Chapter 17
17
‘You have got to be bloody kidding me. What reason did they give?’ Abby says crossly into her phone.
I’m walking down to restock the pool bar and she’s lying on a sun lounger. I’m not at all surprised to see James stretched out on the lounger next to hers, his long limbs pale in the sunlight.
‘All is not well in the world of construction this morning,’ he offers quietly by way of explanation when he sees me.
‘No, it’s fine, Ella,’ Abby continues after a moment or two. ‘We’ll just have to go to plan B and see if we can change their minds that way. It’s not ideal, but we don’t really have any other choice. Yes, thanks for letting me know. All right, yeah. Bye.’
‘Bollocks,’ she says vehemently as she slams her phone down on the table.
‘Are you OK?’ I ask. ‘I couldn’t help overhearing.’
‘Not really. Fucking Thanet Borough Council have turned down my planning permission application, which means Dad’s probably going to be on the phone to roast my arse any moment now.’
‘How come?’ James asks, propping himself up on one arm so he can look at her.
‘Dad’s business model is simple and he likes to stick to it. He buys patches of land that have planning permission but are too small for the big developers to bother with, and builds on them. It’s a good model, but I thought we were missing a trick.’
‘What kind of trick?’
‘Redevelopment. I’ve got nothing against new builds, but I reckon we’ve been missing out on a big opportunity. Look at all those warehouses in the east end of London, for example. Somebody bought them, probably for a song, converted them into flats and made a killing. I want a slice of that action.’
‘So you bought a warehouse?’ I ask.
‘They’re all gone now – the good ones, anyway. No, I found this shitty old hotel in Margate that was coming up for auction. It was last owned by one of the budget chains, but I think they used it during the pandemic as accommodation for the homeless, who made a bit of a mess in there. They obviously felt it wasn’t worth spending the money needed to bring it back up to scratch afterwards, so they decided to close it and sell it off.’
‘Doesn’t sound very promising,’ James observes. ‘Why Margate? It’s a dump, isn’t it?’
‘No. There are some seedy bits of it, but it’s up and coming in a big way. For starters, it’s got a whole artistic scene going on. It’s Tracey Emin’s home town and you’ve got the Turner contemporary art gallery, as well as the Antony Gormley ‘Another Time’ sculpture. And, despite being a mess inside, the hotel building itself is a classic example of Art Deco architecture with fabulous views down to the sea.’
‘What was your plan?’ I ask.
‘Simple. Restore the exterior to its former glory and convert the interior into luxury apartments.’
‘Seems like a sensible idea,’ I observe. ‘Why aren’t the borough council keen?’
‘Apparently, there have been objections from some people who feel that it’s an important local landmark and converting it into flats is tantamount to sacrilege. They’ve lobbied the council and the council have listened to them over the greedy developer.’
‘I heard you mention a plan B though, so you were obviously prepared for this eventuality.’
‘There is a plan B, but it’s not going to be good for us or the council.’
‘What is it?’
‘We mothball the place. It’s already boarded up so we just let it decay. Eventually, it will either fall down or the council will give in.’
‘A war of attrition,’ James observes.
‘Yup, and it pretty much guarantees we will automatically get turned down for anything we want to do in that area in future, but it’s basically the only card we can play now.’
‘Can’t you sell it?’ I ask.
‘Who’s going to buy it? It’s obviously not viable as a hotel, otherwise the chain wouldn’t have closed it, and you can’t convert it into anything else because the council won’t let you. It’s a white elephant, as Dad will take delight in pointing out when he calls to give me a large helping of “I told you so” with a generous dash of “this is why we do it my way” on the side.’
‘He sounds a bit of a tyrant, if you don’t mind me saying,’ James tells her. ‘He should be proud that you’re looking for new opportunities.’
‘He really isn’t a tyrant. He’s actually very supportive of me, generally. Even though he didn’t like this idea, he let me run with it. That’s the kind of person he is. Having said that, I went against his advice and it hasn’t paid off. The schadenfreude will be too great for him to resist.’
As if on cue, her phone rings again and she groans. ‘Here we go. Hi, Dad. Yes, Ella just phoned me…’
She gets up from the sun lounger and wanders away, evidently wanting to be out of earshot for the conversation with her father. James watches her go with a strange expression on his face.
‘Are you OK there?’ I ask.
‘Oh. Yes, umm, sorry. I was miles away for a moment.’
‘Dare I ask if it has anything to do with Abby?’
‘Mm. Have you heard the phrase “Hate to see you go, love to watch you leave”?’
‘No. What does it – oh!’ I tell him as the penny drops.
‘Doesn’t she have a magnificent rump?’ he says wistfully, gazing down to Abby, who is striding back and forth in her bikini at the far end of the pool, evidently having quite a forceful conversation, if her facial expression and hand gestures are anything to go by.
‘She’s not a cow, James! If I may offer you some advice, talking about women like they’re slabs of meat is unlikely to get you the result you want.’
‘How would you describe it then? “Nice arse” just sounds common.’
‘Why don’t you focus on her as a whole, rather than picking on a single bodily feature?’
‘I’m not sure I follow. Surely I’m allowed to admire her physique?’
‘Of course you are, but it has to be in the context of her as a person. If you make remarks about it in isolation, that’s not attractive.’
‘Are you telling me that women don’t like men to find them beautiful?’
‘Of course we do! But we want to be found beautiful as people, not just as a set of physical attributes. Does that make sense?’
‘But I don’t know that much about her as a person yet. I can only judge what I see.’
‘Then learn. Let’s translate this into your world. What was that wine you were talking about on the way from the airport?’
‘Chateau Petrus.’
‘That’s the one. So, imagine you’ve bought a bottle of that and you’ve invited me round to taste it with you.’
‘Not very realistic. I may get it for customers but it’s way out of my price range.’
‘You’ve won the lottery.’
‘Oh, OK.’
‘So, you’re all excited about sharing this incredible wine, right?’
He smiles. ‘If it’s Chateau Petrus, I’m not sure I’m sharing it.’
‘You’re sharing it,’ I tell him firmly. ‘You pour two glasses, and you do the whole swirling and sniffing thing before taking a taste and telling me all the things I should be able to pick up. Then I take a mouthful, swallow it straight down and tell you, “It’s all right, I suppose, but I prefer rosé”. How do you feel?’
‘I’d take it off you and probably never speak to you again.’
‘But that’s exactly what you’re doing to Abby, don’t you see? She’s every bit as complex as your Chateau Petrus, but all you’re talking about is the shape of the bottle. How would you describe her if she was a wine?’
‘The first thing I’d look at in a fine wine is the appearance. Its colour and opacity.’
‘OK. I think we can both agree you’ve done that with Abby. What comes next?’
‘Then I’d smell the wine, to get the top note aromas. Primary aromas from the grape varietal and secondary aromas from the maturing process – what kind of barrels it’s been aged in, for example.’
‘And if Abby were a wine, what aromas would you expect to smell?’
He looks over at Abby, who is still striding back and forth, talking animatedly into her phone.
‘Floral top notes, but there’s spice in there too, with an earthy undercurrent. Complex, but not unapproachably so.’
‘Now we’re getting somewhere. Tell me how you came to use those words.’
‘The floral top notes because she’s very feminine.’
‘That’s to be expected, given that she’s a woman.’
‘You know what I mean. She has a delicate and very feminine physique.’
‘You’re in danger of going purely on appearances again there, James.’
‘Ah, but then you pick up the spice. It’s the exotic, heady clash between the floral top notes and the fact that she works in a very unfeminine industry. It’s intriguing, unusual, and makes you want to find out more.’
‘And the earthy undercurrent?’
He laughs. ‘“Bollocks.” “Fucking Thanet Borough Council.” “Roast my arse.” Those aren’t the words of a fragile princess. She’s definitely got her feet on the ground. I’ve never met anybody like her. She’s utterly mesmerising.’
‘So I think we can agree there’s a lot more to her than just her “rump”, as you put it. Do you want me to have a chat with Raquel, to see if she can pair you up for a date night?’
‘Would you? That would be amazing.’
‘I can’t promise anything, but I’ll put a word in. Ah, it looks like the roasting is done.’
‘How did you get on?’ James asks Abby as she rejoins us, taking her place on the sun lounger once more.
‘It was as I predicted. What pisses me off is that it’s happened on the first one, which means it’s going to be much harder to persuade him to take the risk again. Thankfully, we’ve just sold the last plot on one of our developments in Ashford, so our cashflow position is strong and we can afford the hit. It’s just such a bloody waste of a fabulous opportunity.’
‘Can’t you appeal against the decision?’ James asks.
‘We were talking about that. We are going to appeal, but there’s no guarantee it will make a difference, and who knows how long it will take. In the meantime, we’ll mothball it and let nature take its course. The residents might not be so hoity-bloody-toity when it’s a graffiti-covered, crumbling eyesore.’
My curiosity gets the better of me. ‘Have you got any pictures?’ I ask her.
‘Oh yeah, loads. Hang on.’ She picks up her phone and launches an app, navigating through folders until she comes to the one she’s looking for. ‘Here you go.’ She holds the phone out to me. As I scroll through the pictures of the hotel, I can immediately see why she was attracted to it. It’s definitely seen better days but it’s still a beautiful example of the style. It’s a simple, streamlined building that reminds me a little of an old-fashioned cinema. The steel-framed windows either side of the magnificent front door are curved, drawing the eye as if beckoning you inside. If I close my eyes, I can almost picture it in a black and white movie, with a smartly uniformed doorman greeting guests as they step out of their opulent vintage limousines.
‘It’s gorgeous,’ I sigh.
‘That’s what I thought,’ Abby agrees. ‘Unfortunately, all the period features inside have been ripped out at some point in its history, so it’s indistinguishable from any other building once you go in. I was going to try to recreate some of the original charm though. Hand me back my phone and I’ll see if I can find the computer mock-ups of what I had planned.’
After a bit more searching, she finds what she’s looking for and hands the phone back to me. I’m aware of James watching over my shoulder as I scroll through the images of the lobby area, floor plans showing the old and new layouts, and a virtual tour through one of the apartments, with panoramic views out over the sea from the large windows.
‘The amount of work I put into those sodding windows,’ Abby sighs as we look at the screen together. ‘How to keep them looking correct but make them thermally efficient at the same time.’
‘I don’t understand how anyone could object to this,’ James murmurs. ‘I don’t even like Margate, but I’m looking for the “buy it now” button.’
‘There’s also a car park, which is a rarity for a building of this age,’ Abby tells him. ‘I suspect the council would have been more amenable if I’d come up with a plan to convert it into affordable housing, because that’s the buzzword these days, but it just doesn’t suit a building like this. Also, wealthier people spend more, which is good for the local economy.’
‘A rising tide lifts all boats,’ James observes.
‘What’s that got to do with it?’ Abby asks, nonplussed.
‘It’s a metaphor for collective benefit. I do well, but you also benefit from my success.’
‘I see. Well, if we’re going to stick with tidal metaphors then Thanet council are King Canute, trying to stop the waves coming in.’
‘Nicely done,’ James congratulates her. ‘Canute didn’t succeed in turning back the tide though, so maybe there’s hope for you.’
‘It’ll take a bloody miracle,’ Abby replies despondently, taking her phone back and slumping on her sun lounger.
‘ Illegitimi non carborundum ,’ James tells her with a smile.
‘What’s that?’
‘Latin. Well, not proper Latin, but it basically means “don’t let the bastards grind you down”.’
‘Don’t worry,’ she mutters as she tilts her face up to the sun and adjusts her sunglasses. ‘I may be down, but I’m far from out.’
Sensing that the conversation is over, I turn my attention back to my original task of restocking the bar. After a few minutes, James wanders over and leans against the counter.
‘Can I get you something?’ I ask him.
‘You know that wine we were talking about earlier?’
‘Yes.’
‘There’s another flavour, on the finish. It’s slightly flinty, probably as a result of the soil it’s grown in: the terroir , as we call it in the business. It’s telling you that this is a wine made with confidence, firmly rooted in its environment and unashamed of what it is. A wine that showcases its terroir so strongly is truly magical.’
I laugh softly. ‘You have got it bad.’
‘I think I’m in love,’ he says simply.