‘Can I get you another one?’ Sue gestured to Meg’s almost empty glass.
The door swung open and a couple of young guys walked in. They had the toughened, sunbaked look of labourers. They must be working at Hartwell Gaol.
‘I’m fine, thanks,’ Meg said. A well-timed trip to the bar would be the best way to strike up a conversation, see what they might tell her.
She looked back at the to-do list. Her number one priority tomorrow was following up with the owner of the café. There was obviously a story there. If she hated the Ashworths, maybe she’d be willing to talk. She clearly didn’t care about losing their business.
The phone vibrated in her hand with a Facebook Message.
It was from Chris Baxter:Meet me at the Red Lion tomorrow at three.
Chapter 14
Issy stood on the dusty balcony outside the display suite, waiting as Warwick fumbled with an enormous set of keys. She yawned as she looked out over the construction zone below, silent and still in the blue evening light. Her feet hurt. In ten minutes, she told herself, she would be sitting down with a glass of chilled white wine with her feet up, and the disastrous afternoon would be a distant memory. If Warwick ever found the key.
‘Jesus Christ,’ he muttered, as the handle failed to turn yet again. After two more keys, the door clicked open. He grinned, excessively pleased with himself, and gestured for her to enter. She wheeled her suitcase inside and looked around. It was a large open-plan space with high ceilings and herringbone floors. A curved cream lounge circled a marble coffee table, artfully styled with interior design books, a clam shell and an artificial succulent. It had the staged appearance of a showroom.
‘This okay?’ Warwick asked, redundantly. He’d already explained that the other apartments were still unfinished. This one had been fast-tracked and furnished for publicity purposes.
‘It looks fine. Thanks, Warwick.’
He twisted the key off the ring and passed it to her. ‘I’ll leave you to get settled in.’
‘Warwick, before you go …’ She waited for him to look up. ‘How do you think the meeting went earlier?’
He paused, appearing to think carefully about his answer. ‘As good as could be expected. They’re a tough crowd.’ He gave her a smile. ‘They’ll warm up once you settle in.’
‘Oh, yes, of course.’ He’d obviously misunderstood the question. ‘But how do you think it made me look, when you corrected me in front of them?’
He frowned. ‘Better me than one of them, wouldn’t you say?’
She paused. ‘Let’s present a united front in future.’
She thought she saw him raise his eyebrows a fraction. ‘Sure thing.’
He left, the door thudding quietly closed behind him.
She pushed off her trainers, suddenly aware of how stuffy the room was. It had the stale feel of a space that hadn’t been disturbed for some time. She pushed open the sliding door to the balcony, hoping to get some air flowing, but outside, the night was warm and still. She gazed out over the twinkling lights of the houses below, stretching towards the rolling hills of the horizon. How strange it was to be back in this town that was both familiar and foreign.
She rubbed her face and sighed. Shower first, then wine.
She took the bottle of Western Australian chardonnay from her suitcase—it could chill while she had a long, hot shower—but when she opened the fridge, the light didn’t come on. She put a hand inside. It was warm. She opened the freezer. It wasn’t cold either. Great. She put the wine inside anyway, wondering where the plug was. Probably right at the back of the cavity where it would be impossible to reach.
She debated calling Warwick but decided against it. He’d seemed a little put out when he left. Her eyes landed on a cheeseboard that sat on the island bench. Fake grapes and a plastic wedge of brie beside a bottle of warm Champagne in an empty ice bucket, styled to encourage potential buyers to picture themselves popping open a bottle. She laughed out loud at the irony.
Shower then. She dragged the suitcase off the lounge and into the hall, glancing into doorways to get a sense of the layout. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms. The main suite was a little on the small side, but perfectly comfortable. She took out her toiletries bag and went into the ensuite bathroom. She turned the tap, half-expecting no water to flow after the fridge experience, but there was a gurgling noise and a few spurts, then a strong, steady stream.
She held her hand under the water, waiting for it to get hot. It didn’t. In fact, it got colder as the water that had been sitting in the pipes flowed through. Fine. A cold shower then. It wasn’t the end of the world. People did ice baths, after all! Mad people, in her opinion, but it was obviously possible. Raphael, her trainer, was positively evangelistic about the benefits.
Bracing herself, she stepped in, shuddering as the freezing water hit her skin. Bloody hell. She soaped herself up quickly, cursing Wim Hof—or whatever his name was—for making her feel like a wimp for hating every second of it.
When she was dressed, she poured herself a glass of warm wine and reached for the remote. Had anyone bothered to hook up the television yet? Or was it purely for display purposes, like the cheese plate? She pressed buttons but nothing happened.
She tossed the remote and it hit the clamshell on the coffee table. This was ridiculous. Malcolm wanted her on site to be across what was going on here, but this was just unfeasible. She needed to eat. She needed wi-fi. There was no chance that would be set up yet, if they didn’t even have the TV working. She picked up her phone.
‘Good evening, the Ashworth Park Hotel and Spa,’ said the sing-song voice of a young woman. ‘How can I help you?’
‘Ah, hello, it’s Isobel Ashworth speaking. I need a room tonight. One of the suites, if possible.’ The hotel was just a few kilometres out of town. She would stay there. If only they’d avoided this nonsense altogether, she would currently be in a bubble bath perusing the room service menu!
