Things We Never Say Read Online Free PDF

opened the shutters instead.
    This time the light was almost blinding. She dropped her sunglasses on to her nose, opened the window and stepped out on to the balcony.
    The view, merely beautiful before, was breathtaking now. From her higher vantage point, Suzanne could see the beach, where a few people were lying on towels sunbathing, and further along, the coves and inlets that dotted the coastline. The green of the pine trees contrasted with the blues of the sky and the sea. It was perfect. There was no other word for it.
    ‘
Impresionante, no?
’ said Jaime.
    ‘Absolutely,’ she replied.
    ‘When I was small, my mother used to take me here for ice cream,’ he said.
    She turned to look at him, her expression sceptical.
    ‘No, really,’ he assured her. ‘It was one of our favourite places. There are steps down to the beach. Not easy for elderly people, but for children, no problem.’
    ‘Can older people or people with mobility problems access the beach from anywhere else?’ Her tone was suddenly brisk.
    ‘Yes. A little further from here,’ he replied. ‘Maybe, oh, less than half a kilometre. Five minutes’ walk. There is a gentle slope down to the beach. In the summer there is a beach bar too. It’s very nice.’
    ‘I want to look at it,’ she said.
    ‘Sure. No problem.’
    Suzanne couldn’t help feeling that if she said she wanted to hire a boat, or paraglide or drive the hundred or so kilometres to Barcelona, Jaime Roig would say it was no problem. She knew that the hotel had been on the agency’s books for over two years. They were keen to sell it. The question she had to ask herself was, was she keen to buy? And if she was, would the investors she’d already spoken to about a possible purchase agree that it was the right choice? Would they be able to raise the finance for it? And even if all those things panned out – the most important question of all – would she make a success of it? Would she be able to look her father in the eye and tell him that she was the best of them all?
    It was late by the time she got back to the top-floor apartment she was currently renting in Girona, about forty minutes’ drive from the Mirador Hotel. The building was old, with high ceilings and tiled floors, and every time Suzanne walked inside, she felt as though she were stepping back in time.
    She let herself in and made herself an industrial-strength coffee, which she took on to her tiny balcony overlooking one of the narrow streets. She could hear voices and laughter drifting from the square and the occasional snatch of music from a nearby café-bar. The laughter and the music would go on for a few hours yet. The town was still in holiday mode, buzzing and warm. It had been a long, hot summer and some people were counting the days until the cooler weather returned. But Suzanne never found the heat oppressive. She liked how it seeped into her bones, into her body, filling her with a sense of well-being. A sense of belonging. She felt that more here, in Catalunya, than anywhere else in the world. And she’d travelled to a lot of places. Most of her working life had been in Europe and the Americas, Asia and Africa, always in hotels, from the day she landed her first job as a receptionist in a small family-run hotel in London, to her role as a senior manager in a global chain, to her current position as the manager of a boutique hotel in Girona itself.
    In the early years, she’d been seduced by the idea of working for a chain. By the glamour of executive hotels where the fittings and the standards were exactly the same, no matter where in the world you were. But after her marriage to Calvin, a senior VP in the same chain, had gone horribly wrong and had impacted badly on her career, she’d opted for a change of scenery and pace, a change which had ultimately ended up with her taking over the running of one of Girona’s most charming hotels.
    At first she’d thought of it as a comedown. She’d been angry and