well as a dining room, has good access to the kitchens. It would have been silly to change it just for change’s sake.’
Lawrie shook her head. ‘I didn’t mean the room. I meant the whole thing,’ she said, aware she was probing deeper than she had any right to. ‘I mean here. You hated this place. I couldn’t get you to set foot inside the gates without a massive fight. I could understand it if your parents had gifted the place to you, but if you paid full value for and then remodelled it? It must have cost a fortune!’
Jonas quirked an eyebrow at her. ‘Oh, I get it. You’re wondering about how much I’m worth. Regretting the divorce after all?’
Heat flooded through her. She could feel her cheeks reddening. ‘That’s not what I meant,’ she protested. ‘You know I wouldn’t have taken a penny.’
‘That’s my Lawrie—still so serious.’
Jonas let out a laugh and Lawrie swatted him indignantly, trying to repress the secret thrill that crept over her at the possessive word ‘my’.
‘Oh, ha-ha. Very funny.’
Jonas leant back against the window pane, still grinning, and took a sip from the chunky Cornishware mug. ‘You always were so easy to wind up. Good to know some things don’t change.’
‘So?’ she pressed him, taking advantage of his suddenly companionable mood. ‘How come you ended up at Coombe End?’
Jonas didn’t reply for a long moment, and the mischievous glint in his eyes faded to annoyance. When he spoke his tone was clipped. ‘This was my home once, Lawrie. It wasn’t a big conspiracy or takeover, no matter what the village gossips say.’
Lawrie winced. She hadn’t considered the inevitable fall-out the change of ownership must have caused. The whole of Trengarth—the whole area—knew how things stood between Jonas and his parents. And there were few without definite opinions on the matter.
‘Since when did you care about what the gossips say?’ They had always been different in that regard. She so self-conscious, he proudly indifferent.
His eyes were cold. ‘I don’t. My decision to buy Coombe End was purely a business one. I always knew this place could be more. Yes, it was successful—very successful—if that kind of thing appealed: a little piece of the capital by the sea. You could drive straight here, fly your helicopter here, use the private beach, play the golf course and return home without ever experiencing what Cornwall is about,’ he said, his lip curling as he remembered. ‘The kind of place your fiancé probably took you.’
‘Ex-fiancé,’ Lawrie corrected him. She shook her head, refusing to take the bait, but there was an uncomfortable element of truth to his words. Hugo had liked the luxury hotel experience, it was true, but they’d been so busy that just snatching a night away had been enough. There had never been time to explore local culture as well.
‘Of course,’ Jonas said, putting his mug down decisively and stepping away from the window. ‘Ex. Come on. There’s a lot to go through.’
No wonder she felt like Alice, being constantly hustled from place to place. She half expected Jonas to pull out a pocket watch. If there were croquet lawns she was in serious trouble.
Lawrie took a last reluctant gulp of the creamy coffee and placed her mug onto the nearest table before following Jonas once again. He led her back down the corridor, through the foyer and outside, along the winding path that led to the woods that made up most of the outside property.
One of Coombe End’s winter money-makers had been shooting parties. Lawrie had hated hearing the bangs from the woods and seeing the braces of poor, foolish pheasants being carried back to the house, heads lolling pathetically.
Jonas was walking fast, with intent, and she had to lengthen her stride to keep up with him. It took her by surprise when he came to a sudden halt at the end of the gravelled path, where a long grassy track snaked away ahead of them up the small wooded hill that bordered the hotel gardens.
Lawrie skittered to an undignified stop, clamping down on the urge to grab onto him for support. ‘A bit of warning would be nice,’ she muttered as she righted herself cautiously.
Jonas ignored her. ‘I never hated this place, Law,’ he said after a while, gesturing out towards the woodland, its trees a multitude of green against the blue sky.
A secret thrill shuddered through her at the sound of the old pet name.
‘I love it here. I always did. But I wanted a different way.’
He resumed walking, Lawrie kept pace with him, wishing she was wearing flatter, sturdier shoes. He had a fast, firm tread; she had always liked that. Hugo was more of a dawdler, and it had driven her mad—as had his admonishments to ‘Slow down...it’s not a race’.
Jonas didn’t look at her as she reached his side but continued as if there hadn’t been any break in the conversation. It was as if he was glad he had the chance to explain. And why shouldn’t he be? The boy had done well. Very well. He hadn’t needed her at all. It must be satisfying to be in his position. Successful, in control, magnanimously helping out your ex.
Lawrie clenched her fist, digging her nails deep into the palm of her hand. This wasn’t how her life, her return to Trengath, was supposed to have been.
‘By the time my father had his second heart attack I’d managed to expand the Boat House into twenty-seven seaside locations in the South-West and people were buying into the whole experience—branded T-shirts, mugs, beach towels. So, from a business point of view, expanding the dining experience into a holiday experience made sense.’
Lawrie pulled her mind away from her introspection. Self-pity had never been her style anyway. It didn’t get you anywhere.
‘I guess,’ she said slightly doubtfully. ‘But I don’t go to my favourite coffee shop and think what this place needs is somewhere for me to sleep.’
‘But your favourite coffee shop is near where you live or work,’ he pointed out. ‘Sure, we’re popular with the local population, but in summer especially seventy per cent of our customers are tourists—even if just a small percentage of those people want to take the experience further and holiday with us then that’s already a good deal of our marketing done.’
She looked at him in fascination. He sounded like one of her clients.
‘I was writing the dissertation for my MBA on brand expansion at the time. Fascinating to put the theory into practice.’
An MBA? Not bad for a boy who’d left school at sixteen. Not that she hadn’t known he was capable of so much more. But, truly, had she ever thought him capable of all this? Shame crept over her, hot and uncomfortable. Maybe he was right. She had underestimated him.
He flashed her a smile, warm and confiding—a smile that evoked memories of long late-night conversations, of dreams shared, plans discussed. Had she and Hugo ever talked like that? If they had, she couldn’t remember.
‘Luckily I had been planning what I would do with this place if I were in charge since I was a kid. I’ve left the hotel itself as pretty high-end, with the rooms still aimed at the luxury end of the market, but I’ve utilised the woods and the golf course more effectively and I began to reap the rewards almost straight away.’
They
