“Get Gran and Cyb and I’ll tell you,” Nate decided. “May as well get it all done and over with in one go.”
“Sounds ominous,” Stan grumbled, leaving to fetch the others.
It was only fair to let Stan suffer a little bit before he set all their minds at ease. After all, as enjoyable as dancing with Carrie had been, that wasn’t exactly the way he’d wanted to go about it.
Nate still didn’t know what, besides bloody-mindedness, had possessed him to kiss Carrie Archer that first night on the terrace. But he did know that as each day went by, he found himself wanting to do it again, more and more.
Even when she was driving him up the wall.
“What’s the news?” Moira asked. The three Seniors crammed into the tiny backstage area where, hopefully, Carrie wouldn’t see them, get suspicious, and come to find out what they were up to.
Nate sighed. They were the worst plotters since Guy Fawkes and his cronies.
“She’s still not planning to sell, whatever her boss wants. The aim is still to turn this place into a wedding destination hotel.” He paused for the resulting sighs of relief. “But there’s a lot of work to do here if she’s going to convince her boss.” It had been running at a loss for the last six months, Nate knew, ever since Nancy took ill. Anna Yardley had to be looking at putting some significant money into it, if she decided it was worth her while.
“The place is fine as it is,” Stan grumbled, causing both Cyb and Moira to roll their eyes, much to Nate’s amusement.
“You clearly haven’t seen the survey,” he told Stan. “It’s not just the cosmetic stuff, there’s some real fundamental stuff that needs fixing.”
“And this carpet really has to go,” Cyb added, prodding at the paisley carpet with the toe of her sensible-heeled shoe.
Nate ignored her. “Carrie is going to need a lot of help to make this work.” He wasn’t sure even she realized how much.
The Seniors all nodded, without apparently appreciating his point.
“She’s got two weeks, no budget, and a bride who really wants to get married here. And us. That’s it. So we are going to give her all the help she needs,” he added in a firm tone.
The nods came slower this time, but they did come. Eventually.
“I could certainly help with choosing the soft furnishings,” Cyb said, looking around at the matching paisley-patterned curtains surrounding the backstage area. “My Harry always said I had quite an eye.”
“Of course we’ll help,” Moira said. “Any way that she needs us.”
They all turned to look at Stan. Eventually he glanced away and shrugged. “Well, it’s not like she could do it without us.”
Nate took that as all the agreement he was likely to get. He just hoped it would be enough.
Chapter 4
“Can’t we go back to meeting at the Avalon?” Cyb asked. In the corner of the Red Lion, a fruit machine paid out, resulting in flashing lights, chinking coins, tinny music and whoops of satisfaction from the crowd of young men gathered around it. The novelty of their new meeting place had most definitely worn off.
Stan gave her a stern look. “Not exactly the best way to keep our plans secret, now, is it?”
“But why do we have to be secret? We’re helping Carrie.”
Cyb looked to Moira for backup, but the other woman shook her head. “Because she’s Nancy’s granddaughter.”
Which made no sense at all. Cyb sat back in her chair and let her arms droop by her sides. “Well, I’m stumped.”
“Look at it this way,” Moira said with a gentle smile. “If you wanted Nancy to do something, even if it was for her own good, what did you have to do?”
“Pretend you wanted her to do the opposite,” Cyb answered promptly.
“And why was that?” Moira continued.
“Because she was an ornery old...” Stan started, but Moira shushed him.
“Because she always wanted to do everything herself, and do it her own way. You had to convince her everything was her own idea,” Cyb said, finally seeing where Moira was going. “You think Carrie’s the same?” And if so, she wasn’t the only one. Cyb cast a speculative glance at Stan.
Moira laughed. “From the stories Nancy used to tell, I know she is. So we need to tread carefully.”
“Fine,” Cyb said slowly. “But how do we do that?”
“Well, first we need to inform your blessed grandson of the plan,” Stan said to Moira, his voice gruff. “You know he got someone in to raise the terrace this morning? Without so much as a by-your-leave to Carrie.”
“How do you know that?” Moira asked.
“Izzie called me before you ladies got here.” He held up his aging mobile phone, which Cyb happened to know used to belong to his youngest granddaughter, as if it were the latest in modern technology. “Got to stay connected, haven’t we?”
“Did she really mind? I mean, it needed doing didn’t it?” Cyb asked, worried. After all, there was little point putting in new carpets and curtains if the whole building might fall down around them.
“Yes it did,” Moira said firmly. “It’s going to need a whole lot more doing to it, too. But at least this way it won’t have sunk into the marsh before they can get round to it.”
“And who’s going to do all that work, I’d like to know,” Stan muttered. “After Nate got rid of the builder, too.”
“She’s got a builder,” Moira told him, leaving Stan looking surprised. “Nate called some friends of his, and they’re coming out to the inn to give her a proper estimate this afternoon.” She gave Stan a sideways glance. “I imagine it was one of them at work on the terrace this morning.”
Stan stared at her, obviously not wanting to ask how she knew more than he did, until Moira pulled a considerably shinier and more streamlined phone from her handbag. “Nate keeps me informed.”
Cyb held back a fond smile. Yes, he wasn’t without his faults, but Stan was a good man. A caring, passionate man. And Harry had been gone a very long time. Maybe it was time for her to start living again, at last. Once she’d figured out a way to make Stan think it was his idea.
Stan cleared his throat, shrugged, and tried to take back control of the meeting. “Well, obviously the most important thing is that we keep the lines of communication open between ourselves. But let’s get back to the real issue. If we don’t want Carrie to know we’re helping, how are we going to help?”
“And without that awful boss of hers ever knowing we had anything to do with it,” Moira added.
They all sat in silence for a moment, considering their options.
“Well, let’s look at this logically,” Stan said, but Cyb wasn’t really listening. She was remembering how surprised Carrie had looked the night before when she’d realized how detailed their 40s night had been. How much effort they’d put in. “We want to help her, but she can’t know we’re helping...” Stan went on.
“I’ve got an idea,” Cyb interrupted, before she could think about it enough to convince herself it was a stupid idea, like so many of hers. “Carrie needs to deal with the big problems, right? Keep the inn standing.”
Stan sighed. “Yes, Cyb. That’s what we’ve been saying. So how can we help her? Moira? Any ideas?”
Moira shook her head. “I want to hear Cyb’s idea.”
Cyb couldn’t remember the last time anyone actually had wanted to hear one of her suggestions. They were happy to let her ramble on about the good old days, but when it came to things that mattered, everyone turned to Stan and Moira. But not this time. “Well, if we can’t help with the big things, we need to take care of the details, all the little things Carrie won’t have time to think of.”
There was silence, for a long moment. Cyb was just about to laugh and pretend she was joking when Stan spoke.
“Right. So. What sort of details are we talking about here? Perfumed soaps and things?”
Cyb smiled so widely she could feel new laugh lines forming. Maybe convincing Stan about other
things would be just as easy. Then she started telling them the rest of her idea.
* * * *
Carrie stared at the piles in front of her and sighed.
She’d finally caved and moved into Nancy’s office, a tiny, cluttered room behind the kitchen, just about big enough for a desk and a chair. Until then, she’d only popped in long enough to grab a file or a folder she needed to compile her lists. The sheer level of disorganization made it impossible to work in there.
But she couldn’t possibly get everything done camping out in the Green Room. It was time to start taking this seriously. Beginning with clearing out the damn office so she had somewhere to work.
She’d hoped to have it done before Nate’s builder friends showed up that afternoon, but she’d barely even cleared enough space to sort papers in. Maybe she could just bin it all and start again from scratch.
Jacob brought her some coffee after she’d been working for an hour or so.
“You are a coffee god,” she told him, taking a grateful sip.
Jacob shrugged and leaned against the doorframe. “I just fill the coffee maker. How’s it going?”
“Oh, you know.” Carrie didn’t want to tell him she’d cried the first time she came across one of Nancy’s scrawled notes on a printed page. “I think I’ve dug out the computer, at least.” She waved her mug at the yellowing plastic hulk on the corner of the desk.
“Just think, when you finish sorting the actual files, you can see how bad Nancy was at digital filing, too.” With that, Jacob disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Carrie glaring at the computer.
When her phone rang a few minutes later, Carrie knew she’d never find it before it rang off. But since it was either Ruth returning her call or Anna calling with more demands, she had to at least look, so she started rooting around amongst the papers.
The phone, silent again by that point, finally reappeared in one of the file drawers, and when she checked the display it told her she had a missed call from Ruth, which was considerably better than the alternative.
“Carrie!” Ruth said, picking up immediately when Carrie rang back. “I’ve been trying to call you all day. Doesn’t Wales have mobile reception?”
“Apparently not,” Carrie told her cousin, dropping onto the recently cleared desk chair. “How’s the wedding planning going?”
“Mother is already driving me insane over the guest list.”
Carrie thought having Aunt Selena as a mother would have driven her insane years before, but she didn’t mention it. Ruth was amazingly forbearing. “It’s a big day for her too,” she said in a half-hearted attempt to play devil’s advocate. “It’s not every day your only child gets married.”
“Graeme keeps suggesting we elope.” Ruth sighed on the other end of the line. “I’m pretty sure he’s joking.”
“I’m pretty sure he isn’t,” Carrie said, and laughed. “And I can’t say I blame him. One thing I’ve learned from my years of wedding planning is that it’s almost never an enjoyable experience for the groom.”
“Well, I’ll have to make it up to him after all this is over,” Ruth said. “I haven’t got time to do anything that isn’t wedding-related at the moment.”
Carrie resisted the temptation to suggest that the groom was somewhat wedding-related himself. Apart from anything else, she knew from past experience that wasn’t always the case until the big day.
“Well, you have set yourself a tight deadline,” she said instead, nurturing a faint spark of hope that Ruth might decide to push the wedding back by a few months. As long as she still booked, Carrie would have both money and time to make things really special for her cousin.
But Ruth said, “And thank God I did! It’s not my ideas for the day that are the problem. It’s the way my mother keeps trying to derail everything I want. I turn my back for an instant and my color scheme has changed or my cake is going to have butterflies on it. She tried to get rid of my Ecuadorian Cool Water roses the other day.”
Ruth really wanted those roses. She’d emailed a photo of them, along with one of her engagement ring. According to the website link under the photo, they were lavender, rare, and Carrie suspected her cousin might love them more than her fiance.
“It’s not feeling like your wedding anymore,” she said sympathetically. Carrie had seen it before with particularly overbearing parents. And for Uncle Patrick and Aunt Selena, this wouldn’t just be Ruth’s big day. It would be their chance to show their little piece of society that they were richer, better connected and generally more fabulous than any of them.
Carrie wasn’t entirely sure how the Avalon Inn would fit into those plans.
Not for the first time, she gave thanks that Peter Archer had been happy with an ordinary life, rather than trying to make a million before he turned twenty-five, then marrying into money when it hadn’t happened, as his brother had done. She liked Uncle Patrick well enough, but she was still glad he was her uncle, not her father.
“That’s it exactly.” Ruth’s voice sounded a bit hysterical around the edges, and Carrie heard her gulp back a sob before she calmed down to say, “I’m sorry. You’ve got enough to worry about. I know everything will be so much better once we’ve all been up to the Avalon and Graeme can picture us really getting married there.”
Carrie glanced around Nancy’s office. She was really going to have to do more tidying.
“About that,” she said. “Do you think you might be able to come up a week on Friday?”
“Probably. I can check Graeme’s diary, see what he’s got on.” Ruth paused. “Why then?”
“Oh, no reason. I just thought...”
“Liar.”
Carrie sighed, and wished she was better at lying to family members. “Because Anna’s given me two weeks to sell this place to a bride. Otherwise she’s pulling out of the deal.”
“Not happening,” Ruth said, her voice firm. “I’ll call Graeme now, get him to cancel any meetings he has that day. We will be there, checkbook in hand, ready to book.”
Carrie felt her shoulders start to relax for the first time that morning. “Oh, thank God for that.”
“I’ll probably have to bring mother, too, I’m afraid.” Ruth sounded more regretful than apologetic.
“Don’t worry. I’ll have to bring Anna.” That was far, far worse.
* * * *
That went well, Nate congratulated himself, waving goodbye to Matt as he drove away from the inn. Matt would be the perfect builder for Carrie, and the inn. Not only would he not try to rip her off, he was clear and honest and actually explained his reasoning for the suggestions he made.
“That went well,” he said out loud, as he heard Carrie come to stand behind him.
“Mmm.”
Okay, that went well apart from Carrie’s apparent indifference, he amended.
“Did you like Matt?” he asked, unable to imagine what she could possibly have not liked about him. He was just...Matt. What you saw was what you got.
“He seems fine,” Carrie said. “I wish he could start work sooner...”
“Two weeks is pretty good going.” Nate jumped to defend his friend. “We were damn lucky he had that cancellation.” Besides, Carrie wouldn’t have had the money to pay him before then, Nate suspected.
“Oh, I know that.” Carrie looked up and gave him a half smile. “I just wish he could have started work about three months ago.”
Ah. That, Nate could understand. It might all be over and ready by now.
“So, what are you going to do for the next two weeks, then?” he asked, teasing. “Lie around and eat chocolates while you wait for Matt to come and save you?”
“Not exactly.” Carrie’s gaze darted back to the interior of the inn. “I’ve got plenty to be getting on with for Anna’s next visit.”
“That’s true,” Nate said, frowning. There was something more he was missing here. “So I should let you get–” But Carrie had already wandered off in the direction of Nancy’s office, lea
ving Nate talking to himself by the open front door. “Right then.”
Time, he decided, to go find the Seniors. If anybody knew what the hell was going on now, it would be those gossip hounds.
He found them, rather surprisingly, in the kitchen. “Did the Red Lion run out of gin?” he asked, slipping in through the door and shutting it behind him.
“Shhh!” Cyb and Moira said together, turning to glare at him.
He held up his hands in apology, and his gran explained, “Carrie’s just next door.”
“And you don’t want her to know you’re here?”
“We don’t want her to know we’re talking about her,” Cyb corrected, and Nate thought, gossip hounds, again, with some satisfaction.
He hopped up to perch on the countertop, earning himself a glare from Jacob who, apparently, was trying to work through the invasion of his kitchen. “So, what’s the latest, then?”
“It’s Jacob who heard it,” Cyb said, clasping her hands together with excitement. “He should tell you.”
“No, please,” Jacob said, without turning around. “You go ahead. Elsewhere, for preference.”
They all ignored the last bit. “It seems,” Stan said, “Carrie received a phone call this morning. From our prospective bride.”
Nate blinked. This wasn’t exactly the big drama he was expecting. “Was this before or after Matt came to give his estimate?” Because that might at least explain her lousy mood, if the phone call was a bad one.
“Just before,” Jacob confirmed, attention still on his knife as he sliced potatoes.
“Any idea what it was about?”
They all looked at Jacob again, and the chef sighed, put down his knife and turned to face them. “All I heard was Carrie saying that all grooms hate weddings, and then, later when I popped back to get her coffee cup, she was arranging the show ’round for a week on Friday.” Jacob paused, apparently getting into the drama of storytelling after all. “And then...she suggested that they stay overnight. Have a romantic weekend here at the Avalon.”
“So we might possibly have our first overnight guests since Carrie took over,” Nate summarized, shrugging. “Well, at least we know the bride is predisposed to like the place.”
Room for Love Page 8