Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Lucy was pretty sure it was only anger that kept her tiredness at bay all weekend.
On Saturday morning, after only a brief visit to her apartment to change, she’d gone straight to work.
Saturday night she’d fallen into bed exhausted.
On Sunday she’d kept busy at work, staying mainly in the kitchen, knowing that her mood to kill someone made her unfit for conversation and banter.
It wasn’t until Sunday evening — when she came home, showered, and sat down with no TV, no computer, no music — that the numbness which had been protecting her finally cracked. And she realised exactly how hurt she was.
She’d opened herself up to him, and he’d betrayed that trust. He’d been using her all along. Somewhere beneath the fizz and excitement she’d known it, and ignored it anyway.
Idiot, she thought. I’m an idiot. I’m an idiot who only wants to cry.
Her throat tightened. She scrubbed her eyes with her fists and jumped when her phone pinged.
Him again.
After she’d read the first message, she’d ignored all the others because she didn’t want to read any more requests to meet up.
Besides, what else was there for him to say?
Sure, Lucy, I invited you to dinner, flirted with you, made you feel special, and persuaded you to stay the night…
all because I need you on my side to get my project over the finish line.
She’d been hurt once before by a man who’d lied through his teeth about everything — including that he loved her, and that he was single.
Turned out he only loved himself, and he was very much married.
The only difference was that she had been very young then, and it had taken her a lot longer to discover what a liar Laurent had been.
At least this time, the lies had been exposed before they could cut quite so deep.
But they still cut.
She blew out a breath and sat forward, elbows on her knees, fingers linked so tightly they ached.
Fine. If he’d used her, she’d use the hurt. She would hurt him. And she knew exactly how: he wanted something very badly. She’d make sure he didn’t get it. He needed to learn who he’d been playing with.
And she, she decided, needed to brush up on her business tactics.
Monday morning found Lucy steely in her resolve to pay Oliver Perry-Warnes back. With interest.
She knew her anger wasn’t only about being tricked for business purposes. Her pride was bruised too. She’d been really attracted to him. Despite her suspicions, she’d been far more invested in their date than she’d intended to be.
That just made her madder.
As soon as the morning rush was over, she left the café in the capable hands of others, checked she still had a library card in her bag and poked her head around the kitchen door.
‘Won’t be long. Call me if there’s a crisis.’
The chorus of derision made her roll her eyes as she stepped outside into the bright morning.
She glanced across at the Old Colonial Hotel.
She’d grown up with that facade at the heart of the village.
Apart from a few cottages hanging on by the skin of their asbestos-clad teeth, the hotel was the oldest building in the village centre.
It had been beautiful once, with its ornate frontage.
But time hadn’t been kind: the paint was peeling and dirty, and even the wooden sign had slipped and hung drunkenly like a promise.
Lucy tore her gaze away. She hated seeing things let go.
Just as she’d hated how her mother had let the family house slide into disrepair.
Although Kate had her reasons. Reasons she and her siblings were working on.
The mystery surrounding the ownership of MacLeod’s Cottage would be solved. Lucy would make sure of that.
She’d also make sure Oliver Perry-Warnes was punished for trying to use her to help demolish the hotel. The hotel would not be destroyed. She’d make sure of that too.
She sighed. And Oliver had wondered what there was to do in a small village like MacLeod’s Cove.
She continued along the café side of the street, only crossing the road once she’d passed the hotel. She wasn’t ready to come face to face with Oliver yet. Not until she’d gathered ammunition.
It was only a two-minute walk from the central shops, past the bowling green at the rear of the hotel, to the tennis club. The gate creaked on its hinges as she entered the small garden, bright spring flowers overflowing the beds, and walked up onto the deck and into the clubrooms.
‘Off for a spot of tennis?’ called a young mum pushing a pram.
‘Maybe in another life,’ Lucy retorted.
It was well known she wasn’t keen on sports of any kind. Especially anything involving a ball and/or a racquet. The gym was out too, as was swimming, unless it was in the sea.
MacLeod’s Cove’s littlest library, as locals called it, was housed in the tennis clubrooms. And it was the library Lucy was here for today.
‘Augi! Hi-ya,’ she called, glancing over the portable bookshelves that were wheeled out three times a week for four hours, then rolled away again. It smelled of polished wood, books and coffee.
‘Lucy!’ greeted Augustini, part-time librarian, part-time researcher, and full-time mystery to MacLeod’s Cove. All anyone knew was that she was Greek and didn’t want to talk about her past. The regal bearing and faintly sad expression discouraged questions.
Augi stood up from behind her mobile desk. Lucy didn’t bother stepping in for a hug. Augustini wasn’t a hugger, and Lucy respected that.
‘I don’t often see you here,’ Augi said.
‘I don’t usually have time to read, but I’m after a particular book.’
‘Have you joined a book club?’
Lucy scoffed. ‘No way. I leave that to Mum and Jen. They’re the bookworms of the family. I need The Art of War. I checked the catalogue; it should be on your shelves somewhere.’
‘Sun Tzu?’ Augi looked around. ‘Yes, I’m pretty sure we have it. Although you could get it online.’
‘I checked. There are reserves, and I need it now. I owned a copy once upon a time, but I must’ve chucked it when I downsized to move into the apartment.’
Augi bobbed down, fingers running over the bumpy spines until they stopped. ‘Here. You’re in luck. Our cataloguing team were keen to ditch this as it hadn’t been loaned in a while. I argued it’s a classic.’
‘Good on you.’ Lucy took the book and flicked to the back cover. ‘Yep, this should do the trick.’
Augi raised her brows. ‘And what do you need tricks for?’
‘War,’ Lucy said.
‘Right,’ said Augi, taking the book and Lucy’s card. She scanned both. ‘That should give you a head start in your war.’ She hesitated. ‘I hope there won’t be any casualties.’
‘Nothing physical… unless I decide to inflict them.’
Augi laughed. ‘I don’t fancy his chances… I take it there’s a man involved?’
‘You take it right. Only a man could get me this riled up.’
‘What’s he done?’
Lucy didn’t reply immediately. She trusted Augi implicitly. Anyone so determined to keep her own secrets wasn’t likely to blab someone else’s.
‘He’s taken me for a fool,’ she said at last.
‘Then he deserves everything that’s coming to him, because he must be the fool.’
Lucy grinned. ‘I appreciate the vote of confidence.’ She lifted the book. ‘And with this I’ll brush up on my game plan and demolish him. Just as he wants to demolish the hotel.’
Augi’s eyes widened. ‘Oh no! I wondered what was behind all those consultation notices.’
‘Yeah, well, it’s this man. Oliver Perry-Warnes. He’s bought the hotel and, for some reason, is going overboard on the community consultation. So, I want to get a strategy together which will make sure he doesn’t succeed.’
Augi smiled faintly. ‘You know, I almost pity him.’
‘Don’t waste your pity. He’s an out-and-out bastard. Sam knows him. Just ask him.’
‘I don’t think so. I don’t need any complications in my life.’ Her brown eyes suddenly looked startled, and her face closed down, as if she were scared she’d said too much.
Lucy decided to help her out by acting as if she hadn’t noticed.
‘Anyway,’ she said lightly, ‘I think I’ll go sit outside, take a few minutes out and skim through this again.’
‘Right. Well, I hope it gives you what you need.’
Outside, Lucy plopped herself into an oversized beanbag. A couple of teenagers were playing tennis; the thwack of the ball and birdsong from the trees on the bank opposite were the only sounds.
An elderly dog lay beside her in the shade. ‘You and me, babe,’ she muttered, fondling its silky ears before opening the book. His tail flicked lazily in response.
Now, where should she start? She checked the contents page, then let the book fall open by itself to see which page had been read most.
Know your enemy and know yourself.
Well, she definitely knew herself. But she had to admit she didn’t know much about Oliver the Bastard apart from a few key points.
She tapped her finger against her lips. How to fix that?
First, she’d grill Sam and find out everything there was to know. Then anyone else she could contact. Research. She needed someone who knew how to do research.
Augi.
She went back inside. ‘Augi, you’re a freelance researcher, aren’t you?’
‘Yes. As well as librarian, as well as freelance comms.’
‘Variety and all that. Look, I was wondering if you’d take on a job for me? I’ll pay you the going rate, of course. I want to do everything I can to stop this new development.’
‘Of course.’ Augi’s gaze sharpened. ‘I love this community. If a new hotel is built, it could threaten not only your livelihood but those of others in the village. Don’t worry about paying me. I feel I owe the community a debt.’
‘That would be brilliant. Thanks. Between us — your brains, my aggression — I don’t think he stands a chance.’
As Lucy walked away, Augi’s expression replayed in her mind. She’d actually blanched when Lucy had said the word aggression. Lucy had meant it as a joke. Not for the first time, Lucy wondered what secrets the older woman kept so close.