who, apparently, was trying to work through the invasion of his kitchen. “So, what’s the latest, then?”
“It’s Jacob who heard it,” Cyb said, clasping her hands together with excitement. “He should tell you.”
“No, please,” Jacob said, without turning around. “You go ahead. Elsewhere, for preference.”
They all ignored the last bit. “It seems,” Stan said, “Carrie received a phone call this morning. From our prospective bride.”
Nate blinked. This wasn’t exactly the big drama he was expecting. “Was this before or after Matt came to give his estimate?” Because that might at least explain her lousy mood, if the phone call was a bad one.
“Just before,” Jacob confirmed, attention still on his knife as he sliced potatoes.
“Any idea what it was about?”
They all looked at Jacob again, and the chef sighed, put down his knife and turned to face them. “All I heard was Carrie saying that all grooms hate weddings, and then, later when I popped back to get her coffee cup, she was arranging the show round for a week on Friday.” Jacob paused, apparently getting into the drama of storytelling after all. “And then...she suggested that they stay overnight. Have a romantic weekend here at the Avalon. Said it might ‘help’.”
“Help with what, I’d like to know?” Stan grumbled.
“So we might possibly have our first overnight guests since Carrie took over,” Nate summarised, shrugging. “Well, at least we know the bride is predisposed to like the place.”
“There’s more than that going on today, boy,” Stan boomed, clearly forgetting Carrie was still in the next room. “We’ve got a plan.”
Which sounded ominous. Nate sighed. “Okay. Why don’t we go and discuss this plan somewhere farther away from Nancy’s office?”
They settled on the front drawing room, since Carrie was no longer using it to work from, and Jacob brought them a tray of tea with some of the staff digestives before disappearing back to the kitchen. The inn might be falling apart, he told them, but there were still people who’d risk falling bricks for his steak and kidney pudding.
It was a good sign, Nate supposed, that the inn was still getting diners in, even if it was only the locals. Now they just needed to make it habitable enough for people to stay. And get married.
“So, what’s the plan?” he asked, helping himself to a biscuit. “Find out about this possible sleepover?”
Stan nodded. “And why a newly affianced couple need a romantic night away. Don’t want either of them getting cold feet. That’s your job. You’re officially our intelligence arm.”
“Me?” Nate asked through a mouthful of biscuit crumbs. His gran glared at him, so he chewed and swallowed before continuing. “Why me?”
“Well, after your success at dance night, you’re the best way in we’ve got,” Stan told him, and for a moment Nate was back on the dance floor with his arms around Carrie Archer. It was, he had to admit, a much more pleasant reality than one that involved plotting some sort of inn-related revolution with his gran and her friends.
“She trusts you, Nate.” Moira sounded a lot more rational about the whole thing, at least. “Especially after this thing with the builder. She’s a lot more likely to tell you what’s going on than the rest of us.”
Nate leaned back in his chair and considered. “Okay, so, supposing we know what’s happening, what exactly are we going to do about it? This place needs to be irresistible in less than two weeks’ time. If the groom is getting nervous, we don’t want to give him any excuse to put things off.”
Stan grumbled something under his breath, but didn’t elaborate, so Nate turned to his gran. Moira gave a broad smile, and said, “Cyb’s had a wonderful idea.”
He wasn’t sure he’d ever heard those words put together before. Trying not to wince, Nate turned his attention to the fourth member of their group. “Cyb?”
“It’s sort of like a Secret Santa thing,” Cyb said. “Except all year round. And really, more like a Secret Good Samaritan, now I think about it.”
Which cleared absolutely nothing up at all. Nate looked back at Moira, who sighed.
“It’s a good plan,” she assured him.
Nate nodded and said, “Tell me.”
“The premise,” Stan interrupted, “is that Carrie is just as stubborn as her grandmother, and wants to do everything herself.”
Nate thought of Carrie, buried deep in the depths of Nancy’s office, refusing to ask for help. Remembered the look on her face when he’d interfered with Tom the rip-off-builder, and when his mate Tony had come by to shore up the terrace. “Okay, I can attest to that. So, how do we help her if she doesn’t want our help?”
“This is where the secret Good Samaritan bit comes in,” Cyb whispered across to him, and Stan glared at her.
“We take care of the little things,” Moira told him, ignoring the other two. “The things she won’t have time to think of.”
“Soaps and things,” Stan put in, and Nate blinked at him in surprise. “Or so they tell me.”
Moira rolled her eyes. “More than that. We try to take on all the details while Carrie deals with the building.”
“It sounds like a good start,” Nate said, not wanting to dampen their spirits. “But are the details really going to make that much of a difference?”
“The devil is in the details,” Cyb told him unhelpfully.
“Curtains? Linens? Fresh flowers? Stationery? New menus? Updating the website?” Moira smiled at him smugly. “I think they’ll make a lot of difference.”
“But how are we going to pay for everything?” Nate had some savings, but not enough to save the Avalon Inn. And the others were living on their not-that-impressive pensions.
“The old-fashioned way,” Stan said. “We’ll beg and borrow—things, not money, mind.”
“We’ll make do and mend,” Cyb added.
“And you,” Moira said, an unholy smile on her face. “You can dig for victory.”
* * * *
The deadline column on Carrie’s to do list had taken on a frightening urgency, dates written in red ink and underlined several times. Ruth would be arriving at the Avalon Inn in less than two weeks, parents and Graeme in tow. Carrie had spent the previous afternoon, evening, and a good portion of the night building her schedule for the next ten days.
Ruth had called back to confirm that she and Graeme would stay overnight and get the train back the next day, so Graeme could make some meeting or another. She’d sounded cross about it, so Carrie hadn’t asked what sort of a business had meetings on a Saturday. Aunt Selena, unsurprisingly, wasn’t willing to risk a night at the Avalon Inn, and they hadn’t been invited to anyway. Which meant only one bedroom had to be in
