Left FIELD
Stella Field surveyed the breakfast room. Peace at last after the 8am rush, with just the Lawsons from York enthusiastically buttering triangles of toasted wholemeal.
She smoothed down her pinny, grabbed a tray and headed for the table in the bay window, recently vacated by the two chatty women from Reading. Did they scatter cereal and smear jam through the butter in their own homes? Stella doubted it.
‘Is it going to rain?’ Mrs Lawson asked loudly. When Mr Lawson didn’t reply, Stella realised the question was for her.
‘A 6% chance all day. Going anywhere nice?’
‘Eastbourne, to visit the art gallery.’
‘The Towner? One of my favourite places. More tea?’
They shook their heads.
‘This is such an unusual B&B,’ Mrs Lawson said, nodding at Stella’s kitsch knick-knacks and mismatched chairs. ‘Where did you find everything?’
‘Car boot sales, house clearances. I’m always up for a bargain.’
‘And the jukebox?’ asked Mr Lawson.
‘I splurged. I’ve always wanted one. Do use the tokens to
