Maybe it would help convince her that everyone needed a little help sometimes. “Why doesn’t your party come through to the bar for a complimentary drink while I try and resolve this issue for you?”
Mr Jenkins looked faintly mollified when Carrie led them all into the main bar, gave instructions to Henry the part-time barman to hand out as much free booze as necessary, then shut the door on them before coming into the lobby.
“Before you say anything—” Nate started, but Carrie was already talking over him.
“You’re not talking now,” she said, her voice much sharper than it had been in the dim light of his summerhouse the night before. “I don’t know how my grandmother ran this inn, and I know I’ve only been here one day, but my understanding is that your domain is the garden, and your input should end at the front door. A fact that was made abundantly clear by your treatment of our customer. So from now on, I would appreciate it if—”
“He isn’t our customer,” Nate broke in, attempting to keep a tight hold on his anger. Never mind that he’d been practically running the place since Nancy got ill and wouldn’t tell her family. No matter that he’d held everything together while they waited for Carrie to pack up her life in the city and grace them with her presence. Never mind that Mr Jenkins was an idiot.
It stopped Carrie’s tirade for a moment, anyway. “What?”
“Mr Jenkins. He’s not our customer.” Nate pushed the printout of the email across the reception desk and waited for Carrie to reach the hotel name in the signature.
“Arundel Hotel.” She didn’t sound particularly apologetic, Nate thought, but at least she seemed calmer.
“Yeah. It’s a couple of miles down the road.”
“Right.” Carrie shut her eyes and sighed. “Of course.”
Without an apology or a retraction, Carrie snatched the email from the desk and stalked off towards the bar to give Mr Jenkins the good news that out there somewhere was a dining table set for thirty, and their food was going cold.
* * * *
Once the Jenkins party had been dispatched in taxis to the Arundel Hotel, Carrie took her pile of papers back to the drawing room, determined to finally get some work done.
Passing through the lobby, she saw Izzie in place behind the reception desk, shuffling piles of junk mail. She glanced up at Carrie. “If you’re looking for Nate—”
“I’m not,” Carrie told her, without breaking pace. She was, after all, perfectly capable of running the Avalon Inn without him.
She sat at the window seat, this time, to avoid anyone else sneaking up on her, and turned to The List.
1. Windows.
She should probably apologise to Nate, she realised. Sighing, she turned to stare out at the gardens. Whatever the bushes were by the driveway needed cutting back. And the beds under the windows were empty, she remembered.
Maybe Nate needed to apologise to her, actually. Or at least start doing his job.
Still, the gardens hadn’t even made it onto her priorities list yet. They certainly came after the bedrooms and the dining room, but probably not too much farther down. Photo opportunities were a huge selling point for wedding venues. She wondered if the inn had a pagoda.
But the gardens were Nate’s responsibility now, not hers. She’d just have to trust him to get on with it and not invest in some offensive topiary just to get back at her for this morning.
The sharp beeping ringtone of her mobile phone seemed oddly out of place at the Avalon. Adding change ringtone to the mental list, Carrie answered it quickly. “Hello?”
“Carrie? It’s Vicky. Vicky Purcell. How are you?” Her ex-client’s voice was too overly cheery, Carrie thought, for this to be a good phone call.
“Fine, thanks, Vicky. Is everything okay?”
“Oh, yes, fine. Just…we were wondering. I know you’re not with Wedding Wishes any longer, but, really, you were the reason we decided to hire the company. And now you’re not there… Well, I don’t suppose there’s any chance you might be looking to take on a couple of clients on the side?”
Oh God, what was Anna doing over there without her? Any guilt she’d felt about leaving Wedding Wishes had been for her clients, rather than her boss. Once Carrie had become vaguely competent at the wedding planning side of things, Anna had taken a back seat, dealing with the finances and contracts rather than handling distraught brides and double-checking dates on invitations before they went to the printers.
Which was probably why Anna had been so cross about her leaving, Carrie thought. She liked to keep herself away from the actual wedding part of wedding planning. Too much joyousness tended to annoy her.
“I’m sorry, Vicky,” Carrie said. “I really can’t. Even if I wasn’t…otherwise occupied now, I signed a contract with Anna. I couldn’t take any clients with me when I left.”
Vicky sighed. “Lucas said that’s what you’d say. But I figured it was worth a try. I just wish…”
“I’m really sorry, Vicky,” Carrie said again. “I’m sure Anna will do a great job for you. I mean, she’s being planning weddings for much longer than I have.”
“I suppose.” Vicky didn’t sound convinced.
“I hope the wedding goes wonderfully.” What else could she say, really?
“Yeah. Thanks. Bye, Carrie.”
“Bye.” Carrie ended the call and dropped her phone onto the table.
Bridges burned, just as her dad had said. She’d left that world behind, and all she had now was the Avalon. She had to find a way to make this work.
Grabbing her pen, she turned back to her list.
Autumn was marching on and, given his mood, Nate saw no harm in getting stuck into some of the more energetic pre-winter garden jobs. After all, he was just the gardener. And he had a sudden urge to hack at stubborn roots and overgrown shrubs. Which had to be better than his earlier, similar urge to do with his new employer.
Besides, certain things had been let slide, he’d admit, while he’d been busy running the rest of the inn for Nancy. Time to get back to his garden where he belonged. Far away from Carrie Archer.
“She hasn’t been here in five years,” he told the hedge he was cutting back. “Who the hell is she to tell me my job?”
“Your boss.” The words held just the right mix of sympathy and censure to stop him feeling sorry for himself. It could only be his grandmother.
“I know.” Nate sighed and lowered the hedge clippers.
“You left your lunch in Reception,” Moira said, proffering another ubiquitous Tupperware box. “It’s ham and tomato today.”
“Sorry.”
