Chapter 51
‘People themselves alter so much…’
Two days later, I woke to the sound of my phone buzzing on the caravan’s shelf. Outside, the fields were once again bright with sunshine, the air warm and humming with insects. Rocky lifted his head, blinking at me with mild irritation. I ignored the ache in my shoulders and reached for the phone.
‘Flo, I’ve got news,’ Dom said, his voice alive with energy. ‘Check your email. The money’s through.’
I sat upright, my heart hammering. ‘You’re joking.’
‘Would I joke about that?’
I scrambled for my laptop, sliding it across the Formica table and tapping the keyboard. Sure enough, there it was, an incoming bank transfer with enough zeroes to make my chest tighten with relief.
‘But it’s for fifty thousand, not twenty.’
‘I found someone willing to back us and they were all in to finish it to the highest standards.’
‘Who?’
‘Let’s just call them a… silent partner with deep pockets and a fondness for heritage pubs.’
I stared at the screen. ‘Dom, how in hell did you do this?’
‘Trade secret. Point is, we’re rescued. You can finish this thing the way you envisioned it. No compromises.’
I sank back into the bench seat, laughing in disbelief. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘No need for words, just get back to work. I’ll be down tomorrow.’
He hung up. I sat for a moment, eyes closed, feeling my whole being lift into pure joy. With fifty thousand, we had enough to make my real vision of The Black Horse come to life.
By mid-morning, the mood on site had transformed.
Igor and the crew, who had been subdued and twitchy since the storm, were whistling and singing as they unloaded new supplies.
Even the herringbone floor, now dried and scrubbed, looked less like a cautionary tale and more like the promise of something enduring.
I stood in the main bar, clipboard in hand, working on the updated timeline.
At long last I allowed myself to think beyond bare survival.
The brass chandelier I’d spotted at a local antiques fair.
The oxblood leather armchairs, silver champagne bucket.
A courtyard strung with festoon lighting for warm summer evenings.
And then there was Lachlan.
I hadn’t heard from him since the gallery opening. I rang his office to tell him about the funding, but his junior partner, Mia, informed me that he was now in Dubai, for a new hotel project.
‘Dubai?’ I repeated, caught off guard.
‘Yes, for the next two months at least,’ she said. ‘I’ve been assigned to finish up the project with you. Lachlan left detailed notes and a full schedule. He’s very… thorough.’
I laughed. ‘That he is.’
Later in the afternoon, Dom arrived, bringing with him the infectious, restless energy he carried like a second skin. He walked through the pub with his usual critical eye, kicking at floorboards and running his hand along the newly patched walls.
‘Looks better than before,’ he said finally. ‘I thought we’d be looking at a write-off.’
‘So did I,’ I admitted.
He glanced at me, his expression softening. ‘You’ve done good, Flo. You didn’t fold. Most people would have.’
I shrugged, feeling a surprising lump in my throat. ‘That was never an option.’
We stood there, the afternoon sun streaming through the windows.
For a moment, I could almost see the pub as it would be.
Warm. Alive. Buzzing with the sound of people clinking glasses, music playing over the speakers, and the smell of wood-fired pizza from the garden oven I’d been stubbornly lobbying for.
Dom broke the moment. ‘What are Lachlan’s thoughts on the finish schedule?’
‘He’s in Dubai. Mia’s handling it from here.’
Dom gave a low whistle. ‘Wow. He got that Palm Hotel gig then.’
I shrugged.
‘Must have. That’s a hundred mil project. The guy’s playing in the big leagues now.’
‘You got him to do this in the nick of time then.’
He laughed. ‘Sure did. Most people would kill for a guy like Lachlan to put his stamp on their building, even for a day.’
My mind started playing through the meetings we’d had. Lachlan so focused, arguing his points with me, down to the tiniest, infuriating details.
Dom clapped his hands together, breaking my reverie. ‘Right. What’s left on your list?’
The next few days passed in a blur of activity. Mia arrived on site, all sharp efficiency and slicked-back hair. She was polite but businesslike, clearly used to Lachlan’s pace.
‘Lachlan’s notes specify that the west wall reinforcement must be completed before the ceiling plastering resumes,’ she said, pointing to the annotated plans. ‘He’s concerned about water ingress, even with the new roof membrane. I’ve scheduled the surveyor for Wednesday.’
I bristled for half a second, instinctively defensive. Then I took a breath and nodded. ‘Fine.’
She gave me a small, approving smile. ‘Good. It’s a solid plan.’
By Friday, we’d repaired and thatched the roof, and started on the interior damage. There was paint in my hair and a growing sense of victory in my chest.
Two weeks later, Alice and I sat on the back steps with sandwiches from the café, the pub behind us and the newly renovated stables in front of us, catching the sun.
‘Remember when I first told you about this place?’ I asked.
She grinned. ‘I do. From a seed of an idea to almost there.’ She tilted her head. ‘So… Edward?’
‘He texted. Asked me to dinner. I said no.’
‘Too nice?’
‘Too steady, and look at me. Am I really his type?’
She laughed. ‘Fair enough. So, when’s Lachlan back from Dubai?’
I paused, picking at the crust of my sandwich. ‘No idea. Mia’s handling the rest of this project.’
She gave me a sly smile. ‘You miss arguing with him.’
‘I don’t miss him,’ I said, a little too quickly. ‘I miss having someone to bounce ideas off who actually challenges me. That’s all.’
‘Mmm-hmm,’ she said, clearly unconvinced, and stood to brush off the crumbs. ‘Well, keep telling yourself that.’
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help smiling as I watched her head to her car, leaving me with Rocky snoring at my feet and the hum of buzz saws inside.
That evening, while I ate a tikka masala curry for one, fresh from the caravan’s microwave, my phone pinged. A message from Lachlan popped up on the screen. Short. To the point.
Florence,
Mia says progress is on track. Good work on securing the west wall reinforcement. Keep pushing the vision. Don’t compromise on the details.
Lachlan.
It shouldn’t have mattered. It was three lines of professional encouragement. But I read it twice, then once more, feeling that strange mix of annoyance and warmth I’d come to associate with him.
I took a deep breath and typed back:
Thanks. We’re getting there. Dubai treating you well?
I hovered over the send button for a moment, then hit it anyway.
His reply came faster than I expected.
It’s hot, loud, and everyone’s in a rush. I miss projects with character. The Black Horse has that. Keep pushing. You’re doing good work, Florence.
I stared at the screen, caught off guard by the last line. Lachlan wasn’t the sort to hand out praise. For a moment, I just sat there in stillness, Rocky’s tail thumping lazily against the caravan floor, wondering why his words landed with more weight than they should.
To escape any answer, I got up, headed outside and walked over to the pub.
A quarter moon lit the way. I unlocked the door and headed into the bar, letting the latch drop behind me.
A weighted silence enveloped me as I stood there allowing my eyes to adjust to the darkness.
Over three hundred years of history hung in the stillness.
After months of hard graft, I finally let myself soak it all up.
I leaned against the bar and whispered, ‘You’ve stood through wars, storms, careless landlords… and now it is your time to shine.’
The words felt soft and strange. I trailed my fingers over the polished oak, feeling every groove and imperfection, each one a reminder of how far we’d come.