Читать книгу Sex, Lies & Crazy People - John Hickman - Страница 9

Dad wrung his hands together as if he were Macbeth. His cheeks were red and he blinked several times before he took a deep breath and plunged on.

“I realise they’re a Trust House and powerful opposition. They’ve got a star rating and a licensed restaurant but I’ve got it all figured out. We’ll soon have them against the ropes.”

“What about your guaranteed formula for success offering permanent residents a deal they can’t refuse?” Gramps sounded testy.

Gran sighed one of her biggest sighs. “He’s changed his mind, that’s what.”

Gramps poured himself another whisky. He muttered. “More like he’s out of his mind, you mean.”

Dad relit his pipe, and drew deeply. “If retirees in this bastion of middle-class

conservatism don’t appreciate a bright modern standard of living, then we’ll bloody well find others who do.”

Dad noticed that Gran was unhappy. “Mother, do you have a problem with this?”

“It’s not that they don’t appreciate it. They’re pensioners and simply can’t afford it.”

“It boils down to the same thing, Mother,” Dad grimaced as he puffed more deeply on his pipe. “Irrespective of whether they can, or they can’t, they will, or they won’t. I’m now short on options.”

“What options?” Gramps sounded curious.

“Well, we could always leave the Harewood Hotel as it is.”

Gramps was barely able to suppress the whine of disappointment in his voice. “A shit tip you mean.”

Dad’s mouth drew into a straight line. “Yes, but we’d live in the better rooms

ourselves.”

I cut in. “I suppose we could rent the other rooms out at whatever price we can get.”

“Will that work?” Gramps stared hard at Dad.

“I don’t know!” Dad avoided his gaze. “But if that back fires, we get jobs.” Dad’s facial expression was bland. He looked like a boxer, on the ropes, about to be defeated.

“We have a safe place to stay, a roof over our heads, and at a comparative low rental. We have lots of rooms to rent out and, maybe make a little money. Not much.”

Gran snorted. “No money! That’s about a five hour drive away from being interesting. Who’d like another cuppa?”

“All is not lost,” Dad tried to sound soothing. His eyes, normally a clear pale blue were red and tired. He’d endured a long tension filled day.

“How?” I tried to sound sympathetic.

“Magic,” Dad managed a grin. “The ploy that connects the ordinary with the

impossible. We’ll convert the crappy old dining room into an up-market restaurant.

To succeed we must think outside the square.”

I became swept up in the moment, but not Gran and Gramps. They shared a sideways glance. Gramps raised an eyebrow; Gran sipped her tea.

Dad grinned. “We’ll poach customers from the pub next door, and we’ll do it by

offering better services and undercutting their rates. We’ll fill the hotel with business people. Don’t you see, travelling representatives who need to stay in Royal Tunbridge Wells, will pay higher rates than retirees. Our overhead on the cheap lease I’ve negotiated gives us an enormous edge financially, but to utilise it, we must lift our sights.”

Dad sat back. He smiled broadly, puffing repeatedly on his pipe.

“Competing with the Castle Hotel next door is ambitious,” I paused, “certainly more up-market than your original plan. I can’t wait to get started.”

Next morning Gramps hung a huge sign out of a first floor window;

‘Painters wanted, cash paid’.

They came in their droves.