Chapter 5

 

Apparently, ‘wait in the lobby’ was too confusing an instruction for Carrie’s guests. “They went through to the dining room,” Izzie told her as she arrived in reception. Carrie didn’t bother asking why Izzie hadn’t stopped them; she just sighed and headed toward the double doors. That was the problem with family. They thought they had free rein to wander through her life, causing havoc.

The dining room at least looked functional as a reception space, but she’d hoped to have a chance to talk up all the improvements they had planned before they actually saw it. She’d just have to hope the lure of a really great bed would be enough for Ruth to sweet talk her mother into the booking.

But once she stepped through into the dining room, Carrie saw why they couldn’t wait. When she’d last checked the room, in the early hours of that morning, the tables had been laid with plain white cloths, the chairs draped with covers. It distracted, a little, from the purple and green paisley carpet. Not to mention the matching curtains hanging over the eight windows around two walls of the room. But it wasn’t exactly inspiring.

But now...

Pale lilac and white blooms tempered the vibrant pink of Nate’s bargain flowers, arranged in a mismatched collection of cut-glass vases. Over the plain white cloths Carrie had found for the tables, someone had laid lace cloths, yellowing with age, each one slightly different. And at each place-setting, instead of the full set of plain white china she’d intended, was a teacup and saucer on top of a side plate. The range of patterns in the china was phenomenal. Ditsy floral prints, willow pattern, art deco designs–and Carrie was almost willing to bet that not one single piece matched another that paired it.

Across each of the curtain rails, white fairy lights had been hung in a way Carrie feared might be a fire hazard. But they looked spectacular, so she decided she didn’t care.

“Oh my God, Carrie, I love this room!” Ruth cried, spotting Carrie in the doorway.

“It certainly is an improvement,” Anna said, running a finger along the rim of a teacup.

Selena was more practical. “How many does it seat?”

“Ten tables of ten,” Carrie answered promptly. “Plus the top table. So, around 110.”

“We can cut the guest list, can’t we Mum?” Ruth said. “I never really wanted to invite the Andersons, anyway.”

“The carpet and curtains will be changed, of course,” Selena went on, ignoring her daughter.

“Of course. And the booking can include sole use of the property, including the bars and drawing rooms, so there’ll be plenty of space for your guests to spread out.” Carrie didn’t mention the additional cost for securing sole use, or the fact it was highly unlikely anyone else would want to be there anyway. Except the Seniors, of course.

“We’d need to book out all the bedrooms.” Carrie tried not to get too excited, but it sounded as if Selena was actually considering it. “And we’d need more accommodation besides.”

“There are a number of lovely hotels and inns in the area,” Carrie said, hoping they wouldn’t decide to go and look at them until after they’d paid a deposit on the Avalon. “I’d be happy to give you names and addresses, or contact them on your behalf.”

Selena nodded. “Fine. There is, I assume, somewhere to actually hold the ceremony? And take photographs?”

“Absolutely. If you’d just like to come this way.” Carrie motioned them back through the double doors to the lobby, wondering what she’d find when they reached the Willow Room, earmarked for the ceremony.

It was only because she glanced over her shoulder, wanting one last glimpse of the china, that she saw Cyb, Moira and Stan peeking out from behind one of the stage curtains.

* * * *

“I think it went well,” Nate said, doling out drinks from a tray in the Red Lion later. “The bed, in particular, was a big hit.” He raised his pint glass to Cyb and sat down.

“My sister always said very good things about that bed,” Cyb mused, a faraway look in her eye.

Nate decided he didn’t want to investigate that one any further. “How did things go in the dining room?”

“Carrie looked pleased.” Moira sipped at her gin and tonic. “And that Ruth girl was over the moon.” Apparently Gran was coming around on the subject of Ruth, which was just as well. “Even the boss woman looked pleasantly surprised.”

“Mother looked less impressed, mind,” Stan added. Stan, Nate thought, wasn’t wholly on board with their plan. “Not sure she’ll go for it.”

“Oh, but once she sees what Nate’s done with the terrace, she’ll be won over, I’m certain.” Cyb gave him a wide smile, and Nate wished he had her faith. The terrace looked nice, yes, but it wasn’t that impressive. Just a few purple and pink flowers and the advantage of views out across Snowdonia. The mountains were going to need to do a lot more work than he had, to be honest.

“Did we manage to do anything with the Willow room?” he asked. It was the one space giving him real concern. It wasn’t much of a room; Nancy had mostly used it for storage, or for hanging coats on nights of big events. But Carrie had needed somewhere to hold wedding ceremonies inside, in case it rained, so she had laid out rows of chairs and asked Nate to bung some flowers up the top.

“Not much,” Stan admitted. “I put the bay trees with the ribbons you wanted at the top end, and Cyb tied a few ribbons on some chairs, but we were running out of time, to be honest.”

Nate nodded. “Much simpler when Nancy held weddings.” Nancy had got the wedding license for the inn for a local couple who wanted to get married down by the pond. The rules stated that most of the ceremony had to take place under cover, though, so they’d put up the stone pagoda, which had since only been used for storing garden junk. Nate was not looking forward to clearing that out.

Until then, he was just lucky the license covered the inside of the inn, too.

“Except when it rained,” Moira pointed out. “Then we just got wet.”

Nancy hadn’t had a ceremony room, of course. It was the pagoda or nothing.

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to wait and see what they made of it.” Nate gave a resigned sigh.

Cyb bit her bottom lip. “You don’t think she’ll be cross, do you?”

“Cross?” Stan barked a laugh. “Whatever for? We helped her, didn’t we?”

“Ye-es,” Moira said, drawing it out. “But some people don’t always appreciate that sort of thing.”

“Well, I do,” Carrie said from the doorway. “So, thanks.” There was silence, until Carrie added, looking uncertain, “Um, Izzie told me where you were. I hope that’s okay...”

The Seniors stared up at her, looking not unlike small children caught with their hands in the proverbial cookie jar. Nate realized he was doing the same and got to his feet.

“They liked it?” He motioned Carrie toward an empty chair.

“Ruth did. I think Aunt Selena still needs some convincing. She wants to put off making a firm booking until Graeme and Uncle Patrick have seen it.” She reached for Nate’s pint, took a sip, then pulled a face and pushed it back. “Gin and tonic?” she asked, looking up at Nate.

He nodded, and smiled at the barmaid clearing the next table, saying, “Could you?” He didn’t want to miss any of this.

“But is your boss going to put up the money?” Stan asked. Nate was surprised to see him so interested, but on the other hand, he’d done a lot of lugging of furniture over the past few days. He probably just wanted to be sure he hadn’t been wasting his time.

Carrie took her gin and tonic from the barmaid with a grateful smile. “Some. She’ll cover some of the immediate, expensive and urgent stuff, the rest will have to come out of the deposit check if we get it. Ruth’s father and her fiance are going to come visit at the beginning of November, and stay overnight. Then they’ll either give me a deposit check to get the place in shape for Christmas, or they’ll walk away and...”

“We’ll find another way to get the money,” Nate finished for her, but she didn’t look convinced.

“Something like that.” She took another gulp of her drink.

There was a pause around the table, as everyone considered the stakes. Even though Nate knew they’d all fight to keep the Avalon open and theirs, there was always the chance Carrie’s boss wouldn’t stump up enough to fix it, especially if Ruth’s fiance didn’t like the place. Carrie might even have to sell it to pay Anna back. And selling it would break not just her heart, but everyone else’s, too.

“Well, I suppose we’ve got a lot more work to do, then,” Cyb said, finally.

Carrie looked up and smiled at her. “Yes,” she said, her voice warm. “We have. And I’d really appreciate all your help.”

She looked at Nate as she finished speaking, and he caught the pleading in her eyes, if not her voice. She hated asking for this, he knew. But she really did need it.

“Then you’ll have it,” he promised, placing his hand over hers. “And anything else you need.”

Stan cleared his throat. “As long as we get to keep our dance nights and Bridge games, that is.”

“Of course,” Carrie said, and she even managed a convincing smile.

* * * *

It was surreal, seeing Ruth curled up in one of the bar’s tatty leather wingback chairs, Pusscat on her knee, sipping on Nancy’s best whiskey and laughing at something Nate had said. Like two worlds colliding. Carrie supposed she’d better get used to it.

Selena had departed late that afternoon followed swiftly by Anna, leaving the whole inn sighing in relief in the wake of their exhausts.

“You promised me wine,” Ruth had said, and Carrie had led her through to the bar, where Nate had furnished them with drinks, then disappeared to let them catch up. Jacob had shown up an hour or so later, first with nibbles, then with the full three-course romantic dinner planned for Ruth and Graeme, which Ruth had been in raptures over.

“I may never leave,” she’d said around a mouthful of garlic potatoes.

Certainly, Carrie thought, watching her cousin, she seemed at home. It was hard to remember, sometimes, that the Avalon had been as much Ruth’s as her own, once. She’d wondered if Ruth resented Nancy leaving it to her, but when she’d plucked up the courage to ask, Ruth had just tutted and said, “Silly. What would I do with an inn?”

Carrie glanced down at her watch. Gone midnight. Izzie and Jacob, both done for the day but showing no signs of leaving, flirted at the bar over some very unappealing-looking shots. Carrie vaguely remembered Jacob mentioning his ex was having Georgia for a sleepover, so he was obviously making the most of his night off. Nate, on the other hand, had merely stopped by to let them know he was turning in, and had been promptly collared by Ruth and forced to stay and drink whiskey with them.

“So,” Ruth asked, raising her glass. “I think the occasion deserves a toast.”

“To what?” Carrie asked, but raised her glass anyway.

“To you rescuing the Avalon, and to me getting my Cool Water Roses.”

Carrie rolled her eyes, but Nate said, “To the Avalon,” and Izzie and Jacob echoed it from the bar, so she joined in.

“It’s a shame Graeme couldn’t be here tonight,” Carrie said, as Ruth poured them all more whiskey. “I’m sure he wanted to be.”

Ruth snorted, and Nate looked at her in surprise. Carrie knew the feeling. Ruth was so blond and petite and delicate that it was hard to imagine her being anything other than perfectly elegant. “He just wants this thing to happen, with minimal inconvenience to himself and his job.”

Carrie blinked. “Well, a wedding is only one day in a marriage, I suppose.” She took a large gulp of her whiskey and didn’t look at Nate. They really needed Graeme to want to get married at the Avalon.

“Exactly,” Ruth said, and topped up her glass. “Which is what I kept telling my mother all the way up here.”

“Fun journey,” Nate said. “Did she agree with you?”

Ruth put on her best Selena voice. “‘If a man can’t show interest in his own wedding day, what’s to say he’ll show any interest in his wife, once it’s over?’” She sighed. “He’s a very busy man, is all. I know he wants to marry me.” Ruth looked between them, then glanced over at the bar. “I think your staff just found the tequila,” she said, dislodging Pusscat and getting to her feet. “And you know how I love tequila.”

Carrie did know. And she was afraid the next day was going to be a complete write-off.

“Come on,” Ruth added, holding a hand out to Carrie.

“I’ll be there in a second,” Carrie promised, and watched Ruth weave her way to the bar.

“What do you think?” Nate asked, snagging Ruth’s half-full whiskey glass. “Will he go through with it?”

“I’ve never met the man,” Carrie said, looking up at him. “She’s only been with him a few months.”

“What happens if he gets cold feet?” Nate’s voice was soft but serious.

Carrie didn’t answer. Instead, she got to her feet, smoothed down her skirt and said, “I’d better go protect the rest of the spirits from Ruth and her new friends,” and headed over to the bar.

Glancing back, Carrie could see Nate staring after her, his gray eyes contemplative. But she refused to think the worst just yet. For now she was going to believe in Graeme the devoted fiance, who would love the Avalon. If he ever got there.

Ruth handed her a shot glass, and the night became a little fuzzy around the edges.

* * * *

Wednesday night meant Bridge night at the Avalon Inn. Carrie had managed to avoid them since she’d arrived but, in the spirit of their new collaborative effort to save the inn, she figured she should at least show her face. Especially since it seemed they’d be going on for some time to come. So, on the last Wednesday in October, Carrie shut down her laptop early and headed downstairs to find the action.

The Seniors had set up camp in the bar, shifting tables into position and moving chairs at will. Carrie, perched on a barstool with a well-earned glass of wine, watched in amazement. Bridge didn’t appear to need all the props and decorations Dance Night required, but the bar still looked utterly different.

Under the window, three rectangular tables were laid out in a line, covered in dark red cloths Carrie hadn’t realized they owned. As each player entered the room, they put a plate of some sort of eatables on the table. By the time they were all in, there was a pretty impressive banquet of quiche, sandwiches and salads lined up.

Jacob had set up huge urns of tea and coffee at one end, along with cups and saucers, but most of the players were ordering from the bar. Nate, apparently, had been shanghaied into being barman for the night, and was mixing pink gins and Campari and sodas with the sort of ease that suggested this was a regular occurrence.

“Do we actually have bar staff?” Carrie asked during a lull in the ordering.

“Not exactly.” Nate wiped off a glass with a bar towel and replaced it on its shelf. “There’s not usually a lot of demand on the bar. The Seniors help themselves and keep a tally by the till. And on Sundays we have Henry the part-time barman, who comes in to deal with the walkers and such passing through.”

“And then there are nights like tonight.” Carrie watched as he cleaned another glass with quick, efficient movements. “How did you get roped in?”

Nate shrugged. “We usually hire in extra staff for events–most often Henry, to be honest–but for things like this, it’s just easier for me to do it.” And cheaper, Carrie thought. “Besides,” Nate went on, with a smile, “I’m here anyway, and this way I don’t have to play Bridge.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that,” Moira said, waving an empty glass at him. “Ted and Noreen can’t make it, so we’re down a pair. You play, don’t you, Carrie?” Nate refilled his grandmother’s gin and tonic, and she took it back saying, “Bless you. Grandsons are wonderful things.”

“Not really...” Carrie tried, but Nate interrupted, saying, “If I have to play, you have to play.”

Carrie sighed. “I could try, I suppose.”

“Excellent. Then I suggest you charge your glasses before we start!” Moira bounded over to her table, where she sat with three other women Carrie didn’t recognize.

“There are a lot of people here,” Carrie said, as Nate filled up her wine glass. “I didn’t think it would be so popular.”

Nate handed her the wine bottle. “Better take this, too. You might need it.” He slid out from behind the bar, pint in hand. “I guess there aren’t many opportunities for this sort of thing anymore. It’s always been a big draw.”

“It’s nice.” Carrie watched the tables start to deal hands, some with more bickering than others. “I’m starting to see why Nancy wanted to make sure this carried on.”

“Good,” Nate said. “Now, we’d better get to our table before someone comes hunting for us.” He placed his hand at the small of her back, guiding her through the maze of tables to one by the fire, where Cyb and Stan sat.

“Oh good!” Cyb looked up with a big smile. “I was wondering what we’d do without Ted and Noreen. Noreen’s had a bit of a turn today, it seems, and Ted didn’t want her out and about tonight.”

“I just hope you two are better players,” Stan grumbled. “Always fighting over their system, those two are. As if either of them can remember if a raised eyebrow means a face card. Can’t remember what day it is most of the time.”

“Don’t be unkind,” Cyb said mildly. “They’re lovely people. And you like Noreen’s open turkey pie, don’t you try to deny it.”

“I didn’t say the woman couldn’t cook,” Stan pointed out. “Now, can I at least assume you two know how to play?”

“It has been a while,” Carrie admitted. “But I’m sure I’ll pick it up again.”

Stan didn’t look so sure. “You’d better partner Nate then. Cyb’s not much of a player, but at least I already know her weaknesses. You’d be an unknown quantity.”

“We can always swap later,” Nate said, but the look on Stan’s face suggested this wasn’t very likely.

By the time they’d played the first hand, Carrie was already wishing she’d paid more attention when Nancy had tried to teach her to play. Or that she at least remembered more about the game than that the dummy hand system allowed a murder to be committed in an Agatha Christie novel.

“Two hearts.” Nate declared his bid, watching her carefully over the table. He, at least, seemed to know what he was doing.

Carrie gave him a helpless smile in return, and he rolled his eyes as the bidding continued. She managed a, “Um, one spade,” when her turn came up, but she really wasn’t all that sure.

“It doesn’t seem very fair that you two are stuck with me all night,” she said, after another confusing hand. “I mean, I barely know what I’m doing.”

Cyb patted her hand. “You’re doing very well dear.”

“Maybe I can see if Moira would let us all swap around a bit,” Stan said, and wandered off toward Moira’s table.

Nate poured Carrie some more wine from her bottle and said, “Clearly, we are going to have to practice before next week.”

The idea of having to play a game of cards she barely understood with a group of senior citizens week on week on week should have been terrifying. Two weeks ago, she would have run screaming from the idea.

But these people had gone out of their way to help her. They knew her grandmother and Nancy had loved them. Sitting in a warm room, having a drink and puzzling over why she only bid the number of tricks over six she thought she could win, just didn’t sound so bad anymore.

And the added advantage of staring at Nate Green over the table didn’t hurt at all.

“So, basically, if I want to stay at the Avalon, not only do I need to fix up the whole place, but I also need to learn to dance and play Bridge?” Carrie asked, joking.

Cyb’s reply was perfectly serious. “And sing. Can you sing? I don’t think Nancy ever said.”

“She’s got a beautiful voice,” Nate answered, and Carrie turned to him in surprise.

“How would you know?”

Nate shrugged. “Nancy told me.” But Carrie kept looking, as his gaze darted away, and the feeling she’d had on her arrival, the first moment she’d seen him, came back. Carrie was certain she’d met Nate Green somewhere before. She just wished she could remember where.

“Well, Cyb, you’re going to have to give me dance lessons, then,” Carrie said. Nate was a puzzle for another time. Late at night, perhaps, when she couldn’t sleep. “Because I’m rubbish at that too. As Nate can attest.”

“You were fine,” Nate said, but he raised his glass to his mouth quickly so he couldn’t be pushed further.

“I was awful.” Carrie smiled at Cyb. “What about it? Want a new pupil? I saw you and Stan spinning round the floor like the next Strictly champs.”

“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.

But apparently he wasn’t convincing enough, because Mel said, “I’ll call you, then. Seriously, Nate, think about it. It’s a great opportunity. For both of us.” She hung up, leaving Nate staring at the phone.

It was a great opportunity. But Nate wasn’t sure if it could trump everything the Avalon Inn had already given him.

Nate looked around his garden, trying to imagine which bit of it he could bear to part with and failing. Which section would Carrie want to get rid of? The woods, with their bluebell walks and wildlife, or the fountain, or the rose garden, or the pagoda or... It didn’t matter. He couldn’t lose any part of it.

Which meant he’d just have to find a way to make every inch of the gardens earn their keep. Then Carrie would see how important they were.

She had to. Or he couldn’t stay.