Alexandra tightened her fingers on her glass. “Of course.”
“In that meeting today you spent ages studying one particular page of the report and I couldn’t figure out which one it was.”
“I don’t recall.” The lie came easily. “Why are you asking?”
“Because I’m trying to understand your decision not to sell when you’re sitting on such a generous offer. I like to think I know exactly what you would do in any given situation, but not this time it seems.” Abby nibbled a piece of chicken. “I wondered if it had anything to do with the fact that The Alexandra, Cornwall was your first hotel. Or that it was left to you by my father when he died.” She said it hesitantly, aware that she was treading on sensitive territory. It was something they rarely talked about, and with good reason.
Alexandra picked at her salad. “Have you ever known me to allow sentiment to influence a business decision?”
“Never.”
“The hotel is in a prime position. You won’t find anythingbetter in that area. It was the reason I knew I could make it successful all those years ago. That hasn’t changed. Everything I have started with that hotel. You’re going to find out exactly what is going on. Flag anything that seems unusual to you.” She shifted the conversation away from the past to the present.
“Unusual?”
“Anything out of the ordinary.”
“Like what?” Abby’s eyes narrowed. “You suspect something is going on? With the staff? Fraud or something?”
“No. But I’d like you to go in with open eyes and an open mind.”
“All right.” Abby nodded. “You never considered selling it? Not even in the beginning when things were hard?”
“I couldn’t afford to sell. I was nineteen and pregnant with you. I had no support. I had to find a way. The hotel was in trouble and selling would have left me in more debt. I knew I could capitalise on the position. I knew I could turn it around.” She skilfully steered the conversation away from the past. Away from the personal.
“I’ve never been there, obviously, but it looks stunning. The coastline of North Cornwall reminds me a little of parts of Oregon.”
“And some of the beaches are more like the Caribbean, without the weather of course.” Alexandra speared a slice of seared chicken. She had no appetite, but not eating would draw attention. “But you’ll be able to judge for yourself and let me know.”
“Our usual Friday evenings, only over video conference?”
“Sounds good.”
“I’ll miss your cooking. This is delicious.” Abby finished her chicken and helped herself to more salad. “I’m not entirely comfortable joining the team under-cover. Do you think it’s necessary?”
Alexandra knew she had to be careful how she answered that. “I think,” she said slowly, “there are occasions when the end justifies the means.”
“And this is one of those occasions?”
“How else are you going to get a true picture of what’s going on? If they know you’re part of the senior management team, they will edit what they tell you.”
It wasn’t the only reason of course, but it was the one she was prepared to share.
Abby put her fork down. “It’s true that people will open up and talk more freely to me if they don’t know of my connection to you. But how do I make that happen? What name do I use?”
“Your own.” She’d thought it through carefully. Weighed up the likelihood of anyone knowing. Remembering. She’d decided the chances of that were slim. “Abby is your middle name. If they search your name, I doubt they will find you.” She knew, because she’d checked.
“I hadn’t thought of that.” Abby picked up her wine. “No one calls me Madeleine except the doctor and dentist.”
“And you have a different surname.”
“True.” Abby leaned forward. “I know you changed your surname to Strong when you moved to Boston, and I understand why—you wanted a fresh start—but did you not think of changing mine too?”
“I was creating a new life for myself—a new identity in every sense. I wanted to leave the past behind. Alexandra Strong was the name I chose.” And when she’d felt out of her depth and doubted her abilities, which in the beginning had happened frequently, the name served as a reminder of the person she wanted to be. Strong. “My mother was Madeleine Jones. I wanted you to keep that name. Your grandmother was a special person. Also, I always hoped and intended for you to work inthe business, and I thought it might be easier if we had different names.”
“Given that everyone knows who I am anyway, it hasn’t made much difference.” Abby smiled. “But maybe it will now. It will certainly make it less likely that people will make a connection.”
“Exactly. And of course you won’t mention your relationship to me.”
