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As she was not going to the opening meet of the fox hunting season, Dessie looked forward to a quiet day. She could hear Marcus and Audrey chatting in the kitchen, talking about hunting, no doubt. Dessie turned her pillow to the cool side and snuggled under the duvet, drifting back to sleep, only to be startled by her phone ringing on the bedside table. She grunted and picked it up.
“Mmm?”
It was Miranda. “Morning, pet. Are you going to the opening meet?”
“No,” Dessie mumbled. “I’m still in bed. Thought I’d sleep in.”
“I think you should go. It’s a beautiful day. It would also be a great opportunity to show everyone you’re back. The whole town goes to the opening meet.”
Dessie sat up. “That’s a very good reason not to go.”
“Well, yes. I know it’ll be hard for you, but this way you’d get it over with in one go. And Rory will be there. You could chat him up in the pub when the hunt has moved off.”
Dessie made a face. “Oh, shit, no. Do I have to? I thought he’d be hunting.”
“His horse is lame. But he’ll be following on foot. Come on, Dessie. It mightn’t be so bad. You can’t hide in the gatehouse forever.”
“Are you going?”
“No, I can’t. I have a huge amount of work to do on the farm. But Audrey’s going. She’s reporting on the event for the paper. I already spoke to her. She’ll give you a lift in her car, she said.”
Dessie rolled her eyes. Typical. Miranda, the control freak. A heart of pure gold, but with an irritating habit of organising everyone’s life. “All right, then,” she snapped. “I’ll go. But it’ll be your fault if the mob lynches me.”
“Don’t be melodramatic. You’ll be fine. They have all forgotten about it and moved on. They probably won’t even notice you.”
“Yeah, right. But whatever. I’ll go. As you said, I might as well bite the bullet and show my face.”
“Good girl. Call me later and let me know how it went.”
“If I’m still alive.”
***
She knew within minutes of walking down the main street, crammed with horse boxes, horses, and riders in full hunting dress, that nobody had forgotten her. Heads turned and eyebrows were raised as she walked down the street beside Audrey and Dan, the newspaper photographer. Dessie stuck out her chin and walked on, pretending she didn’t see the sideways glances or hear the whispers and mutterings.
“Look at her. Bold as brass,” someone said behind her.
Dessie glanced at the woman over her shoulder. “Hello, Maura. Yes, I’m back. Thanks for the welcome. Lovely day, isn’t it?”
The woman turned a deep shade of pink and turned away without answering.
“What was that all about?” Audrey asked. “Why are people staring at you and whispering?”
Dessie shrugged. “They’re reliving the past. I left ten years ago under a bit of a cloud. They all thought I had done something I didn’t do, but they have no idea what I actually did, which was nearly as bad.”
Audrey and Dan stopped and stared at Dessie.
“I have a feeling that’s all you’re going to say.” Audrey sighed. “But it sounds like a hell of a story.” She nudged Dan in the ribs. “How about you? You’re from around here. You must know what Dessie did—or didn’t.”
He shrugged. “Nah, no idea. My mum didn’t like gossip, so I never got to hear the juicy stories. Anyway, I was in Dublin doing journalism at UCD at the time.”
“Shit,” Audrey muttered. “That means I have to ask the locals, and they’ll tell me their side, which is never the truth. I’ll just have to forget it until Dessie agrees to tell me.”
“I might if I’m drunk.” Dessie laughed.
Audrey’s eyes narrowed. “Hmm...that could be arranged.”
Dessie was about to reply when she spotted Jules riding down the street on a big chestnut horse. Without thinking, Dessie ran to greet her, grabbing the reins. “Hi, Jules. What a beautiful day. And what a fabulous horse. Is this Sam?”
“Yes.” Jules pulled the horse up and looked down at Dessie. “What are you doing here? I thought you were against fox hunting and everything to do with it.”
“Oh, I am. I hate any kind of blood sport. But I thought it was a good opportunity to piss everyone off by showing up.”
“Mission accomplished, then.” Without another word, Jules wheeled her horse around and trotted off in the opposite direction.
Dessie stared at Jules’ departing figure. She looked strong and happy despite her sniping. Was this due to her budding love affair with Rory? In that case, making friends with him might be the best way to soften Jules. She looked around for him in the crowd, but she couldn’t see him anywhere. Maybe he was late? She did see Marcus, however, looking like something out of Horse & Hound magazine on a huge bay horse with a plaited mane. She couldn’t help noticing his muscular thighs in the tight white breeches, and the set of his broad shoulders in the black hunting jacket. The white stock tied in a bow secured with a gold pin added to his rakish appearance. There was a man made for fox hunting.
He trotted his horse up to Dessie and raised his hunting cap. “Morning ma’am. Fancy seeing you here, considering how you feel about hunting.”
“I came to see you,” she replied with a sweet smile. “I wanted to see you in full hunting regalia. You look good enough to eat. Is that horse big enough for you?”
He shot her a dazzling smile. “He’s rather big, but I’ve been assured he can handle those famous Irish banks. All I have to do is hang on, pray, and hope for the best.”
“Modest too,” Dessie purred. “Well, good luck, Marcus. Have a lovely day.”
“The same to you, m’dear.” He put two fingers to his cap in a mock salute and trotted the horse to join the rest of the hunt farther down the street.
The hounds were released from their trailer, and Dessie watched the stream of black-and-tan dogs trotting down the ramp. So sleek and glossy. Beautiful animals, despite being trained to kill. The pack gathered around the horse of the whipper-in waiting for the off. The huntsman blew his horn, and horses and riders moved down the street, the clatter of hundreds of hooves echoing through the town. Despite her aversion to fox hunting, Dessie had to admit the sight of red coats, hounds, and horses against the backdrop of the trees in blazing colours was beautiful in its timeless way.
When the horses and riders had disappeared to the first covert, most of the onlookers made their way to the pub for a drink before either going home, or setting off to follow the hunt on foot. Dessie caught sight of Rory heading into Mulligan’s, which she knew was his local. Great place for a quiet chat. She gathered up what little courage she possessed and entered the pub, scanning the dim interior for Rory’s dark head and broad shoulders. She found him standing by the bar, trying to catch the attention of the bartender.
She sidled up to him, clearing her throat. “Hi, Rory,” she shouted over the din of many voices. “Not riding today?”
He turned, looking startled. “Hi. No, my horse is lame. I’m following on foot later.”
“I just saw Jules on a fabulous chestnut.”
He nodded. “Yes. That’s Sam, her baby. One of the best hunters around here.” He waved at the barman. “Hey, Paddy,” he yelled. “When you have a chance, pull us a pint, willya?”
Paddy focused his eyes on Rory. “Sure thing, Rory. Howerya, Dessie? Great to see you back. What’ll you have?”
“A glass of Harp, please,” she replied. “And Rory’s pint’s on me.”
“No,” Rory protested. “I’ll get your beer.”
“Please. Let me get this one,” Dessie pleaded. “Just as a peace offering.”
Rory looked puzzled. “Peace offering? I don’t think we need that. We never had a fight or anything, did we?”
Dessie shrugged. “Not really, but we weren’t exactly bosom buddies, now, were we?”
“I suppose.” He studied her for a moment. “You look so different.”
She met his gaze. “In what way?”
He gestured at her pink sneakers, skinny jeans, and green suede jacket. “Sleek. Sophisticated. Glamorous and bloody confident. Far from the brazen little hussy who left all that disaster in her wake.”
She cocked her head and smiled, just to show her dimples. “Should I take that as a compliment?”
Their drinks arrived, saving Rory from replying. “Do you want to stay here at the bar, or sit down somewhere?” he asked.
Dessie scanned the packed pub. “Where? I don’t see a square millimetre to sit on. Let’s stay here. In any case, if we were to sit down in a quiet corner, people might start talking and saying I’m stealing my sister’s man all over again.”
Rory’s face flushed. “I don’t know what you mean. Jules and I are just friends.”
“Methinks the gentleman protests too much,” Dessie teased. “Why hide it? If you and Jules are getting...close, why don’t you two show it to the world? Nervous about what people might think? Or...are you still scared of your mammy?”
He glared at her. “Why don’t you mind your own business?”
She bristled. “Why didn’t you and your mammy mind yours all those years ago? Have you ever stopped to think that it might all have been lies?”
“Oh, I did. I thought a lot about it at the time. But the way you flounced out of here and just disappeared had guilt written all over it. If you had stayed, you might have turned the tide around.”
Dessie drained her glass and slid from the bar stool. “Are you kidding? A nineteen-year-old girl against the whole town? I had to leave. I couldn’t take the hostility, the whispers, the dirty looks, and most of all, Jules and her anger. Harry tried to tell her what really happened. But she wanted to believe he was guilty, so she refused to listen.” Dessie drew breath and threw a ten euro bill on the counter. “That should cover the drinks, plus a tip.”
Rory put his hand on her arm. “Don’t go off in a huff, Dessie. I didn’t mean—what you thought I meant. I’ve been thinking about all of this since the other day when we met again at Miranda’s. Can we...?” He stopped and looked at the crowd over his shoulder. “I’d like to talk to you, but it’s difficult in this place. Too noisy. I don’t want to have to shout.”
“Don’t you want to follow the hunt?”
“Yes.” He looked at his watch. “They should be at the second covert by now. They usually draw a blank at the first one.”
Dessie nodded. “Yes, and they have to jump that big bank at the back field, and then there’s the hedge and the stream.”
“You know the country well, considering you hate hunting.”
“I used to go out with the pony club before I was old enough to know better.”
“I remember. You were a big chicken too. Always squealing and screaming at every fence.”
Dessie laughed. “You know me too well, Rory Quirke.”
His eyes softened. “Them were the days, Dessie, weren’t they?”
“Before we lost our innocence.”
“Will you follow the hunt with me?”
Dessie raised an eyebrow. “You and me in your jeep? Are you mad? Just imagine the gossip afterwards. Not to mention that Jules will have a fit. In any case, I don’t want to watch a fox being chased by a pack of bloodthirsty hounds. I’m going for a walk up the hills, and then I’m going back with Audrey and Dan. I have some work to do on the cataloguing too. I have to transfer my notes to the file on my laptop and download the photos Marcus took yesterday.”
He sighed and nodded. “Okay. You’re right. I’ll be off in a minute too. Have a nice walk, Dessie.”
“Thanks.” She looked at him for a moment, hesitating. It had gone well, but the opportunity to have a proper talk had slipped away. “See you soon, I hope,” she said, looking into his eyes.
“I’d like that. Bye, Dessie. Thanks for the pint. Next one’s on me.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” she shouted over her shoulder as she walked out of the pub, no longer caring if anyone heard. Let them talk. As long as Jules didn’t hear them.
***
They returned to the big house the following day. Marcus, although tired after many hours in the saddle during a challenging hunt, was eager to get back to work. Dessie didn’t complain. The house promised to be a treasure trove of antiques and artefacts that would put the forthcoming auction at the top of the news stories in the media for days. It could be a huge coup for Smythe’s.
They slowly made their way through the rest of the items in the drawing room, discovering exquisite items of great value among more mundane things that would fetch a good price simply because of their age.
As eleven o’clock approached, Marcus put down his camera. “How about a coffee break? I feel I need to rest my eyes for a bit.”
Dessie nodded and closed her notebook. “Yes, me too. And we’ve nearly finished this room. Let’s have some coffee and then do the rest when we come back. Audrey said she put the coffee maker and biscuits in the kitchen downstairs, so we can have it there. That way we can look around the basement on our way.”
Marcus laughed. “You’re really hooked, aren’t you?”
Dessie smiled. “Yes, I suppose I am. Aren’t you?”
He nodded. “It’s an interesting house. But to you, it must mean a lot more. Part of your heritage in a way.”
Dessie led the way down the winding staircase from the hall. “The house has always been sitting here behind the walls, waiting for me,” she said, her voice echoing in the dark space. She turned. “Could you hit that switch on the wall? I can’t see a thing.”
“Yes, sorry.” Marcus flicked a switch, and the staircase was illuminated in an eerie light. “This looks older than the rest of the house,” he remarked.
Dessie touched the stones of the curved wall as she carefully made her way down the stairs. “There was an old castle here, and the house was built on what was left of the foundations. There could have been a dungeon here for all we know. But there isn’t much left of that, just these walls and the floor in the wine cellar.”
They arrived at the bottom of the stairs, where a door led to a large country kitchen with two stoves, a huge, worn pine table, and oak cupboards revealing an array of copper cookware, earthenware pots, china mixing bowls and other paraphernalia. Bright sunlight shone through the windows set high on the far wall, making square patterns on the floor tiles. The room smelled of damp and turf, with a slight whiff of onions and gravy.
Marcus looked around. “Fantastic. You can really imagine the kitchen staff preparing feasts for the gentry down here.”
“I can still smell the stews they must have cooked here.” Dessie walked to the espresso machine and rummaged through a collection of coffee pods in a plastic box. “What kind of coffee do you want? Espresso?”
“If there’s a longer one, I’ll have that.”
Dessie picked up a purple pod. “This one says Vivalto Lungo. I’ve had it before. It’s good.”
Marcus nodded. “Make one for me, please.” He walked across the floor into another, smaller room and peered in. “What’s this? The pantry?”
Dessie filled the container at the back of the espresso maker with water. “I think it was the butler’s room, where he did the bookkeeping or something.”
“It’s empty, except for a trunk. I wonder what’s in it.”
“Why don’t you have a look?” Dessie suggested while she made the coffee.
“Coffee first.” Marcus took the cup Dessie handed him.
“Yes, me too.” Dessie made herself a cup of cappuccino. “I need coffee at eleven. My brain doesn’t work without it.”
Marcus’ blue eyes smiled at her over the rim of his cup. “I think we’re kindred spirits. Coffee-kindred, anyway. Is this a sign?”
“Of what?” Dessie asked airily.
He shrugged and put his cup on the counter. “Compatibility?”
“I think you’d need a lot more proof than just coffee.”
Marcus winked. “It’s a start. I mean, imagine if you said you never drink coffee and just had to have a cup of dandelion tea at twelve? I couldn’t bond with someone like that.”
Dessie looked away from his twinkling eyes. “Who says we need to bond? We just need to work well together.” She rinsed the cups under the tap. “Come on, let’s look at what’s in the trunk. Maybe some buried treasure?”
“Or a collection of dirty books from the Victorian era?” Marcus suggested, still with that annoying grin. Was he having fun making her uncomfortable?
“We’ll soon know.” Dessie marched across the tiles into the small room to where a large leather chest sat in the middle of the dusty floor. It had stickers from hotels and cruise ships, and the leather straps were torn off. A bright red silk ribbon stuck out from the slightly open lid.
“Looks like it wasn’t unpacked,” Marcus quipped.
Dessie tried to lift the lid. “It’s stuck.”
“Here, let me.” Marcus yanked at the lid with both hands and it slowly opened with a creaky sound that startled them both.
Dessie twisted her head away. “What’s in it? I’m afraid to look.”
Marcus looked into the trunk and gasped.