An Eligible Bachelor by Veronica Henry

she pulled the door to. The last glimpse she had of him he was looking at the breakfast order, completely baffled. It was upside down.
    ‘Who was he, anyway?’ she asked Kim as she returned to the reception desk.
    ‘Johnny Flynn,’ Kim replied. ‘Believe it or not, he’s a vet. Specializing in horses. Leslie Pinfield thinks the world of him, apparently.’
    Honor looked appalled.
    ‘I wouldn’t trust him with a guinea pig,’ she said, ‘let alone a bloody racehorse.’
    But she couldn’t help feeling rather intrigued, and wondered if he’d still be there by the time she came on duty the next morning.
    Going into the hotel business hadn’t been Honor’s original career plan. She’d fallen into it rather by default. Her father had been an engineer in the oil industry, and as a result the family had led a rather luxurious ex-pat lifestyle, living in Dubai, Sri Lanka, Kuwait, Hong Kong – glamorous locations with a lifestyle to match. Nevertheless, every time they visited family in the UK, Honor had been left with the feeling that she was missing out on something. She would gladly have swapped the swimming pools and servants to live in the same place for more than two years running. She found the lifestyle superficial – which, of course, it was – and more than anything dreaded turning into her mother, queen of the ex-pat scene, living for nothing more than bridge and gin.
    Honor was delighted when her parents had come home to England for a two-year stint while she was doing her A levels. Determined to put down some roots, she got herself a job as a chambermaid at a local hotel at weekends. She’d soon impressed them enough to fill in as receptionist during the holidays, and once she’d finished her exams was called in by the head of personnel, who persuaded her that she had just the right combination of patience, diplomacy, attention to detail and the ability to delegate for the hotel industry. She’d got a coveted placeon their management course, and worked her way up, travelling the world that she already knew so well.
    By twenty-five she was sick of the sunshine and beaches she’d already had her fill of. Once again she found herself longing for a place of her own in England, and a job she could get her teeth into, as well as the chance to exercise some creativity. She was tired of the hotel chain, tired of looking at the same décor whether she was in Thailand or Tahiti, although she was grateful for the training which had made her a desirable commodity. She scoured the trade journals, not interested in the salary so much as the challenge, and the ideal opportunity soon presented itself.
    Maddox Jefferson was a Hollywood screenwriter and anglophile who wanted somewhere luxurious to stay when he visited the UK, and had hit upon the idea of opening his own hotel – partly as a tax write-off, partly because he wanted a change from the industry that had made him a millionaire several times over. He had fallen head-over-heels in love with Bath during research for one of his screenplays, and bought a crumbling Palladian mansion which he intended to convert into a luxury hideaway. He needed a crack team to help him do it, for what he knew about running hotels he could write on the back of a postage stamp. But he certainly knew what he expected from one.
    As soon as he met Honor he wanted her on board. She knew what was important and what wasn’t; the difference between flash and classy. He wanted understated style, and he could tell just by looking at her that she had a natural instinct for what was right and how to pull it together. Thus she was taken on as his right-hand girl,there as a sounding board and to mediate between the architects, designers and chefs, with a view to her managing the hotel when it was finished.
    It was a thrilling few months for both of them –chaotic, nerve-racking, exhilarating and nail-biting – but finally the hotel was open. It was to be called the Jefferson – at Honor’s