Page 35 of Christmas at Sturcombe Bay
A wary look.
“Fish and chips?”
She smiled, that tiny dimple popping into her cheek. “That would be nice.”
“Come on then.” He drew her to her feet and they walked along the beach, the cool evening breeze from the sea stirring their hair, the stars appearing one by one as if lit by an invisible hand.
Chapter Eleven
Kate studied her reflection in the mirror. It wasn’t something she did very often, except for a quick check that she looked tidy, her soft brown hair brushed, her shirt buttoned straight.
But this evening she was going out. It wasn’t a date — it was just an evening with an old friend, enjoying a favourite hobby. She had always loved dancing. They all used to go together when her Terry was alive, the two of them with Mike and Sarah.
After Terry died she hadn’t had the heart for it any more. But she hadn’t forgotten the steps. Debbie had always laughed at her when she had waltzed or tangoed around the sitting room whenStrictlywas on the television.
And now she was going dancing again, after all these years. It had been difficult to decide what to wear. She didn’t really have a ‘going out’ wardrobe any more.
Would the dress she had bought for Debbie’s wedding be suitable? It was pale blue, quite a simple style without the embroidered jacket that went with it. Maybe she could pair it with a dark-blue cardigan and give it a twist with her purple paisley-patterned silk scarf, and a nice pair of earrings.
At least shoes wouldn’t be a problem. She had several pairs of plain black court shoes with low kitten heels which she wore when she was working in the café, so she knew they were comfortable as well as smart.
A glance at her watch told her that it was almost seven o’clock, so she picked up her bag and her jacket and went downstairs to watch for Mike’s car. She didn’t want to keep him waiting.
At exactly two minutes past seven the car pulled up to the kerb. Kate smiled to herself as she went to open the door. Mike had always been punctual. But as soon as he stepped out of the car she knew that there was something wrong.
“Mike? What is it? What’s happened?”
His shoulders were slumped and he looked utterly defeated. “They’re closing the hotel.”
“They . . . what?” She stared at him, startled. “Who is?”
“This new investment fund that’s bought it. They sent a representative down to have a look around, and he decided that we’re not making enough profit for them, so they’re putting it up for auction next month. And if it doesn’t sell, they’re just going to close it.”
“Oh no! Look, come on inside and tell me all about it.” Without thinking, she took his hand and drew him into the café, urging him to sit at one of the tables. “I’ll get us some coffee.”
The barista machine was turned off, but she had some instant for emergencies. In a few moments, she brought two mugs over to the table and sat down opposite him.
“I don’t get it.” She shook her head, frowning. “Why did they buy the place if they don’t want to keep it open?”
“They didn’t particularly want to buy it. It just came as part of the package when they took over the Nordicote Group. Nordicote had bought it as part of another group four years ago, and there was another group that owned it before that. None of them have taken much interest in it, they haven’t wanted to invest in it. They’ve just let it get more and more run down, until we’re where we are now.” His voice was laced with a bitterness she had never heard from him before. “Not worth keeping open.”
“But it’s not that run down,” Kate protested, indignant on his behalf. “Yes, it needs a bit of work — the paintwork could be freshened up, a few new carpets — but people come back year after year because they love it.”
He sighed heavily. “Our old faithfuls. The trouble is that there’s not enough of them, and they’re all elderly. In a few more years there won’t be many of them left. We have the golfers through the summer, and the Turkey-and-Tinsel people aroundChristmas, but . . . Do you know, the swimming pool’s been empty for five years? It was hardly used, and we couldn’t afford to heat it.”
“Oh, Mike . . .” She reached across the table and took both his hands in hers. “But if they’re putting it up for auction, someone might buy it.”
“But not to keep it open. They’ll demolish it for . . . I don’t know, another caravan site or something. At least that would be better than just leaving it derelict.”
“And what about you?” she asked gently. “What will you do?”
“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I’m fifty-seven years old — too young to get my pension, too old for anyone to employ me. Except for stacking shelves in a supermarket, maybe. Collecting trolleys.”
She felt her heart crease. “Don’t fret about it, Mike. Something will turn up.”
“Maybe.” He managed a smile, squaring his shoulders. “But worrying about it won’t butter the parsnips, as my mother used to say. Come on, let’s go dancing.”
* * *
