The California Club by Belinda Jones

was actually more likely that she'd spotted an appealing barman while we were checking in.
    It was after dark when we presented our seasalt-frosted faces to the reception staff at La Valencia – a baby-pink mission-style hacienda overlooking La Jolla cove – and then left a trail of sandy footprints to our rooms, or better yet, villas. Elliot was particularly tickled that he and Elise were assigned 'Ocean Villa Eleven' – going some way to fulfilling his hankering to be a part of the Rat Pack. Zoë, Sasha and I were in Ocean Villa Five. And in Fifteen, Goldie Hawn. I kid you not. At first we didn't believe Zoë when she came screeching in from the balcony to inform us of our celebrity neighbor, but this time she was right.
    Turns out La Valencia has been a Hollywood hideaway since the 1930s. In those days Zoë might have been yelping that she'd just seen Greta Garbo or Charlie Chaplin reclining on their sunloungers. (Not that I can picture either of them getting busy with the coconut tanning oil.) Anyway, since then it's become such a beloved local institution that most of the antiques in the public rooms have been donated by former patrons. I think it's lovely that they wanted to be a part of their favorite hotel.
    I wish that one day I could've inspired that kind of devotion with the B&B – how wonderful to know that every chaise or vase had a personal history rather than an Ikea price tag. Despite not having the same taste as my mum I have to acknowledge that she had chosen every item with love. So many of the other B&Bs in our square stopped at the bare minimum – every item in the room provided a function or it wouldn't have a place. The rooms I love have treasures that are just there for pleasure. Those are the things that give a room a personality. Some people want bland, they don't want to engage with their environment and that's fine, but I like to walk in and get a sense of character. That way, even if you're alone, you feel like you're in wonderful company.
    As I lean over to take a sip of water a thought strikes me – it's almost as if Helen knows that I'm on the verge of giving up the B&B and she's trying to tempt me into keeping it by showing me all these sumptuous hotels: look at all the fabulous possibilities … But she can't know. I haven't discussed it with anyone except Mum. I thought it would be best to make the decision first and tell them when it was a fait accompli. That way it wouldn't seem such a big deal – just a case of 'it's done, accept it'. And yet it seems wrong to make a decision without consulting them - The Seaflower was like a second home to each of them at one point.
    But maybe I'm overestimating how upset they'll be. The B&B hasn't been part of their lives for a while now. Sasha was the last person who came to stay and that was six months ago. They've moved on. Maybe it's time I did too. Maybe they'll think it's a good idea. Maybe it is! Yes, I've felt a flutter of five-star inspiration since arriving in the US, but I'm assuming that we will be staying six of us to a motel room the rest of the week – two nights at La Valencia must be totally skewing our accommodation budget. (When we quizzed her on the extravagance, Helen assured us that there's a reason why we should make the most of luxury now. Not that she'd tell us what that reason was. I just hope it doesn't involve camping.)
    Anyway, I'm not going to think about it any more. I came here for a break. I stare up at the white fir beamed ceiling and wiggle my toes beneath the 10 billion thread count sheets. If it wasn't for the chronic jet lag I'm sure I would have had one of the best night's sleep of my life.
    As I pull myself up to a sitting position, eager to see this place in daylight, Sasha responds by snuggling deeper down. I'm relieved to find her looking so serene in repose. She seemed troubled and distant during the evening, but fell asleep as soon as her golden head hit the goose-down pillow. In the absence of Zoë, I