Page 10 of The Wexley Inn
Maggie laughed - a rich, deep, genuine sound. “Oh my dear, that’s putting it mildly. Wexley is paradise in so many ways, but it’s also a tiny pond with fish who’ve grown accustomed to their pecking order. Any newcomer with your credentials - especially with a connection to Thomas Langley - was bound to cause some ripples.”
Isabella hesitated, but then decided to ask a direct question. “So everyone knows about my history with Thomas?”
“Oh, Vivian made certain of it,” Maggie confirmed. “Though I suspect she doesn’t know the full story, few do. But Vivian's not one to let sleeping dogs lie, especially when there might be something in it for her. Just keep that in the back of your mind.”
Something in Maggie’s tone made Isabella wonder precisely what the older woman knew, but before she could probe further, Maggie changed the subject.
“You know, why don’t you come to my house for tea tomorrow afternoon? I’ll tell you everything you need to know about navigating the Architectural Review Board, and maybe even a few things about who’s really who on Wexley Island.”
Isabella accepted gratefully, exchanging contact information.
As she drove back toward the historic district, she reflected on the luncheon’s dynamics. It had been a while since she needed to navigate such complex social situations, but luckily, her skills hadn’t faded. In the corporate world, she had always known how to quickly spot allies and obstacles, a talent that would serve her well in this setting.
She sensed undercurrents she couldn't quite identify - subtle alliances and ancient grudges that seemed to center around the inn itself. More than one woman mentioned how much they'd missed having the island's 'heart' operational again.
She stopped at the Island Bake Shop, needing a moment to decompress before going back to the inn. The small café was pleasantly busy, with a mix of island residents and people visiting for the day; its walls were decorated with black-and-white photographs of Wexley through the decades.
As she waited for her coffee, she looked at a photograph of the inn from the 1950s with its wraparound porch crowded with guests, all wearing summer attire. The image reinforced her vision - that this is what she wanted to restore. Not just the building, but the sense of welcome and community that it once embodied.
“That was taken during the island’s golden era,” a voice said beside her.
She turned to find a fit, tanned man in his early sixties smiling at her, with silver hair and designer casual wear that screamed affluent.
“I’m Grayson Williams,” he said, extending his hand. “You must be Isabella Montgomery. You know, word travels fast around our little island.”
Isabella shook his hand, recognizing his name from her research. Grayson Williams was a prominent developer with a diverse range of investments across the Lowcountry.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Williams.”
“Oh, Grayson, please,” he said, smiling, revealing his perfect teeth. “I’ve been hoping to catch you since I heard about your big purchase. The inn is quite a project to take on by yourself.”
“Well, I enjoy a challenge.”
“Admirable, though sometimes the smartest approach to a challenge is recognizing when to bring in reinforcements.” He gestured toward a quiet table in the corner. “Do you have a few minutes? I want to discuss an opportunity that might interest you.”
Isabella had to admit that her curiosity was piqued, so she joined him at the table, and he wasted no time getting to his point.
“I represent a group of investors who are interested in developing premium properties on Wexley. We’ve had our eye on the inn’s location for years, but Old Man Harrington refused to sell to us.” He leaned forward slightly. “We are prepared to offer you a very attractive return on your investment. You could walk away with a tidy profit and none of the headaches of this massive restoration.”
She kept her expression neutral as he continued outlining the offer to purchase the inn and its grounds for a modern luxury resort.
“Your proposal is definitely generous,” she said when he finally finished, “but I didn’t buy the inn as a flip opportunity. I’m going to restore it and operate it myself.”
His smile remained perfectly in place, but his eyes went cold as a January morning. Isabella had seen that look before - the expression of a man accustomed to getting his way, one way or another.
“Noble intentions, of course, but restoration costs on historic properties tend to spiral beyond all reasonable estimates. And the review board…” He paused meaningfully. “Well, they can be particularly difficult for outsiders to navigate - especially those without proper… guidance.” He handed her a business card. “When the reality of this sinks in - and it will - you can give me a call. My offer still stands.”
As he left with a courteous nod, she tucked the card into her purse and mentally added him to her growing map of island dynamics.
She had stepped into a quagmire she hadn’t anticipated. In her mind, she was buying a charming little inn that needed fixing, and she planned to spend her days welcoming visitors to her beautiful place on the island. But with Vivian’s thinly veiled opposition and now Grayson’s obvious interest in her property, it was becoming clear that the inn meant more than just a building to Wexley’s power players.
She finished drinking her coffee and drove to the inn, where she found several members of Thomas’s crew taking measurements of the foundation. He himself was nowhere in sight, which was a relief. Their brief professional interactions over the past week had been cordial, but she could tell they were strained, each of them being careful not to reference their shared past. It was like this giant elephant in the room, and they were both just walking around it, hoping not to trip over its trunk.
Inside, Isabella found Luella in the kitchen, looking at the ancient stove with a critical eye.
"This old thing needs to go to the scrap heap," she announced without preamble, gesturing at the stove, "along with pretty much everything else in this kitchen. But I reckon you already figured that out."
“Yes, it’s on the list,” Isabella said, setting her bag on the counter. “Luella, can I ask you something?”
