Summer Evenings at the Seafront Hotel: Exclusive Short Story

Vanessa Greene grew up in north London. Her perfect weekend would feature chocolate muffins, good friends and, of course, a perfect cup of tea. Vanessa’s first novel,
The Vintage Teacup Club
, published to rave reader reviews and won an instant place in their hearts. She lives in north London with her fiance and son. She loves to hear from readers so drop her a line on Twitter (
@VanessaGBooks
) or Facebook (
www.facebook.com/VanessaGreeneBooks
)..

The Vintage Teacup Club

The Seafront Tea Rooms

Sphere

First published in Great Britain in 2014 by Sphere

Copyright © Vanessa Greene 2014

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

ISBN 978-1-4055-2785-9

Sphere

An imprint of

Little, Brown Book Group

100 Victoria Embankment

London EC4Y 0DY

An Hachette UK Company

www.hachette.co.uk

www.littlebrown.co.uk

About the Author

Also by Vanessa Greene

Copyright

Chapter One: Friday 21st June

Chapter Two: Friday 28th June

Chapter Three: Saturday 6th July

Chapter Four: Thursday 11th July

Chapter Five: Saturday 14th July

Chapter Six: Monday 16th July

‘McKenzie,’ said the man briskly. ‘A double room with a sea view. I called last week.’

Cally searched through the bookings on her computer screen and found the name. Oh yes, she remembered him now. On the phone he’d sounded charming, but now, standing in reception in a polo shirt that tugged over his paunch and an impatient expression, she wondered why she’d thought that.

‘Room twenty-nine,’ Cally said with a smile, unhooking the wooden keyring from the wall behind her. As she placed it in his hand, she noticed his wedding ring glinting in the sunlight. ‘It’s on the second floor. We’re having a couple of the rooms on the floor below refurbished; you shouldn’t hear anything but if the noise does bother you just let me know.’

‘OK.’ He glanced back into the lobby, distracted.

‘Joe will see you up.’ Her colleague Joe, dressed in a smart white shirt that set off his tanned skin, stood up a little straighter. ‘He can take your …’ She looked down at the floor. No bags.

‘Sure, in a minute,’ the man said. ‘I’m waiting for someone.’

The front doors swung open, revealing for a moment the dramatic sea view that attracted guests from all over the world. To tourists, this was The South Cliff Hotel, three stars, a recommendation passed from traveller to traveller. But to locals like Cally and Joe, it was simply ‘the seafront hotel,’ three tall Georgian houses on the Esplanade that were something of a local institution, a white building with distinctive blue awning that they’d walked past dozens of times over the years.

A redheaded woman in a white linen dress strode in, her hair tousled from the breeze. Spotting the man, a wide smile spread across her face and she greeted him with a hug. ‘Hello, darling.’

Joe led them both upstairs and glanced back briefly at Cally, a glint in his green eyes. He mouthed, ‘no ring,’ and tilted his head discreetly at the woman’s hand. A smile formed at Cally’s lips. It was a game the two of them played, guessing which of the ‘Mr and Mrs Smiths’ weren’t man and wife, but illicit dalliances.

Cally had been working at the South Cliff since spring, when she’d decided to leave her college course early. Reception at the local hotel wasn’t quite where she’d pictured herself at twenty-one, but she reasoned there were worse places to be. If things weren’t too busy, she’d get out for a walk at lunchtime, taking in some sunshine in the cliffside park, or going down to the Seafront Tea Rooms for a cup of Letty’s tea and a scone fresh from the oven.

It had been a nice surprise to find that Joe, who’d gone to the same sixth form as her, was working at the hotel too. Back then, Cally had usually had her head buried in a Biology book, or been round at her friend Kat’s house, and Joe had been one of the popular guys, never without a girlfriend and out every weekend at parties. But now Cally had put her textbooks away for good, and without his friends around, Joe seemed to have more time to chat. Liliana, one of the chambermaids, would join them at breaktimes, telling them tales of her life back in Italy, and sharing gossip about the rooms she’d been cleaning. Joe and Liliana’s company made the days pass more quickly, and it all took her mind off what had happened with Ryan.

A Spanish tour group were due to arrive in a week, so with the lobby empty again, Cally checked the bookings to make sure she had everything in order. Stuart Dickinson, her boss, had left her a list of things to arrange. While he had a tendency to micro-manage, at the moment he was tied up the overseeing the refurbishment of the first floor rooms so was delegating more responsibility than usual. Cally looked down the list he’d given her and tried to make sense of it:

Kitchen

Cleaners

Maps

Liliana walked through the lobby in her maid’s uniform, her dark wavy hair up in a neat ponytail, carrying a bag of bed linen. ‘Hey, Cally,’ she called out cheerily.

‘Hi, Lili. Have you got a sec?’

‘Sure.’ Liliana put the bag down in front of the reception desk and leaned against the counter.

Cally turned a piece of paper around to face her. ‘This is the list of rooms that the
Sol y Luna
tour group will be in next week – does it all look OK?’

She pointed to the room numbers and Liliana ran her finger down the list. ‘Yes, sure. We’ll have that all done.’

‘Perfect.’ Cally put the paper away. ‘How’s everything been going?’

‘Good, actually,’ Liliana said, her eyes bright. ‘Do you remember me saying my little brother was coming over? Giovanni. Well, he’s got a job here.’

‘That’s terrific.’

‘Isn’t it? He’ll be taking Joe’s place. Working with you here.’

‘Joe’s
leaving
?’

‘He didn’t tell you?’

‘No.’

‘He’s not leaving, leaving – he’s going to be training up to be a barman.’

‘Oh,’ Cally said, relieved. ‘I see. That’s good, then.’

‘Yeah, he seems really happy about it. You’ll help Giovanni settle in, won’t you?’

‘Of course I will. Any member of the Spiazzo family is a friend of mine.’

Liliana smiled. ‘Do you want to come out for a drink on Saturday, when he arrives?’

Cally shook her head. ‘I can’t at the moment. You know how it is with Dad.’

‘Sure, of course.’ Liliana nodded sympathetically, then tilted her head to read the list in front of Cally upside-down. ‘Kitchen?’

‘Yep, I just need to pop down and check with Anton that they’re all set up for the group next week.’

‘Rather you than me,’ Liliana said, wrinkling her nose.

‘Anton’s not that bad,’ Cally said. Yes, the French chef had a reputation for his bad temper, but he’d always been polite to Cally.

‘Really? I think he’s a dragon.’ She pulled a face, baring her teeth and roaring. ‘You’re too nice, Cally.’

After her shift, Cally walked back along the Esplanade towards home, the two-bedroom flat she shared with her dad. Her pace was brisk – her aunt would have popped by to check on him at lunch, but since then he would have been on his own, just him and the TV. He’d seemed low since leaving his job. When he was diagnosed with MS, the doctor had told him that at some point soon he would have to stop work, but saying goodbye to his colleagues at the factory in February had hit him hard.

Cally turned the corner towards their street, where the sunset had tinted the terraced houses a pink-orange. Her mobile rang in her pocket:
LOUISE
. Her old tutor.

‘Hi,’ she answered.

‘Hi, Cally.’ Louise’s voice was calm and reassuring, as always. ‘Have you got a second?’

‘Sure.’

‘I know you said you’d made your mind up, but are you certain there’s no way I can persuade you to come back onto the course?’

‘I’m afraid not.’ Cally had a lump in her throat as she answered. She hadn’t slept for a week before deciding to pull out of her midwifery course. That first year, studying and sitting in on sessions between experienced midwives and nervous mums-to-be, she’d felt sure of where it was she wanted to be in life.

‘Things are different now, I have to work – with Dad unwell I need to be earning.’

‘I know studying is a big commitment, but there’s financial support for people like you. I can get you more details, if you’d like.’

‘Thanks, Louise. That’s really kind, but I’ve got a job now, and it’s working out fine.’ Cally was standing on her doorstep. As much as she liked Louise, she just wanted the conversation to end.

‘I understand. It’s just … You’re a natural, Cally. Student midwives like you don’t come along every day.’

‘I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, Louise, since the day I started. But I’ve made my mind up.’

‘OK. I thought you might say that.’ She gave a weary, good-natured laugh. ‘Couldn’t let you go without even trying though, could I?’

Cally said goodbye, and unlocked her front door. Tonight, like every night when she arrived home, she and her dad would talk over their days with a cup of tea, and then she’d get dinner ready. They’d watch TV, and laugh together. Each month she got a pay cheque that supplemented his disability living allowance and meant they could keep on living the way they had before he got ill. She was going to be there for him, the way he had always been there for her.

At midday, a yellow tourist coach with
Sol y Luna
on the outside pulled up outside the hotel. Light streamed into the lobby on the warm summer’s day, and Cally readied herself for the new arrivals, getting up from her seat and walking over to the door. The guests disembarked from the coach slowly, chattering to each other and collecting their luggage. Cally envied them. She thought back to four years ago, when she and Kat had got bargain flights out to Greece and spent a fortnight lying on the beach. It was the last holiday she’d had.

‘Hello. Welcome to the South Cliff Hotel,’ she said to the group, as they made their way up the stone steps. She saw an elderly couple down on the pavement struggling with two heavy-looking suitcases. She called out to them. ‘Leave those, we’ll help you with your bags.’

She looked back inside for some assistance. Giovanni, Liliana’s brother and the new porter, was leaning back in the window seat as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

‘Just a moment,’ Cally said, excusing herself from the Spanish group.

‘Giovanni,’ she said standing over him, her sharp tone waking him from his daze. ‘Could give me a hand?’

‘No worries,’ he said, getting to his feet slowly.

By the time Giovanni had made it down to the pavement, Cally had already ferried most of the baggage up the stone steps and into the lobby. She thought of Joe, how much easier it would be if he was there. Settling new arrivals had just seemed to happen effortlessly when he was around.

‘Hey,’ came a soft voice behind her. She turned and saw Liliana. ‘Sorry about my lazybones of a brother. I’ll have a word with him.’

‘Thanks. He’s a nice guy, but I’m not sure he shares your work ethic.’

‘Hmm. Yes. He’s always been a little … laid back, I suppose,’ Liliana said, biting her lip. ‘Sorry, I thought at twenty he would have grown up a bit.’

Cally spent the afternoon getting the new Spanish guests settled, handing out maps of the local area and advising them about things to visit – the funicular railway, the Japanese gardens at Peasholm Park for concerts, the Victorian Spa. She chatted to them, recalling a few words from her GCSE Spanish to help them feel at home. They got ready to leave at lunchtime, and a woman of about forty stopped by the front desk.

‘A question,’ she said, speaking slowly. ‘The food. Tonight. I’m sorry … for my English. But some food. I get a bad,’ she pointed to her stomach, then got an electronic translator out. Cally read the screen: GLUTEN.