Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
‘Guess who this is from?’ Megan waved a leaflet at Lucy as she walked into the café.
‘Council?’
Megan blinked. ‘How did you know? Have you read it?’
‘No. They’re the only ones still communicating by leaflets.’
‘So you’ve no idea what it says?’
‘Are you going to tell me or torture me?’
‘Torture, I think. I rather like knowing something before you for a change.’
‘Fine. Rates up? Noise complaints? Sewage catastrophe?’
Megan laughed. ‘No, no and no.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake.’ Lucy plucked the leaflet from her hand.
She scanned it once, felt her stomach drop, then read more carefully. When she looked up at Megan’s smiling face, it was like they’d read two different documents.
‘This says there’s been a change to Oliver’s plans,’ she said slowly.
‘Isn’t it good?’
‘What’s good about it?’ Her voice shot up before she could stop it.
Megan’s smile faded. ‘It sounds like it’s going to be great for the community. There’s going to be a function room the community can use, free of charge —’
‘Only if it’s vacant. And they’ll make sure it isn’t.’
‘And it should bring new people into the area, which has to be good for local businesses.’
Lucy planted her hands on her hips. If Megan could be taken in by Oliver, what chance did anyone else have?
‘No, it won’t,’ she said, heat rising. ‘The development includes high-end boutique shops. These people won’t even step outside.
They’ll buy their clothes inside, eat in the fancy restaurant inside, sit on the verandah overlooking the pool and sea.
We’re just the backdrop. Nothing will come back to us. ’
She only realised how much her voice had risen when the café went quiet. Cutlery stilled. Conversations stopped. When she looked around, people were staring. Great.
‘Surely it’s not that bad?’ Megan said into the silence. ‘From the consultation stuff it sounded very different.’
‘Of course it did,’ Lucy said more quietly, suddenly exhausted. ‘Oliver isn’t interested in us. He’s interested in…’ She searched for the right word and found three. ‘Winning. Money. Himself.’
‘Oh.’ Megan frowned. ‘But it might not be as bad as you think.’ She rubbed her belly, automatically protective. ‘There was mention of a new Plunket room for mothers and children. It’s got to be better than that damp place from the seventies.’
Lucy tried to smile and suspected she failed, because Megan’s face didn’t relax.
‘I hope so,’ she said. ‘I hope I’m wrong.’
‘But you don’t think you are.’
Lucy shook her head and looked away, throat tight. ‘Marcus,’ she called, untying her apron, ‘hold the fort. I’ve got a meeting. I shouldn’t be more than half an hour.’
She stepped outside into the sunshine, Megan falling into step beside her. They both looked towards the Old Colonial Hotel.
‘It’s not fit for purpose, Luce,’ Megan said quietly. ‘It was built over a hundred years ago and it shows. If Oliver hadn’t come along, we’d literally be watching it fall to pieces. At least he’ll sort it and replace it with something useful.’
‘But it’s like a death of sorts, you know?’ Megan was silent and Lucy looked at her quickly, suddenly remembering the heartache Megan had been through only nine months earlier when her brother died. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…’
Megan touched Lucy’s shoulder. ‘It’s OK. But you’re wrong. It’s not a death. It’s only a building and they don’t last forever.’
Lucy crumpled the leaflet in her fist as she watched Megan cross the road to her car. If Megan thought Oliver’s plans were good for the village, others would follow. He was already persuading members of the community.
She straightened her shoulders. She had a fight on her hands. And losing was not an option.
At least there was some visible progress to the hotel, Oliver thought as he looked around.
Behind the scenes he’d started to clear out years of junk and had claimed a former residents’ library as his temporary office.
Once the plastic crates, mismatched chairs and boxes of old linen had been hauled out, the bones of the room had emerged: high ceilings, tall windows, shelves of books, cobwebs thick in the corners and two worn club-leather chesterfield sofas freed from their dust sheets.
He planned to have the furniture sent to a warehouse for future projects that needed “heritage charm” — but for now, it served.
A knock sounded. Before he could answer, the door swung open and the ever-sullen Brenda appeared. She didn’t say anything, just stepped aside and let Lucy through before walking away.
‘Lucy,’ said Oliver, coming forward.
She looked as arresting as she had in white, even now in jeans and a shirt. Her hair was tucked under a tweed cap, heavy Doc Martens on her feet, extra studs glinting in her ears.
Statement received, he thought. I’m here, but don’t push your luck.
‘Oliver,’ she said, walking up to him and extending her hand.
Surprised, he took it. Her grip was firm, cool.
‘Thanks for coming. I wasn’t sure you would,’ he said, letting a note of uncertainty creep in. A little doubt usually worked in his favour.
She nodded but didn’t smile. Fair enough, he thought. He’d earned that.
‘Yeah, well, I didn’t have far to come.’ She nodded towards the café. ‘And we do have unfinished business.’ She paused, licking her lips. ‘And I hate unfinished business.’
‘Me, too.’
‘I guess,’ she went on, ‘I may have been a little hasty, walking out like that.’
He gave a short, reluctant laugh. ‘It was… a novel experience. Doesn’t happen often.’
Her eyes narrowed, her expression hardening. Right. Maybe don’t boast about that.
He cleared his throat. ‘And it was entirely understandable. I was at fault and I apologise. I wasn’t completely upfront with you.’
Her frown eased a fraction. She gave a brief nod.
‘Would you like a coffee?’ he offered.
She didn’t bother answering, just shot him a look that said everything. Around here there was only one source of coffee she deemed drinkable, and it wasn’t Brenda’s.
‘Wise,’ he said. He closed the door behind her as she stepped fully into the room and looked around.
‘It’s been years since I’ve been in this room.’
‘I’m sure nothing’s changed.’
Her smile slipped. ‘Because that’s how people like it.’
He chose to ignore that.
‘I’ve been told this is where “gentlemen” guests used to retire after dinner with a port,’ he said.
Lucy huffed a sardonic little laugh. ‘To discuss important things while the little ladies talked about children.’
‘Ah yes,’ he couldn’t resist, ‘the good old days.’
She shot him a sharp look. ‘Then why get rid of them?’
‘Because no one behaves like that these days. No one wants to be separated from the opposite sex.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ Lucy said. ‘Although I think you always do.’
She glanced at him from under her cap as she said it. He decided to let that one pass. For now.
As he searched for a retort, his mind drifted — unhelpfully — to the idea of Lucy as some sort of Spartan warrior. Tall, lean, all edges and purpose. Throw in a shield and a spear, she’d fit right in.
She moved to the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, running her fingers along the spines. She looked at home in the room, with its high stud, cornices and the two Corinthian columns flanking the ornate fireplace, even with the threadbare Persian rug underfoot and water stains blooming on the plaster.
‘My sister Jen would love these,’ she said, glancing over her shoulder. ‘She’s a bibliophile. Loves to write them, read them, hoard them.’
‘She’s welcome to look through and take what she likes. The rest will go to a second-hand bookshop.’
He hadn’t actually decided, but that could be someone else’s problem. As long as everything was gone when the wrecking crew arrived, he was happy.
Lucy nodded. ‘I’ll mention it. I spotted some local history on the shelves. Could be useful.’
‘I didn’t have you pegged as a historian.’
‘I’m not. But we’re looking into something at the moment. A family mystery.’
‘Oh? Intriguing.’
‘Not really. More like frustrating.’
‘Why don’t you sit down and tell me about it?’
‘It’s a private family matter,’ she said, clearly closing that door. But she did sit, running her hand over the leather as it creaked beneath her. ‘I’m sure you understand.’
‘Of course. And if you see anything here you’d like, it’s yours.’
‘Books aren’t my thing, but I can appreciate them. So I want to keep them despite that. Not personally, you understand. But because sometimes we have to think about the wider picture. Like, I don’t know… other people’s wants and needs.’
Another dig. He gritted his teeth.
‘Lucy,’ he said carefully, keeping his voice even. Controlling his temper wasn’t usually an issue, but she was needling him in ways he wasn’t accustomed to. ‘I’m just wondering something.’
‘Yes?’
‘Did you agree to meet me simply to show your anger? To bait me? Or did you have something you wanted to say? Something you wanted to know from me. An exchange. A conversation.’
‘You’re right,’ she said, exhaling. ‘Sorry. My family will vouch for the fact I don’t let a grudge go easily. I don’t like being used. But I also shouldn’t have walked out like that, shouldn’t have left you the note I did.’
Her honesty was unexpectedly disarming.
He steepled his fingers, rubbing them lightly against his mouth as he recalibrated.
‘Nervous?’ she asked.
He dropped his hands. ‘Of course not. I’d just like to apologise. I’m sorry if I upset you.’
She gave a small grunt. ‘Interesting. You’re apologising for upsetting me.’
‘That’s right.’
‘So you’re not apologising for trying to use me for your own purposes.’
He ground his teeth. Normally an apology from him — any apology — was more than enough. But hell would freeze over before he continued the additional apology he’d planned.
‘Still,’ she continued, ‘I didn’t expect you to, because I doubt you often lie outright.’ She smiled a pseudo-sweet smile. ‘Just lie by omission. Anyway,’ she continued, ‘it’s clear you thought I could help you with the consultation process over the hotel project.’