Page 34

“Oh, my goodness, you’re selling the hotel?” My heart pounded a frantic, panicked rhythm. “But you said you wouldn’t.”

“And I wish I could’ve kept that promise, Rinnie, but the truth is, Tristan Balfe made us an offer we couldn’t refuse.”

I’ll bet he did. Of course, Mr Moneybags would get his way in the end. It had been a month since the wedding and I’d let myself fall into a false sense of security, convinced Tristan had dropped his plan to purchase the hotel. Clearly, the opposite was true. He’d probably been wining and dining my aunt and uncle for the last four weeks and I’d been none the wiser.

Emotion clogged my throat as all the ramifications ran through my head. Cooke could be made redundant, which meant he and Sloane would struggle. Samara had moved into a new flat, and her wages just about covered her rent and living expenses. I’d have to find a new job, something that would cover my bills and mortgage. But what about the other staff? There were people here who relied on their jobs, people who were older than me who would have a much harder time finding other employment.

“I can’t believe this,” I whispered, my heart breaking while my fury at Tristan solidified.

“Fred and I are in our seventies now, Rinnie,” Nessa said. “Despite how much we adore this place, we can’t work forever, and to keep ownership of the Astor Cove, we’d have to keep going well into our eighties. We would never be able to fully retire. The recession in ’08 followed by the storm a few years later that destroyed the roof completely wiped our savings and pension funds. Not to mention, the building itself is old and in need of repairs that we’ll never have the money for. A new owner will fix all those things and bring the place up to a much better standard. Plus, with the money from the sale, Fred and I will finally be able to put our feet up and rest.”

I lost some of my steam. If Fred and Nessa wanted to retire, then it would be selfish of me to insist they didn’t sell. Still, there wasn’t just me to consider. “What about the staff? The Balfes will want to get rid of everyone and bring in their own people. We’ll all be out of jobs.”

“That won’t happen. As part of the sale, Mr Balfe has agreed to keep seventy percent of the legacy staff employed,” Fred explained. “The others will be given generous severance packages. And besides, we have a fair few workers who are nearing retirement age who will jump at the chance to go early.”

“And what about the ones who aren’t near retirement?” I asked, tears beginning to form as I allowed myself to be selfish for a minute. “What about me? Thirty percent is a lot of people. What if I’m one of those who get laid off?”

Fred began to shake his head. “That won’t happen. I talked you up to Mr Balfe, let him know that the hotel runs smoothly mainly because of you and all the improvements you’ve made over the years. In fact, he told me directly that he could see you were an asset to the place, and he was looking forward to working with you.”

I didn’t allow myself to feel complimented by that. No, I was too angry at the fact that I’d trusted my uncle not to sell, but Tristan had went ahead and arranged a meeting with him anyway. Then he’d thrown money at the situation to get his way. So, while I could understand why Fred and Nessa capitulated, it was infuriating to think how Tristan didn’t give a care to the speech I’d made about how much the hotel meant to the guests and the staff. He’d wanted it for himself and would stop at nothing until the ownership was under his name.

On top of this, I was concerned about him discovering who I was and how we’d once known each other. Once he remembered me, he might resent what I’d done and come up with some clever way of getting rid of me. I’d toyed with his feelings, taken advantage of his kindness, and if him getting his way in business told me anything, it was that he was a lot more ruthless and a lot less kind than he’d been as a boy. I doubted he’d be happy about employing me once he remembered, and if we had to work together, he would remember me eventually. His mind would keep nagging at him until his brain finally put the pieces together.

“Nessa and I want to use some of the money from the sale to buy the ground floor apartment in your building that just went on the market,” Fred went on with a hesitant smile. “Wouldn’t that be nice? You’ll probably see us a lot more often. And, of course, when we pass, it will be left to you and Sloane. You’re our closest family, and we always planned to leave whatever we had to the two of you anyway. I know you had your heart set on the hotel, but honestly, Rinnie, the place is a money pit. It’ll take people like the Balfe brothers, who have the wealth to invest, to bring it up to standard.”

I didn’t comment on the inheritance because it hurt too much to imagine what might’ve been, and he was right in a way. I would never possess the type of money the Balfes did. Instead, I focused on the other part of what he said. “If you buy an apartment, what will happen to the cottage?”

“It needs far too much upkeep,” Nessa put in. “A nice little ground floor apartment will be perfect, especially as we get older. Mr Balfe is planning to turn the cottage into a luxury serviced rental for guests who want more privacy.”

This was all too much. The idea of them selling the hotel was bad enough, but moving out of the cottage? It was distressing to say the least. Everything would change, and I wasn’t one bit prepared for it.

“I know you’re upset right now,” said Fred, reaching across the desk to take my hand in his. “But once you have some time to think about it all, you’ll see the change is going to make everything better for you. You’ll be managing a five-star hotel with the Balfe name and brand. It means that if you ever decide to move on, you’ll be able to apply to other high-end hotels. Mr Balfe is going to retrain the staff he keeps on, bring them all up to a much higher standard of expertise out of his own pocket. It’s really going to be great all round.”

Seeing the light in their faces, the clear relief they felt at finally being able to retire and their desperation for me to be okay with the sale, made me feel like an arsehole. I wasn’t their daughter. They shouldn’t need to coddle me like this, and they deserved to put their feet up after working their fingers to the bone for decades.

So, I pushed down all my personal feelings and gave a little sniff, then nodded. “You’re right. I guess I’m just scared of change, but like you said, it’s all for the better in the long run.”

Nessa smiled brightly, but my uncle looked less convinced. Unlike his wife, he knew I was putting on a brave face. “Yes,” said Nessa. “Things will be so much better.”

Later that day, I caught a ride with Cooke to go visit my sister. I lived in a small, seafront apartment near the beach that was also only a ten-minute walk from the hotel. Cooke and Sloane lived farther into town, sharing a two-bedroom terraced house that had once belonged to Cooke’s grandmother.

After the day I’d had, I needed to talk it all out with my big sister.

“Sloane, baby,” Cooke called as we stepped into the front hallway. “Rinnie’s here to see you. I’m going to take a shower, then I’ll get dinner started.”

“Okay,” Sloane called back, and I found her in the sunroom at the back of the house that looked out onto their long, narrow back garden. Her little Yorkshire terrier, Sheila, was curled up on her lap while she read the latest bestselling true crime novel.

“Hey, sis,” I said, bending to place a kiss on her head before lowering into the cushioned rattan couch next to her.

“Oh, you look stressed. What happened? Did the boiler at the hotel finally give out?”

“No, old Betsy the Boiler is still going, holding on for dear life, though,” I said. “I’m stressed because Fred and Nessa just told me they’re selling the Astor Cove.”

At this, Sloane dropped her paperback and sat up straighter. “What? But you said Fred was dead against it the last time you spoke to him.”

I’d told her all about Derek Balfe getting married at the hotel, how neither him nor Tristan remembered me and how Tristan had wanted to buy the place. Sloane had been surprised by the blast from the past, but as far as she knew, Tristan had been my boyfriend for a couple of weeks before we’d moved on. She had no idea that he’d been helping to keep a roof over my head when I couldn’t live with her and Graham any longer. That short period of our history was one Sloane wanted to forget, not only because she’d chosen her scumbag boyfriend over me at the time, but also because we’d eventually fled town to escape him. Graham had never found us in the end, but I was certain he’d searched for us. The only reason it had worked out was because Sloane and I had changed our names, and Graham had no clue that Uncle Fred and Aunt Nessa even existed.

A few years ago, Sloane’s old pal, Edel, told her that Graham had gotten an eight-year sentence for indecent assault. He’d never hurt Sloane or me physically, but he’d always had a temper, so it had come as no surprise.