I leaned down toward her. “Tabs.”
She startled, so engrossed in her thoughts. And were those goose bumps down her neck? From my proximity?
“Sorry, can we talk privately?” I asked, sticking to the heart of the matter, although I couldn’t help a small smile. “Maybe in the library?” I’d installed a lock after we’d been filmed last time. And anyway, everyone had gone, and there was no danger of being filmed.
She left all her catalogs and samples and followed me. I ushered her inside. It was a beautiful old room and one we didn’t have to touch, so it was the only non-stressful place to talk in this whole house. Dusk gathered outside over the pond, still and peaceful.
“I’m not cutting corners because of this deadline,” I said, striding back and forth. “I won’t fudge the electrics and close the walls without ensuring everything is perfect. I can’t pull my own men, but I’m going to call in favors from my subcontractors to turn up tomorrow. I don’t want your parents to be put on the tools like Simon’s suggesting either. But we do need them to work harder at keeping the animals out of the way. For a start, I’m pouring the concrete for the front path early tomorrow morning, so you’ll be able to get in the door more easily. Your mum and dad need to keep the animals in the backyard for forty-eight hours. The animals can’t come around the front until the concrete sets.”
“Okay, I’ll impress that on them.” She pressed her lips together, her shoulders squared. I felt like she wasn’t just agreeing with me to end the conversation, but that she was on the same side as me.
“Thank you.” I took a deep breath. “So, just going forward, I’m worried about renovations that the show won’t pay for but will be needed. Simon said the company will pay the costs, but clearly, he doesn’t care about how the job is done or the details, and I’m sensing he’d prefer we cut corners. I’m worried they won’t pay for a proper inspection or what is truly required to make sure everything is safe.”
She perched on the arm of the green velvet sofa and nodded thoughtfully. She looked as concerned as I felt, which was reassuring. “I totally agree, Tim. We need to do everything properly and by the book. Don’t worry. Just let me know the costs. I’ll take care of it.”
That made me feel better, but it did drive home how much spare money her family had. Tabitha always wrote the checks, which listed her personal account, but I suspected the funds came from the same family trust fund. There was no way she could pay these bills on a journalist’s salary, albeit head of section. I didn’t need to know for sure because it wasn’t my business.
But it did make me wonder for the millionth time why she was doing this. She didn’t need the fee for appearances or the winner’s pot, like I did. Maybe the publicity was giving her some leverage at work?
I started noting some figures on my graph paper to channel my energy, but all the numbers reminded me of how much I needed for Mum’s new home. And I didn’t have a trust fund to lean on.
“I notice you’re able to pay the bills, no trouble,” I said, more bitterly than I intended.
“What do you mean, I’m able to pay the bills, no trouble?” she asked sharply. “What are you getting at?”
“No, nothing. I shouldn’t have said anything.”Stop, Langston, stop.“I suppose it’s all family money anyway.”
Her face went hard. “You think my family’s rolling in dough?”
Okay, she was being defensive. Or maybe I was. Money was personal and was the number one thing Brits didnotdiscuss. My issues were clearly getting the best of me. “Again, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s not my business.”
She vaulted off the sofa. “For once, you’re correct. It’s not your business. You think this is all my parents’ money, right? That we’re rich?”
I shrugged, sheepish. “I mean, it’s not anything people in the village don’t already say. Not that I gossip about you. Or listen to gossip about you.” I winced at my own words. Why was I still talking? And why couldn’t I stop? “I mean, you went to finishing school in Switzerland instead of the local high school. Spent seven years studying architecture. You got a job, which apparently you didn’t like, but you were able to leave it after a year and start again in journalism. For decades, your parents have invested in wild schemes that go belly-up. And yet, here they are, after all that, spending more money, doing an extensive renovation.”
Her face reddened, her fists clutched at her sides. She was shaking with rage, and my gut bottomed out. Why did I harp on, comparing my life to hers? No one’s money was my business, and bringing it up like this was unfair.
Then her huge blue eyes pooled, and she let out an anguished cry, followed by sobs. Hands-on-face, tears-dripping-through-fingers, back-heaving sobs.
Fuck.
I put a tentative hand on her back. “Oh, Tabs, I’m so sorry. I’m being a total fucking wanker.”
She raised her head through the sobs and the hiccups and the dripping. I looked around for tissues on the everything-cartTrystan had prepared for each room, grabbed some, and handed them to her, which she used to wipe her face and blow her nose.
She looked blearily up at me, her eyes veined, her nose bright red.
“My parents—they have nothing. They’ve spent everything. And you’re right, they did have family money. They both did. But it’s all gone. It was gone a long time ago. Since then, they’ve asked relatives for cash, then lost it on some ridiculous scheme or invention. I’m paying for the renovation from my salary. Which, I probably don’t have to explain to you, is a journalist’s salary and, even at a national newspaper for a head of section, is very short of impressive. If the inn isn’t successful, they’ll have to sell, which won’t help anything, as they’re mortgaged to the hilt, and the money will go back to the bank anyway. They’ll have to move in with me—into my shoebox two-bedroom flat in King’s Cross.” At her own words, she sent up an anguished wail.
I eased her back down on the sofa and sat next to her, ashamed of how wrong and judgmental I’d been.
Her pain and the intense weight she felt on her shoulders were clear. I couldn’t imagine living with her chaotic parents in a flat in London with whatever pets they insisted on bringing. And at the same time, the leaden ball in my gut told me I couldn’t imagine her parents making a go of this new business either, without enormous help from her. Like, her full-time presence.
How would her parents feed guests and clean the place when they couldn’t even do that for themselves? I was almost certain the inn would slip back into disrepair. But this wasn’t the time to bring that up. I’d already done enough damage.
“I’m sorry for assuming the wrong things, Tabs. And worse, I was giving you shit. I can’t imagine the stress you’re under. Daily.” I scrubbed a hand over my face. “I’m not taking a penny more from you for my hourly rate.”
Blinking, she shook her head, distressed. “That’s so kind of you, Tim, but I can’t accept your free labor.” She sighed. “But it’s such a relief to tell someone.”
