Page 23 of Dr. CEO (The Doctors)

This can’t be happening.

Vincent is the new owner of the Crompton Estate. Vincent. The guy with the hard body and nipple obsession. It’s impossible he owns Crompton. Impossible.

“Thank you all for coming,” he says.

My knees fizz and I hold tight to the back of Granny’s chair because if I don’t, my legs won’t hold me upright.

This. Can’t. Be. Happening.

I can’t look up. I might explode or vomit or explode in a cloud of vomit.

“I want to be as open with you as I can. Today, my team and I will submit plans to convert Crompton into a hotel.”

It’s like someone has punched a hole through my chest. I’m hollow.

A hotel?

Mumbling fills the air. Somehow I find the strength to lift my head a little to glance around at the people I’ve known my entire life. They must be feeling as discombobulated as I am. This is such a complete upheaval.

“I want to preserve as much of Crompton’s history as I can,” Vincent continues. I stare at him, focusing on his mouth and the way it’s moving and how it seems to be talking faster than the words are coming out, or maybe my brain just can’t process what he’s saying at a speed where things look connected. “It’s a beautiful estate and I want people to continue to visit. But it has to be profitable and that means things will have to change.”

“What kind of hotel?” someone shouts from the back. I think it’s Jamie, one of the gardeners.

Good question. What kind of hotel? And does it have to be a hotel? Could he not just live in it himself? Replace the earl, but keep things exactly as they are apart from that?

Since I was a little girl, being at Crompton has brought me peace. Happiness. A stillness I didn’t have anywhere else. It was the slow swinging of a pendulum I could focus on through the crazy chaos of life with my mother. As a child, before my mother died, no two days were ever the same, unless I was with Granny at Crompton. Sometimes my mother would take me to school, sometimes I’d get a lift. Sometimes I’d just end up staying home because she was sleeping or distracted. Once, I walked. It had taken nearly an hour, and although I knew the way and was very careful crossing the road, I’d gotten Mum into terrible trouble, and she’d made me promise never to walk to school on my own again. After that, I’d just miss school on the days she wasn’t out of bed.

Other times, we’d be away. Liverpool seeing her friend because it was three days before her birthday and she needed help organizing her party. Or the time she’d decided on a Sunday afternoon to drive to see Kenilworth Castle. We hadn’t arrived until late and it was long closed. We’d slept in the car that night because she was too tired to drive back.

But Crompton was always the same. I would bask in the unvarying routines of Granny and everyone around her. The way the sun would always rise on one side of the house and set on the other. The way no matter what, Granny had a boiled egg for breakfast at exactly eight each morning. The way when I stayed with her, I always went to bed at the same time every evening, after listening to her sing me the same, soft lullaby. Small things most growing children find dull and confining, I found fascinating and desperately comforting.

Vincent’s deep voice cuts through my memories. “It will be a five-star hotel. Crompton is under two hours from London. I want this to be a destination for people from London to come for a weekend or a weekday break. They don’t have to travel too far, but they’re getting out into the beautiful British countryside. Many people aspire to have a house in the country. But it’s expensive and a lot of upkeep. I want Crompton to be their country house—a home away from home—but without the downsides of maintenance and cost.”

“What about the flower gardens?” Basil asks. “Will you maintain them?”

For the first time, I look up and right at Vincent. I want to see his expression when he answers. For the longest time, Crompton and I have been inextricably linked. This is where I grew up. Had my first kiss. This is where I’ve lived since my mother died. I can’t bear to see anything happen to them.

Vincent pushes his hands into his pockets and glances down, before looking Basil in the eye. “There are two answers to that question. The grounds of Crompton are and will continue to be very important to the hotel. However. . .the flower gardens currently open to the public will have to be scaled back and reserved for hotel guest use only. They are beautiful, but very costly to maintain. I also intend to put in a leisure complex and an indoor and outdoor pool, which will take up some of the spaces currently occupied by the gardens.”

Ringing starts in my ears. Clang. Clang. Clang.

It’s like I’m not biologically equipped to hear what’s being said. My body is at capacity and is overflowing.

I try and swallow, but my throat is swollen with all the tears I refuse to cry in public.

“This is a big change,” Vincent says. I feel his gaze burrowing into me, and I glance at him, unable to resist the pull of his attention. “I know many of you have worked here a long time and hold the place in great affection. I respect that. And I want to honor that.”

“What does that mean, though, young man?” Granny asks, and I grip her hand. “What about people’s jobs and homes and livelihoods?”

Vincent nods. “I am going to have my team hold meetings with you to go through the details. But the short version is, I will offer a job to everyone who currently works on the estate, if they want one. Now, it might mean we have to upskill or retrain people, but I want to keep you if you want to stay. We won’t need as many gardeners, because as I said, we’re closing the flower gardens, but the hotel will employ many more people than the Crompton Estate currently employs. There will be new roles and responsibilities that need filling and I’m confident we’ll be able to find a new role for each and every one of you. I hope that answers your question, ma’am.” He looks at Granny.

“Not quite,” Granny says. “I live on the estate. As does my granddaughter and others who work here. What happens to us?”

Vincent nods like he was expecting the question. “We’re still working on the plans, and my team will reach out as those plans develop, but we will be rehousing any employees who live on the estate. You will have plenty of notice, and it won’t happen until we’ve found you something suitable.”

The mumbling in the crowd grows, but Vincent raises his voice. “I’ve seen some of the housing you’re in and it’s in dire need of repair, I’m sure you’ll agree.”

Dire. He’s exaggerating of course. It’s not dire at all. Yes, there’s the odd weed here and there and the occasional leak and of course the central heating isn’t entirely reliable, but we live in houses that are hundreds of years old. There are bound to be issues.

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