Love on the Rocks Read Online Free PDF Page A

them further down the corridor to a door. An enamel sign depicting a lady reclining in a mound of bubbles hinted that this was the bathroom. Firmly in line with the house colour scheme, the suite was pink, the carpet tiles on the floor green. At the bottom of the bath lurked a plastic mat, and clinging on to the surface with suction cups was a blow-up pillow. A curling bar of Wright’s coal tar lay in the soap dish. There was a shagpile bath mat in luminous shrimp.
    ‘There’s constant hot water so feel free to have a bath each, deep as you like. And help yourself to bubbles.’
    Mrs Websdale proudly held up a supersize bottle of supermarket own brand bubble bath.
    ‘Lovely,’ said Lisa faintly.
    She escorted them back to their room. Moments later the door was shut behind them, and George and Lisa looked at each other in disbelief.
    ‘Don’t say I don’t spoil you.’
    Lisa grinned.
    ‘Listen, I’m so exhausted I could sleep on a clothes line.’
    ‘I’m sorry it’s so awful. We should have carried on looking. Or perhaps we should have just stayed at my place.’
    Lisa put her bag on the bed and looked round the room.
    ‘Don’t be silly. I’ve stayed in worse places than this.’
    George looked horrified.
    ‘Really?’
    ‘You should see some of the dumps they put us up in at exhibitions. At least this is clean.’
    George looked at the white and gold melamine dressing table and shuddered. Lisa thumped him on the arm.
    ‘You are such a snob.’
    There was a tap at the door and Mrs Websdale popped her head round.
    ‘I don’t suppose you’ve eaten, have you?’
    ‘We thought we might pop out. We wondered if you could recommend somewhere local. Perhaps a fish restaurant?’
    George felt certain that, given Mariscombe’s meteoric rise, the equivalent of Rick Stein’s would be only five minutes’ drive away. Mrs Websdale pursed her lips thoughtfully, as if mentally perusing the suitability of several local Michelin-starred eateries, before delivering her verdict.
    ‘There’ll only be the Mariscombe Arms open. But they stop serving at half eight in winter, and to be honest from what I’ve heard the cooking’s not up to much at this time of year. The chef goes off to his villa in Spain come New Year. Or there’s the Jolly Roger but Friday night’s karaoke night and I don’t think that’s quite what you’re after, somehow.’
    ‘No . . .’
    ‘I don’t mind. I love karaoke.’ Lisa was always one to look on the bright side, but George looked more than alarmed at the prospect. Mrs Websdale smiled at him kindly.
    ‘Don’t worry. I can do you a bit of supper if you like. I don’t usually do evening meals but I’ve got a couple of chops left over.’ She patted George on the arm reassuringly. ‘Come down to the dining room when you’ve freshened up. I’ll make sure you don’t go hungry.’
    The door shut behind her before they could demur. George picked up his bag with determination.
    ‘Right. Let’s just get in the car and go.’
    ‘We can’t offend her. She’s been so sweet.’
    ‘We can pretend we’ve had an urgent phone call.’
    ‘It’s not going to kill you to stay here. Just for one night. We can find somewhere extra special tomorrow. I’m too tired to go and find somewhere else now. And I’m ravenous.’
    ‘You’re not seriously going to eat her chops?’
    ‘Yes, I am. You can stay up here and starve if you want to.’
    George relented, putting his bag back on the bed.
    ‘You’re a hard woman.’
    ‘No, I’m not. I’m a tired and hungry woman who doesn’t want to hurt an old lady’s feelings. So come on.’ Lisa poked him mischievously in the ribs. ‘Freshen up.’
    The dining room was spectacularly dreary. And brown. Full-length brown velvet curtains fell to a brown carpet, and heavy brown furniture loomed in every ill-lit corner. More glass cases full of truculent fish were interspersed with amateurish seascapes and rather incongruous prints of African wildlife.