Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Oliver chatted easily to the last of the group as he showed them out of the hotel.
He’d timed it carefully — bringing them through the rear door an hour earlier, making sure Lucy hadn’t seen any of it.
He felt vaguely ashamed, though he told himself that was ridiculous.
But he was focused on making the most of this stretch of silence from Lucy.
A week was enough time to do damage control — cherry-pick the locals least likely to object to his plans and bring them firmly onside.
He’d shown them the worst of the building: the ruined back garden littered with rusting barrels and broken pallets, old furniture rotting in the open, every visible sign of decay carefully highlighted.
None of it was beyond repair, but the appearance of neglect was persuasive.
For non-experts, perception was more important than truth.
What mattered was that they gave him their confidence. And they had.
As the last of them left, Oliver stood on the hotel steps and surveyed the road with quiet satisfaction.
The meeting had gone even better than he’d hoped.
Weekend homeowners and newcomers were always easier to win over.
Still, results were results. A few well-placed carrots had tipped the balance neatly in his favour.
His phone buzzed. Simon.
‘We’re over the line,’ his assistant said. ‘Scanned signatures are already at sixty percent of the minimum. And council’s confirmed the new timeline.’
‘And public meetings?’
‘Sorted.’
Oliver ended the call and sat back. He should be feeling smug. The Māori consultation had gone just as smoothly. The elders had been pragmatic, even enthusiastic, about the economic opportunities. Cultural education for guests. Funding for local projects. A clean transaction.
Win-win. Then why didn’t it feel like it?
He glanced across the road at her café. It was closed now. Only the dairy was open, a knot of boys on bikes loitering outside, rocking on their wheels, shouting insults, drinking from cans.
Oliver smiled faintly. He remembered boys like that from the Wellington suburbs he’d been driven through as a youngster, but never allowed to walk through. He’d been kept carefully apart from the ‘rough boys’, as his stepmother had called them.
He turned away sharply. Pity for his younger self was pointless.
Inside, the old lounge bar looked better without people in it. Stripped bare, it showed what it might once have been. Retro, someone might say. He didn’t.
Lucy’s name came unbidden into his head again. With it came that feeling he refused to examine. The dreams didn’t help — especially the ones that weren’t about sex. The ones where her presence alone filled him with a strange sense of calm. A peace he always woke from with irritation.
He had his back to the open door when the sensation hit him. That prickle. That awareness. He froze.
Dust drifted in the late afternoon sunlight, turning the air gold. Somewhere a car slowed for the railway tracks. Then he saw something move out of the corner of his eye.
‘Lucy.’
She stood framed in the doorway, back-lit by sunshine, dressed in her usual white. For half a second she didn’t look real. Then she moved again, and he released his breath.
She stepped into the shadows and looked around, taking in the stripped bar, the bare floors, the rolled-up carpet. Her gaze lingered on the open doors to the back.
‘Busy day?’ she asked lightly, as if she didn’t care about the answer.
‘Just showing a few people the place,’ he said. ‘Consultation, remember?’
Her mouth tightened almost imperceptibly. ‘Of course.’
She gave him time to steady himself, then met his gaze.
‘Oliver,’ she said coolly.
‘I… I wasn’t expecting to see you,’ he admitted. He hated the stutter.
‘I wasn’t expecting to be here. But I’ve been asked to pass on an invitation to you.’
That caught him completely off guard.
‘An invitation?’
She laughed. ‘Don’t look so shocked. I guess you don’t often receive them. Not the kind I’m about to deliver anyway.’
She walked towards him and his heart hammered in his chest. He swore to himself. She was running rings around him.
‘And what kind is that? An invitation to leave this place and never return?’
She smiled for the first time since she’d entered the hotel. ‘You’re giving me ideas.’
‘Do what you will. Say what you like. I’m only here for as long as it takes to conclude my business.’
‘This, strangely, has not much to do with business. The invitation is from my mother.’
That surprised him more than anything. ‘Your mother? Kate MacLeod?’
‘I see you’ve heard of her.’
‘It would be hard not to. I haven’t come across one person who doesn’t mention her when we’re talking about the village and its founding fathers.’
‘Or founding mothers,’ Lucy corrected.
He inclined his head. ‘Of course. Both.’
‘Women have featured more significantly in the MacLeod family history. I come from a long line of strong women.’
‘Hm. Well, I think you’ve outdone them. I’m sure they’d be proud of you.’
‘They are,’ she smiled again. ‘Anyway, the current MacLeod matriarch — my mother Kate — has invited you to a family barbecue on Sunday.’
He simply stared at her.
‘Hello?’ she prompted. ‘I realise actual nice people inviting you to informal events may be a new experience. And, to be honest, left to myself, I’m not sure I would have. But my mother is nicer than me, and she has.’
‘A family barbecue?’ he repeated, thinking he’d missed something.
‘That’s right. You know, where brothers, sisters, friends and kids gather to eat, chat, amuse and annoy each other.’
‘Sure,’ he said, knowing he was going to accept despite all the logical arguments to the contrary. ‘That would be, er, lovely.’
‘You might want to revise your opinion later. But that’s fine. You’ll have to try a bit of MacLeod hospitality before deciding whether you like it or not. It could be said it has a strong taste.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Like Vegemite.’
She was beginning to worry him now. ‘How do you mean?’
‘Nothing weird. We just talk a lot, and are fairly outspoken. Actually you’ll probably find us at our most tame. My sister has recently returned home after a traumatic time with her husband in England.’
‘They’re separated?’
‘Yes. You could say that. He’s dead.’
‘Ah, that’s fairly final.’
‘Exactly. But unfortunately the legacy of that relationship is still alive and well, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk about anything in too heated a fashion. Anger triggers her.’
‘I have nothing to be angry about.’
‘Now, that makes me angry.’
He could feel his lips tweak as he tried not to smile. Whatever you felt about Lucy MacLeod, she was always entertaining.
‘And why is that?’
‘Because you should be angry that you’ve wasted your time and energy, not to mention money, on a project which you will see — sooner or later — won’t be finished. You’ll have to walk away. You’ll lose. And I imagine that would make you very angry.’
‘It would if I lose, but I won’t.’
She took a few steps closer to him, enough to distract him for a moment. He could smell her perfume now she stood closer, could see her lively green eyes, bright and glorious. ‘You’re so sure, aren’t you? It must be nice to always be so sure.’
‘It is. It makes life a lot easier.’
She sighed. ‘And that’s what you want, is it? An easy life.’
‘I certainly don’t want a difficult one.’ He frowned. ‘Is this what I’m going to be walking into on Sunday? Your mother berating me?’
Lucy looked a little shamefaced. ‘No. My mother wouldn’t do that. Only me. And I’ve been sworn to good behaviour.’
He smiled. ‘Good to know someone can control you.’
Her eyes flashed. ‘No one controls me.’
‘Except your mother.’
She shrugged, clearly unwilling to admit that this was, in fact, the truth. It was obvious she not only loved her mother but respected her, too. Kate MacLeod was evidently an impressive woman, not only to have a daughter like Lucy, but to evoke such loyalty and love in said daughter.
‘Anyway,’ he said, thinking he’d better change the subject, ‘may I ask why your mother has invited me?’
‘Only if I can ask why you just agreed without checking your calendar.’
His lips twitched. ‘You first.’
Lucy hesitated, then looked away. ‘She thinks you need to be… educated.’
His eyes widened. ‘Educated?’ This explanation hadn’t entered his head. Which perhaps meant that he did, indeed, need to be educated. ‘In what?’
‘In matters of our community.’
‘Ah,’ he said as the disparate puzzle pieces finally formed a coherent whole. ‘She thinks if I have dinner with your family I’ll suddenly not want to demolish the hotel.’
‘Something like that.’
‘I’m afraid nothing is going to make me change my mind.’
Lucy raised an eyebrow.
‘You don’t believe me,’ he said.
‘I don’t think belief comes into it. You won’t get past the public consultation meetings anyway.’
That annoyed him. ‘You sound very certain.’
‘You sound very arrogant.’
They stared at each other.
‘So why did you accept so quickly?’ she pressed.
‘Two reasons. First — I’m curious about the family who produced the woman who is doing her level best to upset my plans.’
‘You’ll like them,’ she said reluctantly. ‘Especially my mother. And the second reason?’
‘Because I will be alone. As usual.’
Her expression softened despite herself.
‘That’s exactly what Mum said. That someone who doesn’t understand community must be lonely.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t say —’
Lucy touched his arm lightly, interrupting his thoughts. ‘It’s too late. The truth escaped. You can’t put the genie back in the bottle now.’
He watched her step away.
‘What should I bring?’ he asked. ‘Wine?’
‘No alcohol. Lemonade will be fine.’
‘Food?’
‘Supermarket salad will be fine.’
The corner of his mouth lifted. ‘Sunday then.’
She turned back once more, sunlight catching her eyes.
‘Sunday.’