Читать книгу The Love Trilogy - Sophie Pembroke - Страница 25

Chapter 17

Two weeks later, the Avalon was almost unrecognisable from the ramshackle inn she’d found on her arrival. Standing on the front steps, Carrie waited for Ruth’s family, and, please God, this time, the prospective groom. Either side of her, Nate’s flowerbeds were still blooming bright pink, but tempered by some pale white lobelia spreading out to fill the gaps, and dimming the luminous quality of the pink. Above the flowerbeds, the new windows, while hugely expensive, kept the feel of the building with their dark grey leading and, more importantly, kept out the wind. Behind them, new curtains, new carpets and a few carefully selected pieces of new furniture were ready and waiting to wow.

“Any sign?” Nate’s head appeared over her shoulder, as he peered down the driveway.

“Not yet.” Carrie sighed. She should probably be doing something more productive than just waiting. She contemplated checking The List again, but decided she couldn’t bear it.

Nate stepped around her, and hopped down the steps onto the gravel driveway. “Well, we’re ready for them when they do get here.”

“I hope so.” Carrie dropped to sit on the top step, her binder and notes resting on her knee.

“Of course we are.” Nate looked affronted at the suggestion. She supposed he had a right. Everyone had put in a phenomenal amount of work over the past few weeks, but Nate had done more than most.

They waited in companionable silence, Carrie running through her talking points in her head, until Jacob stuck his head out of the bar-room window.

“Are these people habitually late?” he asked, flushed red and looking rather cross. “Because that’s the sort of thing you should warn a chef about, you know.”

Carrie winced. Jacob had been talking about precise timings and cooking schedules for several days, and she’d tried to listen, really she had. It was just pretty dull, and she had bigger concerns. “Will the food be all right?”

Jacob looked even more offended. “The food will be magnificent. Not least because I know rich people are always late, and made a last-minute adjustment to the cooking schedule this morning.” He glanced at his watch. “Although, if they’re not here in half an hour...”

“Are they running late?” Cyb asked, popping up next to Jacob in the window.

“Apparently,” Nate said, shading his eyes to look up at her. In the sunlight, his dark hair shone, and his skin turned a shade or two darker. And against the backdrop of the Welsh-mountain view, he somehow looked even taller than normal.

Carrie blinked. Not what she should be focusing on. “I’m sure they’ll be here any moment now.”

“What sort of car do they drive?” Izzie asked from behind her. Carrie turned to her erstwhile receptionist and wondered if having Izzie on the front desk today would prove to be a mistake. Too late now, anyway.

“I expect we’ll find out when they arrive,” she said, adding a hint of so get back to your desk to her voice.

Izzie carried on regardless. “Only, Henry the part-time barman just called from the village to say there was some huge four-by-four thing clogging up High Street. Wondered if it might be them.”

Groaning, Carrie got to her feet. Of course they’d have come through the village. The Avalon Inn stood just outside the town of Coed-y-Capel, and just before the village of Felinfach. There was a perfectly serviceable dual carriageway past Coed-y-Capel that let off just before the Avalon driveway. So of course they’d have come through the village instead. “Almost certainly. And that means they’ll be here any moment, I’m sure.”

Nate gave her a wicked grin. “Places, everyone,” he said. “The show’s about to start.”

As the bar window closed and Izzie scooted back behind her desk, they heard the telltale noise of wide tyres on gravel.

Carrie stood, transfixed by the approaching vehicle, every single point and question on her list forgotten. What the hell was she going to show them? Tell them? How was she going to convince...?

Nate stepped forward, cupped a hand over her shoulder, and suddenly everything came back into focus. Carrie took a deep breath and met his eyes.

“Good luck,” he said, but in his face she saw more: reassurance, belief and a touch of concern. “I’ll be down on the south lawn if you need me.”

Carrie shook her head. “I’ll be fine. I’ll see you on the tour.”

Nate nodded and stepped away.

Carrie watched him go, and almost forgot about the car coming up the driveway.

“Carrie!” One hand clutching her fiancé’s, Ruth stepped down from Uncle Patrick’s ridiculously oversized car and dashed towards her. Carrie, in turn, braced herself for an overenthusiastic hug. Ruth was always desperate to remember she had family members she actually liked after forced proximity to her parents.

“Wine’s chilling,” she whispered to her cousin.

“Good. Because I’m not going to make it through dinner without it,” Ruth murmured back. Just the sort of mood she wanted her bride in, Carrie thought.

Pasting on a smile, she turned her attention to the rest of the group. “It’s lovely to see you all. Won’t you step inside?” Carrie moved aside to let them pass, concentrating on observing their apparent states of mind.

Graeme, Ruth’s intended, hovered at the back, looking as if he might bolt, until Ruth grabbed hold and tucked her hand through his arm. Then he smiled, weakly, eyes on his shoes more than the inn. Not good.

“Carrie, this is Graeme,” Ruth said, dragging him closer.

“It’s great to finally meet you.” Carrie smiled more warmly this time.

“You too,” Graeme replied, his gaze already wandering to the inn itself. God, she hoped he liked it. Or loved Ruth enough to get married there anyway. Either worked for Carrie.

Uncle Patrick gave Carrie a warm hug on the steps, but Aunt Selena only managed a vague smile as she passed, keeping a good foot of air between her and her husband. Uncle Patrick wasn’t going to give Carrie anything she hadn’t earned, even if Selena agreed to it. He hadn’t got rich by giving money away, he always said. Still, Uncle Patrick doted on his only daughter. And the idea of making all his guests trek from around the country up to the wilds of North Wales would appeal to him. He liked making people work for the benefits of his wealth.

More than that, she got the feeling that Uncle Patrick wanted some slice of his childhood, or his mother, back through the Avalon. He’d certainly seemed possessive enough during their conversations. As if he were already part owner. And as if he had final say in what Carrie did there.

All the more reason to find another option for long-term investment, Carrie decided. But for now, Uncle Patrick was still all she had.

“Welcome to the Avalon Inn,” Izzie said, smiling broadly from behind the reception desk. The sunlight streaming through the doorway lit up her blonde hair, and Uncle Patrick suddenly looked a good deal more engaged with the visit. Carrie bit back a smile. Perhaps having Izzie on Reception today wasn’t such a bad idea after all. She’d mentioned to Carrie after his last visit that he’d spent all his time in the bar trying to chat her up. Poor Izzie. Still, she’d assured Carrie that she could handle herself.

“Well, it certainly looks brighter in here,” Selena said, apparently unaware of her husband’s new interest.

“It’s stunning,” Ruth added, spinning around in the centre. “I can’t even really tell what you’ve done, but whatever it was...”

A whole lot of time, money and effort, Carrie thought, but didn’t say. If people wanted to believe Carrie had magical decor powers, she was all for it.

“Thank you,” she said, instead. “We really wanted the inn to reflect your style, for your wedding.” A half-truth, really. Carrie wanted the inn to reflect her style, but that wasn’t miles away from Ruth’s, anyway.

Patrick was already re-introducing himself to Izzie at the counter, and it appeared, from the rather sour look on Selena’s face, his wife had finally noticed his interest. Time to move on.

“If you’d all like to come with me through to the drawing room...” Carrie said, holding the door open for them so they’d have no option but to go through. As she turned to follow them, she nodded at Izzie in a way she hoped the receptionist would remember meant bring coffee.

They were an odd-looking family, Carrie thought, taking her seat. Selena’s tall, willowy blondeness, tempered in Ruth with Patrick’s shorter stature, meant their daughter was petite, with bright yellow hair and her father’s hazel eyes. Their newest member-to-be, Graeme, sat as close to his fiancée as he could physically manage, with Patrick on his other side. Still nervous around the in-laws, she’d bet. Carrie tucked the realization away in case it proved useful later.

Shuffling her papers, Carrie started into her talk. “Thank you all for coming to the Avalon Inn today. I really hope what we have to show you will convince you that the Avalon is the best place for this very important day.”

“Very expensive day,” Patrick joked, digging an elbow in Graeme’s ribs.

Carrie ploughed on. “Now, obviously Ruth and I have been working on the wedding details—”

“They’ve been planning it since they were six,” Patrick put in. Carrie ignored him.

“So I have a pretty good idea of the sort of set-up you were looking for. As such, we’ve tried to prepare the inn in a manner sympathetic to what you hope for the day. That said, any changes you would like to make, of course, please let us know.” All business, that was the way to go. Forget they were family, focus on the details.

They all nodded, and Carrie allowed herself a very small feeling of relief. Maybe she would make it through the day after all.

“I also understand there may be some additions to the guest list,” Carrie said neutrally.

Selena glared at her husband. “Apparently so.”

Patrick glared back. “Twenty of them are your family! Anyone would think you didn’t want this wedding at our family inn.”

“Anyway,” Carrie broke in, keen to keep things civil, at least, “I just wanted to let you know that we think we may have a solution for that, too. But we’ll come to that at the end of the tour.”

Then, since coffee was clearly not coming, Carrie jotted a note to talk to Izzie about signals later, and led the party into the dining room.

An hour later, things were going better than Carrie had even dared hope. Ruth and Selena still loved the dining room set-up, with its charity-shop china and up-cycled lace tablecloths. Graeme and Uncle Patrick had looked on, bemused, but apparently decided they’d leave this one to the girls.

“Can we get a band?” Graeme asked, staring at the stage.

“Certainly,” Carrie promised, scribbling herself a note to check on the inn’s entertainment licence. She knew Nancy used to have one; she just hoped it was still current. This was the first sign she’d seen that Graeme had any intention of even showing up to the wedding. “What sort of music were you thinking?”

“Has to be big band,” Patrick jumped in. “Only thing worth dancing to.”

“It would go with the china,” Selena added.

Carrie nodded. “I’ll see if I can get you some recommendations.”

The first big bone of contention came in the bridal suite.

“If I’m paying for this whole shindig, I think I should at least get to sleep where I like.” Patrick gave Cyb’s huge wooden four-poster a covetous look. He’d missed it on the last tour, apparently too busy flirting with Izzie. But this time he was taking everything in, almost as if it were all his already.

“And who, exactly, are you planning on sleeping in it with?” Selena asked, ice in her voice.

Graeme sidestepped over to Carrie and murmured in her ear, “I don’t suppose you could find another one of those?”

Carrie shook her head. “Afraid not. It’s one of a kind.” Much like its owner, she added silently, once again wondering how she would ever have got this far without Cyb and the other Seniors, not to mention Nate. So much for standing on her own two feet for a change.

“But, Daddy! It’s my wedding night,” Ruth said, in what Carrie recognized as her best ‘working her father’ voice.

“Right, then,” Graeme said, and took a deep breath before stepping forward. “Patrick, Selena,” he said, his voice louder, firmer and deeper than Carrie had heard all day, “I think it would be helpful at this time if we remembered exactly whose wedding this is—Ruth’s and mine.”

“And I think you should remember who’s paying for it, son.” Uncle Patrick’s face was turning a rather violent shade of red.

Graeme smiled, and for the first time Carrie could see why Ruth found him attractive. Nate had a very similar smile. “If money is all that’s at stake, I’m more than happy to pay for it. I might not be as rich as you, but I’m a professional with a good job. I can take care of your daughter. And I intend to make sure she has the wedding she’s always dreamed of—not whatever party you want to throw to show off.”

Carrie bit her lip to stop from speaking out, praying this was just a bluff. Graeme might have money, but she doubted he could afford to renovate a whole inn just for his wedding.

Ruth moved from her mother’s side to stand next to Graeme. “Besides,” she said, smiling up at her fiancé, “if we don’t have to pay for all your friends to attend, it’ll be a lot cheaper, I’m sure.”

Aunt Selena blinked very quickly, and the colour drained from Uncle Patrick’s face. “Well,” he said, blustering, “I don’t know how we got onto the subject of money, anyway. I was just admiring this bed, was all.”

The tension in the room dropped slightly, and Carrie stepped into what was left of the fray. “What about a compromise?” she suggested, her voice mild. “Your parents could stay here tonight, Ruth, to...try out the bed. Then you can use it for the hen night, the night before the wedding, and the wedding night itself.”

She glanced over at Graeme, who gave a slight nod, and Ruth brightened immediately. Uncle Patrick rolled his eyes. “I suppose so,” he said. But as they started to leave the suite he cornered Carrie and asked, “I don’t suppose you’d consider throwing that bed in as a sort of incentive to invest, would you? After the wedding, of course.”

For a fleeting moment, Carrie considered it. Then she shook her head sadly. “I’m afraid not. You see, it’s on permanent loan from a supporter of the Avalon Inn, and she’s really very fond of it.”

Patrick glanced into the room for a last look at the bed. “I’d like to meet the woman who owned a bed like that.”

Carrie smiled. “Well, you’re in luck. I think she’s downstairs.” Although she wasn’t sure Cyb was really what her uncle had in mind.