Chapter 9 #2
He gave a slight nod, wondering where this would lead.
‘Which begs the question,’ she said, ‘how exactly do you think I can help you?’
He narrowed his eyes. Was she about to help him? This meeting was full of surprises.
‘By using your influence with your community. This community. I’d like their support.’
‘You mean you need their support.’
How much did she know? He had to tread carefully. ‘It would certainly make my job a lot easier.’
‘Is that all you’re interested in? Making your life easier?’
He deflected, glancing aside as if her goading wasn’t working. It was. He looked back at her. Damn those eyes.
‘Lucy,’ he said, voice dropping. ‘Of course I don’t go out of my way to make my life more difficult. But I would like the chance to show the community that my plans would benefit them.’
She crossed her legs and folded her arms. Not exactly an open posture.
‘Perhaps you could start with convincing me,’ she said. ‘It makes sense. Win me over and I can win over my community. I can spread the word. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’
He nodded, eyes narrowing slightly. She sounded altogether too reasonable.
‘I would,’ he said. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. ‘Look around you. The place is falling down.’
She did, taking in the cracked ceiling roses, the warped skirting boards, the mottled wallpaper and sagging curtains. Then she looked back at him.
‘It’s full of character, Oliver. You can never recreate that.’
‘I think character is in the eye of the beholder.’
‘Like beauty.’ Her eyes were steely.
‘Yes. Like beauty. One man’s “character” is another’s rubbish.’
‘You think this is rubbish?’
‘I think it’s past its sell-by date.’
He got up from his seat and crossed to his desk, grabbing the rolled plans and spreading them out on the low table between them.
‘Here. These are my plans.’
She leaned forward despite herself. He counted that as a small victory.
‘It’ll be a hotel catering to wealthy guests, giving them everything they need. They’ll have money to spend in the shops we’ll have here —’
‘You mean the shops you choose,’ she interjected.
‘— and outside,’ he finished, ignoring her tone. ‘They’ll spend money on art, books, crafts.’
‘We only have a handful of those kind of shops,’ Lucy said.
‘And that’s mostly because people use the front room of their houses.
The other shops are proper village shops.
Butchers, greengrocers, dairy, hairdresser.
Your fancy people won’t be buying mince and milk.
You’ll push our shops into supplying your rich guests.
We’ll end up with a street of boutiques no one local can afford. ’
This was not going as he’d hoped.
‘Villages develop,’ he said.
‘Our community likes this one exactly as it is.’ She sat back, arms folded again.
‘It’s been this way since the 1920s. I don’t see any reason for it to change.
If we become a service strip for your top-end hotel, we’re completely dependent on it.
What happens when you sell it and the next owner wants something different?
’ She shook her head. ‘No. This won’t fly, Oliver. ’
‘The hotel has got to go, Lucy. It’s not cost-effective to do anything but bowl it over.’
She was silent for a moment. For half a heartbeat he let himself hope he’d changed her mind.
‘I’m not surprised you think that way,’ she said at last. ‘From what I’ve learnt, money is your motivating force. And you’ve got a lot of it riding on getting this hotel demolished.’
He didn’t look away. ‘It’s true. I have.’
‘Then you’re going to have to find a different way out. Because if you destroy the hotel, you destroy the heart of MacLeod’s Cove.’
‘Nonsense. That’s just backwards-looking talk. You need to look to the future.’
‘Don’t tell me what I need to do.’
He sighed, frustration edging his voice. ‘Lucy. We need to find a way forward. I bought this wreck with one intention — to demolish it. It’s falling down and sitting on prime real estate.’
‘It needs refurbishing. Then it’ll be an asset again, like it always was.’ Her eyes flashed. ‘You’ve got plenty of money. Use some of it for the benefit of the community and then we’ll talk.’
‘It might have been an asset once,’ he said, temper slipping, ‘but it stopped being one years ago. You lot are too blind to see it. It’s an eyesore, a wreck, a ruin. It needs replacing with something fit for purpose.’
She stood, turned as if to go, then stopped and faced him again.
‘You know what I don’t understand?’ she said. ‘Why you thought a flash dinner and some flattery and — whoosh — my objections would vanish.’
‘Strangely, I thought you might see reason,’ he replied, jaw tight. ‘I have a job to do, and I was trying to do it in the most pleasant way I could.’
‘Ha.’ She folded her arms. ‘Don’t tell me: you were going to inform me who you really were, what you owned, what you wanted from me — right after dessert?’
He shoved his fingers through his hair. To think he’d once found this woman uncomplicatedly desirable.
‘I’d appreciate it,’ she went on, ‘if you’d stop taking me for a fool.’
He nodded once. ‘I know you’re no fool. How about I show you the rest of the place? Show you what’s behind this… lovely old facade.’
He used her word deliberately. Maybe it would soften her. He doubted it, but it was worth a try.
She shrugged. ‘Fine.’
She followed him out into the hotel proper.
The corridor smelled of damp and ancient frying oil.
The patterned carpet along the main hall was worn to the backing in places; the floral wallpaper was yellowed and peeling, water stains spreading like continents across the ceiling.
An old brass wall sconce flickered, its shade hanging at a crooked angle.
‘Charming,’ Lucy said faintly, fingers trailing along the battered dado rail.
He led her into the main bar. Daylight picked out every scratch and stain.
The mahogany counter was scarred and sticky; the mirror behind the bar was foxed, silvering gone at the edges.
A fan in the corner ticked, wheezing on every rotation.
In the far corner, a section of carpet had been ripped up and not replaced.
‘This is “character”, is it?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Though I admit it needs work.’
‘Look here,’ he said, stepping to a side wall and tugging back a flap of wallpaper.
The plaster beneath was cracked and crumbly, hairline fractures spiderwebbing out. In one corner, the skirting board gaped from the wall.
‘Cosmetic,’ she said.
‘Representative of what’s going on behind the walls.’
‘Really? Because I spoke to the local builder who last worked on this place.’ She folded her arms. ‘He said there was no structural rot. Nothing that hard work and investment couldn’t fix.’
‘I can show you my engineer’s reports if you want convincing.’ He regretted the offer as soon as it was out.
‘Yes, please.’
‘Wait here,’ he said, politeness fraying as he walked back to his office. He didn’t want her watching as he selected which reports to show.
He pulled out the summarised assessment first, unfurled it, and brought it back.
‘See here?’ he said, pointing.
‘These don’t look detailed,’ she said. ‘It’s a summary.’
Reluctantly, he went back and came out with the full report. She studied the pages carefully. He hadn’t expected that. Since when did café owners read structural reports?
Then she looked up and shook her head.
‘You didn’t learn the first time, did you?’ she said. ‘Once again you’ve mistaken me for an idiot. These reports don’t show a building beyond rescuing. Not remotely.’
‘They… show a building no longer fit for purpose.’
‘So you said before.’ Her eyes narrowed.
‘You thought I couldn’t read this, didn’t you?
What you failed to consider is that I’ve already been through these with someone who understands them.
’ She snapped the folder shut and handed it back.
‘I may not be technical, but I’m business-savvy, and I prepare. Especially when you are involved.’
He lifted his hands, palms out, hoping a gesture of surrender might soften her. It was annoying how even more beautiful she became when she was furious.
‘Lucy, please —’
They’d walked back into the bar area without him noticing, and the raised voices had drawn attention. A couple of workers had stopped, tools in hand. Brenda and one of the kitchen staff hovered in the doorway.
‘Don’t “Lucy, please” me!’ she snapped.
Her raised voice carried to the open front doors. Within moments, a few locals poked their heads in. One waved to someone outside. The crowd thickened, a ripple of curiosity running through them.
‘I understand exactly what you’re doing,’ she said, turning to address the room as well as him.
‘You’re trying to shove everything under the carpet that doesn’t suit you.
Anything that doesn’t fit your pretty picture gets ignored.
’ She turned fully to the people gathered.
‘Take a good look and listen, because this is the man who wants to destroy the heart of our community.’
She pointed straight at him, fury in every line of her body.
Oliver clenched his jaw and refused to glance at the onlookers, though he could hear the murmurs starting.
‘This is ridiculous,’ he said. ‘I’m going. And unless you’re willing to seriously talk through options, our conversation is over.’
It was a risk, but a calculated one.
He ignored the calls from the front as he walked towards the back corridor. Brenda glared at him as he passed, arms folded, as if his very presence offended her. Out here, being the boss didn’t earn you respect; it made you the target.
Back in the library, he stood behind his desk and waited.
Lucy would come. She had to. Unless they found a way forward together, he’d proceed without her — and she knew that. He was calling her bluff. It was a question of who had more to lose. He hoped she believed she did.
But he knew the truth: it was him — he had more to lose. And he was gambling on Lucy not seeing that.
As the minutes ticked by, Oliver realised he’d got it wrong.