Room For Love

“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.

Chapter 7

As Carrie trailed around the Avalon Inn later that afternoon, always three steps behind the builder she’d called in, she felt her spirits falling by the second. It was all very well trying to save the inn, but really, in the face of Tom Powers of Powers Construction, master of the sucked-in breath and “that’s going to cost you”, how much could one woman do?

Finally, they finished with the inside and headed out to deal with the inn’s exterior.

“This door doesn’t look good, either,” Tom said as they went through the main entrance.

Carrie groaned inwardly. The door was huge, heavy and almost certainly expensive. “The survey didn’t mention it.”

Tom gave her his ‘Listen to me, idiot woman. What do you know about construction, anyway?’ look, which he’d perfected over the course of his visit. “Hardly surprising, with all the other problems. Surveyor was bound to miss a few things.”

Given that she was probably going to owe the man her first-, second- and third-born children by the time he’d fixed her inn, Carrie decided not to argue.

“How’s it going?” Nate appeared again, this time from behind one of the shrubs lining the drive, shears in hand and a couple of leafy twigs in his hair. Carrie wondered how long he’d been hiding in the bushes waiting for them to arrive. And why he’d bothered.

Tom sucked his breath through his teeth again, making Carrie shudder. “Lot of work here.”

Nate stepped closer, still holding the clippers. “Well, we knew as much from the survey.” His voice was perfectly amiable, Carrie thought, but somehow the huge blades in his hands made the words a little more threatening.

“Tom’s found some problems the surveyor missed, too,” Carrie told him.

Nate flashed her a look miles away from the ones Tom had been giving her all morning. This one was more conspiratorial, somehow. The knot that had set up residence in Carrie’s stomach when they’d started the inspection tightened as she tried to figure out what Nate planned to do. Just in case she needed to stop him.

But all Nate did was say, “Really? Can I take a look?” He reached out and snatched the pad Tom had been scribbling on for the last hour from his hands. Tom didn’t even put up an objection, possibly because of the very sharp blades.

Nate cast a cursory glance over the paper and, before Carrie could even ask to see it, he thrust it back at Tom. “Yeah, she’s not going to be using you.”

“What?” Carrie reached out and grabbed the pad from between the two men. “Tom, don’t listen to him, he’s just the...” The numbers of Tom’s estimate sank in, three times Nancy’s initial quote, and she lowered the paper. “Yeah, sorry, Tom. He’s right.”

For a moment, she thought Tom might argue, but he looked at Nate and obviously decided to cut his losses. Without even taking his notepad, he stalked off towards his car, parked at an angle on the other side of the gravelled drive, muttering, “Waste of bloody time.”

Carrie watched him go and wondered how the hell she was going to put together a proper business plan without building quotes.

“Cheer up.” Nate leaned the shears against the side of the steps leading up to the front door, and stood beside her as they watched Tom Powers screech away in his four-by-four.

Carrie turned on him, scowling. Just because he was right didn’t mean she was happy about it. “What the hell did you think you were doing just then?”

“He was ripping you off,” Nate said, taking a cautious step backward.

Carrie glared at him. “How do you know? Are you a building expert now, too?”

“The survey was thorough.” Nate’s voice was calm and sincere, but it wasn’t making Carrie any less furious. “I know the guy who did it. If Tom says he missed anything, Tom is trying to rip you off. Probably in any number of ways. Where did you find him, anyway?”

“Internet,” Carrie said, knowing she sounded defensive.

Nate rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, well. Either way, I’ve still got to find someone to do this work. And I need to figure out what’s essential and affordable, and what’s going to have to wait.” And convince investors it was all worth it. All of which meant going back to The List. Carrie was starting to hate The List.

Nate picked up his shears. “Give me a minute to tidy up. I’ve got a friend or two in the building trade. We’ll make some calls.”

Watching him head over to the shrubs to put away his tools, Carrie wanted to scream, I don’t need your help. But unfortunately, it was becoming patently obvious she did.

* * * *

By the end of her first week on the job, Carrie had managed to offend everyone at the Avalon Inn. By Sunday night, her mental apologies list was growing by the hour.

When she awoke on Monday morning, she tucked Nancy’s multicoloured bedspread tighter around her in the attic bed and ran through them again to make sure she’d remembered them all.

1. Apologise to Nate for not realising Mr Jenkins was an idiot. And for shouting at him about the builder thing

2. Apologise to Moira for leaving the stupid soggy sandwiches out on the reception desk again

3. Apologise to Cyb for saying the bunting made the dining room look like the Eurovision song contest

4. Apologise to Izzie for suggesting she didn’t know how to work the reservations system yesterday.

Carrie considered the last item. Izzie really didn’t know how to work the computer program that stored their reservations information. Maybe she’d just teach her, instead.

But apologies and lessons would have to wait. First she had her meeting with Nancy’s lawyer, Mr Norton, and his recommended business advisor.

“Carrie.” Mr Norton held out a hand as she walked into the lobby that morning. “It’s so lovely to see you again. I just wish it were under better circumstances.” He turned to the grumpy-looking man in a suit next to him. “This is Frank Andrews. He’s been trying to talk with Nancy about the future of the Avalon Inn for some years now, so he’s delighted to join our meeting today.”

As Carrie shook his hand Mr Andrews’s face broke into a forced sort of a smile.

“Well, thank you both for coming,” Carrie said. “Why don’t we take a seat in the drawing room to talk, then perhaps I can interest you in a tour of the inn, Mr Andrews?”

He gave a slight nod, but didn’t actually answer. Carrie decided it was too early to take that as a bad sign, but, still, it looked as if she had some convincing to do.

As the men headed through, Carrie turned to Izzie at the reception desk and added, “Can you get someone to bring us some coffee?” She wasn’t sure she’d make it through this meeting without caffeine.

Izzie looked dubious, but she nodded, so Carrie decided to hope for the best.

Hoping for the best soon went by the wayside, though.

“Mr Andrews and I have been looking at some options for the inn,” Mr Norton said, his hands folded on his lap.

“Options?” Carrie wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that.

Mr Andrews leaned forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees. “Mr Norton suggested last week that it might be helpful for me to look into the value and saleability of the Avalon Inn.” Carrie felt her heart pause at his words. That wasn’t the deal. These people were supposed to be here to help her find a way to save the Avalon, not sell it.

“But I’m not looking to sell the inn. I want to re-launch it as a wedding venue.”

Mr Norton gave a small nod. “I know that was your plan. But now that you’ve had a chance to see the current state of the building, not to mention the accounts, I felt it my duty to ensure you were aware of all the possibilities. And I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised by the results of Mr Andrews’s research.”

Carrie turned her gaze to Mr Andrews, who gave another grimace of a smile. “I have had, in the last thirty-six hours, not one, but two offers to buy the Avalon Inn.”

Carrie blinked. “Are you sure they weren’t looking for the Arundel Hotel?” she asked. Even she had to admit that, other than sentimental value, the Avalon didn’t really have a lot going for it at the moment.

Mr Andrews frowned and glanced over at Mr Norton, as if not really sure if she was making a joke. “Um, no, they were really very clear. Their interest lies purely in the Avalon Inn’s development potential.”

“Development potential?” Carrie wasn’t entertaining the idea of selling, but the words made her even more certain she didn’t want these buyers getting their hands on the Avalon.

“Yes. I believe one party was looking to turn the inn into a health farm.” Mr Andrews glanced down at his notes. “The other, um, was searching for a site for a rehabilitation facility.”

It wasn’t until the coffee tray clattered to the table that Carrie even realised there was anyone else in the room. The idea of the Avalon as a rehab or fat farm was too distractingly horrifying.

Glancing up, she saw Cyb straightening the plate of biscuits and Mr Norton looking on disapprovingly. “Would you like me to pour for you?” Cyb asked.

“Uh, no, I think we can manage.” Carrie smiled up at her, wondering why Izzie hadn’t managed to find someone who actually worked for the inn to bring the coffee. “Thanks, Cyb.”

Cyb backed out of the room, smiling nervously, and Carrie turned her attention to Messrs Norton and Andrews.

“The offers really were very substantial, Carrie,” Mr Norton said.

Mr Andrews rifled through his papers. “I have some figures here... Ah.” He held a sheet of paper out to her, and Carrie looked away.

“No. No, thank you. Please, thank both parties for their interest, but tell them I’m not interested in selling.” Mr Norton looked sceptical, but Carrie kept her gaze firm.

“At this time,” Mr Andrews added, obviously hoping to keep his options open. She wondered what sort of commission he was up for.

“Ever.” Carrie stood, a sudden sense of surety in her blood. She was home, and she was staying. “Now, how about a tour?”

Mr Norton exchanged a look with Mr Andrews. “Actually, I’m afraid we have another meeting to get to…”

“But you said you wanted to assist me. I need you to help find a way to save the inn. To find investors, backers, something!” If even Mr Norton, who’d been Nancy’s lawyer since she opened the Avalon, wouldn’t help, how could she expect anyone else to?

“Carrie…” Mr Norton gave her a sad smile. “I know you love this place. But really…it’s falling apart. Without Nancy here, you have to think if it’s really even possible to save it. In this economy…and with your lack of experience…”

“I can do it,” Carrie said firmly, the heat in her chest burning. “I will do it. And if you won’t help me, I’ll do it alone. Just watch.” She yanked open the drawing-room door. “Good morning, gentlemen.”

* * * *

“A health farm?” Stan’s voice was getting squeaky and high, and Cyb worried about the vein bulging at his temple. He wasn’t getting any younger. But Stan always liked to be told the truth, upfront and straightforward.

“Or a rehabilitation facility,” she repeated, and the vein turned bright purple. “That’s what the man said.”

Across the pub table, Nate put down his pint and shook his head. “I can’t see Carrie selling the Avalon. She’s got plans for it. I told you. She wants a boutique wedding venue.”

Stan scoffed, so loudly that the Red Lion staff looked over from the bar. “Does she? Really? How do we know she hasn’t decided it’s all a bit too much like hard work? We can’t afford to give her the benefit of the doubt just because you’ve got a little crush, boy.”

“I have not got a—”

“Besides,” Stan said, “I know what these business types are like. He’ll have money on the table for her.” He shook his head. “Not sure she’s the sort who would pick hard work over money. Not like her grandmother.”

“She was talking to Izzie about the reservation thing on the computer yesterday,” Moira said. “Would she really do that if she was planning on selling?”

“I have no idea what goes on inside young women’s heads these days.” Stan’s face grew redder and redder. Cyb moved his pint glass farther away, in case he decided to bang his fist on the table again. A passionate man, Stan. She looked at him, considering. Maybe it was time to find a better use for all that passion, once this mess at the inn was sorted out.

“We could just ask her what she’s going to do,” Cyb suggested, in what she thought was a reasonable manner.

Stan obviously thought otherwise. “Just ask? And what, exactly, is going to ensure she tells us the truth?” He grabbed his ale and drained the quarter of a pint left in the glass. Cyb motioned to a nearby member of the bar staff and indicated the empty glass. The Red Lion didn’t offer table service, but they weren’t very busy and Cyb had found them to be very accommodating to a group of senior citizens. Moira had suggested they were just afraid one of them might slip on the pools of stale beer that tended to form by the bar and sue the pub to cover their hip replacements.

“Unless...” Stan tapped the side of his empty glass. “Nate, boy, I have a job for you.”

“No,” Nate said, firmly. “I’ve already told you everything she told me.”

“Wait a moment,” Cyb said, willing her forehead to unfurrow. Anti-wrinkle cream could only do so much. “I don’t understand. What’s the job?”

“He wants me to get close to Carrie, win her trust and find out if her plans have changed now she’s met with the lawyer and business advisor,” Nate explained. Obviously he didn’t want to say ‘seduce the truth out of her’ in front of his grandmother.

“Well, would that be so bad?” Cyb asked, still confused. It had seemed to her Nate wanted to get close to Carrie Archer. Well, apart from the days he was mad at her. Moira said he couldn’t seem to make his mind up about whether Carrie was going to save the Avalon or destroy it.

“If she found out I was only doing it because Stan told me to?” Nate shook his head. “Hell, yes. Look, I’ll talk to her some more, I’ll ask her. But I’m not going to pretend anything.”

Stan gave a heavy sigh, and Cyb wondered where the bar staff were with his second pint. He was always more manageable when he’d relaxed a bit. “Play it any way you want, Nate. But remember, it’s your livelihood at stake here, too.”

Cyb was watching Nate, waiting for his response, so she saw the look he threw at his grandmother, a secretive sort of glance, and she wondered what Moira knew that the rest of them didn’t.

Whatever it was, Cyb wasn’t feeling any better than she had when listening to Mr Norton’s offers. If anything, she felt worse. And, looking around the table, so did everyone else. Probably not the time to try to discuss passion with Stan, she decided.

It would either be a very sombre, or a very exciting, dance night that evening.

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—”