Room For Love. Sophie Pembroke

‘glorious’ takes money,” she said. “I’m just working on a business plan to put to investors now.”

      “You need investors? Well, that’s easy—ask Mum and Dad.” Ruth made it sound so easy, so simple. But the thought of having to go cap in hand to Uncle Patrick and Aunt Selena, begging for help, made bile rise in Carrie’s throat.

      “I need to do this on my own, Ruth. I told you that.”

      “But you’re not on your own, are you? Gran left you that gardener chap to work with, for a start. And besides, we’re family. We’re supposed to help.” When Carrie didn’t answer, Ruth sighed. “Well, think about it. And anyway, my wedding should help pay for some of it, right? I mean, Dad is already expecting me to spend a fortune on it, so I may as well spend it right.”

      Which sounded a lot like a handout by another name to Carrie. “I don’t want you holding your wedding here just because you think I need the business.”

      “I’m having my wedding at the Avalon because it’s home. And I will be paying a deposit cheque—that coincidentally will help get the place ready for my big day—because that’s what I’d be doing wherever we held it. So you don’t need to get all huffed up about it.” Carrie winced at Ruth’s insulted tone.

      “I’m sorry. You know I’d love for you to have your wedding here. I just hope you’re planning a long engagement!” Carrie attempted a chuckle, but it came out more of a croak.

      “Oh, no.” Carrie could practically hear Ruth tossing her head from side to side. “I want to be Mrs Frobisher as soon as possible. And I’ve already decided on my bouquet. This month’s Blissful Bride magazine had a feature on Ecuadorian Cool Water Roses. They’re lavender, you know. My favourite colour.”

      “How soon is as soon as possible?” Carrie asked, desperately trying to get back to the things that mattered.

      “Actually, I was thinking of a winter wedding. Maybe even Christmas.”

      Christmas wasn’t so bad, Carrie told herself. Fourteen months away. Plenty of time. Unless... “You don’t mean this Christmas, do you?”

      Ruth laughed. “Of course, this Christmas. Are you free on Christmas Eve? I think that would be the most romantic day to get married, don’t you?”

      Carrie slumped against the embroidered moth cushion on the musty bed, secretly hoping that Ruth and Graeme would break up over the jeweller’s counter. She loved her cousin, really she did. But there was no way they would be ready for a wedding by Christmas.

      “Anyway, I know we haven’t got much time, so I’ll email you some bridesmaid dress ideas later, and I’ll check with Graeme when we can come up to see you to sort out the rest, okay?”

      Carrie nodded, then realised that was useless. “Great,” she said, unable to muster much enthusiasm.

      “Then I’m off to choose my ring!” Ruth said, and hung up.

      Carrie had two minutes of staring blankly at the phone before there was a knock at the door, and Nate’s head appeared around it. His expression was blank, so she had no idea if he was still angry with her about Mr Jenkins or not. They hadn’t really spoken since, which suggested he probably was. But on the other hand, he’d come looking for her…

      “How did you know where I was?” she asked.

      Nate came into the room, and shrugged, still expressionless. “Cyb saw you sneak in here earlier. Look, the builder’s here, when you’re ready. Said you called for some new quotes?”

      “Yeah.” Carrie grabbed her clipboard and hopped off the bed. She had bigger things to worry about than whether her gardener liked her. “I’m coming.” She wondered what builder Tom would say when she told him she needed all the work done by Christmas, and she still didn’t have any money to pay him.

       Chapter 7

      As Carrie trailed around the Avalon Inn later that afternoon, always three steps behind the builder she’d called in, she felt her spirits falling by the second. It was all very well trying to save the inn, but really, in the face of Tom Powers of Powers Construction, master of the sucked-in breath and “that’s going to cost you”, how much could one woman do?

      Finally, they finished with the inside and headed out to deal with the inn’s exterior.

      “This door doesn’t look good, either,” Tom said as they went through the main entrance.

      Carrie groaned inwardly. The door was huge, heavy and almost certainly expensive. “The survey didn’t mention it.”

      Tom gave her his ‘Listen to me, idiot woman. What do you know about construction, anyway?’ look, which he’d perfected over the course of his visit. “Hardly surprising, with all the other problems. Surveyor was bound to miss a few things.”

      Given that she was probably going to owe the man her first-, second- and third-born children by the time he’d fixed her inn, Carrie decided not to argue.

      “How’s it going?” Nate appeared again, this time from behind one of the shrubs lining the drive, shears in hand and a couple of leafy twigs in his hair. Carrie wondered how long he’d been hiding in the bushes waiting for them to arrive. And why he’d bothered.

      Tom sucked his breath through his teeth again, making Carrie shudder. “Lot of work here.”

      Nate stepped closer, still holding the clippers. “Well, we knew as much from the survey.” His voice was perfectly amiable, Carrie thought, but somehow the huge blades in his hands made the words a little more threatening.

      “Tom’s found some problems the surveyor missed, too,” Carrie told him.

      Nate flashed her a look miles away from the ones Tom had been giving her all morning. This one was more conspiratorial, somehow. The knot that had set up residence in Carrie’s stomach when they’d started the inspection tightened as she tried to figure out what Nate planned to do. Just in case she needed to stop him.

      But all Nate did was say, “Really? Can I take a look?” He reached out and snatched the pad Tom had been scribbling on for the last hour from his hands. Tom didn’t even put up an objection, possibly because of the very sharp blades.

      Nate cast a cursory glance over the paper and, before Carrie could even ask to see it, he thrust it back at Tom. “Yeah, she’s not going to be using you.”

      “What?” Carrie reached out and grabbed the pad from between the two men. “Tom, don’t listen to him, he’s just the...” The numbers of Tom’s estimate sank in, three times Nancy’s initial quote, and she lowered the paper. “Yeah, sorry, Tom. He’s right.”

      For a moment, she thought Tom might argue, but he looked at Nate and obviously decided to cut his losses. Without even taking his notepad, he stalked off towards his car, parked at an angle on the other side of the gravelled drive, muttering, “Waste of bloody time.”

      Carrie watched him go and wondered how the hell she was going to put together a proper business plan without building quotes.

      “Cheer up.” Nate leaned the shears against the side of the steps leading up to the front door, and stood beside her as they watched Tom Powers screech away in his four-by-four.

      Carrie turned on him, scowling. Just because he was right didn’t mean she was happy about it. “What the hell did you think you were doing just then?”

      “He was ripping you off,” Nate said, taking a cautious step backward.

      Carrie glared at him. “How do you know? Are you a building expert now, too?”

      “The survey was thorough.” Nate’s voice was calm and sincere, but it wasn’t making Carrie any less furious. “I know the guy who did it. If Tom says he missed anything, Tom is trying to rip you off. Probably