‘Is Ellie right?’ she pressed. ‘Have things really changed that much in a week?’
I have changed that much, he thought. Not that it mattered. Why should she believe him now? He drew a slow breath.
‘Things are going to change,’ he said at last. ‘Over there —’ he pointed to the north-facing corner that caught all-day sun ‘— there’ll be a kitchen garden. Tomatoes. Beans. Herbs. That sort of thing.’ He realised he was guessing; his instruction to the team had been vague. ‘And over there —’ he nodded towards the rusted ranch sliders opening onto the patio ‘— will be some re-purposed French doors in front of which will be chairs. Somewhere for people to sit, talk. That’s how I imagine it.’
‘In your brand-new shiny hotel,’ she said.
He gave a short laugh. ‘No. In this hotel. Renovated. Strengthened. Ready for the next hundred years.’
Her eyes widened. ‘So it’s true.’ She wandered over to the open door of the library and poked her head inside, keeping her eyes looking anywhere but at him. ‘That’s great news.’
‘Seems the comm… most people around here want it kept,’ he said lightly. ‘I’ve decided to listen.’
‘You still can’t quite bring yourself to say the “c” word, can you?’ she said, turning to face him once more.
He blinked. ‘Christmas?’
‘Community.’
He huffed. ‘Community, Christmas, colonoscopies — I’ve never seen eye to eye with any of them.’
‘You wouldn’t see eye to eye with a colonoscopy,’ she muttered, but her mouth twitched.
The small crack in her expression almost undid him.
‘What’s going on, Oliver?’ she asked more quietly. ‘You had everything lined up. The council, the consultation, the consents. Why change now?’
‘Does it matter?’ he deflected.
‘Not to the outcome, no. But I’m curious.’
He hesitated. The simplest truth was the one he couldn’t give her: that meeting her, and her family, had made his old plans impossible to stomach. That he’d rather fight his way out of bad deals and eat humble pie than look at himself and see his father.
‘Put it this way,’ he said. ‘I’ve learned something from this whole…process.’ It was as close as he would go to admitting it felt like a reckoning. ‘I don’t fit. And if I don’t fit, my vision doesn’t either. So I’ve handed it on to people with the right vision for the…community.’
She tilted her head. ‘But you told me it would be too expensive to renovate. That you’d never get your money back. What’s changed?’
Everything. And nothing he was willing to lay at her feet.
‘That part’s commercially sensitive,’ he said, falling back behind the familiar shield. It felt false now, but it was still safer than the truth.
He saw the hurt flicker in her eyes before she hid it. ‘I wasn’t talking about business,’ she said softly.
‘I know what you meant,’ he replied, after a beat. ‘But the fact remains — I’m in the business of making money, not friends. I didn’t do this out of the goodness of my heart. I don’t have one, remember?’
Her shoulders stiffened. ‘Right.’
He hated himself for the words, but they were the only protection he had left — for both of them. If she knew how far he’d turned his life upside down because of her, he’d feel stripped bare. And she’d feel cornered. She’d told him once there was nothing he could do to change her mind; he believed her.
She turned abruptly, hunting in her bag for a tissue. When she looked up, her eyes glistened.
‘Damned dust,’ she said thickly.
‘Contractors have been drilling,’ he said, forcing practicality into his voice. ‘Checking the structure. They start work tomorrow.’
She blew her nose, breathed in, and seemed to pull herself back together. ‘That’ll be a great day for the village.’ She glanced at him, expression brittle. ‘Thanks to you. Without your…change of mind, this place would have crumbled away.’
‘Given the context, it made sense,’ he said. ‘That’s all.’
