Read Chapter 8: — THE SONG THAT SAVED THE ROOM

Two weeks later, the Grand Ebor hosted a ninetieth birthday lunch for nearly two hundred guests.

The family had booked the main dining hall and requested live music between courses. A small ensemble played traditional pieces while grandchildren gave speeches and grandchildren's children escaped under tables.

Eleanor was carrying plates when a violin string snapped.

The musician jerked back, cutting her finger. The music stopped mid-phrase.

A few guests laughed nervously. One elderly relative muttered, “Bad omen.”

The birthday man's eldest daughter looked toward the manager with alarm.

Eleanor saw the entire room tipping toward awkwardness.

Then she remembered Arthur.

Before she had time to become sensible, she picked up two spoons and a glass, walked to the microphone and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, I think we can agree that reaching ninety proves Mr Fletcher is not easily defeated by a violin string.”

The room laughed.

Good.

She continued. “While our musician sorts herself out, perhaps you'll forgive something less polished and more local.”

She tapped the spoons in a familiar rhythm and began an old comic Yorkshire song Arthur had taught her, adding improvised lines about the birthday man, his children, his refusal to use a smartphone and the number of puddings already consumed at table seven.

At first people listened because they were surprised.

Then they joined in.

The guest of honour slapped the table in time.

Eleanor's fear vanished.

For three minutes she was twelve years old again, singing beside her father and discovering that a room full of strangers could become one thing if you gave them the right rhythm.

When she finished, applause rolled through the hall.

From the doorway, Adrian watched her with an expression she could not read.

Later he found her in the staff room.

“Where did that come from?”

“My father.”

“The same father who refuses to sell me his house?”

Eleanor blinked. “You're the developer?”

“Not personally. The hotel group is mine with two partners. We want to create a small collection of heritage townhouses.”

She stared.

The world was apparently too small and had a sense of humour.

Adrian said, “For what it's worth, I don't want to gut the buildings. I want guests to understand where they are.”

“My father thinks you want themed wallpaper and fake medieval banquets.”

“Your father has met our marketing consultant.”

Eleanor laughed before she could stop herself.

Adrian smiled.

“Invite me to speak to him.”

“He'll throw you out.”

“Then I'll bring better wine.”