And then suddenly she was pushing up her sunglasses, filling his gaze with hers. ‘Will, I need to talk to you about something.’
His stomach dipped. Anxiety in her eyes. Disquiet. Was it something about Dad, something that was going to grind his gears? Or was he just grabbing at that because he was self-absorbed? He searched her face. It could be something else—something personal to her. Maybe she needed help with something—advice...support. He felt the flurry inside subsiding. He could do that: be sensitive, supportive.
‘Okay.’ He smiled, loading his gaze with understanding vibes. ‘Hit me.’
‘It’s about the hotel...’
‘Oh.’ He felt a sudden, ridiculous urge to laugh. The hotel was safe territory. There was nothing she could say about the hotel that could touch him. Dad had seen to that. He opened his palms. ‘What about it?’
Her eyes held his for a long beat and then she drew in a breath of the fortifying variety. ‘I know you’re keen to get the renovation done quickly so you can get rid of it—’
‘Too right!’
Something flinched in her gaze, catching him in the chest.
Too forceful, Will!
He drew in a quick breath, smiling to smooth things over. ‘Look, I’m not immune to the charms of Lisbon.’ He flicked a glance at the great arch to make the point. ‘As I said earlier, I’m fast coming round to it as a place, but the hotel is a non-starter!’
Her brow furrowed. ‘Did you and Anthony never talk about it...?’
He felt his heart pause. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, you do know it wasn’t about the money, right?’
He felt his bristles stiffening, a fuse trying to blow somewhere. ‘It patently wasn’t about the money, Quinn, otherwise he wouldn’t have bought the blasted thing, so yes, I did get that! And because I got it, at that point I—not very cordially, I admit—declined to show any further interest. So, to answer your question—no, Dad and I didn’t talk about it—which I’m sure you know already, so I don’t even know why you’re asking me.’
She gave a noncommittal shrug, seemingly unfazed. ‘I was just checking, that’s all.’ And then she was stopping, tipping her head back to look at the huge arch that was now right there, towering above them. ‘Do you think when this was built the King, or whoever commissioned it, was thinking about cost?’
He followed her gaze, running his eyes over the expanse of pale stone, the mighty pillars, the intricately carved details around its central clock face. There was a statue on top, a figure with arms outstretched, but it was facing away from them, looking out over the square he could see through the arch now, the one she had told him about last time that was right beside the Tagus.
He drew in a steadying breath. ‘Probably not, but this is a monument. Its sole purpose is existing. It isn’t an eighteen-bedroom hotel that’s never going to earn its keep.’
‘What if the hotel could be made to earn its keep, though?’
The air pulsed. ‘I’m sorry...what?’
Her eyes descended the arch and came back to his. ‘It’s what I want to talk to you about, but please...’ She stepped in close, putting her hand on his forearm. ‘Would you let me say everything I have to say before you say anything?’
Not a problem since he was close to speechless anyway.
‘Okay.’
She took her hand back, beckoning him to follow her to a shaded area by the plinth, and then she was turning, fastening her eyes on his. ‘As you’ve just so eloquently confirmed, when Anthony bought the building he wasn’t thinking about profit. He just loved this city, hated to see so many elegant buildings going to ruin. He thought if he could buy one it would be a fun little project to work on, something different.’
Like a money pit!
‘As you also know, he asked me if I’d like to be involved, which I did, obviously. He wasn’t all that clear about what the hotel should be other than that he wanted it to be different to the standard Thacker offering.’
Fair enough. Dad had built the business on the back of a model that had barely changed in thirty years after all, but still, maybe because she was suddenly speaking more quickly, he could feel his pulse quickening, a vague unease ebbing up his spine.
‘Even though Anthony wasn’t bothered about the money, my first thought was the same as yours, that with the cost of the reno and with only eighteen bedrooms the hotel would be a long time coming into profit. My second thought was that if we positioned ourselves at the top end, not only would the numbers look better, but Anthony would get something that wasn’t just different but properly exciting too.’ She swallowed. ‘I’m talking an exclusive Lisbon hotel, Will! Every room unique, luxurious. Bespoke boutique!’ And then she was exhaling as if she had been holding her breath the whole time. ‘What I’m getting to, trying to tell you, is that your dad really liked that idea, that bespoke boutique is basically the plan for the hotel.’
His lungs locked. And she’d been sitting on this all this time! When he’d been upfront, honest from the off, crystal-clear about wanting to get this thing done and dusted! Letting him say as much, smiling at him as he’d said it, staying silent, not even a ripple, a hint.
For crying out loud! Didn’t this just take the biscuit? Dad’s will—lumbering him, hanging the project around his neck, but this wasn’t actually his gig at all, was it? It was the fricking ‘Anthony and Quinn Show’ all over again. Country walks, car shows, dinners out. Laughing together, cooking together! Well, they’d cooked up a storm this time, hadn’t they? Left him high and dry. Out. Of. The. Loop.
Of all the places to tell him, too. On the street...people going by. He ground his jaw hard, willing the burn behind his eyes to stop, his lungs to draw in air. He couldn’t lose it. Not here, not while the hurt was biting this hard. The thing to do was stop. Divide. Conquer. Separate out the threads—the Quinn stuff from the Dad stuff; the Dad stuff from the Mum and Pete stuff. Anger...pain. Loneliness...pain. Resentment...pain. He could feel the sparks jumping, scorching, but he couldn’t let them fly. He’d blown it with Quinn before and he couldn’t—wouldn’t—do it again. Not without counting to ten. Not without giving reason a say in the matter.
He forced himself to look at her. Wide eyes. Primed. Anticipating a reaction. Dreading it. He slowed his breathing, pushing everything down. It couldn’t have been easy telling him all that. Tiptoeing into it, double checking how much he knew before starting. That long exhale at the end, as if it had been pressing down on her chest for a while, which it must have been, because—face it—if he had been standing in her shoes, would he have wanted to tell him that the agreed plan for the hotel was not the quick hatch and despatch job he’d thought it was but something else entirely, something protracted and eye-wateringly expensive? He swallowed. No, he wouldn’t. Not before he had to, and especially not after their other ups and downs.
He drew in a deeper breath, felt it clearing his head. Fact was, it wasn’t Quinn’s fault that she was interested in the hotel, wasn’t her fault that she had hatched a plan of her own, and it definitely wasn’t her fault that from the second Dad showed him the details he had refused to be interested at all. Truth was, if he was out the loop it was as much his fault as hers.
‘Will...?’ She was worrying at a fingernail with her teeth, something she seemed to do when she was nervous. ‘Are you going to say something?’
Because having seized the moment, forced herself to tell him everything, she wanted a reaction. Something—anything but this nerve-jangling silence. And then—finally!—his gaze was reanimating, reconnecting.
‘Yes, I am...’ He sighed. ‘I will... I’m just trying to get my thoughts in order.’
What thoughts, though? He didn’t look as if he was about to explode, but he didn’t look delighted either. He was being annoyingly cryptic—and cryptic wasn’t doing her nerves any good. She could feel her arms folding across her front, anxious prompts rising on her tongue.
‘Are you upset? Cross?’
‘No!’
Straight back at her. Frowning as if she was mad for thinking it but then, in the next moment, he was rubbing his head, offering up a weary-looking smile.
‘Don’t get me wrong. I was for a moment but I’m past it now. Now, I’m just trying to assimilate...’
