Blind Date Rivals Read online

  ‘So Sara didn’t know who I was before we met?’

  Caspar shrugged. ‘She would probably never have spoken to you if she had. I got the impression Sara was just as impressed with the idea of being set up on a blind date as you were. Why? Does that make a difference?’

  ‘It might. It’s amazing what a Kaplinski cocktail and a heavy dose of moonlight and nostalgia can do. She got upset and I ended up walking her back to her place across the lane.’

  There was silence for a few seconds, before Caspar lowered his voice to reply. ‘Walked her home…?’

  Leo nodded once.

  Caspar glanced towards the door before going on. ‘Anything I should know before Helen arrives? Because these girls tell each other everything. And I mean everything.’ He blinked several times.

  ‘I escorted her to the door, saw her inside, then went to the bathroom before I left,’ he replied in a low voice. ‘She was already asleep by the time I came out.’

  Caspar sighed in relief and rubbed his hands together. ‘That’s better. Now we’re getting somewhere. All you have to do is call Sara and ask if she found a man’s ring in her bathroom this morning. Simple. Right? Leo? Why are you shaking your head at me like that? You know who she is and where she lives.’

  Leo made eye contact with Caspar and squeezed his eyes together. Tight. And winced. ‘Oh, yes. Right after I tell her that I slipped her dress off and tucked her in last night. That is going to go down well, especially when I have to stand next to her and smile at your wedding at some point in the near future.’

  ‘You undressed her?’ There was amazement in Caspar’s voice, even a touch of awe and horror. ‘Oh, that is so not good. Did you know that Helen and Sara used to call themselves the two Musketeers at school? Upset one, upset both of them.’

  ‘Thanks! I’m looking for some useful advice here. I need my father’s ring back before I meet up with my aunt and the rest of the clan on Friday, and you need to keep the lovely Helen from drowning me in the fountain outside.’

  ‘I’m thinking, I’m thinking.’ Caspar started drumming his fingers on the table. ‘We need to come up with something so wonderful that Sara and Helen will forget any embarrassment and love you for ever.’ Then his fingers stilled on a small crystal vase containing three cut pink orchid blossoms. ‘Of course. Flowers. Helen is worried about the state of Sara’s business.’

  Caspar leant over the table and grinned. ‘Leo, my friend? How would you like to become the lovely Sara’s knight in shining armour and get your father’s ring back at the same time? Time to put some of those Rizzi family connections to good use, my man.’

  Sara Fenchurch pretended to look for something in her briefcase until everyone else had left the hotel reception area before gingerly stepping out and walking calmly to the Events Manager’s office, smiling as she went and hoping nobody could see her shaking.

  She was two minutes early for her appointment. Two minutes to somehow calm her racing pulse and steady her nerves just long enough to convince the Events Manager, Mr Evans, that he should choose her plant nursery for all of his weddings and special occasions. This could be a terrific new order.

  If only she could get past her nerves about asking for work. She always hated this part of running her business. Helen said it was the whole idea that she was relying on another person to decide whether to choose her nursery, or not. And she was spot on.

  Sara had already spent far too many years doing what other people expected her to do, how they wanted her to do it and generally performing like a trained seal in a circus. Doing whatever she had to for their approval.

  Until three years ago, she had lived her life according to other people’s rules. That life had ended on the day she had started making decisions on her own. Good or bad. Safe or reckless. She was responsible for making her own way in the world now.

  The orchid business had given her back some of the self-confidence she had lost, then had added more than she’d ever had before. It had taken most of her savings but it was working, and she was making enough to live on. Now she was ready to move up and on and take her passion to the next level.

  This was her business and she was a businesswoman and she needed customers like this hotel.

  Head up, shoulders back. She was going in.

  Except that just as she stretched out her hand to knock, the fine panelled door was flung open and she almost rapped her knuckles on the nose of the man she had come to see.

  ‘Well, good morning to you, Miss Fenchurch. And right on time,’ he gushed and shook her hand with so much enthusiasm that his trendy wraparound spectacles joggled on the end of his nose. ‘Tony Evans. Delighted to see you again so soon. I do so admire punctuality. May I offer you some tea or coffee? And do come in. I would like to get started as soon as possible.’

  She managed a smile by biting the inside of her mouth to conceal her astonishment at the warm welcome. ‘Thank you, Mr Evans, but I’m fine, thanks.’

  By some miracle, her legs still worked as she followed the Events Manager into the palatial office which had once been the butler’s room and sat neatly down, stiff backed and silent, until he had collapsed his substantial girth into the huge leather chair on the other side of the desk.

  ‘You know what makes this hotel special, Sara?’ he asked, pointing out of the window across the beautiful gardens. ‘And I hope you don’t mind me calling you Sara, but I just know that we are going to get on famously.’

  He did not wait for a reply before going on. ‘The small details. Our guests want something special and luxurious and that is what we aim to give them. And they want our suppliers to be local. Low carbon footprint and all of that. And we can’t get much more local than your plant nursery, can we?’

  Before she could answer, Tony Evans whipped his chair around and clasped his neatly manicured hands in front of her.

  ‘I want you to be one of those suppliers, Sara. I’ve been looking at that portfolio of arrangements you sent me and I like what I’ve seen. I know quality when I see it. You’ve got potential, young lady. And I’m willing to take a risk on you.’

  Sara sucked in a discreet breath. This was it. After three years of working seven days a week, someone was going to take a chance on her, based on the plants she had grown with her own hands. And, best of all—most precious of all—she had done this on her own.

  Nobody had pulled strings to get her into a job or a step ahead in the line by using her aristocratic connections.

  This was all her own work, and her heart leapt so fast she almost cried.

  ‘A risk, Mr Evans?’ her voice squeaked in reply.

  ‘This hotel has events scheduled for every weekend until Valentine’s Day next year. Right now, we have two florists working on cut flower arrangements for every room in the hotel as well as special events. I need you to prove to me that I can cut the carbon footprint and provide consistent high quality within budget by choosing you to do the same job.’

  He passed a blue folder across the desk to Sara, who could only stare at it, stunned, as he stabbed his forefinger onto the cover several times.

  ‘Inside this wallet are the plans for the biggest corporate weekend of the year. I want to see how you would handle an event this size before I sign any contracts.’

  Sara glanced at the first page of the dossier and breathed out very, very, slowly. ‘This is a big project but I will try to work through some proposals and get back to you in a few weeks. If that is okay…Mr Evans?’

  He paused, then startled her by leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.

  ‘Our client is on a tight schedule. He has already asked for a detailed cost breakdown and I promised that it would be with him by next Friday at the latest.’

  Sara sat in silence for a few seconds before replying in a squeak. ‘That’s wonderful and so exciting, but do you really mean next Friday? As in five days from now?’

  Tony Evans nodded in silence, arms still crossed.

  Sara swallowed har
d before replying. ‘I appreciate your vote of confidence, but I really would like more time to…’

  ‘Our current florists are very keen to continue supplying this hotel,’ he interrupted, ‘and indeed all of the other hotels in the group, so it would be terrific if you could show us the benefits of choosing a local supplier instead of a large company. Don’t you agree?’

  Sara blinked and tried not to jump onto her chair and punch her fist in the air. Other hotels? Oh, yes. She could supply the other hotels in the group. No trouble at all.

  ‘Of course I have every confidence that you will come up with something spectacular. Leo Grainger tells me that you are the best in the business and I couldn’t have a better recommendation than that.’

  Sara’s eyes flicked open and she stared at Tony Evans in disbelief.

  ‘Leo?’ she asked incredulously and cleared her throat. ‘Leo Grainger recommended my orchids?’

  ‘He did indeed,’ Tony replied and tapped the side of his nose, ‘and in glowing terms. That is quite something from a man with his reputation.’ And then he paused and frowned at her. ‘I confess I was a little concerned about how you are going to manage with your relocation. Finding land to rent around the village is not going to be easy. But I am sure you will let us know your new contact details.’

  In an instant all thoughts of Leo Grainger were swept away and Sara sprang back into full focus. ‘Relocation?’ she replied with a broken smile. ‘I’m sorry but there must be some misunderstanding. I have no plans to relocate.’

  The smile dropped from Tony’s face and he pushed his chin out. ‘Ah. You should have received the letter from our managing agents saying that the lands you rent from us will no longer be available from later this year. Part of our redevelopment plan. Big part.’

  The air crackled as Sara tried to pull herself together long enough to ask what on earth he was talking about, when the telephone started ringing. ‘I’m so sorry but I shall have to take this,’ he said with obvious relief in his voice. ‘Shall I expect to see your proposals for the event in time for me to agree to them before Friday, Sara? Excellent. Have a great day.’

  Sara was just about to turn away, when she looked back over one shoulder and casually asked, ‘Leo Grainger. How exactly do you know him?’

  ‘Oh, apparently Leo is related to the owners. Works as some sort of business consultant,’ Tony Evans replied with a shrug, his hand over the telephone mouthpiece. ‘Okay, Sara? Friday?’

  Seconds later, Sara stood in the corridor feeling as though the cream-and-gold carpet has been whipped out from under her feet.

  Leo Grainger was a business consultant who had been in her bedroom, seen her underwear and straightened her towels.

  Worse. He was related to the famous Rizzi family of hoteliers who had bought the Manor.

  No wonder he had actually thanked her for saving him from a terrible blind date—her!

  But then he had recommended her business to the hotel team.

  What was going on? Did he feel sorry for her?

  With a groan, her fingers tightened around the handle of her briefcase and she remembered the file Tony Evans had just given her.

  Suddenly she didn’t know whether to kiss Leo in grovelling thanks for opening the door to this amazing opportunity, or kick him hard in the shins for making her feel so worthless and pathetic as a woman.

  She closed her eyes and took a breath.

  She should be grateful that Leo had recommended her work to the hotel—it was a nice thing for him to do.

  Except somehow she felt deflated and disappointed.

  This was totally crazy! She should be enthusiastic. It was just that for a precious few seconds she had thought that she had earned this opportunity because of her own hard work. Instead of which, the decision had been influenced by connections to the powerful people who demanded respect and got it.

  But what choice did she have? This was a terrific opportunity which she was going to seize with both hands.

  Sara sighed and started to walk towards the curving staircase that led to the guest bedrooms. Helen and Caspar would be heading back to London soon for Sunday lunch with Caspar’s parents. This was the ideal time to give Helen Leo’s ring, which she had found in her bathroom, and try to laugh off her embarrassment about the blind date.

  Or perhaps the famous Leo was feeling a little guilty about his parting comments? Helen and Caspar would have already grilled him over breakfast about how the blind date had gone. If he didn’t know who she was last evening, he certainly would know by now.

  And she had his ring.

  Then Sara stopped at the foot of the staircase and thought for a second.

  No. If Leo Grainger the famous business consultant wanted his ring back, he was going to have to come and ask her for it. That way, she could thank him in person for his recommendation and clear the air, for Helen’s sake as well as her own.

  It would be humiliating, but she could face him and get the embarrassment over and done with. Whatever Leo’s reasons for helping her.

  In the meantime, she had to call the letting agent. And fast. She didn’t want any more of her clients being worried with silly rumours about her moving the orchid nursery. What a ridiculous idea!

  That land had been the old kitchen gardens of this house and her grandmother had only sold it to pay for the roof repairs on condition that she could keep her orchid houses in a tiny corner next to the gardener’s cottage.

  There was no way that the farmer would sell the land to the hotel. Was there?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  LEO GRAINGER raised his right hand and waved as Caspar and Helen drove slowly away from the hotel and back to their happy London life, leaving him standing in the car park feeling rather like a teenager left at boarding school watching his parents drive away, while he was left alone in a land where he didn’t totally understand the local rules and customs.

  The feeling was so ridiculous that he shrugged away a moment of disquiet inside his black cashmere jacket before lifting his chin and strolling out onto the stone terrace.

  His aunt Arabella had seen something unique and special about Kingsmede Manor, and he certainly trusted her judgement. She had impeccable taste with a superb eye for detail and for spotting the potential of a property, a skill she had built up over a lifetime spent in the hotel trade at every level around the world.

  His footsteps slowed and he paused for a minute to admire the imposing stone house in the bright sunlight on a Sunday morning in rural England. Yesterday evening the hotel had been in shadow from the twinkly bulbs scattered amongst the trees and the electric light streaming out from the windows, but this morning it seemed to have more of its own personality.

  His mother had grown up in a house like this in Italy—he had seen photographs of the palazzo his grandfather had built after years of creating one of the most successful hotel chains in Europe.

  It was magnificent in every respect. Opulent and imposing. The whole building designed with the express purpose to impress and impose a vision of the owner and the power and wealth required to build it, without a hint of the sacrifices the family had made to achieve that wealth.

  The rest of the world considered his grandfather to be a successful and brilliant businessman—but that came at a price.

  And his mother had paid the price of his fury when she had married for love and not prestige. A price he and his sister were still paying, twelve years after his parents’ death, right down to the real reason why he had stolen days away from his team and the frantic lifestyle he had created for himself to come to Kingsmede in the first place.

  There could only be one driving goal as far as Leo was concerned.

  He was here to do a job and part of that job was honouring his aunt’s risk and commitment when she had taken in her orphaned niece and nephew and even found them work in her hotel.

  He owed it to her to repay that loyalty with the best work he could do. Of course she had already told him many times that hi
s success in the business world was more than enough reward for any help she had given him.

  But that was not how Leo Grainger worked. Far from it.

  Arabella Rizzi had taught him the most important lesson he had ever learned in his life.

  She had told him to respect loyalty and personal integrity more than anything else in this world. So far she had been proven right time and time again and Leo had no intention of changing the way he did business.

  His loyalty to his parents went deeper than money or power or reputation—even deeper than his constant drive to maintain control. Grainger Consulting had built up a reputation for being totally objective, and that was precisely what he was going to be now. Objective and focused on the goal—nothing else mattered.

  Leo turned away from the house and looked out across the lawns to the trees and open farmland that spread out in all directions around the property.

  Sunlit and calm, it was an idyllic setting, if unadventurous.

  But what would it be like in winter? On a grey autumn day when the cold wet wind howled across these open fields?

  Perhaps the Rizzi team were right? Perhaps an indoor spa extension was the ideal attribute for this small hotel in the middle of the countryside, which could attract visitors winter and summer alike. It certainly needed something to give it an edge.

  What could Kingsmede Manor offer him, for example? What was so special about this place that would make him want to choose to come here in the first place and then return time after time? His mission was to find that unique feature which would sell the hotel and keep on selling it.

  And the only remarkable thing about Kingsmede Manor that he had seen so far was its previous resident— Sara Fenchurch.

  But he had to work fast. His aunt would be flying back to London on Wednesday in time to travel to the Manor and prepare for the meeting on Friday lunchtime. She had asked him to present his recommendations to the whole family. Her family. The Rizzi family. The family who had disowned his mother.