The Turtle Run Read Online Free PDF

Ian.
    â€˜Hang on,’ Ian said. ‘We’re not in a rush.’
    â€˜I am. I have work to do.’ Becky snatched the menu from him and handed it, together with her own to the waiter. ‘I’d like the salad Mr Harris mentioned, please.’ The waiter made off with their order before Ian had a chance to protest.
    He glared at Becky. Chris, who had been hovering with uncertainty, hurriedly pulled up a chair. ‘I’m sorry I was so tied up earlier on, Miss Thomson. Is there anything about the hotel you’d like to ask me?’
    Becky felt she had enough information for her write-up but realised Chris was misinterpreting her aggression towards Ian as dissatisfaction with the hotel. She took a notepad out of her bag and tried to think of a tame question. ‘What clientele are you trying to target?’ she asked.
    Chris embarked on a rather rambling explanation about the hotel being within easy reach of both Stansted airport and London and listed the European countries they planned to target, especially France. Becky felt guilty that she was only pretending to take notes. Ian looked bored until their food arrived. Chris moved on to a long account of the struggle to find British staff who could speak French fluently. Becky’s attention wandered. How was she going to convince the receptionist now on duty to give her a screen print of the bridal suite room booking? She turned to look at him to see if that provided inspiration but found her view blocked by a man standing in the doorway: Matthew Darnley was scanning the dining room as if to check all was well.
    No dinner jacket and formal wear today, of course, just a smart business suit. But other than that, Matthew Darnley was as dark, tall and good-looking as she remembered. His gaze landed on Chris and Becky saw him frown, presumably wondering what his manager was up to. Unfortunately, as she was scrutinising him, he caught her at it. He did a similar double take to the one in his kitchen. ‘Hello,’ he mouthed silently then smiled at her. Embarrassed, she gave him a small smile back and refocused on her meal.
    She made a half-hearted attempt to eat her salad, which was delicious but she could not enjoy knowing they were not paying for it. Ian, who had no such qualms, was eating a mouthful of mussels and dribbling as he talked about the difficulty in getting access to private fishing lakes while Chris tried to look interested. Becky turned back to see if Matthew was still in the doorway. He wasn’t. He had walked to the reception desk and must have asked the receptionist to twist round the monitor so he could examine the screen. Panic struck Becky – Matthew would see that booking. She could strangle Ian. The urge to race over to reception and plead with Matthew Darnley not to be misled by what he was certainly going to read was almost overwhelming. Becky twisted her napkin in her lap, agonised – prayed – that he’d miss the damning entry. But of course he didn’t and seconds later she heard his raised voice. The other diners stopped eating and looked towards reception too.
    Chris Harris went white and pushed back his chair. ‘God, it’s Matthew. I wasn’t expecting him until tomorrow. Excuse me.’ He hurried out to the reception area.
    â€˜Pathetic, isn’t he?’ Ian sneered. ‘You’d think he was in the army. Jumps to it at the mere sight of his employer.’
    â€˜Maybe you would too, if your job was on the line.’
    Matthew Darnley stormed into the dining room with Chris in tow.
    â€˜Which table?’ he said. Chris pointed out where Ian and Becky were sitting and Matthew marched over.
    Becky darted a look at Ian, intending to ask him how he was going to deal with the situation he’d provoked. She got a fierce and urgent whisper that amazed her, ‘Just remember whatever I did was for both of us, we’re in this together – right?’
    â€˜No