Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83343 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83343 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
“But presumably if the guests are on the golf course or simply walking the grounds, visitors to the gardens would be able to see them.”
“In some areas, yes,” I admit.
“Unless we could do some more screening.”
“Hedges would be the most effective. We could screen off the entire area. But it would cost more money than I’ve budgeted.” How many people does he really think are going to have their golf game disrupted by people looking at a flower garden? I don’t say anything, but I think it as loudly as I can.
“Okay,” Vincent says. “And what about the initial cost to establish the new garden?” He flips another page in the presentation packet. “There’s a pond here, hard landscaping, lots of planting obviously.”
“Fundraising. We won’t be able to do everything at once, but we think we could get there.” The fundraising part will be difficult. But where there’s a will, there’s a way. “I also thought it would be a nice idea to take cuttings and seeds from the plants in the current gardens, to replant in the new site. A heritage garden will mirror what you’re doing with the house—taking something old and reworking it into something that works for the present day.”
He doesn’t respond, which I take as a good sign—it isn’t like he’s scoffing at my ideas or dismissing them before I have a chance to finish. So I continue my presentation and take him through the plans for the garden in detail. I go through the financials in terms of how much it will cost in upkeep and worst-case scenarios in terms of visitor numbers.
“One final thing on the last page.”
I wait for him to flip over.
“These Airstream trailers can be converted into a tea shop of sorts.”
He laughs and shakes his head. “You thought of everything.”
“Do you have any questions?” I ask.
He looks me straight in the eye and all of a sudden, I feel his mouth on my neck, his thigh between my legs, his hands everywhere.
I pull in a breath and look away.
He chuckles, and I’m more than certain he knows exactly what’s going on in my brain.
“Speak to Michael and get him to put you in touch with my CFO in New York. I want to see if there’s a way of creating a charity we can donate that piece of land to. That will make the financials look healthier.”
“You’d donate that land?”
He grins. “Don’t think I’m going soft on you—it might be good for me. Planning approval will probably come easier if there’s an additional nod toward historical preservation of a sort. It also might mean more write-offs for the hotel. Speak to him and come back to me.”
“I will.”
“I’m not promising anything,” he warns.
I gather up my laptop and stand. “I know. But thank you for hearing me out.” He didn’t have to sit through this and take me seriously. He could have been irritated I refused to drop it. He has other things to focus on. But Vincent Cove is a good man. And I’m finally starting to understand how lucky I am to know him.
TWENTY-FIVE
Kate
I’d agreed to meet Vincent for an evening walk, and I know he’s going to ask me about Norfolk. I wish I had an answer for him—or rather, I wish I had the answer he wants.
I knock on Granny’s door and walk in. She’s sitting at her kitchen table, knitting.
“Hi, how was work?” she asks, smiling up at me.
“Shall I put the kettle on?”
“Sounds great.”
“How was dinner last night?” she asks as I turn on the cold tap.
“We had five courses,” I reply.
“Not quite what I was getting at.”
I pull in a breath, turn off the tap and then place the kettle in its holder and switch it on. “It was nice. I like him, but…”
Granny doesn’t ask me to elaborate. I pull two mugs from the cupboard and the green tea from the counter and set about making our drinks.
“He wants me to go with him to visit his family in Norfolk.”
She nods. She knows she can’t say, “How lovely, darling. When do you leave?”
“It’s nice of him to ask me,” I say.
“Very nice,” she agrees.
“But…it’s been a long time since I’ve gone that far away.”
“It has,” Granny says.
I know I’m a twenty-seven-year-old woman and traveling a couple of hours in a car is no big deal to most people my age, but it is to me.
“Part of me wants to go.” I like Vincent and I think it would be fun to spend more time with him. It would be nice to see him with his family again. “I just don’t think I can.”
“How long is he suggesting you go for?” Granny asks.
“The weekend.” He didn’t actually tell me the exact number of nights we’d be away. But “the weekend” definitely implies a multiday trip.