Page 101 of Wilder at Heart
Usually, that kind of observation would make me flinch, but I take it in the spirit it’s meant. As a compliment.
‘I can’t believe my brother hasn’t come sniffing around here before,’ I tell her.
‘I don’t know. He’s probably been busy running a hotel business during a global lockdown. That didn’t leave any of us with much time for anything but survival.’
‘Touché.’
‘In terms of what I want, I want to double our accommodation and add more communal space so we can extend our memberships. We have the land to do it, but it’s not in the business plan. I put a sizeable investment in, but most of that’s gone on the renovations we’ve made so far and investing in the farm side of things. Biodynamics is a slow business, and the grants don’t cover everything. We’ve got cash, but not the kind of cash needed for major investments.’
I nod. ‘What else.’
‘Another farm and resort. Probably in the South Downs area, possibly with a biodynamic vineyard attached.’
‘Just the one resort?’ I crinkle my eyes at her, and she laughs. Shrugs.
‘You’ve got me. The sky’s the limit for me. I think we have a brand with a lot of currency, and I don’t think the rural luxury hotel market is going anywhere. There are so many existingfarms bleeding out, under-invested and dependent on subsidies. They’re ripe for renewal and investment and a new way of doing things. We have the expertise on the farming sideandthe resort side. It seems a shame not to exploit that.’
‘It does indeed.’
I’m trying to play it cool, but fuck me, this opportunity is exciting. The Manhattan thing is clear-cut. It’s an easy turnaround once we’ve committed to a vision. To a business model. But here—it’s a slow-burn with a tonne of investment needed. The Montagues are not farmers—not by any stretch—but we eat, breathe and sleep hotels and occupancy rates. Having all our eggs in the metropolitan hotels basket has been tough as hell, and yet the UK’s rural luxury hotels can’t keep up with demand. Rack rates are through the roof. Everywhere’s booked up. And we should be having a piece of that fucking pie. Yes, diversification can be dangerous when you don’t know what you’re doing. There’s a reason it’s called ‘di-worse-ification’ in business circles.
But a joint venture with an established partner who has expertise in the areas where you’re lacking?
That’s a whole different story.
It’s time to come clean to Evelyn. ‘I’m not here to negotiate on behalf of my brother. Even though I know he’s blown away by what you’ve done here. Consider this a fishing expedition. But give me an idea: how much money does your perfect scenario require you to get your hands on? And would you ever consider bringing a strategic partner in?’
CHAPTER 38
Nora
‘Jonathan!’
Holy crap. Jonathan is standing on my—Elle’s—doorstep, a bottle of wine in his hand. His fair hair is neatly combed back off that high, patrician forehead of his, and he has a pale pink shirt on that I haven’t seen before. He looks handsome, and golden, and annoyingly healthy.
I stare at him, the shock of being confronted with him kicking my stomach into a nauseating jig that may or may not end in my dashing to the loo. This is my dream, right? To open the door and find the love of my life standing there, come to save the day. To save me. To take me home.
So why I’m not throwing myself at him, I don’t know.
And why the mere sight of his dear, long-loved face doesn’t have me swooning, I’m not sure.
‘Hi, Nor.’
‘Er. What are you doing here?’
‘You’ve been ignoring my messages,’ he says with a sigh, and bends to scoop up Olive, who’s maniacally circling his legs. At least one of us is happy to see him. ‘And I really need to speak to you. So I thought I’d drop by. Can I come in?’
‘Yeah. Sure. Of course.’ I stand back and let him and Olive in, taking the wine bottle he holds out so he can deal with his wriggly little fan with two hands. He’s brought my favourite Puligny Montrachet.Ourfavourite. And it’s perfectly chilled.
‘Who’s this?’ he asks, craning his face away from Olive so she can’t full-on snog him.
‘That’s Olive. She’s Elle’s.’
‘Huh. She’s lovely. You’re a sweet little thing, aren’t you?’ He strokes her head, and I wait for my ovaries to do the dance they do when Theo cuddles her, but… nothing. Weird.
I lead Jonathan down to the basement kitchen. He makes appreciative noises behind me.
‘Hell of a place.’
