Chapter 23
Tim
Fuuuck. How would I finish in two weeks? My mind raced through all the subbies I’d have to get in and listed all the remaining work in order of priority.
Another thought made my heart plunge.
I only have two more weeks with Tabitha.
At the end of the frustrating day, I waited for everyone to leave.
I found Tabs in the area that used to be the formal drawing room scouring samples and taking notes.
She was glowing in the last light of the window, sitting on one of the tatty silk-covered chairs strewn about the room, her legs slung over the arm.
The room had been larger than any other, even cavernous, with crystal chandeliers falling from ornate ceiling roses.
The French doors had beautiful views to the green side paddocks and golden hills beyond, but no one ever came in here.
Tabs was right; the formal space was unused and wasted. Maybe she was also right about opening it up so that it became part of the kitchen.
I leaned down toward her. “Tabs.”
She startled, so engrossed in her thoughts. And were those goose bumps down her neck? From my proximity?
“Sorry, can we talk privately?” I asked, sticking to the heart of the matter, although I couldn’t help a small smile. “Maybe in the library?” I’d installed a lock after we’d been filmed last time. And anyway, everyone had gone, and there was no danger of being filmed.
She left all her catalogs and samples and followed me. I ushered her inside. It was a beautiful old room and one we didn’t have to touch, so it was the only non-stressful place to talk in this whole house. Dusk gathered outside over the pond, still and peaceful.
“I’m not cutting corners because of this deadline,” I said, striding back and forth.
“I won’t fudge the electrics and close the walls without ensuring everything is perfect.
I can’t pull my own men, but I’m going to call in favors from my subcontractors to turn up tomorrow.
I don’t want your parents to be put on the tools like Simon’s suggesting either.
But we do need them to work harder at keeping the animals out of the way.
For a start, I’m pouring the concrete for the front path early tomorrow morning, so you’ll be able to get in the door more easily.
Your mum and dad need to keep the animals in the backyard for forty-eight hours.
The animals can’t come around the front until the concrete sets. ”
“Okay, I’ll impress that on them.” She pressed her lips together, her shoulders squared. I felt like she wasn’t just agreeing with me to end the conversation, but that she was on the same side as me.
“Thank you.” I took a deep breath. “So, just going forward, I’m worried about renovations that the show won’t pay for but will be needed.
Simon said the company will pay the costs, but clearly, he doesn’t care about how the job is done or the details, and I’m sensing he’d prefer we cut corners.
I’m worried they won’t pay for a proper inspection or what is truly required to make sure everything is safe. ”
She perched on the arm of the green velvet sofa and nodded thoughtfully. She looked as concerned as I felt, which was reassuring. “I totally agree, Tim. We need to do everything properly and by the book. Don’t worry. Just let me know the costs. I’ll take care of it.”
That made me feel better, but it did drive home how much spare money her family had.
Tabitha always wrote the checks, which listed her personal account, but I suspected the funds came from the same family trust fund.
There was no way she could pay these bills on a journalist’s salary, albeit head of section.
I didn’t need to know for sure because it wasn’t my business.
But it did make me wonder for the millionth time why she was doing this. She didn’t need the fee for appearances or the winner’s pot, like I did. Maybe the publicity was giving her some leverage at work?
I started noting some figures on my graph paper to channel my energy, but all the numbers reminded me of how much I needed for Mum’s new home. And I didn’t have a trust fund to lean on.
“I notice you’re able to pay the bills, no trouble,” I said, more bitterly than I intended.
“What do you mean, I’m able to pay the bills, no trouble?” she asked sharply. “What are you getting at?”
“No, nothing. I shouldn’t have said anything.” Stop, Langston, stop. “I suppose it’s all family money anyway.”
Her face went hard. “You think my family’s rolling in dough?”
Okay, she was being defensive. Or maybe I was. Money was personal and was the number one thing Brits did not discuss. My issues were clearly getting the best of me. “Again, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s not my business.”
She vaulted off the sofa. “For once, you’re correct. It’s not your business. You think this is all my parents’ money, right? That we’re rich?”
I shrugged, sheepish. “I mean, it’s not anything people in the village don’t already say.
Not that I gossip about you. Or listen to gossip about you.
” I winced at my own words. Why was I still talking?
And why couldn’t I stop? “I mean, you went to finishing school in Switzerland instead of the local high school. Spent seven years studying architecture. You got a job, which apparently you didn’t like, but you were able to leave it after a year and start again in journalism.
For decades, your parents have invested in wild schemes that go belly-up.
And yet, here they are, after all that, spending more money, doing an extensive renovation. ”
Her face reddened, her fists clutched at her sides. She was shaking with rage, and my gut bottomed out. Why did I harp on, comparing my life to hers? No one’s money was my business, and bringing it up like this was unfair.
Then her huge blue eyes pooled, and she let out an anguished cry, followed by sobs. Hands-on-face, tears-dripping-through-fingers, back-heaving sobs.
Fuck.
I put a tentative hand on her back. “Oh, Tabs, I’m so sorry. I’m being a total fucking wanker.”
She raised her head through the sobs and the hiccups and the dripping. I looked around for tissues on the everything-cart Trystan had prepared for each room, grabbed some, and handed them to her, which she used to wipe her face and blow her nose.
She looked blearily up at me, her eyes veined, her nose bright red.
“My parents—they have nothing. They’ve spent everything.
And you’re right, they did have family money.
They both did. But it’s all gone. It was gone a long time ago.
Since then, they’ve asked relatives for cash, then lost it on some ridiculous scheme or invention.
I’m paying for the renovation from my salary.
Which, I probably don’t have to explain to you, is a journalist’s salary and, even at a national newspaper for a head of section, is very short of impressive.
If the inn isn’t successful, they’ll have to sell, which won’t help anything, as they’re mortgaged to the hilt, and the money will go back to the bank anyway.
They’ll have to move in with me—into my shoebox two-bedroom flat in King’s Cross.
” At her own words, she sent up an anguished wail.
I eased her back down on the sofa and sat next to her, ashamed of how wrong and judgmental I’d been.
Her pain and the intense weight she felt on her shoulders were clear.
I couldn’t imagine living with her chaotic parents in a flat in London with whatever pets they insisted on bringing.
And at the same time, the leaden ball in my gut told me I couldn’t imagine her parents making a go of this new business either, without enormous help from her. Like, her full-time presence.
How would her parents feed guests and clean the place when they couldn’t even do that for themselves? I was almost certain the inn would slip back into disrepair. But this wasn’t the time to bring that up. I’d already done enough damage.
“I’m sorry for assuming the wrong things, Tabs. And worse, I was giving you shit. I can’t imagine the stress you’re under. Daily.” I scrubbed a hand over my face. “I’m not taking a penny more from you for my hourly rate.”
Blinking, she shook her head, distressed. “That’s so kind of you, Tim, but I can’t accept your free labor.” She sighed. “But it’s such a relief to tell someone.”
With a shuddering breath, she braced her shoulders like there was so much more to say.
“You can tell me anything, Tabs. Promise it won’t go further.” I hoped she’d trust me, and maybe she did once, but I didn’t expect it now.
She hesitated, then faced me full-on, vulnerable.
“I don’t know, Tim. I’m just so tired of my parents never taking responsibility for themselves or for me, even when I was young.
The faucet broke, I was the one to ring a plumber or try to fix it myself, because there was no money to pay him.
There was never money to pay for any extras at primary school, like sports or swimming or even the small school excursions we went on.
It was embarrassing. The teachers kept asking for the payments until they got sick of it and gave up.
Neither of my parents did things like sign the school trip forms, so I signed their names to them. They never turned up to parent nights.”
She rubbed her temples. “I did all the clothes-washing and house-cleaning from an early age. It was jam sandwiches for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and if we ran out of bread and jam, I walked to the shops to get more. I was always looking around for someone to take care of me, always looking around for the adult, but the adult was me. It feels like I was never allowed to be a child or a teenager or have fun at uni.”
That was mind-boggling that she’d done that all on her own through high school and uni. She’d always seemed shiny and happy, no sign of the strain she’d been under, and I thought she hadn’t needed or wanted my friendship anymore. Or maybe I hadn’t been a good friend and asked her how she was doing.
Hollowness expanded in the pit of my stomach. This was so different from what I expected.
“Was there any respite at finishing school? Was that fun?”
She did a sort of sigh-hiccup and looked up at me.
“The boarding school in Switzerland. Dad had just lost a whole lot of money on one of his many agricultural inventions, so Dad’s cousin, the marquis, forked out for it, but of course, he was so fed up with rescuing them and all his other useless relatives, that he sent me to a ratty, cheap school with alcoholic teachers and no resources.
I ended up having to school myself…and some of the other girls.
Otherwise, none of us girls was headed for tertiary education.
It was marry well or suffer the consequences. ”
“Dropping out of school early and finding my career my own way doesn’t sound so bad now. That’s bloody awful, Tabs.”
She huffed. “And when I got home, the house was just total chaos and mess all the time. Well, you’ve seen it.
I felt way too embarrassed to invite the other girls from school back, but sometimes I did, just for the company.
I mean, there was barely anything to eat, for a start, and no money to go to the movies or do anything fun.
” She sighed. “The irony is that I’m the Home and Garden editor.
The chronicler of domestic living, where I take readers on tours of beautiful homes.
” She shrugged. “I suppose that’s not an irony. It was almost inevitable.”
I nodded and squeezed her hand. I was so angry at myself for my previous assumptions about her, judging Tabs without knowing anything about her circumstances.
That was one of the things I didn’t like living in a small town, the instant judgment, that people made assumptions based only on what they could see.
How many times had people told me how “lucky” I’d been in my business, what a “natural” I was at sport, without seeing the thousands of hours I’d put into both?
I saw her so differently now, and my chest wrenched hard at her suffering.
And I’ve only made things harder for her instead of just asking some questions.
Somehow, I doubted the town knew how dire things had been for the Balfours.
And I felt like a terrible friend. I’d let her down, which, in some ways, explained her hostility toward me.
“I’m so sorry, Tabs. I wish I’d known what you were going through at school.”
I rubbed her arm. She sniffed and blinked, and I offered her the tissue box again. “How on earth did you manage the program at such a good university?”
That was a huge leap from how I’d grown up, straight from high school to an apprenticeship.
“I had to work long hours at local bars to put myself through uni, and now all my savings goes to helping out my parents. I had no siblings to help carry the load, but it’s not just sharing the costs.
Emotionally, I feel wrung out. On the edge all the time, this constant pressure, like—what next? How many other shoes can drop?”
I understood more than she knew. Now I was clear about why she was doing this reality show, when being onscreen was so far out of her comfort zone.
She desperately needed the money. Like I did.
“I should have asked more questions, done better.” I put a finger under her chin and tipped her face up so I could look her in the eye. I saw her so differently now, and all I wanted to do was help her find a way out of this. But I also wanted to hold her. “Do you want a hug?”
“Yes. I’d like that.” Her tone was soft and relieved, and finally, she smiled.
I wrapped my arms around her, resting my chin on the top of her head, squeezing her tight, then I rested us both against the back of the sofa.
Her hands were pressed against my chest, and her face was buried there too.
I could feel the dampness of her tears through my T-shirt.
I had to stop myself from kissing the top of her head, but I did allow myself to inhale the sweet rose smell of her hair.
Why does this feel so…right? Having Tabitha in my arms?
“This okay?” I asked.
“Thank you, Tim.” Her voice was muffled into my chest, and she turned her face up to mine, hiccupping. “I feel so much lighter, telling you all this. I wish I could wash all my worries away with the dust and grime from today.”
I couldn’t help with her parents, but I knew something that would make her feel better. I released her and held up a finger. “Just one moment?”
I texted Macy, asking if she’d arrived okay and had taken over from her twin sister, Stacy. Macy texted back a thumbs-up and the message, “Mum settled in. Making dinner because you know who didn’t bother.” Busting on her sister as usual.
“I have an idea,” I asked Tabitha. “Are you in?”
“Yes.” She answered without hesitation, with the same eagerness we’d discussed wild schemes as kids.
“I need to grab some supplies,” I said. “Meet me at my truck?”