Read Online Carnations in January by Clare Revell - Free Book Online

otherwise, she’d be fit for nothing in the morning.
    ~*~
    Tuesday dawned as grey as any other day since the funeral. Grace’s head pounded as she walked downstairs to open the shop. She’d spent the previous day watching numerous men in hard hats and yellow jackets, moving around the ruins of the house checking it. Trade in the florist had been brisk, people coming in to commiserate or just to gawp at the destruction. At least they felt sorry enough for her to buy flowers whilst they were there.
    Elliott came over just after nine-thirty with coffee and a man in a suit, hard hat, and yellow jacket. “Grace, this is Simon Templar, the surveyor.”
    Grace shook his hand. “Hi.”
    “Can we talk in your office, Miss Chadwick? It’s not good news I’m afraid.”
    Her heart sinking to the soles of her shoes, Grace nodded. “Sure.” She led the way out the back. “How bad is it?”
    “The house, what’s left of it, needs to be demolished.”
    “Can’t you just rebuild the broken bit?”
    Mr. Templar shook his head. “No, it’s the foundations.”
    She frowned. “I don’t understand.”
    Elliott looked at her. “Remember the cracks in the walls and the sloping floor?”
    “Yeah.” She still couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed the sloping floor.
    Me. Templar continued. “The foundation is crumbling; it’s not strong enough to support the weight of the house. It’s falling down bit by bit, and if we don’t demolish it, it will fall on its own, causing far more devastation. The tree falling on it was actually a blessing. The whole house could have come down at any time with you in it.”
    Grace sank into a chair and buried her face in her hands. “So, what happens now?”
    “I have a crew coming this morning,” Mr. Templar said. “We need to demolish the house today.”
    “But my things?” She glanced up. “Can’t I at least go in and get my stuff?”
    “It’s too dangerous. Any slight vibration might bring the whole thing down on top of you.”
    Grace wrapped her arms tightly around her middle.
    “Who was Tilja insured with?” Elliott asked.
    “I have no idea,” she shrugged. “All the papers are in the house. I haven’t had chance to go through them yet. It’s over, Elliott. I have nothing left.”

6
    Elliott stood outside the house, hard hat in his hand, rucksack on his shoulder. “I only need two minutes.”
    “I can’t even give you that,” Templar told him.
    “Look, Simon. I know where the papers are—at least where they should be. I’ll be straight in and straight out.”
    Joel came running out. “El, wait! You’re not doing what I think you are.”
    “Yes, I am.”
    “After the way you treated Grace for doing the same thing?”
    Elliott touched his arm. “Difference is I know what I’m doing.”
    “Oh, really? That house is ready to fall down. It falls on your head, then what?”
    Elliott winked. “It might knock some sense into me.” He donned the hard hat and ducked under the tape cordon. He raised a hand and waved as Joel called after him. He probably deserved every thought his brother had right now.
    The front door stood ajar and he squeezed through. The hall and bedrooms were a total wreck. Sliding past fallen brickwork, he stepped over a branch and then clambered over the main trunk into the lounge.
    The ceiling gaped and bowed above him, daylight peeking through a hole. Dust hung in the air.
    Beams creaked and swayed as he shifted debris, searching quickly.
    Finding the laptop, he hoped the case had protected it. Then he grabbed a few pieces from the dresser, throwing them into the rucksack along with the laptop—the horse and rider, the brass bell shaped like a lady in full Welsh costume, and a music box shaped like a weather house. Climbing back over the debris, he tugged on the desk to open it. The wall behind it moved and the floor shifted beneath his feet.
    Elliott froze. Telegram prayers sped from his lips to the ears of His Lord.
    The movement