Page 40 of Christmas at Sturcombe Bay
“And I’ll have mineral water with that, as usual,” he added. “Would you prefer wine, Jess?”
“Ah . . . not a whole bottle. Do you have a house wine?”
“Of course.”
“Then I’ll have a glass of that, please.”
The waiter smiled and withdrew.
Jess picked up a breadstick and nibbled on it. “Has Lisa told you what’s happening with the hotel?”
“Yes.”
“It would be a real shame if it gets closed down. There’s this lovely old couple — the Wrights — who had their honeymoon there nearly sixty years ago, and they’ve come back for a long weekend every year since, on their anniversary. They broughttheir little dog with them. They want to celebrate their sixtieth wedding anniversary there. It’ll break their hearts if they can’t. And there are quite a few people like them — regulars who come back every year. I’ve been looking back over the old guest lists.”
Paul’s eyes were dark. “I know. They pretty much keep the place going through the off-season. Unfortunately there aren’t enough of them, and they’re gradually getting older and dying off.”
“What about the golfers?”
“They bring in a lot of business over the summer, but not so many want to play in the winter when it’s windy and the ground’s wet. There are only two tournaments for the whole six months.”
“But if the hotel closes, what will happen in the summer when they do want to play?”
He shrugged his wide shoulders. “They’d just go somewhere else.”
She shook her head sadly. “It’s a lovely old place. It could be really nice if only someone would invest a bit of money in it. If no one buys it, it could just get demolished.”
“It won’t be as easy as that — it’s actually a listed building. They’d need to get it delisted and then apply to the council to knock it down.”
“Can they do that?”
“Yes, though it can be a long and expensive process. But if the owners are unscrupulous enough they’d just leave it empty and derelict until it’s beyond recovery — unsafe. Maybe a convenient fire that can be blamed on squatters. Then the council doesn’t have much choice.”
She stared at him, aghast. “Oh no, that would be even worse. You could do so much with the place, with a bit of input.”
“Such as?”
“Well, weddings, for a start. Lisa told me they had two there this summer. It’s a wonderful venue, especially with those views. When we were looking for somewhere for ours, we’d have jumped at it, if it had been closer.”
“Yes, closer. That’s one disadvantage. Sturcombe’s pretty tucked away, off the beaten track.”
“So you play that up as a plus,” she argued, her enthusiasm rising. “You could offer the whole package, with the bridal party and even the guests staying for the weekend as well.”
“That could be expensive.”
She waved the breadstick in a dismissive gesture. “There’d be people willing to pay. Destination weddings are a big thing. Some people go to Ibiza or even the Caribbean for their wedding. Why not South Devon?”
“Hmmm.”
“It would be cheaper and certainly less hassle for the guests to get there, particularly older guests. Of course, if you were going to go for that you’d need to smarten the place up quite a bit,” she added judiciously. “Go more upmarket. Maybe think about a spa, a hairdressing salon. And you could upsell by offering it as a package for hen and stag weekends.”
“What? Hordes of screaming women running around in feather boas and pink cowboy hats, blokes getting pissed up and hiring strippergrams, and tying the groom butt-naked to a lamppost? No, thank you.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “Not that sort of thing. You market it as something classy. Five star. Not the sort of thing that would attract the cowboy hat and strippergram brigade.”
He nodded slowly. “Okay . . .”
The waiter had brought their starter. Jess thanked him with a smile, and took a forkful of her pulled crab. “Mmm . . .” She closed her eyes, savouring the delicate blend of flavours. “This is delicious.”
