The Southern Belles (The Brighton Belles Book 1) - Katie Simpkins

Not Just Any Riches To Rags Story

The Southern Belles by Katie Simpkins

Book excerpt

“Please Georgie,” begged Olivia, “just come along once, that’s all I ask. You’ll enjoy it, I promise. If you come one time, I’ll stop pestering you.”

Since Olivia had been to that stupid homeless shelter on the seafront, she’d done nothing but nag Georgia to go with her. For six long weeks she’d resisted, but now Georgia was thinking she may as well give in. “If it’ll shut you up, I’ll go,” she replied, to a Yes! from her little sister. “I don’t know why you want me to go so badly.”

Georgia just wanted to get to the beach. It was nearly May, the weather had turned, and the forecast had said it would be a warm twenty degrees, with not a cloud in the sky. She had a rucksack with suntan lotion and a towel in, and she was wearing a black bikini beneath her jeans and Sex Pistols T-shirt.

“You’ll love it there,” replied Olivia “Wait until you meet Nick; he’s so lovely. You’ll love him.”

Olivia had raved about Nick almost as much as she’d raved about Jamal. Georgia had been so pleased for Olivia when her sister had confided in her about their first kiss in the kitchen. When they’d both squealed in delight, a police officer had told them to be quiet. Evelyn had missed it because she’d been in for questioning at the time, but Georgia had informed her older sister when she’d returned to the holding cell. Georgia had never seen Olivia so smitten before; she only hoped Jamal wasn’t a scumbag. “So, let’s go and meet this Nick, shall we?” she said.

“What, now?” asked Olivia, as they turned right into Meeting House Lane.

“We might as well,” she replied. “We’re going to the beach anyway, so we might as well kill two birds with one stone.”

“I don’t want to kill any birds, Georgie,” said Olivia. “I like birds.”

Georgia wanted to laugh but controlled the urge. Instead, she grabbed her sister’s head, dragged it down and rubbed her hair, roughly. “It’s a figure of speech, Livvy,” she replied, releasing her. She smiled at the reaction of passers-by.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” protested Olivia, fixing her hair. “It hurts.”

“Come on, you big baby,” she said playfully. “Let’s go see Sir Nick the Great.”

Tom was pleased with Evelyn’s progress. Not only was she using the coffee machine, she was making drinks worthy of compliments from his customers. He’d taught her well, and now all he did was take the orders and hand the receipts to his newest employee. Occasionally, she got it wrong, but those mistakes were becoming fewer and farther between.

He picked up a tray on one of the outside tables, wiped it down and carried it back indoors, where Evelyn and Janice were busy making fresh orders. The takings were up by a third, which was phenomenal for the current business climate. It made him happy and, as far as he could see, it was all down to him hiring one of the Southern Belles. But despite Evelyn’s impact on his business, he still couldn’t find it in himself to forget Suzy’s prophecy; but he wasn’t growing fond of her he told himself, a lot.

“Table five, outside,” said Evelyn, placing a tray on the front bar.

“Thanks, Evey,” he said. “They almost look good enough to drink.” He made sure he winked at her as he was never sure if she knew when he was joking.

It was unusually warm for the time of year. Wearing shorts and a T-shirt in April was almost unheard of for him, but with how busy the shop was, and how much walking he had to do, it was sensible to wear cool attire. “On my way,” he said, carrying the tray outside.

He groaned, seeing that God-awful Felicity woman and Evelyn’s ex-boyfriend heading towards him. They’d been in every day since he’d hired Evelyn, but today they had more people with them, a group of six. Unfortunately, because customers were heading outside with their drinks and cakes, there were still a couple of tables left inside. “Shit!” he said under his breath. If he didn’t need their money, he’d have barred them weeks ago, knowing they only frequented his shop to wind her up.

“Hi, Tom,” said Felicity, smiling falsely.

He smiled back, which faded as soon as she’d walked past him and into the shop. She was an awful woman. And that bloke she was with, Matty, was a dickhead. He couldn’t stand either of them. And the six friends, two women and four blokes, they were with didn’t look any less awful, either. He knew the next few hours were going to drag.

Since the brawl at the Albert six weeks ago, he’d received numerous texts from Suzy apologising to him for ruining the gig. He’d ignored her pleas for forgiveness for two weeks, just deleting the texts as they came in, until she showed up on his doorstep crying. Being a sucker for emotional blackmail, he’d let her upstairs to the flat, poured her a whisky and had attempted to calm her down. They’d ended up spending the night together, to his disgust the following morning. The sex had been better than ever, he’d had to admit.

Just before Suzy had left, they’d agreed to give it another go, but he’d stipulated that she wouldn’t move back in until he was happy with the way their relationship was going. He was still pissed off with her, and how she’d treated Evelyn. He’d sworn to her that nothing was going on between Evelyn and himself. And he’d asked her outright, for the first time, if there was anything going on between her and Nigel Jones. Suzy had sworn that she’d never slept with her boss. He wasn’t sure if he believed her or not, but had decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. If he knew one thing, though, he knew that relationships weren’t supposed to be this difficult, and he wasn’t holding on to much hope for their happily ever after. Tom knew he was treading water by staying with Suzy, but he didn’t want to have to start dating again. It was far easier just to run with the status quo.

Inside the shop, Tom saw that Felicity and her friends had sat down on two adjoining four-seater window booths. They were laughing and joking between themselves, waiting for their drinks. He heard one of them say Evelyn’s name, but didn’t hear them say anything disparaging. He was nearing the end of his tether with Felicity and Matty; he could feel the end was nigh. “Everything OK in here?” he asked both Janice and Evelyn.

“Yeah, fine,” said Evelyn. “Why?”

“They’re not bothering you anymore?” he replied quietly.

Evelyn looked over at Felicity and Matty. “Nah, they’re not worth it.”

Tom nodded, looked over at an elderly couple waiting to be served, and smiled. “Good for you,” he said, picking up Felicity and Matty’s tray. He was happier now he knew they weren’t getting to her. When she’d started, Evelyn had gone to pieces every time they arrived in the shop. He loved how much more confident she was now. She was such an attractive woman, and even more so when she smiled. He shook that thought away, taking the tray over to Felicity’s table. “Four cafe lattes,” he said, sliding the tray into the middle.

The Sunday papers, six weeks ago, had been smothered with photos of the charity event Evelyn had organised, which had been hijacked by Felicity. According to the articles, the bachelor event had raised five-point-six million for the MacMillan Cancer Support Trust. He’d read the subsidiary articles buried in the middle about how there’d been an altercation between the Southern Belles and the organisers. The reports were biased against Evelyn and her sisters, making them out to be trouble-makers, especially in the wake of the vandalism story involving the launderette.

Even though the Southern Belles were still receiving negative publicity in the national press, and on news channels, it made him believe the saying that ‘there is no such thing as bad publicity’. Knowing Evelyn and her sisters now, Tom didn’t believe much of what was written about them anyway.

With every table taken, both inside and out, Tom knew that all he could offer customers were takeaway coffees. He instructed Janice and Evelyn to start using the cardboard, biodegradable disposable cups. He hadn’t had to use this many in years, unless a customer had specifically requested coffee to go, of course. Business really was better than ever.

Nick Cairns opened the plastic carrier bag and looked inside. There were tins of Heinz soups: two Cream of Chicken and three Cream of Tomato. There was a five-pack of tinned tuna, and two tins of peaches. All would come in useful. He opened the cupboard above his head and loaded the tins inside, careful to make sure they didn’t fall out when it was opened again.

He had ten more bags to go through, most of which contained long-life tinned goods. The Beachside Day Centre, his homeless charity, relied on such donations by his generous volunteers and their families to keep this small charity alive. But most of all, he relied on cash donations to help pay for the seafront unit under the A259, Kings Road.

Since he’d signed the lease five years ago, rent had skyrocketed every year, meaning that to make ends meet, cash donations needed to increase each year to meet the required levies. The charity operated on a month-by-month basis, which was nerve-wracking to say the least. Sometimes cashflow was so tight he couldn’t sleep, never knowing if the business would fold or not.

He was only glad that he didn’t need to worry about his home being taken. He’d received an inheritance eight years ago, when his mother had died of cancer, leaving the contents of her will to him. He’d wisely spent the money on paying off his mortgage; and the rest, he’d put into buying the lease of these premises. most of his savings were gone; he had little over twenty thousand of his inheritance left.

Even more concerning for him lately, was the fact that the lease was coming up for renewal. He’d heard rumours that an offer had been put down on all three units, his and the two empties next door. He’d not been able to clarify if it was just talk, or if these rumours were justified, but that was what was keeping him awake at night. Compared to the rental prices of units up and down the promenade, his was relatively cheap, and he knew he wouldn’t find a better location or price elsewhere.

He considered his position as similar to those of the JAMs (Just About Managing) who used his food bank. He was continually one bad month away from closing the centre. Even though he was only thirty-two years old, sometimes he felt sixty, as the worry of not knowing what was going to happen from one month to the next was taking its toll on him. He just didn’t want to let his clients down; they needed the centre’s services.

“Where do you want these, Nick?” asked Bernadette, one of his volunteers.

Nick turned, limped over and took the carrier bags from her and placed them on the kitchen counter. “Thanks, Berny,” he replied, looking inside. There were packets of ham and other perishables that would need eating soon. He knelt down, placing the food in the refrigerator.

When he tried getting up, a searing pain shot through to his brain. His dodgy right leg had never healed properly, which had left him with a permanent limp. He’d seen his doctor about it on a couple of occasions, however he’d been told there wasn’t anything they could do about it, and that he would have to live with the limp.

“Nick, I’ve just taken a call from Zoe,” said Bernadette. “She can’t make tonight, I’m afraid. She says she’s sick.”

Managing to stabilise himself, he considered Bernadette’s information. If Zoe couldn’t make it, who could he ask to help him with the mobile soup kitchen? He couldn’t do it by himself, as it took two people. He couldn’t ask Bernadette; she volunteered daytimes only.

Bernadette was a forty-two-year-old single mother of two teenagers. She was tall and thin, with dark brown hair, and wrinkles before her time. She’d had to use his food bank to make ends meet, back when he’d opened it five years ago. And after getting to know her, getting to know her story, she’d agreed to volunteer for him. Over the five years the centre had been open, he’d come to rely on her more and more, but she could only help during the day. He couldn’t ask her, so who?

“I’d help if I could, Nick,” said Bernadette.

“I know you would,” he replied, “but you do enough around here as it is. It’s OK, you don’t need to worry about it; I’ll think of something.”

Nick looked up at the clock on the kitchen wall: 12:35. It was nearly lunchtime. His clients would be coming along soon. The sandwiches were all stored in the six refrigerators, ready to be distributed, the vat of onion soup was simmering on the hob, and his five volunteers were sat outside, waiting for the clients to surface. It was nearly showtime.

Smelling the home-made onion soup, Nick walked over to the pot and took the lid off. He looked inside and saw it bubbling away. It smelt delicious.

“Hi, Nick,” came a delightful voice. “I’ve come to introduce you to my sister, Georgie.”

Placing the lid back on, Nick turned and saw Olivia, looking lovely in a white bikini top, white skirt and flip-flops. Stood next to her was an even more delightful sight. The sister looked stunning in a black bikini top, a blue and red towel wrapped around her waist and flip-flops. He’d seen Georgia’s photos in the newspapers, but she was far more pleasing on the eyes in person. “Hi!” he said, or at least he thought that was what he said. She had the most amazing smile, and when she said hi back, his stomach did somersaults.

“We came by this morning, but you weren’t here,” said Olivia. “Berny said you’d be back about now.”

“Yeah, sorry, I had to go on a collection run,” he said, unable to take his eyes off Georgia. He needed to stop staring, or she would think he was strange. But she held his gaze, and she had a funny smile. “Anyway, I’m pleased to meet you, Georgia.”

“It’s Georgie,” came her reply. “No one calls me Georgia.”

Her reply wasn’t an admonishment, or at least he didn’t take it as such. Her voice was huskier than Olivia’s and more alluring. He could listen to her all day. What was happening to him? He’d never felt like this before, not even when he’d met Rachael, his ex-girlfriend. “Sorry, Georgie,” he replied, finally.

“It’s OK to come by dressed like this, isn’t it?” asked Olivia. “We’re set up on the beach down there. We thought we’d just stop by.”

“By all means, stop by at any time,” he replied, forcing himself to look at Olivia.

“Nick, can we get in the kitchen, please?” asked Bernadette. “They’re starting to arrive.”

Taking them through to the dining area, which held ten tables, Nick stopped and turned to Olivia and Georgia. “Sorry I can’t spend more time with you.”

“I can see you’re busy,” replied Georgia, holding his gaze again. “Can we come back another time? I’d like to see what you do here.”

Really? Was she for real? He couldn’t quite believe a woman as beautiful as her would want to come here. Olivia volunteered, but she was a special kind of woman herself, with a huge heart, and he was very fond of her, and her idiosyncrasies. “Well, if you’d like to, drop by whenever you’d like. I’ll give you a guided tour.”

He noticed Olivia looking at her sister strangely. Then he returned his attention back to Georgia’s big brown eyes, and lovely smile. His stomach was still doing somersaults.

“We’ll leave you to get on,” said Olivia, turning to go.

Instead of turning with her sister, Georgia continued to stare into his eyes. And he stared into hers. That funny smile lingered.

“Come on, Georgie, let’s go,” came Olivia’s voice.

“Bye,” said Georgia, smiling.

“See you soon,” he replied.

After another thirty seconds, he watched Georgia turn and catch up with Olivia. Then he watched both of them walk away. Desperate for a reason to run up to them, it struck him. “Wait! Livvy, wait up,” he cried, running through the dining room and out onto the promenade. He reached them at the foot of the pebbly beach. “I forgot to ask if you’re available to help me with the mobile soup kitchen tonight? Zoe’s cancelled on me.”

He was looking at Olivia, and occasionally at Georgia. And he couldn’t help but glance at her cleavage, imagining what her magnificent breasts were like under that black bikini top. He badly wanted to find out.

“Oh, I wish I could, Nick,” replied Olivia, “but I’m working tonight.”

“Oh,” he replied, “that’s a shame.”

“I’ll do it,” said Georgia, without hesitation.

Jamal was speechless. He looked down at his mobile phone, his heart racing. He hadn’t expected that phone call. The caller had identified himself as Marcus Shaw, general manager of the Regal Crown Manor, a sixteenth century country house in Berkshire. He’d gone on to explain that there was a vacancy for a sous-chef in their Michelin starred, fine dining restaurant, and that he was invited to apply for the position.

At the time, Jamal had been confused, and he now realised he must’ve sounded it too. He hadn’t applied for the position; he hadn’t applied for any jobs in years. When Jamal had asked how the general manager had happened across his name and number, the voice had replied that he knew Michael, Yankee Doodle’s manager, and that Michael had recommended him.

It was all down to Michael. Jamal had listened to Shaw explain the duties of sous-chef, the hours and wages. He’d listened to him talk about the history of the twenty-five-bedroom historic manor. The best part of the conversation, the clincher, was learning that it was a live-in position. He would be given a two-bedroom flat within the hotel.

After the half hour conversation, during which Jamal had outlined his own history and experience, he’d been asked to apply for the position via the hotel’s website. Jamal had been asked if he was interested and he’d replied yes immediately.

Calming down, by taking deep breaths, he walked over to his PC and switched it on, waiting for it to boot-up. He needed to see what he was getting himself into. The hotel sounded up-market, not the kind of workplace he was used to at all.

His suspicions were confirmed when he loaded up the website: the country manor was exquisite in its grandeur and design. The grey-bricked building looked like something out of a Harry Potter movie, with lots of pointed spires. It had a huge courtyard and was situated in fifteen acres of land. The website said the hotel boasted a five-star restaurant, indoor swimming pool, spa and sauna, gymnasium, a well-established and popular bar, and twenty-five bedrooms. It was ‘a little piece of heaven on earth’, according to one review.

Jamal found the ‘Work for Us’ page and downloaded the company’s application form. As he started filling it out he thought about Olivia, about the six dates they’d been on since their first kiss in the kitchen. He smiled, remembering trying to teach her how to bowl at the marina. Her little waddle-walk leading up to bowling was hilarious. But she was a problem for him too. If, and it were a massive if, he was offered the job, how would that affect their relationship? He didn’t want to end it before it had begun. He was already smitten with Olivia.

And then another thought popped into his head: he was already punching above his weight dating Olivia, so what made him think he could do the same professionally? Martin Shaw would surely have a dozen more qualified interviewees to see, so he didn’t really stand a chance applying for the job anyway. It wouldn’t hurt to have the experience, though, he thought, filling out his work experience.

Filling out the qualifications section, he looked at the clock in the bottom right corner of his monitor, seeing it was 12:37. He still had a few hours until he was needed at work. He would have a chat to Michael about Marcus Shaw.

‘I’ll do it,’ Georgia had said, without thinking. What the hell was she doing? She didn’t volunteer for things, ever. She could feel Olivia’s eyes boring into her. Georgia ignored it as much as she could.

“Really?” asked Nick, with a little smile. “You’d do that?”

If it meant spending the evening with him, she would. Georgia couldn’t stop staring at him, with his lovely dark, spiky hair, prominent cheekbones, strong chin and dreamy brown eyes. And she could tell he liked her just by his relentless stare. If any other guy had stared at her for so long, she’d have told him where to go, but not with Nick. He was staring at her, undressing her, and she liked it. “Absolutely,” was all she could think of to say.

Book Details

AUTHOR NAME: Katie Simpkins

BOOK TITLE: The Southern Belles

GENRE: Romance

SUBGENRE: Contemporary Romance / Romantic Comedy

PAGE COUNT: 398