Read Online Dream a Little Dream by Sue Moorcroft - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sue Moorcroft
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at Nicolas that we need to get creative to capitalise on them. We need new ideas and I’ve got loads. But he only has to hear the word “new” and his mind clangs shut.’
She paused as Janice from behind the bar brought two steaming oval plates of fragrant curry on fluffy pillows of rice – white – with hot naan bread on the side. Dominic thanked her with a smile. Janice smiled back in a way that suggested that, although she had two decades on Dominic, she wasn’t impervious to his charms.
Liza propped her head on her hand. ‘Suddenly I’m not certain whether I’m starving hungry or can’t eat for worry.’
‘Still trying to get out of having dinner with me?’ He assumed an expression of injury.
She managed a sort of laugh and stripped the paper napkin from her cutlery. ‘Being credit crunched isn’t good for the appetite.’ Which she proved when she pushed away her plate with half the food still remaining. She waited until he’d cleaned his plate before picking up the conversation. ‘So. Are you going to share your reason for asking about my problems?’
Leaning back, he stretched his legs out beside the table. ‘I need to find a new career. Narcolepsy has made certain options no longer viable, including shift work, which would turn me into a zombie. Becoming self-employed seems a good way to go. It makes it easier to schedule my sleeping pattern and I’ve always enjoyed leading projects.’ He smiled crookedly. ‘Miranda wanted me to give The Stables a look.’
‘So you did and you hated it,’ she supplemented, drily. ‘I think I got that.’
‘I’m certainly not tempted to train as a therapist.’ He stared pensively at his drink, making patterns in the condensation with the pad of his thumb.
She waited, thinking, absently, how unlike Adam he was. No endless patience or gentle light of adoration in this man’s face. Dominic’s habitual expressions were determination, laughter or thoughtfulness. But at least what showed on his face seemed real.
Whereas, Adam’s adoration had disguised the mechanisms he employed to make things what he’d like them to be …
Resolutely, she dragged her attention back to the moment. ‘So why the need for information about The Stables, if you hate the idea of being involved?’
He fixed her with his grey gaze. ‘It’s only reasonable to research an idea before accepting, rejecting or modifying it. There are some things I don’t understand. Like, how does Nicolas make any money out of the place?’
Janice returned to clear the plates. Dominic asked for water. Liza ordered coffee. ‘I think your question ought to be, “Does Nicolas make any money out of the place?”’
He sat up, planting his elbows on the table. His phone sounded an alert and he fished it from his jacket pocket and silenced it impatiently. ‘Does he?’
She shook her head. ‘Not enough, I don’t think.’ It probably wasn’t ethical for her to publicly paw through Nicolas’s business, but neither had been giving her notice in case he could move a new therapist in. ‘I’d been living and working in Peterborough, but my sister lives in Middledip and I wanted to move to the village. The hotel wanted a treatment centre, Nicolas took up the lease and advertised the rooms. The premises were great, and I fell for Nicolas’s rosy view of the future. I suppose it didn’t occur to me that he could get it quite so wrong. I should have been like you – all researchy and logical. I’m learning the hard way.’
Her coffee arrived. ‘I suppose,’ she continued, slowly, scooping up the spinning-froth island on her teaspoon before licking it off, ‘that Nicolas is basically lazy. He wants the traditional model of obliging clients who make appointments, turn up for treatments, pay and book again. But there just aren’t enough.
‘I – and Fenella and Imogen – suggested bridal pampers, hen parties, new treatments and stuff, but he says they’re not true to the ethos of
She paused as Janice from behind the bar brought two steaming oval plates of fragrant curry on fluffy pillows of rice – white – with hot naan bread on the side. Dominic thanked her with a smile. Janice smiled back in a way that suggested that, although she had two decades on Dominic, she wasn’t impervious to his charms.
Liza propped her head on her hand. ‘Suddenly I’m not certain whether I’m starving hungry or can’t eat for worry.’
‘Still trying to get out of having dinner with me?’ He assumed an expression of injury.
She managed a sort of laugh and stripped the paper napkin from her cutlery. ‘Being credit crunched isn’t good for the appetite.’ Which she proved when she pushed away her plate with half the food still remaining. She waited until he’d cleaned his plate before picking up the conversation. ‘So. Are you going to share your reason for asking about my problems?’
Leaning back, he stretched his legs out beside the table. ‘I need to find a new career. Narcolepsy has made certain options no longer viable, including shift work, which would turn me into a zombie. Becoming self-employed seems a good way to go. It makes it easier to schedule my sleeping pattern and I’ve always enjoyed leading projects.’ He smiled crookedly. ‘Miranda wanted me to give The Stables a look.’
‘So you did and you hated it,’ she supplemented, drily. ‘I think I got that.’
‘I’m certainly not tempted to train as a therapist.’ He stared pensively at his drink, making patterns in the condensation with the pad of his thumb.
She waited, thinking, absently, how unlike Adam he was. No endless patience or gentle light of adoration in this man’s face. Dominic’s habitual expressions were determination, laughter or thoughtfulness. But at least what showed on his face seemed real.
Whereas, Adam’s adoration had disguised the mechanisms he employed to make things what he’d like them to be …
Resolutely, she dragged her attention back to the moment. ‘So why the need for information about The Stables, if you hate the idea of being involved?’
He fixed her with his grey gaze. ‘It’s only reasonable to research an idea before accepting, rejecting or modifying it. There are some things I don’t understand. Like, how does Nicolas make any money out of the place?’
Janice returned to clear the plates. Dominic asked for water. Liza ordered coffee. ‘I think your question ought to be, “Does Nicolas make any money out of the place?”’
He sat up, planting his elbows on the table. His phone sounded an alert and he fished it from his jacket pocket and silenced it impatiently. ‘Does he?’
She shook her head. ‘Not enough, I don’t think.’ It probably wasn’t ethical for her to publicly paw through Nicolas’s business, but neither had been giving her notice in case he could move a new therapist in. ‘I’d been living and working in Peterborough, but my sister lives in Middledip and I wanted to move to the village. The hotel wanted a treatment centre, Nicolas took up the lease and advertised the rooms. The premises were great, and I fell for Nicolas’s rosy view of the future. I suppose it didn’t occur to me that he could get it quite so wrong. I should have been like you – all researchy and logical. I’m learning the hard way.’
Her coffee arrived. ‘I suppose,’ she continued, slowly, scooping up the spinning-froth island on her teaspoon before licking it off, ‘that Nicolas is basically lazy. He wants the traditional model of obliging clients who make appointments, turn up for treatments, pay and book again. But there just aren’t enough.
‘I – and Fenella and Imogen – suggested bridal pampers, hen parties, new treatments and stuff, but he says they’re not true to the ethos of
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