Page 93 of Christmas at Sturcombe Bay
“You’re not most people.”
Shelley glanced down at the book in front of her. “Do you really think I can do this?”
“If you decide to.”
Decide. . .Ah,stupid! “It’s decided.”
“That’s right.”
Shelley looked at her sharply. “You did that deliberately, didn’t you? To give me a clue.”
Helen just laughed.
“But how are you supposed to know if the ‘c’ sounds like a ‘k’ or an ‘s’?”
“Well, mostly if it’s before an ‘i’ or an ‘e’ it will sound like an ‘s’ — but that isn’t a hard-and-fast rule.”
“It’s a crazy language. It must be really hard for foreign people to learn it. There’s so many words that look the same but sound different — like that one we did yesterday, ‘cough’ and ‘though’.”
“But you have an advantage. You already have a good vocabulary, so you have a whole store of words that you canguess at when you see them written down. I bet by Christmas you’ll be reading a whole book in a week.”
“I’ll try. And then . . .” She drew in a slow breath. “I’m going to learn to write.”
Helen brought the coffee mugs over and set them down on the table. “Good on you. You’ll do it. I have every faith in you.”
Shelley felt the tears pricking at her eyes again, but this time they weren’t of anger or frustration. She could well imagine how much the children Helen had taught at Fowey Road Primary School had loved their deputy headmistress. She already loved her herself.
* * *
One of the guests had left a magazine in their room when they’d checked out. People often did that, and Shelley had always just thrown them away. But in the past few weeks, since she had started working with Helen Channing, she had taken to flicking through them and picking out bits she could read — usually the picture captions and the short reviews on cosmetics and household items.
This one had a double-page spread of tips on how to prepare for the perfect Christmas. She turned the page, and found a question-and-answer interview with an Olympic athlete, and though the paragraphs were longer, she found that she could recognise most of the words.
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she turned another page to an article about Agatha Christie, the mystery-novel author. To her surprise, she learned that she’d had a house no more than a few miles from Sturcombe. It was so absorbing that she didn’t notice the minutes passing — didn’t even notice that she’d read three whole pages with barely a hesitation.
It was voices in the corridor outside which brought her quickly to her feet.
“All these light fittings must be replaced, of course. There should be something bronze, baronial.” The woman’s voice was cool, confident. “Nothing itsy-bitsy.”
“Yes. Baronial.”
Alex! Swiftly she looked around for a place to hide, but before she could move he appeared in the doorway.
“Oh. Hello, Shelley.”
“Hello.”
She hadn’t seen him since the Remembrance Day parade down in the Memorial Gardens. He’d been there with his grandfather, who’d been proudly wearing a whole row of medals on his chest.
She’d somehow managed to avoid him ever since. Now it was like sticking her finger in the electric socket. She drew in a sharp breath, feeling a sizzle run down her spine, bringing a rush of heat to her cheeks.
“Ah, this is one of your standard guest rooms, I take it?” The woman stepped past him into the room and cast a critical look around. Her eyes swept past Shelley as if she wasn’t even there. “It’s a good size, and I like the high ceiling and the large window.”
She turned to Alex, her lashes fluttering as she laid a possessive hand on his arm. “Thank you so much for inviting me to see this place,” she purred. “It’s quite amazing. I can reallyfeelit, the history, the dignity.”
Who was she? His new girlfriend? Of course, she was just the sort he’d go for. Smart, elegant, almost as tall as him — aided by a pair of deadly spiked heels. She was as thin as a whippet, with a bell of dark, glossy hair, dead straight and cut with precision to the exact line of her jaw. Her vivid lime-green talons perfectly matched her flowing lime-green trouser-suit.
“I see something bold and vibrant in here.” She swept her arms wide. “A sharp Citrus Daze with a brave line of ImperialPurple slashing diagonally across the wall.” She gestured wildly with her hand to demonstrate. “A statement.”
