Cornwall for Christmas: A Polwenna Bay novella Page 5

  So when he let himself into the hotel room, where the king-size bed was plump with white pillows and softly lit by the warm glow of two lamps, Alex had to do a double take. Was he going mad? Or was fate playing a cruel trick on him?

  Surely not? It couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be!

  Lying on the bed, fast asleep and with her cloud of dark hair spread out across the pillow, was none other than the childhood sweetheart he’d left behind all those years ago.

  And she was more beautiful now than ever.

  Chapter 5

  Kat had heard the term jump out of one’s skin but she’d never experienced the sensation until just now, when she’d opened her eyes to find Alex Evans staring at her from across the room. For a moment she’d thought she must be dreaming; even all these years on, her first boyfriend was apparently lurking about in her subconscious, where he had absolutely no right to be. Kat blinked quickly a couple of times and offered a fervent prayer that this really was nothing more than her imagination, but the vision of him remained. Either work stress and Ofsted had affected Kat more than she’d realised, or the Ghost of Boyfriends Past was paying her a visit this Christmas Eve.

  “Kat?” Alex’s voice was just as deep as she remembered, even if his body was more muscular and tanned than she recalled. His eyes were still the deep green of bay leaves and his curly black hair was as inky as the night beyond the window. As Alex stared at her, memories Kat had worked very hard to forget came rushing back.

  Her heart pounding, Kat sat bolt upright, clutching the duvet against her chest. Thank goodness she was fully dressed. Imagine if she’d had that bath and crashed out just in her towel? Or even worse, if the towel had slipped? This thought alone was enough to make her face match the holly berries in the table arrangement.

  Oh God. She hadn’t been snoring or, even worse, drooling had she?

  “Kat James?” Incredulity was etched on his face. “I can’t believe it!”

  “What the hell are you doing here?” she cried. “And how did you get into my room?” Shock made her voice shrill but Kat didn’t care. Surely this had to be a bad dream.

  “Your room?” Alex was framed in the doorway, where the light flooding in from the corridor outside emphasised his lean body and long denim-clad legs and made his earring twinkle. Kat remembered going with him to get that ear pierced and how he’d clung to her hand until it lost all sensation.

  The trouble was, she remembered doing lots of things with Alex, even though she wished she could forget them. From watching him play gigs in pubs, to exchanging shy first kisses to sharing all those stolen moments when they’d melted into one another with longing…

  Was it the same for him?

  And if so, did he also remember walking away from her as soon as something better had shown up? Did it bother him?

  Probably not.

  Over the years Kat had done her best to avoid hearing about Alex, although that was hard to do when he’d made such a success of his career and had a habit of popping up in the media. The stories had usually mentioned some woman or other, and eventually Kat had read about the model wife (and shed a quiet tear or two, because although Kat had loved the boy, Krissy had certainly won the man). Still, there was nothing like a demanding career to focus the mind. And then there’d been Ed, of course, and Kat had moved on. She was over Alex long ago.

  All the same, there was nothing more painful than having your heart shredded when you were eighteen. No heartache compared to it. The breakup with Ed was difficult, admittedly, but when Alex had walked away from her as a teenager Kat had truly thought she’d die from heartbreak. How could Alex have abandoned what they’d had? Turned his back on their love? She would never – could never – have done that.

  Ten years on, and finding herself unexpectedly taken on a most unwelcome trip back in time, Kat was consumed with indignation on the behalf of her younger self.

  “Yes, my room!” she glowered at him.

  Alex glanced down at the key card in his hand.

  “I don’t think so. No, definitely not. This is room eighteen. You’re in my room.” His lips quirked. “And in my bed. Should I be worried for my porridge?”

  Kat wasn’t in the mood for jokes. “I don’t know what you’re playing at but this isn’t funny. At all.”

  “No, no, of course not. Although you must admit it is funny in the sense of being an odd coincidence kind of funny.”

  Kat gave him her best teacher stare of death, which never failed to reduce hard-nut year elevens to jelly.

  “Or maybe not?” Alex said, backtracking swiftly. “But seriously, what are the odds of finding you in my room? It’s absolutely unbelievable!”

  “You’re actually in my room.” Kat threw back the duvet, swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. She was alarmed to discover just how much her limbs were trembling. So much for a relaxing start to Christmas. Retrieving her bag from the sofa and delving inside, she pulled out her key card and waved it at him. “Feel free to try it. Room number eighteen. My room. Not yours. Mine.”

  Alex raked a hand through his dark curls. “I’d think I’d had too much to drink if it wasn’t for the fact I’ve just driven here from London and not touched a drop. Honestly, Kat, I swear this room is mine. Reception have just sent me up, so I think you must have made a mistake. It’s a nice room though; I can see why you’ve made yourself at home.”

  The cheek of him. And now he was striding inside, placing his holdall by the dressing table and heading straight for the champagne bucket. Feeling as though she was in the middle of a very weird dream, Kat watched as he popped the cork expertly and poured a glass. Alex had come a long way since they’d raided the Harvey’s Bristol Cream from his parents’ drinks cabinet, that was for sure.

  “Christ, I need this after the day I’m having. Shall I pour you one?”

  “For the last time! It’s my bloody room and that’s my champagne!” Kat exploded. Seeing her ex audaciously helping himself to the Moët she’d bought to share with Ed was the final straw. Unable to contain herself a second longer, she snatched the bottle from his grasp and rammed it back into the ice bucket. Taken by surprise, Alex dropped his glass; it tumbled onto the carpet, frothy bubbles seeping into the thick pile.

  “Shall I take that as a ‘no’?” Alex ventured. “Or is this a new way of drinking it? It makes a change from filling baths with the stuff, I guess.”

  There’d been a time when Kat had loved her ex’s sense of humour, but those days were many years and shed tears ago. Now she was infuriated to have her peaceful arrival ruined by Alex Evans, of all people. As if things hadn’t been tough enough this year. Somebody up there must really hate her.

  “I’ve had enough of this,” she snapped. “I’m going to reception and finding out what they think they’re playing at. This is my room. I booked it months ago and you’re definitely in the wrong place.”

  He held up his hands. “Hey, if you say so. Believe me, it certainly wasn’t my intention to share my room with anyone, especially you – nice as it is to see you again of course, Kat. You’re looking great too, by the way.”

  Kat sincerely doubted this. All her make-up had worn off hours ago, her hair was all over the place and she was wearing baggy clothes which, as her mother was always telling her, did nothing for her figure.

  “You look like a sack of spuds,” Sue James had said despairingly, the last time she and Kat had met for coffee. “Honestly, Katherine, no one can see your figure under all those layers. How on earth will you ever find another man if you don’t make a bit more effort?”

  That’s the whole point, was what Kat had wanted to say – but she’d bitten her tongue and reminded herself that, for her mother, feminism was just something that had happened to other women while she was running around her husband. It wasn’t so much a generation gap as a chasm of incomprehension. Underneath Kat’s loose jumpers and swirling skirts nobody (hopefully) could see that she had double-D boobs and more
curves than the Monaco Grand Prix. This way she was safe and, with any luck, would be single for a very long time.

  Failing this, entering a convent was looking like an attractive option.

  Now, however, faced with her ex – who annoyingly was looking better than he’d ever done – Kat was starting to doubt the wisdom of her recent wardrobe choices. No matter what she might say, every girl harbours a secret fantasy where she bumps into an ex and looks so amazing that he’s practically weeping with regret and unable to believe his stupidity for ever letting her go. In the very dark days after Alex had first left her – days that had passed in a blur of alternately sobbing into her pillow and wanting to throttle him for breaking every promise he’d ever made – Kat had comforted herself by imagining a time when Alex would return from the USA. He would, of course, have realised that he’d made the biggest mistake of his life, and when he tracked her down to make his apologies he’d discover her looking incredible. She’d have lost at least a stone and would be wearing a knockout outfit, and her hair would be straightened into a dark waterfall that brushed her shoulders instead of being a wild curly mane.

  In all these fantasies, she certainly hadn’t envisioned herself being half asleep, swaddled in sweaters and wearing most of her mascara down her cheeks like a nineteen-eighties glam rocker. Catching sight of her reflection in the dressing-table mirror, Kat wanted to howl. No doubt Alex would be thanking God for his lucky escape, especially since he was clean shaven, silky haired and smelled of a delicious spicy scent that was a far cry from the Lynx of the old days. The leather jacket and brown boots looked expensive, and the chunky watch on his wrist was probably worth at least a year of her salary. In other words, he looked every inch the successful musician and songwriter that he was.

  “Like I said, I’ve had enough of this,” she told him sourly, spinning on her heel and charging out of the room. It was ridiculous enough that her room had been allocated to another guest – but that it was Alex, of all people? It was the oddest and the worst of coincidences, straight from one of the cheesy Christmas romcoms Tom loved to watch.

  Hold on. Tom and cheesy Christmas movies… Was she on to something here?

  Tom adored Love Actually and The Holiday. Tom was the most hopeless romantic ever. Tom just so happened to work at the Polwenna Bay Hotel and was in charge of bookings. Was it actually Tom, rather than a cruel twist of fate, who was behind this hideous mix-up?

  “I’ll just make myself at home, shall I?” Alex called after her.

  Kat bristled. It was all very well for him to sound so amused. He wasn’t the one who’d been found fast asleep and looking like a scarecrow, was he?

  Feeling angrier by the minute, Kat stomped down the elegant stairway, doing her best to ignore the fact that she hadn’t even got her shoes on or brushed her hair, unlike all the other women drifting about the foyer like beautiful butterflies. With every step taking her closer to the reception desk, Kat grew crosser. Even the carols drifting from the drawing room and the shimmering candles couldn’t smooth her temper. So much for peace and goodwill to all men! She snorted, attracting some rather startled looks (which she chose to ignore). Whoever coined that phrase had clearly never been forced to spend time with their ex on Christmas Eve.

  “Can I help you, madam?”

  If the stylish blonde at the reception desk was surprised to be confronted by a shoeless and tangle-haired madwoman, then she was far too professional to show it.

  “I seriously hope so,” said Kat. “You appear to have double-booked my room.”

  One perfectly plucked eyebrow rose a fraction.

  “Bear with me, madam, while I check the system for you. That’s an error that would have to have been made at management level: only senior employees have booking access.”

  “Then maybe you should talk to your senior employees?” retorted Kat, glancing at the name badge that was sitting just above the receptionist’s very perky left boob. Ella, it said. Feeling hysteria rising, Kat took a deep breath. Damn, she knew she should have gone to yoga sessions rather than doing all that marking and eating Dairy Milk. She was going to have a heart attack if she didn’t calm down. “Listen to me, Ella. If you don’t believe what I’m saying then please, by all means, pop up to room eighteen and see for yourself. There’s a man in there who’s claiming it’s his room and he’s refusing to budge. His key works too, so somebody here must have authorised it.”

  And I think I know who that was, she added silently. When Kat got her hands on Tom she was going to murder him, season of goodwill or not.

  “Room number eighteen?” The receptionist’s manicured nails tapped at a keyboard, and a frown attempted to crinkle her suspiciously smooth forehead. “That’s very strange. I checked Mr Evans in myself not long ago. It was certainly reserved in his name, although I do recollect having to issue a second key.”

  Typical that the receptionist recalled Alex but not her, Kat thought bitterly. With her cool blonde beauty and haughty grey eyes, this Ella didn’t look like a girl’s girl – although in fairness Alex always did have a strange effect on women. During the time they’d been together, Kat had witnessed a wide variety of females (from her granny to the mean lady at the newsagent) go gaga when presented with his green-eyed smile. It was unsurprising that the glamorous Ella was no different.

  “I did think it was odd at the time that a key had already been issued,” Ella continued slowly, scanning the computer screen. “I checked you in myself, didn’t I, and it all went through perfectly? I thought I must have been getting confused when Mr Evans arrived, given that we’re very busy today.” She paused to scrutinise the screen more closely. “Oh. Oh dear, I do apologise. It does appear that the room’s been double-booked. I’m afraid we’ll have to make other arrangements for you somehow. I really am extremely sorry about this.”

  “But I arrived first! Check your system! I’m Katherine James and my reservation was handled by your Assistant Manager, Tom Elliot. He booked my room months ago.”

  More tapping. “Tom Elliot dealt with your booking? It’s unusual for him to make a mistake. He’s normally very thorough.”

  Kat opened her mouth to say that there was no way this was a mistake; rather, it was a clear case of Tom meddling where he had no business to meddle. Ella wasn’t listening though. Instead she was sliding her mobile from beneath the desk and calling Tom, then looking frustrated when there was no answer. Of course there wasn’t. Knowing her best friend (or maybe that should be her soon-to-be ex best friend) as well as she did, Kat would have put money on the chances of Tom switching his phone off and getting stuck into the mulled wine somewhere.

  “I’m afraid I can’t reach him, but please accept our apologies on his behalf.” Replacing the phone, Ella turned back to Kat. “I have absolutely no idea how this has happened. I’m happy to refund your card right now, of course.”

  Kat stared at her, horrified. “I don’t want you to refund my card! Where will I go? I just want my room – the room that I booked. Or another one.”

  Yes, that was a good idea. Another room and preferably one as far away from number flipping eighteen as possible. Throw in a drawbridge and some boiling oil too and she’d be happy.

  But the receptionist – or manager, or whoever she was – was looking awkward. “The problem is that we don’t have any other rooms free. I’m very sorry, Miss James, but in true Christmas tradition there literally is no room at the inn.”

  “So I’ll have nowhere to stay?” Kat couldn’t believe her ears. In a minute this Ella would be pointing her in the direction of a stable or telling her to follow a star.

  “There may be somewhere else in the village,” said Ella doubtfully. Having seen for herself just how busy Polwenna Bay was, Kat could understand why Ella looked uncertain. “If so, we’ll be more than happy to pay for alternative accommodation, either for you or for Mr Evans. Or if not, Fowey is a big town. There are lots of guest houses and hotels. I can recommend several and I’ll arrange for a transf
er across too. Of course we’ll cover the costs.”

  Kat stared at her, aghast. “I want to spend Christmas here!”

  Ella inclined her blonde head regretfully. “I do understand. Maybe you could talk to Mr Evans and decide who’s going to leave?”

  “But this is your error!” Kat pointed out. “Why do I need to sort it out with Mr Evans when this is the hotel’s mistake?”

  The last thing she wanted to do was talk to bloody Alex – and anyway, he didn’t seem inclined to budge. He was probably in the bath by now, up to his neck in bubbles and swigging her champagne. Just the idea of that lean, brown body reclining in the bath made Kat feel giddy. Alex was even more attractive at twenty-eight than he had been as a teenager – which was most worrying, since she’d not been able to resist him when he was eighteen.

  “The Polwenna Bay Hotel accepts all responsibility for this error and I promise we’ll do our best to resolve the situation as well as compensate you for the inconvenience,” Ella said, seeing Kat panic but luckily not fully understanding why. “However, I can’t magic up another room, much as I wish I could. In the circumstances it may be best if you could decide between you who’s willing to leave, and we’ll take it from there. Again, please accept our apologies and rest assured we’ll compensate you for the inconvenience. This has certainly never happened before.”

  Ella had no idea quite how inconvenient this was, but Kat could see there was nothing she could do. There was a queue behind her as late arrivals waited to check in, and from the ballroom a band was striking up. It was Christmas Eve and time to celebrate.

  Leaving the hotel manager to attend to the next guest, Kat had no choice but to return to her room. This was definitely the worst Christmas ever. She supposed she could leave, but why should she? This was her holiday, after all. She’d booked it for her and Ed and saved up hard for it too. After the term from hell, she’d been so looking forward to it. Why should she run away just because Tom had decided to pull a ridiculous stunt?