скачать книгу бесплатно
Izzie shook her head. “He’s fine. Just worried about leaving a bad impression with Miss Archer.”
“Why didn’t he call me?” Moira asked. “He knows I would have gone and got Georgia.”
Looking awkward, Izzie shrugged. “He just didn’t want to bother you again, I think.”
Something else new, that. A single father raising a little girl, and on a chef’s wage. Nancy couldn’t have been paying him much. If Moira didn’t help out so much, especially when Jacob was working weekends, he’d probably never be able to afford the childminder to cover the afternoons when Georgia wasn’t with her mum.
It wouldn’t have been like that in the old days.
“Never mind that, Izzie-girl.” Stan leaned far enough across the table to make the poor girl actually move her chair back a little. Stan forgot sometimes how intimidating he could be to people who didn’t know him as Cyb did. “Tell us what’s going on up there.”
“I thought Nate was coming with you,” Moira said, wrinkling her forehead. Cyb really should remind her to stop that. It wasn’t as if they didn’t all have enough wrinkles already without wilfully making things worse.
Izzie gave a secretive grin. Or, rather, the sort of grin Cyb knew meant she was about to share a good secret. “He was. He walked us to the gate, but then he said he had to get back and do some job or another urgently.” The grin got wider. “And I heard him tell Miss Archer he’d be around later. If she wanted to talk. Even told her where his room is.”
The table fell silent. Cyb tried to imagine good, honest Nate ‘putting the moves’ on anybody, and failed. Of course, Harry always said she hadn’t much of an imagination. It wasn’t that Nate wasn’t good-looking, of course, although far too tall really, which couldn’t be helped. No, the issue was, he really only cared about three things: his garden, his grandmother, and Nancy. Cyb knew Izzie had been excited when he’d first arrived, but he hadn’t shown any interest at all. And Izzie, with her blonde hair and big blue eyes, was far prettier than Carrie Archer. Unless...
“He must have a thing about redheads,” Cyb said absently, and Stan glared at her. Not a lot of time for romance, Stan. Which was a shame, really.
“We’re not here to discuss Nathanial’s courting habits,” he said, his tone curt. “Now, what was Carrie doing?”
Izzie shrugged. “Looking through papers in the drawing room. I think they’re the ones Nancy left.” She paused. “She didn’t look very happy with them.”
Silence again. Even Cyb knew what those papers said.
Moira let out a loud sigh. “It doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Perhaps there were other papers, too. Financial ones. Not just the ones about us.”
“I’m not sure that’s any better,” Stan said, his voice ominous. “No, Moira, I don’t like it. We need a battle plan. And for a battle plan to work, we need to have better intelligence.” He turned to Izzie. “Izzie-girl. You’re our eyes and ears backstage at the inn. I need you to watch everything, listen to everything, and report everything back to me. Everything. You got that?”
Izzie’s blue eyes were wider than ever as she nodded. Cyb wondered if Stan had really thought this through. Even she could see he’d probably get more reports about Nate’s possible attempts to seduce Carrie than anything else.
Maybe he should. Maybe Carrie would be the one thing to make him stay. Moira would like that.
Nancy would have, too, actually. Cyb smiled. Maybe the old girl had known exactly what she was doing, leaving that confusing will behind.
“Good. Then, with that sorted, I call to a close this meeting of the Avalon Inn Avengers.” Stan banged his empty pint glass on the wooden table, and Cyb sighed. Perhaps Moira was right. They really should have spent some of the meeting trying to come up with a better name.
* * * *
Carrie sat staring at the envelope in front of her long after Nate had shut the door behind him. Then, using only the tips of her fingers, she removed it from the pile and leaned it against the lamp on the table beside her.
It contained Nancy’s final words to her. It was only right to save it until last.
Instead, she started in on the stack of papers below it. They didn’t make for any happier reading.
First came a financial summary, which was every bit as bad as Carrie had feared. Mortgage documents lay beside insurance policies and details, along with notes on why none of them would pay out for the things that needed fixing. There were some builders’ quotes for most of the work detailed in the survey and, underneath, a letter of refusal from the bank, not sounding very sorry at all that they couldn’t extend Nancy’s existing loan with them to cover it. At the bottom was the Avalon’s latest bank statement. In credit, at least, she supposed. But the balance wasn’t anywhere near enough to cover everything that needed doing.
Carrie sighed. A project like this was going to need financial backers, and she was the one who’d need to find them and convince them to invest.
Well, she’d wanted to prove herself. Now she knew how she could do that.
Time for the next folder.
This one, labelled in Nancy’s sprawling hand, boded a little better. “Current bookings,” Carrie read aloud, and smiled. If people were willing to stay at the Avalon when there was a good chance it might fall down around their ears, just wait until Carrie had finished with it.
Flipping the folder open, she started reading, her smile slipping with every word.
It wasn’t a long list, but what there was would take up a great deal of the inn’s resources, with very little recompense. It also explained why Nate’s Seniors had been loitering around earlier, without even the excuse of a flamenco lesson. They were waiting to see which way she was going to jump.
“‘Bridge night, every Wednesday evening, in perpetuum. Dance night—themed—every Monday evening, in perpetuum. Sing-songs, in bar, at will and as needed.’ Who makes bookings this way?”
Carrie slammed the file shut. Not one decent, proper booking in the lot. There wasn’t even any information on what the groups paid for the use of the inn.
“Oh, God, what if she wasn’t charging them at all?” Carrie let out a moan, and dropped the folder to the floor.
How was Carrie supposed to turn an old people’s home into a designer wedding venue?
She leaned back in her chair, rubbing circles at her temples with her index fingers, and considered. The most important thing was keeping the inn. To do that, she needed money, and apparently the banks weren’t likely to provide it. So she needed someone else. Someone who would put up the money but not get involved in the running of the inn.
“It’s my inn, now,” Carrie reminded herself. “So I’m going to have to run it my way.”
It might upset the Seniors, might even upset Nate and the rest of the staff. But the Avalon had been losing money for months. If they wanted to keep it going at all, there were going to have to be some big changes.
“Maybe they can have a dance night once a month. And move the bridge club to lunchtimes.” That sounded fair. A compromise. At least, to start with. Carrie was pretty sure she could phase them out, after the first few months. There had to be other, more suitable inns around willing to accommodate them.
Feeling better for having one thing decided, Carrie glanced up at the carriage clock on the mantelpiece, and realised the evening was almost gone. She should think about going to bed.
Except…she remembered her bag, lying on Nancy’s brightly coloured patchwork bedspread.
It made sense for her to stay there, Carrie knew. The bedrooms would be needed for guests, and, before that, for decorating. Nancy’s attic was the only room in the whole place not required to earn its keep.
But did she really have to sleep there tonight? Did she really have to deal with the memories, and the guilt, and the scent from the bottle of Nancy’s perfume still on the dressing table, so soon? Couldn’t it wait, until she’d cleared out the room, packed away all the history?
Of course it could. There were a dozen empty bedrooms in the inn, after all. One of those would do for one night. Or even longer.
Decision made, she gathered her papers together and stood, planning to head into the reception. But glancing back at her chair, she spotted Nancy’s letter leaning against the lamp, circled by the glow of its light.
“What if I’m not ready yet?” she whispered to the empty room, already knowing the answer. It didn’t matter.
It didn’t matter because Nancy had written the letter for her. And how could she begin to work on the Avalon without knowing what Nancy wanted her to do? It was her inn now, but it would always be Nancy’s first.
Carrie dropped into her seat, hearing the leather sigh beneath her, and fumbled with the envelope, eventually pulling out three thin sheets of writing paper, all covered in Nancy’s sprawling purple ink.
The first page was, as she’d expected, a message of love from her grandmother. The second bore an entreaty to treat the Seniors well, and to trust the staff Nancy had put in place.
Carrie’s mouth twisted up into a half-smile. Nothing unexpected there, either, given that Nancy had included the Seniors’ bookings with the most important inn documents. And she had always loved her staff.
Nate will help you, if you let him. Trust him. He’s a good man now. I wouldn’t have left him in charge of the grounds, otherwise. You need him, Carrie. And he needs this place.
Just as she’d thought. Nancy hadn’t thought she could do it alone. But why did she think Nate needed the Avalon? Did the guy have nowhere else to go? So much for hoping he might get bored and move on.
The third page was about the Avalon itself. And about Carrie.
I know you love this place every bit as much as I do. And I know you’ll want to make it your own. Just remember, the Avalon is, and always has been, a home, first and foremost. Make it earn its keep, certainly. But never lose that love.
Carrie folded the pages and returned them to the envelope, blinking against threatening tears. How could Nancy think the Avalon would ever be anything but home to her?
She just needed it to be profitable, too.
He needs this place.
Why? Carrie couldn’t stop herself asking the question. What was it about the Avalon that Nate needed? And how much was it going to get in the way of her plans for the place?
She sighed, shuffling the papers into order. At least she knew where she stood now. She needed a backer. Needed to talk to the bank, the accountant, the lawyer, the builders… She needed to talk to Nate. As much as she hated it, they were going to have to work together on this, at least to start. Not because she couldn’t do it alone, but because Nancy had made it very clear she shouldn’t. Wedding venues needed gardens and outdoor space, for photos and drinks receptions and everything else that went with it.
Nate controlled the gardens. But Carrie was in charge of the Avalon Inn. They had to work together.
Just as long as he remembered that she was the boss.
Tucking the letter from Nancy back inside her folder, Carrie gathered her patience and went to talk to Nate.
Chapter 4 (#u658c1680-0321-5e80-857e-9c87286b96f9)
The autumn night was drawing in fast, the evening breeze chilly through the open doorway. Carrie dumped her files on the reception desk and grabbed a coat from the rack tucked away beside the front door, only realising once she’d shut the door behind her that it was one of Nancy’s old knitted cardigans. It came down to Carrie’s knees, and the waist tie wrapped around twice, but the soft wool and the scent of roses comforted her enough to ignore even the garish cerise colour.
The summerhouse sat on the edge of the woods, through the gardens and past the fountain. Last time Carrie had been there, it had been filled to the rafters with Nancy’s boxes of junk. But theoretically it was a proper lodging; she’d even stayed there herself one summer when the inn proper was full. It would be interesting to see what Nate had done with the place.
The lights of the summerhouse were visible from a way back, glowing yellow against the dark of the woods, warm and inviting. Carrie wrapped her cardigan tighter around her, and stepped up the three wooden steps to the door.
Nate answered her knock quickly, a paperback in hand, and didn’t look in the least surprised to see her. Stepping aside with a smile she couldn’t quite read, he motioned her inside, and shut out the night air behind her.
“Drink?” he offered, moving to the kitchenette in the corner of the main room, which held a microwave and mini fridge. “I’ve got wine or beer, I think. Or whisky.” He looked up and saw her still hovering by the door and said, “Sit down, won’t you?”
Still Carrie hesitated as he stuck his head back into the fridge. The summerhouse looked nothing like she remembered. It looked like a proper home now, with a sofa, and a desk under the window, and even lamps and one of Nancy’s traditional lumpy patchwork blankets. The door to the bedroom was open, and she could see a real bed beyond, not just a camp bed. And she knew farther back was the tiny bathroom Nancy had put in when she had some idea of this being staff quarters one day. Which it was, now, Carrie supposed.
Nate stared at her from the kitchenette, a bottle of wine in one hand and whisky in the other. In a burst of movement, she threw herself down on one end of the sofa and said, “Actually, whisky would be great.”
The glass tumblers Nate provided looked like the odd ends of Nancy’s old sets, and probably were. As he settled onto the other end of the sofa, Carrie took a sip of the smooth amber liquid and started to feel properly at home for the first time that day.
Nate watched her, caution behind his eyes, and she tried to smile for him. “Nancy started me drinking whisky when I was sixteen,” she said. “Just a half-measure, before bed, when I couldn’t sleep. The next summer she decided that if I was going to drink it, I should at least learn what was decent and what would rot my insides.” She took another sip. “This is good stuff.”
“It should be,” Nate said, with a half-smile. “It was a Christmas present from Nancy.”
“That explains it, then.”
They sat in silence for a moment, until it started to feel awkward, and Nate said, “Did the papers tell you all you needed to know?”
Carrie sighed. “And much, much more.” She remembered the copy of Nancy’s will. “You were right; I have to keep you on.” She couldn’t bring herself to admit to the words ‘full control’.
Nate blew out a short breath. “Is that a problem?”
“Not as much as the bookings we apparently have until the end of time.”
“Ah.” Nate winced into his whisky. “The Seniors.”
“Yeah.” Carrie tried to catch his eye, but his attention was firmly focused on his drink. “You knew about that bit?”
Nate shrugged those wonderfully wide shoulders again. “Nancy mentioned she wanted them to still feel welcome at the Avalon.”
Carrie sipped at her whisky and considered. “It’s that important to them?”
“It’s their home.” Nate looked up, finally, and caught her eye. When he spoke again, it was with such conviction, Carrie almost wished he hadn’t. “None of them really have anyone, or anywhere, else. It’s not just the three of them, you realize. There’s a whole crowd of people for whom the highlight of their week is playing bridge with Stan, or dancing with Cyb. It’s important.”
“A community service,” Carrie said, with a half-smile. “Only problem is, I don’t see how it’ll go side by side with a boutique wedding-venue hotel.”
Nate settled back against the arm of the sofa, his left leg folded up over his right. It couldn’t be comfortable, Carrie thought, being such a tall man in a very small summerhouse. “That’s what you’ve got planned for the place?”
Carrie nodded. “It’s what I do: I’m a wedding organiser. When I was a child, I thought the Avalon would be the most perfect place in the world to have a wedding. I thought... Well, I guess I thought that was why Nancy left the place to me.”
“She left the inn to you because she loved you,” Nate said, and Carrie had to look away. She was going to have to work with this man. She needed to trust him.
“But she didn’t believe I could do it alone. She left you control of the grounds, so I’d have someone to help me out when I got stuck.” It hurt to admit that. Carrie wasn’t sure it ever wouldn’t.
Nate tipped his head to the side as he looked at her. “Does it really matter if you save the Avalon Inn single-handed or with help, as long as you save it?”
Carrie knew it shouldn’t. Knew that the right answer was that it was only the Avalon that mattered.
But it wasn’t, not to her. This was her chance—her first and only chance in twenty eight-years—to prove that she was good enough, all on her own. After a lifetime of having her dad, or uncle, or cousin, or boyfriend, or somebody step in every time life got hard, she needed this. Needed to prove to herself that she could make it on her own, for once.
So she turned the question back on him instead. “Why do you care so much about this place, anyway? Nancy said…” She tailed off, not sure if she wanted to share the contents of the letter with him. Would he be offended at Nancy’s telling her all about him?
“Nancy said what?” He kept his gaze fixed on her face as he sipped his whisky. Carrie shifted on the sofa, trying to get away from those slate-grey eyes.
“She said you needed the Avalon.”
Nate snorted a laugh. “Did she, indeed?”
“What did she mean, do you think?”
“It means that your grandmother wasn’t above a bit of meddling. Probably cooked the whole scheme up with my gran.” He sighed, and put his whisky glass down on the coffee table. “She knew I wasn’t…overly inclined to stay in one place too long. I figure this was her way of making me hang around a while.”
“Why? For your grandma?” Carrie thought of the straight-backed woman with the iPod she’d met that afternoon. Moira hadn’t looked as if she needed anyone.
“Perhaps. But I think Nancy…” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “Who knows what she was thinking? But I know she thought I belonged here. So she made it harder for me to up and leave.” He looked up at her, and Carrie reached for her whisky. What was it about his eyes that made her lose her train of thought? “She knew you belonged here, too. Why else would she leave you the place?”
“Not all of it.”
Nate shook his head. “No. She wanted you here. Not either of her sons, or your cousin. She didn’t want it sold, or rented out, or turned into anything except what it is. She wanted you here to rebuild the Avalon Inn. Make it great again.”
