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“Rory Quirke.”
My heart sank. “What? No, that’s not possible. Not Rory.”
Johnny shrugged. “Afraid so. I was as surprised as you. Never thought he’d have anything to do with something so ultra-conservative and bigoted.”
“Are you sure? I mean how do you know he’s involved with them?”
“I saw him helping out at the church-gate collection for the party one Sunday. He stood there by that poster minding the collection pot, thanking everyone who contributed, and they all did. Everyone going into mass put something in. Some of them even saying stuff like ‘good on ya’. I couldn’t believe it. People going in to mass, for God’s sake, and giving money to racists and actually applauding them. This is happening in my country in the twenty-first century.” Johnny shook his head in disbelief.
“I know. It’s awful. But going to mass every Sunday is not proof of true Christianity. But Rory...I can’t believe he could possibly be active in this kind of group. There must be some explanation.”
Johnny raised an eyebrow. “Why so shocked? Or are you disappointed? You don’t fancy him, do you? And here I was, thinking you were more into Hollywood boys.”
I suddenly didn’t like Johnny as much as before. “What do you mean?” I demanded.
“We get the national newspapers here too. I happened to see that shot of you in a clinch with Colin Foley.”
“What clinch? He grabbed me and kissed me on the cheek before I had time to pull away.”
“It didn’t look like you put up much of a fight to me.”
“Oh please,” I snapped. “You know how the media twist things.”
“Yes, of course,” Johnny said. “I know only too well.”
I nodded. “Exactly. But enough about me. Let’s look at the Irish Democrats. You seem to feel they’re about to spread hatred all over this country. But that’s your take. Maybe it isn’t as bad as you make out? I’ve read that party is very conservative in their politics, but I haven’t seen anything you could actually call racist or in any way neo-Nazi.”
Johnny looked at me with a hint of pity. “You mean they’re just a little old-fashioned?”
I took a sip of my coffee. “Weeell, um...” I tried to remember what the leader of that party had said the last time he stood up in the Dáil (Irish parliament). “They’re very negative about asylum seekers and immigrants, of course. But so are a lot of people. Ireland isn’t a wealthy country. The government’s really stretching the budget to pay for health care and social housing, as well as taking care of refugees.”
Johnny ate the last of his scone before he replied. “Kind of true. But look at the life these people left behind—if you can call it a life. If we raised taxes just a tiny bit, we could afford to be more generous. That’s what the present government’s trying to do, but that lot keep blocking them.”
“O’Keefe is an independent,” I cut in.
“Pfft,” Johnny snorted. “Independent, my eye.”
I gave up. Johnny was right. But I wasn’t there to talk about that. “This isn’t about politics,” I argued. “Or about that political party. It’s about those bullies and how to stop them.”
“How are you going to do that? Don’t tell me you’re going to write about it in the Knockmealdown news.”
“No. That would be stupid. There are other ways to deal with them. Better ways. Like turning the tide against them.”
Johnny stared at me. “What are you talking about?”
I finished my coffee and pushed away the cup. “You’ll see.” I got up. “I’ll be off now. Long drive back. I have a lot to consider. Thank you for talking to me.”
Johnny got to his feet. “You’re welcome. I just need your promise that you won’t—”
“Don’t worry. Sean Mac Aodhagáin’s identity will not be revealed.”
Johnny’s shoulders relaxed. “Thank you.”
“Except I have a feeling Drago’s talent will be discovered one day. But by then everything will have sorted itself out and those bullies will have been disarmed and humiliated.”
“Sounds impossible.”
I winked. “Well, ya know, I do the hard things straightaway. The impossible takes a little longer.”
He squeezed my hand in a warm handshake. “Good luck, Finola.”
“Thanks. I’ll need it.”
I left the café and the quiet village, struggling with what Johnny had revealed. It couldn’t be true. Rory involved with such a crowd? No, not possible. Or was it?
***
I arrived at the cottage late that night after a long drive through heavy traffic. I should have known Sunday evening after a beautiful weekend would be a bad time to take to those roads. But I just wanted to get home and crawl into bed, get a good night’s sleep before I faced the naked truth about Rory and his political views. And then the task I’d set myself to fight the bullies. I’d been all gung-ho and bushy-tailed when I spoke to Johnny, but the reality wasn’t as shiny as the dream. How on earth would I get started on my campaign? I needed to get the students in the school on my side before the leader of that gang got any whiff of what was going on. That was the answer. But the question was: how?
I pulled up outside the cottage as the setting sun dipped behind the mountains. I stopped for a moment and breathed in the soft air laden with the scent of grass and roses. Home. Was it? I nodded to myself. Yes, this was now home.
A movement beside the door made me jump. But it was only Jake, running up to greet me as if I’d been gone for months instead of just one day. I gathered him up in my arms, and he licked my face, whimpering and shivering with joy. I didn’t notice the other shadow as I gave myself up to the pleasure of the reunion. But a touch on my shoulder made me jump and scream at the same time. Then I heard the voice and relaxed.
“Welcome back,” Colin murmured in my ear.
I hit him a thump on the chest. “Shit, you scared me!”
“Sorry. Where have you been?”
“Away. What are you doing here so late?”
“Late? It’s only ten o’clock. See? The sun’s just set. I love these long northern evenings in Ireland.”
I pulled back and looked at him. “You’re still in costume.”
“Yes. We just finished filming up at the house. I went down to see Jules, and she said you’d be home soon, so I decided to bring Jake to say welcome home.” He did a little twirl to show off the wool pants, collarless shirt and knitted waistcoat. He lifted the tweed flat cap off his head “Evening, ma’am. This is what a young farmer would have worn in nineteen fifteen. Sexy, huh?”
“Not really,” I said, thinking he’d be sexy in anything. I let Jake down. “But it’s still late. I’m exhausted and I want to go to bed.”
Colin threw away the cap and pulled me closer. “Me too. Yours.”
“Don’t be silly.” I pulled away, trying to stop myself melting into his arms and whisper ‘take me’. Sinking into bed with Colin would have been just what the doctor ordered. What was it about him that was so irresistible? His amazing good looks? The silky hair flopping over those green eyes? That deep voice in my ear? The hands on my waist? The smell of him? The feel of his body against mine? The—without thinking I grabbed hold of his face and kissed him hard on the mouth.
He laughed and put his arms around me and kissed me back. “That’s what I meant,” he mumbled against my mouth.
I couldn’t help myself. I was too tired, too sad and far too attracted to this gorgeous man holding me—desiring me—to resist. And, God help me, I desired him right back. True love? Probably not, but definitely true lust. Whatever it was, it propelled us through the door and up the stairs to my little bedroom under the eaves, kissing, touching and removing clothes on our way. Jake tried to follow, but I broke away from Colin and gently lifted the dog into the kitchen and closed the door on his disappointed face.
By the time we stumbled into the bedroom, Colin had managed to remove all my clothes and expertly unclasped my bra and thrown it on the floor.
“Gee, you’re good,” I mumbled against his neck, pulling at the elastic of his boxers.
“I love your perfume,” he whispered as we landed on the bed.
“It’s not perfume, it’s me,” I whispered back.
“Even better.”
I loved the smell of him, too: that mixture of aftershave, soap and just his skin, the way everyone has their own smell. Pheromones, I thought fleetingly as my body responded to his and we joined together in a crescendo of touching, kissing and moaning. I knew I was in the hands of an expert as I arched my hips to meet his erection. He made sure I was ready before he thrust into me—gently at first, with exquisite timing, until we reached the point of no return and the earth moved, the skies exploded in a riot of colours and sensations. The climax was the longest I’d ever experienced, and it slowly petered out, leaving me floating on a pink cloud of pure bliss.
I slowly opened my eyes and discovered Colin looking at me with such tenderness it nearly made me cry. I smiled and touched his face.
“You’re amazing.”
He took my hand and kissed it. “So are you. Or maybe we are? Together.” He rolled off me.
I got off the bed and opened the door to the bathroom. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
He jumped up. “Let’s shower together.”
“We won’t fit. The shower’s tiny.”
“Let’s try anyway.”
We did fit, even though it was a tight squeeze. We soaped up and then just stood there, our arms around each other while the warm water washed all the suds away.
“The water here feels lovely,” Colin said. “So soft.”
“It’s wonderful.” I closed my eyes and lifted my face to the warm gush from the shower.
Colin ran his hand over my wet hair. “Have you noticed how we’re exactly the same height?”
“You’re a little taller. I’m five nine. How about you?”
“Five eleven. But my publicist always puts six foot into any information.”
“The water’s cooling down. Let’s dry ourselves and get into bed.”
We squeezed out of the shower and dried each other. Then we got into bed, holding each other, whispering into the darkness, telling each other the stories of our lives. I told Colin about growing up in a family that barely held together, about my father’s angry outbursts, about my brother and me hiding behind the sofa while Dad ranted on, shouting abuse at Mum. “Then I left. I just couldn’t stand it anymore. I went to college and worked at all kinds of jobs to pay my way. My brother stayed behind, and when Dad died, he helped Mum get back on her feet and get a job. I always felt guilty about that.”
“I don’t think you need to feel guilty,” Colin soothed. “You made your own way, paid for everything yourself. I’m sure your mum doesn’t blame you.”
“No. She’s great. We get on quite well. But Seamus is her hero. Rightly so, of course.”
“Sure.”
I put my head on his shoulder. “Your turn.”
“Okay. Not very exciting. Poor boy harbours dreams of acting. Gets job in factory and goes to acting classes in his spare time. Gets teased and bullied for being ‘a fancy boy’, a ‘poofter’ on housing estate. Then gets small part in TV series shot in County Cork, and the rest, as they say, is history.”
“You were bullied?”
“Yeah,” Colin said hoarsely. “Beaten up. Tarred and feathered—or the equivalent.”
“I bet they’re sorry now.”
“Sorry in jail some of them. Most of them turned to crime. Horrible little shits, they were. But it takes a lot of hard work and determination to break out of an environment like that. I had the bug. None of them had any kind of dream.” He turned and lay on his back, yawning. “Sorry love. My eyes are closing.”
“Mine too.”
Then we went to sleep under the blue duvet.