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I ran as fast as my high heels allowed, trying not to believe the worst. Dan had a habit of panicking. He might just mean the kettle had exploded or something. But when I arrived at the building, I realised it was a lot worse than a kettle. Shocked, I stared at the scene.
The whole upper floor of the old Georgian house was aflame. Two fire engines had just arrived, and a third was coming down the street at breakneck speed, all lights blazing, sirens blaring. A huge crowd had gathered, and two Guards were erecting barriers to keep people away from the fire. A small group huddled behind an ambulance, where two paramedics were administering first aid to my staff. At first glance, nobody seemed to have suffered burns or any other physical damage, just mild cases of shock. I homed in on Dan, who was standing as near the blaze as he could, taking photos. An acrid odour hung in the air, and dark clouds of smoke drifted across the street and the surrounding area.
“Holy Mother, what happened?” I shouted over the din.
He turned a soot-stained face to me. “I’m not sure. It spread so fast. One minute, Mary was asking where the stink of burning was coming from, and the next, the whole place was on fire. I think it started in your office. Something was left on—your laptop?”
“What? No, I turned it off before I left. I think,” I added. “Jesus, I knew this would happen one day. I have been begging the publisher to let us do the rewiring. They said they’d have to come and inspect it first before they spent the money. This place hasn’t been rewired since the 1930s or something—if that.”
I scanned the building, trying to assess the damage. It was huge. The whole top floor was gutted. Even if the fire didn’t reach the lower floor, the whole building was a total loss.
Glancing at the staff, I saw Mary and Fidelma drinking tea and sobbing quietly. Sinead was trying to comfort them. Mary looked at me with eyes full of sorrow and fear. “The paper,” she said. “It’s gone. Jerry will be devastated.”
I went and put my arm around her. “It’ll be all right,” I said, trying to sound confident. “We’ll find new premises. The insurance will cover everything. Jerry has nothing to do with this. It’s the publisher in England who’s in charge now.”
“I know,” she sobbed. “But it was his paper. His family started it all those years ago. This will devastate him.”
“I’m sure it will. Did you send the layout to the printers?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “It all went off as planned. The Saturday edition will be out as usual tomorrow.” She let out a bitter laugh. “As if nothing had happened. All the newspapers will be full of this, except ours. Isn’t that ironic?”
We were interrupted by Chief Fire Officer Patrick O’Dea. He was covered in sweat and soot, so different from his usual polished appearance at fundraisers and village fetes. He took off his helmet and wiped his face with his handkerchief. “This is the worst fire in over a decade. But I think we’ll be able to put it out. We’ve called for assistance from Cashel and Clonmel.”
I looked up at the flames eating the roof. “There’ll be nothing left of it.”
“The ground floor will be saved, so anyone can go in and salvage what they can. Lucky there was nobody in any of the shops at the time.”
“Nothing to salvage. They were empty because most of those shops have gone out of business,” Mary volunteered. “Except for those that moved to the new shopping centre outside Clonmel. The Knockmealdown News was the only occupant.”
I nodded. “Yes. The new publishing firm were talking about taking over the whole building so we could have our own printers. But that was a long shot. They felt the renovations would cost too much. That and the bloody rewiring,” I added under my breath.
O’Dea shot me a look under his bushy eyebrows. “Yes, the old wiring... I have a feeling it will be the main culprit when we take a look in a few days. But as we passed it two years ago, maybe it wasn’t that bad?”
I thought for a moment. “It was okay in most of the rooms. But not in my office. There were bare wires that Dan helped me fix with duct tape. Not the best solution, but all we could do while we waited for a decision from the publisher. There was a whole heap of repairs we’d asked to have done.”
O’Dea put his helmet back on. “Yeah, well, when big money is involved, security is often compromised. I can hear the other fire engines. Better get back to work. Good day, ladies.” He saluted and went to join his men, still struggling to put out the blaze.
The next few hours passed in a daze. I watched the firemen pour thousands of gallons of water on the flames until they finally died down, and all that was left was a smouldering ruin. Everyone around was covered in a film of black dust, and the air was thick with foul smoke. It was like a scene from wartime London.
I managed to climb down from the ambulance, where I had been sitting on a stretcher, as nobody was injured enough to need it. As if in a dream, Jerry appeared beside me, asking the girls if anyone was hurt.
He took my arm. “Jesus, Audrey, what the hell happened? I just arrived back from Dublin and saw the smoke.”
I nodded at the building. “As you can see, we’ve finally burst into flames. The publisher you sold the paper to thought the rewiring was an unnecessary expense. So here we are. Everything gone.”
Jerry looked at the building, his eyes glistening. “A hundred and fifty years,” he mumbled as if to himself. “My great-great-grandfather started the paper in that building. We’ve been through so much since then. Selling the paper was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But I thought that way I’d save it. I see I was wrong.” He turned to me. “Everything’s gone? The archives, all the letters, the photos...?”
I shrugged and leaned against him. “I don’t know. I’ll have to ask.”
“We managed to save your laptop, Audrey,” Dan cut in, beside us. “And all the photos are safe. I brought the folders home a couple of days ago. I was going to go through them for the anniversary feature we were planning. The archives are all backed up in the cloud, along with anything really important. We can start up again if we find new premises.”
“Someone has to break the bad news to the publisher,” I said. “But that’s good news, Dan, among all the misery. Well done.”
“Not all great news, actually. Saturday’s paper is being printed as we speak. There’ll be nothing in it about the fire.”
“Can we make them stop the presses?” Jerry asked, wiping his eyes with a hanky.
Dan shook his head. “I’ve tried, but they said no. Not unless we want to rip the whole paper apart.”
“I know,” I muttered. “Mary just told me. Every paper in the country will have this on the front page, but we’ll have—”
“—the final of the schools soccer tournament,” Dan said in a near sob. “Ten-year-olds posing for the camera with their proud mammies after the match. I took the photos myself.”
“Christ, what a mess,” I moaned.
“Even RTE were here,” Dan announced. “They filmed the fire and interviewed Mary and Fidelma. They left before you arrived so they could get it in time for the early evening news. You’ll be able to watch it on TV in half an hour.”
“Fabulous,” I muttered.
“Have you called the Montgomery Group in London?”
“I was about to do that,” I said. “It’s not going to be a very jolly conversation.”
“Do you want me to—” Jerry started.
“No. It’s my job. I’m the editor-in-chief. This kind of shite comes with the territory.” I sighed and hauled my phone out of my pocket. Better to get it over with.
***
Christopher Montgomery didn’t seem thrilled to be interrupted in the middle of Friday night drinks at the Ritz—or whatever posh watering hole he was at—judging by the laughter and clinking of glasses in the background. I could nearly smell the expensive perfume of the women around him.
“Yes?” he snapped.
“Hi, Christopher. Audrey Killian here,” I breezed on, trying to keep the sob out of my voice. “I’m afraid I have some bad news...”
“What? You’re not— Hang on a minute.” He paused, and I heard him excuse himself to the group. “Yes, go on,” he said after a moment’s delay. “Bad news? Have you seen a doctor?”
“What?” I asked, confused. “A doctor? What are you talking about? This is Audrey Killian,” I repeated. “Editor-in-chief of The Knockmealdown News in Cloughmichael. Tipperary, Ireland,” I added.
There was a long pause. Then I heard him exhale slowly. “Ohh. That Audrey. Okay. Sorry. I mixed you up with someone else. Similar name, you see.”
“I thought that might be the case.” In all my misery, I couldn’t help letting out a giggle. He was worried some other Audrey was pregnant. I sincerely hoped she wasn’t. What a horrible dad he’d make. Then I pulled myself up and prepared to tell him my own very bad news. “I’m sorry, Christopher, but I’m afraid there’s been a fire in the office here.”
“How bad is it?”
“Very bad.”
“Give me the whole story.”
“The building is destroyed. We have no office as such right now.”
I could hear him breathe on the other end. “Fuck,” he snapped. “That’s truly awful. That paper was performing better than any of our local newspapers in the whole of the British Isles.”
I bristled. “We’re not British, we’re Irish.”
“Yes, okay. I’d be grateful if you didn’t trot out your patriotism right now. Can you find new premises?”
“I don’t know. I’m standing here looking at the blackened remains of our office in a listed Georgian building. We’re all very upset, as you can imagine. Nobody was hurt, by the way. But I suppose that would be a minor detail to you.” I stopped. Shit, what was I doing? Insulting the publisher? He could fire me on the spot. “Sorry, didn’t mean to—”
“Never mind,” Christopher snapped in a way that told me he was anxious to get back to the Friday night revelling. “I’ll have to come out there, won’t I?” As if he were being forced to go to the Outer Hebrides in the middle of winter.
A cold hand squeezed my heart. “No, that’s not really nece—”
“I’ll be there Monday,” he interrupted. “I’ll expect you to have found alternative premises for the paper by then. Meet me at Killybeg House hotel at five pm.” He hung up without saying goodbye.
I put away my phone, my heart sinking. I wasn’t looking forward to that meeting. And if I didn’t come up with a solution for at least a temporary office, he’d probably fire me. I looked from Jerry’s slumped form and ashen face to Mary and Fidelma sobbing in each other’s arms. My gaze met Dan’s worried eyes. “Don’t worry, gang. It’ll be all right,” I promised, trying to sound cheerful. “We’ll find a new office and keep going.”
“How?” Dan asked.
I patted his shoulder. “If there’s a will, there’s a way, you know. And there certainly is a will, isn’t there?”
“Yes,” Mary said, wiping her tears. “Of course there is!”
I grinned. “That’s the spirit! The Knockmealdown News will rise again,” I declared, my fist in the air, trying to believe my feisty words. It wasn’t going to be easy. Added to all the misery, I had just spent nearly all my savings on three months’ rent for a flat I might not be able to live in. The prospect of meeting Christopher Montgomery didn’t fill me with joy either. How the hell was I going to come up with new premises by Monday?