He’d have to ask Jacob to join him at Red Lion later, and pray his cousin could find someone to watch Georgia. Because he might be a single dad whose girlfriend walked out on him and their baby for some banker guy, but Jacob was still better at the whole relationship thing than Nate. And Nate needed all the help he could get.
“What were you swearing about in there?” Moira asked as soon as he emerged from the summerhouse.
“There was a bee in the room,” Nate lied, not particularly convincingly, and set out for the tool shed.
For the first twenty minutes or so, Moira seemed content to sit on a nearby bench and watch Nate dig, which was about eighteen minutes longer than Nate had expected her to manage. Finally she said, “So, Nate. Is there anything you’d like to tell me?”
Out of breath from the effort of turning soil, Nate merely shook his head. He had a feeling this was probably one of those conversations that didn’t actually require him to say anything, anyway.
“About you and Carrie?” Moira prodded, and Nate shrugged, his back to her.
His gran gave a heavy sigh. “I thought I brought you up better than this, Nate.”
“Better than what?” Nate asked, ignoring the fact that Moira had only actually had him living with her for one summer, fourteen years earlier, while his mother had managed the other seventeen years he’d lived at home. It was that summer that had changed his life, and Moira and Nancy who had managed it. He was happy to give credit where it was due.
“Leading that poor girl on! She’s Nancy’s granddaughter, Nate. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
“Of course it does!” Nate turned to face her, leaning against his shovel. “And what makes you think I’m leading her on?”
Moira gave him a despairing look. “Exactly how naive do you think I am? I saw the two of you disappearing upstairs together last night, and I know full well you didn’t come back to your summerhouse until this morning. And it’s not as if the two of you could have anything serious. I don’t know what kind of life Carrie’s been living in the city, but it seems to me...”
“How do you know it isn’t serious?” Nate interrupted, surprised to realize he really wanted to hear her answer. Gran knew about people. And love. Maybe she could shed some light on whatever was happening with Carrie. Maybe he wouldn’t need to resort to Jacob after all.
“Come on, Nate.” Moira gave him a funny half smile, disappointed but resigned. “I know you. You’ve never really been one to settle down. Even that producer woman in London couldn’t keep you.” Nate glanced away, but Moira carried on. “Two years at the Avalon is the longest you’ve ever managed. Do you think I don’t know you’re only here for me? And I won’t be here forever, Nate. What then? Don’t you think it’s rather unfair to make Carrie think you’ll be sticking around, when you might be on the next train to London?”
She doesn’t think that, he wanted to say. And even if she did, maybe this time I’ll stay. But he couldn’t say either of those things, because he just didn’t know if they were true.
So, instead, he changed the subject. “The producer woman called the other day.” He heard Moira tut, and knew what she was thinking–that he’d been leading Carrie on when he was still involved with another woman. But it was all too hard to explain, really, when he didn’t even know how he felt about it all himself. So he stuck with the dry facts, and the inn and money, rather than emotions and people, which were considerably messier. “She wants me to go back to London for a new show.”
“And are you going to go?” What amazed him most about his gran, Nate thought, was that all through his life, even as she’d lectured him, told him to think about others, reminded him how easily he could hurt people without realizing, she’d never judged him and she’d never tried to make his decisions for him. She might disagree with the things he did, but he always knew that she loved him anyway. And she let him make his own mistakes.
All his life, he’d never found another person who did that. And he’d been looking. Maybe if he did, he’d stay.
“No,” he said, and heard a small sigh of relief. “I told her this was my home, now.”
“That’s...good.” Moira still sounded wary. “Because of Carrie?”
Nate shook his head. “Because of you, and the Avalon, and Cyb and Stan, and Jacob and Izzie, and my gardens. And Carrie, too. But mostly because the Avalon needs me, and Nancy would never forgive me if I left it to crumble.”
“You can’t stay because of a ghost, Nate.” Gran sounded concerned, now, and Nate tried to find another way to explain it her.
“Maybe it’s more I’d never forgive myself.” Nate put down the shovel and sat beside his grandmother on the bench. “I love it here, I really do. It gave me a chance in life. I owe it the same back, don’t you think?”
Moira put one wrinkled hand over his. “So what will you do here? Is Carrie going to let you go ahead with your plans?”
“I hope so,” Nate said, thinking again about the accursed conversation from the night before. “We need to, uh, hammer out some of the details.”
“I think it would be good for you. And for the inn.” Moira stared off into the gardens. “You’ve only ever really kept the place tidy, maintained what was already there. There was always so much else Nancy needed you to do. If you want this place to be your home... Well. Maybe it’s time to start making it one.”
She was talking about the gardens, he knew, about really making his mark on the grounds, using his talent again to design something really stunning. After he’d left London and the program, he’d had enough of garden design for a while. He’d been happy to just watch things grow and give them a helping hand now and then. But maybe it was time to get back to it.
But more than that, Nate thought about his summerhouse, and the way the wind rattled through it in the winter. It wasn’t made for permanent habitation, not really. Even when Nancy had suggested it to him, it was supposed to just be for the summer. Two years and two bone-chattering winters on, maybe it was time to think about something more...homely.
“Maybe you’re right,” he said, as his gran patted his arm and headed up to the inn. He went back to his digging, wondering if Carrie had any plans for the old gatehouse at the end of the driveway, and had just found his rhythm again when he heard the feet racing down the garden path. “Nate?”
Izzie sprang out from between the trees, hair coming loose from its ponytail and her cheeks flushed. “Oh, thank God.” She stopped at the edge of the garden and rested her palms against her thighs, breathing hard. “I thought I wasn’t going to find you.”
“What’s happened?” Nate led Izzie over to the bench, but she refused to sit down.
“No time. We’ve got to get back up to the house.”
“Why?” Nate’s head spun with the sheer number of things that could have gone wrong up at the Avalon. “Is it Carrie? Gran? She just left. She was fine...”
“Anna bloody Yardley,” Izzie said, between breaths. “She just showed up this morning, after you came down, but before Carrie.”
“And you didn’t go get Carrie?”
“No answer at her door, or her phone.” Izzie grabbed for his hand. “Now come on.”
“Must have been in the shower. You’re sure it’s her?” Because that was very bad indeed. He wondered if anyone had even gotten around to cleaning up the bar after the night before.
Izzie gave him her rarely used I’m not an idiot look. “Just get up there!”
“What can I do?” He was the gardener, for heaven’s sake.
“Just...” Izzie straightened up and waved her hands around a bit. “Help her.”
And that was what it came down to, he supposed. Carrie needed his support. And regardless of what else might be going on between them, she was going to get it.
Dropping his shovel, and ignoring the sweat stains and mud on his clothes, Nate ran for the Avalon Inn.
* * * *
“Still using the old element of surprise tactic, then Anna
?” Carrie asked, smiling, even though it was the last thing she felt like doing as she stepped down the last few stairs into the lobby. And she’d actually believed that Anna trusted her. When really it was all just one long, impossible test.
Anna returned the smile, and Carrie wondered how she’d spent so long not realising how fake her smile was. “Only way to know if a venue is truly as good as it looks,” she said, clasping Carrie’s hand and planting a powdery kiss somewhere in the vicinity of her cheek. “Don’t give them time to prepare.” From her oversized bag, she pulled out a bottle of champagne Carrie felt certain was left over from somebody else’s wedding. “To celebrate your first booking,” she said, handing it over.
Carrie wanted to say something confident about how the Avalon was always at its best, but she wasn’t sure all the empty bottles had even been cleared out of the bar after the party yet, so instead she took the champagne and placed it on the reception desk.
“Why don’t you take a seat in the drawing room,” Carrie said, looking around her only to realize that Izzie was nowhere to be seen. “I’ll just pop down to the kitchen to ask them to bring us some refreshments.”
“Couldn’t that little receptionist go?” Anna glanced rather obviously around the lobby. “Oh. Now, where did she go?”
Carrie forced another smile. At least that meant Izzie had made it in that morning. “I’ll be back in just a moment,” she said, opening the door.
The drawing room, at least, was untouched by the previous evening’s festivities, so Carrie set Anna up with some of the sample menus Jacob had had printed and went off to find coffee, and possibly her receptionist.
Fortunately, Jacob also seemed on top of things in the kitchen. “Georgia gets up at six. Hell with a hangover. Besides, I never drink when I’m DJing,” he told her. “Ruins the vibe. You know?”
Carrie had no idea, but she nodded anyway. “So, coffee, biscuits, the usual. And have we got anything in if she decides to stay for lunch?”
“Leave it with me,” Jacob said, so she did.
It was only when, on her way back, she ran into Nate in reception that she remembered about the bridal suite.
“Oh, God. We didn’t make the bed.”
To his credit, Nate seemed to figure out exactly what she was talking about with remarkable speed. “The bridal suite?” Carrie nodded. “No problem,” he said, brushing a hand against her arm. “I’ll go straighten up in there, you start showing her around the rest of the place.”
“How did you know she was coming?” Carrie asked, knowing it didn’t really matter, but annoyed all the same. She should have known Anna would do this. How did he?
Nate looked confused. “Izzie just told me now. That’s why I’m here.” That made more sense, she supposed.
“It’s Anna,” she said, remembering telling him all about her. Whatever else there was between them, he’d understand that better than anyone else at the Avalon.
He squeezed her arm. “I know. Don’t worry. I’ll fix it.”
Then he was away, striding up the stairs three steps at a time, sorting out her problems as usual. Carrie sighed. It would be far too easy to get used to that sort of help.
Back in the drawing room, Anna wasn’t looking at the menus. She was frowning at the shelves of tatty paperback novels that had accumulated over the years. “Coffee’s on its way,” Carrie said. “We can make a start in the dining room first, if you’d like, then have coffee before we head upstairs.” Which would give Nate plenty of time to get things squared away and get back into the garden before they saw him.
Anna frowned. “Really, Carrie, don’t you think hardback books would be better in here? A little...higher class?”
Adding more hardback books to the most visible shelves in the drawing room was actually somewhere on the to do list, but there was no way Carrie was admitting that to Anna. “We find our guests like to actually read the books, not just look at them. The collection in here is some of their favorites.” That much was true; there were plenty of testimonies to the fact in Nancy’s old guest books. Along with the sentence, Given the constant rain...
Anna slammed the book shut. “You know, I’m not that thirsty. Why don’t we head into the dining room?” She moved toward the door. “I hope to God you’ve replaced that awful china, at least.”
Carrie gritted her teeth and followed.
* * * *
An hour later, Carrie was starting to think that even if the Avalon had been at its sparkling best, it wouldn’t be enough to impress Anna Yardley. Something had changed. Carrie didn’t know what, but she was certain Anna had come there with the express purpose of tearing down everything Carrie had so painstakingly built up.
The dining room didn’t stand a chance. The china was ‘more suitable for a Women’s Institute meeting,’ the chair covers dated, and the lace tablecloths yellowing. It would be a much better room, apparently, if it faced south, as the west-facing windows would get too much sun in the late afternoon and evening. As if she hadn’t seen the room twice before already with no problems.
The bar, where they stumbled across Stan and Cyb, putting everything back to normal after the night before, got no more than a raised eyebrow. “Well, no one will want to use this,” Anna said, shutting the door almost as soon as Carrie had opened it.
“Actually,” Carrie said, trying to sound as if she was speaking from experience here, rather than one show round and a few local weddings ten years ago, “I’ve found that the bar is a really useful extra room. A place for people to hang out if they want some peace and quiet while the music’s going on in the evening, for example.”
“What’s next?” Anna said.
The bridal suite almost passed muster. The bed was certainly impressive, but didn’t Carrie feel it overpowered the room? And it was such a shame there was only a single shower in the bathroom. So many couples these days wanted a double shower, in addition to the roll top bath.
By the time they reached the gardens, all Carrie wanted in the world was for Anna to leave so she could crawl into her attic bed alone and forget this day had ever happened.
“So, this is what your gardener has been working on, is it?” Anna surveyed the beds of churned mud with deliberate care, and turned back to Carrie. “Really, I can see why you might like to keep him around, but wouldn’t it be better to have someone with actual talent? Then you might get some actual flowers.”
Carrie gritted her teeth. “Obviously, this area of the garden is under development. We’re planning a cutting garden, to allow us to provide flowers for weddings held here.”
Anna looked concerned. “Do you really think you’ve got the talent for that? It’s a highly specialized job.”
“I wouldn’t be arranging the flowers myself.” Where was Nate, anyway? He’d be much better at explaining all this.
“Still, I’d think you’d have other priorities here, quite frankly.” Anna turned away and headed up the path.
At least the marquee might impress, Carrie thought. Anna had always had a soft spot for a well-made marquee with good lighting and a nice green space. “If you’d like to follow me to the rear of the inn, there’s one more thing for us to see.”
But even Carrie couldn’t look impressed at the muddy field full of men in overalls packing away sheets of white tent and metal bars. She closed her eyes and wished herself back in bed again. Or at least in the bar.
“Sorry,” Nate said from beside her. “Apparently they have another booking tomorrow, and Stan told them it would be fine to pack up.”
“At some point, people around here are going to have to get used to telling me what is going on,” Carrie said between her teeth, hoping Anna couldn’t hear. But from the slight smile on her boss’s face, even if she hadn’t heard the words she could guess the sentiment.
Carrie was screwing up, and Anna was happy about it. But why? This was supposed to be her project, too.
“Well, I think I’ve seen all I need to see,” Anna said, turning back t
o them. “Why don’t we debrief in the drawing room.” She strode ’round to the front of the inn, leaving Carrie no choice but to follow. As she passed, Nate brushed his hand against hers, and she tried to take strength from that. But all she could think was, if she hadn’t run off to bed with him the night before, maybe she’d have been better prepared for this horror of a day.
“Carrie, I’m going to be straight with you,” Anna said, as they sat sipping cooling coffee in the drawing room. “I had my doubts about this project from the start, and what I’ve seen today just confirms them.”
“Ruth and Graeme have already booked,” Carrie said, trying to sound professional, not desperate. “I’ve got the deposit check.”
“I’m not saying the Avalon couldn’t be a successful venue,” Anna said. “Just that I’m not sure you’re the right person to oversee its renovation.”
“It’s my inn.”
“Exactly. Perhaps you’re too close to the project.” Anna sat back in her chair and stared across at Carrie, her gaze appraising. “I think what the Avalon Inn needs is a fresh start, and someone who isn’t afraid to make the changes it so desperately needs.”
Carrie felt a sharp pain at the back of her throat. “What changes?”
Anna laughed. “Where to start? The staff, for one. The octogenarian client base. The furnishings. The style. The wasted land. There’s too much here for you to tackle, Carrie. You simply don’t have the experience.”
“It’s my inn,” Carrie said again, numbly. “I won’t...”
“And, to be honest with you,” Anna interrupted, “I could do with you back in the Manchester office. That temp you hired is a real waste of space.”
Carrie’s future flashed before her eyes. Stuck behind her desk in Manchester, dealing with unreasonable demands from brides and their families. Racing around the country to watch people she didn’t care about pledge their true love to each other. All while the Avalon was turned into some corporate identikit hotel...
“I won’t do it,” she said, with only the slightest wobble in her voice.
Room for Love Page 17
