Page 7 of Christmas at Sturcombe Bay (Sturcombe Bay Romances #3)

“And where were you?”

“I . . . I . . .”

“I think it’s fairly clear who’s telling the truth here,” Alex remarked, skewering the man with a cold glare.

Lisa nodded her agreement. “Shelley, do you want to call the police?”

“No, please.” She still looked agitated. “I’d rather not.”

“Okay, that’s your decision to make.” She turned on the man. “But you’d better leave. Pack and go now. I want you out of this hotel in half an hour.”

The man puffed himself up with indignation. “You can’t just evict me like that. Do you know who I am?”

“I know exactly who you are,” she responded coldly. “And I’m going to inform the president of your golf league that you won’t be welcome here ever again.”

“You can’t do that!”

“I can and I will.”

“Hmph!” With a final glare he turned back into his room and slammed the door.

Lisa laughed without humour. “Well, that seems to have sorted him out.”

“Thank you.” The young woman’s voice was shaking. “Will you really tell the golf league?”

“I most certainly will. Look, let’s go down to my office and get a coffee. It’s okay, there’s no one around, it’s a very quiet afternoon.”

As the young woman — Shelley — hesitated, Alex smiled at her. “Come on. You look as if you could do with a coffee, eh?”

“Okay.”

She smiled up at him, a dimple appearing in her cheek, and he felt his gut tightening. She really was very pretty, with an elfin face and large blue eyes, and silky blonde hair in feathery curls around her head.

Suddenly the temptation to shove through the door opposite and knock that sleazy git’s teeth down his throat was almost overwhelming.

The thought shocked him — he usually had his emotions well under control.

You couldn’t react erratically when you were at the controls of a fifty-million-dollar fighter jet, armed to the teeth.

Relaxing his fingers to uncurl his fist, he followed the two women down the stairs.

* * *

Shelley’s heartbeat was slowly returning to normal. That vile man! She hadn’t been afraid of him — she’d met plenty of men like that, and she knew exactly how to deal with them. What she’d been afraid of was losing her job.

This job, this safe place where she had lived for the past three years, had been the most settled time of her life. Her whole life. Growing up in one foster home after another, some of them lasting no more than a few weeks, she had never known that stability.

Thank goodness Lisa was here today. She knew her, and trusted her.

Actually she was supposed to be on maternity leave, but Vicky, her temporary replacement, was on her honeymoon, so Lisa was helping out for a few hours most afternoons.

There was Mike, of course — the manager.

He was a sweetheart, but she doubted he’d have stood up to the scumbag the way Lisa had.

And the other man, the American . . . He’d been brilliant.

She slanted a cautious glance at him from beneath her lashes as he sat opposite her in Lisa’s small office. He could have been a film star. Were all Americans that tall, that handsome? He must be a good couple of inches over six feet, with wide, powerful-looking shoulders.

His hair was dark and neatly clipped. She suspected that if it was any longer it would curl. And his face, with those hard cheekbones, that sculpted jaw, and that finely drawn mouth . . .

But it was his eyes that drew her in — eyes the colour of espresso coffee, with long silky lashes. And so kind. When he had smiled at her . . . And he had believed her, and tied that horrid scumbag up in knots when he’d questioned him.

He was smiling at her now as Lisa poured them all coffee.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, thank you.” She managed a smile. “I’m fine.”

He looked as if he doubted that but he didn’t argue, instead taking his coffee from Lisa with a word of thanks.

She sat down behind her desk. “Now, I can understand you not wanting to speak to the police,” she said, “but will you speak to the people at the golf league?”

“Yes.” Shelley drew in a long, deep breath to steady her nerves. “In fact . . . I will speak to the police.”

“You will?” Lisa’s approval was warm in her voice. “That’s very brave of you. Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Tension was coiling in the pit of her stomach, but she had never been a coward. “I just don’t want to see him get away with it, and maybe try it on with someone else.”

“Right.” Lisa picked up the phone. “I’ll ring them now.” The words before you change your mind lingered, unspoken.

Across the room the American smiled at her again, and mouthed a silent, “Good for you.”

She managed to return the smile. Was it his presence that had given her the courage to agree to speak to the police? There was something very reassuring about him, a warmth in his eyes . . .

Lisa had been talking on the phone, but now she ended the call and put it down.

“I’ve arranged for you to go to the police station to make a statement.

” She frowned. “Look, I really should go with you, but I can’t make it this afternoon.

I have to get home for the baby, and I can’t ask Jess to leave reception. Tomorrow would be better.”

“No!” Shelley insisted quickly. “I’ll be fine on my own. I’d rather get it over with as soon as possible.”

“Don’t worry,” the American intervened. “I can take you.”

Lisa looked uncertain. “Well . . .”

“It’s okay,” Shelley assured her. “I don’t mind.”

“Well, if you’re sure.” She glanced up at the American. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to imply . . .”

He shook his head. “No. I quite understand.

“Well, all right then,” Lisa conceded. She turned to the American with a smile. “Thank you. It’s very kind of you.”

“No trouble. I can give them a supporting statement at the same time.”

“Of course. Well, goodbye then.”

* * *

The police station had been built in the nineteen seventies, and was showing its age.

The waiting room was lit by a fluorescent tube that was flickering as if it was about to go out.

The floor tiles were cracked and crumbling in a few places, and the blue plastic chairs had clearly been designed to discourage sleep.

Alex yawned and stretched his back. There was nothing to read but a few peeling posters, and he had been required to leave his phone in reception. He had closed his eyes, beginning to doze in spite of the uncomfortable seat, when the door of the interview room opened and Shelley came out.

She was looking pale and nervous, as if she had been the accused. “All done?” he asked.

She nodded, managing some kind of smile. “Yes.” She glanced up at the police officer who had followed her from the room. “Can I go now?”

“Of course. We’ll be in touch.”

“Thank you.”

“Come on then,” Alex urged. “Let’s go home, eh?”

They didn’t speak as they walked across the car park. He opened the car door for her, then walked round and slid in behind the wheel. As he pulled out of the car park and turned towards Sturcombe, he glanced across at her.

“How did it go?”

She hesitated. “Not too bad.”

Her hands were in her lap — small, neat hands with well-trimmed, unvarnished fingernails. In spite of her casual words, he could sense her tension. “You’re not too keen on the police, are you?”

She laughed without humour. “Who is?”

He arched a questioning eyebrow.

“Just . . . I haven’t always been the type of public they’re supposed to protect and serve.” She turned her attention out of the window for a moment, then turned back. “We don’t get many Americans in the hotel.”

He accepted her change of subject without argument. “I’m not American, I’m Canadian. Well, Canadian-British — I have dual citizenship.”

“How come?”

“I was born here, and my father’s British, but my mother’s Canadian. We moved to Canada when I was nine, when my dad got a job there.”

She was looking up at him, those pretty blue eyes bright with interest. “Whereabouts in Canada do you live?”

“Toronto.” At her puzzled frown he realised he had pronounced it the Canadian way, and repeated it more clearly.

“Oh. Is it nice there?”

“Very nice. It’s on the shore of Lake Ontario. It’s got loads of parks and loads of skyscrapers. And the CN Tower is amazing. It’s got an observation deck fifteen hundred feet up. You can actually feel the tower swaying in the wind from up there.”

He was talking trivia to try to help her relax a bit. There was something in her manner that intrigued him. It wasn’t shyness — it was more a wariness, as if she was constantly alert for any sign of trouble.

She reminded him of a fox that had often come into their garden when he was a kid. It would creep in under a hole in the fence, and peer out cautiously from among the bushes. At the slightest sound, the slightest movement, it would vanish.

He had put out food for it regularly every night, and had often sat on the back deck, very still, watching for it.

It had taken almost a year for it to creep closer to the house.

It had been curious, but there had always been a suspicious glint in its eyes, constantly alert to the slightest hint of danger.

The girl was a little older than he had first thought — when she had given her date of birth at the police station he had realised that she was in her middle twenties.

She appeared so delicate, but he guessed that she was tougher than she looked. She’d certainly given that guy who’d attacked her a very sharp lesson.

She smiled up at him. “So why did you choose to come here for a holiday?”

“To England?”

“Yes. Well, to Sturcombe. It’s a bit out of the way, especially now the holiday season’s over. You haven’t come to play golf.”

He laughed. “How did you know that?”

“I clean your room,” she reminded him with a touch of dry humour. “No golf clubs.”

“You’re right. I’ve never played golf in my life. Yes, I came for a holiday, and to visit my grandfather — Arthur Crocombe.”

“Arthur? The old guy who lives up the road from the hotel?”

“That’s the one.”

She smiled, a warmth in her blue eyes. “How is he?”

“He’s doing fine, considering he’s nearly ninety-four.”

“He’s really nice. He spoke at the funeral when old Mrs Channing died.

It was a nice funeral, not one of those gloomy things with everyone in black.

She’d wanted everyone to wear bright clothes, so we did, and lots of people stood up to talk about her, stuff no one else knew about.

I went because she was Lisa’s grandmother.

I didn’t really know her myself, though I’d seen her sometimes at the village cricket matches.

Your grandfather said he’d promised to outlive her, and everyone clapped. ”

Alex laughed. “That sounds just like Gramps.”

“How long are you going to stay?”

“I don’t know yet. A month or so, maybe.”

“Don’t you have a job?”

“Not at the moment. I was in the air force — the Canadian Air Force. I completed my ten years’ service last month and decided I didn’t want to sign up for another ten.”

“Why not?”

His mouth quirked into a wry smile. “Ten years was enough. So I decided to come and see Gramps, and have a look around the country I was born in.”

She seemed a little more relaxed, the hint of tension around her mouth smoothed away.

“Why did your family decide to move to Canada?”

“My dad got a job in television there.”

“Wow! That’s exciting. What does he do?”

“He produces a quiz show. It’s very popular.”

“Oh.”

He sensed her beginning to withdraw again, the fox stepping delicately backwards across the lawn to the screen of the bushes. What had he said to make her uneasy?

Was it because she’d figured out very quickly that if his father was a successful television producer, his family was quite well-to-do? Why would that bother her?

Most of the women he had dated would have been delighted. He had never been quite sure if they were attracted to him because of his bank balance, or maybe the hope of wheedling a way into television themselves.

But it seemed to have the opposite effect on Shelley. He smiled to himself. If she knew about the very successful side hustle in real estate he had run while he was in the air force, she’d probably freak.

They had reached the turning from the main road, down Church Road to the hotel. As he drew into the car park, Alex glanced across at his passenger. He’d like to ask her out for a drink, but he had a feeling she’d run a mile.

He drew the car to a halt, and she swiftly unfastened her seat belt. “Well, um . . . Goodbye then. Thank you for the lift.”

“No trouble. Goodbye.”

She flicked him a quick smile and clambered out of the car, scurrying across the car park to the staff entrance at the side of the hotel. Escaping? The thought was unavoidable.

He shook his head wryly and glanced at his watch.

There was time to get a coffee before visiting his grandfather again. Then after dinner he could choose between dropping into the pub down on the sea front for a pint of warm British beer, or a night alone in his hotel room reading or watching British television.