Room for Love Page 6

  “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 jeweler’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 realized 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.

  “How did you know where I was?” she asked.

  Nate came into the room, and shrugged. “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. “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 3

  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 toward his car, parked at an angle on the other side of the graveled drive, muttering, “Waste of bloody time.”

  Carrie watched him go and wondered how the hell she was going to put together a proper proposal for Anna without building quotes.

  “Cheer up.” Nate leaned the shears against the side of the steps leading up to the front door, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders as they watched Tom Powers screech away in his four-by-four.

  Carrie shook off his arm. 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 Anna it was all worth it. All of which meant going back to The List. Carrie was starting to hate The List.

  Nate picked up his shears. “Give me a minute to tidy up. I’ve got a friend or two in the building trade. We’ll make some calls.”

  Watching him head over to the shrubs to put away his tools, Carrie wanted to scream, I don’t need your help. But unfortunately, it was becoming patently obvious she did.

  * * * *

  By the end of her first week on the job, Carrie had managed to offend everyone at the Avalon Inn. By Sunday night, even Pusscat had disappeared, probably back to Nate, and Carrie really didn’t have the energy to go and find him. Not to mention the fact she still hadn’t apologized to Nate about Mr. Jenkins or Tom Powers.

  The mental apologies list was growing by the hour.

  When she awoke on Monday morning, she tucked Nancy’s multicolored bedspread tighter around her in the attic bed and ran through them again to make sure she’d remembered them all.

  1. Apologize to Nate for not realizing Mr. Jenkins was an idiot. And for shouting at him about the builder thing

  2. Apologize to Moira for leaving the stupid soggy sandwiches out on the reception desk again

  3. Apologize to Cyb for saying the bunting made the dining room look like the Eurovision song contest

  4. Apologize to Pusscat for forgetting to feed him lunch until four in the afternoon, twice this week

  5. Apologize to Izzie for suggesting she didn’t know how to work the reservations system yesterday.

  Carrie considered the last item. Izzie really didn’t know how to work the computer program that stored their reservations information. Maybe she’d just teach her, instead.

  She’d fully intended the apologies to be the first thing she did on Monday morning, before Anna’s scheduled visit in the afternoon. But by the time Carrie made it downstairs, she found that she had bigger concerns.

  Anna Yardley stood waiting for her in the lobby. And apparently she’d brought her lawyer.

  “Carrie!” Anna said, when she paused on the stairs. She’d been half hoping Anna hadn’t seen her yet and she could escape back upstairs and pretend sh
e wasn’t home.

  “Anna. Mr. Norton. You’re early,” she said instead, reluctantly taking the last few steps down to the reception desk. “I wasn’t expecting you until after lunch.”

  Anna shrugged. “I thought, why wait? Besides, we’ve got some exciting news for you.”

  Carrie motioned toward the doorway. Maybe Anna and Mr. Norton were getting married, too, and wanted the inn for Bonfire Night. The very image kept Carrie entertained enough to be able to smile and say, “Shall we move into the drawing room, then?”

  As Anna and Mr. Norton headed through, Carrie turned to Izzie at the reception desk and added, “Can you get someone to bring us some coffee?” She wasn’t sure she could make it through a meeting with Anna and Mr. Norton without caffeine.

  Izzie looked dubious, but she nodded, so Carrie decided to hope for the best.

  “Mr. Norton and I have been looking at some options for the inn,” Anna said, sliding into her chair.

  “Options?” Carrie wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that.

  Mr. Norton leaned forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees. “Miss Yardley instructed me last week to look into the value and salability of the Avalon Inn.” Carrie felt her heart pause at his words. She’d known Anna was having problems with Naomi–she had the dozens of emails and hours of extra work to prove it–but she didn’t think things were this bad.

  “But I’m not looking to sell the inn. We want to open it as a wedding venue.” Carrie flashed a look across to Anna for confirmation.

  Anna gave a small nod. “I know that’s been Plan A. But I just want to make sure you know all the possibilities. And I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised by the results of Mr. Norton’s research.”

  Carrie turned her gaze to the lawyer, who gave a simpering smile. “I have had, in the last thirty six hours, not one, but two offers to buy the Avalon Inn.”

  Carrie blinked. “Are you sure they weren’t looking for the Arundel Hotel?” she asked. Other than sentimental value, the Avalon didn’t really have a lot going for it at the moment.

  Mr. Norton gave a hesitant smile and glanced over at Anna, as if not really sure if she was making a joke. “Um, no, they were really very clear. Their interest lies purely in the Avalon Inn’s development potential.”

  “Development potential?” Carrie wasn’t entertaining the idea of selling, but the words made her even more certain she didn’t want these buyers getting their hands on the Avalon.

  “Yes. I believe one party was looking to turn the inn into a health farm.” Mr. Norton glanced down at his notes. “The other, um, was searching for a site for a rehabilitation facility.”

  It wasn’t until the coffee tray clattered to the table that Carrie even realized there was anyone else in the room. The idea of the Avalon as a rehab or fat farm was too distractingly horrifying.

  Glancing up, she saw Cyb straightening the plate of biscuits and Anna looking on disdainfully. “Would you like me to pour for you?” Cyb asked.

  “Uh, no, I think we can manage.” Carrie smiled up at her, wondering why Izzie hadn’t managed to find someone who actually worked for the inn to bring the coffee. “Thanks, Cyb.”

  Cyb backed out of the room, smiling nervously, and Carrie turned her attention to Anna and Mr. Norton.

  “The offers really were very substantial, Carrie,” Anna said.

  Mr. Norton rifled through his papers. “I have some figures here... Ah.” He held a sheet of paper out to her, and Carrie looked away.

  “No. No, thank you. Please, thank both parties for their interest, but tell them I’m not interested in selling.” Mr. Norton looked skeptical, but Carrie kept her gaze firm.

  “At this time,” Mr. Norton added, obviously hoping to keep his options open. She wondered what Anna had offered him if he managed to get her to sell. He looked like the sort to take bribes. Or at least a shady commission.

  “Ever.” Carrie stood, a sudden sense of surety in her blood. She was home, and she was staying. “Now, Anna, what about a tour?”

  Anna nodded, and she and Mr. Norton got to their feet.

  “Where are we going to start?” Anna asked, and Carrie thought, With teaching Izzie how to identify actual staff members on sight.

  “The dining room,” she said, instead. Anna was just going to love the carpet.

  * * * *

  “A health farm?” Stan’s voice was getting squeaky and high, and Cyb worried about the vein bulging at his temple. He wasn’t getting any younger. But Stan always liked to be told the truth, upfront and straightforward.

  “Or a rehabilitation facility,” she repeated, and the vein turned bright purple. “That’s what the lawyer said.”

  Across the pub table, Nate put down his pint and shook his head. “I can’t see Carrie selling the Avalon. She’s got plans for it. I told you. She’s trying to convince her boss, right now.”

  Stan scoffed, so loudly that the Red Lion staff looked over from the bar. “Is she? Really? How do we know? We were all banished for the day, weren’t we? Sheer chance that the woman arrived early and Cyb was still there.”

  Nate winced.

  “Exactly. We can’t afford to give her the benefit of the doubt just because you’ve got a little crush, boy.”

  “I have not got a–”

  “Besides,” Stan said, “maybe the survey will have changed her mind. Now she knows how much work there really is.” He shook his head. “Not sure she’s the sort who likes hard work. Not like her grandmother.”

  “She was talking to Izzie about the reservation thing on the computer yesterday,” Moira said. “Would she really do that if she was planning on selling?”

  “I have no idea what goes on inside young women’s heads these days.” Stan’s face grew redder and redder. Cyb moved his pint glass farther away, in case he decided to bang his fist on the table again. A passionate man, Stan. She looked at him, considering. Maybe it was time to find a better use for all that passion, once this mess at the inn was sorted out.

  “We could just ask her what she’s going to do,” Cyb suggested, in what she thought was a reasonable manner.

  Stan obviously thought otherwise. “Just ask? And what, exactly, is going to ensure she tells us the truth?” He grabbed his ale and drained the quarter of a pint left in the glass. Cyb motioned to a nearby member of the bar staff and indicated the empty glass. The Red Lion didn’t offer table service, but they weren’t very busy and Cyb had found them to be very accommodating to a group of senior citizens. Moira had suggested they were just afraid one of them might slip on the pools of stale beer that tended to form by the bar and sue the pub to cover their hip replacements.

  “Unless...” Stan tapped the side of his empty glass. “Nate, boy, I have a job for you.”

  “No,” Nate said, firmly. “I’ve already told you everything she told me.”

  “Wait a moment,” Cyb said, willing her forehead to unfurrow. Anti-wrinkle cream could only do so much. “I don’t understand. What’s the job?”

  “He wants me to get close to Carrie, win her trust and find out if her plans have changed now her boss is here,” Nate explained. Obviously he didn’t want to say ‘seduce the truth out of her’ in front of his grandmother.

  “Well, would that be so bad?” Cyb asked, still confused. It had seemed to her Nate wanted to get close to Carrie Archer.

  “If she found out I was only doing it because Stan told me to?” Nate shook his head. “Hell, yes. Look, I’ll talk to her some more, I’ll ask her. But I’m not going to pretend anything.”

  Stan gave a heavy sigh, and Cyb wondered where the bar staff were with his second pint. He was always more manageable when he’d relaxed a bit. “Play it any way you want, Nate. But remember, it’s your livelihood at stake here, too.”

  Cyb was watching Nate, waiting for his response, so she saw the look he threw at his grandmother, a secretive sort of glance, and she wondered what Moira knew that the rest of them didn’t.

  Whatever it was,
Cyb wasn’t feeling any better than she had when listening to Mr. Norton’s offers. If anything, she felt worse. And, looking around the table, so did everyone else. Probably not the time to try to discuss passion with Stan, she decided.

  It would either be a very somber, or a very exciting, dance night that evening.

  * * * *

  The only good thing about Anna arriving early, Carrie decided, was that she’d managed to get rid of her before the Seniors returned and started decorating for dance night. And before Nate got back. Nate, she knew, would have questions.

  She really didn’t want to answer them.

  Sighing, she stared up at the Union Jack bunting strung around the dining room and tried to decide if she liked it more or less than last week’s international flags. At least she was reassured her decision not to let Cyb put it up until the last moment had been the right one. God only knew what Anna would have made of it, since she didn’t even approve of the beautifully stitched unicorn tapestry that had hung behind the reception desk for the entirety of Carrie’s life.

  She hadn’t approved of anything much, actually. “Other than the location, I’m really not sure this inn has what we need, Carrie,” she’d said, shaking her head with disappointment.

  “If you just look a little deeper...”

  “Is there solid gold wallpaper under the hideous lilac stuff in the bridal suite? No? Shame.”

  Then Carrie’s flash of inspiration had struck. “Better. I’ve got a potential bride.”

  But even the promise of Ruth’s wedding hadn’t been enough to win Anna over fully. Bunting would probably have tipped her over the other edge.

  Still, in context, the bunting looked quite jolly. Along with the posters Stan had hung after Anna’s departure, when Carrie had been working up in the Green Room again and thus unable to stop or question him, the dining room began to resemble a 1940s American army base. Complete, apparently, with its own Wren, ready to keep the soldiers company in return for some nylons.