Sophie Pembroke - The Love Trilogy - Room For Love / An A To Z Of Love / Summer Of Love

4. Apologise to Izzie for suggesting she didn’t know how to work the reservations system yesterday.

Carrie considered the last item. Izzie really didn’t know how to work the computer program that stored their reservations information. Maybe she’d just teach her, instead.

But apologies and lessons would have to wait. First she had her meeting with Nancy’s lawyer, Mr Norton, and his recommended business advisor.

“Carrie.” Mr Norton held out a hand as she walked into the lobby that morning. “It’s so lovely to see you again. I just wish it were under better circumstances.” He turned to the grumpy-looking man in a suit next to him. “This is Frank Andrews. He’s been trying to talk with Nancy about the future of the Avalon Inn for some years now, so he’s delighted to join our meeting today.”

As Carrie shook his hand Mr Andrews’s face broke into a forced sort of a smile.

“Well, thank you both for coming,” Carrie said. “Why don’t we take a seat in the drawing room to talk, then perhaps I can interest you in a tour of the inn, Mr Andrews?”

He gave a slight nod, but didn’t actually answer. Carrie decided it was too early to take that as a bad sign, but, still, it looked as if she had some convincing to do.

As the men headed through, Carrie turned to Izzie at the reception desk and added, “Can you get someone to bring us some coffee?” She wasn’t sure she’d make it through this meeting without caffeine.

Izzie looked dubious, but she nodded, so Carrie decided to hope for the best.

Hoping for the best soon went by the wayside, though.

“Mr Andrews and I have been looking at some options for the inn,” Mr Norton said, his hands folded on his lap.

“Options?” Carrie wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that.

Mr Andrews leaned forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees. “Mr Norton suggested last week that it might be helpful for me to look into the value and saleability of the Avalon Inn.” Carrie felt her heart pause at his words. That wasn’t the deal. These people were supposed to be here to help her find a way to save the Avalon, not sell it.

“But I’m not looking to sell the inn. I want to re-launch it as a wedding venue.”

Mr Norton gave a small nod. “I know that was your plan. But now that you’ve had a chance to see the current state of the building, not to mention the accounts, I felt it my duty to ensure you were aware of all the possibilities. And I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised by the results of Mr Andrews’s research.”

Carrie turned her gaze to Mr Andrews, who gave another grimace of a smile. “I have had, in the last thirty-six hours, not one, but two offers to buy the Avalon Inn.”

Carrie blinked. “Are you sure they weren’t looking for the Arundel Hotel?” she asked. Even she had to admit that, other than sentimental value, the Avalon didn’t really have a lot going for it at the moment.

Mr Andrews frowned and glanced over at Mr Norton, as if not really sure if she was making a joke. “Um, no, they were really very clear. Their interest lies purely in the Avalon Inn’s development potential.”

“Development potential?” Carrie wasn’t entertaining the idea of selling, but the words made her even more certain she didn’t want these buyers getting their hands on the Avalon.

“Yes. I believe one party was looking to turn the inn into a health farm.” Mr Andrews glanced down at his notes. “The other, um, was searching for a site for a rehabilitation facility.”

It wasn’t until the coffee tray clattered to the table that Carrie even realised there was anyone else in the room. The idea of the Avalon as a rehab or fat farm was too distractingly horrifying.

Glancing up, she saw Cyb straightening the plate of biscuits and Mr Norton looking on disapprovingly. “Would you like me to pour for you?” Cyb asked.

“Uh, no, I think we can manage.” Carrie smiled up at her, wondering why Izzie hadn’t managed to find someone who actually worked for the inn to bring the coffee. “Thanks, Cyb.”

Cyb backed out of the room, smiling nervously, and Carrie turned her attention to Messrs Norton and Andrews.

“The offers really were very substantial, Carrie,” Mr Norton said.

Mr Andrews rifled through his papers. “I have some figures here... Ah.” He held a sheet of paper out to her, and Carrie looked away.

“No. No, thank you. Please, thank both parties for their interest, but tell them I’m not interested in selling.” Mr Norton looked sceptical, but Carrie kept her gaze firm.

“At this time,” Mr Andrews added, obviously hoping to keep his options open. She wondered what sort of commission he was up for.

“Ever.” Carrie stood, a sudden sense of surety in her blood. She was home, and she was staying. “Now, how about a tour?”

Mr Norton exchanged a look with Mr Andrews. “Actually, I’m afraid we have another meeting to get to…”

“But you said you wanted to assist me. I need you to help find a way to save the inn. To find investors, backers, something!” If even Mr Norton, who’d been Nancy’s lawyer since she opened the Avalon, wouldn’t help, how could she expect anyone else to?

“Carrie…” Mr Norton gave her a sad smile. “I know you love this place. But really…it’s falling apart. Without Nancy here, you have to think if it’s really even possible to save it. In this economy…and with your lack of experience…”

“I can do it,” Carrie said firmly, the heat in her chest burning. “I will do it. And if you won’t help me, I’ll do it alone. Just watch.” She yanked open the drawing-room door. “Good morning, gentlemen.”

* * * *

“A health farm?” Stan’s voice was getting squeaky and high, and Cyb worried about the vein bulging at his temple. He wasn’t getting any younger. But Stan always liked to be told the truth, upfront and straightforward.

“Or a rehabilitation facility,” she repeated, and the vein turned bright purple. “That’s what the man said.”

Across the pub table, Nate put down his pint and shook his head. “I can’t see Carrie selling the Avalon. She’s got plans for it. I told you. She wants a boutique wedding venue.”

Stan scoffed, so loudly that the Red Lion staff looked over from the bar. “Does she? Really? How do we know she hasn’t decided it’s all a bit too much like hard work? We can’t afford to give her the benefit of the doubt just because you’ve got a little crush, boy.”

“I have not got a—”

“Besides,” Stan said, “I know what these business types are like. He’ll have money on the table for her.” He shook his head. “Not sure she’s the sort who would pick hard work over money. Not like her grandmother.”

“She was talking to Izzie about the reservation thing on the computer yesterday,” Moira said. “Would she really do that if she was planning on selling?”

“I have no idea what goes on inside young women’s heads these days.” Stan’s face grew redder and redder. Cyb moved his pint glass farther away, in case he decided to bang his fist on the table again. A passionate man, Stan. She looked at him, considering. Maybe it was time to find a better use for all that passion, once this mess at the inn was sorted out.

“We could just ask her what she’s going to do,” Cyb suggested, in what she thought was a reasonable manner.

Stan obviously thought otherwise. “Just ask? And what, exactly, is going to ensure she tells us the truth?” He grabbed his ale and drained the quarter of a pint left in the glass. Cyb motioned to a nearby member of the bar staff and indicated the empty glass. The Red Lion didn’t offer table service, but they weren’t very busy and Cyb had found them to be very accommodating to a group of senior citizens. Moira had suggested they were just afraid one of them might slip on the pools of stale beer that tended to form by the bar and sue the pub to cover their hip replacements.