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“I know this is going to be hard for you, Nate,” Moira started, plucking a stray leaf from her skirt. “Nancy left you free run of your gardens, but you’re used to looking after everything.” She held up a hand when Nate tried to interrupt, and the memories of his gran’s leg smacks were still terrifying enough to make him shut his mouth immediately. “She needed your help, I know that. You were a great boon to her, these last couple of years.”
She paused and gazed at him, as if assessing his general usefulness.
“I owed her,” he said, looking away. “She gave me a home and a job.” And now she’d managed to make both rather more permanent than he’d intended.
“She gave you a lot more than that, and you know it. You might not remember what a hellion you were at sixteen, Nate, but I certainly do.”
But Nate remembered well enough. Remembered his mother’s tears, most of all. Remembered that restless feeling he couldn’t shake, that just wouldn’t let him settle down and work hard and pass his exams so he could get a nice, safe job. That wasn’t him, never had been. But at sixteen, that restlessness had translated directly into trouble. Into pushing boundaries, rules, laws far past breaking point, until his mum couldn’t cope any more.
Moira had taken him in, looked after him for one long, formative summer. But it was Nancy and the Avalon Inn that had straightened him out. Given him a vocation, even.
“Nancy took one look at me and put me to work in the gardens.” He could almost hear her saying the words, in her brisk, decisive way. You need to learn patience, boy. And the best teacher for that I’ve ever found is nature.
And twelve years later, when he’d been lost and confused, restless again and unable to find his path, he could only think of one place to go—the Avalon Inn. Where Nancy had saved him again.
“Why do you think she did it?” Nate asked. “Left me the gardens, I mean.”
Moira looked uncomfortable, her expression just a little bit guilty, which pretty much confirmed all his suspicions before she even spoke. “Maybe she thought it was what you needed.”
“Or maybe you did,” Nate said, and Moira looked away. “Did you ask her to do it?”
“No! We talked about it, I admit. Nancy agreed with me that it was time for you to settle down, to find a place where you could be happy. Fulfilled. But she thought you’d already found it, and just needed a little push…”
“And this was her push.”
“I suppose so.” Moira shifted on the stepladder and sighed. Nate leaned the shears against the hedge, and waited to hear what else she had to say. He hadn’t learnt a lot in thirty years, as Nancy had regularly told him, but he had learnt Gran was always worth listening to.
“I know this place has been a refuge for you,” she said eventually, looking down at her hands. “But Nancy was a big part of that and she’s not here any more, Nate.”
“I know that,” Nate said, trying not to let his irritation show. As if he hadn’t noticed.
“I don’t know if she realised how different it would be here without her. How difficult.” Moira looked up and caught his eye. “Whether we like it or not, Carrie’s in charge here now.”
“Not in my gardens,” Nate muttered.
“Perhaps,” Moira went on, her tone delicate, “if you don’t feel you’ll be able to work with her, for whatever reasons, it might be time for you to move on again. Admit that the Avalon isn’t where you belong, after all. Set yourself free to stop hiding and find your own place in the world.”
The very thought of leaving the Avalon hurt something inside his chest. Turning to his hedge again, Nate tried to make a joke of it. “You trying to get rid of me, Gran?”
“Never.” Moira snuck an arm out and clasped his forearm. The skin on her hands looked grey and tired. How could he leave her now? “But I want you to be happy. And I’m not sure hiding out here is what will do that for you any longer.”
The hand disappeared, and when Nate looked up Moira was already halfway to the path. For a little old lady, she could move at speed when she wanted to. And she always spoke a lot of sense.
Except this time he wasn’t sure she was right.
Because what would happen if he left Carrie alone to sort out the inn? There’d be nothing of the old Avalon left, and Nancy would never forgive him. He owed Nancy, and so he’d stay. For now, at least.
And if the memory of standing on a moonlit terrace, pressing his lips against Carrie’s, had anything to do with his decision, well, Nate was happy to ignore that, for the time being.
* * * *
Carrie’s planning week swept on without her, and more often than not she found everyday events at the inn distracted her from renovation plotting. For a place that hadn’t made money yet this financial year, it was certainly bustling.
But with time and money slipping away, and a meeting with Nancy’s lawyer and the business advisor he’d recommended looming, Carrie finally had a handle on her business plan. She’d done the research, she had the builder’s quotes Nancy had left, although she didn’t know how useful they’d be, since the firm had apparently gone bust since then. Still, she had another firm coming round later and she even had the beginnings of a timetable. All she needed now was the time and space to put it all together into a winning presentation.
Which was why she was spending Friday afternoon hiding in the seldom-used Green Room, trying to ignore the moth-print wallpaper and the faded velvet curtains that looked and smelled like moss. Replacing them, creepy as they were, was so far down her list she really didn’t have time to start obsessing about them now.
But the Green Room did have some things going for it. It was at the far end of the west side of the building, it had enough floor- and bed-space to spread out all her notes and good light streamed through the large bay window facing south over the woods.
And, most importantly, no one would ever think to look for her there.
“By the time I leave this room, I’m going to have an honest-to-God plan to show potential investors,” Carrie muttered to herself, starting to lay out her papers.
She got twenty minutes in before the phone rang.
“Guess what?” Ruth’s voice, miles away in Cheshire, was bubbling with excitement.
“What?” Carrie asked her cousin, shifting the decorating of the bedrooms up by a few weeks on her timetable.
If she sounded impatient, Ruth was obviously too excited to notice. “I’m getting married!” Ruth finished off the sentence with the obligatory squeal of excitement.
“That’s...” Carrie paused. “Hang on. To Graeme?”
“Of course to Graeme!” Ruth sounded vaguely insulted. “Who else would I be marrying?”
“But you’ve only been together, what… a couple of months?”
“What does that matter?” Ruth asked. “I told you at the funeral that I thought he was the one.” Her voice took on a wounded tone. “Aren’t you happy for me?”
“Of course I am,” Carrie said automatically. “It just seems a bit fast, is all.” And it wasn’t as if this were even the first time Ruth had got engaged. By Carrie’s count they were up to three ex-fiancés, with not a wedding between them.
Of course, that was arguably still better than Carrie’s own romantic disaster zone. Since the miserable demise of her only real relationship, the best she’d managed was a series of first dates, followed by a few two-month-long attempts at dating that generally ended when the men in question realised Carrie was too busy working to see them. Of course, that was usually around the time that Carrie realised that she didn’t care that she hadn’t seen the guy in two weeks, so it all worked out quite well, really.
“Carrie, this one’s different. Trust me. I never... With the others, it was different. This is the one for me. And when you meet the love of your life, there’s just no point waiting. You’ll see what I mean one day.” Ruth’s tone was utterly serious now, and Carrie sat up straighter. She sounded like she might actually go through with it this time.
“So, um, when did he propose? And where?” Maybe the kitchen could wait until next summer. Jacob seemed to be managing all right at the moment. Carrie shifted the relevant Post-it note into the Future Plans section.
“Last night. We were having dinner in this cozy little Italian round the corner from his flat, and we were talking about the future—you know how you do.”
“Of course,” Carrie said, although in her experience, at the two-month mark she was more likely to be discussing how it really wasn’t working out, and how she had a lot of work on right now anyway, and maybe it would be better if they stayed just friends.
“Anyway, Graeme said he saw himself marrying me, one day, so I said, ‘Why wait?’”
That didn’t sound exactly like a proposal to Carrie. More like a hijacking.
“We’re going shopping for a ring this afternoon,” Ruth concluded.
“Well, I can’t wait to see it.” Carrie hoped Graeme had a decent credit limit. He certainly hadn’t had time to save up for a suitable rock. Picking up the survey again, Carrie flicked through to see exactly how desperately the guttering needed replacing.
“Oh, you will soon. I’ve told Graeme we have to get married at the Avalon, so we’ll be visiting so he can get the tour. He thought it was cute how we used to play weddings there when we were kids. It’ll be perfect. You can be my bridesmaid again!”
The survey dropped to the floor, clunking against the carpet and sending up dust. “The Avalon? You want to get married here?”
“Of course I do! Besides, I need you to plan my wedding, or else Dad will stick me with the awful Anna Yardley. And since you’re only doing weddings at the Avalon, where else could I have it?”
“You do remember what the Avalon is like, right?” How long had it been since Ruth had visited? She must have been there more recently than Carrie, surely.
“Of course. But now you’ve taken it over I’m sure it’s going to be glorious.” Confidence shone out of Ruth’s voice, making Carrie feel even worse.
“Unfortunately ‘glorious’ takes money,” she said. “I’m just working on a business plan to put to investors now.”
“You need investors? Well, that’s easy—ask Mum and Dad.” Ruth made it sound so easy, so simple. But the thought of having to go cap in hand to Uncle Patrick and Aunt Selena, begging for help, made bile rise in Carrie’s throat.
“I need to do this on my own, Ruth. I told you that.”
“But you’re not on your own, are you? Gran left you that gardener chap to work with, for a start. And besides, we’re family. We’re supposed to help.” When Carrie didn’t answer, Ruth sighed. “Well, think about it. And anyway, my wedding should help pay for some of it, right? I mean, Dad is already expecting me to spend a fortune on it, so I may as well spend it right.”
Which sounded a lot like a handout by another name to Carrie. “I don’t want you holding your wedding here just because you think I need the business.”
“I’m having my wedding at the Avalon because it’s home. And I will be paying a deposit cheque—that coincidentally will help get the place ready for my big day—because that’s what I’d be doing wherever we held it. So you don’t need to get all huffed up about it.” Carrie winced at Ruth’s insulted tone.
“I’m sorry. You know I’d love for you to have your wedding here. I just hope you’re planning a long engagement!” Carrie attempted a chuckle, but it came out more of a croak.
“Oh, no.” Carrie could practically hear Ruth tossing her head from side to side. “I want to be Mrs Frobisher as soon as possible. And I’ve already decided on my bouquet. This month’s Blissful Bride magazine had a feature on Ecuadorian Cool Water Roses. They’re lavender, you know. My favourite colour.”
“How soon is as soon as possible?” Carrie asked, desperately trying to get back to the things that mattered.
“Actually, I was thinking of a winter wedding. Maybe even Christmas.”
Christmas wasn’t so bad, Carrie told herself. Fourteen months away. Plenty of time. Unless... “You don’t mean this Christmas, do you?”
Ruth laughed. “Of course, this Christmas. Are you free on Christmas Eve? I think that would be the most romantic day to get married, don’t you?”
Carrie slumped against the embroidered moth cushion on the musty bed, secretly hoping that Ruth and Graeme would break up over the jeweller’s counter. She loved her cousin, really she did. But there was no way they would be ready for a wedding by Christmas.
“Anyway, I know we haven’t got much time, so I’ll email you some bridesmaid dress ideas later, and I’ll check with Graeme when we can come up to see you to sort out the rest, okay?”
Carrie nodded, then realised that was useless. “Great,” she said, unable to muster much enthusiasm.
“Then I’m off to choose my ring!” Ruth said, and hung up.
Carrie had two minutes of staring blankly at the phone before there was a knock at the door, and Nate’s head appeared around it. His expression was blank, so she had no idea if he was still angry with her about Mr Jenkins or not. They hadn’t really spoken since, which suggested he probably was. But on the other hand, he’d come looking for her…
“How did you know where I was?” she asked.
Nate came into the room, and shrugged, still expressionless. “Cyb saw you sneak in here earlier. Look, the builder’s here, when you’re ready. Said you called for some new quotes?”
“Yeah.” Carrie grabbed her clipboard and hopped off the bed. She had bigger things to worry about than whether her gardener liked her. “I’m coming.” She wondered what builder Tom would say when she told him she needed all the work done by Christmas, and she still didn’t have any money to pay him.
Chapter 7 (#ulink_bea371e3-49d9-5849-917e-363e628bb743)
As Carrie trailed around the Avalon Inn later that afternoon, always three steps behind the builder she’d called in, she felt her spirits falling by the second. It was all very well trying to save the inn, but really, in the face of Tom Powers of Powers Construction, master of the sucked-in breath and “that’s going to cost you”, how much could one woman do?
Finally, they finished with the inside and headed out to deal with the inn’s exterior.
“This door doesn’t look good, either,” Tom said as they went through the main entrance.
Carrie groaned inwardly. The door was huge, heavy and almost certainly expensive. “The survey didn’t mention it.”
Tom gave her his ‘Listen to me, idiot woman. What do you know about construction, anyway?’ look, which he’d perfected over the course of his visit. “Hardly surprising, with all the other problems. Surveyor was bound to miss a few things.”
Given that she was probably going to owe the man her first-, second- and third-born children by the time he’d fixed her inn, Carrie decided not to argue.
“How’s it going?” Nate appeared again, this time from behind one of the shrubs lining the drive, shears in hand and a couple of leafy twigs in his hair. Carrie wondered how long he’d been hiding in the bushes waiting for them to arrive. And why he’d bothered.
Tom sucked his breath through his teeth again, making Carrie shudder. “Lot of work here.”
Nate stepped closer, still holding the clippers. “Well, we knew as much from the survey.” His voice was perfectly amiable, Carrie thought, but somehow the huge blades in his hands made the words a little more threatening.
“Tom’s found some problems the surveyor missed, too,” Carrie told him.
Nate flashed her a look miles away from the ones Tom had been giving her all morning. This one was more conspiratorial, somehow. The knot that had set up residence in Carrie’s stomach when they’d started the inspection tightened as she tried to figure out what Nate planned to do. Just in case she needed to stop him.
But all Nate did was say, “Really? Can I take a look?” He reached out and snatched the pad Tom had been scribbling on for the last hour from his hands. Tom didn’t even put up an objection, possibly because of the very sharp blades.
Nate cast a cursory glance over the paper and, before Carrie could even ask to see it, he thrust it back at Tom. “Yeah, she’s not going to be using you.”
“What?” Carrie reached out and grabbed the pad from between the two men. “Tom, don’t listen to him, he’s just the...” The numbers of Tom’s estimate sank in, three times Nancy’s initial quote, and she lowered the paper. “Yeah, sorry, Tom. He’s right.”
For a moment, she thought Tom might argue, but he looked at Nate and obviously decided to cut his losses. Without even taking his notepad, he stalked off towards his car, parked at an angle on the other side of the gravelled drive, muttering, “Waste of bloody time.”
Carrie watched him go and wondered how the hell she was going to put together a proper business plan without building quotes.
“Cheer up.” Nate leaned the shears against the side of the steps leading up to the front door, and stood beside her as they watched Tom Powers screech away in his four-by-four.
Carrie turned on him, scowling. Just because he was right didn’t mean she was happy about it. “What the hell did you think you were doing just then?”
“He was ripping you off,” Nate said, taking a cautious step backward.
Carrie glared at him. “How do you know? Are you a building expert now, too?”
“The survey was thorough.” Nate’s voice was calm and sincere, but it wasn’t making Carrie any less furious. “I know the guy who did it. If Tom says he missed anything, Tom is trying to rip you off. Probably in any number of ways. Where did you find him, anyway?”
“Internet,” Carrie said, knowing she sounded defensive.
Nate rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, well. Either way, I’ve still got to find someone to do this work. And I need to figure out what’s essential and affordable, and what’s going to have to wait.” And convince investors it was all worth it. All of which meant going back to The List. Carrie was starting to hate The List.
