‘I’m just not good at relationships. It feels like a risk,’ Nicole told him.

‘You took risks all the time at the bank. You’re taking a risk now on the Electric Palace.’

‘Those were all calculated risks,’ she pointed out. ‘This isn’t something I can calculate.’

‘Me, neither. But I like you, Nicole. I like you a lot. And I think if we’re both brave we might just have the chance to have something really special.’

‘I’m not sure how brave I am,’ she admitted.

‘It’s harder to be brave on your own. But you’re not on your own, Nicole. We’re in this together.’

Falling for the Secret Millionaire
Kate Hardy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

KATE HARDY always loved books and could read before she went to school. She discovered Mills & Boon books when she was twelve and decided this was what she wanted to do. When she isn’t writing, Kate enjoys reading, cinema, ballroom dancing and the gym. You can contact her via her website: www.katehardy.com.

For my friend Sherry Lane, with love (and thanks for not minding me sneaking research stuff into our trips out with the girls!). xxx

Contents

COVER

INTRODUCTION

TITLE PAGE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

DEDICATION

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

EXTRACT

COPYRIGHT

CHAPTER ONE

‘ARE YOU ALL RIGHT, Miss Thomas?’ the lawyer asked.

‘Fine, thank you,’ Nicole fibbed. She was still trying to get her head round the news. The grandfather she’d never met—the man who’d thrown her mother out on the street when he’d discovered that she was pregnant with Nicole and the father had no intention of marrying her—had died and left Nicole a cinema in his will.

A run-down cinema, from the sounds of it; the solicitor had told her that the place had been closed for the last five years. But, instead of leaving the place to benefit a charity or someone in the family he was still speaking to, Brian Thomas had left the cinema to her: to the grandchild he’d rejected before she’d even been born.

Why?

Guilt, because he knew he’d behaved badly and should’ve been much more supportive to his only daughter? But, if he’d wanted to make amends, surely he would’ve left the cinema to Nicole’s mother? Or was this his way to try to drive a wedge between Susan and Nicole?

Nicole shook herself. Clearly she’d been working in banking for too long, to be this cynical about a stranger’s motivations.

‘It’s actually not that far from where you live,’ the solicitor continued. ‘It’s in Surrey Quays.’

Suddenly Nicole knew exactly what and where the cinema was. ‘You mean the old Electric Palace on Mortimer Gardens?’

‘You know it?’ He looked surprised.

‘I walk past it every day on my way to work,’ she said. In the three years she’d been living in Surrey Quays, she’d always thought the old cinema a gorgeous building, and it was a shame that the place was neglected and boarded up. She hadn’t had a clue that the cinema had any connection with her at all. Though there was a local history thread in the Surrey Quays forum—the local community website she’d joined when she’d first moved to her flat in Docklands—which included several posts about the Electric Palace’s past. Someone had suggested setting up a volunteer group to get the cinema back up and running again, except nobody knew who owned it.

Nicole had the answer to that now. She was the new owner of the Electric Palace. And it was the last thing she’d ever expected.

‘So you know what you’re taking on, then,’ the solicitor said brightly.

Taking on? She hadn’t even decided whether to accept the bequest yet, let alone what she was going to do with it.

‘Or,’ the solicitor continued, ‘if you don’t want to take it on, there is another option. A local development company has been in touch with us, expressing interest in buying the site, should you wish to sell. It’s a fair offer.’

‘I need a little time to think this through before I make any decisions,’ Nicole said.

‘Of course, Miss Thomas. That’s very sensible.’

Nicole smiled politely, though she itched to remind the solicitor that she was twenty-eight years old, not eight. She wasn’t a naive schoolgirl, either: she’d worked her way up from the bottom rung of the ladder to become a manager in an investment bank. Sensible was her default setting. Was it not obvious from her tailored business suit and low-heeled shoes, and in the way she wore her hair pinned back for work?

‘Now, the keys.’ He handed her a bunch of ancient-looking keys. ‘We will of course need time to alter the deeds, should you decide to keep it. Otherwise we can handle the conveyancing of the property, should you decide to sell to the developer or to someone else. We’ll wait for your instructions.’

‘Thank you,’ Nicole said, sliding the keys into her handbag. She still couldn’t quite believe she owned the Electric Palace.

‘Thank you for coming in to see us,’ the solicitor continued. ‘We’ll be in touch with the paperwork.’

She nodded. ‘Thank you. I’ll call you if there’s anything I’m unsure about when I get it.’

‘Good, good.’ He gave her another of those avuncular smiles.

As soon as Nicole had left the office, she grabbed her phone from her bag and called her mother—the one person she really needed to talk to about the bequest. But the call went straight through to Susan’s voicemail. Then again, at this time of day her mother would be in a meeting or with one of her probationers. Nicole’s best friend Jessie, an English teacher, was knee-deep in exam revision sessions with her students, so she wouldn’t be free to talk to Nicole about the situation until the end of the day. And Nicole definitely didn’t want to discuss this with anyone from work; she knew they’d all tell her to sell the place to the company who wanted to buy it, for the highest price she could get, and to keep the money.

Her head was spinning. Maybe she would sell the cinema—after all, what did she know about running a cinema, let alone one that hadn’t been in operation for the last five years and looked as if it needed an awful lot of work doing to it before it could open its doors again? But, if she did sell the Electric Palace, she had no intention of keeping the money. As far as she was concerned, any money from Brian Thomas ought to go to his daughter, not skip a generation. Susan Thomas had spent years struggling as a single mother, working three jobs to pay the rent when Nicole was tiny. If the developer really was offering a fair price, it could give Susan the money to pay off her mortgage, go on a good holiday and buy a new car. Though Nicole knew she’d have to work hard to convince her mother that she deserved the money; plus Susan might be even more loath to accept anything from her father on the grounds that it was way too late.

Or Nicole could refuse the bequest on principle. Brian Thomas had never been part of her life or shown any interest in her. Why should she be interested in his money now?

She sighed. What she really needed right now was some decent caffeine and the space to talk this through with someone. There was only one person other than her mother and Jessie whose advice she trusted. Would he be around? She found the nearest coffee shop, ordered her usual double espresso, then settled down at a quiet table and flicked into the messaging program on her phone. Clarence was probably busy, but then again if she’d caught him on his lunch break he might have time to talk.

In the six months since they’d first met on the Surrey Quays forum, they’d become close and they talked online every day. They’d never actually met in person; and, right from the first time he’d sent her a private message, they’d agreed that they wouldn’t share personal details that identified them, so they’d stuck to their forum names of Georgygirl and Clarence. She had no idea what he even looked like—she could have passed him in the street at any time during the three years she’d been living at Surrey Quays. In some ways it was a kind of coded, secret relationship, but at the same time Nicole felt that Clarence knew the real her. Not the corporate ghost who spent way too many hours in the office, or the much-loved daughter and best friend who was always nagged about working too hard, but the real Nicole. He knew the one who wondered about the universe and dreamed of the stars. Late at night, she’d told him things she’d never told anyone else, even her mother or Jessie.

Maybe Clarence could help her work out the right thing to do.

She typed a message and mentally crossed her fingers as she sent it.

Hey, Clarence, you around?

* * *

Gabriel Hunter closed his father’s office door behind him and walked down the corridor as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

What he really wanted to do was to beat his fists against the walls in sheer frustration. When, when, when was he going to stop paying for his teenage mistake?

OK, so it had been an awful lot worse than the usual teenage mistakes—he’d crashed his car into a shop front one night on the way home from a party and done a lot of damage. But nobody had been physically hurt and he’d learned his lesson immediately. He’d stopped going round with the crowd who’d thought it would be fun to spike his drink when he was their designated driver. He’d knuckled down to his studies instead of spending most of his time partying, and at the end of his final exams he’d got one of the highest Firsts the university had ever awarded. Since then, he’d proved his worth over and over again in the family business. Time after time he’d bitten his tongue so he didn’t get into a row with his father. He’d toed the party line. Done what was expected of him, constantly repented for his sins to atone in his father’s eyes.

And his father still didn’t trust him. All Gabriel ever saw in his father’s eyes was ‘I saved you from yourself’. Was Evan Hunter only capable of seeing his son as the stupid teenager who got in with a bad crowd? Would he ever see Gabriel for who he was now, all these years later? Would he ever respect his son?

Days like today, Gabriel felt as if he couldn’t breathe. Maybe it was time to give up trying to change his family’s view of him and to walk away. To take a different direction in his career—though, right at that moment, Gabriel didn’t have a clue what that would be, either. He’d spent the last seven years since graduation working hard in the family business and making sure he knew every single detail of Hunter Hotels Ltd. He’d tried so hard to do the right thing. The reckless teenager he’d once been was well and truly squashed—which he knew was a good thing, but part of him wondered what would have happened if he hadn’t had the crash. Would he have grown out of the recklessness but kept his freedom? Would he have felt as if he was really worth something, not having to pay over and over for past mistakes? Would he be settled down now, maybe with a family of his own?

All the women he’d dated over the last five years saw him as Gabriel-the-hotel-chain-heir, the rich guy who could show them a good time and splash his cash about, and he hated that superficiality. Yet the less superficial, nicer women were wary of him, because his reputation got in the way; everyone knew that Gabriel Hunter was a former wild child and was now a ruthless company man, so he’d never commit emotionally and there was no point in dating him because there wasn’t a future in the relationship. And his family all saw him as Gabe-who-made-the-big-mistake.

How ironic that the only person who really saw him for himself was a stranger. Someone whose real name he didn’t even know, let alone what she did or what she looked like, because they’d been careful not to exchange those kinds of details. But over the last six months he’d grown close to Georgygirl from the Surrey Quays forum.

Which made it even more ironic that he’d only joined the website because he was following his father’s request to keep an eye out for local disgruntled residents who might oppose the new Hunter Hotel they were developing from a run-down former spice warehouse in Surrey Quays, and charm them into seeing things the Hunter way. Gabriel had discovered that he liked the anonymity of an online persona—he could actually meet people and get to know them, the way he couldn’t in real life. The people on the forum didn’t know he was Gabriel Hunter, so they had no preconceptions and they accepted him for who he was.

He’d found himself posting on a lot of the same topics as someone called Georgygirl. The more he’d read her posts, the more he’d realised that she was on his wavelength. They’d flirted a bit—because an internet forum was a pretty safe place to flirt—and he hadn’t been able to resist contacting her in a private message. Then they’d started chatting to each other away from the forum. They’d agreed to stick to the forum rules of not sharing personal details that would identify themselves, so Gabriel had no idea of Georgygirl’s real name or her personal situation; but in their late-night private chats he felt that he could talk to her about anything and everything. Be his real self. Just as he was pretty sure that she was her real self with him.

Right now, it was practically lunchtime. Maybe Georgygirl would be around? He hoped so, because talking to her would make him feel human again. Right now he really needed a dose of her teasing sarcasm to jolt him out of his dark mood.

He informed his PA that he was unavailable for the next hour, then headed out to Surrey Quays. He ordered a double espresso in his favourite café, then grabbed his phone and flicked into the direct messaging section of the Surrey Quays forum.

And then he saw the message waiting for him.

Hey, Clarence, you around?

It was timed fifteen minutes ago. Just about when he’d walked out of that meeting and wanted to punch a wall. Hopefully she hadn’t given up waiting for him and was still there. He smiled.

Yeah. I’m here, he typed back.

He sipped his coffee while he waited for her to respond. Just as he thought it was too late and she’d already gone, a message from her popped up on his screen.

Hello, there. How’s your day?

I’ve had better, he admitted. You?

Weird.

Why?

Then he remembered she’d told him that she’d had a letter out of the blue from a solicitor she’d never heard of, asking her to make an appointment because they needed to discuss something with her.

What happened at the solicitor’s?

I’ve been left something in a will.

That’s good, isn’t it?

Unless it was a really odd bequest, or one with strings.

It’s property.

Ah. It was beginning to sound as if there were strings attached. And Gabriel knew without Georgygirl having to tell him that she was upset about it.

Don’t tell me—it’s a desert island or a ruined castle, but you have to live there for a year all on your own with a massive nest of scary spiders before you can inherit?

Not quite. But thank you for making me laugh.

Meaning that right now she wanted to cry?

What’s so bad about it? Is it a total wreck that needs gutting, or it has a roof that eats money?

There was a long pause.

It needs work, but that isn’t the bad thing. The bequest is from my grandfather.

Now he understood. The problem wasn’t with what she’d been left: it was who’d left it to her that was the sticking point.

How can I accept anything from someone who let my mother down so badly?

She’d confided the situation to him a couple of months ago, when they’d been talking online late at night and drinking wine together—about how her mother had accidentally fallen pregnant, and when her parents had found out that her boyfriend was married, even though her mother hadn’t had a clue that he wasn’t single when they’d started dating, they had thrown her out on the street instead of supporting her.

Gabriel chafed every day about his own situation, but he knew that his family had always been there for him and had his best interests at heart, even if his father was a control freak who couldn’t move on from the past. Georgygirl’s story had made him appreciate that for the first time in a long while.

Maybe, he typed back carefully, this is his way of apologising. Even if it is from the grave.

More like trying to buy his way into my good books? Apart from the fact that I can’t be bought, he’s left it way too late. He let my mum struggle when she was really vulnerable. This feels like thirty pieces of silver. Accepting the bequest means I accept what he—and my grandmother—did. And I *don’t*. At all.

He could understand that.

Is your grandmother still alive? Maybe you could go and see her. Explain how you feel. And maybe she can apologise on his behalf as well as her own.

I don’t know. But, even if she is alive, I can’t see her apologising. What kind of mother chucks her pregnant daughter into the street, Clarence? OK, so they were angry and hurt and shocked at the time—I can understand that. But my mum didn’t know that my dad was married or she would never have dated him, much less anything else. And they’ve had twenty-nine years to get over it. As far as I know, they’ve never so much as seen a photo of me, let alone cuddled me as a baby or sent me a single birthday card.

And that had to hurt, being rejected by your family when they didn’t even know you.

It’s their loss, he typed. But maybe they didn’t know how to get in touch with your mother.

Surely all you have to do is look up someone in the electoral roll, or even use a private detective if you can’t be bothered to do it yourself?

That’s not what I meant, Georgy. It’s not the finding her that would’ve been hard—it’s breaking the ice and knowing what to say. Sometimes pride gets in the way.

Ironic, because he knew he was guilty of that, too. Not knowing how to challenge his father—because how could you challenge someone when you were always in the wrong?

Maybe. But why leave the property to *me* and not to my mum? It doesn’t make sense.

Pride again? Gabriel suggested. And maybe he thought it would be easier to approach you.

From the grave?

Could be Y-chromosome logic?

That earned him a smiley face.

Georgy, you really need to talk to your mum about it.

I would. Except her phone is switched to voicemail.

Shame.

I know this is crazy, she added, but you were the one I really wanted to talk to about this. You see things so clearly.

It was the first genuine compliment he’d had in a long time—and it was one he really appreciated.

Thank you. Glad I can be here for you. That’s what friends are for.

And they were friends. Even though they’d never met, he felt their relationship was more real and more honest than the ones in his real-life world—where ironically he couldn’t be his real self.

I’m sorry for whining.

You’re not whining. You’ve just been left something by the last person you expected to leave you anything. Of course you’re going to wonder why. And if it is an apology, you’re right that it’s too little, too late. He should’ve patched up the row years ago and been proud of your mum for raising a bright daughter who’s also a decent human being.

Careful, Clarence, she warned. I might not be able to get through the door of the coffee shop when I leave, my head’s so swollen.

Coffee shop? Even though he knew it was ridiculous—this wasn’t the only coffee shop in Surrey Quays, and he had no idea where she worked so she could be anywhere in London right now—Gabriel found himself pausing and glancing round the room, just in case she was there.

But everyone in the room was either sitting in a group, chatting animatedly, or looked like a businessman catching up with admin work.

There was always the chance that Georgygirl was a man, but he didn’t think so. He didn’t think she was a bored, middle-aged housewife posing as a younger woman, either. And she’d just let slip that her newly pregnant mother had been thrown out twenty-nine years ago, which would make her around twenty-eight. His own age.

I might not be able to get through the door of the coffee shop, my head’s so swollen.

Ha. This was the teasing, quick-witted Georgygirl that had attracted him in the first place. He smiled.

We need deflationary measures, then. OK. You need a haircut and your roots are showing. And there’s a massive spot on your nose. It’s like the red spot on Mars. You can see it from outer space.

Jupiter’s the one with the red spot, she corrected. But I get the point. Head now normal size. Thank you.

Good.

And he just bet she knew he’d deliberately mixed up his planets. He paused.

Seriously, though—maybe you could sell the property and split the money with your mum.

It still feels like thirty pieces of silver. I was thinking about giving her all of it. Except I’ll have to persuade her because she’ll say he left it to me.

Or maybe it isn’t an apology—maybe it’s a rescue.

Rescue? How do you work that out? she asked.

You hate your job.

She’d told him that a while back—and, being in a similar situation, he’d sympathised.

If you split the money from selling the property with your mum, would it be enough to tide you over for a six-month sabbatical? That might give you enough time and space to find out what you really want to do. OK, so your grandfather wasn’t there when your mum needed him—but right now it looks to me as if he’s given you something that you need at exactly the right time. A chance for independence, even if it’s only for a little while.

I never thought of it like that. You could be right.

It is what it is. You could always look at it as a belated apology, which is better than none at all. He wasn’t there when he should’ve been, but he’s come good now.

Hmm. It isn’t residential property he left me.

It’s a business?

Yes. And it hasn’t been in operation for a while.

A run-down business, then. Which would take money and time to get it back in working order—the building might need work, and the stock or the fixtures might be well out of date. So he’d been right in the first place and the bequest had come with strings.

Could you get the business back up and running?

Though it would help if he knew what kind of business it actually was. But asking would be breaking the terms of their friendship—because then she’d be sharing personal details.

In theory, I could. Though I don’t have any experience in the service or entertainment industry.

He did. He’d grown up in it.

That’s my area, he said.

He was taking a tiny risk, telling her something personal—but she had no reason to connect Clarence with Hunter Hotels.

My advice, for what it’s worth—an MBA and working for a very successful hotel chain, though he could hardly tell her that without her working out exactly who he was—is that staff are the key. Look at what your competitors are doing and offer your clients something different. Keep a close eye on your costs and income, and get advice from a business start-up specialist. Apply for all the grants you can.

It was solid advice. And Nicole knew that Clarence would be the perfect person to brainstorm ideas with, if she decided to keep the Electric Palace. She was half tempted to tell him everything—but then they’d be sharing details of their real and professional lives, which was against their agreement. He’d already told her too much by letting it slip that he worked in the service or entertainment industry. And she’d as good as told him her age. This was getting risky; it wasn’t part of their agreement. Time to back off and change the subject.

Thank you, she typed. But enough about me. You said you’d had a bad day. What happened?

A pointless row. It’s just one of those days when I feel like walking out and sending off my CV to half a dozen recruitment agencies. Except it’s the family business and I know it’s my duty to stay.

Because he was still trying to make up for the big mistake he’d made when he was a teenager? He’d told her the bare details one night, how he was the disgraced son in the family, and that he was never sure he’d ever be able to change their perception of him.

Clarence, maybe you need to talk to your dad or whoever runs the show in your family business about the situation and say it’s time for you all to move on. You’re not the same person now as you were when you were younger. Everyone makes mistakes—and you can’t spend the rest of your life making up for it. That’s not reasonable.

Maybe.

Clarence must feel as trapped as she did, Nicole thought. Feeling that there was no way out. He’d helped her think outside the box and see her grandfather’s bequest another way: that it could be her escape route. Maybe she could do the same for him.

Could you recruit someone to replace you?

There was a long silence, and Nicole thought maybe she’d gone too far.

Nice idea, Georgy, but it’s not going to happen.

OK. What about changing your role in the business instead? Could you take it in a different direction, one you enjoy more?

It’s certainly worth thinking about.

Which was a polite brush-off. Just as well she hadn’t given in to the urge to suggest meeting for dinner to talk about it.

Because that would’ve been stupid.

Apart from the fact that she wasn’t interested in dating anyone ever again, for all she knew Clarence could be in a serious relationship. Living with someone, engaged, even married.

Even if he wasn’t, supposing they met and she discovered that the real Clarence was nothing like the online one? Supposing they really didn’t like each other in real life? She valued his friendship too much to risk losing it. If that made her a coward, so be it.

* * *

Changing his role in the business. Taking it in a different direction. Gabriel could just imagine the expression on his father’s face if he suggested it. Shock, swiftly followed by, ‘I saved your skin, so you toe the line and do what I say.’

It wasn’t going to happen.

But he appreciated the fact that Georgygirl was trying to think about how to make his life better.

For one mad moment, he almost suggested she should bring details of the business she’d just inherited and meet him for dinner and they could brainstorm it properly. But he stopped himself. Apart from the fact that it was none of his business, supposing they met and he discovered that the real Georgygirl was nothing like the online one? Supposing they loathed each other in real life? He valued his time talking to her and he didn’t want to risk losing her friendship.

Thanks for making me feel human again, he typed.

Me? I didn’t do anything. And you gave me some really good advice.

That’s what friends are for. And you did a lot, believe me. He paused. I’d better let you go. I’m due back in the office. Talk to you later?

I’m due back at the office, too. Talk to you tonight.

Good luck. Let me know how it goes with your mum.

Will do. Let me know how it goes with your family.

Sure.

Though he had no intention of doing that.

CHAPTER TWO

BY THE TIME Nicole went to the restaurant to meet her mother that evening, she had a full dossier on the Electric Palace and its history, thanks to the Surrey Quays forum website. Brian Thomas had owned the cinema since the nineteen-fifties, and it had flourished in the next couple of decades; then it had floundered with the rise of multiplex cinemas and customers demanding something more sophisticated than an old, slightly shabby picture house. One article even described the place as a ‘flea-pit’.

Then there were the photographs. It was odd, looking at pictures that people had posted from the nineteen-sixties and realising that the man behind the counter in the café was actually her grandfather, and at the time her mother would’ve been a toddler. Nicole could definitely see a resemblance to her mother in his face—and to herself. Which made the whole thing feel even more odd. This particular thread was about the history of some of the buildings in Surrey Quays, but it was turning out to be her personal history as well.

Susan hardly ever talked about her family, so Nicole didn’t have a clue. Had the Thomas family always lived in Surrey Quays? Had her mother grown up around here? If so, why hadn’t she said a word when Nicole had bought her flat, three years ago? Had Nicole spent all this time living only a couple of streets away from the grandparents who’d rejected her?

And how was Susan going to react to the news of the bequest? Would it upset her and bring back bad memories? The last thing Nicole wanted to do was to hurt her mother.

She’d just put the file back in her briefcase when Susan walked over to their table and greeted her with a kiss.

‘Hello, darling. I got here as fast as I could. Though it must be serious for you not to be at work at this time of day.’

Half-past seven. When most normal people would’ve left the office hours ago. Nicole grimaced as her mother sat down opposite her. ‘Mum. Please.’ She really wasn’t in the mood for another lecture about her working hours.

‘I know, I know. Don’t nag. But you do work too hard.’ Susan frowned. ‘What’s happened, love?’

‘You know I went to see that solicitor today?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ve been left something in a will.’ Nicole blew out a breath. ‘I don’t think I can accept it.’

‘Why not?’

There was no way to say this tactfully. Even though she’d been trying out and discarding different phrases all day, she hadn’t found the right words. So all she could do was to come straight out with it. ‘Because it’s the Electric Palace.’

Understanding dawned in Susan’s expression. ‘Ah. I did wonder if that would happen.’

Her mother already knew about it? Nicole stared at her in surprise. But how?

As if the questions were written all over her daughter’s face, Susan said gently, ‘He had to leave it to someone. You were the obvious choice.’

Nicole shook her head. ‘How? Mum, I pass the Electric Palace every day on my way to work. I had no idea it was anything to do with us.’

‘It isn’t,’ Susan said. ‘It was Brian’s. But I’m glad he’s finally done the right thing and left it to you.’

‘But you’re his daughter, Mum. He should’ve left it to you, not to me.’

‘I don’t want it.’ Susan lifted her chin. ‘Brian made his choice years ago—he decided nearly thirty years ago that I wasn’t his daughter and he is most definitely not my father. I don’t need anything from him. What I own, I have nobody to thank for but myself. I worked for it. And that’s the way I like it.’

Nicole reached over and squeezed her mother’s hand. ‘And you wonder where I get my stubborn streak?’

Susan gave her a wry smile. ‘I guess.’

‘I can’t accept the bequest,’ Nicole said again. ‘I’m going to tell the solicitor to make the deeds over to you.’

‘Darling, no. Brian left it to you, not to me.’

‘But you’re his daughter,’ Nicole said again.

‘And you’re his granddaughter,’ Susan countered.

Nicole shrugged. ‘OK. Maybe I’ll sell to the developer who wants it.’

‘And you’ll use the money to do something that makes you happy?’

It was the perfect answer. ‘Yes,’ Nicole said. ‘Giving the money to you will make me very happy. You can pay off your mortgage and get a new car and go on holiday. It’d be enough for you to go and see the Northern Lights this winter, and I know that’s top of your bucket list.’

‘Absolutely not.’ Susan folded her arms. ‘You using that money to get out of that hell-hole you work in would make me much happier than if I spent a single penny on myself, believe me.’

Nicole sighed. ‘It feels like blood money, Mum. How can I accept something from someone who behaved so badly to you?’

‘Someone who knew he was in the wrong but was too stubborn to apologise. That’s where we both get our stubborn streak,’ Susan said. ‘I think leaving the cinema to you is his way of saying sorry without actually having to use the five-letter word.’

‘That’s what Cl—’ Realising what she was about to give away, Nicole stopped short.

‘Cl—?’ Susan tipped her head to one side. ‘And who might this “Cl—” be?’

‘A friend,’ Nicole said grudgingly.

‘A male friend?’

‘Yes.’ Given that they’d never met in real life, there was always the possibility that her internet friend was actually a woman trying on a male persona for size, but Nicole was pretty sure that Clarence was a man.

‘That’s good.’ Susan looked approving. ‘What’s his name? Cliff? Clive?’

Uh-oh. Nicole could actually see the matchmaking gleam in her mother’s eye. ‘Mum, we’re just friends.’ She didn’t want to admit that they’d never actually met and Clarence wasn’t even his real name; she knew what conclusion her mother would draw. That Nicole was an utter coward. And there was a lot of truth in that: Nicole was definitely a coward when it came to relationships. She’d been burned badly enough last time to make her very wary indeed.

‘You are allowed to date again, you know,’ Susan said gently. ‘Yes, you picked the wrong one last time—but don’t let that put you off. Not all men are as spineless and as selfish as Jeff.’

It was easier to smile and say, ‘Sure.’ Though Nicole had no intention of dating Clarence. Even if he was available, she didn’t want to risk losing his friendship. Wanting to switch the subject away from the abject failure that was her love life, Nicole asked, ‘So did you grow up in Surrey Quays, Mum?’

‘Back when it was all warehouses and terraced houses, before they were turned into posh flats.’ Susan nodded. ‘We lived on Mortimer Gardens, a few doors down from the cinema. Those houses were knocked down years ago and the land was redeveloped.’

‘Why didn’t you say anything when I moved here?’

Susan shrugged. ‘You were having a hard enough time. You seemed happy here and you didn’t need my baggage weighing you down.’

‘So all this time I was living just round the corner from my grandparents? I could’ve passed them every day in the street without knowing who they were.’ The whole thing made her feel uncomfortable.

‘Your grandmother died ten years ago,’ Susan said. ‘When they moved from Mortimer Gardens, they lived at the other end of Surrey Quays from you, so you probably wouldn’t have seen Brian, either.’

Which made Nicole feel very slightly better. ‘Did you ever work at the cinema?’

‘When I was a teenager,’ Susan said. ‘I was an usherette at first, and then I worked in the ticket office and the café. I filled in and helped with whatever needed doing, really.’

‘So you would probably have ended up running the place if you hadn’t had me?’ Guilt flooded through Nicole. How much her mother had lost in keeping her.

‘Having you,’ Susan said firmly, ‘is the best thing that ever happened to me. The moment I first held you in my arms, I felt this massive rush of love for you and that’s never changed. You’ve brought me more joy over the years than anyone or anything else. And I don’t have a single regret about it. I never have and I never will.’

Nicole blinked back the sudden tears. ‘I love you, Mum. And I don’t mean to bring back bad memories.’

‘I love you, too, and you’re not bringing back bad memories,’ Susan said. ‘Now, let’s order dinner. And then we’ll talk strategy and how you’re going to deal with this.’

A plate of pasta and a glass of red wine definitely made Nicole feel more human.

‘There’s a lot about the cinema on the Surrey Quays website. There’s a whole thread with loads of pictures.’ Nicole flicked into her phone and showed a few of them to her mother.

‘Obviously I was born in the mid-sixties so I don’t remember it ever being called The Kursaal,’ Susan said, ‘but I do remember the place from the seventies on. There was this terrible orange and purple wallpaper in the foyer. You can see it there—just be thankful the photo’s black and white.’ She smiled. ‘I remember queuing with my mum and my friends to see Disney films, and everyone being excited about Grease—we were all in love with John Travolta and wanted to look like Sandy and be one of the Pink Ladies. And I remember trying to sneak my friends into Saturday Night Fever when we were all too young to get in, and Brian spotting us and marching us into his office, where he yelled at us and said we could lose him his cinema licence.’

‘So there were some good times?’ Nicole asked.

‘There are always good times, if you look for them,’ Susan said.

‘I remember you taking me to the cinema when I was little,’ Nicole said. ‘Never to the Electric Palace, though.’

‘No, never to the Electric Palace,’ Susan said quietly. ‘I nearly did—but if Brian and Patsy weren’t going to be swayed by the photographs I sent of you on every birthday and Christmas, they probably weren’t going to be nice to you if they met you, and I wasn’t going to risk them making you cry.’

‘Mum, that’s so sad.’

‘Hey. You have the best godparents ever. And we’ve got each other. We didn’t need them. We’re doing just fine, kiddo. And life is too short not to be happy.’ Susan put her arm around her.

‘I’m fine with my life as it is,’ Nicole said.

Susan’s expression said very firmly, Like hell you are. But she said, ‘You know, it doesn’t have to be a cinema.’

‘What doesn’t?’

‘The Electric Palace. It says here on that website that it was a ballroom and an ice rink when it was first built—and you could redevelop it for the twenty-first century.’

‘What, turn it back into a ballroom and an ice rink?’

‘No. When you were younger, you always liked craft stuff. You could turn it into a craft centre. It would do well around here—people wanting to chill out after work.’ Susan gave her a level look. ‘People like you who spend too many hours behind a corporate desk and need to do something to help them relax. Look how popular those adult colouring books are—and craft things are even better when they’re part of a group thing.’

‘A craft centre.’ How many years was it since Nicole had painted anything, or sewn anything? She missed how much she enjoyed being creative, but she never had the time.

‘And a café. Or maybe you could try making the old cinema a going concern,’ Susan suggested. ‘You’re used to putting in long hours, but at least this time it’d be for you instead of giving up your whole life to a job you hate.’

Nicole almost said, ‘That’s what Clarence suggested,’ but stopped herself in time. She didn’t want her mother knowing that she’d shared that much with him. It would give Susan completely the wrong idea. Nicole wasn’t romantically involved with Clarence and didn’t intend to be. She wasn’t going to be romantically involved with anyone, ever again.

‘Think about it,’ Susan said. ‘Isn’t it time you found something that made you happy?’

‘I’m perfectly happy in my job,’ Nicole lied.

‘No, you’re not. You hate it, but it makes you financially secure so you’ll put up with it—and I know that’s my fault because we were so poor when you were little.’

Nicole reached over the table and hugged her. ‘Mum, I never felt deprived when I was growing up. You were working three jobs to keep the rent paid and put food on the table, but you always had time for me. Time to give me a cuddle and tell me stories and do a colouring book with me.’

‘But you’re worried about being poor again. That’s why you stick it out.’

‘Not so much poor as vulnerable,’ Nicole corrected softly. ‘My job gives me freedom from that because I don’t have to worry if I’m going to be able to pay my mortgage at the end of the month—and that’s a good thing. Having a good salary means I have choices. I’m not backed into a corner because of financial constraints.’

‘But the hours you put in don’t leave you time for anything else. You don’t do anything for you—and maybe that’s what the Electric Palace can do for you.’

Nicole doubted that very much, but wanted to avoid a row. ‘Maybe.’

‘Did the solicitor give you the keys?’

Nicole nodded. ‘Shall we go and look at it, then have coffee and pudding back at my place?’

‘Great idea,’ Susan said.

The place was boarded up; all they could see of the building was the semi-circle on the top of the façade at the front and the pillars on either side of the front door. Nicole wasn’t that surprised when the lights didn’t work—the electricity supply had probably been switched off—but she kept a mini torch on her key-ring, and the beam was bright enough to show them the inside of the building.

Susan sniffed. ‘Musty. But no damp, hopefully.’

‘What’s that other smell?’ Nicole asked, noting the unpleasant acridness.

‘I think it might be mice.’

Susan’s suspicions were confirmed when they went into the auditorium and saw how many of the plush seats looked nibbled. Those that had escaped the mice’s teeth were worn threadbare in places.

‘I can see why that article called it a flea-pit,’ Nicole said with a shudder. ‘This is awful, Mum.’

‘You just need the pest control people in for the mice, then do a bit of scrubbing,’ Susan said.

But when they came out of the auditorium and back into the foyer, Nicole flashed the torch around and saw the stained glass. ‘Oh, Mum, that’s gorgeous. And the wood on the bar—it’s pitted in places, but I bet a carpenter could sort that out. I can just see this bar restored to its Edwardian Art Deco glory.’

‘Back in its earliest days?’ Susan asked.

‘Maybe. And look at this staircase.’ Nicole shone the torch on the sweeping wrought-iron staircase that led up to the first floor. ‘I can imagine movie stars sashaying down this in high heels and gorgeous dresses. Or glamorous ballroom dancers.’

‘We never really used the upper floor. There was always a rope across the stairs,’ Susan said.

‘So what’s upstairs?’

Susan shrugged. ‘Brian’s office was there. As for the rest of it... Storage space, I think.’

But when they went to look, they discovered that the large upstairs room had gorgeous parquet flooring, and a ceiling covered in carved Art Deco stars that stunned them both.

‘I had no idea this was here,’ Susan said. ‘How beautiful.’

‘This must’ve been the ballroom bit,’ Nicole said. ‘And I can imagine people dancing here during the Blitz, refusing to let the war get them down. Mum, this place is incredible.’

She’d never expected to fall in love with a building, especially one which came from a source that made her feel awkward and uncomfortable. But Nicole could see the Electric Palace as it could be if it was renovated—the cinema on the ground floor, with the top floor as a ballroom or maybe a place for local bands to play. Or she could even turn this room into a café-restaurant. A café with an area for doing crafts, perhaps like her mum suggested. Or an ice cream parlour, stocked with local artisan ice cream.

If she just sold the Electric Palace to a developer and collected the money, would the building be razed to the ground? Could all this be lost?

But she really couldn’t let that happen. She wanted to bring the Electric Palace back to life, to make it part of the community again.

‘It’s going to be a lot of work to restore it,’ she said. Not to mention money: it would eat up all her savings and she would probably need a bank loan as well to tide her over until the business was up and running properly.

‘But you’re not afraid of hard work—and this time you’d be working for you,’ Susan pointed out.

‘On the Surrey Quays forum, quite a few people have said how they’d love the place to be restored so we had our own cinema locally,’ Nicole said thoughtfully.

‘So you wouldn’t be doing it on your own,’ Susan said. ‘You already have a potential audience and people who’d be willing to spread the word. Some of them might volunteer to help you with the restoration or running the place—and you can count me in as well. I could even try and get some of my probationers interested. I bet they’d enjoy slapping a bit of paint on the walls.’

‘Supposing I can’t make a go of it? There’s only one screen, maybe the possibility of two if I use the upstairs room,’ Nicole said. ‘Is that enough to draw the customers in and make the place pay?’

‘If anyone can do it, you can,’ Susan said.

‘I have savings,’ Nicole said thoughtfully. ‘If the renovations cost more than what I have, I could get a loan.’

‘I have savings, too. I’d be happy to use them here,’ Susan added.

Nicole shook her head. ‘This should be your heritage, Mum, not mine. And I don’t want you to risk your savings on a business venture that might not make it.’

‘We’ve already had this argument. You didn’t win it earlier and you’re not going to win it now,’ Susan said crisply. ‘The Electric Palace is yours. And it’s your choice whether you want to sell it or whether you want to do something with it.’

Nicole looked at the sad, neglected old building and knew exactly what she was going to do. ‘I’ll work out some figures, to see if it’s viable.’ Though she knew that it wasn’t just about the figures. And if the figures didn’t work, she’d find alternatives until they did work.

‘And if it’s viable?’ Susan asked.

‘I’ll talk to my boss. If he’ll give me a six-month sabbatical, it’d be long enough for me to see if I can make a go of this place.’ Nicole shook her head. ‘I can’t quite believe I just said that. I’ve spent ten years working for the bank and I’ve worked my way up from the bottom.’

‘And you hate it there—it suppresses the real Nicole and it’s turned you into a corporate ghost.’

‘Don’t pull your punches, Mum,’ Nicole said wryly.

Susan hugged her. ‘I can love you to bits at the same time as telling you that you’re making a massive mistake with your life, you know.’

‘Because mums are good at multi-tasking?’

‘You got it, kiddo.’ Susan hugged her again. ‘And I’m with you on this. Anything you need, from scrubbing floors to working a shift in the ticket office to making popcorn, I’m there—and, as I said, I have savings and I’m happy to invest them in this place.’

‘You worked hard for that money.’

‘And interest rates are so pathetic that my savings are earning me nothing. I’d rather that money was put to good use. Making my daughter’s life better—and that would make me very happy indeed. You can’t put a price on that.’

Nicole hugged her. ‘Thanks, Mum. I love you. And you are so getting the best pudding in the world.’

‘You mean, we have to stop by the supermarket on the way back to your flat because there’s nothing in your fridge,’ Susan said dryly.

Nicole grinned. ‘You know me so well.’

* * *

Later that evening, when Susan had gone home, Nicole checked her phone. As she’d half expected, there was a message from Clarence. Did you talk to your mum?

Yes. Did you talk to your dad?

To her pleasure, he replied almost instantly.

No. There wasn’t time.

Nicole was pretty sure that meant Clarence hadn’t been able to face a row.

What did your mum say? he asked.

Even though she had a feeling that he was asking her partly to distract her from quizzing him about his own situation, it was still nice that he was interested.

We went to see the building.

And?

It’s gorgeous but it needs work.

Then I’d recommend getting a full surveyor’s report, so you can make sure any renovation quotes you get from builders are fair, accurate and complete.

Thanks. I hadn’t thought of that.

I can recommend some people, if you want.

That’d be great. I’ll take you up on that, if the figures stack up and I decide to go ahead with getting the business back up and running.

Although Nicole had told herself she’d only do it if the figures worked out, she knew it was a fib. She’d fallen in love with the building and for the first time in years she was excited at the idea of starting work on something. Clarence obviously lived in Surrey Quays, or he wouldn’t be part of the forum; so he’d see the boards come down from the front of the Electric Palace or hear about the renovations from some other eagle-eyed person on the Surrey Quays website. She really ought to tell him before it started happening. After all, he was her friend. And he’d said that he had experience in the entertainment and service industry, so he might have some great ideas for getting the cinema up and running again. He’d already made her think about having a survey done, which wouldn’t have occurred to her—she’d just intended to find three builders with good reputations and would pick the middle quote of the three.

But, even as she started to type her news, something held her back.

And she knew what it was. Jeff’s betrayal had broken her trust. Although she felt she knew Clarence well, and he was the only person she’d even consider talking to about this apart from her mum and best friend, she found herself halting instead of typing a flurry of excited words about her plans.

Maybe it was better to wait to tell him about it until she’d got all her ducks in a row and knew exactly what she was doing.

What’s stopping you going ahead? he asked.

I need to work out the figures first. See if it’s viable.

So your mum said the same as I did—that it’ll get you out of the job you hate?

Yes, she admitted.

Good—and you’re listening to both of us?

I’m listening, she said. But it’s still early days, Clarence. I don’t want to talk about it too much right now—

She couldn’t tell him that she didn’t trust him. That would mean explaining about Jeff, and she still cringed when she thought about it. How she’d been blithely unaware of the real reason Jeff had asked her to live with him, until she’d overheard that conversation in the toilets. One of the women touching up her make-up by the mirror had said how her boyfriend was actually living with someone else right then but didn’t love her—he was only living with the other woman because his boss wasn’t prepared to give the promotion to someone who wasn’t settled down, and he was going to leave her as soon as he got the promotion.

Nicole had winced in sympathy with the poor, deluded woman who thought everything was fine, and also wanted to point out to the woman bragging about her fickle lover that, if he was prepared to cheat on his live-in girlfriend with her, there was a very strong chance he’d do exactly the same thing to her with someone else at some point in the future.

The woman had continued, ‘She’s a right cold fish, Jeff says. A boring banker. But Jeff says he really, really loves me. He’s even bought me an engagement ring—look.’

There were encouraging coos from her friends; but Nicole had found herself going cold. Jeff wasn’t exactly a common name. Even if it were how many men called Jeff were living with a girlfriend who was a banker? Surely it couldn’t be...? But when the woman had gone on to describe cheating, lying Jeff, Nicole had realised with devastating clarity that the poor, deluded woman she’d felt sorry for was none other than herself.

She shook herself. That was all baggage that she needed to jettison. And right now Clarence was waiting for her reply.

She continued typing.

In case I jinx it. The building’s going to need a lot of work doing to it. I don’t mean to be offensive and shut you out.

It is what it is, he said. No offence taken. And when you do want to talk about it, Georgy, I’m here.

I know, Clarence. And I appreciate it.

She appreciated the fact he kept things light in the rest of their conversation, too.

Goodnight, Georgy. Sweet dreams.

You, too, Clarence.

CHAPTER THREE

‘IT’S A PIPE DREAM, Gabriel. You can’t create something out of nothing. We’re not going to be able to offer our guests exclusive parking.’ Evan Hunter stared at his son. ‘We should’ve got the land on the other side of the hotel.’

‘It was a sealed bid auction, Dad. And we agreed what would be reasonable. Paying over the odds for the land would’ve wrecked our budget and the hotel might not have been viable any more.’

‘And in the meantime there’s an apartment block planned for where our car park should be,’ Evan grumbled.

‘Unless the new owner of the Electric Palace sells to us.’

Evan sighed. ‘Nicole Thomas has already turned down every offer. She says she’s going to restore the place.’

‘It might not be worth her while,’ Gabriel pointed out. ‘She’s a banker. She’ll understand about gearing—and if the restoration costs are too high, she’ll see the sense in selling.’ He paused. ‘To us.’

‘You won’t succeed, Gabriel. It’s a waste of time.’

Maybe, Gabriel thought, this was his chance to prove his worth to his father once and for all. ‘I’ll talk to her.’

‘Charm her into it?’ Evan scoffed.

‘Give her a dose of healthy realism,’ Gabriel corrected. ‘The place has been boarded up for five years. The paintwork outside is in bad condition. There are articles in the Surrey Quays forum from years back calling it a flea-pit, so my guess is that it’s even worse inside. Add damp, mould and vermin damage—it’s not going to be cheap to fix that kind of damage.’

‘The Surrey Quays forum.’ Evan’s eyes narrowed. ‘If she gets them behind her and starts a pressure group...’

‘Dad. I’ll handle it,’ Gabriel said. ‘We haven’t had any objections to the hotel, have we?’

‘I suppose not.’

Gabriel didn’t bother waiting for his father to say he’d done a good job with the PR side. It wasn’t Evan’s style. ‘I’ll handle it,’ he said again. ‘Nicole Thomas is a hard-headed businesswoman. She’ll see the sensible course is to sell the site to us. She gets to cash in her inheritance, and we get the space. Everybody wins.’

‘Hmm.’ Evan didn’t look convinced.

So maybe this would be the tipping point. The thing that finally earned Gabriel his father’s respect.

And then maybe he’d get his freedom.

* * *

The figures worked. So did the admin. Nicole had checked online and there was a huge list of permissions and licences she needed to apply for, but it was all doable. She just needed to make a master list, do some critical path analysis, and tackle the tasks in the right order. Just as she would on a normal day at her desk.

Once she’d talked to her boss and he’d agreed to let her take a sabbatical, she sat at her desk, working out how to break the news to her team.

But then Neil, her second-in-command, came in to her office. ‘Are the rumours true?’

It looked as if the office grapevine had scooped her. ‘What rumours?’ she asked, playing for time.

‘That you’re taking six months off?’

‘Yes.’

He looked her up and down, frowning. ‘You don’t look pregnant.’

Oh, honestly. Was the guy still stuck in the Dark Ages? ‘That’s because I’m not.’

‘Then what? Have you got yourself a mail-order bridegroom on the internet—a rich Russian mafia guy who wants to be respectable?’ He cackled, clearly pleased with himself at the barb.

She rolled her eyes, not rising to the bait. Neil liked to think of himself as the office wise-guy and he invariably made comments for a cheap laugh at other people’s expense. She’d warned him about it before in his annual review, but he hadn’t taken a blind bit of notice. ‘You can tell everyone I’m not pregnant. I’m also not running off to Russia, thinking that I’ve bagged myself a millionaire bridegroom only to discover that it was all a big scam and I’m about to be sold into slavery.’ She steepled her fingers and looked him straight in the eye. ‘Are there any other rumours I need to clarify, or are we done?’

‘Wow—I’ve never heard you...’ He looked at her with something akin to respect. ‘Sorry.’

She shrugged. ‘Apology accepted.’

‘So why are you taking six months off?’

‘It’s a business opportunity,’ she said. ‘Keep your fingers crossed that it works, because if it doesn’t I’ll be claiming my desk back in six months’ time.’

From him, she meant, and clearly he recognised it because his face went dull red. ‘No offence meant.’

‘Good,’ she said, and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Little tip from me. For what’s probably the six millionth time I’ve told you, Neil, try to lose the wisecracks. They make you look less professional and that’ll stand in the way of you being promoted.’

‘All right. Sorry.’ He paused. ‘Are you really going today?’

‘Yes.’

‘Without even having a leaving do?’

‘I might be coming back if my plans don’t work out,’ she reminded him, ‘so it would be a bit fake to have a leaving do. But I’ll put some money behind the bar at the Mucky Duck—’ the nearby pub that most of her team seemed to frequent after work ‘—if you’re all that desperate to have a drink at my expense.’

‘Hang on. You’ll pay for your own sort-of leaving do and not turn up to it?’

That was the idea. She spread her hands. ‘What’s the problem?’

Neil shook his head. ‘If it wasn’t for the fact you’re actually leaving, I’d think you’d be slaving behind your desk. You never join in with anything.’

‘Because I don’t fit in,’ she said softly. ‘So I’m not going to be the spectre at the feast. You can all enjoy a drink without worrying what to say in front of me.’

‘None of us really knows you—all we know is that you work crazy hours,’ Neil said.

Which was why nobody ever asked her about how her weekend was: they knew she would’ve spent a big chunk of Saturday at her desk.

‘Do you even have a life outside the office?’ Neil asked.

And this time there was no barb in his voice; Nicole squirmed inwardly when she realised that the odd note in his voice was pity. ‘Ask me again in six months,’ she said, ‘because then I hope I might have.’ And that was the nearest she’d get to admitting her work-life balance was all wrong.

‘Well—good luck with your mysterious business opportunity,’ he said.

‘Thanks—and I’ll make sure I leave my desk tidy for you.’

Neil took it as the dismissal she meant it to be; but, before she could clear her desk at the end of the day, her entire team filed into her office, headed by her boss.

‘We thought you should have these,’ he said, and presented her with a bottle of expensive champagne, a massive card which had been signed by everyone on their floor, and a huge bouquet of roses and lilies.

‘We didn’t really know what to get you,’ Neil said, joining them at Nicole’s desk, ‘but the team had a whip-round.’ He presented her with an envelope filled with money. ‘Maybe this will help with your, um, business opportunity.’

Nicole was touched that they’d gone to this trouble. She hadn’t expected anything—just that she’d slip away quietly while everyone else was at the bar across the road.

‘Thanks. You’ll be pleased to know it’ll go to good use—I’ll probably spend it on paint.’

Neil gaped at her. ‘You’re leaving us to be an artist?’

She laughed. ‘No. I meant masonry paint. I’ve been left a cinema in a will. It’s a bit run-down but I’m going to restore it and see if I can get it up and running properly.’

‘A cinema? Then you,’ Neil said, ‘are coming across to the Mucky Duck with us right now, and you’re going to tell us everything—and that’s not a suggestion, Nicole, because we’ll carry you over there if we have to.’

It was the first time Nicole had actually felt part of the team. How ironic that it had happened just as she was leaving them.

‘OK,’ she said, and let them sweep her across the road in the middle of a crowd.

* * *

The next day, Nicole was in the cinema with a clipboard and a pen, adding to her list of what she needed to do when her phone rang.

She glanced at the screen, half expecting that it would be her daily call from the lawyer at Hunter Hotels trying to persuade her to sell the Electric Palace, even though she’d told him every time that the cinema wasn’t for sale. Not recognising the number on her screen, and assuming it was one of the calls she was waiting to be returned, she answered her phone. ‘Yes?’

‘Ms Thomas?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s Gabriel Hunter from Hunter Hotels.’

Clearly the lawyer had realised that she wasn’t going to say yes to the monkey, so now it was the organ-grinder’s turn to try and persuade her. She suppressed a sigh. ‘Thank you for calling, Mr Hunter, but I believe I’ve made my position quite clear. The Electric Palace isn’t for sale.’

‘Indeed,’ he said, ‘but we have areas of mutual interest and I’d like to meet you to discuss them.’

In other words, he planned to charm her into selling? She put on her best bland voice. ‘That’s very nice of you to ask, but I’m afraid I’m really rather busy at the moment.’

‘It won’t take long. Are you at the cinema right now?’

‘Yes.’

She regretted her answer the moment he asked, ‘And you’ve been there since the crack of dawn?’

Had the Hunters got someone spying on her, or something? ‘Not that it’s any of your business, but yes.’ There was a lot to do. And she thought at her best, first thing in the morning. It made sense to start early.

‘I’d be the same,’ he said, mollifying her only slightly. ‘So I’d say you’re about due for a coffee break. How about I meet you at the café on Challoner Road in half an hour?’

‘Where you’ll have a carnation in your buttonhole and be carrying a copy of the Financial Times so I can recognise you?’ She couldn’t help the snippy retort.

He laughed. ‘No need. I’ll be there first—and I’ll recognise you.’

Hunter Hotels probably had a dossier on her, including a photograph and a list of everything from her route to work to her shoe size, she thought grimly. ‘Thank you for the invitation, but there really isn’t any point in us meeting. I’m not selling.’

‘I’m not trying to pressure you to sell. As I said, I want to discuss mutual opportunities—and the coffee’s on me.’

‘I’m not dressed to go to a café. I’m covered in dust.’

‘I’d be worried if you weren’t, given the current condition of the cinema. And I’d be even more worried if you were walking around a run-down building wearing patent stilettos and a business suit.’

There was a note of humour in Gabriel Hunter’s voice. Nicole hadn’t expected that, and she quite liked it; at the same time, it left her feeling slightly off balance.

‘But if you’d rather I brought the coffee to you, that’s fine,’ he said. ‘Just let me know how you take your coffee.’

It was tempting, but at least if they met in a neutral place she could make an excuse to leave. If he turned up at the cinema, she might have to be rude in order to make him leave and let her get on with things. And, at the end of the day, Gabriel Hunter was working on the business next door to hers. They might have mutual customers. So he probably had a point about mutual opportunities. Maybe they should talk.

‘I’ll see you at the café in half an hour,’ she said.

She brushed herself down and then was cross with herself. It wasn’t as if he was her client, and she wasn’t still working at the bank. It didn’t matter what she looked like or what he thought of her. And if he tried to push her into selling the Electric Palace, she’d give him very short shrift and come back to work on her lists.

* * *

So Nicole Thomas had agreed to meet him. That was a good start, Gabriel thought. He’d certainly got further with her than their company lawyer had.

He worked on his laptop with one eye on the door, waiting for her to turn up. Given that she’d worked in a bank and her photograph on their website made her look like a consummate professional, he’d bet that she’d walk through the door thirty seconds earlier than they’d agreed to meet. Efficiency was probably her middle name.

Almost on cue, the door opened. He recognised Nicole immediately; even though she was wearing old jeans and a T-shirt rather than a business suit, and no make-up whatsoever, her mid-brown hair was pulled back in exactly the same style as she’d worn it at the bank. Old habits clearly died hard.

She glanced around the café, obviously looking for him. For a moment, she looked vulnerable and Gabriel was shocked to feel a sudden surge of protectiveness. She worked for a bank and had worked her way up the management ladder, so she most definitely didn’t need protecting; but there was something about her that drew him.

He was horrified to realise that he was attracted to her.

Talk about inappropriate. You didn’t fall for your business rival. Ever. Besides, he didn’t want to get involved with anyone. He was tired of dating women who had preconceived notions about him. All he wanted to do was talk to Nicole Thomas about mutual opportunities, point out all the many difficulties she was going to face in restoring the cinema, and then talk her into doing the sensible thing and selling the Electric Palace to him for a price fair to both of them.

* * *

Nicole looked round the café, trying to work out which of the men sitting on their own was Gabriel Hunter. Why on earth hadn’t she looked him up on the internet first, so she would’ve known exactly who she was meeting here? Had she already slipped out of good business habits, just days after leaving the bank? At this rate, she’d make a complete mess of the cinema and she’d be forced to go back to her old job—and, worse still, have to admit that she’d failed in her bid for freedom.

Then the man in the corner lifted his hand and gave the tiniest wave.

He looked young—probably around her own age. There wasn’t a hint of grey in his short dark hair, and his blue eyes were piercing.

If he was the head of Hunter Hotels when he was that young, then he was definitely the ruthless kind. She made a mental note to be polite but to stay on her guard.

His suit was expensively cut—the sort that had been hand-made by a good tailor, rather than bought off the peg—and she’d just bet if she looked under the table his shoes would be the same kind of quality. His shirt was well cut, too, and that understated tie was top of the range. He radiated money and style, looking more like a model advertising a super-expensive watch than a hotel magnate, and she felt totally scruffy and underdressed in her jeans and T-shirt. Right then she really missed the armour of her business suit.

He stood up as she reached his table and held out his hand. ‘Thank you for coming, Ms Thomas.’

His handshake was firm and a little tingle ran down Nicole’s spine at the touch of his skin against hers. How inappropriate was that? They were on opposite sides and she’d better remember that. Apart from the fact that she never wanted to get involved with anyone again, the fact Gabriel Hunter was her business rival meant he was totally out of the running as a potential date. Even if he was one of the nicest-looking men she’d ever met. Didn’t they say that handsome is as handsome does?

‘Mr Hunter,’ she said coolly.

‘Call me Gabriel.’

She had no intention of doing that—or of inviting him to call her by her own first name. They weren’t friends; they were business rivals.

‘How do you like your coffee?’ he asked.

‘Espresso, please.’

‘Me, too.’ He smiled at her, and her heart felt as if it had done a backflip.

‘If you haven’t been here before, I’d recommend the Guatemala blend.’

‘Thank you. That would be lovely,’ she said politely.

This was the kind of café that sold a dozen different types of coffee, from simple Americanos and cappuccinos through to pour-over-and-siphon coffee; and she noted from the chalk board above the counter that there were a dozen different blends to choose from, all with tasting notes, so this was the kind of place that was frequented by serious coffee drinkers. The kind of coffee bar she half had in mind for the Electric Palace, depending on whether she kept it as a cinema or turned it into a craft café.

But Gabriel Hunter unsettled her.

She wasn’t used to reacting like that towards someone. She hadn’t reacted to anyone like that since Jeff. Given her poor judgement when it came to relationships, she really didn’t want to be attracted to Gabriel Hunter.

Focus, Nicole, she told herself sharply. Business. Work. Nothing else.

Gabriel came back to the table carrying two espressos, and set one cup and saucer in front of her before sitting down opposite her again.

She took a sip. ‘You’re right; this is excellent. Thank you.’

‘Pleasure.’ He inclined his head.

Enough pleasantries, she decided. This was business, so they might as well save some time and cut to the chase. ‘So, what are these mutual interests you wanted to discuss?’ she asked.

‘Our businesses are next door to each other. And they’re both works in progress,’ he said, ‘though obviously the hotel renovation is quite a bit further on than the cinema.’

‘Are you thinking mutual customers?’

‘And mutual parking.’

His eyes really were sharp, she thought. As if they saw everything.

‘Are you really going to run the place as a cinema?’ he asked.

She frowned. ‘Why would I discuss my business strategy with a competitor?’

‘True. But, if you are going to run it as a cinema, I’m not sure you’ll manage to make it pay, and it’s not going to be good for my business if the place next door to me is boarded up and looks derelict,’ he said bluntly. ‘Most people would choose to take the Tube into the West End and go to a multiplex to see the latest blockbuster. One screen doesn’t give your customers a lot of choice, and you’ll be competing directly with established businesses that can offer those customers an awful lot more.’

‘That all depends on the programming.’ She’d been researching that; and she needed to think about whether to show the blockbusters as they came out, or to develop the Electric Palace as an art-house cinema, or to have a diverse programme with certain kinds of movies showing on certain nights.

‘With your background in banking—’ well, of course he’d checked her out and would know that ‘—obviously you’re more than capable of handling the figures and the finance,’ he said. ‘But the building needs a lot of work, and restoring something properly takes a lot of experience or at least knowing who to ask.’