signed a tenancy agreement. Everything ground to a halt in the final stages.’
Unsmiling, Cassie nodded. ‘This was my son Simeon’s project. Property development’s all the thing, isn’t it? Converting the old stables into a little country shopping area seemed a good business plan but he—’ She hesitated. ‘He can’t be here right now.’
Hannah remembered Ratty’s comment about Simeon setting off after a woman like a Jack Russell on heat. ‘These things happen,’ she said wisely.
Cassie’s expression drooped. ‘Simeon said Carlysle Courtyard’s ready to go but it doesn’t look like it.’
Hannah offered, diplomatically, ‘I can look round and see what I think it would take to manage the project up to opening. I’m living with my grandmother because she needs help so I wouldn’t be able to work regular hours but I’d pop backwards and forwards and work remotely from home.’
Cassie waved that aside. ‘If you can get it done, how you accomplish it doesn’t matter,’ she proclaimed.
They spent the next two hours going over each shop unit. Hannah met Daintree from the pottery, who wore a headscarf tied at the front like a land girl, wisps of hair showing beneath the knot. ‘Are we soon going to get sorted?’ Daintree demanded of Cassie pugnaciously. ‘I’m supposed to be open. I’ve got the kiln and the wheel in but that’s about it. These units were meant to be handed over ready to move into. I’ll stop my standing order for my rent if it’s not done soon.’
Cassie shrank from Daintree so Hannah jumped in. ‘I’m here to see if I can get things on track. Tell me about your unit.’
Daintree’s shop was a large corner one, creating a pottery studio and sales area. Her potter’s wheel stood idle. ‘I’m spending hours scratching stickers off pigging windows!’
It was a similar story at Posh Nosh, where Hannah met Perla and Teo, who wanted their tea room and farm shop to reflect their Italian heritage as well as selling locally made treats like pies or mustard. Perla’s dark ponytail swung as she showed Hannah stacks of chairs and tables in protective packaging. ‘How can we open when the place is filthy?’ she demanded.
Murmuring soothingly, Hannah took photos. Excitement and purpose filled her. Carlysle Courtyard wasn’t the chain of shops or luxury emporium of her hopes and dreams but she could shake it free of its current dingy garb of cement dust and builders’ detritus. Guiding the transformation to shining windows full of colourful stock to pull in non-high-street shoppers would be fun, as well as great experience.
Cassie, visibly stressed by the tenants’ grumbles, said, ‘I’ll show you the office,’ and ushered Hannah to a little building at the back of the others where a laptop computer lay on a desk.
‘If that holds the records for the project, we’re laughing,’ Hannah observed. With Cassie’s permission she began to rifle through a stack of paper. ‘Tenancy agreements.’ She read a file tag. ‘And, thank goodness – there’s planning permission for a sign on Fen Drove to show people where to turn in.’
Cassie began to cheer up. ‘Simeon’s had the sign made. Dark green with gold and white lettering.’ She showed Hannah a pair of crossed fingers and a beseeching expression. ‘Can you get Carlysle Courtyard ready for a nineteenth of December Christmas Opening? The conversion’s cost a bomb and if the tenants start walking out …’
Hannah flipped through delivery notes for a multitude of building materials, wondering if everything had at least been paid up to date. ‘Given the necessary budget and manpower,’ she agreed absently.
Cassie bit her lip. ‘Christopher’s being tricky about the budget.’
Slowly, Hannah dropped the delivery notes. The exhilarated resolve that had carried her through the morning vanished like the mist that lay in hollows in the fields beyond the car park. She smiled ruefully at Cassie’s anxious expression, making her voice reasonable. ‘I’m afraid this isn’t a charity project and I’m not a volunteer. If there’s no budget I won’t waste any more of your time.’
Panic flitted over Cassie’s face. ‘I’ll talk to him.’
Hannah shrugged. This unwillingness to pay her worth so hard on the heels of Albin making her wait for what she was owed prompted her to put in a reckless bid. ‘I’d charge three thousand pounds to get Carlysle Courtyard open by December nineteenth. That would include getting the shops presentable, sorting out any snags, arranging the PR and the Christmas Opening itself. I’d support the traders through stocking and merchandising, place ads and have flyers and posters printed