Page 58 of Christmas at Sturcombe Bay
“Ah . . .”
Alex had known that his father would understand at once the connection he felt — that almost mystical bond between anyone who had served in the military.
It made no difference whether they were airmen, army or navy, what flag they had served under, even if they were generations apart. It was there.
“It’s not only a sentimental thing,” he explained. “The place has a lot of potential. I was talking to some of the people here and they have some really good suggestions.”
“Well, it’s certainly in a very attractive location.”
“It is.” He had wandered over to the window to gaze out at the bay, looking tranquil in the moonlight. The coloured lights strung from the streetlamps along the Esplanade reflected like shimmering jewels in the sea, which at high tide had come right up to the sea wall.
The amusement arcade was a neon-lit circus of reds, blues and greens, the fish and chip shop was a bright white glow, the windows of the pub on the corner were a warm amber.
Behind the seafront, the town was a star-scape of streetlights and house lights. On the far side of the bay, Cliff Road climbed to the roundabout where it met Haytor Avenue and the entrance to the caravan site.
It was a small town, caught in the paradox between catering for tourists and second-home owners which were virtually its only source of income, and the lack of affordable housing for the local people along with the lack of jobs during the winter months.
If the hotel closed, the place would be reduced to a shell.
“The trouble with Sturcombe is that it’s a bit off the beaten track,” his father pointed out. “That’s always been against it.”
“So we give people a reason to want to come here. I’m thinking wedding packages, an upmarket spa, corporate events . . .”
“Sounds good. How will you finance it?”
“Frank’s been talking about retiring, so it seems like a timely moment to sell. The real-estate market’s pretty buoyant, and he’s had a couple of offers he’s considering. If I sell my share of the company with his, as one unit, we could probably get an even better offer.”
“Well, good luck with it, son. I hope it works out.”
“Thanks, Dad. How’s Mom?”
“She’s fine. She’s out at her book club this evening, but she sends her love.”
“Tell her the same. Speak to you soon.”
“Sure will. ’Bye, son.”
“‘Bye, Dad.”
He closed the call and put the phone down on the coffee table. Buying the hotel, renovating it, taking it upmarket, was going to be a huge undertaking, but it was a very interesting challenge.
And a challenge was just what he needed. Not the challenge of flying fighter jets in war zones — he was done with that — but he was never going to settle for a quiet life, fishing or tending his garden.
Money wasn’t an issue. He’d been investing in real estate almost since the beginning of his air-force career. Initially, he’d just bought a plot of land, intending to build a house for himself at some point.
Then the area had been re-zoned, and the larger adjacent plot had been bought up for housing development. Frank Beaumont, the developer, had offered him a good price for his land, or the alternative of a share in the new project.
Due for deployment overseas, he’d opted for the gamble, and it had paid off handsomely. The partnership had been so successful that they’d agreed to continue it with Frank’s nextproject, and every one since. And over the years they’d become good friends.
Once he knew how things stood with the hotel, he’d ring Frank and discuss it with him. In the meantime, he had dinner with Shelley to look forward to.
* * *
Alex had guessed that Shelley wouldn’t want to dine in the sort of restaurant she’d call ‘posh’, but he wasn’t going to let her think he thought so little of her that he’d take her to a greasy spoon.
An internet search had given him several options. He’d chosen a place on the edge of the moor. On the website it had looked cosy and unpretentious, with cream painted walls, a plain wooden floor, and lots of leafy green plants in terracotta pots.
He made sure he arrived at the hotel a few minutes early as he didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable having to wait for him. He had a feeling that she’d never been on what she’d call a ‘proper’ date before.
