to anywhere. “What can I do for you?”
“This temp of yours. Where on earth did you get her?”
“The usual agency.” Carrie refrained from pointing out that Anna had seen all the CVs the agency sent over and chosen Naomi herself. She’d known this wasn’t going to work.
“Yes, well, their standards are obviously slipping, then.” The line crackled, and Carrie assumed Anna had put her hand over the mouthpiece and was talking to the driver again. “You do understand that we’re going to Manchester, right? Our country’s second city? Does this mean anything to you?”
“What’s wrong with Naomi?” Carrie asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.
“She doesn’t know anything!”
“It’s her first day,” Carrie said. “She’s probably still getting used to the office, and our systems.” And being dragged in to work on a Sunday, she thought, but didn’t add.
“Still, I can’t trust her to get on with things like I do you.” Anna sighed. “Temps are like taxi drivers. You have to watch them all the time.”
“Give it a couple of days, and it will be like she’s always been there.” Carrie tried to inject more cheer into her voice than she felt. If things worked out at the Avalon, she’d need to start splitting her time between Wales and Manchester, at least while the renovations were going on. Anna might have to get used to Naomi. “And I’ll be back in the office in a week or so.”
“That’s true. And maybe you could just take a look at a few of the things I need doing? When you get a moment?” Anna’s voice was wheedling, but Carrie was under no illusion that this was a request.
“Well, I–”
“Great. I’ll email them over now.” The phone went dead, and Carrie went to fish out her laptop and wireless dongle from her bag, adding get broadband and Wi-Fi sorted to her list as she went.
* * * *
Autumn was marching on and, given his mood, Nate saw no harm in getting stuck into some of the more energetic pre-winter garden jobs. After all, he was just the gardener. And he had a sudden urge to hack at stubborn roots and overgrown shrubs. Which had to be better than his earlier, similar urge to do with his new employer.
Besides, certain things had been let slide, he’d admit, while he’d been busy running the rest of the inn for Nancy. Time to get back to his garden where he belonged. Far away from Carrie Archer.
“She hasn’t been here in six years,” he told the hedge he was cutting back. “Who the hell is she to tell me my job?”
“Your boss.” The words held just the right mix of sympathy and censure to stop him feeling sorry for himself. It could only be his grandmother.
“I know.” Nate sighed and lowered the hedge clippers.
“You left your lunch in reception,” Moira said, proffering another ubiquitous Tupperware box. “It’s ham and tomato today.”
“Sorry.” Nate took it from her and thought longingly of the roast he’d seen Jacob prepping earlier. But Gran liked to think she was looking after her boys. Really, how did you screw up a sandwich?
“Can’t have you going hungry.” Moira smiled and settled herself on the top of his step ladder. Apparently there was more to this talk than soggy sandwiches and an organizational chart reminder.
Nate returned to his hedge. Might as well get some work done while he listened.
“I know this is going to be hard for you, Nate,” Moira started, plucking a stray leaf from her skirt. “Nancy let you have free run of the place.” She held up a hand when Nate tried to interrupt, and the memories of his gran’s leg smacks were still terrifying enough to make him shut his mouth immediately. “And she needed your help, I know that. You were a great boon to her, these last couple of years.”
She paused and gazed at him, as if assessing his general usefulness.
“I owed her,” he said, looking away. “She gave me a home and a job.”
“She gave you a lot more than that, and you know it. You might
“This temp of yours. Where on earth did you get her?”
“The usual agency.” Carrie refrained from pointing out that Anna had seen all the CVs the agency sent over and chosen Naomi herself. She’d known this wasn’t going to work.
“Yes, well, their standards are obviously slipping, then.” The line crackled, and Carrie assumed Anna had put her hand over the mouthpiece and was talking to the driver again. “You do understand that we’re going to Manchester, right? Our country’s second city? Does this mean anything to you?”
“What’s wrong with Naomi?” Carrie asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.
“She doesn’t know anything!”
“It’s her first day,” Carrie said. “She’s probably still getting used to the office, and our systems.” And being dragged in to work on a Sunday, she thought, but didn’t add.
“Still, I can’t trust her to get on with things like I do you.” Anna sighed. “Temps are like taxi drivers. You have to watch them all the time.”
“Give it a couple of days, and it will be like she’s always been there.” Carrie tried to inject more cheer into her voice than she felt. If things worked out at the Avalon, she’d need to start splitting her time between Wales and Manchester, at least while the renovations were going on. Anna might have to get used to Naomi. “And I’ll be back in the office in a week or so.”
“That’s true. And maybe you could just take a look at a few of the things I need doing? When you get a moment?” Anna’s voice was wheedling, but Carrie was under no illusion that this was a request.
“Well, I–”
“Great. I’ll email them over now.” The phone went dead, and Carrie went to fish out her laptop and wireless dongle from her bag, adding get broadband and Wi-Fi sorted to her list as she went.
* * * *
Autumn was marching on and, given his mood, Nate saw no harm in getting stuck into some of the more energetic pre-winter garden jobs. After all, he was just the gardener. And he had a sudden urge to hack at stubborn roots and overgrown shrubs. Which had to be better than his earlier, similar urge to do with his new employer.
Besides, certain things had been let slide, he’d admit, while he’d been busy running the rest of the inn for Nancy. Time to get back to his garden where he belonged. Far away from Carrie Archer.
“She hasn’t been here in six years,” he told the hedge he was cutting back. “Who the hell is she to tell me my job?”
“Your boss.” The words held just the right mix of sympathy and censure to stop him feeling sorry for himself. It could only be his grandmother.
“I know.” Nate sighed and lowered the hedge clippers.
“You left your lunch in reception,” Moira said, proffering another ubiquitous Tupperware box. “It’s ham and tomato today.”
“Sorry.” Nate took it from her and thought longingly of the roast he’d seen Jacob prepping earlier. But Gran liked to think she was looking after her boys. Really, how did you screw up a sandwich?
“Can’t have you going hungry.” Moira smiled and settled herself on the top of his step ladder. Apparently there was more to this talk than soggy sandwiches and an organizational chart reminder.
Nate returned to his hedge. Might as well get some work done while he listened.
“I know this is going to be hard for you, Nate,” Moira started, plucking a stray leaf from her skirt. “Nancy let you have free run of the place.” She held up a hand when Nate tried to interrupt, and the memories of his gran’s leg smacks were still terrifying enough to make him shut his mouth immediately. “And she needed your help, I know that. You were a great boon to her, these last couple of years.”
She paused and gazed at him, as if assessing his general usefulness.
“I owed her,” he said, looking away. “She gave me a home and a job.”
“She gave you a lot more than that, and you know it. You might
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