Gentle Love, Tough Soul

"It appears that everything is in order." As he observed his newest client's black head bending over the paperwork he was signing, Christopher Anderson thought about how uncommon it was, with his extensive legal background, to come across an entrepreneur who could blend brilliance and decisiveness in such equal measure. However, it was undeniably the key to Brandon Cole's quick ascent to the upper echelons of the economic world. He had seldom been out of the financial press since taking over his first company less than nine years ago. This most recent acquisition, a small, somewhat dilapidated construction company located in the little village of Greensville, may appear somewhat out of place at first glance, but Christopher took great pride in his business acumen and could easily understand why a man with Brandon Cole's resources at his disposal would want to add a small, long-standing but failing local firm to his assets, particularly if he was hoping to tender for the new motorway that was going to be built nearby. Christopher observed as he signed his name, moving swiftly and methodically without displaying any flourish. He had read about this man a very disciplined and strict man he had heard, and he certainly had the appearance of one. The tall, lean figure wearing a formal dark business suit gave off the impression of whiplash strength, and Christopher surmised that the cool dark eyes could quickly turn someone or something into a pit if its owner ever encountered someone or anything that did not live up to his high standards. What was his age? Probably in his middle-to-late thirties? He was startled out of his mental daydream by the sound of his new client's voice, which was slightly gruff and unpleasant. "You need a place to stay?" "Indeed, a first-rate hotel. I'll require a room for a few weeks. I still have a few business matters to finish off." Christopher scowled. He sadly informed him, "I'm afraid Little GreensVille only has one hotel—The Home —and I know it's fully booked up. The Nile would be your best bet, or if that doesn't work, one of the tourist hotels in one of the other villages." "Hotels for tourists?" shaking his head, Brandon scowled a little. He probably wouldn't want to meet the kind of individuals who would be staying at the kind of hotel the solicitor was describing. Even though they had ultimately supported him reluctantly, the rest of his main board still did not fully agree with his rash choice to take over GreensVille Construction. The reason they were unable to submit a tender for the highway deal without acquiring a separate business to do so. Their current companies possessed all the necessary infrastructure, and if their bidding was accepted, they would require all of their available capital to secure their supply chain. Brandon, however, had overruled them, pointing out that a tender with local links and at least a passing interest in the area they were to work in would be more warmly received by the government, both locally and at the capital. His lips tightened as he focused on the issues that would arise if their tender was successful. There has always been strong local opposition to the building of new freeways. This one in particular had been thoughtfully designed to preserve the picturesque countryside it would pass through. Still, there had been a lot of pushback already. He forced his mind to ignore the challenges ahead of him and focused on the more pressing one of finding a place to stay, pushing aside the feeling of utter exhaustion that was creeping into his bones. If he was unable to locate a hotel, he would have to use the house, which he didn't particularly want to do as it would require hiring workers. With a small grimace, he pondered whether Ava had indeed been correct and whether he ought to have taken a break following that final taxing engagement in Nigeria before traveling all the way here. Ava... His lips quirked slightly. He was fully aware of what she was aiming for, but he had no intention of marrying her. Not to a woman like Ava, who he knew full well had other lovers besides himself, and not now—possibly never. "No lodging." Oh no! The only time he realized he had said anything aloud was when he heard Christopher murmuring, half-apologetically, 'Well there is somewhere—not a hotel—but an excellent boarding house, run by another of my clients as it happens.' Christopher noticed the dark, raised eyebrows and, even at fifty or so, blushed beneath the statement's implied cynicism. "Touting for them to get business? Does that come with your package?" "Not at all," Brandon wished the sardonic remarks had remained unsaid, noting the solicitor's rigid displeasure in his voice. The issue was that he had been excessively tense for weeks. Despite being extremely lucrative, the Nigerian contract had been a complete nightmare. Everything that could have gone wrong had, and in the end, he had to spend eight weeks there—time he could not have afforded—to make sure the contract was fulfilled without triggering any penalty clauses. He was not used to treading on eggshells, and dealing with his principals had left him feeling tense and worn out. Watching the relief slowly seep under Christopher's ashamed reserve, he apologized briefly. "You say, a boarding house?" He made a feeble face and said, "Well if there's nothing better." He was picturing the kind of boarding home he was familiar with from his teens; the time he had personally worked as a laborer in the building sector. God, those had been tough days, but he'd made excellent money and saved enough to launch his own little company. Sufficient to propose Amelia to marry. And he'd been naive and young enough to think she loved him just as much as he did. Soon enough, he had learned better. He could still clearly recall that night she broke their engagement and announced she was getting married to her father's business partner. The agony surged up in his throat, helpless and forlorn, and even now he could still taste the bitterness of gall as she had avoided looking into his eyes when returning his ring. She had made up her decision, though he had argued and begged her not to go through, pointing out that Noah Grey was twenty years her senior. She was unable to picture the kind of life she would lead as his wife, traveling with him from construction site to construction site and frequently residing in a dilapidated caravan as he reinvested all of his meager earnings back into his faltering company. He saw then that the dream, so brilliant and dazzling to him, was nothing but a picture made of tinsel, and she retreated from it, choosing the safety and structure of her father's preexisting world. Ultimately, he had to part ways with her. He had believed she had shattered his heart when he was twenty-four, but he now understood differently. Hearts grew harder rather than broke. "Would you like me to call Nancy to see if she has an opening?" Christopher was speaking. "She ought to do now that the season is upon us." Normally, not much is spoken. Since GreensVille is off the major tourist trail, it normally takes until the height of summer before Nancy is completely booked. "Once they've found her, people come back year after year to stay with her,' Christopher continued, a rare smile lighting across his face. "How she's managed to keep that place going is amazing. I told her to sell it after Jack passed away, but she refused. He explained to Brandon, shaking his head a little, "She insisted that she had to keep it for Tristan—her stepson. I never imagined she could pull it off. Indeed, the Old Lodge is a beautiful building, but managing it while also raising Tristan and the twins is a challenge." As if feeling his client's disinterest in the topic, he broke off and grabbed his phone. "Please, Ivy, get me Mrs. Abbot at the Old Lodge." He inquired with his secretary. Brandon walked over to the window and stood staring out onto the little plaza below while he waited. The late Georgian terraced buildings in a tiny row housed Christopher Anderson's offices on the second story. A maze of Tudor-style buildings stood opposite, and the plaza itself still had its original cobblestones. It was market day today, but Brandon barely noticed the throng of people rushing by the wooden kiosks as he looked down. Born and raised in the North, he grew up in a little cotton mill town nestled between the foreboding Cheviot hills in a valley shaped like a narrow ribbon. At the age of seventeen, he learned that his mother had been his aunt's younger sister, who had raised him. His parents had been his aunt and uncle. His real mother had 'put herself into trouble' in Liverpool with a seaman who had left the area long before his mother discovered she was expecting his child. He had never experienced deliberate cruelty from anyone, but inexplicably, realizing he wasn't the biological son of his foster parents allowed him to break free from the valley that had inexplicably held him back. It had annoyed him to be unable to see over the hills, the feeling of confinement... cut off from life's mainstream. His uncle and aunt weren't totally upset to see him go. He had never really been one of them; he had just been a burden they had accepted gladly, believing it was their obligation to do so. About him there had always been a hint of the cuckoo in the nest. He had been the only member of the family to be accepted into the grammar school in the area, for example, and his obvious intelligence had always made him stand out from his siblings. Despite their preference for a remote relationship over a deeper one, he continued to stay in touch with them. When they saw him as a cousin, they were better able to handle his achievement rather than being a member of the family, in some way separate from it. He was the godfather of the son of his oldest cousin and took great care to remember to give the boy a cash gift on his birthday and at Christmas. "Nancy?" Hearing Christopher Anderson laugh, he thought cynically that Nancy, who had not yet been spotted, must have known just how to slip past the elderly man, judging from the delighted sound of his laughter. "Do you currently have a vacant room? You do? Fantastic." After a short silence, Brandon heard Christopher remark, "I have a client in need of somewhere to stay for a fortnight." Christopher seemed happy. "Indeed, I believe he would value that. I'll send you directions for him. Yes, excellent, many thanks, and how are you all doing?" Before the receiver was finally put down, there was more laughter. Brandon didn't realize he was frowning until he heard Christopher remark in a gentle tone. "Mr. Cole, Nancy is my goddaughter," he said with a fleeting smile before adopting a more formal tone. "She does have a room available, and she even offered to give you the tiny, independent suite that Jack had constructed for his late mother as she thought you might like to have a sitting room as well. In this manner, you'll have some seclusion to work, even though Nancy will provide all of your meals." Brandon's cynical thought was that 'Nancy' could charge him a lot more than she would for just one room, and he let no sign of emotion show on his face, figuring that if he did, Christopher Anderson would spring to the defense of his priceless goddaughter. "How far is this location from Greenville?" he inquired, conscious of the little harshness in his tone but powerless to change it. "Oh, it's not even five miles."