past few days, so she was able to use that as an excuse to avoid Paul whenever he was around.

Several times she had seen him chatting to that girl and her husband as though nothing had happened. Clearly he had absolutely no conscience at all. She’d been tempted to tell the husband exactly what she’d seen.

And just to add to her bitter mood, everyone was getting into the Christmas spirit, singing along to the Christmas songs playing on an endless loop in reception until she wanted to scream, tear down the garlands and kick the Christmas tree over.

The air was filled with the aroma of mulled wine and Chef’s splendid Christmas pudding.

At least the group was checking out today.

She was scrolling through the spreadsheet to ensure that all the details had been added correctly and any additional charges totted up when she spotted the girl out of the corner of her eye, with her husband. By the time they reached the desk she had a bland professional smiled fixed in place.

“Excuse me, is Mr Channing around?”

She glanced up, startled to see the girl smiling shyly at her — with her husband standing right there beside her. How barefaced was that?

“No, he isn’t.” Oops, that wasn’t her professional receptionist’s voice. “I’m sorry.” She forced a formal smile. “I’m not sure where he is at the moment.”

“Oh.” The husband lifted a tall gift bag onto the counter, the sort that usually held a bottle. It landed with a small clunk. “Would you please give him this, with our thanks.”

Jess stared at him blankly. “Thanks?”

The girl leaned forward confidentially. “I got very drunk on our first night here,” she explained, glancing quickly around to check there was no one else close enough to hear.

“I don’t usually drink very much, but . .

. well, the wine was so nice. Anyway, I was outside.

I’d fallen over and been sick all down my dress.

I didn’t even realise how cold it was. Mr Channing found me and took me up to our room.

He was so kind. I really don’t know what would have happened to me if he hadn’t been there. I could have frozen to death.”

“Oh . . .”

“So we bought him a small gift to say thank you. Does he like whiskey?”

“Oh . . . Yes, he does. Very much.” Jess blinked, bewildered. She had got it wrong — very wrong. Had Glenn curdled her judgement so much that she had been so ready to draw the darkest conclusion?

“Well, would you give this to him with our thanks?”

“Oh . . . Yes, of course.” She took the bag and put it on the shelf beneath the reception desk. “Thank you.”

“Now we need to settle our bill.” The husband produced his wallet. “Name of Barraclough.”

“Yes, of course.” Somehow she managed to find the right place on the spreadsheet. “Debit or credit card?”