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The story was on the first page the following Thursday. Mary, the layout girl, had done a terrific job, putting a photo of Breda Quirke at the top, with the headline: Breda Does Her Bit For Our Planet. Then my name in the by-line and the short piece outlining Rory’s plans for the wildlife sanctuary in detail, finishing with how all crop growers and fruit farmers in the area would be eternally grateful to Breda for sacrificing part of her land to make a better habitat for birds, bees and other wildlife, so essential for the growth of crops and for human survival. Pretty good article, I thought when I wrote it. Looking even better in print.
I had just finished reading it in my office, when Rory rang. “Great job, Finola. My mother’s just seen it. She nearly had another heart attack.”
“Is she okay?”
“Yeah. I thumped her on the back when she choked on her tea. She’s fine. She was in the middle of an apoplectic rant to me when the phone rang. It was the local radio station asking if she’d agree to an interview.”
“Bloody hell! What did she say?”
Rory laughed. “She was very gracious. Said she’d be happy to do it and then went on as if the wildlife sanctuary was her idea all along. She’ll be on the afternoon show today. Then the phone rang again, and it hasn’t stopped all morning. Everyone’s congratulating her and saying she was a sly woman for keeping this secret. So she’s still in the kitchen taking the credit. I had to leave, because I couldn’t stop laughing. Brilliant move, Finola!”
“I know. It was one of those light-bulb moments. I knew we’d pull it off if we could find her weak spot.”
“Yeah. And you did. Her vanity. She’ll be insufferable after this. But it’s worth it.” He took a deep breath. “I owe you big time. How about dinner somewhere nice?”
“Sounds great. Where?”
“There’s a lovely restaurant in Cashel, just opposite the Rock. Have you been there?”
“The Rock? I went there as a child, but I’d love to visit it again.”
“Okay. Then we’ll meet at the entrance. We could do the tour and then dinner?”
“Sounds terrific. Six o’clock?”
“Perfect.” Rory said goodbye and hung up.
I stared at my phone as Audrey walked in. “What’s the matter? Someone being rude to you?”
I shook my head. “No. But I accidentally agreed to go on a date with Rory Quirke.”
She looked at me, confused. “But I thought you and Colin—?”
“No, that was just a story.”
“Then going on a date with a nice-looking man like Rory should be something to look forward to, no?”
“No...I mean yes, of course,” I replied, trying to get my emotions in line. “It’s just to say thanks for the article, anyway. Breda Quirke is being hailed as the local queen of the environment after her fantastic initiative. She’s basking in the glory of it all. She didn’t even know she was doing it until she read it in the paper.”
Audrey giggled. “I’d have loved to have seen her face when she saw it.”
“She choked on her cup of Barry’s. Rory had to do the Heimlich manoeuvre to save her. Then they rang from Tipp FM and asked for an interview. She couldn’t very well say it was all lies and she had no interest in the environment.”
“That’s hilarious. Well done, Finola.”
I shrugged. “Just one of those mad ideas that happened to work. So, how about you? Any mad ideas of your own?”
She sat down on the visitor’s chair. “Not really. The new photos look good.” She handed me a folder. “Take a look. There are some cute ones of Colin. Dan’s new camera is really terrific. And he has a telephoto lens. The producer said we could go anywhere on the set as long as we were quiet during filming. I think we have nearly all we need.”
“Oh, great.” I opened the folder, flicking through the shots. “These are really good. Great detail. Very sharp, and—” My hand froze as I came to a shot of Colin and his co-star, Caroline O’Hara. “Oh my God,” I whispered.
“What?” Audrey craned her neck. “I haven’t seen them all. What’s that one?”
I held it up for her to see. “They seem to have made friends at last.”
“Oops. I’m not sure that’s going to be in the movie. Are they in costume? I can’t see.”
“Not exactly,” I remarked, pushing the photo behind the others. “It looks like they’re very much out of their costumes.”
Audrey reached for the pile of photos and pulled out the last one. “I have a feeling Danny boy got a little trigger happy with the telephoto lens. They appear to be in someone’s trailer here. Probably hers.”
“Tear it up,” I ordered. “And tell Dan to delete it from his file.”
“Okay.” There must have been something in my voice that made Audrey obey instantly. She tore the photo into tiny pieces and threw it into my waste paper bin. “There.”
I fixed her with my gaze. “We didn’t see it, right?”
Audrey looked at me blankly. “See what?”
“I have no idea.” I looked through the rest of the photos. They were all excellent, and this time, Dan had made an effort and got some great close-up shots of the cast and crew in all kinds of situations. “All brilliant,” I said. “And I love the light and the great backgrounds. Full marks to you and Dan.”
“I knew once I lit a fire under him, he’d get going.”
“No better woman to do it. Can I leave it up to you to pick out the best ones? Show me what kind of layout you’re planning. Then we’ll send it to the marketing team and get their approval, and we’re away.”
Audrey nodded and got up. “They want us to release the magazine in a couple of weeks, when the filming here is over. There’ll be some kind of cast party we’ve all been invited to, so we could combine it with the launch of the magazine.”
“A couple of weeks? You mean they’ll leave then?”
“Yup,” Audrey said from the door. “They’re going to shoot some interiors in Dublin and then the rest in LA.”
“I see.”
“I’ll get going on this, so,” Audrey said and closed the door, leaving me deep in thought, trying to sort out my feelings about those candid shots I’d seen. Colin and Caroline O’Hara in her trailer, practically naked. Snogging, like randy teenagers.
***
The Rock of Cashel, a spectacular group of medieval buildings set on an outcrop of limestone above the town with the same name, was bathed in the mellow evening sunlight. According to the brochure I was handed at the gate, the round tower was from the twelfth century, and the high cross and cathedral were built only a few years later. I’m not a huge history buff or into sightseeing, but this place had a kind of magic I couldn’t resist. I could feel the wings of ancient history as I looked up at the towers and crenulations, made by many hands a thousand and more years earlier. What a forbidding place this must have been, still quite beautiful in a stark, spiritual way. And those monks, living, toiling, reading and creating the beautiful handcrafted manuscripts that still exist today.
Lost in thought, I jumped as someone called my name. I turned and discovered Rory coming up the hill.
“Hi, there,” I called. “Why aren’t you dressed in monk’s clothing?”
“Too hot. I like your dress.”
“Thank you. It was too warm to wear jeans and this was all I had. A summer dress I bought in Boston when I was working on my book.” I rubbed my bare arms, feeling slightly self-conscious. I hardly ever wore skirts or dresses. But it was such a warm evening with the heat of the day still lingering in the soft wind. I’d pulled out the simple summer dress, put it on and done a twirl in front of the mirror. My arms and legs were pale, but in good shape, so why not?
Rory drew closer. “You must tell me about your time in Boston one day.”
“I will. One day,” I said airily, knowing I probably wouldn’t. The time in Boston and my brief relationship with Cory, with whom I’d worked on my book, was a memory laced with pain and disappointment. Not a place I wanted to revisit. The past was the past.
Rory smiled at me as he arrived at my side. “Did you listen to the interview?”
I laughed. “Yes. Must say Breda knows how to work the media. I had no idea she was such a ham. ‘I’m considering keeping bees. And then I could produce honey. Much healthier than marmalade or jam’,” I mimicked in Breda’s deep voice. “She didn’t once mention that it was all your idea.”
Rory shrugged. “Who cares? At least we’re doing it. She’s already booked contractors to prepare the fields. Then we’ll be planting in September. I’m really happy about that, you know.”
“You must be. And I’m pleased for you. So...let’s go and see this rock then.”
“Yes, we’d better hurry. They’re closed to the public after five, but I managed to get them to let us in so we can roam around on our own.”
“That’s grand. I don’t really like guided tours. I prefer silence so I can get the vibes of times past.”
“Me too.”
We didn’t talk much as we entered the monastery, each lost in our own thoughts. We wandered around the ruins and walked into the cathedral, its ancient stone walls surrounding us as we looked up at the vaulted ceiling and the recently restored frescoes in the Vicar’s Choral, where the laymen appointed to chant during the services would have sat. I could nearly hear the many voices chanting as I stood there, and a chill crept over me that had nothing to do with the temperature.
I walked out and went to the edge of the rock, looking out over the valley. Blue-grey clouds gathered on the horizon, and there was a roll of distant thunder. Such a dramatic backdrop to this ancient site, where the kings of Munster would have reigned many years before Christianity began.
Rory joined me and stood there without speaking, looking out at the green fields and rolling hills beyond. I suddenly realised how much he was part of this land, this earth, as his ancestors would have been here even before the Rock was built.
“Magic,” I breathed.
“So timeless.”
“Eerie.”
He touched my arm. “And now I’m hungry. Come on, let’s eat.”
I pulled out of my daydream and left the ancient kings to their rock. We walked back down the hill and across the street to a quaint restaurant called Chez Hans, situated in a converted chapel. There was no end to the religious vibes in this town.
“It was a Protestant chapel until the nineteen fifties,” Rory informed me as we were guided to a round table near what would have been the altar.
There was still a chapel feel to the room, with its high vaulted ceiling, beams and stained-glass windows. But there was nothing religious about the guests, whose jolly chatter and laughter echoed around the restaurant. I was a little disappointed that Rory had chosen a restaurant with this kind of busy, cheery feel, rather than something candle-lit and intimate. I expected him to make romantic overtures, which I’d have welcomed after the revelations about Colin and his co-star. There’s nothing like a little flirting to make a jilted woman feel better. And in any case, I was beginning to feel Rory and I were compatible. He was good-looking, intelligent and fun. What’s not to like? I said to myself as we studied the menu in companionable silence.
We’d just ordered the starter and main course—heirloom salad for me (just to stay with the historical theme), smoked salmon for him, followed by fillet steak with celeriac purée for us both, as we agreed we were starving after all the sightseeing and climbing around in ruins—when two very familiar people walked in. I blinked and stared. Caroline O’Hara and Colin. They were shown to a table at the back of the room, away from the most popular tables.
Colin looked straight at me as he sat down and nodded in a way that simply said, “I’ve seen you.” Then he turned his attention to Caroline, who looked devastating in a tight black dress and a necklace with multi-coloured beads.
I suddenly sprang into action. I’d never used this clichéd way of making a man jealous—I’ve never had to, but without thinking, I turned to Rory and beamed him a smile. Then I took his hand and leaned over and planted a kiss on his cheek.
He pulled back, smiling. “What was that for?”
“For taking me out to dinner.” I knew he couldn’t see the couple, as he was sitting opposite me. But I had a full frontal view, and they looked very cosy indeed.
Rory looked confused. “But that was to thank you. You don’t owe me any gratitude.”
I kept smiling sweetly. “I was just feeling so good, and that’s your doing.”
“Oh. Well, in that case, I’m happy.” He took my hand and gave it a little squeeze. “But maybe we shouldn’t look too...er, friendly?”
“Why not?”
Rory coloured slightly. Then, still holding onto my hand, he started to talk in a voice so low, I had to lean in even closer to hear him. “It doesn’t take much around here to start the gossip. And once it starts, it’s impossible to stop.”
“I don’t care. Do you?”
Rory looked at me as if he was trying to make a decision. “I have something to tell you,” he mumbled conspiratorially. “It’s highly confidential, so I need you to promise first that you won’t tell anyone about this.”
I nodded, startled by the intensity in his voice and eyes. “Of course. I swear.”
Rory nodded and leaned closer still. “It’s about a woman—a girl I loved very much.”
I swallowed and pulled my hand out of his. “I see. Go on.”
“She lives in Dublin and she’s an archaeologist. She’s worked on a number of high-profile digs all over Ireland.”
“Sounds great,” I mumbled. “So where’s the problem? Wouldn’t your mother have been over the moon if you married her?”
“No. She would have been spitting nails and would have disinherited me.”
I stared at Rory. “Why? What was the problem?”
“Anita—that’s her name—isn’t Irish. She’s originally from Iraq...and a Muslim.”
I blinked. “Oh. Christ, yes. I see. That wouldn’t have gone down well with Breda.”
Rory’s laugh was bitter. “Are you kidding?”
I forgot all about Colin and Caroline. “So what happened?”
Rory looked up as our starters arrived and busied himself with squeezing lemon on his smoked salmon. “First of all, I should explain that Anita’s an Irish citizen. She came here with her parents when she was ten. She was a top student and speaks fluent Gaelic.” Rory met my gaze. “She isn’t a practising Muslim, doesn’t wear the hijab or anything. In fact, she’s broken away from her parents, and that wasn’t easy. She’s now actively campaigning for women’s rights.”
“Good for her.”
Rory nodded. “She’s very strong. We need women like her in this country. Why can’t people see that?”
I put my hand on his arm. “I certainly can.”
He nodded. “Yes, you can, but try to convince the old Ireland.”
“And Breda. Old Ireland personified,” I muttered.
“You’re telling me.”
“What about her? Anita? How did she feel about you and the farm and the way you’re so rooted to it?”
Rory sighed and looked morosely at his plate. “She understood completely but not that I can’t stand up to my mother. After all, she broke away from her own parents and defied everything they held dear. So why couldn’t I do the same?”
“You would if it was only about religion and tradition,” I argued. “But in your case, it’s about your inheritance, the right to own your family property and land. You can’t give that up even for true love. If you did, I imagine it would cause problems later on in a marriage.”
Rory nodded. “Yes, it would. And she couldn’t understand that. I invited her down here for a weekend to show her the farm and tell her how we’ve been here since time began. She stayed at the Bianconi Inn. I took her for a tour of the farm, and I introduced her to my mother.”
“You did?” I stared at him in astonishment. “What happened? I bet it wasn’t a lovely get-to-know-you around the tea and scones.”
Rory let out a bitter little laugh. “It certainly wasn’t. The atmosphere was chilly, to say the least. Polite conversation laced with venom from both sides. And Mam kept asking stupid question about Iraq and ‘your religion’, as she put it. She even asked why Anita wasn’t wearing ‘one of them veils’. I thought I was going to die of shame. Then Anita got up and walked out without saying goodbye, and I had to run after her to take her to the train. She told me never to come near her again. Or at least not until I told my mother to move out. Which is the same as never, of course.” Rory sighed and poked at his food with his fork. “She called me a wimp.”
“That’s a bit harsh. But true, I’m afraid.” I felt a surge of anger as I said it. Yes, he was a bit of a wimp. He’d also misled me, making me think he was interested in me while he was still pining for another woman.
“Gee, thanks.” He shrugged. “But what else would you say?”
The fillet steaks arrived, smelling mouth-wateringly good. I picked up my knife and fork. “Let’s not waste this amazing food by arguing.”
“Right.” Rory brightened and attacked his steak with gusto, and we ate in silence, while I shot a glance at Colin and his date. They were looking at a piece of paper and talking in a low voice, their heads together. The steak suddenly felt like a lump of cardboard in my mouth.
Rory finished eating and put his cutlery down with a clatter. “I’m going to do it,” he declared.
I swallowed and pulled my attention away from the couple behind him. “Do what?”
“Tell her. Breda. My mother. Things will be done my way, or I’ll leave. I can’t stand this anymore, and I’m really sorry, Finola.”
“Sorry? For what?”
“For throwing all my problems at you and for maybe making you believe I was attracted to you. I was trying to fall for you so that I’d forget about Anita, and then you and I could—” He stopped, looking embarrassed. “Not that I didn’t find you attractive, of course. I certainly did—do. What man wouldn’t? But...”
I rolled my eyes. “How old are you? Twelve? Please, grow up, will ya.”
He sighed and pushed away his plate. “I know. You’re right. I should stop dreaming and decide what to do. It’s not fair to anyone—even my mother.”
“You bet it isn’t. Not even fair to me.”
“No. That’s why I said sorry. I hope you weren’t falling—” He stopped and laughed. “Of course not. You’re not the romantic type, are you?”
I glared at him. “And why wouldn’t I be? Okay, so I haven’t had much luck in the romance department, but that doesn’t mean I’m not romantic.” I leant forward and fixed him with my gaze. “I was kind of attracted to you for about ten seconds, Rory,” I said softly. “And who knows where that might have led? But I’ve been through two botched engagements, so I suppose that makes me a little wary.”
“I can imagine. I’m sorry if I—”
“Please, forget it. Let’s just be friends. No commitment or demands or any of that shit.”
Rory relaxed. “Sounds good to me. Do you want dessert?”
“No thanks. Could we leave now?” I suddenly didn’t want to sit there anymore and listen to Rory’s woes while watching Colin get up close and personal with Caroline. I could see out of the corner of my eye that he had his hand on her knee. He glanced at me, winked and then turned his attention back to her. Conceited shit. Feeling up one woman while winking at another. Typical.
Rory paid the bill and we left. I swished past Colin’s table, pretending not have seen him, but he grabbed my arm and stopped me.
He got to his feet. “Hi, Finola.”
“Oh, hi, Colin,” I said with fake surprise. “Didn’t see you there in the dark.” I squinted at Caroline who was looking at me with ill-disguised venom. “Caroline O’Hara?” I held out my hand and shook hers that felt like a cold dead fish. “Hi. I’m Finola. Don’t think we’ve met. I run the local paper in Cloughmichael.”
“I’ve heard of you,” Caroline said. “Nice to meet you.”
“Lovely,” I gushed. “I’d stay to chat but we have to go.”
Caroline smiled stiffly. “Pity. Catch up with you another time, perhaps?”
“Yes,” I purred. “Let’s do lunch.” I wiggled my fingers at them. “Bye for now. See you around, Colin.” I followed Rory out the door before Colin had a chance to reply.
I had to stop for moment outside to pull myself together. Rory was further down the street, looking morosely into the distance. What an evening. The best part had been the visit to the Rock. It had been downhill all the way since then.
Rory turned and looked at me. “Will I see you to your car?”
“I’m parked just below the entrance to the monastery. Where’s yours?”
He pointed at his jeep further down the street. “Just there.”
“Maybe you should get going then. There’s no need for you to escort me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. Thanks for a lovely evening. Let me know how it goes with your mum and the farm.”
He kissed my cheek. “Thanks for listening.”
“You’re welcome.” I patted him on the arm. “Bye for now, Rory.”
“Bye, Finola.”
I watched him drive off. Another potential romance had bitten the dust.