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They were silent for a long time. Marcus unbuttoned his Burberry. “Shit, what bad luck. He took the watercolours. And the Georgian candlesticks.”
Dessie nodded. “I know. And the Meissen figures. He knew what’ll sell easily.”
Marcus sighed and sat down on a chair by the desk. “What do we do now? Keep looking?”
Dessie sat down on the chair beside him and propped her elbows on the desk, her chin in her hands. “No. No use. He said he’d looked everywhere. I’m sure he has. There has to be something we can do.”
“Like what?” Marcus snapped.
“I don’t know. I’m trying to think.”
“Don’t just sit there staring into space. If you have an idea, spit it out, for fuck’s sake!” He got up and paced around the room.
“I love the way you posh guys say fuck.” Dessie giggled. “Sounds like ‘fack.’ Hilarious.”
He glared at her and rolled his eyes. “Oh please. Do shut up.”
“Okay.”
“Thank you.” Marcus kept pacing and muttering to himself, his hands behind his back, looking like Napoleon at Waterloo.
Dessie suddenly jumped up. “I just thought of something!”
“What?”
“My granny. She knew people who worked at the big house when Tom Hourigan lived here. I think one of her friends was a maid in this house. She must have heard something.”
Marcus stopped pacing. “Yes, that might give us a clue. Where is she now?”
“Uh, dead. In the graveyard.”
“Shit.”
“But she had a daughter, who’s still alive. An old woman called Bridget. She used to do sewing and mending, and she lives in this little cottage near the vicarage. Why didn’t I think of her before?”
“Yes, why didn’t you?” Marcus muttered.
“Never mind. I just didn’t. Let’s go find her.”
***
Looking for Bridget proved a futile exercise. Nobody knew where she had gone after moving out of her cottage, not even Miranda. They gave up on the day and walked back to the gatehouse. Marcus would call the firm and find out if there were any new developments about the legal dispute. Dessie decided to do a little work on her computer, transferring her notes to the catalogue file and downloading Marcus’ photos. “Just in case,” she said. After a few hours’ work, she switched off the computer, put on her jacket and hiking boots, and headed out the door to the path up the hill. It had just stopped raining again, and she craved fresh air and exercise after having been inside for hours.
She marched up the path, the wind in her hair, taking deep gulps of the chilly air. Her mood lifted as soon as she left the outskirts of the village and could see the top of the hill ahead, where she knew she’d have stunning views of the valley and the river. When she rounded the bend, she sensed rather than heard there was someone walking behind her. She stopped and turned around. It was Rory, charging up the slope with huge strides. Dessie waved, and he increased his pace until he was beside her.
“Hi,” he breathed and took off his knitted cap. “Didn’t think anyone else was up here in this wind and cold.”
Dessie laughed. “I couldn’t stand being indoors anymore. Had to get out. Cabin fever or something.”
He smiled. “Still the outdoor girl, eh? I remember you used to run around in bare feet all summer long, like a wild thing.”
Dessie laughed. “Yeah, I did. I hated putting on socks and shoes when school started. But now I’m quite fond of shoes, really. Especially hiking boots.”
“Yours are pretty special. Meindl no less. Must have cost a packet.” Rory started walking again with Dessie beside him, trying her best to keep up with him.
“Yes, but they’re not seven league boots like yours,” she panted. “Could you slow down a bit? Unless you want to be alone?”
He slowed his pace and looked down at her. “No, I’d like your company. I’ve been so caught up with the farm accounts and all the grants stuff, I needed a blast of fresh air. Haven’t talked to anyone for a while.”
“Not even Jules?”
He sighed. “Oh, Jules. Yeah, well... being with her is a bit of a roller coaster ride.”
“Ha,” Dessie said. “I know what you mean. She’s so unpredictable. You never know when she’s going to lash out. It’s like, tra-la-la, then wham! And you have no idea what made her so angry. Except the last time; she let me know then. Only she was wrong.” Dessie felt tears welling up as the old hurt stabbed her yet again.
Rory glanced at her and took her hand in his big fist. “Your hand is cold.”
“My hands are always cold.”
“Cold hands, warm heart. You need gloves.” He glanced at her. “Are you still upset about that guy? The one who dumped you all those years ago?”
“No. Not upset about him. I was lucky I didn’t end up with him. I found out lately what a total bastard he really is. But what happened that summer changed my life. And I felt as if I lost a sister.”
“Maybe you can get her back?”
Dessie stopped dead, making Rory stumble. She grabbed his arm to steady him. “Oh, sorry. You okay?”
“Yes, fine.” He resumed walking.
Dessie half-ran beside him. “But listen, Rory. I do want to make up with Jules, I really do. But how can I? She hates me.” She started to cry, tears running down her cheeks. “I loved Jules. She was my big sister, my rock. I loved Harry too,” she sobbed. “The two of them were like substitute parents when Mum and Dad died. But then all that...stuff happened, and I looked to Harry for comfort, as if he were my dad, but then...” Dessie stopped and wiped her face with the back of her hand. “Well, you know what happened.”
Rory pulled a crumpled but clean handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at Dessie’s face. “Don’t cry, Dessie. Don’t be sad. I know you’re telling the truth. I didn’t then, but I do now.”
Dessie stopped crying and stared at him. “You do? Here, give me that.” She took the hanky from him and blew her nose noisily. “You sure didn’t back then. God, you have no idea how to dry a girl’s tears.”
“I’m sorry,” Rory mumbled.
“It’s okay. You tried your best. Wiping tears is a delicate task. Not for big hunky guys like you.”
Rory laughed. “No, you twit, I meant I’m sorry for not believing in you way back then. I’m sorry I didn’t stand up for you and tell my mother what a lying bitch she was. I should have, but I couldn’t. I was still, I dunno...”
“Under her spell?”
“Something like that,” he mumbled, his face flushed. “I was a wimp. It took me until quite recently to tell her where to get off. All thanks to Finola.”
Dessie stared at him. “Finola?”
“Yeah. Finola McGee. She swept in here like a white tornado and made everyone stand up and take notice. She’s amazing. She has this way of making you look at yourself and who you are. She takes no prisoners, that’s for sure. Scary woman.”
“I’ve heard about her. Hotshot reporter who married a Hollywood film star. She sounds both good and bad.” Dessie shivered and started to walk. “Come on, I’m getting cold. Let’s go to the top and turn around.”
“Good idea.” Rory fell into step with Dessie.
“Anyway, I’m not mad at you anymore,” Dessie said as they walked. “I forgive you. I know it was hard for you when your mother threw around all that shit about me. I’d say it was difficult not to believe it.”
Rory took her hand. “Thank you. I’m glad we’re friends.” He paused and cleared his throat. “Way back then, I had, uh, other feelings for you.”
Dessie shot a sideways glance at him. “Yeah, right. Let’s forget about the old days and move on, okay? We can’t change the past, but we can make sure the future is better.”
“You’re a wise old woman.”
“Yes, that’s me. Wise, and old, and bitter.” Dessie pulled her hand out of his grip and walked ahead on the narrowing path. “Come on,” she shouted over her shoulder. “Let’s race to the top.” She started to run up the rocky track, stumbling now and then but still managing to keep up a fast pace while Rory thundered behind her, his breath laboured. Not as fit as her, that’s for sure. She had started to run just to get away from the feelings his words and his touch had sparked in her mind and heart. Good old Rory had suddenly turned into someone different, someone to whom she suddenly felt close. She didn’t want to become attracted to him, or start some kind of romance. That would be terrible. Jules would hate her even more if...She stopped to catch her breath, then raced on, thoughts of Jules and her rage making her heart race and sweat break out. She wanted to make peace with Jules, not break up her love affair with Rory.
She reached the top of the hill and stopped, breathing hard. She bent over, put her hands on her knees, and tried to slow her breathing. That was a tough climb, and running up it had been torture. She looked around and saw Rory belting up the last bit, his face red and sweaty.
She couldn’t help laughing. “Come on, ya ould geezer!”
“Are you trying to kill me?” Rory wheezed. “I’m more than ten years older than you, you know.”
“Ha, that’s no excuse.” Dessie sat down on a rock and wiped her brow with her scarf. “I’m about to hit thirty myself.”
“Just a step away from the old folks’ home then.” Rory wiped his face with his sleeve. “I shouldn’t have given you my hanky to blow your nose.”
Dessie patted the rock. “Sit down here and let the air cool you. You’ll soon want to move again.”
He joined her on the rock, and they looked out at the view of the valley, the rolling hills beyond, and the outline of the mountains, purple with heather, against the blue sky. The cold wind smelled of earth and woodsmoke.
Dessie breathed in deeply. “I love this smell. It takes me back to when I used to walk up this hill with Daddy and Jules. We always came up here on Sundays.”
“Not Miranda?”
“No, she wasn’t the outdoorsy type. She did ballet and other girly stuff. Jules and I were the tomboys.”
“And now you’re back, working as an auctioneer,” Rory remarked. “How is it going? I bet there are some interesting things in that house.”
Dessie sighed. “It’s not going well at all. We’ve hit a huge problem. Or, I should say, a huge problem has hit us.”
“What kind of problem?”
Dessie turned her head and looked into Rory’s earnest grey eyes. Beautiful eyes, she noticed, with black lashes. Why had she never realised what a handsome man he was? “I’m not really allowed to say anything. But I trust you to keep this between us.”
“I won’t tell a soul. You don’t have to share it with me, but if you need to talk to someone, I’m here.”
“Thank you. Yes, I think I need to talk to someone about this. To make a long story short, there’s now a dispute about ownership. Someone has come forward with claims that Tom Hourigan and his wife, Conchita, weren’t married, so their children were illegitimate.”
“He didn’t make a will?”
“No. But as the children were then thought to be the issue of their marriage and the only heirs, there seemed to be no problem. So, they have to find the marriage certificate or records of their marriage in some parish or other.” Dessie drew breath.
Rory stared at her in silence. “I see. In that case the auction won’t take place? Or at least not until this has been cleared up?”
“Exactly.”
“That’s really bad luck.”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe that marriage certificate is somewhere in the house?”
“No. Ri—the house has been searched from top to bottom. They probably weren’t married in Ireland because no records have been found.”
Rory nodded. “That’s true. They weren’t.”
“What?” Dessie blinked. “What do you know about this?”
“Old story. But could be true. Never thought of it much until now. You see...” Rory pushed his hand through his hair. “Let me think... There was this old woman my mother knew. She used to work at the telephone switchboard in the village in the 1930s. You know, in the old days, everyone had to go through the switchboard to make a phone call. Of course, the telephonists were not supposed to listen, or tell anyone if they heard something by accident. But of course they did, the nosy biddies.”
“Yeah, yeah, go on. Get to the point. What did this old woman know about Tom and Conchita?”
“She said that Conchita and Tom met in London. She was only eighteen, he much older. She was in London with her parents on a visit. Then she met Tom at a party and they fell madly in love. But the parents wouldn’t let them marry, so they ran away. Got married in Scotland. Gretna Green, I think. The telephonists heard about it during a conversation between Conchita and a friend in Dublin.”
“Holy fucking shit!” Dessie yelled. “That’s it!” She jumped up and hugged Rory. “There must be records there we could look up. Thank you darlin’ Rory!” Jubilant, she hugged him again and kissed him on the mouth.
He froze, grabbed her arms and kissed her back, the kiss this time long and hard, before Dessie broke away. They looked at each other for a loaded moment. Then Dessie backed away without a word, and ran down the path as fast as she could.