The Perfect Hero: The perfect summer read for Austen addicts!. Victoria Connelly

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ were voices in the corridor and Gemma opened her door.

      ‘My room’s turned into a swimming pool!’ Beth was squealing. Gemma couldn’t help noticing that she’d still managed to brush her hair and apply a coating of mascara and lipstick in her panic.

      ‘My bed’s completely soaked,’ Sophie said. She was wearing a cute pair of pyjamas covered in teddy bears and, like Gemma, hadn’t been anxious to apply make-up in such circumstances.

      ‘Everyone all right?’ Oli said, coming down from the floor above them. ‘There’s a burst pipe. Everywhere’s drenched.’

      ‘Oh, this is dreadful!’ Beth said.

      ‘You should see our rooms,’ Oli said and Gemma noticed that his jeans were soaked and his hair was plastered to his face.

      Teresa appeared on the landing, her face dark and drawn. ‘Grab your things as quickly as you can,’ she said.

      ‘I’m not going back in my room,’ Beth said. ‘I could drown!’

      Oli shook his head and dashed in for her. Gemma returned to hers and started packing, grabbing her things as quickly as she could and meeting everyone out on the landing a few minutes later.

      ‘What the hell are we going to do?’ Les Miserable said, scratching his head and making his hair stick up even more than usual. ‘Where are we going to sleep?’

      ‘I don’t know,’ Teresa said. ‘They must have more rooms available here.’

      Les shook his head. ‘Fully booked.’

      ‘What are we going to do?’ wailed Beth. ‘I need my beauty sleep. I can’t work without a good night’s rest.’

      Gemma tuned out as she watched Oli shaking the excess water from his hair. His t-shirt was soaking too. Gemma turned away. Now was not the time to be thinking about heroes in wet shirts.

      It was then that the hotel manager appeared, his arms waving around like the blades of a windmill.

      ‘I am so sorry, ladies and gentlemen! Is everybody okay?’

      ‘I’m not okay!’ Beth announced, stepping forward and looking pristine.

      ‘Oh, my dear!’ the manager said. ‘I will never forgive myself if my favourite actress was hurt whilst in my establishment. Where are you hurt, my dear?’

      Beth looked shifty for a moment, rearranging her dressing gown. ‘Well, my toes got a bit wet but my suitcase is ruined! Everything will need replacing.’

      ‘Oh, don’t fuss,’ Sophie admonished.

      Teresa stepped forward to take charge. ‘Are there any other rooms we can use?’

      The manager pulled a face. ‘I’m afraid we are completely booked.’

      ‘Oh, this is ridiculous!’ Beth said. ‘Do you expect me to hang around all night on a draughty wet landing in only a thin little lacy negligee?’ she said, batting her eyelashes in Oli’s direction. Oli grinned and Les Miserable did too, only it was more of a leer and Beth thought it prudent to cover at least half of her cleavage up.

      ‘I’ll tell you what we can do,’ the manager said. ‘We have lots of spare bedding and can make beds up in the lounge for the rest of tonight.’

      Beth tutted. ‘I’ve never heard the like!’

      ‘There is only about two hours left before we’re due to get up anyway,’ Sophie said. ‘I don’t see what the big problem is.’

      The two actresses glared at each other.

      ‘We’ll make proper arrangements tomorrow,’ Teresa cried above the chaos. ‘Let’s just try and get through the rest of tonight.’

      Gemma sighed and watched as Oli sauntered casually downstairs with his suitcase and there was a sudden scramble between Beth and Sophie to follow, both no doubt intent on grabbing the nearest makeshift bed next to him.

       Chapter Seven

      The last few weeks had passed in a blur of activity for Kay. She’d sold her little house in Hertfordshire and had moved from the county that had been the home of the Bennet family in Pride and Prejudice and the scene of so much of her own personal sadness, into Wentworth House in Lyme Regis and a brand new beginning. The trouble was, her dream to be an artist by the sea hadn’t quite materialised. She hadn’t even had time to unpack her paintbrushes let alone paint anything. There was just so much to do, like saying goodbye to all her old friends and promising that they could come and stay at the B & B as soon as it was ready.

      Mr Piper had recommended a local painter and decorator, Charlie Evans. He’d turned up with his seventeen-year-old son who didn’t look at all happy to be there and kept disappearing only to be found at the nearest slot machines. Still, they’d made a start with the hallway, dining room and the bedrooms as they were the most visually horrific rooms and the ones that paying guests would be most likely to notice. The living room and kitchen would have to wait.

      Out went the headache-inducing carpets and the pink sinks and in came tin after tin of cream paint and an army of white sinks. To replace the carpets, Kay chose seagrass. She’d always loved it but had never been able to afford it before. Then the fun bit had arrived – choosing the accessories. There were some gorgeous shops in the area and bedding, towels, lamps and mirrors were chosen with love and care until all the rooms were worthy of featuring in a glossy magazine and Kay could feel just a little bit proud of the new home she’d created for her and her guests.

      How quickly she’d got used to her new life on the coast. She loved waking up to the sound of seagulls. Their raucous cries were the most efficient of alarm clocks and she always tried to get a quick walk along the Cobb before breakfast, taking in the bracing sea air and watching the ever-changing moods of the sea.

      She’d bought a map of the area and was learning all the names. To the west of the Cobb was Monmouth Beach and, further along, Pinhay Bay. But her favourite place was still Lyme. She loved the view across Lyme Bay to the great hulk of Golden Cap and, on a very clear day, it was possible to see as far as the Isle of Portland.

      There was so much she wanted to see and explore too. All of the places had magical-sounding names like Gabriel’s Ledge and Black Ven along the coast and, inland, villages with names like Wootton Fitzpaine and Whitchurch Canonicorum.

      She loved the street lamps along the front in Lyme Regis that were shaped like ammonites. She loved the shiny mud of the harbour which reminded her of the bitterest chocolate and she loved the evenings when the sea and the sky turned the palest pearly blue and it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. In short, she loved everything. But her favourite thing was the Cobb. She’d looked at it and walked along it, photographed it and worshipped it from every angle, admiring the sloping sweep of it, sketching it in her pad over and over again, determining to paint it one day soon. It seemed like a living thing to her and she desperately wanted to capture that energy on paper.

      But what she loved most about the Cobb was how welcoming it seemed to be – how everyone could walk there from toddlers with grandparents to the dozens of dogs who came to Lyme with wagging tails and lolling tongues.

      It СКАЧАТЬ