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Rory Quirke. Dessie clenched her jaw as Miranda drove her back to the gatehouse. His mother, Breda, was the source of the gossip that had spread like wildfire through the town. It wasn’t long before everyone had heard the vile accusations, and Dessie had been forced to leave. She wasn’t sure if Rory had helped spread the rumours, but he was Breda’s son and could have stopped her or at least tried to defend Dessie. But he did nothing. The coward, she thought. The spineless creep.
Miranda pulled up in front of the gatehouse. “We’re here.”
Dessie snapped out of her thoughts. “Thank you for driving me back. I could have called a taxi.”
“If you wanted to wait for an hour. We still only have one taxi. They’re trying to get more. We need them badly. There’d be fewer drunk drivers if we had taxis to take the beer drinkers home from the pub.”
“That’s for sure. Do you want to come in? It’s not too late, and I see a light on in the living room. Audrey must still be up.”
Miranda touched Dessie’s cheek. “No, not tonight. I think you should try to get to bed early. You look tired.”
“You’re right. I’ll try to get some sleep. Even if meeting Rory will be etched into my brain for a while. Seeing him walking into your kitchen gave me such a jolt.”
“Poor man. He hasn’t had it easy.”
“Still under his mother’s thumb, then?”
“Not anymore. She finally moved out. She went to live with her sister in Dungarvan. I think it had something to do with her health problems.”
Dessie brightened. “Health problems? I hope it’s something embarrassing and painful.”
Miranda had to laugh. “Yeah, me too. Not very Christian, but neither is she. I’m not sure what’s wrong with her. Just arthritis and old age, I suspect. Plus the big showdown they had at the farm last year. Rory and one of his sisters had it out with Breda and gave her some kind of ultimatum. She went off in a huff, probably thinking Rory would beg her to come back, but she’s still waiting. He’s going around looking as if he’s won the lottery. Now he can run his farm the way he wants without that woman butting in. Win-win for him.”
“I bet he’ll be getting married next, now that Breda isn’t there to sneer at every woman who comes into the house.”
“Hmm, yes. Maybe.” Miranda stared into the dark night.
Dessie studied her. “What? You look as if you know something. There’s a woman out there that Rory’s involved with?”
Miranda nodded. She turned and looked at Dessie. “Please don’t say anything to anyone. I’m not sure, but I think he and Jules are getting...close.”
“Close?” Dessie squealed. “You mean they’re hot for each other?” She slapped her forehead. “Of course! Why didn’t I think of that before? How perfect. I don’t like him much, but that’s my problem.”
Miranda sighed. “I’m not sure they’re that perfect for each other. Rory has this gentle, caring side and is easily hurt. Jules can be so rough sometimes.”
“Maybe he’ll soften her?” Dessie suggested. “I hope he does. It might convince her to see me and hear my side of the story.”
Miranda looked doubtful. “I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you. But...” She paused. “You might have a chance if you worked on Rory.”
Dessie frowned. “How do you mean?”
Miranda smiled. “Try to get him on your side. Be sweet to him. Then he’ll get Jules to change her mind.”
Dessie laughed. “That’s a dirty trick, but I like it. I’ll work out a way to butter Rory up. I think I know where to begin already...”
“Oh, God,” Miranda mumbled. “What have I started?”
***
She was back. Driving home, Rory couldn’t stop thinking about Dessie standing there in the kitchen, looking as if butter wouldn’t melt. The brazen hussy, who had been instrumental in breaking up Jules and Harry’s marriage and then acted like a wronged woman and left town in a huff, giving them all the finger. She hadn’t sent as much as a postcard to her sisters during her ten-year absence. Jules had been devastated, losing both a sister and a husband. The marriage had been a sham from then on, until Harry’s sudden death seven years later. Jules had struggled on, bringing up her son and running the house and farm as best she could. And now, when things were finally turning around, the business of breeding top-class event horses taking off, Tony doing well at school, and Jules finding happiness at last, here she was. He couldn’t get over the sight of Dessie, standing there, all grown up and stunning, with her glossy black hair, doe eyes and endless legs. His hands shook as he tried to keep them steady on the wheel.
A thought struck him as he drove past the gates of Knocknagow House. Did Jules know? Maybe he should break the news to her before anyone else did. He stopped the jeep and backed up, turning in through the gates as fast as he could. He drove around the back of the big house and saw the lights in the kitchen. She was still up. He pulled up and jumped down from the jeep as Jules opened the back door and peered out, accompanied by a motley crew of assorted dogs barking furiously.
“Rory? What’s up?” she asked. “Has something happened?”
“Yes.” He took her arm. “I’ll tell you when we’re inside. You need to sit down when you hear this.”
“Hear what?” Jules demanded when she was finally sitting down on one of the chairs at the kitchen table. “Has someone died?”
“No. But this might still come as a shock.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “Jules, Dessie’s back.”
She looked at him blankly. “And?”
“You knew.”
“Of course I bloody knew,” she snapped. “Dessie called me herself last night. How did you find out?”
Rory pulled up a chair and sat down. “I called in to Miranda just now, and there she was, bold as brass, having dinner.”
Jules shrugged. “Why shouldn’t she? They were always close. Dessie didn’t do anything to Miranda, after all.”
“I know. But what’s she doing here? Why did she come back?”
“Killybeg. It’s going to be sold. She’s working for some auctioneers in London who’re handling the sale of the contents. It appears our little Dessie has a degree from Trinity and is now working for this London firm. Weird, huh?”
“Incredible. Never thought she had it in her.” Rory studied Jules. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Hearing Dessie’s voice was a shock, I have to admit. I haven’t thought much about her for a long time. The whole thing just kind of faded away.” Jules rose from the chair. “How about something to eat? I haven’t had a chance to have dinner. I just came in from feeding the horses and clipping Sam. I’m riding him in the opening meet on Monday.”
“I haven’t had dinner yet either. Do you want to go out somewhere?”
Jules laughed and ran her hand through her short blonde hair. “I look a mess. And I didn’t have time to cook. But fear not, I have some of Miranda’s Moroccan lamb stew in the freezer. I’ll just chuck that in the oven for twenty minutes and make rice.”
Rory relaxed. “Sounds great.” He eyed her dishevelled appearance. “I’ll make the rice if you want to, uh, freshen up.”
Jules looked down at her torn jeans and stained sweatshirt and laughed. “I’ll run upstairs and have a bit of a wash. I can tell that the stable lad look isn’t terribly seductive.”
Rory smiled and shook his head. “You’re seductive no matter how you look.”
“Liar.” Jules laughed and ran upstairs.
Rory smiled to himself as he put water to boil for the rice. Jules was lovely when she was in a good mood. Their relationship was growing into something wonderful and comforting. After all the years of turmoil and conflict with his mother, he was finally in a good place. Jules was an interesting woman, full of fun but with depths he had never known until they started dating. They shared so many things: a love of nature and animals, and a passion for horses. Jules could be moody and difficult at times, quick to anger and too ready to jump to conclusions. Perhaps a little judgemental too, but who was perfect? There were no dramas or complications in their relationship. Maybe it was a little short on passion, but at forty-two he had stopped yearning for that kind of thing. This warm friendship was bound to turn into something deeper with time. If only the younger sister didn’t stir up trouble again. She was a born rebel, and, at nineteen, had been a scandal waiting to happen. Yes, he had lusted after her, just like all the men in town, young or old. She had a bold face and still did. That look in her eyes that challenged you, dared you to...
“Ta-da!” Jules’ voice jolted him back to the present. He looked up to find her standing in the door, dressed in a tight black top and skinny jeans. Her hair gleamed, her face was freshly made up, and she had even put on a pair of gold hoop earrings.
“Wow,” he said, laughing. “That’s some transformation!”
Jules sashayed into the kitchen. “Yeah, and it only took me fifteen minutes.” She did a twirl. “Not bad for a tough old bird, eh?”
He put his arm around her. “Old? At thirty-five? You’re still a spring chicken, sweetheart. I’m the oldie around here.”
She patted his chest. “You’re in your prime. Men never grow old. Especially not hunks like you. Come on, let’s eat before I starve to death.” She winked. “And then, who knows?”
He felt a fleeting dart of excitement, but then the image of Dessie’s long legs popped into his mind. Confused, he pushed the thoughts away and went to help Jules serve supper. The delicious smell of the lamb stew made his stomach rumble. He smiled at Jules and sat down at the table. Food, wine, and then...would their friendship turn into something else?
***
They started work the following day, despite it being Sunday. Marcus had booked a horse for the opening meet of the Cloughmichael Foxhounds on the Monday, so he wanted to get a head start on the cataloguing. Dessie had given in despite her feelings about hunting. She had to keep Marcus sweet. Her job was more important than animal rights. She was looking forward to getting stuck into the indexing, and she couldn’t wait to prove to him she was up to the task.
Armed with a notebook, pens, and her iPad, she entered the house. Marcus was already walking through the downstairs rooms taking photographs with what looked like an expensive camera. She caught up with him in the drawing room, where he was standing in front of an occasional table crammed with ornaments.
He turned around as she entered. “Morning. I’m just having a look around and trying to decide in which order to list the items. But then I decided, as this is such a mishmash kind of house, to just list stuff as we go along. It’ll make the auction more interesting.” He pointed at a watercolour on the wall. “What do you make of this one? Do you have a clue about who the artist might have been?”
Dessie went to his side and peered at the picture. She studied it for a few minutes. “I think it’s by Robert Stopford. A scene depicting the Queen’s Old Castle department store in Cork city.” She pointed at the lower right-hand corner of the painting. “It’s signed here, with the date, 1848. One of the Hourigan ancestors managed this store in the late nineteenth century, I believe. I think this is quite a unique picture. I’d say it’s worth about fifteen hundred euros, maybe more.”
Marcus looked impressed. “Oh, really? Okay. Let’s make this lot number one, then. Should kick-start the auction nicely.” He aimed his camera at the picture and took a few shots.
“Nice camera,” she remarked.
“Yes. It’s a Canon EOS 700 D. It’s fabulous for this kind of work.” He looked at Dessie with approval. “Great beginning. I’m glad the old pater picked you to assist. You’re terrific.”
“Thank you.” Dessie wrote the details into her notebook.
“You take compliments with ease,” he remarked.
She glanced at him. “I didn’t take that as a compliment. It’s a fact. I am terrific. This is an important assignment for me, and I aim to do my job professionally and correctly.”
He hung his head. “I stand corrected. No compliments during working hours.”
She nodded and turned the page on her notepad. “Next?”
“You choose.”
“What about that bookcase?” Dessie nodded at the opposite wall.
Marcus followed her gaze. “Yes. Fine piece. Gothic style. George IV.”
“Yes, except the base is William IV,” Dessie cut in. “Kind of symbolic, don’t you think? I mean the older brother on top of the younger brother. I’d love to have a Victorian piece next.”
Marcus shot Dessie a look of surprise mingled with respect. “You know your history.”
Dessie nodded. “Of course. I don’t think I would have gotten a first at Trinity if I didn’t.”
“A first? Well done! I didn’t reach such heights at university.”
Dessie shrugged with false modesty. “All because I had an amazing tutor.”
He smirked. “I see.”
She glared at him. “It was a woman. She was sixty-two. Just in case you thought something else.”
He raised his hands. “Absolutely not. What would that ‘something else’ be anyway?”
“Oh, shut up. Let’s keep going. You want to get a head start so you can get up on that horse and chase a defenceless little animal tomorrow.”
He didn’t rise to her bait but mumbled, “Indeed,” and moved along the wall to a series of watercolours of hunting scenes. He looked at them for a while then picked up his camera and took a few shots. “What do you make of these?” he said over his shoulder. “Henry Thomas Alken? Not quite Stubbs, but rather nice.”
Dessie moved to his side and looked at the pictures. “Yes. I agree with all of that.” She wrote it down in her notebook. “Lot number three, then?”
“Yes, okay. Value?”
Dessie thought for a moment. “Haven’t a clue. Between three and five hundred each?”
“Sounds good.”
They continued on for several hours, until Marcus looked at his watch and announced it was lunchtime. “Time for a break, don’t you think?”
Dessie looked up from her notes. “Lunchtime already? Gosh, I got so caught up with it all, I forgot the time.” She pointed at two large porcelain figures on a desk. “We forgot to take down the details of those. I looked at them earlier. They’re Meissen. Should fetch a couple of thousand at least. Take the picture, and then I’ll put them as lot fifty-two. Two thousand euros.”
“Okay.” Marcus took the picture, and then lowered the camera. “I just realised that there must be twenty thousand euros worth of stuff in this room alone. We haven’t even done half of it.”
“I know.”
“There’s still the silver in the dining room. And the paintings in the library. By the time we’ve finished, I’m sure we’ll have clocked up close to a million, maybe more.”
Dessie nodded. “You’re right. I never thought of it like that.”
He shook his head in disbelief. “And all of this has been sitting here unsecured for decades, with only a series of housekeepers to keep an eye on it? It’s a miracle the house wasn’t ransacked years ago.”
“That’s true. But...” Dessie stopped. “This might sound unbelievable.”
“Go on.”
“Well, first of all, very few people would know about the things here, or believe there was much worth stealing. The house has been hidden away in the grounds for so long that people have forgotten about it. And the façade is dilapidated and wrecked-looking. You’d never guess that the interior is anything special.”
Marcus nodded. “I suppose. But still...why wouldn’t the occasional crook sneak in and have a look around?”
“Because of the old stories.”
“What old stories?”
“That the house is haunted.”
Marcus looked incredulous. “What? You’re having me on. If there were ghosts, wouldn’t we have felt it?” He made a wide gesture at the French windows, where the late autumn sun streamed in, bathing the room in a golden light. “This room has a restful vibe. Nostalgic, but kind of warm and loving.”
Dessie nodded. “Yes. Down here there are no ghosts. But you haven’t been upstairs yet, in that room...” She fought to keep a straight face as she watched Marcus’ expression change. She was having him on, but there was a grain of truth in what she said. The room she thought was the nursery had felt decidedly spooky ten years earlier. Those dolls staring at her, the rocking horse frozen in motion, and the half-open wardrobe...
“What room?” he snapped. “Stop playing games. I thought you said you’d be professional.”
“Just a little warning. Thought you should be prepared,” Dessie said in a cool voice and closed her notebook. “Time for lunch, as you said. I think we’ve done enough for today, actually. I promised Audrey I’d walk up the mountains with her this afternoon anyway. It’s a shame to be indoors when the sun is shining. But of course, you can carry on alone if you wish.”
He nodded and put his camera in its case. “Okay. Fine with me. Let’s close shop for today. Maybe we could have lunch at that little pub nearby? Looks very quaint.”
“No thank you. I made sandwiches for Audrey and me to take on our walk. Maybe you’d care to join us?”
“On the walk? Or just for lunch?”
“Both, if you like. It’s quite a steep climb to where we’re going. You might not be fit enough for that.”
“Is this a dare?”
Dessie shrugged. “Whatever you want to call it. You’re welcome to join us.”
“Thanks, but not this time. I’ll have lunch at the pub and come back here to take some more photos.”
“Okay. Just make sure not to go upstairs on your own.”
“Now, that I take as a dare.”
Dessie smirked. “Could be. Only one way to find out.”
Marcus winked. “I’ll keep you posted.”