The Inn at Netherfield Green Read online

  She imagined a female version of Mr. Brightwater, complete with little glasses and hair in a bun. “Excellent.”

  “Very good. I think we’re done here.” He stood and extended a hand. “I’m sorry again for your loss.”

  She stood and shook his hand, offered him a subdued smile. No point in telling him she hardly knew her uncle, or that at ninety-four she’d hardly consider his passing tragic. “Thank you. And thank you for everything.”

  “Of course, Ms. Montgomery. You take care.” He walked her to the door, offered her a final nervous nod.

  Outside, Lauren turned right and walked with purpose to Sixth Avenue. Once there, safely out of view of Mr. Brightwater’s office, she paused. She needed to make a game plan. One that didn’t involve asking her admin to make travel arrangements for her. Which sucked, really, because Chrissy was amazing at travel plans.

  The events of the morning came crashing back, threatening to suffocate her. She needed a game plan for that, too. But the idea of dealing with it a couple thousand miles away suddenly had far more appeal than holing up in her apartment. Even if she loved her apartment.

  She stepped to the curb and hailed a cab. It was fine. Everything would be okay. She had no idea how, but it would. She would make it so. She refused to consider the alternative.

  * * *

  Cam Crawley set down her glass and leaned forward on the bar. “What do you think will happen to the place?”

  Charlotte, the bartender at the Rose & Crown and Cam’s ex-girlfriend-slash-best-friend, shook her head. “No one knows. Rumor has it Albert left it to some distant relative living in New York. Of course, the other rumor is that he left it to Tilly.”

  Tilly was Albert’s springer spaniel. Cam wasn’t sure which of the two would be worse. “Such a sad state of affairs.”

  She’d been coming to the Rose & Crown all her life—with her grandpa when he was alive, with her parents and sisters for an occasional dinner out of the house. She’d brought dates there, celebrated weddings of friends, and toasted the lives of people who’d passed. In a lot of ways, the pub felt more like home than home. And now its future hung in some mystery bequeathal.

  Charlotte shrugged. “Sad for us, at least. I hope I can be so lucky as to go the way Albert did.”

  He’d passed on right there in the pub, during a short afternoon nap in one of the booths and with a pint of his favorite ale in front of him. “I’ll drink to that.”

  “To Albert.” Pat, a pub regular and the local electrician, raised his glass.

  There were fewer than ten other patrons in the place, but they all joined in. The already subdued atmosphere mellowed even further. Charlotte resumed wiping glasses. “Are you sure you can’t get anything out of Jane?”

  “I’ve tried.” She had, too. She’d played the family loyalty card, the sentimental attachment one, and even the business necessity. Jane’s lips remained firmly sealed. Even poking fun at her unwavering commitment to the confidentiality of a dead man hadn’t swayed her.

  “What good is having a solicitor for a sister if you can’t call in a favor every now and then?”

  “Well, she did sort out my trademark business. And she reviews all contracts before I sign them.”

  Charlotte waved a hand, her towel swinging precariously close to Cam’s glass. “A fat lot of good that does me.”

  Cam chuckled. “Fair enough. Perhaps you should try to sway her yourself.”

  “Who are we swaying? I’m very good at swaying.” Jane perched herself on the stool next to Cam’s.

  Cam hadn’t heard her come in. “One, stop sneaking up on people. You’re liable to get yourself a bloody nose. Two, you. We were talking about you.”

  “Oh.” She frowned. “Why do I need swaying?”

  Cam glanced over at Charlotte, who sighed heavily and placed her hand on her chest. “Cam was merely trying to console me on the precarious nature of my future. She thought you might be able to give me the tiniest nugget of information to ease my poor nerves.”

  “Oh, poor Charlotte. I can only imagine what you must be going through.” Jane patted her hand. “Hopefully you won’t be stuck in limbo much longer. The new owner arrives this week.”

  “Seriously?” Cam set her glass on the bar with more force than she intended.

  “What?” Jane seemed genuinely confused, with a little bit of hurt thrown in for good measure.

  “I’ve been after you for weeks about what’s going to happen. And you give it up for Charlotte at the drop of a hat.”

  Jane had the good graces to look offended. “I only spoke with her today. She’s very excited to see the place, hoping to spruce it up a bit. I think it’s a good sign.”

  Charlotte visibly perked up. “Is that so?”

  “But who is she?” Learning it was a she only piqued Cam’s interest further.

  “Albert’s niece.”

  Charlotte frowned. “I didn’t know Albert had a niece.”

  “She’s American,” Jane said, as though that explained everything. Well, it sort of did, or at least none of them having any idea who she was.

  “Is she moving here?” Cam asked.

  “She didn’t say. She just asked me to recommend places for her to stay.”

  Cam folded her arms. This was getting more interesting by the minute. “And what did you tell her?”

  “I told her this was the only hotel in town.”

  Charlotte snickered. “What did she say to that?”

  Jane shrugged. “I think her exact words were, ‘Right, thanks.’ And then I gave her the telephone number.”

  As if on cue, Mrs. Lucas burst through the door that led to the office, waving a piece of paper excitedly. “You’ll never guess who just rang.”

  Charlotte turned and made a show of pointing at her. “Albert’s niece, who now owns the pub and is coming to town?”

  Mrs. Lucas stopped in her tracks, appearing equal parts confused and deflated. “How did you know?”

  Cam tipped her head toward Jane. “The loose-lipped solicitor here spilled the secret.”

  “I am not loose-lipped.” The comment clearly horrified Jane, even if made in jest.

  “I’m joking.” Cam patted her arm to show her sincerity. “Jane’s been the pillar of confidentiality. She only let us know just this minute that the new owner does, in fact, exist.”

  “And that she’s coming,” Charlotte said. “What else do you know?”

  Mrs. Lucas’s chest puffed up. Clearly, she had more details to share. “She’s from New York.”

  The words were spoken in a hushed tone, like it was some exotic place she’d only seen in movies. Cam chuckled at the idea. New York was an exotic place they’d all only seen in the movies. “That could spell trouble.”

  “What do you mean?” Mrs. Lucas asked.

  “I mean if she’s not from here, she might not understand how things are, how they work. She might want to come in and change everything.” Cam hated being the killjoy, but she didn’t put a lot of stock in people from the big city. And New York was about as big city as it got.

  “Like the staff?” Mrs. Lucas once again looked deflated. This time, her frown was laced with worry.

  “She has no reason to do that.” Charlotte glared at Cam. “We’re the ones who know how to run the place. She doesn’t know anything at all.”

  “That’s true.” Mrs. Lucas nodded hopefully.

  “I just don’t like that, for as far as we know, she’s never been here. And, like you said, we didn’t even know he had a niece. Why would Albert leave the place to someone he hardly knew?”

  The question had a sobering effect on the room. Whether it had to do with the woman coming to town or realizing maybe they didn’t know Albert as well as they’d thought, she didn’t know. After a long minute, Charlotte squared her shoulders and broke the silence. “Well, there’s no use in worrying on it until we know what we’re dealing with.”

  As usual, her practical way of looking at things put th
e situation in perspective. Paired with her sharp wit, it was one of Cam’s favorite things about her and one of the main reasons they were able to stay mates when their romantic connection fizzled. Cam nodded. “And it sounds like we’ll know that soon enough.”

  That effectively closed the conversation. Jane, who’d stopped in for lunch and not simply to gossip, ordered a sandwich. Charlotte scribbled her order on a ticket and fixed her a glass of club soda. Mrs. Lucas bustled off to start preparations for the new owner’s arrival. Cam bid them all a good day and headed back to work. She was glad the pub hadn’t been left to waste away, but she was equally glad she wouldn’t need to be intimately involved in the process, whatever that turned out to be.

  Chapter Two

  Lauren never slept on planes. Well, that wasn’t fair. If she booked first class and took a Benadryl with a vodka tonic, she slept. But this wasn’t one of those times.

  She spent the six hours between JFK and Heathrow researching everything from her legal options regarding wrongful termination to commercial real estate prices in the English countryside. The result: a complete one-eighty in her plans.

  No matter how in the right she was, suing KesslerAldridge had, at best, a fifty percent chance of success. It didn’t help that she didn’t document the incident or tell anyone, which Philip had probably anticipated. A lot of good hindsight did her now.

  And the hotel and pub were only worth three or four hundred grand if she could find a buyer. In its current state—tired, dated, and in the middle of nowhere—she’d be lucky to find someone willing to pay half that.

  Fueled by coffee and a refusal to give in to despondence, she cooked up a new plan. She’d take everything she knew about the hospitality industry and put it to work for herself. She’d turn the inn into a destination, a whimsical escape from the crush of city life and a charming adventure for tourists looking for an authentic English experience. With the pub downstairs, she could market it as a bed and bar. Much hipper than a bed and breakfast. And then she’d sell it for a killing.

  With the money and the attention she’d garner from that, she’d be poised to start her own agency. Sure, that had been her ten-year plan, but the universe had just given a giant middle finger to her plans. This would be so much more satisfying anyway.

  By the time she claimed her luggage and found the driver she’d hired to take her to Netherfield, Lauren bordered on manic. She told herself it was the lack of sleep, not a hyper-emotional state that might be spurring her to make rash decisions she’d regret in the light of another day. She took a steadying breath and settled herself into the back seat of the black sedan. This would be the ride many of her future guests would take. She should pay attention to it.

  The bustling streets of London gave way to the suburbs, with row after row of brick houses tucked close together. Suburbs yielded to houses more spread apart, interspersed with rolling hills bursting with lush green and small yellow flowers.

  “What’s that growing?” she asked her driver.

  “Rapeseed. They harvest it for oil.”

  “Ah. Thank you.” She settled back into her seat, not wanting to encourage more conversation than necessary.

  It didn’t take long for sheep sightings to begin. Sheep, cows, those shaggy things she’d learned were highland cows. It was quite picturesque, really. She’d be able to tell potential guests it would be like stepping into the quaint British village in The Holiday. Which was exactly the kind of escape up-and-coming urbanites craved—Instagram fodder as far as the eye could see. She’d definitely have to work that angle when putting together her listing for potential buyers and developers.

  The driver exited the highway and Lauren glanced at her watch. Odd. She thought they still had a good hour to go. Perhaps Google had miscalculated. Not that she was complaining.

  Forty-five minutes later, she sat with her eyes closed and one hand gripped on the handle of the car door. She’d given up after the third narrow escape from a head-on crash on the impossibly narrow road. If this was going to be how she met her end, she’d just as soon not see it coming.

  When the car came to a stop, she opened her right eye, then her left. The massive hedge that made the road even tinier had disappeared. In its place, a rather quaint looking building. The sign over the door announced that she’d arrived, alive, at the Rose & Crown. She couldn’t decide whether to be relieved or to ask the driver to turn around and shuttle her immediately back to London.

  The place wasn’t a total disaster, at least from the outside. She climbed out of the car and studied the building while the driver unloaded her luggage. The row of twelve-pane windows that lined the front of the pub looked original, or at least really old. She glanced at the year carved into a large brick to the left of the door: 1794. That meant the building was almost the same age as the US. Holy crap.

  “All right, miss?” The driver had a worried look on his face.

  Lauren schooled her expression into an upbeat smile. It might have felt like a near-death experience, but he got her there in one piece. “Yes, thank you.”

  “I just need you to sign this and I’ll be off.” He handed her a small electronic signature pad. “Unless you’ll be wanting help getting your things inside.”

  She added a generous tip to the total and penned her signature on screen. “That won’t be necessary. It’s a working inn. Surely, there are some staff around somewhere.”

  That earned her a chuckle. The driver wished her well and climbed back into his car. With him gone, she was left standing alone on the street. Like, completely alone. Not another person in sight. She glanced at her watch. It was eleven in the morning on a Tuesday. Hopefully, everyone was at work. Whatever people did for work in a place like this.

  Since no one was there to steal them, she left her bags on the street to go in search of a bellhop.

  The inside of the Rose & Crown was dim, at least compared to the relative brightness outside. It wasn’t large, but not really small either. A beautiful wooden bar dominated the wall opposite the windows. Stools lined about half the length. Sofas and tables and chairs added seating for close to thirty. It could have been a movie set—charming, if a bit drab. And nearly empty.

  A woman stood behind the bar. She had strawberry blond hair and looked to be in her early thirties—younger and more beautiful than Lauren would have expected for a place like this. She appeared deep in conversation with the sole patron, but must have caught movement out of the corner of her eye because she stopped talking and looked Lauren’s way.

  She said, “Hello. I’m guessing you’re Miss Montgomery.”

  Lauren barely caught the greeting through the haze that had settled over her brain. She’d made the mistake of glancing at the person sitting at the bar and the result was a short-circuiting of her entire system. The woman there looked nothing like the bartender. Her short hair was so dark it was almost black, paired with fair skin and absolutely ridiculous blue eyes. The bartender was beautiful. This woman was stunning.

  Lauren licked her lips, mostly to make sure her mouth wasn’t hanging open. She tore her gaze away and focused on the bartender. “Hi. Yes, I am. Lauren, please.”

  The bartender came around and offered her hand. “I’m Charlotte.”

  Lauren took it, feeling better somehow that the place had someone like Charlotte working for it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “This is Cam. She runs Barrister’s Distillery. It’s based here in town.” Charlotte angled her head toward the drop-dead gorgeous woman.

  Oh, that could be convenient. Or really fucking dangerous. She braved looking at the woman—Cam—again. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”

  Cam offered a nod that seemed mildly interested, at best. “You as well.” She got up from her stool. “I’m sure you two have plenty to talk about, so I’ll be on my way.”

  Cam walked toward her. Lauren’s heart rate spiked and the temperature in the room seemed to jump ten degrees. And that was before Cam smiled at her. Laur
en reminded herself to breathe. This could prove very dangerous.

  “Is something wrong?” Charlotte asked.

  Lauren had turned to watch Cam go, and she realized she was shaking her head. She focused her attention on Charlotte. “Not at all. A little jet lag maybe, but I’m good.”

  “You’re staying here, right?”

  “I am.” She needed to get a grip. She was about to become this woman’s boss.

  “I’ll just go get Mrs. Lucas to help you get checked in and settled.”

  “That would be great.”

  Charlotte disappeared through a door behind the bar. Lauren used the minute alone to study her surroundings. She could imagine fresher furniture, a combination of high-top tables and cozy seating areas. And people. In her mind, a good two or three dozen people laughed and talked, drinking craft ales and interesting cocktails. The first she knew she could manage. The second, given the ride she’d just endured, felt much less certain. She shook her head. It would all be part of the charm, and that’s exactly how she’d sell it.

  * * *

  Cam drummed her fingers on her desk and scowled at the spreadsheet open on her monitor. She’d promised Sophie she’d look at the distribution numbers before their meeting tomorrow. Well, look at them and have something meaningful to say. She’d stared at them for the last twenty minutes and not managed to do more than think about Lauren Montgomery.

  The way she’d walked in like she owned the place, which, technically, she did. The way her hair fell over her shoulder and her dangly earrings swayed as she spoke. That no-nonsense American accent and the way she looked all fresh and glamorous even though she’d probably been traveling for the last eight or ten or however many hours. The way her shirt dipped into a low vee that showed just the right amount of skin.

  “Earth to Cam.”

  “Huh?” She looked up to find Sophie standing in the doorway, a look of amusement on her face.