Page 103 of The Making of Jonty Bloom
“In our corner of the market, people are looking for experiences. They want more than a room. They want to be a local for the time that they’re in the area and cookie-cutter hotels don’t give them that. We need to offer something different. We’re known for excellent service, a high level of cleanliness, top class security, first class comfort and ease of use. A pool is important, as is a spa and gym. Room service has to be exceptional. Expert knowledge on the local area is essential.”
“Local BDSM clubs and things like that?”
“That’s not as farfetched as you might think.”
“Oh God. Okay. I’ll try agencies first. What’s the budget?”
“A thousand a week? More, if the place is really special.”
Now Jonty was the one choking. “I hope you’re not thinking we can go halves because I’ve been paying eighty pounds a week for my place. Roughly eleven pounds a day as opposed to…a hundred and forty-three between the two of us. Seventy-two each.”
“So you do see the beauty of maths.”
“When you’re continually stretching your wages—yes and I no longer have a job.”
“I’ll pay. See what you can find.”
Jonty kept giving long and heavy sighs, which Devan took to mean he wasn’t having much luck, and punctuated the journey with random comments.
“Who the hell would buy curtains that colour? They’d give me a headache.”
“Couch isn’t washable. That’s not going to work.”
“TV is too small. Watching porn wouldn’t be anywhere near as much fun.”
“Bed is too small. Though, since I’d be sleeping on top of you…”
“A vomit-green kitchen with no room to swing a dick.”
“Not enough room for two people in the shower. How would you wash my important bits?”
“Bloody liars. The beach is not a hop, skip and a jump away, even if you’re a rabbit.”
“A bus stops right outside the door. People would get an eyeful of your arse. Though you might be into that.”
“Next to a tattoo parlour. If we got drunk, it might prove too tempting.”
Jonty groaned. “I’m being too picky, aren’t I? But no compromising over the TV, right? Big is better. Always. Unless it’s too big. Then it’s not better.”
“What search terms are you using?”
“Isolated beach-front, short-term rental property with heated outdoor pool, lazy river, hot tub, and stabling for one large and sometimes cantankerous horse. There’s a surprising lack of properties in that price range.”
Devan chuckled as he pulled into a car park in the centre of Alnwick. The rain had stopped falling. “Keep looking. I’ll go and pay for parking.”
When Devan got back in the car, Jonty handed him his phone. “I think I might have found somewhere.”
Devan checked it out. A two-bedroom property at Shennan Sands, between Seahouses and Bamburgh.
“What’s Shennan Sands like?”
“Quiet. No shop, no pub, no church. An isolated, unspoiled gem. Superb beach. For once, the online description is pretty accurate.”
The two-storey property was right on the beach, one of a handful of dwellings dotted along that stretch of coastline, all accessed by a single-track road.
He scrolled through the pictures. “No pool. No lazy river. No stable. Bad luck. Otherwise it’s perfect. Sea view from upstairs and downstairs. I’ll give the agent a call.” Devan tapped in the number and put the mobile on speakerphone.
“Good afternoon. Ganstone Lettings. Kristan speaking. How can I help you?”
