Page 3 of Never Tell Lies

I took a minute to read through the design spec again before I threw the file on the seat and set off. Projects on this scale were never straightforward but this two hundred-acre project was going to be particularly difficult. Not only were there around one hundred acres of woodland and over ten acres of water life, but the property had been vacant for twenty years.

Mark’s job was to sit down with Mr Fitzpatrick and secure the contract to supply the plants he wanted for the smaller parts of the project. It was surprising that a company as large as the Tell Hotel chain would consider using a small business,though I suspected that Mark was a contributing factor in their decision to consider us. Mark Tafferty was famous in the world of horticulture and Rosie was lucky he’d agreed to give up a year of his time to help her grow her business.

So, all I had to do was be like Mark, except that Mark had twenty years of experience and was qualified up the wazoo. I had no years of experience and no qualifications whatsoever. What did I have? Well, I did know everything there was to know about anything that grows. There was that.

Two

Irapped a nervous tune on the steering wheel as I drove through the English countryside. I was late. The stupid GPS had sent me the wrong way. I didn't know why I'd listened to it in the first place. I'd lived in this town my whole life, and I already knew where Harrington House was.

The property was huge, built in the early 1800s, and had once been beautiful, belonging to a Duke or something. Over the years it had fallen into complete disrepair and become a nasty blot on our landscape.

Tell Hotels, the driving force behind the conglomerate giant that was Tell Company LTD, had bought Harrington House about a year ago and a few months later, work had begun.

When the call came in about the contract, Mark had said the name ‘Tell’ with great reverence but it was mostly lost on me. I'd heard of Tell Hotels of course, and The Tell Company was a name synonymous with many other kinds of business, but that was about the extent of my knowledge.

For as little as I knew about the company, I knew even less about the head of it—Mr Tell, a man I imagined to be old and ruthless. I wasn't worried about not being read up on him. As far as I knew, he wouldn't be attending the meeting today.

I checked my watch again. 9.15. I had to be there in fifteen minutes and I was still a way out.Crap. I got my foot on the accelerator and floored it. I wound expertly along the tight country lanes, rounded a dense woodland, and suddenly, I saw it. Harrington House. It had been years since I'd seen it and then it had been a ruin, barely on its feet. Now, though it was clearly still a work in progress, it was very impressive. Even though I was pushed for time, I slowed a little so I could take in the beauty of it.

The back of another vehicle suddenly loomed before me. I slammed on the brakes but it was too late. The collision was so sudden I lost my breath, hitting the steering wheel with a thud. I looked down at myself in shock. Was I okay? Limbs still intact? I did a quick limb count and established that yes, I was fine.

I peered reluctantly over my steering wheel to see who I'd hit. As soon as my gaze landed on the car, I knew I was in trouble. A Rolls Royce. I sank back down in my seat. I'd just hit a fucking Rolls Royce with my fat, green van.

I slumped onto the steering wheel. Maybe I should just pretend to be injured? No one would shout at me if there was a chance I might die.

There was a knock at my window. Apparently the driver didn't care if I was possibly dying. With a barely suppressed groan, I wound down my window and looked up at the caveman of a man standing outside my van.

"I am so, so sorry," I said before the veritable giant could start shouting at me. "Are you alright? Is there much damage?" I opened my door to get out and look, but the man put a hand on my door, preventing me from exiting. I guessed from the deep grooves around his eyes and along his forehead that he was in his fifties. His short grey hair was neatly cut and his suit was impeccable.

"It's fine," he answered, his voice gruff, with a thick cockney accent. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm okay, but your car…” I couldn't actually see the state of his car but I could only imagine it was pretty bad. I wasn't exactly driving a Mini.

"As I said, it's fine." He didn't smile at me exactly, but he was being more decent than I deserved so I didn't hold it against him. If some idiot had rammed into the back of me I probably wouldn't feel like being their best friend either.

"Okay, well here, let me give you my details." I grabbed my phone from my bag but he shook his head again.

“Not necessary." Without another word, he walked away, climbed back into his dented car, and drove off. I sat there in stunned silence. Did he really just wave off my offer to pay for what must be thousands of pounds’ worth of damage?

I shook my head in disbelief. I wondered what it must be like to be able to look at a thousand pound bill and shrug. My phone beeped, an alarm I'd set last night to make sure I got to the meeting on time. 9.30. I was late. I groaned for the hundredth time that day and put my bruised van into gear. If I didn't get fired today it would be a fucking miracle.

Apparently, miracles were on my side today, as I managed to make it to Harrington House without further incident. I gave my name to the security guard and after the wrought iron gates swung open, I drove the mile long road to the House itself.

Tall beech trees lined the road, dappling the sunlight, making it dance on my windscreen. My fingers continued to tap their nervous beat on the steering wheel.

The trees began to thin out, the road widened, and I passed a pair of workmen installing an impressive emperor fountain. Tell Hotels had clearly spared no expense.

I rounded the fountain and continued up the rest of the driveway. My mouth fell open as Harrington House came into full view. It was like something out of a Jane Austen novel.

The scaffolding was still in place and everywhere there were workmen trilling about like busy ants. It looked more like a building site than a stately home rich with English history, but beyond the dust I could see what the building promised to be when the renovations were complete.

Wide steps led up to the house where stone columns framed imposing double oak doors. Bright spring sun bounced off the mullion windows, momentarily blinding me.

I marvelled at what it must be like to be the owner of something so grand.

There was a makeshift car park to the left of the property and I pulled in alongside the line of work vans.

I checked my reflection in the drop down mirror a final time, took a deep breath, and tilted my chin up. I'd waited too long for an opportunity like this and I refused to let my nerves screw it up.

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