Page 82 of Christmas at Sturcombe Bay
“I’m impressed. Mine managed twenty-five, less one day. They were due to celebrate their silver wedding when my dad announced that he was leaving.”
“Cold.”
“I don’t entirely blame him. For my mother, nothing’s ever right. She could complain that the sky’s the wrong shade of blue. But he didn’t exactly go about things in the right way. He’d been seeing someone else, someone a lot younger, for more than a year, and they had a baby on the way.”
Paul nodded. “It would have been better if he’d been honest about it.”
“It would.”
“Anyway, come and have a look upstairs.”
* * *
Paul smiled to himself as he climbed the stairs. If you were talking about fabulous views . . . Long, long legs, a very neat backside in tight jeans. Hair the colour of autumn leavestumbling halfway down her back — hair he could imagine spread across his pillow . . . That was what he called a fabulous view.
He was going to show her his bedroom, though he doubted if he’d be able to persuade her to share it with him tonight. But that was okay — he was enjoying the game.
“That’s Nanna’s room.” He gestured towards the door on the right, but didn’t open it. “I haven’t started on it yet. It . . . feels kinda weird to go in there.”
Jess nodded. “Vicky said the same thing about when she inherited her cottage from her Aunt Molly. She felt really awkward going into her room at first, going through her things. She could still smell her perfume.”
“We went in there when Nanna first moved down to live with Mum and Dad, to pick up some clothes and things for her.” He laughed, shaking his head at the memory. “We were all afraid she’d suddenly burst in and demand to know what we were doing, messing with her stuff! And the fuss she made . . . Anyone would have thought she was moving to Australia. It took months to persuade her to move — she’d had a couple of falls, and they were really worried about her. Even when she finally agreed to go, she wouldn’t let them put in a stairlift for her so she could use one of the upstairs bedrooms. She said it looked like a toilet!”
Jess hooted with laughter. “She sounds like a wonderful old woman.”
“She was. We all adored her, though she could be as cantankerous as they come.”
“And you still miss her.”
“Yes, I do. Anyway, this is my office.” He opened the next door.
“Ah.” Her eyes danced with amusement. “The hub of your financial empire!” She glanced around, taking in the long desk, the two large computer screens. And the weight bench and rower. “Not just for exercising your brain, then?”
“Unfortunately, when you give up professional sports it’s all too easy to let yourself go to seed.”
“Hmm.” She flickered a speculative glance over him, lightly mocking, and he arched one eyebrow in unspoken question. She returned him a cool smile, and turned away.
It amused him that she’d tease him. None of his past girlfriends would have challenged him like that. Oh boy, he really liked this woman, on a level way beyond the thought of getting her into bed.
“That’s the bathroom.” He ignored that door. “I haven’t bothered with that yet, but I’ve had an en-suite installed in my bedroom. Which is here.” He opened the door and stood aside for her to step through.
He was pleased with how this room had turned out. He’d been inspired by the hotel he’d stayed in when his team had gone on a trip to Jakarta to play a few friendlies during the off-season.
Rich plum-coloured walls and gleaming dark mahogany furniture, and a long built-in wardrobe with frosted glass doors. Three paintings of swirling Indonesian dancers lined up on one wall.
And the bed — big and wide and covered with a plum satin spread. Would she be tempted?
She glanced into the room, then stepped back, but the slight wobble in her smile told him that she had felt the tug. “It’s . . . um . . . a big place just for you on your own,” she remarked as she preceded him down the stairs.
“I like a lot of space. Besides, as neither Cassie nor Lisa wanted it, if I hadn’t taken it on it would have gone out of the family. That didn’t seem right.”
“No, I can see that.”
“Okay, dinner?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
* * *
