Authors: Sophie Pembroke
–And probably chairs, tables and crockery
–Definitely replace curtains
“At least you’re leaving the walls intact,” he muttered, and Carrie glanced up in surprise, as if she hadn’t realized he was there. “Come on, you can mentally tear down the kitchen, next.”
Actually, he thought as Carrie trotted after him, it was possible the kitchen might prove a saving grace. Not the room itself, although it was at least hyper-hygienic, thanks to Jacob’s obsessive nature, but what it stood for. The Avalon had always been famous locally for its food. Nancy liked to put on a good spread for any occasion, and hired the best chefs to make it happen.
Yes, ten minutes chatting about roast lamb and sticky toffee pudding with Jacob should have Carrie falling in love with the inn, he reckoned. Especially if Jake provided samples.
Unfortunately, when they entered the kitchen, it became clear Jacob had other priorities.
“I know that, Sally. But she promised...” Jacob stopped shouting into his mobile and ran a hand through his disordered hair. “Look, I’m at work. Can’t you just–” Looking up, Jacob spotted them in the doorway and abruptly fell silent.
“Don’t mind us,” Nate said, finally regaining control of the situation and shuffling Carrie into the hallway. “We’ll come back later.”
“Who’s Sally?” Carrie asked, her pen poised on her notebook, looking like a teacher about to write up a detention note for Jacob.
Nate considered how much to tell her while guiding her back to reception. It was Jacob’s business, not hers. But he wouldn’t want her thinking Jake made a habit of slacking off.
“Childminder,” he said eventually, wondering where Gran had got to and if she’d be free to step in. Except Jacob was already feeling guilty about the number of hours of unpaid care Moira put it. Felt, he’d confessed over several beers the previous weekend, he should be able to take care of Georgia himself. That it was failing, somehow, to have to rely on Gran. “Sounds like Jacob’s ex wasn’t able to pick Georgia up today, after all.”
Because she’s a self-centered bitch who’s probably too busy off playing with her new, rich boyfriend,
he added in his head. The woman was only supposed to have her daughter two afternoons a week. Not exactly hard to arrange.
“Happens a lot, does it,” Carrie asked, stepping into the lobby, her tone disapproving. Nate cursed silently. He shouldn’t have mentioned the ex.
“God, all the time,” Izzie said from behind the reception desk. “She’s such a...”
“Did you bring in Miss Archer’s bags, Iz?” Nate interrupted, and Izzie jumped up.
“Was I supposed to? You didn’t say...” Nate raised his eyebrows at her. “I’ll just go and...”
“Great.” Nate shepherded Carrie in the direction of the stairs. “I’m not sure how well you know the inn,” he said, desperate to change the subject,
Carrie made a noise that was almost a snort. “I practically grew up here.”
Which didn’t explain why she hadn’t been back since he’d arrived, Nate thought. Didn’t explain why she hadn’t been there when Nancy got sick.
He pushed the thoughts away. He had to work with this woman–for now, anyway.
“Then you’ll know we’ve got twelve bedrooms here, each individually decorated. Shall we start at the eastern-most end?”
The bedrooms didn’t meet with Carrie’s approval, either. By the time they reached number twelve, the largest of the rooms, her renovations list stretched onto its sixth page, and Nate could feel a serious headache building behind his eyes,
“It’s not what you were expecting,” he said, watching Carrie add
bridal suite–total makeover!
to her list.
Carrie sighed. “It’s just there’s such a lot to do.”
Nate thought, not for the first time that afternoon, it might be better for all of them if Carrie Archer just sold up and left. Why bother keeping the inn if she planned to destroy everything that made it Nancy’s Avalon?
Which led him to the last stop on their tour. “Let’s go see if Izzie’s brought your bags up yet.”
The rickety stairs up to Nancy’s bedroom gave out ominous creaks under their feet, but for once Carrie didn’t comment. Didn’t say anything at all until they were enclosed in the stuffy attic room, the autumn sunlight creeping through the window and making the dust motes glow.
“I haven’t been up here in years,” Carrie said, touching each of Nancy’s trinkets and treasures in turn as she moved around the cluttered room. When she reached the bed and spotted her bag in the middle of it, she stopped and looked over at the window and the dressing table instead.
It felt strange to see another woman in Nancy’s space, Nate realized. He’d never expected, when he arrived at the Avalon, that he’d spend much time in the cramped attic Nancy had chosen for herself. Quite aside from the fact that he had to duck his head just to stand in there, he’d never felt very comfortable in such a personal space. Still, toward the end, Nancy had grown more and more tired in the afternoons, but remained too stubborn to succumb to the idea of afternoon naps. Instead, she’d called work meetings in her room, lounging on top of the jewel-colored patchwork bedspread while Nate folded himself into the white wicker chair at her dressing table, taking notes on all the things she wanted done around the inn.
And her family hadn’t noticed she was ill. Not even her beloved granddaughter.
“I don’t imagine it’s changed much,” he said, staring at the string of silver bells hanging from the window frame.
Carrie’s head jerked up at his words, but Nate could tell she didn’t really see him. Her attention flicked away again, drawn to a photo on Nancy’s dressing table, a picture of a child in a summer meadow. Carrie, he assumed.
“She loved that photo,” Nate said, feeling something catch at the back of his throat.
“It was the most perfect day.” Carrie’s voice sounded very far away. “We chased butterflies through the field and had ice cream on the terrace. Just me and her. She even let me use the cut glass cocktail glasses for ice cream bowls.”
Suddenly, unexpectedly, Nate realized he might have something in common with Carrie Archer after all. She missed her grandmother. Maybe even as much as he did.
“I’m sorry,” Nate said. He stepped closer to her automatically, though he stopped himself from reaching out to touch her.
But then, he didn’t move away, either.
“Why didn’t you call us?” Carrie’s question was abrupt, and Nate could hear real pain in her voice, this time. “When she got sick. We could have...”
“She didn’t want anyone to know.” Nate’s jaw felt tight, making him force the words out. “She didn’t want...pity, I suppose. She wanted to face it alone.”
“She let you help,” Carrie said, sounding bitter.
Nate shrugged. “I’m paid staff. It’s different.” He sighed, and tried to find the right words to explain. “You know what she was like. She didn’t want to interrupt your lives with her problems.”
“You should have told us anyway.”
The accusation in Carrie’s voice broke Nate’s reserve. She could not, would not blame him for this. “If you’d visited–hell, if you’d even paid attention when you called–you’d have known. It was blindingly obvious to anyone who loved her.”
Stark silence followed. Carrie flicked her gaze to the photo and it stayed there, as if she were living in some half-forgotten yesterday. “She sounded tired.” Her voice sounded very small, now. “But I thought... She was old, Nate. I just thought it was age. I saw her at Christmas and she seemed fine. And I thought if something was really wrong that she’d
tell
me...”
“She was a stubborn old thing,” Nate said fondly. Carrie huffed a laugh and put the photo on the dressing table. But when she looked up and met his eyes, she still seemed to be watching something very far away in time.
“Do I know you?” she asked, her voice faint.
Nate blinked, and was just considering the best way to deal with what appeared to be some sort of weird stress-related amnesia, when Carrie shook her head, her cheeks pink, and went on, “I’m sorry, I mean, have we met before? You just look familiar, somehow.”
Letting out a breath of relief, Nate grinned. “You know, a lot of people say that to me.”
Carrie smiled back, faintly. “Guess you’ve got one of those faces. What about the people downstairs? Stan, and Moira and...”
“Cyb,” Nate finished for her. “The Seniors... They’re old friends of Nancy’s, like they said.”
Carrie nodded slowly. “Ye-es, but what are they doing here?”
Nate resisted the urge to wince, while he tried to think of the best way to put it. Perhaps best to start out softly, he decided. “Well, they’re all very attached to the inn, and they live locally. And I know they were all very excited to meet you. I guess they couldn’t wait.”
All of which was scrupulously true, if slightly misleading. Nate liked to avoid outright lies whenever possible. But he wasn’t above a bit of misdirection.
Carrie seemed to be buying it, anyway. She ran a hand down her skirt to straighten it, and Nate could almost see her packing away her feelings and getting back to the task in hand. “Right, then. I’ll have plenty of time for this later. What do you want to show me next?”
It was too late, though, he thought. He’d seen that she cared. There had to be a way he could use her emotional attachment to preserve Nancy’s Inn.
“Why don’t we head down to the drawing room,” he suggested. “Nancy left some papers and things to be given to you. Might as well make a start sooner as later.”
And if words from beyond the grave didn’t guilt Carrie into doing the right thing by the Avalon, he’d just have to find something else that would.
* * * *
It was only once they started touring the rooms that Carrie realized how inaccurate her original impression had been. Not only had the Avalon Inn changed, it hadn’t been for the better.
She’d remembered the bedrooms as cozy and charming, but the ones Nate showed her were just shabby. The dining room looked tired, and no one would want to hold their wedding reception on a carpet so hideously patterned. Even the drawing room and library were filled with lumpy chairs and paperback novels missing pages or covers.
Anna would hate every inch of the place.
And, if that wasn’t enough, Carrie’s bag sat in Nancy’s bedroom, not the tiny box room she’d made her own in childhood. Nothing was as it should be.
Carrie had arrived expecting a dream wedding venue. What she’d gotten instead was fast approaching a nightmare. And apparently the decor was only a part of it.
“There’s a lot to be done,” Nate said, dropping into the leather wingback chair opposite hers, framed by the bay window of the front drawing room. The Seniors appeared to have scampered off to wherever they came from, probably for tea and a nap, much to Carrie’s relief. She looked up from the notebook where she’d been creating her Avalon Inn To Do List as their tour threw up new problems and jobs.
“So I can see,” she said, adding,
patch drawing room chairs
when her left hand found a hole in the leather of her seat.
“More than just the cosmetic,” Nate clarified. He pulled open the file drawer in the desk beside him, and handed her a thick wodge of paper. “This is a survey of the inn your gran had done last year.”
“You’ve seen this?” Carrie asked Nate, leafing through the pages.
Nate nodded, his face sympathetic. And not without cause, Carrie thought. It looked like the surveyor hadn’t found a single part of the inn that didn’t need
something
done to it.
“New windows, rotting terrace... Possible roof issues?” Carrie sighed. “Well, this is going to be fun.”
Nate winced. “Yeah. Looks like your redecorating might have to wait.”
Carrie couldn’t quite decide if he sounded pleased. “It all needs doing, sooner or later.” Nate might not like the idea of updating the inn, but if Carrie managed to convince Anna to pay for the structural work, she would definitely want to redecorate, too.
“There are some other papers, too,” Nate said, his voice softer. He held a small pile of letters out before him, and Carrie reached across, feeling some resistance when she tugged them out of his hands.
On the top sat an envelope marked ‘
Carrie.
’ She’d have recognized the handwriting anywhere in the world. But here at the Avalon, there was only ever one person it could be from.
Carrie swallowed around the lump that had taken up residence in her throat and wondered how long it would take her to work up the courage to open it.
Nate braced his hands against the arms of his chair and pushed himself to his feet. Carrie glanced up. He looked even more absurdly tall when he was the only one standing.
“Well, you don’t need me here for this,” he said, just as Izzie stuck her head around the door from the bar, saying, “Nate? Jacob’s got some kind of childcare crisis, and he’s supposed to be giving me a lift home. Can we...”
“Yeah, sure,” Nate said, with a wave of his hand. “I’ll walk you out. I need to talk to Jacob about menus for next week, anyway.” He stopped by the door and turned back to where Carrie waited patiently for him to realize his mistake. “If that’s okay with Carrie. I mean, Miss Archer.”
It was fun to see a grown man truly flustered, Carrie decided. And it took her mind off what they needed menus for next week. She’d find out soon enough. “Fine. I’ll see you both tomorrow, Izzie.”