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“I’ve got it!” Dessie shouted. “You’ll never guess.”
“Wh....?” Marcus spluttered into the phone. “Sorry, I’m having lunch in a pub. Nearly spit my sandwich across the bar. What’s up?”
“I found it,” Dessie panted. “The wedding certificate.”
“What? Is this a joke?”
“No, it’s real. I found this box in the trunk with the dresses. I put it into my bag, and then I meant to put it back but I forgot, and now I found it and had a look and then I saw something...” Dessie paused for breath, staring at the piece of paper in front of her.
“Yeah, yeah, go on. The suspense is killing me.”
“The wedding certificate was there, at the bottom of the box. You’ll never guess where they were married.”
“I’m not even going to try,” Marcus said dryly. “So please, cut to the chase and put me out of my misery. Where the hell were they married?”
“Northern Ireland,” Dessie exclaimed. “In a place called Castlegreen. Sounds very like Gretna Green, doesn’t it? That must have been what the old woman heard. I looked it up. It’s a village just east of Belfast. They must have eloped there instead of Gretna Green. Clever, huh?”
“Very. And you’re a genius. Put that certificate in a safe place, and don’t move until I come back, okay?”
“I’ll guard it with my life. I’m not moving until you come back.”
“Good. Won’t be a tick. I’m just going to call the office in London.” Marcus hung up.
Dessie smiled to herself as she looked at the old certificate. What a stroke of luck. This meant the auction would be going ahead and also the little vintage fashion shoot. But what about Richard? Maybe he should be told about this amazing discovery? He’d be over the moon. Dessie cast her mind back to that morning when she had caught him in the study. Nah. Let him sweat. The miserable toad had been prepared to steal to cover some of his expenses. He’d find out in time. She sighed happily. She was finally over him and what had happened. Now she could look forward with confidence and hope. And all romantic notions had to be put on hold.
***
The gravel crunched under Dessie’s feet as she walked under the starlit sky to Jules’ back door. Marcus had first driven to the front door, but Dessie told him to drive around to the back.
“Nobody uses the front door around here, except if someone has died,” she explained.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“It’s an Irish country thing,” Audrey said. “People who are alive use the back door, which is always open and you never knock. You just barge in and shout ‘Hello.’ But if there’s a wake, we go in through the front door, which is also used to carry dead people out.”
Marcus sighed. “You Irish are so weird. No wonder we never managed to rule you.”
“It’s a kind of passive resistance,” Audrey said. “Takes a few hundred years, but we finally get rid of whoever tries to put the arm on us.”
Marcus grinned at Audrey. “I’m looking forward to this date.”
“You might regret that statement later,” Audrey quipped.
Dessie opened the door. “I’ll get out here. I’ll walk around to the back.”
“Okay,” Marcus said, tearing his eyes away from Audrey to look at the front door under the pillared portico. “Nice house. I’d love to see it sometime.”
“Yes, it’s a lovely house, if a little dilapidated. But not for sale,” Dessie remarked. “Nor the contents. Jules keeps it for her son, who’s the heir to the place. But he’s only fifteen, so it’ll be a while before he can decide what to do with it. But I’m sure she’ll show it to you if you ask. The reception rooms are beautiful.”
“Great,” Marcus replied. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Positive.” Dessie took a deep breath of the cold, crisp air. “I need the fresh air. You go on and have a good time.”
“Thanks.” Marcus waved and took off in shower of gravel.
Dessie looked at the rear lights of the Alfa Romeo disappearing down the drive and shivered, more from nerves than the cold. She pulled the suede jacket tighter and walked around the corner, not looking forward to the confrontation with Jules.
***
There was no confrontation after all. When Dessie rounded the corner, she found all the outside lights on, the back door open and Jules’ dogs sniffing at a Renault Espace with Dublin number plates. Dessie hung back, looking around. Someone had just arrived. Someone the dogs knew, as they didn’t bark. Dessie jumped as a big black dog approached, sniffing at her legs. She relaxed when he wagged his tail and licked her hand.
She bent down and ruffled his ears. “What a lovely fella. Are you one of Jules’?”
The dog looked at her adoringly with his melting brown eyes and gave her a doggie smile. Dessie crouched down and hugged him while he licked her face. “You darling,” she whispered into the soft black fur. She jumped as a shadow appeared in the lit doorway.
“Jake?” the woman called. “Where did you go?”
Dessie straightened up. “He’s here. I suppose this is Jake?”
The woman approached, and as she turned to the light, Dessie saw her clearly. She was tall with short dark hair, blazing blue eyes and a face full of freckles.
“Oh, there you are!” She turned her attention to Dessie. “Hi, I’m Finola. You must be Dessie. You’re the spit of Miranda.” She grabbed Dessie’s hand in a bone-crushing handshake.
“Hi,” Dessie mumbled. “Yes, I’m, eh... Finola? But I thought you weren’t arriving until next week.”
“I decided to come a week early. Sitting in a big house in LA alone with two toddlers was beginning to get on my nerves. We’ll all have more fun here, not to mention the better air quality. My husband is away filming in Iceland, you see.”
Dessie nodded. “So I heard.”
Jules’ dogs suddenly spotted Dessie, and charged at her, barking and growling. She shrank back and tried to hide behind the shed, but it was too late. Although they didn’t attack, being surrounded by six aggressive dogs was nevertheless unnerving.
Finola came to the rescue. She waded in, pulling at the dogs, slapping down those that tried to jump on Dessie and shouting at them to get down. This had little effect, until a sharp whistle from the house made them stop and run back to the house, where Jules scolded them.
Finola’s eyes met Dessie’s, and they started to laugh. “Talk about the master’s voice,” Finola joked. “We obviously haven’t whatever puts fear into a dog.”
“Dessie?” Jules called. “It’s okay, they’ll behave now. Come in and let them get to know you so they won’t attack you next time you arrive.”
“Uh, okay.” Dessie walked to the door, her knees wobbling.
“Don’t worry, they’ll be like lambs now,” Finola said, following behind. “Hey, guys, I’m sorry to have barged in on your reunion. I’ll just grab some stuff, go down to the cottage, and help Linda make up beds and get us organised. Give me a shout if the girls wake up.”
“Okay,” Jules said, holding the door open to the little hall outside the kitchen. “Hi, Dessie. Sorry about the chaos, but Finola arrived unexpectedly.”
“No problem,” Dessie mumbled, standing stock-still while the four big dogs sniffed at her legs. One of them, a yellow mongrel as big as a Labrador licked her hand. The others wagged their tails and panted, as if saying sorry they had misbehaved earlier. She patted their heads, wondering why on earth Jules had so many dogs.
“She adopts any stray that comes her way,” Finola said behind her. “Jules is a sucker for a pair of brown eyes. But now I hear there’s a pair of grey eyes that are attracting her attention too...”
“Oh, shut up, Finola,” Jules snapped from the kitchen. “Stop yakking, and come and get the bedclothes and towels.”
Dessie stepped over a pile of riding boots and waxed jackets on the floor and continued into the large farmhouse kitchen that hadn’t changed since she left ten years earlier. The cupboards were the same solid oak painted white with wooden knobs, the counters still the scarred pine and the AGA stove exuded the same warmth. Even the smell of woodsmoke mixed with good country cooking was exactly the same. It was like stepping back in time, and she half expected Harry to come in the door, bringing with him a gust of cold air after a day’s hunting. She smiled as she remembered how he used to rub his hands together and say he was starving, and that the smell of stew was more seductive than the sight of a pair of frilly knickers.
Jules’ voice cut in to her reverie. “Come on, Dessie, help Finola get the sheets into the car and then we can have our supper.”
Dessie sprang to attention. “Okay. But what about Finola? Is there enough food for her?”
“Linda, my nanny and general dogsbody, is cooking a chicken in my kitchen as we speak,” Finola explained. “Once we’ve eaten, we’ll get the twins and settle them into the cottage. It’ll be a bit of a squeeze, but Linda swears she doesn’t mind sleeping on the couch in the living room. Thank God, she’s such a good sport. Nobody else would put up with the chaos that is my life.”
“If the twins are asleep, I wouldn’t move them,” Jules cut in. “I’ll keep an eye on them.”
“You’re the best,” Finola said and kissed Jules on the cheek. “Right, let’s get moving then, Dessie, if you don’t mind helping out.”
“No bother,” Dessie said. “I suppose the sheets are in the hot press?”
Finola laughed. “I love those Tipperary sayings. Nobody but the Irish calls the airing cupboard ‘the hot press.’ I’m so happy to be home.”
It didn’t take long to carry sheets and towels from the hot press to Finola’s car, and she drove off with a wave and a promise to invite Dessie to the cottage for dinner when she was settled. She even offered Dessie the use of her second car, which was parked in Jules’ garage. “I don’t use it now that I have the bigger one. You might as well drive it. If there’s one thing that makes you feel stranded here, it’s not having your own wheels.”
“But it’s your Mini Cooper Roadster,” Jules protested. “Your baby. Are you sure you want someone else to drive it?”
Finola shrugged. “It’s just a car. I have real babies now. And they won’t fit in the Cooper. In any case, it’s better that it’s used than sitting in your garage getting flat tyres.”
“That’s very kind of you, Finola,” Dessie interjected. “I’ll take good care of it, I promise.”
Finola nodded. “Great. Jules has the keys. Got to go. See you later, guys. Give me a shout if the twins wake up.”
When Finola had left, Jules and Dessie went back into the kitchen. Dessie laid the table while Jules took a small leg of lamb out of the oven, fragrant with rosemary and garlic.
Dessie sniffed hungrily. “You did a leg of lamb for me! Nobody does a leg of lamb like you.”
Jules smiled and picked up a carving knife. “I remembered how you loved it. And I thought it would be a lot better than a fatted calf. I wouldn’t even know how to cook one, to be honest.”
Dessie laughed, touched by the warmth in Jules’ eyes. It would be okay. They’d be sisters once more. Nothing could break them apart ever again. Could it?