Page 74 of Christmas at Sturcombe Bay
“He seems nice.” She really shouldn’t be finding ways to continue hanging around out here. “Wasn’t he a fighter pilot?”
“He was. That’s why he feels such a strong connection with this place.”
“Ah, of course. Old Arthur’s stories of the war. They were fascinating. He has a wonderful memory.”
“We’d like to set up some kind of memorial to record the whole history.”
“That’s a great idea. Maybe a website? Shelley said there are loads more photo albums and diaries and stuff down in the basement. We could scan them and load them up. People are often dead keen on that sort of thing. It could be quite a feature. Anyway . . .” She’d stayed long enough — any longer and her brain would turn completely to jelly. “I’d better take these things into the kitchen and get them washed up.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Shelley brushed another tear from her eyes with an impatient hand as she stuffed her second-best cotton sweater into her backpack. Why was she crying anyway? She had known all along that the fairy tale would come crashing down round her ears sooner or later. She just hadn’t expected it to end quite like this.
Why hadn’t he told her the truth? She had known he was quite well off, but to be able to buy the hotel, outright, just like that! Like someone might decide to buy a packet of crisps. That was a whole different league.
After struggling to fasten up the backpack, she sat down on the bed and looked around the room.
It wasn’t much — just a narrow single bed, an ancient wardrobe, a dressing table with a wonky drawer, a slightly threadbare carpet — but it had been her home, her haven, for the past three years. The closest thing to a home she had ever known.
The tears were flooding down her cheeks now. She had to go. She couldn’t stay, knowing she’d see Alex every day. It had been bad enough when he was a guest, but now . . . The owner of the hotel didn’t have a relationship with a chambermaid — it was as simple as that.
Or not a proper relationship anyway. She smiled bitterly. He might sleep with her, keep her on the side while he dated women on his own level. Married a woman on his own level.
She couldn’t live like that. And if she was crying now, it was her own stupid fault for letting herself fall in love with him. She should have known better.
The only things left to pack were those on her bedside table — a box of tissues, a packet of mints, and her small alarm clock, a gift from the charity who had got her this job three years ago.
The tissues could go in the bin, the mints into her pocket, and she tucked the clock into the side pocket of her backpack. If she left now she could catch the bus into town before anyone realised she had gone.
Slipping across to the tiny bathroom the staff shared she splashed her face with cold water to try to cool the redness of her eyes. But as she stepped back across the hall she almost collided with Jess.
“Oh, sorry . . .” She ducked her head and tried to dodge past into her own room.
“My fault,” Jess responded, her voice buoyant. “I wasn’t looking where I was going. Isn’t it great news about Alex and Paul buying the hotel? I didn’t know a thing about it, did you?”
“No, I . . . never heard anything.”
“It’s brilliant. They’ve got so many ideas. They’re really going to make something of the place . . .” She stopped suddenly, her hand on Shelley’s arm. “What’s wrong? Have you been crying?”
“No.”
“Yes, you have. What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. Leave me alone.” The tears were welling up again, and she dived into her room before they started to fall, trying to shut the door.
“What’s going on?” Jess stood in the doorway, her gaze taking in the empty wardrobe, the stuffed backpack. “Where are you going?”
“I don’t know. I don’t care.” Her heart felt like a lump of cold lead. “I’m just leaving.”
“But why?” Jess stared at her. “Everything’s going to be okay now. The hotel isn’t going to close.”
Shelley shook her head fiercely. “That’s got nothing to do with it,” she insisted. “I’ve been here long enough. I hate to stay in one place too long.”
Jess’s expression told her that she didn’t believe her, but she stood aside as Shelley shoved past her and hurried for the stairs.
It had started to rain. It wasn’t heavy, but it was cold. Shelley pulled the hood of her parka up over her head as she walked briskly past the front of the hotel and up to the bus stop on Church Road. She only had a few minutes to wait for the bus, so hopefully no one would see her.
No such luck.
