me.’
George pulled her to him and she snuggled into his chest for a moment, taking comfort.
‘Hey.’ He stroked her curls. ‘It’s OK.’
‘Sorry.’ She pulled away, embarrassed by her display of emotion, but he pulled her back, tucking her under his arm, and she relaxed. ‘It’s just . . . it’s so stunning here. So clean and pure. It makes you realize what it can be like. That maybe you’ve been wasting your life.’
‘You haven’t.’
‘I have. I’ve spent too long doing something I don’t really want to do. And so have you.’
‘Not everybody has a choice, Lisa.’
‘Who’s to say we don’t?’
Lisa turned and looked up the cliff towards the hotel. A mischievous smile spread over her face.
‘Why don’t we buy The Rocks?’
‘Yeah, right.’
‘Seriously. It’s for sale. Webby’s selling up.’
‘Is she?’
George looked up at the building with interest. Lisa nudged him.
‘What do you think?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘Why not? It would be great. You could do all the design stuff. You love all of that. And I can be front of house. I’m great at being nice to people.’
‘I thought you wanted to get away from that.’
‘It would be different if they were my customers. I’d be selling something I believed in.’
George allowed his eyes to wander up the cliff again, then shook his head.
‘Everyone comes to the seaside for the weekend and dreams about running a hotel. It’s such a cliché.’
‘Doesn’t mean we can’t do it,’ retorted Lisa.
‘You’re mad.’ George grinned.
Lisa made a mad face, crossing her eyes. George looked at his watch.
‘We better hurry back,’ he said, ‘or Webby will have burned the bacon.’
Breakfast was a pleasant surprise – not too greasy, with endless rounds of warm toast. George decided to stick with tea, as Webby’s idea of coffee was putting a teaspoon of brown dust in a cup and adding hot water. As she proudly brought out yet another pot for them, George smiled his thanks.
‘By the way,’ he said casually, ‘Lisa tells me you’re thinking of selling this place.’
‘Not thinking. I am. It’s on the market already.’
‘Have you had a lot of interest?’
‘From property developers. Yes. But they all want it on the cheap. They think I’m dumb. They come round here with bottles of sherry and try and make me cash offers. Try to cut out the agent.’
‘That’s pretty normal,’ said George.
‘They all want to turn this place into apartments. It seems to be the way things are going round here. Running a hotel or a guest house is too much like hard work. And people want to make a quick profit. Most of the big houses have already been converted. And most of them are second homes, not holiday lets.’ She pursed her lips in disapproval. ‘What these developers don’t realize is how damaging it is to the local economy. These second-homers come down for the weekend bringing their own food. They don’t use the shops. It’s bloody selfish.’
‘So you want to sell to someone who wants to run it as a hotel?’
There was a gleam behind her spectacles. She wasn’t as dim as she looked. Or as principled as she pretended.
‘I don’t care who I sell it to or what they do with it. But I’m not doing anyone any favours. Whoever makes the best offer gets it, at the end of the day.’
‘It would be a shame to see it spoilt, though. It’s a lovely house.’
‘It is. And Bill and I spent a fortune having it done up. We gutted the place. It’s all been done top of the range, you know. New roof, new heating, rewired, new windows. No expense spared. But nobody wants my style of B and B any more. They expect muesli and croissants and fresh coffee.’
Too right, thought George, stirring his tea.
‘What this place needs is somebody young. Like you two. Someone with a bit of energy.’
Lisa kicked George gently under the table. He deliberately didn’t look up. He wondered if Webby had been briefed to say
George pulled her to him and she snuggled into his chest for a moment, taking comfort.
‘Hey.’ He stroked her curls. ‘It’s OK.’
‘Sorry.’ She pulled away, embarrassed by her display of emotion, but he pulled her back, tucking her under his arm, and she relaxed. ‘It’s just . . . it’s so stunning here. So clean and pure. It makes you realize what it can be like. That maybe you’ve been wasting your life.’
‘You haven’t.’
‘I have. I’ve spent too long doing something I don’t really want to do. And so have you.’
‘Not everybody has a choice, Lisa.’
‘Who’s to say we don’t?’
Lisa turned and looked up the cliff towards the hotel. A mischievous smile spread over her face.
‘Why don’t we buy The Rocks?’
‘Yeah, right.’
‘Seriously. It’s for sale. Webby’s selling up.’
‘Is she?’
George looked up at the building with interest. Lisa nudged him.
‘What do you think?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘Why not? It would be great. You could do all the design stuff. You love all of that. And I can be front of house. I’m great at being nice to people.’
‘I thought you wanted to get away from that.’
‘It would be different if they were my customers. I’d be selling something I believed in.’
George allowed his eyes to wander up the cliff again, then shook his head.
‘Everyone comes to the seaside for the weekend and dreams about running a hotel. It’s such a cliché.’
‘Doesn’t mean we can’t do it,’ retorted Lisa.
‘You’re mad.’ George grinned.
Lisa made a mad face, crossing her eyes. George looked at his watch.
‘We better hurry back,’ he said, ‘or Webby will have burned the bacon.’
Breakfast was a pleasant surprise – not too greasy, with endless rounds of warm toast. George decided to stick with tea, as Webby’s idea of coffee was putting a teaspoon of brown dust in a cup and adding hot water. As she proudly brought out yet another pot for them, George smiled his thanks.
‘By the way,’ he said casually, ‘Lisa tells me you’re thinking of selling this place.’
‘Not thinking. I am. It’s on the market already.’
‘Have you had a lot of interest?’
‘From property developers. Yes. But they all want it on the cheap. They think I’m dumb. They come round here with bottles of sherry and try and make me cash offers. Try to cut out the agent.’
‘That’s pretty normal,’ said George.
‘They all want to turn this place into apartments. It seems to be the way things are going round here. Running a hotel or a guest house is too much like hard work. And people want to make a quick profit. Most of the big houses have already been converted. And most of them are second homes, not holiday lets.’ She pursed her lips in disapproval. ‘What these developers don’t realize is how damaging it is to the local economy. These second-homers come down for the weekend bringing their own food. They don’t use the shops. It’s bloody selfish.’
‘So you want to sell to someone who wants to run it as a hotel?’
There was a gleam behind her spectacles. She wasn’t as dim as she looked. Or as principled as she pretended.
‘I don’t care who I sell it to or what they do with it. But I’m not doing anyone any favours. Whoever makes the best offer gets it, at the end of the day.’
‘It would be a shame to see it spoilt, though. It’s a lovely house.’
‘It is. And Bill and I spent a fortune having it done up. We gutted the place. It’s all been done top of the range, you know. New roof, new heating, rewired, new windows. No expense spared. But nobody wants my style of B and B any more. They expect muesli and croissants and fresh coffee.’
Too right, thought George, stirring his tea.
‘What this place needs is somebody young. Like you two. Someone with a bit of energy.’
Lisa kicked George gently under the table. He deliberately didn’t look up. He wondered if Webby had been briefed to say
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