Page 6 of Christmas at Sturcombe Bay (Sturcombe Bay Romances #3)

“Are you ready for your nap, Grandpa?” Alex Crocombe leaned forward and gently took the teacup from Arthur’s thin hand before he spilled the contents in his lap.

Arthur opened his pale eyes and smiled. “Well, maybe I’ll have a bit of a snooze,” he conceded. “Nothing like a nice snooze in the afternoon.”

Marcus, his carer, came in from the kitchen. “Yes, it’s time for his nap. You settle down comfortable now, Arthur.” He picked up the control and pressed it to recline the old man’s armchair and raise the footrest, then gently laid a blanket over him. “Alex will come back this evening.”

“Yes, yes . . .”

“Goodbye, Grandpa. I’ll see you later.” Alex rose to his feet, and patted his grandfather’s shoulder. Marcus walked him to the front door.

“How’s he doing?” he asked quietly.

“He’s fine, all things considered. He’s determined to score his century.” Marcus’s dark face broadened into a grin. “Doctor Cullen reckons he could actually do it.”

Alex glanced back at the old man. “It’s a shame he’s lost his two old friends, Molly and Edie.”

Marcus nodded. “Ah, well. That generation is passing away now. Not too many of them left.”

“No, I suppose not.” Alex smiled. “Anyway, I’ll be back in a couple of hours, if that’s okay.”

“Of course.” Marcus had a gentle warmth of manner, but he could be firm when necessary — perfect for managing the intractable old man. “He’s really enjoying your company. How long will you be staying?”

“I don’t know yet — maybe until Christmas. It’s really nice here — so peaceful, after . . .”

Marcus nodded his understanding. He was an ex-army medic, so he knew. “I guess it would be. Anyway, I’ll see you later?”

“Yes. I’ll come back after he’s had his dinner.”

“Right. Cheerio then.”

“Cheers.”

Though it was the second week in October it was still a pleasant walk in the afternoon sunshine, down the hill and past the old church. Ahead of him the bay spread far out to the horizon, silver-blue beneath the pale-blue sky.

A few white gulls were soaring and swooping over the waves. Down on the beach a couple of dogs were chasing each other over the sand, and a cluster of small children were building a sandcastle.

He smiled to himself, childhood memories drifting into his mind. His family had lived in Bristol, where his dad had worked for a local television station, but they had come down to Sturcombe regularly to visit his grandparents.

Then when he was nine years old, his dad had devised a new quiz show. None of the British channels had wanted it, but a channel in Canada had snatched it up, so they had moved across the Atlantic to Toronto. It was still running, nearly twenty-five years later, with his dad as producer.

Visits to his grandparents had become fewer until he was in his late teens. Then he had joined the Royal Canadian Air Force and gone to Military College to train to fly fighters — his dream since he’d been a kid. He hadn’t been back to Sturcombe since then, almost fourteen years ago.

Now he could see the small signs of decline: the empty shops on Church Road, the slightly shabby paintwork on the large Victorian houses opposite, mostly now guesthouses instead of private homes.

He read the quaint names on the boards in their front gardens, smiling again — Sunny Dene, Bella Vista, Bay View. How very English!

The hotel, the Carleton, had seen better days, too.

Or maybe memories had painted it grander than when he and his brother had chased each other around the terrace or played hide-and-seek in the gardens.

It was a shame that the owners didn’t seem bothered about spending a little money on it. It could be a lovely place.

The attractive redhead was behind the reception desk. “Good afternoon, Mr Crocombe,” she greeted him with a professional smile. “Your key.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you enjoying your stay?” she asked pleasantly.

“Very much, thank you.” He picked up the key card. “It’s a very pretty place. Have you lived here long?”

She shook her head. “No, just a few days, as a matter of fact. I came down to visit my sister.”

“And you decided to stay?”

“For a while.”

He smiled. “I can understand why.”

For a moment he considered whether to ask her out for a drink, if she wasn’t working late. But though she was friendly enough, in a professional way, he sensed a kind of ‘keep off’ force field around her. Probably best not to go there.

Another cool smile as she turned back to the computer screen. “Well, anything you need, just let me know.”

He could take a hint. “Thank you. I’ll see you later then.”

“Of course.”

His room was on the second floor, and he took the stairs. The corridor was quiet at this time of the afternoon. In fact, the place was always quiet. It seemed to be barely half full. But his room was comfortable and clean, with another stunning view over the bay.

He stood for a long moment at the window, gazing out. Peace, tranquillity, stillness.

He had loved flying jets. But after ten years of the noise, the smells, having to think faster than the speed of sound and the constant awareness of the price of making a mistake, he had felt the need to slow down.

Visiting his grandfather had been his initial reason for coming to Sturcombe, but even though he’d only been here for a couple of days, he already knew that he could easily fall in love with the place. He could live here . . .

“No! Stop!” A woman’s voice, shrill, cut through the quiet. “Leave me alone.”

“Ah, come on. You know you . . . OW!”

Lightning reflexes. Alex darted across the room and snatched open his door. The door opposite him was wrenched open and a young woman flew out into the corridor, cannoning into his arms.

Small and fragile as a bird, she gasped and pulled away from him, retreating a couple of steps down the corridor. Behind her, the man in the doorway of the other room was dripping blood from his nose and was hunched over in the cramped posture of a man who had been soundly kneed in the nuts.

Uh — maybe she wasn’t quite as fragile as she looked.

“The bitch. She attacked me!” The man’s bellow of indignant rage wasn’t quite convincing. Sweaty face, balding, puffy around the middle — not a very prepossessing figure. “I’m calling the manager. Careful — she’s crazy, I tell you. She might go for you too.”

Alex took in the situation in an instant. “Yes, call the manager,” he ground out harshly. “Right now. Or I will.”

“Oh no . . . please.” The girl — her uniform indicated that she was one of the domestic staff — backed further down the corridor. “I can’t lose my job.”

“You won’t.” He could see now that some of the buttons on her shirt had been torn off. “In fact, we should call the police.”

“No!” Her voice spiked in panic. “Just . . . leave it. I’m fine.”

Alex hesitated, all his instincts telling him not to let it go. But it was her decision to make — she was the one who’d been assaulted. He held up his hands in a gesture of conciliation. “Okay, okay, it’s up to you.”

“See?” The man was cocky now, in spite of the blood still seeping from his nose. “She won’t call the police because she knows what she did. I caught her trying to steal my wallet out of my jacket, and when I tried to stop her, she went for me.”

“That’s not true! I never did.” The girl’s eyes were wide, wild. “You grabbed me. You were slobbering all over me.”

The man laughed — a fake laugh. “You’re in big trouble, girlie. You’ll go to prison for this.”

“No! You’re lying!”

“If that’s what happened,” Alex asserted, fixing the man with a hard glare, “you really should call the police.”

The girl stared at him in horror, shaking her head. “No . . . please . . .”

“I will. Right now.” But the guy hesitated, looking nervous.

“Go on then,” Alex prompted, deliberately needling him. “Call them.”

The man took a step back, looking hunted. “Look, I . . . I’m willing to let it go,” he stammered. “She didn’t manage to get my money.”

“I wasn’t trying to steal your stupid money!”

“What’s happening up here?”

They all turned as Lisa, the hotel’s assistant manager, appeared at the top of the stairs.

“Ah!” Alex laughed dryly. “Well, that settles that debate.”

She arched one questioning eyebrow.

“This . . . um . . . gentleman is claiming that one of your staff tried to steal his wallet, but he seems oddly reluctant to call the police.”

Lisa’s eyes widened. “Shelley tried to steal your wallet?”

“I didn’t, Lisa,” the girl protested, distressed. “I’d never do a thing like that.”

“So why are you scared of us calling the police?” the man challenged.

“Why are you, eh?” Alex countered. “She seems to have assaulted you as well. That seems to me to be quite serious.”

“Ah, well, she’s just . . . I mean, I wouldn’t want to get the poor girl into trouble.”

Alex snorted with derision. “You were very quick to make accusations, but now you don’t want to call the police?”

“Shelley, what happened?” Lisa’s voice was quiet and calm.

The girl drew in a ragged breath, but Lisa’s manner seemed to have reassured her.

“I’d just been dropping off fresh towels in the empty rooms when he came out of his room and asked me to go and clean his bath.

So I got the cleaning things out of the cupboard here.

Then once I was in the bathroom, he . . .

he grabbed me. He tried to kiss me, and he tore my shirt.

” She was trying to tidy it, holding it closed with one hand.

Alex brushed past the man and went into his room. “The cleaning things are there in the bathroom,” he pointed out.

“Well, she . . . that was her excuse for coming into the room.”

“She wouldn’t be cleaning the bathrooms at this time of the afternoon unless specifically asked by a guest,” Lisa asserted.

“You claim she tried to steal your wallet.” Alex glanced around the room. “Where was it?”

“In my jacket pocket.”

“And where is your jacket?” His voice dripped sarcasm. “It’s not on the bed, nor on the chair, nor on the hanger on the back of the door.”

The man hesitated, his face reddening. “In the wardrobe.”