Page 51 of Christmas at Sturcombe Bay
Alex stared at his grandfather, impressed. “That’s amazing. You’ve never talked about that before.”
“Ah, well, it was just one of those things. After the war no one talked about it much. Well, what was the point? But families round here used to have them in for tea, make them feel at home. And sometimes there’d be parties, with showgirls coming down from London in a charabanc. Then when it was all over, they just closed the place down, just like that. One day there, next day gone! The men all went off home, and we settled down to our old lives again.”
He sighed in sad reminiscence.
“But she did her bit, the old Carleton. Stood here more’n a hundred and fifty, hundred and sixty years now. But come the war, she did her bit.”
Alex glanced around the terrace and up at the white facade of the hotel, his mind conjuring up images of those long-ago airmen with their bandaged hands and faces.
Airmen like him. He felt the connection tug at his spirit.
And now it was at risk of being left to fall into disrepair, dereliction, until in the end it was demolished. No, for the memory of those airmen, he wasn’t going to let that happen.
* * *
The conservatory windows had probably never been this clean. At least not this pane. Shelley had managed to remain concealed behind a large Chinese fan palm while discreetly watching Alex at his grandfather’s birthday party.
He was really good with the old man, chatting easily to him and making him laugh. Everyone loved Arthur Crocombe — he was a proper character.
And Alex . . . The memory of walking on the beach with him, of eating fish and chips from the paper, would stay with her for a long time . . .
As if the thought had conjured him up, she heard his voice behind her.
“Ah, so this is where you’re hiding.”
She stiffened. “I’m not hiding. I’m . . . just cleaning the windows.”
“So I see.” His voice was warm with gentle amusement. “Aren’t you going to join the party?”
She shook her head. “That . . . wouldn’t be allowed. I’m staff.”
“So? So are Lisa and Jess.”
“They’re management, office staff,” she protested desperately, wishing he’d go away before she made a fool of herself by blushing. “I’m just a chambermaid.”
He arched one dark eyebrow. “That sounds like inverted snobbery.”
“Yeah, only someone who’s never had to worry about losing their job would say a thing like that.”
“Fair enough.” He smiled, a smile that did funny things to her insides. “Can I at least get you a slice of birthday cake? No one can object to that. I paid for it, so I can give it to whoever I like.”
She hesitated, then conceded reluctantly. “Okay, thank you.”
He grinned, satisfied. Shelley watched as he strolled back to the buffet table and collected two plates of cake and two glasses of wine. But as he turned to bring them back out to the conservatory, Lisa spotted him.
“Hi. Where are you off to with . . . Oh, hi, Shelley. What are you doing hiding out there? Come on in and join the party.”
“I already invited her.” Alex slanted her look of teasing amusement. “She said it wasn’t allowed.”
“What? Oh, don’t be silly. Come and wish Arthur a happy birthday.”
Shelley hesitated, but reluctantly joined them. Arthur spotted her at once and beamed broadly. “Ah, here’s another pretty girl come to wish me a happy birthday. Come and get some cake, my luvver.”
She smiled warmly. “I’ve got some, thank you. Happy birthday, Mr Crocombe.”
“Arthur. Call me Arthur, my luvver,” he insisted, reaching for her hand.
“Arthur.” On an impulse she bent and kissed his papery cheek. “Happy birthday.”
