Читать книгу Room For Love - Sophie Pembroke, Sophie Pembroke - Страница 16

Chapter 8

The only good thing about getting rid of Mr Andrews and Mr Norton so early was that Carrie was able to have a mini breakdown in private before the Seniors returned and started decorating for dance night. And before Nate got back. Nate, she knew, would have questions.

She really didn’t want to answer them.

Carrie had thought that coming home to the Avalon would be an opportunity. Yes, she knew it would be hard and she’d have a lot to do to make a success of the inn, but she’d seen it as a chance to make her own future. To strike out on her own, go after the life she wanted for herself.

Instead, the doors of opportunity seemed to be slamming in her face everywhere she turned.

Left alone that afternoon she’d sat down with her planning file and made a list of options still open to her. With the banks, Mr Norton and Mr Andrews out, it was a very short list. With the amount of structural work needed on the Avalon, even another mortgage was out. Which left private investment. And the only people she knew with the money and potential incentive to invest were Anna and Uncle Patrick.

She’d written both names down in her file, then covered them over with a Post-it note. They had to be a last resort. Anna was still furious with her for leaving, so would probably say no out of spite anyway, or screw her over on the deal. And Uncle Patrick and Aunt Selena… They were family; the Avalon had been Patrick’s mother’s pride and joy; their own daughter wanted to get married there. They had all the incentive in the world, and God knew they’d bragged often enough about having the money. But Nancy hadn’t taken it, and Carrie didn’t want to either.

They could pay for the wedding. But to ask for more… Not yet. There had to be some other things she could try first.

Even if she had absolutely no idea what at the moment.

Sighing, Carrie stared up at the Union Jack bunting strung around the dining room and tried to decide if she liked it more or less than last week’s international flags. Still, in context, the bunting looked quite jolly. Along with the posters Stan had hung up on his return from wherever they’d all gone that morning, while Carrie had been working up in the Green Room again and thus unable to stop or question him, the dining room began to resemble a 1940s American army base. Complete, apparently, with its own Wren, ready to keep the soldiers company in return for some nylons.

“Cyb, that’s a...great costume.”

Cyb grinned at her from under her perfectly pin-curled hair. “Isn’t it? It belonged to my older sister, you know. She married an American during the war. Moved to Ohio when it was all over.”

“It certainly seems to fit with the theme,” Carrie assured her. “Are many dance nights so...Second World War centric?”

Cyb laughed. “Oh, no. Only the second Monday of every month.”

“Of course.” Because that was totally normal.

“We even have food like they’d have had on the American bases in Britain,” Cyb chattered on. “Jacob did some research for us on the internet and found all sorts of exciting recipes. And Stan runs old movies on the screen at the far end without the sound on. And we play all these wonderful thirties and forties songs to dance to. And—”

“Cyb?” Nate interrupted the monologue from the doorway. “I think Gran’s looking for you in the drawing room. She’s finalising the song list for this evening.”

Cyb bustled straight off, and Nate came in, apparently unconcerned by the sudden time warp.

“No costume?” Carrie asked, hoping to forestall the inevitable questions about Mr Norton’s visit, and Nate chuckled.

“I should be so lucky. Just wait until Gran gets done with Cyb.”

Carrie noticed the Donut Dugout sign in the corner, and suddenly felt more optimistic about the evening. If she could just distract Nate long enough for him to forget everything she’d told him about Anna...

Nate opened his mouth to ask something, but shut it again when Izzie appeared in the doorway calling for him. “We’ll talk, later,” he promised before disappearing again, with Izzie babbling something about ticket collection. Carrie sighed with relief. Only another three or four hours to go.

And tickets at least suggested people might be paying to attend the evening, which gave Carrie some comfort. But, since this was an official Avalon Inn event, did that mean she actually had to attend? She’d avoided last week’s, but she supposed she’d have to take part some time. Except it had been a long day, and she’d been looking forward to a night curled up in bed feeling sorry for herself…

Moira arrived next, carrying her iPod. “Finally, despite Stan’s best efforts, the playlist for the evening is ready.”

Carrie watched as she settled the iPod into a dock attached to the speakers on either side of the room. “I’m pretty sure they didn’t have those in 1944.”

Moira shrugged. “Bet the people running the dances wished they did, though. Much easier to look after than a band.”

“True,” Carrie said, wishing more brides were willing to be so pragmatic. It would make planning weddings a lot easier. “It really is looking pretty impressive in here.”

Grinning, Moira said, “Just wait until everybody gets here. Then you’ll see a sight. Speaking of which, time for me to go and get ready.” And with that, she bustled off through the door.

In the end, it was just too tempting. As a compromise, Carrie changed out of her black suit and into a brown cotton pencil skirt and cream blouse, and curled up in one of the leather chairs in the drawing room that provided her with a good view of the lobby. Flicking on her laptop, she pretended to work as she watched.

The coffee table in front of her started to vibrate with the ringing of her phone, and she reached forward to grab it before it bounced off onto the floor.

Dad.

The word flashed up on the screen, and Carrie heard You can’t do this, again in her head.

She hung up, placing her phone face down on the table again. She was busy. They had an event at the inn that evening. She was, technically, working.

And she really didn’t want to have the same argument with him, all over again.

Feeling vaguely justified in her decision, Carrie turned her attention back to the entrance, just as the front door opened again.

The dance night attendees arrived in ones and twos, and a rowdy group of four elderly gentlemen in what might have been their original service uniforms except they fitted too well. Carrie vaguely remembered that demobbing involved giving them back, anyway.

Each one in turn greeted Izzie on the reception desk with smiles and high spirits, handing over their tickets, or buying them on the spot if necessary. Izzie in turn was cheerful, efficient and obviously beloved by the guests.

Carrie was amazed.

And so, when the clock ticked over to eight o’clock, Carrie closed her laptop and followed the crowds into 1944. Suddenly, she wanted to know what kept the Seniors so tied to her inn.

* * * *

Nate didn’t know where his gran had found the costume, but he suspected eBay. She’d become quite the computer whiz since Granddad had died. Regardless, she showed up with it, every forties night, and wouldn’t leave until he put it on. He’d given up the fight by this point.

“Maybe you could ask Carrie if you could do this place up a bit,” Moira suggested, perched on the very edge of the summerhouse sofa. “If you decide to stay.” She was fishing. Gran always did like to know his exact plans, and he had to admit to finding a perverse pleasure in holding out on her.

“I think she’s got bigger things to worry about at the moment. As you told me.” And despite his reluctance to fall in with Stan’s plan, Nate knew he’d have to find out how much worse the situation had become since the lawyer’s visit that morning.

Nate sighed, straightened the collar of his ‘authentic replica American army shirt, circa 1944’ and tried to make his hair stay flat. If it wasn’t tidy enough to appease Gran, he knew from past experience she would come after him with a comb and some Brylcreem. He’d really like to try and avoid a side-parting tonight.