Page 57 of Christmas at Sturcombe Bay
“Ah, there’s the problem. I don’t really have anything decent to wear.”
“Hmm.” Jess frowned, thinking. “Tricky, if you don’t know where you’re going.”
“I just hope he doesn’t take me anywhere posh. I wouldn’t know which knife and fork to use, or what to choose off themenu. All the waiters would look at me as if I should be out the back on the pot-wash. And they’d be right.”
“Don’t be daft. If they’re that snobby, that’s on them. And if Alex takes you somewhere like that, he isn’t as nice as I think he is. Look, don’t worry — he’s not going to take you anywhere you’d feel uncomfortable. Now, let me think. . . What about your navy-blue trousers? They’re really smart.”
“I bought them in a charity shop!”
“So?”
“Anyway, I don’t have anything to wear with them.”
“What about that cream sweater of mine? The one with the big cowl neck.”
“Oh, I couldn’t borrow that!” Shelley protested. “What if I spilt something on it?”
“It’ll wash. What shoes have you got?”
“A couple of pairs of trainers. And my boots.”
“Oh, yes. Those nice ankle boots. They’d look great, give it an edge.”
Shelley looked doubtful. “How will I know what to pick from the menu?”
“Let him choose for you. And watch which cutlery he uses then just copy him. And if you don’t want wine, just ask for mineral water. He probably will anyway, as he’ll be driving.”
Shelley laughed. “Maybe I ought to be taking notes. Okay, one more thing. What should I talk about?”
“That’s simple.” Jess snapped her fingers. “Get him talking about himself. There’s not a man on the planet who doesn’t like that.”
Chapter Seventeen
“Hi, Dad. How’s things?”
“All good, son. How’s your grandad?” Alex smiled at the sound of his father’s voice echoing from his phone’s speaker from three and a half thousand miles away across the Atlantic. “Did he enjoy his birthday party?”
Alex laughed. “He was in his element — King of the World. He got loads of presents, mostly brandy! The hotel put on a great do for him, and the cake was something else. I’ll send you the photos.”
“Thanks, son. I’d have liked to have been there.”
“You were here just a couple of months ago,” Alex reassured him. “And you’ll be over in the new year.”
“That’s right. And what about you? Have you got any plans yet?”
“I do.” He took a brief pause. “I’m thinking of buying the hotel.”
“What, the Carleton?” His dad was startled. “Why?”
“It’s being sold off to some investment fund — Lytcott Capital Management. The hotel has already been warned that they’re likely to be offloaded, as they’re not making enough profit. And if they can’t find a buyer, the place will just be closed down.”
“Ah, now that’d be a crying shame, eh,” his dad protested. “It’s a grand old building. The trouble is that no one’s spent any money on it for years. I was sad to see how run down it was when I was over in July.”
“Exactly. Did you know what it was used for during the war?”
“Well, Dad told me it was something to do with the military — a convalescence home for injured soldiers.”
“Airmen. With burns injuries.”
