obvious to anyone who loved her.”
Stark silence followed. Carrie flicked her gaze to the photo and it stayed there, as if she were living in some half-forgotten yesterday. “She sounded tired.” Her voice sounded very small, now. “But I thought... She was old, Nate. I just thought it was age. I saw her when she visited Dad’s at Christmas and she seemed fine. And I thought if something was really wrong that she’d tell me...”
“She was a stubborn old thing,” Nate said fondly. Carrie huffed a laugh and put the photo on the dressing table. But when she looked up and met his eyes, she still seemed to be watching something very far away in time.
“Do I know you?” she asked, her voice faint.
Nate blinked, and was just considering the best way to deal with what appeared to be some sort of weird stress-related amnesia, when Carrie shook her head, her cheeks pink, and went on, “I’m sorry, I mean, have we met before? You just look familiar, somehow.”
Letting out a breath of relief, Nate grinned. “You know, a lot of people say that to me.”
Carrie smiled back, faintly. “Guess you’ve got one of those faces. What about the people downstairs? Stan, and Moira and...”
“Cyb,” Nate finished for her. “The Seniors... They’re old friends of Nancy’s.”
Carrie nodded slowly. “Ye-es, that’s what Izzie said. But what are they doing here?”
Nate resisted the urge to wince, while he tried to think of the best way to put it. Perhaps best to start out softly, he decided. “Well, they’re all very attached to the inn, and they live locally. And I know they were all looking forward to meeting you.”
All of which was scrupulously true, if slightly misleading. Nate liked to avoid outright lies whenever possible. But he wasn’t above a bit of misdirection.
Carrie seemed to be buying it, anyway. She ran a hand down her skirt to straighten it, and Nate could almost see her packing away her feelings and getting back to the task in hand. “Right, then. I’ll have plenty of time for this later. What do you want to show me next?”
It was too late, though, he thought. He’d seen that she cared. There had to be a way he could use her emotional attachment to preserve Nancy’s inn.
“Why don’t we head down to the drawing room?” he suggested. “Like I said, Nancy left some papers and things to be given to you. Might as well make a start sooner as later.”
And if words from beyond the grave didn’t guilt Carrie into doing the right thing by the Avalon, he’d just have to find something else that would.
* * * *
It was only once they started touring the rooms that Carrie realised how inaccurate her original impression had been. Not only had the Avalon Inn changed, it hadn’t been for the better.
She’d remembered the bedrooms as cozy and charming, but the ones Nate showed her were just shabby. The dining room looked tired, and no one would want to hold their wedding reception on a carpet so hideously patterned. Even the drawing room and library were filled with lumpy chairs and paperback novels missing pages or covers.
She couldn’t help but think that Anna would hate every inch of the place, if she saw it. The Avalon Inn would never be good enough for a Wedding Wishes booking. In fact, as it stood, Carrie was very afraid it wouldn’t be good enough for anyone’s wedding. Which left her plans stuck rather behind square one.
And, if that weren’t bad enough, Carrie’s bag sat in Nancy’s bedroom, not the tiny boxroom she’d made her own in childhood. Nothing was as it should be.
Carrie had arrived expecting a dream wedding venue. What she’d got instead was fast approaching a nightmare. And apparently the decor was only a part of it.
“There’s a lot to be done,” Nate said, dropping into the leather wingback chair opposite hers, framed by the bay window of the front drawing room. The Seniors appeared to have scampered off to wherever they came from, probably for tea and a nap, much to Carrie’s relief. She looked up from the notebook where she’d been creating her Avalon Inn To Do List as their tour threw up new problems and jobs.
“So I can see,” she said, adding, patch drawing room chairs when her left hand found a hole in the leather of her seat.
“More than just the cosmetic,” Nate clarified. He pulled open the file drawer in the desk beside him, and handed her a thick wodge of paper. “This is a survey of the inn your gran had done last year.”
“You’ve seen this?” Carrie asked Nate, leafing through the pages.
Nate nodded. Of course he’d seen it. Nancy had obviously trusted him. Still, the idea of someone else knowing her inn better than she did made Carrie want to grind her teeth. Especially since it looked as if the surveyor hadn’t found a single part of the inn that didn’t need something done to it.
“New windows, rotting terrace... Possible roof issues?” Carrie sighed. “Well, this is going to be fun.”
Nate winced. “Yeah. Looks like your redecorating might have to wait.”
Carrie couldn’t quite decide if he sounded pleased. “It all needs doing, sooner or later.” Nate might not like the idea of updating the inn, but, if Carrie managed to find a way to pay for the structural work, she’d need to give the place a thorough facelift to have any chance of earning the money back.
“There are some other papers, too,” Nate said, his voice softer. He held a small pile of letters out before him, and Carrie reached across, feeling some resistance when she tugged them out of his hands.
On the top sat an envelope marked ‘Carrie’. She’d have recognized the handwriting anywhere in the world. But here at the Avalon, there was only ever one person it could be from.
Carrie swallowed around the lump that had taken up residence in her throat and wondered how long it would take her to work up the courage to open it. She put it to one side, and turned to the next paper in the stack—a copy of Nancy’s will.
There, in black and white, signed by her grandmother herself, was the proof that Nancy hadn’t believed that Carrie could save the Avalon on her own. With the proviso that Nathanial Green be given full control of the gardens, for as long as he wishes it.
Perfect. Well, at least he didn’t get any say in what happened inside the inn. However much he obviously thought he should.
Nate braced his hands against the arms of his chair and pushed himself to his feet, his gaze still fixed on the will in her hands. Carrie glanced up. He looked even more absurdly tall when he was the only one standing.
“Well, you don’t need me here for this,” he said, just as Izzie stuck her head around the door from the bar, saying, “Nate? Jacob’s got some kind of childcare crisis, and he’s supposed to be giving me a lift home. Can we...?”
“Yeah, sure,” Nate said, with a wave of his hand. “I’ll walk you out. I need to talk to Jacob about menus for next week, anyway.” He stopped by the door and turned back to where Carrie waited patiently for him to realize his mistake. “If that’s okay with Carrie. I mean, Miss Archer.”
For
