Page 99 of Christmas at Sturcombe Bay
“Sure.” Neil picked up the rest of the sandwiches, and they both strolled through into the back office.
* * *
“Wow! It does look fantastic.” Jess leaned closer to study the images on Cassie’s laptop. “But it’s going to be freezing!”
Cassie laughed. “Well, it’s on the Arctic Circle, so I expect it will be.”
“Robyn’s going to love it,” Julia remarked.
“So will I. I’ve been dying to see the Northern Lights.”
“It’s really nice that you’re taking Robyn with you.”
“We couldn’t have left her out,” Cassie responded with a fond smile. “It’s important that she doesn’t feel that me and Liam getting married changes things between her and her daddy. Anyway, we’ll have a proper honeymoon next summer, when she’s had a chance to settle. I’m thinking Hawaii.” She laughed. “Liam’s thinking Kazakhstan to see the Przewalski’s horses.”
Julia rolled her eyes. “That would be interesting.”
“Wouldn’t it? Actually, I’m quite keen to see them too, but maybe not on our honeymoon.”
The Ellis’s family sitting room was warm and cosy, a log fire burning in the grate. Diane was knitting, her feet up on the old cabin trunk that served as a coffee table, Hobo’s head resting on her lap. The three men had gone up to Dartmoor to help with the early lambing and were likely to be out all night.
“Anyone for another cup of coffee?” Julia asked as Cassie closed the laptop.
“Not for me, thanks.” Jess glanced at her watch. “It’s gone eleven — I’d better be getting back. See you soon.”
“Goodnight, then.” Julia hugged her. “Mind how you go.”
Jess laughed. “Like I’ve got a long walk.”
“But the weather’s vicious out there. I wouldn’t be surprised if we got snow.”
“What, down here? I didn’t think it ever snowed in South Devon.”
“Oh, it does occasionally, and not just on Dartmoor.” Diane’s needles clicked as she turned a row. “We had a good fall a few years ago, though that was in January.”
“It would be great to have a white Christmas.” Jess shrugged herself into her coat, wrapped her thick woolly scarf around her neck, and pulled her bobble hat well down over her ears. “Right, I’m ready to face whatever the weather can throw at me.”
The weather certainly was vicious. A damp, icy wind was blowing in from the North Atlantic, the sort that seemed to hit you in the face no matter which way you turned.
Fortunately, it was not much more than a hundred yards to the hotel. As she turned into the car park, she smiled at the tall Christmas tree beside the steps, its coloured lights winking red, gold, blue and green.
And then she saw the sleek dark-green car parked in the corner. Dammit, Paul was back. She hadn’t realised it would be today. She wasn’t ready . . .
But she didn’t have to see him yet, she decided. Walking quickly, she crossed to the staff entrance, let herself in, and climbed the stairs to the staff quarters on the top floor.
All was quiet up here. There were only a few live-in staff at the moment, and they would probably have already gone to bed. She wasn’t ready for bed yet, though.
In the staffroom she made herself a cup of coffee, then flopped into the least lumpy armchair and flicked on the television. A bit of light comedy would be a distraction.
She’d had plenty to distract her this past month. They’d been hectic, with the Turkey-and-Tinsel groups filling the hotel. There had been endless little wrinkles to sort out — extra pillows requested, a dripping tap which had turned out to simply not have been turned off properly, queries about what time the excursion to Exeter or Dartmoor or the Heligan Gardens was setting off, even though it was all detailed in the programme in their rooms.
But for five years she’d dealt with ‘What cc is this bike?’ when it was stated right there on the windscreen sticker. ‘Do youhave this helmet in red?’ when they’d had half a dozen colours apart from red on the shelf. And ‘Two hundred and fifty quid for a bike lock? That’s a bit steep.’You’re riding a Kawasaki Ninja H2 — that’s twenty-five grand’s worth of bike. You want to put a cheap lock on it and have someone nick it?And most annoying of all, ‘Is there a man I can speak to?’ After that, she could cope with a few mildly anxious septuagenarians.
So Paul was back.
She’d hoped that these few weeks without him being around would have given her the chance to regain her equilibrium, that by now she’d be able to keep him safely in the ‘friend’ zone.
But ‘safe’ and Paul Channing weren’t words you would usually hear in the same sentence.
