Summer With My Sister (29 page)

Polly wrinkled her nose, but her smile was empty of feeling. Once again, Clare wondered what on earth was going on in her sister’s head.

On Monday Roxie’s first word to Clare was an arch ‘Well?’

Clare grinned. ‘I’m up for it.’

‘YESSSS!’ screamed Roxie, much to the surprise of Luke, who’d walked in at that moment. She high-fived Clare, beaming. ‘Woo-hoo! That’s so exciting.’

‘Wow,’ Luke said, pausing and staring at them both. ‘What have I just missed? Are we all getting a pay rise or something?’

‘Oh, it’s nothing to do with
this place
,’ Roxie said, rolling her eyes as if that was the last thing she’d ever be squealing about. ‘Clare’s going into business,’ she announced grandly.

Clare squirmed beneath Luke’s look of curiosity. ‘It’s not that big a deal,’ she said, feeling her face flare with hot colour.

‘Oh yeah? Sounds a big deal to me,’ Luke replied. He seemed bemused. ‘Go on, then. What sort of business? Are we looking at the next Richard Branson, right here in Amberley?’

‘Don’t be so ridiculous,’ Roxie scoffed. ‘Clare’s much better-looking than him!’

‘I don’t think he meant—’ Clare said hurriedly, just as Luke said, ‘Well, I know
that
,’ and gave her the most disarming wink.

‘Clare makes totally gorgeous bubble baths and smellies,’ Roxie said, sounding every bit the proud mamma. ‘And, fingers crossed, she’s going to supply Langley’s – you know the hotel company? – with her stuff!’

‘Really? Wow,’ Luke said. ‘That’s amazing, Clare.’

‘It’s not definite,’ Clare mumbled, wishing Roxie hadn’t bigged her up quite so much. It was going to be horribly embarrassing when she didn’t get the commission and had to admit as much to Luke and everyone else to whom Roxie had blabbed. ‘In fact it’s not even remotely
likely
, but . . .’

‘Play your cards right, Luke,’ Roxie went on coyly, looking up at him through her mascara-clumpy lashes (a striking lilac colour today), ‘and she might even give you a free sample.’

He smiled. ‘I’d better behave myself then, hadn’t I, and do some work. Don’t want to fall behind with my patients before I’ve already started.’

He went off, whistling, and Roxie elbowed Clare. ‘He
so
likes you.’

‘He doesn’t,’ Clare snapped back, feeling flustered. ‘He’s got a girlfriend anyway; he’s not allowed to like anyone else.’

Roxie snorted and slapped her forehead. ‘God, Clare Berry. Sometimes I can’t believe you’re actually more than ten years older than me, when you come out with crap like that. DERRRR! He’s a
bloke
. With a willy ruling his tiny little brain!’ She shook her head despairingly. ‘Honestly, woman, you need to—’

‘Roxanne! Clare! Could you keep it down out here, please?’ came a clipped and rather cross voice just then.

Clare turned guiltily to see Dr Copper glaring daggers at them.

‘There are ill people in the waiting area. They do not want to hear you giggling and screeching,’ she went on. ‘I’ve already had one complaint this morning about all the noise you’re making. I don’t want to have to apologize for your behaviour again, is that clear?’

‘Sorry,’ Clare said, dropping her eyes.

‘Yes, Miss,’ Roxie muttered under her breath, like a naughty schoolgirl. As soon as Dr Copper had walked away again, she fished out her phone and started jabbing at the buttons with practised speed. ‘I’ll just wing Aunty Kate a quick text. Tell her to give you a call and arrange a meeting.’ She chuckled to herself. ‘Richard Branson will be asking you for tips once I’ve finished meddling, you wait.’

Clare arranged to meet Roxie’s Aunty Kate (she mustn’t actually call her that out loud, she kept reminding herself) the following Thursday at the site of the new hotel. When the day came, she put on her one and only suit and a pair of Polly’s L.K Bennett black patent heels. The shoes were actually half a size too big, but since they were a million times smarter than anything she owned, she stuffed the toes with toilet paper and vowed to make do. Then she packed up her documents and samples in a smart little briefcase (also borrowed from her sister) and rehearsed what she was going to say one last time in front of the bedroom mirror. She looked awful, pale and tense, as if she were a victim in a slasher movie, rather than a business winner.

‘All set?’ Polly asked. ‘Honestly, don’t worry. Keep it professional and succinct, show her the products and figures, job done.’ She patted her arm when Clare didn’t respond. ‘Do you want me to come with you?’

Clare smiled wanly. ‘I would love you to come with me,’ she replied. ‘I would love you to stand there and do it all for me, while I cower in the car. But at the same time I want to do it myself

‘Of course,’ Polly said. ‘This is your baby, I’d feel just the same. Well, good luck. Ring me when you get there if you need a pep talk. And try to enjoy it.’

Enjoy it? Clare felt as if she was going to puke as she started up the Fiat and drove away. She still wasn’t convinced that this wouldn’t be a total waste of everyone’s time but . . . oh, what the hell. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, as they said. And if it all went pear-shaped in the actual meeting, then so be it. At least she might finally have gained a few respect points in her sister’s eyes for getting that far at all. There was a first time for everything.

Lovington was about thirty minutes away by car, buried deep in the leafy Hampshire countryside. Clare knew the roads around there pretty well, but nevertheless the hotel took a bit of finding, as there were no signposts at the entrance yet. After a lot of reversing and swearing and a panicked call to Roxie, she finally tracked the place down, about half a mile along what she’d originally thought was a country track. The track was bumpy and potholed and definitely in need of some TLC, but was lined with magnificent spreading cedar trees that arched above her, casting dappled light through the windscreen. After a while she turned a corner and saw the hotel building in front of her and sucked in her breath, nearly stalling at the sight of so much grandeur.

It was an old manor house, built in warm red brick with two rows of large arched windows and a rampant wisteria on its front. Looking up, Clare could see clusters of twisting chimneys on the rooftops, and smaller attic windows in what must have once been the servants’ quarters. There was a circular driveway in front of the house with an ornate stone fountain in its centre, and Clare could imagine horses and carriages arriving there in years gone by, the horses’ breath steaming in cold mornings, footmen and maids on the front steps of the house . . .

It was glorious. Far too glorious for the likes of her, she thought in the next second, biting her lip. Feeling a little sick, she tucked her Fiat out of sight behind a builder’s van, then turned off the engine. This was it. The daft pipe dream had become bricks and mortar, and was standing right there in front of her.

She read through her proposal one last time, applied some fresh lipstick and practised a confident smile in the rear-view mirror.
You can do it, Clare
.

Okay. Time to get moving. With trembling legs, sweaty hands and a heart that was pumping like a piston engine, she clambered out of the car, then tottered across the driveway in her unfamiliar heels and up the formidable stone steps.

Inside the hotel’s main entrance some major decorating and refurbishment was under way. A couple of men were papering the walls with a tasteful eau-de-nil stripe, while Clare could hear the rasp of a saw and thunderous hammering elsewhere. The hall had clearly once been fabulously grand, with a broad wooden staircase sweeping up to the first floor on the left, and an old chandelier still glittering from the ceiling. Clare could imagine wonderful parties and balls taking place here over the years, beautiful young things arriving in their finery, beaded flapper dresses and cigarette holders, champagne glasses clinking, crackly old gramophone records playing . . .

Her reverie ended abruptly as one of the builders began a tuneless whistle. Oh yes. Business meeting. So where was she meant to go?

Just then there came the brisk clip-clop of high heels along a corridor and a forty-something woman with a dark, glossy bob appeared. She was wearing a neat grey suit and a very loud turquoise shirt with pointy collars.

Clare swallowed. ‘Hi,’ she said, plastering on a bright smile and walking towards the woman. ‘Are you by any chance Kate Hendricks? I’m Clare Berry.’

‘Clare, hello, perfect timing,’ the woman replied. ‘Yes, I’m Kate. Sorry about this,’ she went on, gesturing around the half-decorated hall, ‘but we’re in a state of flux, as you can see. Come with me, I’ll take you somewhere a bit quieter, where we can chat.’

Clare followed Kate along a wood-panelled corridor. ‘It’s a gorgeous building,’ she said timidly, peeping through the open doors that they passed and glimpsing ornate ceilings, huge sofas with the plastic wrapping still around them and heavy velvet curtains tied back in swags. ‘How old is it, do you know?’

‘Most of it is seventeenth-century,’ Kate replied. ‘It belonged to the same family for generations, apparently. The gardens are amazing around the back, too. It’s going to be fantastic when we’ve worked our Langley’s magic on the place and are up and running.’

‘When are you planning to open?’ Clare asked.

‘Hopefully September,’ Kate said. ‘I expect Roxie’s told you that this particular hotel is going to be the first we’ve opened in this part of the country, which is why we’re so keen to source local products where we can. As well as its being a hotel, we plan to expand it to become a country club too, which members can use.’ She stopped at a door on the right of the corridor and led Clare into a large, light room, which had duck-egg blue wallpaper patterned with hummingbirds. There was a generous fireplace on the far side, with an impressive black marble mantelpiece, and there were huge leaded windows, which looked out onto an ornamental garden where Clare could see a woman clipping the hedge. There was also a vast bright-pink slouchy sofa heaped with cushions – the sort of sofa you could spend a whole day in quite happily. Elsewhere there were chunky shelves crammed with books, a large vase of lilies and gypsophila, and a couple of overstuffed armchairs in a Liberty fabric on either side of a small table. It was all gorgeously, tastefully done – the modern and the vintage working perfectly together.

‘Wow,’ Clare sighed, unable to help feeling an impostor here, stunned by the wealth and grandeur everywhere she looked. This was not her world, and probably never would be, either. She felt like a kid with her nose pressed against a sweet-shop window.

‘Lovely, isn’t it?’ Kate said. ‘We haven’t finalized the artwork for this room yet – I’ve been meeting local artists who are interested in having their paintings featured – but this is the kind of style we’re going for throughout the hotel.’

‘It’s amazing,’ Clare said. ‘Just the right balance between traditional and . . . fun.’

‘That’s exactly what we’re aiming for,’ Kate said, sounding pleased. ‘Luxury with a twist. Old-school glamour meets modern bohemian, with a relaxed feel. We want our guests to be completely at home here.’ She gestured towards the armchairs. ‘Have a seat. Can I get you a tea or coffee?’