Lucy didn’t see James again. She and Dillon spent the afternoon with Bette, moving more furniture, and he spent the time with Helen, had even eaten dinner at her bedside. And when Lucy went up to grab a sweater and her tablet after dinner, she heard them laughing behind the closed door. She paused to listen and had to admit that, despite being angry with him, she was glad he had come. Helen needed him and was probably shocking and delighting him in equal measure with all the stories of her youthful exploits and saddening him with what lay before her, before their entire family.
As Lucy entered the Great Room to read by the fire, she found Dillon had already stolen her favorite chair. She slipped off her loafers and tucked into a corner of the love seat across from him.
“Bette told me to wait here,” he said.
“Do you want me to go? I don’t want to interrupt something.”
“You’re not interrupting anything. This is for the three of us,” Bette called as she entered from the dining room. She carried a silver tray with a wine bottle and three glasses.
“One of Dad’s best.” She poured out the wine. “In honor of his two favorite guests and my heroes.”
Bette noted the guest reading in the corner then sat next to Lucy on the love seat and lifted her glass. “Cheers,” she whispered.
“I can’t move my glass,” Dillon moaned.
Lucy reached across the table. “If it’s too tough, pour it in mine.”
Dillon drew back. “Forget it. I earned this. Cheers.”
They raised their wineglasses in unison and flopped into the cushions.
Bette lifted her glass once more. “Thank you both so much. I can’t tell you what today meant. I took my mom up again while you were out to dinner to show her the two new rooms and she cried.”
“That bad?” Lucy quipped.
Bette swatted her arm. “That good. She loved it. And tonight I’ll upload the pictures we took onto the website. It’s a whole new look.”
“Let’s name them too,” Lucy added.
Bette took another sip and considered Lucy’s suggestion. “We’ve never done that. Dad thought it was tacky to play into all that.”
“I think it’d be fun. I get what he’s saying but I also see that every sign out there works. They create links to our favorite stories and people come here to be a part of that. You don’t come here to see a moor. You come here to see Cathy’s moor and get a glimpse of gothic love at its finest and ponder the incongruence of three lonely girls writing some of the most provocative literature of their age.” Lucy felt herself getting swept up in her sales pitch.
“Tell us how you really feel?” Dillon sent her a cheeky smile.
“I’m serious and I think naming a room, like the one at the top of the landing, ‘Earnshaw Suite’ would be fun and not cheesy at all. Maybe ‘Varens’ for that pink room we overhauled this afternoon or ‘Millcote’ for the one with that huge apothecary cabinet. That’s the village where Rochester went to buy all those gifts for Jane and all those drawers kinda reminded me of that. Like they’d be full of little treasures for purchase.”
Lucy put her fingers together like she was pulling out little drawers. Dillon laughed at her and she shot an “Enough from you” at him before she turned back to Bette.
“The names can be less obvious than you might find at other inns and it’ll give you a chance to tell a good story about the town or the room when you check people in.”
“Creating emotional attachment,” Bette whispered.
“Exactly. It’s all about emotional attachment.” Lucy tapped Bette’s leg. “Decorating 101.”
“Psychology B-Levels.” Bette reached over and clinked her glass against Lucy’s. “I think you’re right. You were right about everything else today. The rooms look great. You have a real gift.”
“Thank you. I’ve always thought of myself as the nuts and bolts at work: procurement, billing, scheduling, and stuff. But today felt really good.” She sipped her wine and watched the fire dance. “More than good.”
“Not me.” Dillon reached his right arm far over his left shoulder and pulled at his back. “This really hurts.”
Lucy opened her mouth to tease him, but stopped as Bette jumped up and nestled on the edge of his armchair.
“Turn,” she gently ordered him.
He threw Lucy a grin and scooted forward as Bette set to work on his shoulder.
“You’re going to spoil him,” Lucy remarked. “He’s not worth it.”
“Quiet down over there,” Dillon tried to bark, but a moan escaped. “Right there. Do you feel that knot?”
“Turn a little more.” Bette pushed harder until Dillon closed his eyes and visibly melted under her hands.
Lucy waited a beat before asking, “What are we moving tomorrow?”
Dillon’s eyes flew open. “We’re done.” He twisted to face Bette. “Please tell me we’re done.”
She pursed her lips. “If you don’t leave, two more rooms open up tomorrow and Lucy said we could work on hers too.”
“I’ll let you in mine as well.” Dillon moaned. “Four rooms left.”
Bette squeaked and threw her arms around him in a hug.
Lucy grinned. Whether Bette knew it or not, her pursed lips did the trick. There was no way Dillon was going to turn her down when the slightest hint of a kiss was presented.
Lucy chatted a few minutes more then decided to give them a little privacy. After all, the distinct possibility remained that there would be no four rooms and no reward kiss, because Dillon would be driving them to London in the morning.
As she reached the top of the stairs, she decided to check on Helen. It felt odd, after all their time together, not to know how her day had gone . . . how she felt . . . what she and James had laughed about . . . She knocked on the door. When no one answered, she twisted the knob and opened it a crack into darkness. She heard Helen’s soft breathing. Every other inhale caught on a light snore. Lucy shut the door.
At her own room, she flipped on the light and took in the space. They could move the dresser, find another armchair, and maybe use a paler covering on the bed. And once the bed curtains came down—it’d be lovely.
Lucy lay back against her pillows and tapped Sid’s number.
He answered at the first ring. “Hello. I got your e-mail. You must be loving Yorkshire.”
“Helen fainted yesterday and fell down the stairs, so our trip has taken a turn.” Lucy noted that she was rubbing her own shoulder just had Dillon had done minutes before. “The doctor said she’s suffering exhaustion and dehydration. I think we’ll head back to London tomorrow or the day after and catch a flight straight home.”
“I’m sorry . . . How is she now?”
“She rested all day yesterday and today. Well, I haven’t seen her since this morning. James arrived.”
“Your James?”
“No, Sid, her James.”
“You really must write all this down someday. How is that going?”
Lucy snuggled deeper into the pillows, recalling her conversation with James. It was similar to a conversation she’d need to have with Sid soon. But not now . . . “It’s okay. He’s been with her all afternoon. I’ve barely seen him.”
“This means no Lake District.”
“You’re right. I’d forgotten that . . .” Lucy pinched the bridge of her nose.
Sid continued, “A couple books arrived today. Two Thomas Hardy’s.”
“Could you put them in my drawer and not in the case? I don’t want to keep them.”
“Why?”
“I . . . I thought hard about what you said. About questionable buyers? Right now I need to manage what we have and reassess my priorities for the business. I don’t want to add any more books for a while.”
“I thought it was doing well.”
“It is. It’s just that . . .”
“It’s your business and you’ve managed it well, Lucy.”
Lucy shook her head, rejecting the compliment. “I don’t know—I can’t believe I’d forgotten about the Lake District.” As soon as the words escaped, she recognized how desperate and nonsensical they sounded. She rushed on. “Speaking of business, guess what I did today?”
“I’d say romped on the moors, but I’m not sure that relates to business.”
“I spent the afternoon doing a little decorating here at the inn. It was amazing, Sid. Bette, the manager, and I updated the rooms by moving furniture, removing old, heavy curtains, and generally clearing out the clutter. I also made her a list of what I thought she needed to freshen the spaces and it was all stuff that’ll fit in her budget: a few throw pillows, repainting some end tables and chairs in bright colors, small stuff. She was thrilled and it led me to an idea . . . Remember how you told me it was time to develop my own clientele?”
“Go on.”
She heard Sid’s enthusiasm and pushed up on the pillows. “What about attracting young urban professionals on a budget and not ready to pay your prices, but still looking for great stuff? Clients for you someday, but for me today?”
“I’m not following you.”
“I was thinking about offering something like a ‘Design Session’ or a full plan in which I set up the vision up front, with visuals, numbers, sourcing, and the budget—all within a computer file. My age group works much more comfortably in that format and I can add pictures and links to a lot of the stuff I recommend so they can execute the plan whenever they’re able—in the middle of the night on their laptop or when a bonus comes in. And the budget is also set up so when they input the price, it all trickles in real time to the bottom line.”
“My first thought is that you’ve put a lot of power in your client’s hands. After the first meeting, they don’t need you. You’ve given them the access points, everything.”
“Is that wrong?”
“It’s simply a different model. I love the idea, but it takes you out of the equation.”
“Often people like that control. They’re busy and they need time to let ideas sit without pressure.” She frowned. “But you’re right, I’d need to bill up front and it’d be good to track loyalty somehow and see how often they re-engage . . . Is it too weird? Unworkable?”
“It’s client focused and that’s what matters. It’s new and different and very you. I like it a lot. Keep developing it and we’ll talk about it when you get back.”
“Thank you, Sid. And thanks also for not putting those books out.”
“They are already in your desk drawer. Sleep well, um pouco.”
“You’ve lost me. Back to Spanish?”
“I took your advice and am sticking with the romance languages. That’s ‘little one’ in Portuguese.”
“Sid, when I grow up, I want to be just like you.” She heard him chuckle before he tapped off his phone.
Lucy did the same then sat listening to the wind rattle the windows.