“She hasn’t been here in six years,” he told the hedge he was cutting back. “Who the hell is she to tell me my job?”
“Your boss.” The words held just the right mix of sympathy and censure to stop him feeling sorry for himself. It could only be his grandmother.
“I know.” Nate sighed and lowered the hedge clippers.
“You left your lunch in reception,” Moira said, proffering another ubiquitous Tupperware box. “It’s ham and tomato today.”
“Sorry.” Nate took it from her and thought longingly of the roast he’d seen Jacob prepping earlier. But Gran liked to think she was looking after her boys. Really, how did you screw up a sandwich?
“Can’t have you going hungry.” Moira smiled and settled herself on the top of his step ladder. Apparently there was more to this talk than soggy sandwiches and an organizational chart reminder.
Nate returned to his hedge. Might as well get some work done while he listened.
“I know this is going to be hard for you, Nate,” Moira started, plucking a stray leaf from her skirt. “Nancy let you have free run of the place.” 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. “And 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.”
“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. Nancy and the Avalon Inn had straightened him out, even given him a vocation.
“Nancy took one look at me and put me to work in the gardens.” And twelve years later, when he’d been lost and confused, he could only think of one place to go–the Avalon Inn. And Nancy had saved him again.
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 become your home,” she said eventually, looking down at her hands. “But Nancy was a big part of that and she’s not here anymore, Nate.”
“I know that,” Nate said, trying not to let his irritation show. As if he hadn’t noticed.
Moira looked up and caught his eye. “Whether we like it or not, Carrie’s in charge here now. And I think she’s going to need our help if she’s going to make the Avalon Inn a success again.”
Nate broke away from her gaze. He’d seen the survey. He knew exactly how much help Carrie would need. More importantly, he knew where she planned to get it.
“Perhaps,” Moira went on, her tone delicate, “if you don’t feel you’ll be able to help her, for whatever reasons, it might be time for you to move on again.”
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 gray 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 and her boss to sort out the inn? There’d be nothing of the old Avalon left, and Nancy would never forgive him. Moira was right when she said Carrie would need help. He just had to make sure she got the right sort.
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 less than seventy-two hours left until Anna’s arrival, Carrie finally had a handle on her 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 Anna,” 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 Manchester, 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. Who to?”
“Graeme.” Ruth sighed the name. “I told you about him, last time you called. Remember?”
Racking her brains to try to remember when she last spoke to her cousin, Carrie was pretty sure it hadn’t been long enough for Ruth to reach the engagement part of any romance.
“That was two months ago,” Carrie said. They’d emailed since then, but Carrie had mostly been filling Ruth in on the deal for the inn, and maybe she hadn’t paid quite enough attention to her cousin’s responses. “It was just after the funeral. You said you were going on your second date.”
“I said I thought this was the one,” Ruth corrected. She sounded wounded, Carrie realized. “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 was even the first time Ruth had gotten engaged. By Carrie’s count they were up to three ex-fiances, with
not a wedding between them.
Carrie squinted at the papers, and shifted the completion of the terrace back a week. The work was bound to run over.
“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? Well, I 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 favorite color.”