Page 5 of Christmas at Sturcombe Bay (Sturcombe Bay Romances #3)

Now he had a client list of several dozen footballers, plus a few tennis players and athletes. All of them had come to him through recommendations from his old teammates.

And his second string — commentating on matches, writing a newspaper column or occasionally sitting as a pundit on the regional match-day sports programme — was going pretty well too.

Yes, life was good.

He climbed out of the car, tucking his hands deep into the pockets of his cashmere overcoat, and strolled across the road to the rough stone wall to stand gazing out across the bay.

Some of his mates in the game had thought he was slightly mad to tuck himself away down here, in a mid-Victorian townhouse overlooking a pretty seaside village in South Devon, instead of buying a swanky apartment in Chelsea Harbour or a mansion in Hertfordshire.

Well, this was much of the reason — the sea. Summer was ending — it would be winter soon. The wind was blowing in cold from the North Atlantic, whipping up the waves into a fury.

He loved it when it was in this mood — wild and powerful, the waves really meaning business as they thumped against the cliffs below, sending up showers of spray.

Actually, he loved the sea in all its moods. Having been brought up right beside it, he got a weird kind of claustrophobia if he was away from it for too long. He wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.

Drawing in a long, deep breath of the refreshing, salt-tanged air he turned and sauntered down the hill to the Esplanade.

* * *

Jess sipped her spritzer, listening to the conversation around the table.

“Liam got called out to look at one of the ponies up on the moor. Some bloody idiots wild camping up there had left one of those disposable barbeque trays behind, and the poor thing tried to lick it.”

“Oh no! Was it badly hurt?”

“Fortunately it wasn’t too bad, but it could have been very nasty.”

“I thought they were going to ban those things. They could start fires too.”

“They are banned, if the Rangers can catch them.”

“Shame they didn’t wander onto the firing range,” Luke remarked fiercely. “Or fall into one of the bogs.”

“It’d be a real shame if a few idiots end up getting wild camping on the moor banned altogether. It’s the best. Remember that time we all went camping up on Shelstone Tor?”

“Oh lord, yes!” Lisa hooted with laughter. “And it poured with rain all night and the tents got flooded. And we had to walk all the way home in the morning, dripping wet, with everything water-logged and weighing a ton.”

“And Alan Cowan offered Liam a fiver to carry his stuff for him, and Liam told him to shove it where the sun don’t shine!”

“Then he just dumped it. He told his dad it had got stolen, but the Rangers found it and he’d dropped his school library card with it.”

“And they got in touch with Dad, and he had them come into school to give a talk about caring for the environment.”

“And Cowan’s dad heard about it and grounded him for a week.”

They all laughed at the memory.

Jess glanced across at Lisa. “Your dad?”

“He’s the headmaster of the Community College. Well, it was St Urith’s back then.”

Jess laughed dryly. “I bet you got some ribbing over that!”

“A bit. But Dad was always dead fair. He never favoured us, and he was never harder on us. Mum was Deputy Head at Fowey Road Primary as well, until she took early retirement a few years ago to look after our nanna.”

“Oh, I remember your grandmother. Sometimes when we came down we’d go and watch the cricket up at that place behind the church, and she’d be there. Waving her walking stick at the players and telling them what to do.”

“That’ll be Nanna.” Lisa chuckled. “She could be a real old curmudgeon, but we all adored her.”

“Is she still . . . ?”

Lisa shook her head, her eyes darkening. “She died a couple of months ago.”

“Oh . . . I’m sorry.”

“She was ninety-three.”

“That’s a good age. But you must miss her.”

“We do.” Lisa smiled fondly. “Anyway, anyone for another drink?”

“I’ll get these,” Jess offered, rising to her feet. “What are you all having?”

* * *

Paul pushed open the door of the Smugglers.

This was another reason why he wouldn’t want to live anywhere but Sturcombe.

A friendly pub, unpretentious, where he was just Richard and Helen Channing’s son, Lisa and Cassie’s brother.

He greeted a few friends as he moved over to the bar, catching Wes’s eye to order his beer.

He smiled as he spotted who was at the bar ahead of him, being served with a tray of drinks.

Long and slender in slim-fitting jeans, curling red hair cascading halfway down her back.

Julia Ellis. They were old friends, and soon she’d be his sister-in-law when his sister Cassie married her brother-in-law Liam.

He crept up behind her and slipped his arms around her waist. “Hey there, kiddo. What have you . . . Ooof! Ow!”

He gasped, dragging in a painful breath — she had back-elbowed him sharply in the ribs. No defender on the football field could have dealt out a fiercer tackle.

It wasn’t Julia — though she looked remarkably like her. From the back of his brain a memory surfaced. “You’re . . . Oh lord, I’m sorry! I thought you were Julia. You’re her sister.”

Julia herself appeared at his side, shaking with laughter. “That’s right. My twin, Jess. Meet Paul Channing — village idiot.”

Jess didn’t look amused. Though they were very much alike, he could now see the small differences between them. Julia’s face was softer, her eyes a warm grey, where her sister’s eyes were a beguiling amethyst above sharply-defined cheekbones.

Those eyes were glaring at him now, and he turned on his most charming smile. “I really am sorry. I’m not usually so crass. And we have met before — certainly at Julia’s wedding, and I’m sure a couple of times since.”

He held out his hand, but she didn’t take it, her eyes remaining ice cold. “I don’t recall.”

“Oh, well. That puts me in my place.” Ah — a flicker, just the slightest flicker, of amusement, swiftly quenched. “Can I buy you a drink, to apologise?”

“That won’t be necessary. I accept your apology.”

She didn’t look as though she did. That flicker of amusement was probably as much as he was going to get. For now. But he wasn’t one to give up easily — not when pursuing goals on the football field, nor when pursuing an attractive woman.

And she was attractive. Not beautiful, perhaps, and certainly not his usual type, but intriguing. A challenge. This could be interesting.

“I see you’ve met my brother,” Lisa remarked as Jess returned to their table with the tray of drinks.

“Oh . . .” Her brother. That could be awkward, with Lisa being more or less her new boss. “I’m sorry. I had no idea he was your brother.”

“Don’t mind him. He’s an idiot.”

“I’m sorry.” Jess smiled crookedly. “He startled me, and I probably overreacted. It’s just . . . Like I said, I’m a bit off men at the moment.”

“I get it. But don’t let your sleazebag ex put you off for good. That would be a terrible waste. And Paul’s really nice when you get to know him.”

“You have to say that,” her husband teased. “He’s your brother.”

The door opened again with a rush of wind that brought Liam inside, with the young woman Jess had seen in the stable yard. They stopped by their table for a brief chat, then went to the bar for their drinks, taking them over to the pool table at the back of the room.

To Jess’s relief, Paul Channing went to join them instead of coming over to their table — although unfortunately that meant that he was right in her eyeline.

Okay, she’d prefer not to admit it, even to herself, but he was attractive. And she did remember him from the previous times she had met him — he was an old friend of Luke and Liam.

Lisa had mentioned that he had been a professional footballer, and he certainly kept himself in shape: tall and lean, with wide shoulders, and an easy, athletic way of moving.

His hair was dark, curling thickly around a face that was hard-boned and handsome. His nose had possibly been broken at some point, but the slight kink did nothing to detract from his good looks. If anything, it enhanced them.

And his eyes . . . deep brown and glinting with amusement beneath long, dark lashes that any woman would envy. She could hear his laughter — a nice laugh, low-pitched and slightly husky.

She could see that he wasn’t trying to dominate the conversation, as Glenn often did when he was with his biker friends. He listened to other people’s comments and didn’t try to top them with his own anecdotes or talk about himself.

But she wasn’t going to let herself fall for his charm, she reminded herself briskly. She was off men, especially men like Paul Channing. Good-looking, charming, sure of himself. There may be some differences, but he was still a bit too much like Glenn.