Page 72 of Christmas at Sturcombe Bay
Paul had been watching for Jess, but she didn’t seem to be around. She hadn’t said if she was planning to stay, but if he let the hotel be closed down she would certainly be leaving.
That was another reason to keep it open. Maybe more of a reason than he was willing to acknowledge.
Vicky came out with a tray of cups and a fresh cafetiere of coffee, and sat down at the end of the table. “I just need to keep half an eye on the desk,” she explained.
“Paul, you haven’t seen Vicky’s photos from the Pradera yet, have you?” Lisa asked.
“Oh, no. Show me.”
Vicky pulled out her phone, called up the images, and passed it over. “They had a whole wall of Juan-Jorge’s paintings in one of the rooms, along with the sketches he did of Tom’s grandmother and the others. That’s the one of my Aunt Molly, in the centre.”
“I heard about that,” Alex remarked. Paul passed the phone across the table to him. “It must have been amazing to see them hanging in a prestigious art gallery like that.”
“It was.” Vicky glanced at Lisa. “Why didn’t he do one of your Nanna Edie?”
Arthur snorted. “Pah! Too ugly!”
“Grandpa!”
“What? I’m just telling the truth. If I can’t tell the truth at my age . . .”
“Yes, I know.” The big Canadian rolled his eyes. “You’re ninety-four. You outlived them all. I wonder why you never mention it?”
“Pah!”
“What did you think about those old photo albums, Arthur?” Lisa asked, trying to distract him.
“Ah, very good, my luvver, very good. Lots of those guys I remember. Johnny Leadbetter — now, he was a proper ’un. Lungs had been damaged when his plane caught fire, but he was always laughing and joking. Then he died.”
A shadow crossed his face.
“He always used to sit out here, over there in the corner.” He looked across as if he could still see his old friend in his usual place. “We came up one day, me and my pals, and his chair was empty. They just told us he’d gone, but we heard later he’d died in his sleep. Just like that. Still, it was a good way to go, I suppose, even though he weren’t no older than twenty-one.”
“Oh, that’s so sad,” Lisa murmured.
“It’s awful that the place could be closed,” Vicky sighed. “It ought to be kept as a memorial to all those brave men.”
Paul smiled down at the baby on his lap, and put his finger to his lips. “Shhh,” he whispered softly. “Secret.”
Arthur was chuckling with laughter. “Oh, don’t you worry,” he declared, beaming broadly. “My grandson’s going to see it right. Ain’t you, lad?”
There was a moment’s startled silence.
“My Alex is going to buy it,” the old man crowed. “What do you think of that, eh?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Alex shook his head, laughing. “How did you know about that, Grandpa? I never told you.”
“Your father told me, of course! Why, was it supposed to be a secret?”
Paul Channing was staring at him, then he started laughing too. “You’rebidding for it?”
“I am. I wasn’t going to say anything yet, until the deal’s done.”
“And Stretton’s giving you the runaround, telling you there’s another bidder, trying to push the price up?”
“That’s right . . .” The cogs in Alex’s brain whirred and clicked into place. “You? You’re his other bidder?”
