Authors: Sophie Pembroke
“She’s getting desperate, then.” Ruth laughed. “I suppose we should be grateful she hasn’t sabotaged the flowers or something.”
Carrie thought about phoning the florist to suggest dusting for prints, but decided convincing Ruth that everything was okay was a higher priority. “Absolutely. Are all your guests here?”
“All except Auntie Celia.” Ruth leaned back in her chair and sighed. “God, they’re exhausting. How do you deal with people all day?”
“To be honest, not really a problem so far at the Avalon.”
Ruth smiled, her eyes still closed. “Give it time.”
Assuming Anna let her. They might be family, but there was no way Uncle Patrick would cough up the final part of the payment if the wedding was a total disaster.
“Okay, the roses are...” Nate paused in the doorway as Carrie made frantic hand motions at Ruth, who sat straight up and stared at him. “Here,” Nate finished, not entirely convincingly.
“Really? Great.” Ruth turned back to Carrie. “Can we go and see them?”
Carrie glanced at Nate for guidance.
“Um, actually, the florist has requested that no one see the flowers until she’s finished arranging them,” he said. “She’s quite an artist.”
“I’d heard that about her,” Carrie added, hoping to lend some credence to Nate’s rather thin argument.
Ruth looked like she might argue, but then they heard the inn door open again and a woman demand a room from Izzie. Ruth bounced to her feet and dashed out. “Auntie Celia!”
Carrie sighed with relief, and turned back to her list. “So the flowers are sorted?” she asked, not looking up at Nate.
“They’re in the process of being sorted.” Nate perched on the chair opposite, staring at her. Carrie could feel his eyes on her. “Have you got a moment to...”
“Haven’t even got a second,” she said, getting to her feet. “Far too much to do today.”
Nate stood, too. “So what do you want me to do next?”
Carrie handed him the list. “Take your pick.”
Nate winced. “Maybe I’ll go check on the flowers again.”
* * * *
“Are you sure this is going to work?” Nate asked, watching nervously as the pure white roses the local florist had provided were lowered stem first into the food coloring and water mix.
“Should do,” Cyb assured him, cutting the bottoms off the stems of the next bunch. They weren’t quite the same. Nate had needed to visit every florist in the county to get anywhere near enough blooms in the first place. Still, once they were all purple, who was going to notice?
“Usually it takes a couple of days,” Moira added from her wheelchair. “But we’ve added a bit more coloring, so hopefully it will take quicker.”
Nate wasn’t finding any of this particularly comforting. And he was very aware that he’d just told Carrie and Ruth that the flowers were all sorted.
“Just leave it with us,” Cyb said, prodding him toward the door.
“Yes,” Moira added, snipping the end off another rose. “Don’t you need to get ready for tonight’s dinner?”
Nate wasn’t entirely sure how he’d ended up as a guest, rather than a server, at the rehearsal dinner. He suspected it might have something to do with Ruth and her machinations, though.
“Probably,” he said, sighing. “Do you think I need to wear a suit?”
“Yes,” Cyb and Moira said together.
“Definitely,” his gran added firmly. “With a tie.”
Nate suspected as much. But as he tightened the tie around his neck later that evening, he couldn’t help wishing he was spending the evening tucked up on the summerhouse sofa with Carrie.
His phone rang, and he grabbed for it where it lay on the counter.
“Mate, you might want to get up here,” Jacob said, and Nate could hear the clattering of the kitchen in the background.
“I’m on my way,” he assured him, tugging on his jacket. “What’s happening there?”
“Things are starting to get a bit...manic,” Jacob said, although his tone said
understatement
.
“I’m leaving now,” he promised her, and heard Izzie wailing, “Jacob!” in the background as he hung up.
The rehearsal dinner, as he understood it, should be a chance for the main wedding party to have some quiet time together before the larger festivities of the next day. He suspected it might not be quite so peaceful.
Nate snuck into the inn by way of the kitchens, wanting to scope the place out before he had to face any of the actual guests. Jacob stood at the burners, surrounded by bubbling pots and clueless-looking temporary waiting and kitchen staff.
“Everything okay in here?” Nate asked, needing to shout above the noise of the kitchen.
“Just fine,” Jacob replied, although from his tone Nate suspected it was more of a
I’ll be just fine if you all bugger off and leave me to get on with it
. “Get through to the bar and tell Carrie ten minutes until starters are served.”
Nate took the hint, and left the kitchen before he got food on his nice clean shirt.
He passed through the dining room on his way to the bar. The tables for the wedding reception were already set up, lace tablecloths in place, although without the china or the centerpieces they looked bare and unwelcoming. Nate spared a thought for his grandmother and Cyb, watching roses slowly turn lavender in Moira’s kitchen.
God, he hoped they were going to be ready in time.
Passing the now fully decorated and sparkling tree in the lobby, Nate could already hear Patrick Archer’s loud, raucous laugh amidst the chatter of conversation emanating from the bar. He paused to straighten his tie in the mirror hanging in reception, and pushed open the door.
Patrick held court in the middle of the bar, accompanied by his brother, Peter, and a woman Nate assumed must be Carrie’s mother.
Hell of a time to meet the mother-in-law.
Somehow, even though he knew full well Ruth was Carrie’s cousin, it hadn’t quite clicked that it would be her family at the Avalon for the wedding, too. No wonder she was so nervous. He’d have to go and introduce himself later, he supposed, say hello to Peter again. But his immediate priority was their daughter.
Carrie had been cornered at the bar, the best man, Elliott, leaning over her as she shrank back on her barstool. Nate remembered Elliott from the stag night, and not particularly fondly. Henry appeared to be keeping Carrie’s wineglass full, which was something. Ignoring the rest of the room, Nate set about rescuing Carrie from the overbearing bore, only to be halted in his tracks by a firm grip on his arm.
“Nate,” Ruth said, with the fixed sort of smile that suggested she’d already been around her family for too long, and it wasn’t even the wedding day yet. “I was wondering if you’d decided to decline my invitation.”
“Not at all,” Nate assured her, still looking over her shoulder at Carrie. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
A mocking laugh from his right informed him that Ruth was not alone. When he glanced across to see Anna muscling in on the conversation, he understood why Ruth had been hunting for somebody else to speak to.
“You’ve met Anna, right, Nate?” Ruth said, sounding a little desperate now.
“Briefly.” Nate gave Carrie’s ex-boss a flash of a smile. “We met on your earlier tour of the Avalon Inn.” He declined to mention the fact he’d been studiously avoiding her ever since.
Anna scrutinized him, as if trying to place him in her mind. “Ah, of course,” she said, finally. “The gardener.”
Nate nodded. “That’s right,” he said, but flicked his attention to the bar, where Carrie was clearly trying to get down from her barstool and escape, but Elliott’s arm stretched out to the wall to keep her firmly in place. “If you’ll excuse me just a moment...”
As he moved away to the bar, he heard Anna say, “So sweet of you to invite the help, Ruth. But really, I thought this was meant to be for family?”
He didn’t hang around long enough to find out it Ruth was rude enough to point out that, technically, Anna was ‘help’ too. He suspected not.
“Carrie, Jacob asked me to tell you the starters will be served shortly.” Nate leaned against the wall beside her, close enough that the best man had to move his arm to avoid touching him.
The look Carrie gave him wasn’t actually as grateful as he’d expected. “Perhaps you could ask our guests to move through to the drawing room, then.” She slipped off the stool and gave Elliott a much sweeter smile than she’d given Nate. “If you’ll excuse me? I’ll just go and check in with the chef.”
“Of course.” The best man swept his arm out to encompass the crowd. “Anything for the cause of really good food.”
Nate watched her go. He wanted to follow, to ask if she was okay, but Carrie was very clearly in work mode, and he had been given his orders.
With a sigh, he started ushering the guests through.
He followed the last of them–Ruth’s Auntie Celia–into the drawing room, only to discover that his name card had been moved since he’d helped Izzie lay the table earlier. Now, instead of sitting beside Carrie at the far end of the table, he was a few seats farther along. And seated opposite Anna bloody Yardley.
Nate poured himself a glass of wine and decided to make the best of it. Chances were, Anna wouldn’t want to speak to the help, anyway.
He realized his mistake as they tucked into the starters. “So, Nate, I understand Carrie inherited you from her grandmother.”
Nate blinked at Anna across his plate of seafood crepe, and wondered why that sounded so wrong. “I suppose you could say that. I worked for Nancy for the last two years.”
Anna looked sympathetic. “And how are you finding the adjustment? It’s always hard when a new boss comes in, isn’t it? I’m sure the staff is struggling.”
Nate glanced up the table to where Carrie sat. She looked like she was listening courteously to whatever dull university story Graeme was telling, but Nate was pretty sure her attention was actually engaged farther away–eavesdropping on him and Anna. Maybe he could win back a few brownie points. “Actually, everyone here thinks Carrie’s doing a really good job.”
Anna looked skeptical. “There’s an awful lot to do to bring the inn up to scratch, though.” She gazed around the drawing room, at the shelves of tatty books and faded wallpaper, as if cataloguing errors.
“She’s made a really good start,” Nate said, not wanting to acknowledge how much there still was to do. “And everyone here is very supportive of her.”
Carrie was actually leaning back a little now, Nate could see. No way she wasn’t listening.
Anna, on the other hand, leaned forward across her still half full plate. “But, really. You can be honest with me. Do you truly think she has what it takes?”
Nate gritted his teeth. This had gone far enough. “I think she has more than what it takes. But I think her job would be a lot easier if she didn’t have you on her back trying to undermine her and sabotage everything she does.” He kept his voice low and even, but from the way Carrie’s head whipped ’round, he suspected he hadn’t been quite as quiet as he’d thought.
Anna sucked her breath in through her teeth, and sat back in her chair. “Well, from your reaction, I can see Carrie doesn’t think she’s coping so well. Especially if a little thing like having her ex-boss on site is causing her to exhibit so much paranoia.”
She looked pleased at the concept, and Nate realized that perhaps he’d misjudged this conversation entirely.
Chapter 13
By the time they’d reached the desserts, Carrie had almost gotten over Nate’s blow-up at Anna. And, she figured, having to sit opposite her ex-boss’s knowing smirk for the rest of the evening was probably punishment enough.
She still had some other outstanding issues to discuss, however.
So when the rehearsal dinner party moved to the bar for brandies, liqueurs and sneaky cigars on the terrace, Carrie kept her eye on Nate, and when she saw him slip out the terrace doors, she followed.
She found him, farther down the terrace from the illicit smokers, leaning against the terrace rail just outside the darkened dining room. Opposite the door she’d opened the night before and seen him...
Well. She’d known Izzie couldn’t keep a secret.
“So, I guess we missed our talk again,” he said, as she drew near, and Carrie could hear the forced nature of the nonchalance in his voice.
She stepped up to stand beside him, arms wrapped around her middle against the biting December air, and they both stared at their dim reflections in the glass doors. “Well, I stopped by,” she said, and felt his body tense beside her. “You seemed a little busy.”
“Carrie, it wasn’t what it looked like.” Nate twisted his body to face her, and Carrie made a real effort not to inch away.
“You know how many time men have used that sentence over the centuries?”
Nate winced, and she sighed. She had too much going on to care about this. She needed to be focusing on the wedding.
“Okay, then. Tell me what it was.”
“It was my ex-girlfriend, Mel. The one I went to London to see?”
“Not sure exactly how that’s supposed to make me feel better,” Carrie said, refusing to take any pleasure in the fact he’d still called her his ex.