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

‘That would be me.’ She stepped forward and held out her hand, smiling uncertainly at Ajax. ‘And this is Frankie and Stella.’ She glanced behind him at the B&B. ‘Are we too early to check in?’

He laughed good-naturedly. ‘I make exception for three beautiful ladies. Come.’

He collected each of their weekend bags from where they’d dropped them in the sand and then turned and strode away towards the villa, leaving the three women to exchange speculative glances and then break into a trot to keep up behind him.

Ajax led them through the little beach bar, all whitewashed chairs and driftwood tables set with jam-jars of fuchsia-pink wildflowers. The bleached, sand-covered crazy-paved terrace lay warm and smooth beneath Winnie’s feet, changing to cool stone flags as they entered Villa Valentina’s shady, deserted reception. There was an air of faded splendour to the old mansion house, as if it might once have been home to Greek glitterati and had fallen on hard times. The peeling paint was sort of shabby chic and sort of just shabby, but the high ceilings and grand proportions kind of made up for it and let the villa get away with it. Just.

Ajax slid behind the wooden desk, reached for a huge red diary and leafed through it to today’s date. He was quick, but not fast enough for Winnie to miss the fact that the pages he flicked past were emptier than you might expect for a bookings diary.

‘OK, so it’s your lucky day!’ he announced. ‘You’ve been allocated the most splendid rooms up on the top floor.’ He tapped his pen against the page. ‘Best views in the house.’

‘Fantastic,’ Frankie said, fanning herself with her pink hat. ‘Are they ready, or do you need us to wait?’

Ajax looked slightly wrong-footed before his expression cleared to sunshine again. ‘No need to wait. Our cleaners come to work very early to make your rooms ready especially for you.’

‘Well, that’s very kind,’ Winnie said, smiling, grateful for their forethought. Already there was something about Villa Valentina that felt magical; the weight on her shoulders was a little lighter, the melancholy in her heart a little less oppressive. Even though the effects would most likely wear off as soon as they touched down back in the UK, she’d be stronger and tougher for a couple of days off from feeling like a fool.

The three women trooped up the grand central staircase behind Ajax, who skipped his way up the winding flights of steps even though he’d insisted on carrying all of their weekend bags slung over one shoulder. On the top landing he made a ceremony of studying each of them in silence for a few contemplative moments before handing out three ornate keys, as if first deciding which of the rooms best suited each of the women.

‘For you, the Seaview Suite,’ he said, pressing a key into Stella’s palm. ‘Because it is grand and has the finest view.’

He moved along the line to Frankie. ‘For you,’ he said, handing her her key. ‘The Cleopatra Rooms, because the bathtub is the deepest. You have the face of a lady who needs to relax.’

Frankie looked almost as if she might burst into tears; it had been a long time since a man had taken the time to notice how worn down she was.

Ajax stepped sideways to look at Winnie. ‘And for you, Winifred, I think the Bohemian Suite.’ He passed her an old, blackened key. ‘Many artists have chosen to stay in here over the years because of the light. I think you will especially like the paintings.’

Winnie took the key, wide-eyed, wondering if Ajax had sneakily researched them all on Google because he seemed to have taken one look at them and seen right into their hearts. He couldn’t have, not really; they’d only booked the break two days ago on a last-minute whim and none of them were prolific enough for Google to provide much in the way of interesting gossip. He must just be one of those rare beasts, a genuinely thoughtful, empathetic man. Winnie recognised that her worldview on men was more than a little off-kilter just now, but she genuinely wasn’t sure if her heart would recover enough to think more charitably about the other half of the human race. For now though, for the sake of sisterhood, she was prepared to give Ajax the benefit of the doubt.

‘Please, call me Winnie. Everyone does.’

He smiled widely, as if truly honoured. ‘Then because we’re friends now, you should come down to the bar when you have settled and I make special cocktails for special ladies. I mix just the right one to make you carefree.’

He gave them one of his little bows and then set off down the stairs two at a time, leaving them all staring at the fancy cast-iron keys in their hands.

‘Does anyone else feel a bit like Alice about to tumble down the rabbit hole?’ Frankie asked, turning the key to the Cleopatra Rooms over in her hand.

‘This is what happens when you book a last-minute break to an island you’ve never heard of,’ Stella said.

Winnie looked at her, surprised. ‘What, you end up in a mystical pink B&B with a guy who seems able to read minds?’

Stella plucked at the bottom of her Breton-stripe vest, flapping it away from her body to cool herself down. ‘You end up on the top floor of a place with no lifts. There better be a decent shower in there, I’m bloody melting.’

‘Well, I might go and take a bubble bath,’ Frankie said with a grin. ‘Seeing as I have the best one and all.’

‘And you should probably go and, er, gaze at the paintings on your walls, Win,’ Stella said, wafting her hand towards Winnie’s door.

Winnie shrugged, undeterred. ‘I love that he thinks I’m bohemian.’

‘Must have been your tattoo,’ Frankie said, slotting her key into her door.

‘Or your plaits.’ Stella pushed her key into place too as Winnie frowned at her ankle tattoo and wound one of her shoulder-length honey-blonde plaits around her finger.

‘What’s wrong with my plaits?’

‘Nothing,’ Stella laughed. ‘If you’re a Swedish milkmaid.’

‘You’re only jealous,’ Winnie sniffed, flicking her plaits over her shoulders. But she enjoyed her friends’ ribbing all the same, because, God, it felt good to relax and laugh about stupid things. Fitting her key into the lock of the Bohemian Suite, she turned, shiny-eyed, to look at the others.

‘Three, two …’ she counted down, and, on one, they all turned their keys.

Bohemian turned out to be Winnie’s idea of perfect. The stripped oak floorboards were warm beneath her feet, and the room seemed vast and airy thanks to the tall, ornate French doors, which had been opened to allow the hint of a cooling breeze to flutter the gauzy white muslin curtains. The walls had been painted deep oxblood, a rich, evocative colour that, coupled with the huge cast-iron bed, certainly conjured up bohemian. An eclectic mix of jewel-coloured cushions topped the crisp white cotton bed linen, and a huge emerald-green velvet chaise longue sat in front of ceiling-high bookcases stuffed with hundreds of books in all sizes and colours. Two glass chandeliers hung overhead, adding opulence to the already dramatic room; it was clearly a space designed for reclining, relaxing and recharging. Winnie had no clue what the other girls’ rooms were like, but she knew instinctively that this was the right one for her. Stripes of sunlight streamed through the doors and windows, and when she stepped out of the French doors, she found herself on a wide balcony set with a tiny table and chairs for two beside a 60s-style wicker hanging-egg chair to take in the glittering view over the Med.

‘Are you feeling all arty-farty yet?’

She turned and found Stella peering at her from her wraparound balcony at the far end of the villa. She’d already changed into a halter-neck polka-dot bikini top and teeny black denim shorts, and pulled her long red-gold waves back into a swishy ponytail.

Winnie laughed, delighted. ‘I think I am! How’s the Seaview Suite?’

‘I’ve really no idea why they call it that.’ Stella shrugged and rolled her eyes, flopping blissfully down onto the padded wooden steamer chair on her balcony. ‘I mean, come on.’ Ajax had been right about the view from Stella’s room; she had an uninterrupted, picture-postcard-perfect vista out over the gorgeous sugar sand and crystal sea.

Between them, Frankie wandered out onto her balcony, cool as a cucumber in a black linen shift and big Jackie O sunglasses perched on top of her bleached pixie cut.

‘Bath’s running,’ she said. ‘It might take a while, it’s practically a swimming pool.’

A peaceful, easy feeling washed over Winnie’s shoulders, warmer even than the Greek summer sunshine. Frankie would be a while yet, and Stella looked set for some serious sun-worshipping.

‘I might just test my bed out for five minutes,’ she said, lifting her hand to wave to her friends. Frankie did a tiny, crazy, happy dance out of pure contentment, and Stella lifted her hand above the balcony balustrade with an indistinct moan of happiness. Wandering back inside, Winnie momentarily paused to wonder how you might climb up onto a mattress higher than your belly button, then taking a bit of a running jump, she threw herself face-down on the bed and spontaneously laughed for the first time in months.

Ajax placed a tray of three tall, fine-stemmed fishbowl glasses on the beach-bar table in front of them an hour or so later.

‘You’ve built our expectations sky-high now, you know that, right?’ Frankie said, lifting her eyebrows at him. ‘If these cocktails don’t make us feel a million dollars we’re going to want our money back.’

‘Your first drink is always on the house anyways,’ Ajax said grandly. ‘Villa Valentina house secret mix, guaranteed to make you happy.’

‘Free drinks always make me happy,’ Stella sighed. ‘People used to give me free drinks all over town. Stella! Come in, have a glass of champagne! And another!’

‘Ah, get over yourself, superstar. This one’s still free and looks amazing.’ Frankie reached for one of the glasses and handed it to Stella.

‘What is it?’ Winnie lifted her sunnies and squinted up at Ajax hovering close by for their verdict.

He shrugged. ‘Gin and tonic.’

It wasn’t like any gin and tonic Winnie had ever seen before. Peering into the glass as she slid it towards her, she could see rich shades of honeyed nectarine red sparkling with ice and slices of rose-pink grapefruit.

‘Is this rosemary?’ Frankie asked, plucking a herb from her glass and sniffing it.

Ajax preened. ‘I grow it myself in the garden at the back of the villa.’