She put her pen down. What next?
“Have you seen my grandson?” Moira wandered into the drawing room, waving around a Tupperware box of the sort Carrie recognized from the staff fridge. It even had the label, which explained a lot. “I’ve brought him some lunch.”
“He was here a moment ago,” Carrie told her, picking up her pen again, in the hope of conveying an I’m very busy here, don’t disturb me vibe. “I’m not sure where he went, though.”
Izzie appeared at the other door. “Nate’s sorting out some dinner booking thing over in reception. But Stan’s looking for you, Moira. Said something about the music for tomorrow.”
“Oh dear.” Moira handed Carrie the Tupperware box. “Can you give this to Nate for me, dear? Or just put it in the fridge for him. I’d better go and see what Stan’s broken now.”
They were both gone before Carrie could argue that packed lunches really weren’t her job, and before she realized sorting out booking problems probably was.
It was so tempting just to let Nate deal with it. But if she wanted to run the Avalon Inn, she had to actually run it. So she packed up her lists, her survey and Nate’s lunch, and headed for reception.
* * * *
“But we sent you all our menu choices three weeks ago!” The man on the other side of the reception desk wasn’t getting any less irate since Nate had taken over from a very flustered Izzie.
“So I understand,” Nate said, in his calmest, most understanding voice. “Only we don’t actually have any record of your booking, and we don’t have a set menu at the moment we could’ve sent out for you to choose from.”
The man wasn’t listening. Neither were the thirty of his closest friends and family who’d come to help celebrate his wife’s sixty-fifth birthday.
“I’ve got the email right here!” Nate took the opportunity and grabbed the piece of paper that the man waved around the lobby.
Suddenly the problem became much clearer. “Um, sir, I think I understand what has happened here.”
“Well I’m glad somebody does! I want to talk to your manager.”
Which was, of course, the exact moment that Carrie Archer chose to walk into the lobby. Carrying one of his gran’s bloody packed lunches to boot. “What seems to be the problem here, Nate?”
Nate glanced down at the email. “Mr., uh, Jenkins, this is Carrie Archer, owner of the Avalon Inn. Carrie...”
But Mr. Jenkins wasn’t waiting for an explanation. He looked a little taken aback, whether at Carrie’s timely arrival, or her age, Nate wasn’t sure. Regardless, his demands hadn’t become any quieter. “I booked this private lunch three months ago. I paid a deposit. I sent menu choices. And now your staff are telling me they can’t find my booking!”
“I am so very sorry, sir.” Carrie shot a glare at Nate, and he clenched his jaw and stared down at the email. She wanted to handle it? Let her. “Why doesn’t your party come through to the bar for a complimentary drink while I try and resolve this issue for you.”
Mr. Jenkins looked faintly mollified when Carrie led them all into the main bar, gave instructions to Henry the part-time barman to hand out as much free booze as necessary, then shut the door on them before coming into the lobby.
“Before you say anything–” Nate started, but Carrie was already talking over him.
“You’re not talking now,” she said, her voice much sharper than it had been in the dim light of his summerhouse the night before. “I don’t know how my grandmother ran this inn, and I know I’ve only been here one day, but my understanding is that you are the gardener. A fact that was made abundantly clear by your treatment of our customer. So from now on, I would appreciate it if–”
“He isn’t our customer,” Nate broke in, attempting to keep a tight hold on his anger. Never mind that he’d been practically running the place since Nancy got ill and wouldn’t tell her family. No matter that he’d held everything together while they waited for Carrie to pack up her life in the city and grace them with her presence. Never mind that Mr. Jenkins was an idiot.
It stopped Carrie’s tirade for a moment, anyway. “What?”
“Mr. Jenkins. He’s not our customer.” Nate pushed the print out of the email across the reception desk and waited for Carrie to reach the hotel name in the signature.
“Arundel Hotel.” She didn’t sound particularly apologetic, Nate thought, but at least she seemed calmer.
“Yeah. It’s a couple of miles down the road.”
“Right.” Carrie shut her eyes and sighed. “Of course.”
Without an apology or a retraction, Carrie snatched the email from the desk and stalked off toward the bar to give Mr. Jenkins the good news that out there somewhere was a dining table set for thirty, and their food was going cold.
* * * *
Once the Jenkins party had been dispatched in taxis to the Arundel Hotel, Carrie took her pile of papers back to the drawing room, determined to finally get some work done.
Passing through the lobby, she saw Izzie in place behind the reception desk, shuffling piles of junk mail. She glanced up at Carrie.“If you’re looking for Nate–”
“I’m not,” Carrie told her, without breaking pace. She was, after all, perfectly capable of running the Avalon Inn without him.
She sat at the window seat, this time, to avoid anyone else sneaking up on her, and turned to The List.
1. Windows.
She should probably apologize to Nate, she realized. Sighing, she turned to stare out at the gardens. Whatever the bushes were by the driveway needed cutting back. And the beds under the windows were empty, she remembered.
Maybe Nate needed to apologize to her, actually. Or at least start doing his job.
Still, the gardens hadn’t even made it on to her priorities list yet. They certainly came after the bedrooms and the dining room, but probably not too much farther down. Photo opportunities were a huge selling point for wedding venues. She wondered if the inn had a pagoda.
The sharp beeping ringtone of her mobile phone seemed oddly out of place at the Avalon. Adding change ringtone to the mental list, Carrie answered it quickly, and only clocked the caller ID after she said, “Hello?”
“Carrie, hi.” Anna Yardley’s voice was as crisp as ever, but the sound of traffic behind it was distracting. “Do you really think this is the best way to go?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Not you. I have a taxi driver who seems to think the best way back to the Manchester office from Liverpool is via Scotland.”
“Right.” Anna had never, in all the time Carrie worked for her, agreed with a taxi driver about the correct route to anywhere. “What can I do for you?”
“This temp of yours. Where on earth did you get her?”
“The usual agency.” Carrie refrained from pointing out that Anna had seen all the CVs the agency sent over and chosen Naomi herself. She’d known this wasn’t going to work.
“Yes, well, their standards are obviously slipping, then.” The line crackled, and Carrie assumed Anna had put her hand over the mouthpiece and was talking to the driver again. “You do understand that we’re going to Manchester, right? Our country’s second city? Does this mean anything to you?”
“What’s wrong with Naomi?” Carrie asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.
“She doesn’t know anything!”
“It’s her first day,” Carrie said. “She’s probably still getting used to the office, and our systems.” And being dragged in to work on a Sunday, she thought, but didn’t add.
“Still, I can’t trust her to get on with things like I do you.” Anna sighed. “Temps are like taxi drivers. You have to watch them all the time.”
“Give it a couple of days, and it will be like she’s always been there.” Carrie tried to inject more cheer into her voice than she felt. If things worked out at the Avalon, she’d need to start splitting her time between Wales and Manchester, at least while the renovations were going on. Anna might have to get use
d to Naomi. “And I’ll be back in the office in a week or so.”
“That’s true. And maybe you could just take a look at a few of the things I need doing? When you get a moment?” Anna’s voice was wheedling, but Carrie was under no illusion that this was a request.
“Well, I–”
“Great. I’ll email them over now.” The phone went dead, and Carrie went to fish out her laptop and wireless dongle from her bag, adding get broadband and Wi-Fi sorted to her list as she went.
* * * *
Autumn was marching on and, given his mood, Nate saw no harm in getting stuck into some of the more energetic pre-winter garden jobs. After all, he was just the gardener. And he had a sudden urge to hack at stubborn roots and overgrown shrubs. Which had to be better than his earlier, similar urge to do with his new employer.
Besides, certain things had been let slide, he’d admit, while he’d been busy running the rest of the inn for Nancy. Time to get back to his garden where he belonged. Far away from Carrie Archer.