With a sigh of relief, Carrie sank into the optimistically laid extra place, let Nate pour her a glass of champagne and pretended she didn’t feel his hand give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze as he passed.
* * * *
They retired to the bar after the meal, where Izzie served them cheerfully and put up with Uncle Patrick’s smiles and looks without comment. Carrie left poor Graeme being interrogated by Selena about exactly how much he made in his professional life and dragged Ruth off to view the terrace again, ensuring they wouldn’t be overheard.
The air on the terrace smelled sharp and clear, and Ruth leaned against the possibly rotting wood and breathed in deeply, while Carrie hung back in the pool of light from the dining room, watching her.
“So?” she asked, withholding her cousin’s glass of wine until she answered.
“It’s wonderful, Carrie,” Ruth said, turning to smile at her, and Carrie handed her the alcohol with some relief. Ruth couldn’t lie convincingly to save her life. She liked it, Carrie was sure.
“Okay. Good.” Carrie moved to stand beside her and stared out at the Avalon grounds. If she squinted, she could almost see Nate’s summerhouse. “It’s everything you wanted?”
Ruth nodded, and said, “Absolutely. Especially now I know for sure that Graeme really wants to marry me.”
Carrie let out a long, slow breath. “Yeah, that was starting to worry me a little bit, too. But I think he made his intentions pretty clear today.”
“Yeah,” Ruth said, staring dreamily out into the dark.
“And what were you two whispering about at dinner, anyway?”
“The honeymoon.” Ruth’s smile turned naughty. “He’s got it all planned out, Carrie, and it’s going to be perfect. It’s like you said. He can’t wait to be married to me. He’s just not got much patience for the wedding itself.”
“Or your parents,” Carrie added.
“Exactly.” Turning to Carrie with an even more wicked grin, Ruth said, “So, this is the famous terrace, then?”
“Famous? You saw it earlier, Ruth.” Carrie pulled a face. “I think we can agree there isn’t anything glamorous about this terrace yet. Although, obviously, by Christmas Eve it will be–”
Ruth interrupted her with a roll of her eyes. “I meant the famous site of your oft-described first kiss.”
Carrie blinked. “When did I tell you about that?”
“Endlessly, when we were fifteen.” Ruth grinned. “In your defense, it wasn’t as if we had any other experiences with boys to discuss.”
She did remember long nights curled up on twin beds in the Pink Room talking about every moment of their lives, Carrie supposed. It was only natural it would have come up. “Oh. Well, yes. This is where it happened.”
Ruth threw an arm out along the terrace railing in an expansive gesture. “I can picture it now–you with that awful hair cut, him covered in spots...”
“You do realize we’re not fifteen any more, right?”
“You, dancing alone to the music inside. Him, sweeping you up in his arms, singing in each other’s ears while you danced...” Carrie could almost hear the music as Ruth spoke. “And then, he leans down and–”
“I’m never telling you anything again,” Carrie said, and Ruth laughed, high and bright and happy.
“Bit late now,” she said, but she stopped talking and Carrie sipped at her wine and allowed herself to start to relax. She had nothing else to do that night, no more convincing to do. It was going to be okay.
“What happened to Anna today, anyway?” Ruth asked, after a long moment’s companionable silence. “Not that I’ve been missing her or anything.”
“She couldn’t make it. Said she trusted me to take care of everything.” Carrie smiled at the memory. Anna might not always be the nicest boss, but she was successful. And she thought Carrie could do this. That mattered.
“Oh. Well, that’s good, I suppose.”
“Yes,” Carrie reassured her cousin. “It really is. Now, let’s go save your fiance from your mother before he changes his mind.”
“Never happen,” Ruth said with what sounded like absolute surety. But she followed Carrie back into the bar all the same.
It was gone midnight before Ruth, Graeme, Patrick and Selena finally retired to their assigned bedrooms, well-fed and dosed up on champagne, wine and liquor. If nothing else, Carrie thought, it had given her an insight into how much to order for the bar.
And by tomorrow morning she should have the money to do so. Uncle Patrick had been in no fit state to write any sort of deposit check by the time his wife dragged him up the stairs to bed. He probably wouldn’t even enjoy the wonderful four-poster he’d been so determined to stay in.
Nate caught up with her at the foot of the stairs, his bowtie hanging loose around his neck and his tuxedo jacket long since abandoned. “It went well,” he said, his voice soft. He caught the sleeve of her suit, his fingers warm through the fabric. “Better than I’d imagined.”
Carrie smiled. “It did, didn’t it?”
“This is going to work.” Nate sounded so sure, so certain, that for a moment Carrie couldn’t help but believe him. “All of it. Even Anna.”
“We’ll see,” she said, ducking her head to hide her smile.
“Trust me.” Nate bent down and tucked a finger under her chin, pulling it up again. “You’ve done wonderful things here.”
Carrie felt her shoulders relax and drop, as Nate’s other hand came up to wrap around her waist. Maybe he’d kiss her again. That would certainly help her get off to sleep.
They were silent, leaning against each
other in the darkness of the empty lobby. “You all helped,” Carrie said eventually. “I wanted to do it on my own, but...”
“You don’t have to do everything alone,” Nate said, and his voice was so low and wonderfully resonant against her body, that Carrie found herself swaying forward closer and closer to him.
“I’m starting to realize that,” she whispered.
Nate lowered his head just enough for her to catch his warm eyes. Carrie blinked and moved her gaze to his lips. They really were very close.
But then, suddenly, they were pulling away, and Nate was letting go of her waist and saying, “Well, time for you to get to bed.”
Carrie nodded, and held on to the banister for balance as his hand dropped from her arm too. “Guess so.”
Nate smiled, warm and still close enough for her to see the faint lines at the corners of his lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said. And he was away, through the front door, back to his summerhouse and farther away from her.
Carrie stood at the bottom of the stairs and thought about following him. Except he hadn’t invited her, had he? And she needed to be there in the morning, when her guests came down for breakfast. And she still didn’t know why he hadn’t kissed her. It’s not like he hadn’t done it before.
With a sigh, Carrie turned and made her way up the stairs toward the attic, pausing at the top of the first flight to listen to Uncle Patrick snoring away in Cyb’s old four-poster bed.
She fell asleep in Nancy’s bed, still wondering why Nate hadn’t kissed her.
* * * *
The thought lingered until the following morning when, after inhaling one of Jacob’s substantial breakfasts, Patrick handed her the deposit check, and Carrie managed to forget all about Nate Green and his lips for almost half an hour.
In fact, until Izzie said, “We should celebrate!” Then, suddenly, all Carrie could think about was exactly how she would like to celebrate with a certain gardener.
“We could have a party,” Jacob suggested, passing through with an English muffin and scrambled eggs for Carrie. “You forgot to eat breakfast again,” he said, handing it to her. For all that she was supposed to be their boss, Carrie was starting to think she was really just there to be looked after.