Kat French - The Bed and Breakfast on the Beach - A gorgeous feel-good read from the bestselling author of One Day in December

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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2017

Copyright © Kat French 2017

Cover design and lettering: www.emma-rogers.com2017

Kat French asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008236755

Ebook Edition © June 2017 ISBN: 9780008236762

Version: 2018-05-02

This book is informed by and written for my beloved life-long best buddies Debbie and Jane.

This isn’t our story, but it is absolutely inspired by our friendship – there’s a little bit of all of each of us in each of them.

I thank my lucky stars for you both.

Cheers to us, ladies, love you! xxx

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

By the Same Author

About the Publisher

Forty-eight hours earlier …

‘It looks like a pink sugar cube.’

Winnie flicked her Havaianas off onto the warm sand and slid her huge sunglasses down her nose to get a better look at Villa Valentina.

‘Well, they weren’t lying when they said it was on the beach,’ Stella murmured, grabbing hold of Winnie’s elbow while she bent double to slip her jewelled flip-flops off the backs of her heels.

Beside them, Frankie dropped her oversized shoulder bag on the sand and lifted the brim of the pink floppy sunhat she’d bought at least a decade ago, inspired by the effortlessly chic Kristin Scott Thomas in Four Weddings .

‘What it looks like to me, ladies, is heaven.’

For a second, all three women stood shoulder to shoulder in contemplative silence. Life had dealt each of them an unexpectedly rough hand over recent months, and this weekend was very much needed to take stock, swear like troopers and sink as much ouzo as Skelidos could supply them with.

‘Do you think it’s too early for a G&T?’

Winnie and Frankie looked at Stella between them in pristine white skinny jeans, her scarlet toe-polish jewel-bright against the pale sand. Her eyes were trained on the faded pink mansion’s deserted terrace beach bar, her hands on her hips as if she meant business.

‘It’s just after nine o’clock in the morning, Stell,’ Winnie said, laughing, the bangles on her wrist jangling as she picked at the frayed hem of her denim shorts.

Stella rolled her eyes. ‘Says the woman who sank a double brandy on the plane four hours ago.’

‘She’s a nervous flyer,’ Frankie soothed, half-hearted in Winnie’s defence.

‘You’re telling me,’ Stella said, flicking her fringe out of her eyes. ‘The poor bugger in the seat the other side of her is probably in A&E now with crushed fingers.’

Winnie wriggled her toes blissfully in the powder-soft sand, wandering forward slowly. ‘Well, if you’d have put your drink down for more than five minutes I’d have been able to hold your hand instead of his. I’m sitting by Frankie on the flight home, she’s more sympathetic.’

Frankie caught Stella’s eye behind Winnie’s back and shook her head frantically. Stella nodded and pointed first at Winnie and then at Frankie: a clear signal that her friend was on her own when it came to keeping Winnie calm on the homebound journey.

Winnie knew what they were up to behind her, of course; she’d known Stella and Frankie for as far back as sentient memory allowed. Born within four weeks of each other a stone’s throw apart on the same street, the three of them had been united by both age and the fact that they were the only girls amongst the rowdy rabble of neighbourhood boys. It was a happy coincidence that they’d turned out to be similar in far more than birthdays; they shared a sharp sense of humour and a strong, abiding loyalty that bound them closer than sisters, albeit all very different in looks and temperament.

‘Is that an actual tattoo, Win?’

Frankie leaned forward to get a closer look at the flowers circling Winnie’s ankle.

Winnie paused and turned back.

‘Temporary. I’m trying it on for size.’

‘Shame you couldn’t have done the same thing with your husband,’ Stella said, throwing in a gentle wink to soften her words. In truth the comment didn’t sting, because, in point of fact, it was pretty darn accurate. Rory, he of the wild dark curls and sparkly eyes, the man who’d pursued her endlessly and showered her with his ardent love, had turned out to be the very same guy who’d abruptly turned the shower off to an icy water-torture trickle once the chase down the aisle in front of all of their friends was over. Winnie was a different woman because of him. She’d spent the first thirty-three years of her life merrily believing the schmaltzy songs on the radio; these days she flicked stations at the opening bars of a slow song, tossing the radio an accusatory look, as if it were personally responsible for Rory’s flimsy heart. She favoured girl-power Little Mix anthems now, belted out at the top of her lungs with the hard-won knowledge that there was no such thing as forever when it comes to love.

‘Let that be the last mention of him this weekend,’ Winnie said, lifting her face to the already warm morning sunshine. ‘As of now, his name is on the banned list, along with Gavin.’ She glanced at Frankie as she mentioned her friend’s soon-to-be-ex-husband. ‘And Jones & Bow, too, for that matter,’ she added for good measure, looking the other way towards Stella. Jones & Bow had been Stella’s employers and pretty much her home for the last decade or more, and they’d recently repaid her loyalty with an out-of-the-blue redundancy notice and a box to put her things in. The fat redundancy cheque hadn’t even been a plaster on the near-fatal wound they’d inflicted on her pride, not to mention that it wouldn’t last for ever given Stella’s love of designer labels, far-flung holidays and the best new restaurants with waiting lists as long as Dudley Dursley’s Christmas list.