Читать книгу Room For Love - Sophie Pembroke, Sophie Pembroke - Страница 14

Chapter 6

Autumn was marching on and, given his mood, Nate saw no harm in getting stuck into some of the more energetic pre-winter garden jobs. After all, he was just the gardener. And he had a sudden urge to hack at stubborn roots and overgrown shrubs. Which had to be better than his earlier, similar urge to do with his new employer.

Besides, certain things had been let slide, he’d admit, while he’d been busy running the rest of the inn for Nancy. Time to get back to his garden where he belonged. Far away from Carrie Archer.

“She hasn’t been here in five years,” he told the hedge he was cutting back. “Who the hell is she to tell me my job?”

“Your boss.” The words held just the right mix of sympathy and censure to stop him feeling sorry for himself. It could only be his grandmother.

“I know.” Nate sighed and lowered the hedge clippers.

“You left your lunch in Reception,” Moira said, proffering another ubiquitous Tupperware box. “It’s ham and tomato today.”

“Sorry.” Nate took it from her and thought longingly of the roast he’d seen Jacob prepping earlier. But Gran liked to think she was looking after her boys. Really, how did you screw up a sandwich?

“Can’t have you going hungry.” Moira smiled and settled herself on the top of his stepladder. Apparently there was more to this talk than soggy sandwiches and an organisational chart reminder.

Nate returned to his hedge. Might as well get some work done while he listened.

“I know this is going to be hard for you, Nate,” Moira started, plucking a stray leaf from her skirt. “Nancy left you free run of your gardens, but you’re used to looking after everything.” She held up a hand when Nate tried to interrupt, and the memories of his gran’s leg smacks were still terrifying enough to make him shut his mouth immediately. “She needed your help, I know that. You were a great boon to her, these last couple of years.”

She paused and gazed at him, as if assessing his general usefulness.

“I owed her,” he said, looking away. “She gave me a home and a job.” And now she’d managed to make both rather more permanent than he’d intended.

“She gave you a lot more than that, and you know it. You might not remember what a hellion you were at sixteen, Nate, but I certainly do.”

But Nate remembered well enough. Remembered his mother’s tears, most of all. Remembered that restless feeling he couldn’t shake, that just wouldn’t let him settle down and work hard and pass his exams so he could get a nice, safe job. That wasn’t him, never had been. But at sixteen, that restlessness had translated directly into trouble. Into pushing boundaries, rules, laws far past breaking point, until his mum couldn’t cope any more.

Moira had taken him in, looked after him for one long, formative summer. But it was Nancy and the Avalon Inn that had straightened him out. Given him a vocation, even.

“Nancy took one look at me and put me to work in the gardens.” He could almost hear her saying the words, in her brisk, decisive way. You need to learn patience, boy. And the best teacher for that I’ve ever found is nature.

And twelve years later, when he’d been lost and confused, restless again and unable to find his path, he could only think of one place to go—the Avalon Inn. Where Nancy had saved him again.

“Why do you think she did it?” Nate asked. “Left me the gardens, I mean.”

Moira looked uncomfortable, her expression just a little bit guilty, which pretty much confirmed all his suspicions before she even spoke. “Maybe she thought it was what you needed.”

“Or maybe you did,” Nate said, and Moira looked away. “Did you ask her to do it?”

“No! We talked about it, I admit. Nancy agreed with me that it was time for you to settle down, to find a place where you could be happy. Fulfilled. But she thought you’d already found it, and just needed a little push…”

“And this was her push.”

“I suppose so.” Moira shifted on the stepladder and sighed. Nate leaned the shears against the hedge, and waited to hear what else she had to say. He hadn’t learnt a lot in thirty years, as Nancy had regularly told him, but he had learnt Gran was always worth listening to.

“I know this place has been a refuge for you,” she said eventually, looking down at her hands. “But Nancy was a big part of that and she’s not here any more, Nate.”

“I know that,” Nate said, trying not to let his irritation show. As if he hadn’t noticed.

“I don’t know if she realised how different it would be here without her. How difficult.” Moira looked up and caught his eye. “Whether we like it or not, Carrie’s in charge here now.”

“Not in my gardens,” Nate muttered.

“Perhaps,” Moira went on, her tone delicate, “if you don’t feel you’ll be able to work with her, for whatever reasons, it might be time for you to move on again. Admit that the Avalon isn’t where you belong, after all. Set yourself free to stop hiding and find your own place in the world.”

The very thought of leaving the Avalon hurt something inside his chest. Turning to his hedge again, Nate tried to make a joke of it. “You trying to get rid of me, Gran?”

“Never.” Moira snuck an arm out and clasped his forearm. The skin on her hands looked grey and tired. How could he leave her now? “But I want you to be happy. And I’m not sure hiding out here is what will do that for you any longer.”

The hand disappeared, and when Nate looked up Moira was already halfway to the path. For a little old lady, she could move at speed when she wanted to. And she always spoke a lot of sense.

Except this time he wasn’t sure she was right.

Because what would happen if he left Carrie alone to sort out the inn? There’d be nothing of the old Avalon left, and Nancy would never forgive him. He owed Nancy, and so he’d stay. For now, at least.

And if the memory of standing on a moonlit terrace, pressing his lips against Carrie’s, had anything to do with his decision, well, Nate was happy to ignore that, for the time being.

* * * *

Carrie’s planning week swept on without her, and more often than not she found everyday events at the inn distracted her from renovation plotting. For a place that hadn’t made money yet this financial year, it was certainly bustling.

But with time and money slipping away, and a meeting with Nancy’s lawyer and the business advisor he’d recommended looming, Carrie finally had a handle on her business plan. She’d done the research, she had the builder’s quotes Nancy had left, although she didn’t know how useful they’d be, since the firm had apparently gone bust since then. Still, she had another firm coming round later and she even had the beginnings of a timetable. All she needed now was the time and space to put it all together into a winning presentation.

Which was why she was spending Friday afternoon hiding in the seldom-used Green Room, trying to ignore the moth-print wallpaper and the faded velvet curtains that looked and smelled like moss. Replacing them, creepy as they were, was so far down her list she really didn’t have time to start obsessing about them now.

But the Green Room did have some things going for it. It was at the far end of the west side of the building, it had enough floor- and bed-space to spread out all her notes and good light streamed through the large bay window facing south over the woods.

And, most importantly, no one would ever think to look for her there.

“By the time I leave this room, I’m going to have an honest-to-God plan to show potential investors,” Carrie muttered to herself, starting to lay out her papers.

She got twenty minutes in before the phone rang.

“Guess what?” Ruth’s voice, miles away in Cheshire, was bubbling with excitement.

“What?” Carrie asked her cousin, shifting the decorating of the bedrooms up by a few weeks on her timetable.

If she sounded impatient, Ruth was obviously too excited to notice. “I’m getting married!” Ruth finished off the sentence with the obligatory squeal of excitement.

“That’s...” Carrie paused. “Hang on. To Graeme?”

“Of course to Graeme!” Ruth sounded vaguely insulted. “Who else would I be marrying?”

“But you’ve only been together, what… a couple of months?”

“What does that matter?” Ruth asked. “I told you at the funeral that I thought he was the one.” Her voice took on a wounded tone. “Aren’t you happy for me?”

“Of course I am,” Carrie said automatically. “It just seems a bit fast, is all.” And it wasn’t as if this were even the first time Ruth had got engaged. By Carrie’s count they were up to three ex-fiancés, with not a wedding between them.

Of course, that was arguably still better than Carrie’s own romantic disaster zone. Since the miserable demise of her only real relationship, the best she’d managed was a series of first dates, followed by a few two-month-long attempts at dating that generally ended when the men in question realised Carrie was too busy working to see them. Of course, that was usually around the time that Carrie realised that she didn’t care that she hadn’t seen the guy in two weeks, so it all worked out quite well, really.

“Carrie, this one’s different. Trust me. I never... With the others, it was different. This is the one for me. And when you meet the love of your life, there’s just no point waiting. You’ll see what I mean one day.” Ruth’s tone was utterly serious now, and Carrie sat up straighter. She sounded like she might actually go through with it this time.

“So, um, when did he propose? And where?” Maybe the kitchen could wait until next summer. Jacob seemed to be managing all right at the moment. Carrie shifted the relevant Post-it note into the Future Plans section.

“Last night. We were having dinner in this cozy little Italian round the corner from his flat, and we were talking about the future—you know how you do.”

“Of course,” Carrie said, although in her experience, at the two-month mark she was more likely to be discussing how it really wasn’t working out, and how she had a lot of work on right now anyway, and maybe it would be better if they stayed just friends.

“Anyway, Graeme said he saw himself marrying me, one day, so I said, ‘Why wait?’”

That didn’t sound exactly like a proposal to Carrie. More like a hijacking.

“We’re going shopping for a ring this afternoon,” Ruth concluded.

“Well, I can’t wait to see it.” Carrie hoped Graeme had a decent credit limit. He certainly hadn’t had time to save up for a suitable rock. Picking up the survey again, Carrie flicked through to see exactly how desperately the guttering needed replacing.

“Oh, you will soon. I’ve told Graeme we have to get married at the Avalon, so we’ll be visiting so he can get the tour. He thought it was cute how we used to play weddings there when we were kids. It’ll be perfect. You can be my bridesmaid again!”

The survey dropped to the floor, clunking against the carpet and sending up dust. “The Avalon? You want to get married here?”

“Of course I do! Besides, I need you to plan my wedding, or else Dad will stick me with the awful Anna Yardley. And since you’re only doing weddings at the Avalon, where else could I have it?”

“You do remember what the Avalon is like, right?” How long had it been since Ruth had visited? She must have been there more recently than Carrie, surely.

“Of course. But now you’ve taken it over I’m sure it’s going to be glorious.” Confidence shone out of Ruth’s voice, making Carrie feel even worse.

“Unfortunately ‘glorious’ takes money,” she said. “I’m just working on a business plan to put to investors now.”

“You need investors? Well, that’s easy—ask Mum and Dad.” Ruth made it sound so easy, so simple. But the thought of having to go cap in hand to Uncle Patrick and Aunt Selena, begging for help, made bile rise in Carrie’s throat.

“I need to do this on my own, Ruth. I told you that.”

“But you’re not on your own, are you? Gran left you that gardener chap to work with, for a start. And besides, we’re family. We’re supposed to help.” When Carrie didn’t answer, Ruth sighed. “Well, think about it. And anyway, my wedding should help pay for some of it, right? I mean, Dad is already expecting me to spend a fortune on it, so I may as well spend it right.”

Which sounded a lot like a handout by another name to Carrie. “I don’t want you holding your wedding here just because you think I need the business.”

“I’m having my wedding at the Avalon because it’s home. And I will be paying a deposit cheque—that coincidentally will help get the place ready for my big day—because that’s what I’d be doing wherever we held it. So you don’t need to get all huffed up about it.” Carrie winced at Ruth’s insulted tone.

“I’m sorry. You know I’d love for you to have your wedding here. I just hope you’re planning a long engagement!” Carrie attempted a chuckle, but it came out more of a croak.

“Oh, no.” Carrie could practically hear Ruth tossing her head from side to side. “I want to be Mrs Frobisher as soon as possible. And I’ve already decided on my bouquet. This month’s Blissful Bride magazine had a feature on Ecuadorian Cool Water Roses. They’re lavender, you know. My favourite colour.”

“How soon is as soon as possible?” Carrie asked, desperately trying to get back to the things that mattered.

“Actually, I was thinking of a winter wedding. Maybe even Christmas.”

Christmas wasn’t so bad, Carrie told herself. Fourteen months away. Plenty of time. Unless... “You don’t mean this Christmas, do you?”

Ruth laughed. “Of course, this Christmas. Are you free on Christmas Eve? I think that would be the most romantic day to get married, don’t you?”

Carrie slumped against the embroidered moth cushion on the musty bed, secretly hoping that Ruth and Graeme would break up over the jeweller’s counter. She loved her cousin, really she did. But there was no way they would be ready for a wedding by Christmas.

“Anyway, I know we haven’t got much time, so I’ll email you some bridesmaid dress ideas later, and I’ll check with Graeme when we can come up to see you to sort out the rest, okay?”

Carrie nodded, then realised that was useless. “Great,” she said, unable to muster much enthusiasm.

“Then I’m off to choose my ring!” Ruth said, and hung up.

Carrie had two minutes of staring blankly at the phone before there was a knock at the door, and Nate’s head appeared around it. His expression was blank, so she had no idea if he was still angry with her about Mr Jenkins or not. They hadn’t really spoken since, which suggested he probably was. But on the other hand, he’d come looking for her…

“How did you know where I was?” she asked.

Nate came into the room, and shrugged, still expressionless. “Cyb saw you sneak in here earlier. Look, the builder’s here, when you’re ready. Said you called for some new quotes?”

“Yeah.” Carrie grabbed her clipboard and hopped off the bed. She had bigger things to worry about than whether her gardener liked her. “I’m coming.” She wondered what builder Tom would say when she told him she needed all the work done by Christmas, and she still didn’t have any money to pay him.