The doorman in his kilt and formal jacket nodded before opening the heavy oak door for her. Inside, the reception was a huge, refreshing sea of creamy white, populated only by a few staff and a gaggle of tourists in golf gear surrounded by their cases. The sight of the golf bags and clubs, all covered in a variety of those woollen sock things, brought back the thought of Jimmy so clearly, he might be standing next to her. It was so vivid that Susannah actually glanced over her shoulder to be sure he wasn’t there.
“Lady Karlson?” The concierge, in his smart suit, greeted her like an old friend. “Mr Greer is waiting for you in Palm Court.”
So much for getting ahead of the game. She followed, heels clicking on the marble floor until it gave way to plush carpet. The tea room was something out of a colonial wet dream, but at least it was familiar ground. The place was all but deserted since it was normally set aside just for afternoon tea. Mr Greer was a wealthy American, though, and for him, most hotels would make any exception.
A short, balding man, he stood to greet her, and Susannah resisted the urge to slump her shoulders and shrink by an inch or two. Instead she took her offered seat quickly and ordered “a proper cup of tea,” which made the waiter roll his eyes a little but drew a smile from Mr Greer. Anglophiles were always easily pleased by little British quirks like that.
“It’s a pleasure to see you, Lady Karlson. I was so sorry to hear about your husband. Lord Karlson was a fine, fine man. And, I hope I can say, a dear friend.”
For a moment, she worried there was an implication to that. Then she remembered that Mr Greer had a wife back in Cape Cod, or wherever his huge mansion was, and heaved a quiet sigh of relief. Jimmy had always been meticulous about never mixing business and pleasure. He’d been the soul of discretion the whole time they were married.
“Thank you. He valued your friendship very much, Mr Greer. It’s been a difficult time, but I’m muddling through as best I can. Which is part of why I requested this meeting. I know you said last year that you’d be very interested in our plans for Midsummer, and I’ve drawn up a proposal that shows just how ambitious and exciting it’s going to be.”
Their tea was served then, by a bright-eyed redhead in a sensible skirt and flat shoes. She surveyed them both before responding to Susannah’s discreet once-over glance with a shy smile. That little result was as much as Susannah could risk during a business meeting. Her own sanctioned affairs had always been painfully discreet too.
“Lord Karlson always said you were pushing him to modernize the place.” Mr Greer peered at her over his wire-framed glasses, his eyes watery behind them. “He liked it just as it was. But you have plans to change it all by yourself?”
“Don’t see that I have much choice.” Susannah kept her voice level. This was the doubt she had expected, but it made her grit her teeth all the same. “Of course, you and Lord Karlson worked together for years. You saw how involved I’ve been with the business. It was his wish that I carry on his legacy. That means letting Midsummer Estate evolve.”
“Oh yes, yes, of course.”
“I’ve been running it single-handedly for almost a year now. I have a great team in place, and I really think there’s more potential to tap. Very lucrative potential, Mr Greer. Jim always said that nobody understood potential better than you.”
He preened at the compliment, just as she’d hoped.
“Well, I do have a certain eye for a good investment,” he replied, leaning back in his chair just a little. “Do tell me more, Lady Karlson.”
“Only if you call me Susannah.”
“Very well, Susannah. Wow me with your plans for Midsummer.”
She set her teacup back in its dainty china saucer and reached for her bag. Pulling out the tablet, she took a deep breath and pitched her damn heart out.
On the drive home from the station, Susannah blasted a playlist that Finn had made for her, jokingly titled “Kicking Ass and Taking Names”. It was full of the early nineties songs she’d loved as a teenager, ones she didn’t realise she still knew the lyrics to. Yet, every time the drums started a new beat and the guitars came in heavy, Susannah was right there with the words on the tip of her tongue.
Five minutes from home, she got a text that she really should have pulled over to read, but she gave it a quick skim anyway. She was needed in the village.
Great. Just when her day had been going so well. She wrangled the Land Rover in the opposite direction, turning the music down to concentrate better.
Parking behind the pub in the staff space that no one ever used, Susannah was humming something by Garbage under her breath. Only when she pushed the door open did she get her game face back on. Time to be the firm but fair queen of all she surveyed again, sort out whatever the problem was, and then get back to the office to celebrate her new investor with a large glass of something smooth.
“There you are!” Babs emerged from the cellar, wiping grimy hands on an old dishtowel. In her early fifties, she was still a compact woman, formidable in every way, from her heavy make-up to her considerable curves.
“I do have an estate to run, Barbara.”
“Don’t you ‘Barbara’ me, Lady Muck.”
They exchanged a brief hug before promptly laughing.
“What’s going on, then, Babs? It’s not like you to be rooting around at the business end of a beer barrel. I thought you had strapping young men around to do that for
