Room for Love (16 page)

“That would be lovely!” Cyb seemed a little too excited at the prospect of spending time with Carrie stamping on her feet, but Carrie wasn’t going to question it. Weddings always required dancing, and it was the one aspect of the whole affair she hadn’t managed to master yet.

“Great. As soon as we have some free time, then.” Although God only knew when that would be.

Stan bustled over to the table, Moira in tow. She had what seemed on the face of it to be an excellent suggestion. “Why don’t we all swap round after each game? That way Carrie and Nate will get to play with all sorts of people.”

“And my appalling playing won’t annoy anyone for the whole night,” Carrie translated with a smile. She got to her feet, and the wine made her head spin. “Sounds like a plan. Where are we next?”

Their next game was sitting with a retired vet and his ex-schoolteacher wife. “What you really need up here,” the vet said, dealing the cards, “is a petting zoo for the kids.”

Nate topped up Carrie’s glass as the vet’s wife added, “We were always looking for good local places to take the kids on trips. A petting zoo would be perfect.”

“I do still do some part-time work, you know, if you’re interested,” her husband added, and Carrie gulped at her wine.

After them came the retired doctors turned property developers. “What we’ve found,” the wife said, “is that any piece of property is worth a lot more if you just give it the right look.”

“What you want to do is go for clean, bright lines,” her husband said. “Maybe with some accent walls in jewel colors.”

Nate popped back to the bar for another bottle of white before the next game, and Carrie gave him her most grateful smile on his return.

Next was the widower architect, who wanted to know if she had plans for the gatehouse at the bottom of the drive. Then the head of the local fuchsia society. Carrie pushed her glass of wine toward Nate for that conversation.

Finally, another couple had to leave early, and Carrie and Nate were able to bow out and return to their observation points at the bar.

“People have strong feelings about this place,” Nate said, putting the wine bottle back in the fridge. “I did warn you.”

“You did,” Carrie allowed, remembering that first night curled up on the sofa in his summerhouse. “I just didn’t expect...”

“They were a bit over the top.” Nate gazed out over the card tables. “But this was the first chance most of them have had to talk to you, since the dance night. And then you were too much of an unknown quantity for them to say what they really thought. You’d only been here a week.”

“Whereas now I’m fair game.” Carrie’s phone rang, and she groaned as she yanked it out of her pocket. “Anna,” she said, slipping off her stool to take the call in the lobby.

“Carrie, good,” Anna said, her voice, sharp and not dulled by alcohol and card-playing, ringing from the handset. “I’ve had some thoughts about what we can do up at the inn...”

* * * *

On the Thursday, Matt the builder showed up to start work in the bridal suite. He’d managed to score a deal with a heritage window firm who’d suffered a number of cancellations, and got them in quickly to measure up. They couldn’t do the whole building just yet, but Matt figured getting new windows in the most important rooms–dining room and bridal suite–would mean they could get on with finishing those rooms off, while they waited for suppliers, money, and cooperative schedules to combine into the right set of circumstances to do the others.

Matt, Nate had noticed, was looking less confident and enthusiastic with every day he spent at the inn. Still, business was slow all over. The people needed work. And the Avalon Inn needed an awful lot of workers. Perfect match.

Probably best to stay out of the way, all the same, lest Matt remember who’d got him into this in the first place.

Nate was knee deep in compost and bulbs when he spotted Carrie on the terrace. Figuring the daffodils could wait another half an hour, he shook off his boots and headed to the inn to check how things were going.

“I’m planting the spring beds, if you’re short of something to do,” he called, as he got closer.

Carrie gave him a half smile and a rather unenthusiastic wave. “I’m not much help with window fitting, but I suspect I wouldn’t be a lot better at gardening, either.”

Nate leaned against the wooden trellising and smiled up at her. “It’s not that hard. I could teach you.”

“Thanks, but I think I’ll stick to what I know, in this instance. Besides, I’ve got to go discuss kitchen requirements with Jacob. I’m not sure when Nancy had that kitchen put in...”

“Thirty years ago,” Nate answered. “Year I was born.” Nancy had tried to convince him it was ‘classic’ once when he’d laughed at it. She downgraded it to ‘retro’ when he’d just laughed harder.

“Which explains a lot,” Carrie said, scribbling something on her ever-present clipboard.

“About me, or the kitchen?”

“Both.” Carrie flashed him a smile that almost made him miss Nancy less.

“I’ve had an idea about the gardens,” Nate said, keen to get back to business. “Have you got a moment to come and see?”

Carrie looked apologetic but harried. “Sorry, but I really do need to go and see Jacob. And...” She paused, and Nate waited to see what she didn’t want to say. “Perhaps you should hold off making any big changes to the gardens at the moment,” she finished, eventually.

Nate tensed, bracing for impact. What the hell had happened now? “Why, exactly?”

“It’s just something Anna said last night.” Carrie’s gaze flickered back to the inside of the inn, and Nate wondered why she’d even taken the call, way out of working hours.

She hadn’t even come back to the bar afterward, and he’d been looking forward to a nightcap with her once all the Seniors had gone. And he’d had all sorts of creative things to say about Mrs. Evans from the fuchsia society. “What did she say?”

Carrie shrugged. “Her lawyer, Mr. Norton, had received another offer to buy the Avalon. When I turned that down, she suggested there might be another way to raise some extra money for fixing the inn.”

Nate blinked, and put it together. “You want to sell off the gardens.”

“Not all of them!” Carrie looked down at him again, finally. “It’s just, there’s a lot of land here. And we need some for the wedding photos, and even outdoor drinks receptions. But there’s parts of this garden I’ve never even been to.”

“Well come with me and I’ll show you!”

“I haven’t got time.” Carrie shook her head. “Look, it’s not a firm decision, yet. Mr. Norton’s just looking into it for us.”

Trying to keep a firm rein on his temper, Nate looked away. “Yeah, well. Be sure to let me know what Anna bloody Yardley and Mr. Norton decide about my future.”

He walked away before Carrie had a chance to call him back. Not least because he wasn’t sure if she would.

* * * *

The bulbs were going to come up crooked, Nate knew. That was what he got for planting when angry. They were probably pointing in all sorts of weird directions, and who knew what he’d even put where, or how deep.

He sighed. The poor things didn’t stand a chance. Much like the rest of his gardens.

Nancy had received an offer two years earlier to buy the stretch of gardens that ran out to the western edge of the property. Far enough away that nobody could tell from the inn itself, especially since mostly only the kitchens faced out that way. It had been a good offer. The sort of offer that would enable Carrie to fix most of the things she wanted. He could easily imagine Anna finding someone willing to make a similar offer. Even in these times of recession, somebody always wanted to build something over gardens.

Nancy had dismissed the offer out of hand. She’d said she refused to even consider parting with an inch of her property. She’d said the gardens were the most important part of the inn. Of course, she’d added, “after the bar,” shortly afterward, but still, Nate had felt reassured. His home was intact. He was safe there.

Apparently Nancy’s granddaughter didn’t feel so strongly about the land.

Nate tossed his trowel into his empty bulb bucket, stood up and stretched. That wasn’t fair, he knew. Carrie’s financial situation was a lot more precarious, even without Anna on her back. Two years ago, before Nancy got sick, the inn had been doing reasonably well. And no one expected it to be a designer wedding venue. Guests were happy with the floral wallpaper and green and purple carpets. The Avalon was what it was, and people liked that.

But what it was wasn’t good enough, anymore. Not for the likes of Ruth and Selena Archer. Not for Anna Yardley. Not for Carrie.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Nate told himself that what he needed was a long, hot shower and an evening drinking whiskey with a good book. When his mobile rang, he almost ignored it. But it was probably Gran, with some sort of minor emergency. And he couldn’t ignore his gran, now, could he?

But when he looked, the display showed a London number, and then it was his curiosity that wouldn’t let him ignore it.

“Nate Green,” he said, trying to sound as if he didn’t care who was on the other end.

“
TV Wow
’s Hunkiest Gardener, two years running. I may swoon.” The husky voice was achingly familiar, and Nate stepped away from the flowerbed to drop onto the wooden bench placed there to make the most of the spring blooms. He really would need a whiskey after this conversation.

“Melody. How...strange to hear from you.” He didn’t add,
after you fired me
, or even,
after you dumped me
. He figured they were sort of implicit.

“It’s been two years, Nate. I missed you.” Which sounded highly unlikely.

“In which capacity? Hunky TV gardener, or part-time boyfriend?” Nate tried to make it sound like a joke, but he wasn’t really sure he succeeded.

Either way, Melody was suddenly all business. “The former, actually. Listen, I was wondering if you could come down to London this week, talk about the possibility of a new show?”

Nate wondered how much the Avalon Inn, and Carrie, would fall apart if he disappeared for a day or two. Probably quite a lot. “I’ve got a lot on up here, Mel. I don’t think I can.”

“Turning down the chance to be a TV star all over again?” Mel sounded faintly incredulous. “What happened to the fame-hungry Nate ‘the Singing Gardener’ Green who made grandmothers across the country faint into their rice pudding?”

“He came north to look after his own grandmother. And do the sort of gardening he wanted to do, without having to sing for his supper.” Nate leaned back on the bench and closed his eyes against the weak autumn sunlight. “Besides, how do you know I haven’t put on ten stone eating my gran’s cooking?” Mel had never met his gran, let alone sampled her attempts at fine cuisine. She didn’t like to travel north of Watford Gap.

“With your stature and work ethic? Never.” Mel blew a breath down the phone line, and Nate knew he was about to hear why she was really calling. “Look, Nate, I’ve got a new program in the works, and my star gardener’s had some sort of breakdown and refuses to even have a telly in his house, let alone appear on it. I think he might have made himself a tinfoil hat. I thought gardening was supposed to reduce stress?”

“Well, is it
stress
stress, or
drugs and alcohol
stress?”

“Apparently, just overwork.” Mel sighed again. “Regardless, I’m down a gardening genius. And I thought to myself, where do you find one of those lazing around, wasting their talent?”

“And you thought of me,” Nate finished.

“And I thought of you.” Mel paused for a moment, then said, “What do you say? It’s proper gardening, Nate. Not just sticking some pots on gravel in between songs.”

“Not city gardens?” Nate had thought he’d go crazy, doing up designer gardens for professionals who didn’t actually want to touch soil or anything. Not to mention the obligatory tune, stuck in between gardening tips. He’d wished for years he’d never been to that karaoke bar with Melody back when they were still planning the program. But when he’d suggested they move on to something a bit wider, something with some scope to grow and change and evolve... Well. That was when Mel had decided his preferred sort of gardening didn’t mesh with the production company’s ethos.

And when he’d walked away from
The Singing Gardener
, it was clear their needs and wants didn’t mesh anymore, either.

“Country estates,” Mel said, her voice tempting and husky again. “Miles of green grass and empty borders needing vision and design. Herb gardens, vegetable plots, rose gardens...anything you fancy.”

It would be so easy to say yes. To leave Carrie to do whatever she needed to save the Avalon Inn. To get back to how his life had been, before Granddad died and he’d come to keep an eye on Gran for a couple of weeks, decided this was the kind of life he wanted, and headed back to London full of new ideas to be shot down. When the Avalon Inn was just a place he’d spent one summer, as a kid.

But... “I can’t, Mel. Really. They need me here.”

Mel sighed, and Nate felt just like he had every time he’d said something stupid at a TV people party. “Look, we don’t start filming for another few months. Think about it, and call me.”

“Sure,” Nate said, eager for the conversation to be over. He could just say no again in a fortnight.