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Dessie couldn’t help staring at the woman. She didn’t look much older than thirty, but she oozed confidence and a kind of quiet intelligence. Mesmerised, Dessie shook her hand. “Hi, Audrey. I’m Dessie.” She could feel Marcus stiffen beside her and saw that he was just as stunned.
“I’ll be...” he mumbled. “You’re not at all what we expected.” He held out his hand. “Marcus Smythe. Director of—”
“Smythe’s Auctioneers.” Audrey laughed. “Yeah, I know who you are.” She shook his hand. “Hi there.”
“Hi, Audrey.” Marcus held on to her hand. “Miss Broadbent is my assistant.”
“I know.” Audrey nodded. “I had an e-mail from the managing director of your firm—your dad, right?”
Marcus nodded. “Yes. It’s a family firm.”
“I’m not really anyone’s assistant,” Dessie cut in. “I’m a trainee at the firm, and I was given this assignment because I know about Irish houses and art in Ireland during this period.”
Audrey looked appraisingly at her. “Is that a Tipperary accent I hear? You from around here? You look like someone, but I can’t quite figure out...”
Dessie hesitated. “I grew up in Cloughmichael.”
“At the vicarage,” Marcus interjected.
“The vicarage? There is no—” Audrey’s eyes lit up, and she pointed at Dessie. “Yes! Now I know. You’re Miranda’s lost sister! You’re the spit of her. Jesus, that’s a hoot. Does she know you’re back? And Jules? Have you told her?”
“No. Not yet,” Dessie mumbled. She looked at Audrey. “Have they said anything about me?”
“Not much. Just that they have a sister who disappeared and never let them know where she went. There was some kind of...disagreement, they said. But that’s all.”
Dessie let out a sigh. “Oh. Good. Thank you.”
“No bother,” Audrey chortled. She looked past them into the dark night. “You have luggage? Better bring it in. It’s going to lash in a minute.”
“I only have a suitcase,” Dessie replied. “But Marcus has a ton of luggage. You’d think he was moving here.”
Marcus shot Dessie an annoyed glance. “Just some sports equipment. I intend to do some hiking while I’m here.”
“And riding and fishing and shooting,” Dessie quipped. “Wasn’t that what you said?”
“Golf too? There are some excellent golf courses in this area,” Audrey said, her eyes full of laughter.
Marcus walked back to the door. “No. I don’t play golf. Terribly middle-aged and middle class, don’t you think?”
“Oh, suuure,” Audrey said and made a face behind his back at Dessie. “My boyfriend plays golf. Must tell him how middle class it is. He’ll be devastated.”
Marcus turned and looked at her. “I’m sorry. Actually, my father plays golf. Didn’t meant to...”
Audrey flicked her hand at him. “Nah, I was only joking. I don’t have a boyfriend.”
Marcus shot her a dazzling smile. “Now, that’s very good news.”
Audrey’s eyes turned cold. “Really? Must say that is a most unprofessional remark. But never mind. Go and get the luggage and join us in the kitchen when you’ve got it all inside. Come on, Dessie, I’ve opened a bottle of excellent plonk, and the steaks are sizzling. How do you like yours?”
“Medium rare,” Marcus said.
Audrey glanced at him. “Oh, you’re still there? I wouldn’t hang around if I were you. All that sports equipment might get wet.”
Dessie let out a giggle. This woman had the kind of sass she would love to possess. Dessie followed her into the kitchen and looked around in surprise. Not only warm and bright, it was like something out of House & Home, with Shaker-style cupboards, granite-top counters, and a state-of-the-art oven and ceramic hob. “This house must have been done up recently,” she remarked.
“Yes.” Audrey walked to the hob and put a large grill pan on one of the rings. “Only just finished. This is going to be one of the luxury cottages for rent when the big house is turned into a boutique hotel and spa.”
“Oh. I had no idea.”
“Nobody knows yet, so keep it to yourself. I only got this information while I was sniffing around, trying to find out the story of the house and the family. They’ve been gone for so long and now this. We’ll be doing a big exposé in the local newspaper before Christmas about the auction and the future of the house.”
“I see.” Dessie sat down at the round oak table in the nook by the window. “It must be hard to look after that big house and edit the newspaper as well.”
Audrey shrugged. “Not really. I had nowhere to stay when I came here a year ago, so when I saw the ad for manager of the property in return for free lodging at this house, I looked into what it would involve. There wasn’t much to do, apart from supervising the cleaning staff that comes here once every two months to dust and hoover and to make sure the heating is turned to a low temperature during the winter months. That, and airing it regularly, is all I have to do. And then I get to live in this cute house. Don’t know what I’ll do when it’s all sold, but I should have found something to rent by then.”
“I’m sure you will.”
Audrey poured wine into a glass and put it in front of Dessie. “Here. Nice little Beaujolais I found in Lidl. Don’t tell snooty face. He’ll only wrinkle his nose and tell us all about wine.”
Dessie laughed. “He’s not that bad. I have a feeling he’s actually a little out of his depth here. Nice guy behind it all, I’d say.”
“He’d be hot, if he weren’t so uptight and superior. But maybe we can get him to relax.”
Dessie shrugged. “Nah. Let’s make him stew for a while.”
Audrey laughed and was about to answer when Marcus walked in.
He took off his trench coat and hung it over a chair. “I left everything in the hall, as I don’t quite know where the bedrooms are.”
Audrey nodded. “The steaks are done. All medium rare. There are baked potatoes in the oven and grilled tomatoes too. Then salad with walnuts and Cashel Blue.”
“Gosh,” Dessie said. “It’s like a five-star restaurant.”
Audrey took the potatoes out of the oven. “I love cooking. It’s so relaxing.”
“Me too,” Marcus said. “I love this kitchen. I had no idea I’d see something like this in rural Ireland.”
“You’d be surprised how modern we are around here. We even have flush toilets and hot water.” Audrey handed Marcus the dish. “Here, put this on the table, and I’ll plate up the steaks. Do you want a little garlic butter on yours?”
“Yes, please,” Marcus said meekly and went to join Dessie at the table.
Audrey arrived with the steaks. “Help yourself to wine.”
Dessie attacked her steak while Marcus and Audrey chatted. Stress always made her hungry. The mere mention of her sisters, Miranda and Juliet, had shaken her, and she realised she’d have to contact them as soon as she could. It wouldn’t do for them to learn of her arrival from someone else, especially not Audrey, who, she suspected, was fond of gossip. But she was a journalist, after all, so that was probably part of her job.
“Riding, eh?” Audrey said, jolting Dessie out of her musings. “I suppose you’ll want to do some fox hunting, then? Very popular around here. There are several packs, but the Cloughmichael one would be best suited to you. Very upmarket.”
Marcus drained his glass. “Yes. I’ve already contacted them. I’m riding in the opening meet on Monday. They’ve booked a horse for me too.”
Audrey nodded. “Good choice. They have the best horses, I’ve heard.”
“I hope the horse is not the kind that would buck me off at the first covert,” Marcus said.
Audrey looked confused. “Covert? What’s that? I’ve heard the word, but I’m not into hunting, so...”
“A covert is a thicket, or woods, where the fox is likely to hide,” Marcus explained.
Audrey nodded. “That’s it. Thank you. But I don’t think your hired horse will throw you off if it sees a fox. Especially if it’s one of Jules’. Her hirelings are the best.”
Dessie blinked. “Jules? You mean my sister? I didn’t know she did hirelings.”
“She only started last season,” Audrey replied. “She let the land to Rory, and now all she has is twenty acres for the horses, so she got into hiring them out to visitors. Quite good money, she says, even if it’s a lot of hard work.”
“Good money indeed,” Marcus cut in. “A hundred and twenty a day for the horse. Then a hundred that the hunt charges for the cap. Not a sport for the poor.”
Audrey winked at him. “Yeah, but that keeps the riff-raff away, doesn’t it?”
Marcus smiled. “Absolutely. I’d pay anything to do some real hunting here. In England, sadly, we’re not allowed to chase foxes. We can only drag hunt.”
“Officially, yeah,” Audrey teased. “But I hear they hunt real foxes over there despite the ban.”
“Stop it!” Dessie exclaimed. “I hate fox hunting. If they banned it here, I’d be over the moon. Hunting down and killing a beautiful animal for sport? How horrible.”
Audrey and Marcus stared at her then looked at each other in what Dessie felt was a silent conspiracy, as if she were a child who didn’t know better.
Marcus let his knife and fork fall on his plate with a clatter. “You have that Disney-cute-animal-idea, I gather. But foxes are vermin. They kill for sport themselves. Have you ever seen a henhouse after a fox has been in there? Dead hens scattered all over the place. And they go in and kill newborn lambs too.”
Dessie glared at him. “That’s just an excuse. What do you know about chickens and lambs? You just want to ride out on a good horse and jump fences and gallop through great countryside and then go and have a drink and a laugh in the pub afterwards. Boasting about the big fences you jumped,” she ended.
Marcus looked at his plate then back at Dessie. “I don’t deny what you just said. There is nothing more thrilling than a day’s hunting on a good horse. But—”
“Hang on a second,” Audrey cut in. “There is a lot more to hunting than you think. You grew up here, so you must know that everything revolves around fox hunting in rural Ireland in the winter. It’s not all about hunting and killing a poor, cute little fox. Marcus is right. They are vermin. They need to be culled, and hunting is the best way to do that. If you knew about fox hunting, you would know that it’s only the weak and old foxes that get killed. It’s the survival of the fittest. This way, foxes get to grow stronger and healthier.” Audrey took a swig of her wine. “But,” she continued before Dessie had a chance to interrupt, “there is an awful lot more to it than that. There’s a whole little industry around fox hunting. Horses are bred to hunt, saddlers make saddles for hunting, tack shops, blacksmiths, not to mention the breeding of the hounds and the hunt staff, are all there because of this ancient tradition. Thousands of people depend on fox hunting for their living.”
“Yeah, but,” Dessie interjected, “it’s still a nasty way for an animal to die.”
“I bet the foxes don’t worry about that when they tear a rabbit apart alive,” Marcus muttered.
“Oh, whatever. Let’s drop it for now.” Dessie pushed away her plate and sipped at her wine. “I’m really tired. If you could show me where my bedroom is, Audrey, I think I’ll go to bed.”
Audrey jumped up. “Of course. Follow me, and I’ll get you sorted. What about you, Marcus?”
“I’ll finish my steak and have some more wine. I’ll catch up with you later, Audrey.”
“I’m going out,” Audrey said. “I have to check a few things in the office for tomorrow’s edition. Then I’m meeting up with a few friends for a drink. But your room won’t be hard to find. It’s the only one upstairs. Dessie and I are in the two smaller rooms, downstairs.”
Marcus nodded. “All right. I’ll get myself organised.”
Audrey pointed to the door at the other end of the kitchen. “You can put boots and stuff in the utility room in there. But make sure you don’t upset Cat. She sleeps there.”
Dessie laughed and winked at Marcus. “You have a cat?”
“More like she has me.” Audrey laughed. “A black cat just wandered in here one evening and kind of told me she wanted to live here. So I adopted her. Don’t know where she came from, but now she’s mine. Or I’m hers. You know what cats are like.”
“That’s a lovely story,” Dessie said. “Especially since it means you lose, Marcus.”
“Lose what?” Audrey asked, looking mystified.
Dessie smiled. “We had a bet that you had either a dog or a cat. I said cat, so I won. Now Marcus has to take me out to dinner. Right, Marcus?”
Marcus nodded. “Of course. I’ll have a look at restaurants in the area. Goodnight, Dessie. Sleep tight. We’ll have to get started early tomorrow. I know it’s Saturday, but I want to have a look at the house and draw up a schedule. Hope that’s okay.”
“Fine,” Dessie replied. “I have no plans for the weekend. Except...”
“Except what?” Marcus enquired.
“Except getting in touch with my sisters. I’ll do that later in the day, though. Not something I’m looking forward to.”
Audrey stopped on her way to the door. “But won’t they be happy to see you again? I mean, they thought you were gone forever, and now here you are, the long-lost baby sister. How great is that?”
Dessie sighed. “They won’t exactly be shouting hallelujah, you know.”
Audrey looked confused. “Why not?” She shrugged. “But that’s none of my business, is it? Come on, let’s get you settled so you can go to bed.”
Dessie followed Audrey into the hall, picked up her suitcase and continued down a short corridor to the end, where Audrey threw a door open and switched on the light. Dessie discovered a cosy, country-cottage-style bedroom with a double bed, a chintz easy chair by the window, an antique chest of drawers and an old pine wardrobe. The wooden floorboards were partly covered by a rug in many colours, and there was a pretty lamp on the bedside table. Chintz curtains matching the chair were drawn against the cold, wet night.
“What a lovely room,” Dessie exclaimed.
“Yes. I think the decorators got it just right,” Audrey replied. “But no en-suite, I’m afraid. We share a bathroom. Marcus has his own, though. Sorry about that, but I didn’t fancy sharing a bathroom with a guy.”
Dessie shuddered. “Especially that guy. I bet he spends hours just getting his hair done.”
Audrey laughed. “Probably. Anyway, hope you get a good night’s sleep. You can have the bathroom first. I’ll probably be a bit late. There are towels on a shelf beside the bath. Yours are blue.”
Dessie nodded. “Thanks. See you tomorrow.”
After Audrey left, Dessie sank down on the bed and buried her face in her hands. She was here, finally. Back home in Cloughmichael. All through the evening, she had turned her mind away from the real issue, the conflict she was facing: contacting her sisters, especially Jules. How would she react when she heard Dessie was back? What would she say? Dessie hovered between holding on for a few days, and doing it at once, right then, that very moment. All she had to do was pick up the phone and say she was back. Dessie grabbed her bag and rooted for her phone. But when she found it, she put it back. No. Impossible. Not now. Maybe later. But a little voice inside her said, “Do it now, start the ball rolling.” Dessie picked up the phone again and dialled the number she knew by heart, even after ten years. Her heart beat so fast she thought it would explode.
It rang once, twice, three times, then a voice: “Jules Thomas-Smith.”
Dessie swallowed, cleared her dry throat. “Jules? It’s me, Dessie. I’m...back.”