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After Rory’s dramatic exit, Dessie threw herself into the work of the final days before the auction. There was much to do and little time to get it all done, but she was happy to have something to take her mind off her heartache. She worked late into the night, proofreading the catalogue, setting up the rooms before the viewings, and answering calls from the press. The video had attracted a lot of attention, and the major newspapers called the house a “time capsule” the likes of which had never been seen before.
The public viewings were a huge success, with queues snaking all the way down the avenue to the entrance gates. Most of the visitors had to wait more than an hour, as only small groups were let in every half hour. Dessie was on duty full-time, swearing she didn’t mind spending all day at the viewings. She was only too happy to have little time to brood. Marcus was delighted, as this gave him a chance to take time off for hunting.
“Jules gave me Rory’s horse,” he announced. “Wonderful animal. Such a treat to hunt in this fabulous countryside.”
Dessie would normally have started one of her usual anti-hunting rants, but she found she couldn’t be bothered. She just shrugged and threw herself back into the last frenzied days. The conference room at the Bianconi Inn had to be prepared, telephone lines set up, all the major pieces transported from the house to the hotel, and security organised for the more valuable lots.
There were rumours flying around about Rory that Dessie tried her best to ignore. Some of it sounded too far-fetched to be true, in any case. Jules filled her in on the basic facts that she had heard from Clodagh, who had moved into the farmhouse as soon as Rory left.
“Does she know where he went?” Dessie asked when she called in for late supper the evening before the auction.
“No. No idea. She’s annoyed he just took off like that without telling her where he was going.”
“I thought she’d be delighted. Now she can do what she wants with the farm.”
“Not quite. Probate takes a month or so. She seems certain it’ll work out her way in the end. But...” Jules paused. “I wonder what Rory is up to. I have this odd feeling he’ll be pulling the carpet from under them very soon.”
Dessie shrugged. “Whatever he’s planning, he didn’t share it with me.”
“I believe you. I think he has some kind of agenda, and he wants to be left alone while he sorts everything out.”
Clodagh didn’t believe Dessie, however, which she didn’t hesitate to say during a venom-laced phone call around midnight. “I don’t know what the feck he’s up to, or where he is,” she hissed. “He just took that jeep and trailer with one of the mares and said he was bringing it to the sales in Dublin. I haven’t heard from him since. But you know where he is, so don’t try to deny it. Whatever it is the two of you are cooking up, it won’t work. Orla and I are the main owners of this farm, and we have great plans for it. You can tell that miserable shit he won’t be able to crawl back here. I’ve dumped all his belongings in the barn and changed the locks.”
“Uh, is that legal?” Dessie asked when Clodagh paused for breath.
“That’s none of your business. Keep your nose out of our affairs, if you know what’s good for you.”
“Charming,” Dessie muttered and hung up. She turned the phone to flight mode, pulled up the duvet and tried to go to sleep. But her thoughts kept turning back to Rory. Where was he? What was he doing? Why had he left so suddenly? And why had there been no word from him since he left? It had only been a few days, but it felt like months. She longed to see him again, to feel his arms around her, to breathe in his special smell, to hear his deep voice. It was as if a part of her had been ripped away, leaving her cold and miserable and without an anchor. Was he ever coming back? She closed her burning eyes and tried to sleep. The auction was only a day away. She’d have plenty of time to worry after that.
***
Afterwards, Dessie could hardly remember the auction—or what she saw of it standing at the back. The only thing that stood out was Marcus’ performance as auctioneer. Spellbound, she watched him call out the lots and heard his voice, like a Gregorian chant, starting off the bidding and keeping it going up and up, not missing a nod or a lifted finger, until he saw it would go no higher. She didn’t think she’d ever master that skill.
At the end of the day, most of the items went for a lot more than the starting price, fetching, in all, close to a million euros. It was a sensation. A huge victory for Smythe’s. And for Dessie.
Marcus beamed at her as they celebrated afterwards with a glass of champagne in the plush bar of the hotel. He touched her glass with his. “Cheers, Dessie. You did a jolly good job. Dad was impressed. Pity he couldn’t be here, but he came down with a nasty bug just before he was about to travel.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I didn’t mind him not being here, breathing down my neck.” Marcus grinned. “But after my glowing report, he said he wants to see you when you come back. But not until after the holidays. We close down until the new year, but then there are a lot of new auctions to get your teeth into.”
“Sounds great. Especially the bit about taking a break. I feel a little burnt out.”
“I can imagine. I say, did you see Richard Hourigan at the auction?”
“No.”
“He was sitting in the middle of the room somewhere.” Marcus looked around the crowded bar. “I thought he’d be here, celebrating.”
“Maybe he went to celebrate somewhere else?”
Marcus shrugged. “No idea. Never mind. Not a very pleasant chap anyway.”
“He must be pleased with the result of the auction.” Dessie finished the last drops in her glass.
“How about another glass?” Marcus asked, lifting the bottle from the cooler.
Dessie pushed her glass away. “No thanks. Can’t get totally pissed. With my luck, I’m bound to be caught by the Guards. It’s Friday night. They’re always out there trying to catch drunk drivers. But you go ahead and get as drunk as a skunk if you want.”
“Absolutely,” Marcus said with feeling. “I need to drown my sorrows.”
“You have sorrows?” Dessie asked, looking at Marcus’ handsome face which didn’t show the slightest sign of sorrow. “Still smarting after the break-up with Audrey?”
Marcus shook his head. “No. Not smarting at all. A clean break was the best thing. I was barking up the wrong girl, which I realised very quickly.” He peered at her. “You, on the other hand, look a little sad around the gills.”
“Gills? I’m not a fish.”
“No, but you’re pale and drawn. A little tiff with the boyfriend?”
Dessie fixed him with a cold stare. “I don’t appreciate your condescending tone.”
Marcus held up his hands. “Okay, okay, I get it. Gosh, you Broadbent sisters are a tough bunch to handle. But I admire your chutzpah.”
“How do you think we survived in this country all these years?”
“I’m beginning to see the picture.” Marcus slid from the barstool. “How about getting a table and some food? I believe the cuisine here is excellent.”
“Good idea, old chap.” In her eagerness, Dessie nearly toppled from her stool, but a strong male hand under her elbow stopped her fall. She turned to the man. “Thank you.” Then she saw who it was. “Richard. Eh, hello.”
“Hello, Dessie. And...” He nodded at Marcus.
Marcus smiled politely. “Marcus Smythe. Good evening. I trust you’re well? And quite pleased with the auction?”
“Very pleased,” Richard replied. “I just came in to say thank you. I’ll be staying in the gatehouse for a few days, as the housekeeper informed me that the master bedroom is free.”
“That’s right,” Marcus replied. “I’ve moved into the hotel. But I won’t be staying on for Christmas. Dessie’s sister Jules has offered me accommodation over the holidays.”
“What?” Her mouth open, Dessie looked from one to the other in shock. “Richard...I had no idea. Audrey didn’t tell me. And Marcus? You’re staying for Christmas? With Jules?” She put her hand to her forehead. “I’m getting a headache.”
“Food,” Marcus declared and pulled at Dessie’s arm. “I see a table over there. Sorry we can’t invite you, old man, but it’s a table for two.”
“Of course,” Richard said. He touched Dessie’s shoulder. “I’ll see you later, Dessie. At the gatehouse?”
Before she had a chance to reply, Richard had pushed through the crowd and disappeared. “Was he really here?” she mumbled. “Or have I drifted into some kind of twilight zone?”
Marcus pulled her along to their table. “Sit. You need food.”
Dessie flopped down on the chair. “What was that about you moving in with Jules?” she asked as she took the menu from a waiter who had appeared as if conjured up by Marcus.
Marcus opened his menu. “Not ‘moving in’ as such. She offered me a room in that big old house of hers over Christmas. You see, the hunting here on Boxing Day and the days afterwards is legendary. I don’t want to miss it. And as I’m riding Rory’s horse while he’s away in England, she asked if I’d help her out with the other horses during the holidays. She’ll be flat out with the hirelings. She’s providing horses for a huge number of visitors from overseas. Her stable lad will be on holiday, so there’s the cleaning and feeding after a day’s hunting, not to mention the mucking out of around eight horses. Tough work, but if she can do it, so can I.” He winked. “But I don’t mind telling you that your sister is one hell of a woman. A wonderful rider. She knows about horseflesh. I’ve never seen such magnificent hunters.”
“Oh.” Dessie frowned. “I see. But...hang on. What was that about Rory? Did you say he’s...in England?”
“I think I’ll have the Thai chicken curry,” Marcus muttered from behind the menu. “What about you?”
Dessie pulled away his menu. “Answer my question. Is Rory in England?”
Marcus nodded. “Yes. Thought you knew. Give me back the menu.”
“I didn’t know. How did you hear this?”
“Jules.” Marcus grabbed the menu back.
“Jules knows?”
“Yes. She only just found out. I think he e-mailed her. Something to do with his horse.”
“What’s he doing there?”
Marcus shrugged. “Haven’t a clue. Visiting friends? Selling horses? Shopping in Bond Street?”
Dessie stared at him, feeling tears well up. Rory went to England without telling her. What was he up to? Had he found someone else? An English girl?
“Stop thinking the worst,” Marcus ordered. “I’m sure he’ll be in touch soon. Or you could e-mail him or something.”
“He told me not to contact him and that he’d let me know when...when everything was in place.”
Marcus nodded. “There you go, then. He’ll come back when he’s ready. If that’s what he said, you should not contact him.”
“Why not?”
“Not a good move to look needy, dear girl. You know the old saying: ‘Leave them alone, they will come home, wagging their tails behind them.’”
“That’s a nursery rhyme.”
“Never were truer words spoken by a nursery rhyme. Come on, forget about him. What do you want to eat?”
“Nothing,” Dessie whispered, her chin wobbling. She just wanted to crawl into bed and cry.
“Come on, old fruit, chin up. I thought you said you Anglo-Irish women had chutzpah.”
“I think I lost it.”
“You need food. And I need wine. Lots of wine. You can have a glass without going over the limit.” Marcus waved at a waiter. “We’ll both have the Thai chicken curry. And a bottle of the Beaujolais, which you might bring us straight away.”
When the wine had been opened and poured, Marcus held up his glass. “What shall we drink to?”
Dessie shrugged. “Don’t know. I’ve nothing much to cheer about.”
“To our amazing luck in love?”
Despite her worries, Dessie couldn’t help giggling. She clinked glasses with Marcus. “I’ll drink to that. Nice to dine with a fellow loser.”
“What’s wrong with us, do you think?” Marcus asked as they tucked into the steaming plates of hot curry. “I must admit to being puzzled. I mean, here we are, both stunning, intelligent, and successful. Yet we can’t make anyone fall for us. Not even each other.”
“Aura,” Dessie said. “I’ve always thought I had a problem with mine. Maybe you do too? We probably have the wrong ones.”
“What can we do about that, then? Is there a workshop where we could go and have our auras fixed? Or maybe buy new ones?”
“I think we’re stuck with the ones we have.” Dessie munched on a coriander leaf while she studied Marcus. He was handsome in that clean-cut British way, with a tall, fit body, great charm and slightly wacky sense of humour. Why was he so unlucky in love? “We’re just bad at picking the right partners,” she said after a moment’s deliberation. “But I’m sure you’ll find someone who’ll be perfect for you one day.”
“Will it take long? I’m tired of waiting.”
“She might be right under your nose.”
Marcus stared at her. “What? You mean—?”
“No.” Dessie laughed. “Not me. Could be someone you meet regularly and you like a lot, but you haven’t got the spark yet. Someone with whom you have a lot in common.”
“Oh.” He looked thoughtful. “I see...hmmm. Yes...maybe...”
“Aha!” Dessie pointed at him with her fork. “You just realised who it could be. And now you’re all pink and mushy.”
Marcus squirmed. “Oh, please. Don’t go all Mills and Boon on me.”
Dessie suddenly had a brainwave. “Jules!” she chortled. “It’s Jules, isn’t it? You’re very drawn to her. Riding, hunting, horses...oh my God, how perfect!”
Marcus’ face turned an interesting shade of pink. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes you do.”
“Please. Do shut up.”
Dessie smirked. “My lips are sealed. I won’t say another word.”
“Thank you.”
“But I’m still loving it. I mean, you and Jules...” Dessie stopped when Marcus glared at her. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop. I want to get home and go to bed anyway.” She dug in her bag for her credit card. “Ask for the bill, will you? We’ll split it.”
Marcus put his hand on hers. “Dinner’s on me. Just to thank you for all your hard work.”
“Oh. Okay. Thank you. But I enjoyed it.” Dessie got up. “I suppose I’ll see you at Jules’ sometime?”
“When I’m not at the stables. But...” He peered at her over his plate of curry. “Are you going to be all right? I mean with that cad staying in the same house?”
“I’ll be fine,” Dessie said with pretend bravado. “Audrey will protect me.”
Marcus laughed. “In that case, I’m not worried. That is one scary woman.”
But when Dessie got to the gatehouse, she met Audrey carrying a suitcase, a meowing Cat under her arm. “I wish you luck staying with that pile of shit,” she snarled. “I’m moving out.”