Page 79 of Christmas at Sturcombe Bay
Yes, a good friend. That had to be enough.
* * *
Mike strolled back along the Esplanade, past the beach shop and the chip shop and the noisy amusement arcade. Some of the shop windows were already dressed up for Christmas, with snow scenes and fairy lights and garlands of holly.
Thirty Christmases he’d spent here in Sturcombe Bay — but this could be his last. Maybe . . .
The sky was darkening from the east, but enough light lingered to show the dim line of the horizon. It was cold, but he didn’t feel like going back to his empty apartment just yet.
Crossing the road, he turned back down the ramp to the beach. The tide was half out, and the sand crunched beneath his feet. It was a while since he had walked on the beach — ten years, fifteen? He stooped and picked up a pebble. He used to be good at this. With a flick of his wrist he sent it skimming across the lazy waves — once, twice, three times.
He smiled in satisfaction and strolled on to the middle steps. The café was up there, just across the road, and Kate would be finishing clearing up, loading the dishwasher, wiping the tables, sweeping the floor.
Do what’s right for you.He hadn’t thought for a long time about what was right for him, what he wanted. He hadn’t needed to — his life had been settled, content. But since he’d lost Sarah, he’d felt as if he was drifting in a kind of limbo.
But now . . . Maybe the changes to the hotel were his wake-up call. Did he really want to cling on as manager? Or after thirty years, did he want to seize the chance for something else, while there was still time?
In his heart he knew what he wanted. But would Kate feel the same? Or would she think it was too soon, after Sarah? It had only been two years next January. Would she even be interested in being more than his friend, his dance partner?
And if he pushed it, would he risk losing her friendship? That was the last thing he wanted to happen. The music of his favourite waltz drifted through his head.Don’t rush your steps — let it flow naturally.
He nodded, and turned back towards the hotel.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Mmm. I think all my Christmases must have come at once.”
Jess was perched on the top of a stepladder, hanging baubles on the magnificent Christmas tree at the front of the ballroom. It was twelve feet tall — the angel on top almost touched the ceiling — draped with gold tinsel, hung with large gold and purple baubles, and sparkling with twinkling golden fairy lights.
Glancing down over her shoulder, her mouth twisted into a crooked smile. “Huh! I might have known it would be you.”
“Ah, don’t come down yet. I’m enjoying the view.”
As it was her backside in her slim-fitting black slacks that Paul Channing was admiring, she wasn’t going to thank him for the compliment — it would only encourage him.
After making sure the bauble was secure, she started to climb carefully back down. Paul took hold of the stepladder and held it until she reached the bottom.
“Thank you,” she rapped sharply. “But there was really no need. I’ve been up and down this ladder half a dozen times with no problem.”
“I didn’t want you to fall,” he explained blandly. “Health and safety. I’m your employer, so I’d be liable for any accidents.”
She glared at him, and shifted the stepladder around to the other side of the tree.
“The place is looking good,” he remarked, glancing around the room. “Very festive. You’ve all been working hard.”
“Of course, boss. The new owners are slave drivers.”
“Make you work from dawn to midnight for tuppence a week?”
“Uh-uh. We start at two in the morning, work our fingers to the bone for thirty-six hours a day knitting Christmas trees, all for a stale sausage roll and half a cup of weak tea.”
“A whole sausage roll, eh?” His eyes glinted with amusement. “We’ll have to take a look at our wages bill. We’re obviously paying you far too much.”
Jess was forced to laugh as she climbed the ladder again to hang more baubles.
She had to agree with him that the ballroom was looking good. The walls were all draped with curtain falls of twinkling golden fairy lights. There were half a dozen smaller Christmas trees down each side of the room, their sharp, piney scent already drifting through the air.
In the lounge there was another large tree, and several pots of tall twisted willow branches, sprayed gold and hung with more baubles. A third large tree stood at the foot of the stairs in the reception hall, the walls were festooned with tinsel and pine garlands.
