Chapter 17

      Two weeks later, the Avalon was almost unrecognisable from the ramshackle inn she’d found on her arrival. Standing on the front steps, Carrie waited for Ruth’s family, and, please God, this time, the prospective groom. Either side of her, Nate’s flowerbeds were still blooming bright pink, but tempered by some pale white lobelia spreading out to fill the gaps, and dimming the luminous quality of the pink. Above the flowerbeds, the new windows, while hugely expensive, kept the feel of the building with their dark grey leading and, more importantly, kept out the wind. Behind them, new curtains, new carpets and a few carefully selected pieces of new furniture were ready and waiting to wow.

      “Any sign?” Nate’s head appeared over her shoulder, as he peered down the driveway.

      “Not yet.” Carrie sighed. She should probably be doing something more productive than just waiting. She contemplated checking The List again, but decided she couldn’t bear it.

      Nate stepped around her, and hopped down the steps onto the gravel driveway. “Well, we’re ready for them when they do get here.”

      “I hope so.” Carrie dropped to sit on the top step, her binder and notes resting on her knee.

      “Of course we are.” Nate looked affronted at the suggestion. She supposed he had a right. Everyone had put in a phenomenal amount of work over the past few weeks, but Nate had done more than most.

      They waited in companionable silence, Carrie running through her talking points in her head, until Jacob stuck his head out of the bar-room window.

      “Are these people habitually late?” he asked, flushed red and looking rather cross. “Because that’s the sort of thing you should warn a chef about, you know.”

      Carrie winced. Jacob had been talking about precise timings and cooking schedules for several days, and she’d tried to listen, really she had. It was just pretty dull, and she had bigger concerns. “Will the food be all right?”

      Jacob looked even more offended. “The food will be magnificent. Not least because I know rich people are always late, and made a last-minute adjustment to the cooking schedule this morning.” He glanced at his watch. “Although, if they’re not here in half an hour...”

      “Are they running late?” Cyb asked, popping up next to Jacob in the window.

      “Apparently,” Nate said, shading his eyes to look up at her. In the sunlight, his dark hair shone, and his skin turned a shade or two darker. And against the backdrop of the Welsh-mountain view, he somehow looked even taller than normal.

      Carrie blinked. Not what she should be focusing on. “I’m sure they’ll be here any moment now.”

      “What sort of car do they drive?” Izzie asked from behind her. Carrie turned to her erstwhile receptionist and wondered if having Izzie on the front desk today would prove to be a mistake. Too late now, anyway.

      “I expect we’ll find out when they arrive,” she said, adding a hint of so get back to your desk to her voice.

      Izzie carried on regardless. “Only, Henry the part-time barman just called from the village to say there was some huge four-by-four thing clogging up High Street. Wondered if it might be them.”

      Groaning, Carrie got to her feet. Of course they’d have come through the village. The Avalon Inn stood just outside the town of Coed-y-Capel, and just before the village of Felinfach. There was a perfectly serviceable dual carriageway past Coed-y-Capel that let off just before the Avalon driveway. So of course they’d have come through the village instead. “Almost certainly. And that means they’ll be here any moment, I’m sure.”

      Nate gave her a wicked grin. “Places, everyone,” he said. “The show’s about to start.”

      As the bar window closed and Izzie scooted back behind her desk, they heard the telltale noise of wide tyres on gravel.

      Carrie stood, transfixed by the approaching vehicle, every single point and question on her list forgotten. What the hell was she going to show them? Tell them? How was she going to convince...?

      Nate stepped forward, cupped a hand over her shoulder, and suddenly everything came back into focus. Carrie took a deep breath and met his eyes.

      “Good luck,” he said, but in his face she saw more: reassurance, belief and a touch of concern. “I’ll be down on the south lawn if you need me.”

      Carrie shook her head. “I’ll be fine. I’ll see you on the tour.”

      Nate nodded and stepped away.

      Carrie watched him go, and almost forgot about the car coming up the driveway.

      “Carrie!” One hand clutching her fiancé’s, Ruth stepped down from Uncle Patrick’s ridiculously oversized car and dashed towards her. Carrie, in turn, braced herself for an overenthusiastic hug. Ruth was always desperate to remember she had family members she actually liked after forced proximity to her parents.

      “Wine’s chilling,” she whispered to her cousin.

      “Good. Because I’m not going to make it through dinner without it,” Ruth murmured back. Just the sort of mood she wanted her bride in, Carrie thought.

      Pasting on a smile, she turned her attention to the rest of the group. “It’s lovely to see you all. Won’t you step inside?” Carrie moved aside to let them pass, concentrating on observing their apparent states of mind.

      Graeme, Ruth’s intended, hovered at the back, looking as if he might bolt, until Ruth grabbed hold and tucked her hand through his arm. Then he smiled, weakly, eyes on his shoes more than the inn. Not good.

      “Carrie, this is Graeme,” Ruth said, dragging him closer.

      “It’s great to finally meet you.” Carrie smiled more warmly this time.

      “You too,” Graeme replied, his gaze already wandering to the inn itself. God, she hoped he liked it. Or loved Ruth enough to get married there anyway. Either worked for Carrie.

      Uncle Patrick gave Carrie a warm hug on the steps, but Aunt Selena only managed a vague smile as she passed, keeping a good foot of air between her and her husband. Uncle Patrick wasn’t going to give Carrie anything she hadn’t earned, even if Selena agreed to it. He hadn’t got rich by giving money away, he always said. Still, Uncle Patrick doted on his only daughter. And the idea of making all his guests trek from around the country up to the wilds of North Wales would appeal to him. He liked making people work for the benefits of his wealth.

      More than that, she got the feeling that Uncle Patrick wanted some slice of his childhood, or his mother, back through the Avalon. He’d certainly seemed possessive enough during their conversations. As if he were already part owner. And as if he had final say in what Carrie did there.

      All the more reason to find another option for long-term investment, Carrie decided. But for now, Uncle Patrick was still all she had.

      “Welcome to the Avalon Inn,” Izzie said, smiling broadly from behind the reception desk. The sunlight streaming through the doorway lit up her blonde hair, and Uncle Patrick suddenly looked a good deal more engaged with the visit. Carrie bit back a smile. Perhaps having Izzie on Reception today wasn’t such a bad idea after all. She’d mentioned to Carrie after his last visit that he’d spent all his time in the bar trying to chat her up. Poor Izzie. Still, she’d assured Carrie that she could handle herself.

      “Well, it certainly looks brighter in here,” Selena said, apparently unaware of her husband’s new interest.

      “It’s stunning,” Ruth added, spinning around in the centre. “I can’t even really tell what you’ve done, but whatever it was...”