Page 54 of Too Busy for Love

‘Really? What are you doing there?’

I need to play this very carefully. ‘I had some free time and I’ve never been here before, so I thought, why not? I passed your building on one of my walks.’

She sighs. ‘Is it too much to hope that it’s fallen down?’

‘Not yet, but I did have an idea for something you could do with it, if you’re interested.’

‘I’m certainly interested if it’ll get my dad off my back. He’s still going on about it, would you believe. I’m currently hiding out at one of our sites in Ashford under the pretext of carrying out an extended inventory check.’

I can’t believe my luck. ‘Do you think you’d be able to take time out from your inventory check to come and visit Margate? I’m sure there must be things you need to look at here.’

‘Let me check my calendar. I’ve got meetings tomorrow morning but I could probably clear my diary after lunch. It’s only fair to warn you that I think I’ve covered all the possibilities where that building is concerned, but it would be nice to see you anyway. Are you going to give me any clues about what you’ve come up with?’

‘Sorry,’ I reply. ‘It’s strictly show and tell. It’ll be worth your while, I promise.’ Of course, there’s no way I can predict how she’s going to react to my plan and I am a little disheartened by her initial caution, but I have nothing to lose. If she doesn’t go for it, I can walk away knowing I did my best.

‘Fine,’ she says. ‘I’ll drop by after my meetings. I’m not completely sure what time I’m going to finish, so shall I call you when I’m ten minutes away from the building?’

‘Perfect,’ I tell her.

When the call disconnects, I’m feeling elated but also nervous. I spend the rest of the evening going over and over my notes, looking for holes or things I haven’t considered.

By the time I go to bed, I’m as confident in my plan as I can be. Now all I have to do is sell it to Abby.

The weather is on my side at least, I think as I stride towards the building the next day to meet Abby. The sun is out and the chilly breeze has decided to give it a rest, so it’s actually quite warm. As I approach the building, I spot her climbing out of a sleek silver Porsche parked across the road. She looks very different on her home turf; her chestnut hair is tied back and she’s wearing faded jeans and a loose shirt.

‘Hi, Beatrice,’ she says when I reach her, pulling me into a hug. ‘It’s nice to see you again.’

‘And you. Dare I ask how things went with James after you got back?’

She smiles. ‘We’re taking it slowly, but the signs are good. He’s in Birmingham at the moment, some wine fair at the NEC, but I’m taking him home to meet Dad at the weekend.’

‘So you’re going to try the long-distance thing then?’ I ask carefully. If she and James have unearthed some magic ingredient, I’d like to hear it in case there’s something that could help in my situation.

‘We haven’t figured that part out yet,’ she replies breezily. ‘All I’m hoping is that grilling James will give Dad somethingelse to focus on besides his daughter’s misguided redevelopment idea. Thinking of which, tell me what you’ve got planned for this building of mine.’

‘I will, but can I ask you a favour first? Can I have a look inside?’

‘If you like. You’ll need appropriate clothing though.’

‘What kind of appropriate clothing?’ I glance down at my jeans and trainers, which I thought were quite practical.

Abby looks me up and down. ‘I always carry a spare hard hat and hi-vis jacket, so you can borrow those, but ideally you’d have a proper pair of boots on too.’

‘Oh, sorry. I didn’t know.’

‘Not to worry. I think we can make an exception this time; just be very careful and look where you’re going.’ She pops the bonnet of the Porsche and fishes out two hats and vests, giving one of each to me. She also pulls out a very scruffy-looking pair of boots, which she slides her dainty feet into after removing her ballet pumps. Then she leans into the cabin and fishes out a bag that seems to be full to the brim with keys. She rootles through for a while, before selecting a bunch attached to a tag withMargatewritten on it in marker pen. Finally, she extracts a torch from the glovebox.

My breath catches in my throat as Abby unlocks the padlock on the steel mesh gate at the front, which swings open with a metallic squeal. This is the first time I’ve seen the front door and the glass panels on either side properly and, despite the fact that they’re filthy, they still look amazing. I peer in to see if I can spot even the faintest hint of the mosaic, but the lobby floor is now carpeted. Abby unlocks the front door and holds it open for me to step through.

The smell inside is exactly as you’d expect in a building that has been disused for a while. It’s an unpleasant mixture of damp and something acrid that I can’t quite identify.

‘Rats,’ Abby remarks matter-of-factly as I wrinkle my nose. ‘Be careful where you tread.’

It’s very dark in here but, even before Abby flicks on the torch, I can tell that all the period features have long gone. The thin, cheap carpet underfoot is threadbare, the exquisite mouldings on the walls are nowhere to be seen, and ugly doors have been installed where the staircase used to be. It’s poky and uninviting; nothing like the sumptuous reception area that I saw in Reginald’s photos.

The dining room is also depressing. Cheap plastic chairs are stacked upside down on flimsy collapsible tables. There’s a kind of buffet area on one side, with a serving hatch. My trainers stick to the lino floor as we cross it to peer through the hatch into the kitchen. There’s very little equipment in here; everything of value was patently sold off either when the budget chain bought the hotel or when it sold up. There are two large fryers, a stove and a dilapidated oven against one wall, with a sink and commercial dishwasher against the other.

‘Seen enough?’ Abby asks.

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