Page 123 of Christmas at Sturcombe Bay
“Oh, Mike. I’d love to have you working with me, if that’s really what you want.”
“It is.”
“Then you’ve got the job.” She laughed, a bubble of happiness growing inside her. She had been so anxious that he would be leaving Sturcombe, just when they were growing close to each other. “When can you start?”
“As soon as you like. And . . . as I’ll be moving out of my accommodation here, I was wondering what you’d think about me moving in with you?”
“In my flat?”
“Of course, I can find somewhere else if you’d rather not,” he assured her quickly. “If you think it’s too soon. I’ve spoken to Vicky Cullen and she said I can have one of the cottages she’s renovating, if I want it.”
She smiled up at him, the bubbles of happiness fizzing in her heart. “I don’t think it’s too soon. Like you said, time isn’t endless. Let’s make the most of it.”
“Let’s. I love you, Kate Rowley.”
“Oh, Mike. I love you too.”
He bent his head, and his mouth brushed over hers, tender and sweet. How lucky was she? In her middle fifties, after twenty-plus years alone since her Terry had died, to have found love again at last.
She hadn’t noticed that he had steered her out to the conservatory. As he lifted his head and glanced up, she followed his gaze, and realised that they were under a spray of mistletoe tied to one of the cross struts of the roof.
“You know what?” he murmured. “Let’s go three for three.”
“Three?”
He smiled slowly and tilted his forehead against hers. “Let’s get married.”
* * *
“Oh, hello.” Shelley paused by one of the tables, recognising the two women from the Ladies Golf League. Was it really only a couple of months since they’d been here before? It felt like half a lifetime — so much had changed. Now she could smile with a confidence she hadn’t known then. “How do you do?”
“Ah, it’s Shelley, isn’t it? How nice to see you again.” The older of the two extended her hand. “It’s a very lively party, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is.” Shelley laughed, glancing round at the ballroom. Everyone was enjoying themselves, dancing and singing along to the cheesy Christmas songs the DJ was playing. With the lights lowered, the room was transformed into a smart disco or nightclub.
“It was kind of Mr Crocombe to invite us,” the other woman — Mrs Lavis?— said. “We’ve been discussing our plans for next season.”
“Oh?”
“You’ll be pleased to know that we intend to bring several of our regional ladies’ tournaments here. And we’re negotiating to host a round of the national tournament, too.”
Shelley smiled in delight. “Ah, that’s good.” They had been hoping for that. The contract would secure bookings for quite a few weeks over the whole year. “We’ll be pleased to have you.”
“I’m not saying that it was entirely because of what you did to help us in dealing with Mr Gibbons,” Mrs Booth confided, smiling, “but it was certainly a factor in our consideration.”
Mrs Lavis nodded. “We felt that your courage in coming forward deserved some reward.”
“Oh.” She wasn’t sure what to say to that. “Well . . . thank you.”
“We’ve been looking at the display board about the plans for the hotel. It’s going to look fabulous. Really elegant.”
“Yes, it is.” And not yellow and purple, thank goodness!
“I love those new waterfall chandeliers you’re putting in here. And the wall lights in the corridors upstairs give a much nicer light than ceiling lights.”
“I’m looking forward to trying out the spa. We were talking to Mike earlier. He said they’ve already started on that.”
“Oh, yes. It’s in the annexe, so they were able to make a start even while there were guests here.”
