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I froze to the spot. “What are you talking about? My fault?”
“Yes, I’m afraid it looks that way now. The plug behind your desk was all burnt out. You must have left something on and forgotten. A laptop, a heater...”
“A heater. In this weather?”
“A fan, then?”
“I don’t—didn’t even have a fan.”
“Well, whatever was plugged into that socket started the fire, that’s all we know now.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah. It wouldn’t have happened if the wiring weren’t so old.”
“Have you told Jerry?”
“No, I thought you—”
“You tell him, Pat. It’s your job.”
He sighed. “Right. I will, so.”
“Thanks.”
“But you have to tell your boss. That English publisher guy. That’s your job.”
“Gee, thanks for reminding me.” I hung up, realising I’d have to take the flak when I got back to Miranda’s. Then there’d be a whole evening of woe. Thank God I was moving out in a couple of days.
I picked up my phone again. I’d better get my things over to the flat as soon as it could be arranged. I had already placed an order with IKEA for the bedroom furniture. After having agreed with Dad that he’d rent a van and get all the stuff I wanted from home delivered on the following Tuesday evening, I walked into the house ready to face Jerry. He’d be devastated not only by the loss of that building, but also by the fact that it might have been my fault.
But was it really an accident? Or had someone fiddled with something in my office? A prank that had turned nastier than the culprit intended? But who? And why? I opened the door, walked into the house, and heard Jerry shouting. Pat must have just told him the news.
Disbelieving, he stood in the middle of the living room, staring at me. “What the hell happened, Audrey? Did you leave something on when you went out?”
“No. I’m sure I didn’t. I always switch off my laptop before going out. I don’t want anyone touching it.”
“It was the wiring, wasn’t it? Why on earth didn’t the publisher agree to have it done? It was his responsibility according to the contract we signed. I own the building, but he swore that he’d look after any repairs. Why did this have to happen?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered and put my arms around him.
After hugging me tight, he stepped away. “The Knockmealdown News will keep going, won’t it, Audrey? Don’t let it die. Promise me that.”
I held up my hand in a scout’s salute. “I swear.”
***
I hadn’t seen Killybeg House since its glitzy inauguration at Christmas. It hadn’t been quite finished then and only started to receive guests three months later. We had done a big feature, as had many of the national newspapers. Beautifully restored and furnished, it deserved all the accolades. It would be Ireland’s most glamorous country hotel, rivalled only by Mount Juliet.
I drove past the gatehouse, where I lived when I was managing the house before the big auction. The owner, Richard Hourigan, and his brand new wife, Pandora, were now staying there. “Just for the summer,” Pandora had assured me when we’d met briefly at the gym. “Just while everything is being established.”
I realised she was used to better things than our little country town, being a New York socialite and heiress to a considerable fortune. She was only a temporary member of the little gym before the spa and all its high-tech facilities were finished.
A statuesque brunette with green eyes, Pandora wasn’t the typical trophy wife. She was chubby and chatty with a great sense of humour. Everyone at the hotel loved her, I’d heard. Her charm and beauty, combined with several millions of a future inheritance, must have made her an irresistible package. The only mystery was why on earth she had fallen for Richard Hourigan.
I drove up to the entrance. A young man in hotel livery immediately ran down the steps and offered to park my car. I got out, tossed him the keys to my battered Toyota, and sauntered into the lobby. There was nobody around except the woman in reception, who turned out, to my surprise, to be Pandora.
“Hi, Audrey,” she said and patted my hand. “So sorry about the fire and everything.”
“Thanks, Pandora.”
“I hope this won’t mean the end of our newspaper.”
“Not at all,” I said with great emphasis. “We’ll keep going no matter what. We’ve even found a new office already.”
“That’s fantastic!”
“But why are you here, playing receptionist?”
Pandora laughed, tossing her glossy hair behind her shoulders. “We haven’t got a permanent one yet. I’m still interviewing applicants. We need someone who speaks several languages and has a bit of experience. In the meantime, I have something to do besides talking to Richard’s boring friends who fly in from New York to play golf and have their nails done. And that’s only the men. The women...” She rolled her eyes.
I laughed. “I get the picture.”
“But I’m loving running the hotel. I never had a real job before, and this is so much fun. And this town and the people are so darling. I thought living in an Irish country town would bore me to death, but it’s actually more interesting than the big city. Richard wants to go back to New York once the hotel is running smoothly, but he’s going to have a fight on his hands.”
“That’s nice to hear.” I checked my watch. “I’ll catch up with you later, Pandora. I have a meeting in a few minutes.”
“I know. I believe Mr Montgomery is expecting you in the bar.” She winked. “Very sexy, isn’t he?”
“In a scary way.” I smoothed my skirt. Was it a tad short for a business meeting? But it was a hot day, and I hadn’t had time to change. In any case, I needed all my weapons for this particular encounter. I checked that my hair was still in a tight bun and ran a finger under my eyes to remove any mascara smudges. “Wish me luck,” I said to Pandora.
“Good luck, Audrey,” she whispered before she turned to a guest who had just appeared at the desk.
With his dark curly hair, crooked nose, and thin mouth, Christopher Montgomery was not a handsome man. But he was sexy. God, yes, sexy as hell, I thought when I spotted him sitting at a table by the open window, sipping from a champagne flute, a bottle of Bollinger in a cooler beside him. He was dressed in white shorts that showed off his muscular thighs and a golf shirt with the crocodile logo that clung to his slightly sweaty chest. I steeled myself to adopt a professional air and walked toward him. He looked up as I approached, giving my legs a brief, appreciative glance.
“About time,” he grunted and got up to shake my hand.
I glanced at my watch. “Two minutes late. I’m dreadfully sorry.”
“Yeah, right.” He sat down and gestured at the bottle. “How about a cold drink? It’s a hot day.”
“Thanks. I’ll have a bottle of water.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Really? You don’t like champagne?”
I sat down. “Love it. But not while working.”
“Oh.” He clicked his fingers at a passing waiter and ordered a bottle of Ballygowan. Then he took another sip of his champagne and turned back to me. “What have you got for me? Good news, I hope.”
“Good and bad.”
“Give me the good news.”
I pulled the contract from my bag and started to speak very fast to cover up the effect he was having on me. “I found new premises for the paper. Just temporary, but a great space with enough room for everyone. It’s an apartment not far from the old office. The owner has agreed to a short let until we can find something more permanent. I have the contract here for you to sign, and then we can move in tomorrow. We have already drawn up a layout for the Wednesday edition that will be published as usual, only a little slimmed down, of course.” I drew breath and handed him the contract.
Christopher glanced through the three pages and nodded. “Okay. Great stuff. Tomorrow, you said?”
I squirmed as his eyes bored into mine. “Well, we’ve already taken possession of the space and started working. The owner of the building lives next door, and he said it’d be okay. We only have one phone line and our own personal laptops, so we were hoping you could give me the go-ahead to replace some of the equipment we lost in the fire. And allow me to buy a few desks and chairs.”
“Hmm. And the bad news?”
“It’s about the fire.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “It appears that it was caused by the old wiring. So, in a way it was your fault.”
He stared at me. “What?”
“The rewiring should have been done ages ago. You dragged your heels about that, remember? And now the old wiring appears to have been the cause of the fire.”
“Who says?”
“The fire department. There’s an investigation and—”
He slammed his glass on the table. “I’ll expect a full report tonight. This might affect the insurance. I have to look up the policy and see if there’s a clause about such an event. If there is, we might not get compensation. And in that case—” he paused “—I can’t give you the go-ahead for any kind of purchase right now.”
I crossed and recrossed my legs. “So we’re supposed to sit on the floor and use our phones to get that paper out?”
He glanced at my legs again. “Or we could just close it down for a few weeks until the insurance stuff is sorted. Maybe you’d like a little holiday? Do you play golf?”
“Close it down?” I asked incredulously, my professional hat firmly back on. “That would kill us. It would take months to get the circulation back to where it was before the fire. And no, I haven’t played golf since I was twelve, when my uncle brought me to a driving range at his club. You can’t be serious about closing down the paper. Even if it was for a week, you’d seriously damage circulation numbers.”
“I might even close it down altogether,” Christopher stated. “It seems like a lame duck right now. Losing money with all these expenses.”
I met his dismissive gaze with a cold stare. “You can afford to keep it going, Christopher. Your publishing empire makes millions each year, I read in the Financial Times recently. Surely you could stretch to a few thousand to get us the basic equipment to get back to work?”
He laughed and put a hand on my knee. “The Financial Times? Aren’t we the smart cookie?”
Trying not to let the contact with his warm hand unnerve me, I picked it up with my thumb and index finger and dropped it in his lap. “I’m not a cookie.”
“Of course not, you’re a very clever girl.”
I got up. “No, I’m a woman.”
“You’re very beautiful, whatever you are.”
“Thank you. Listen, Christopher, I’ve said what I came to say, so—”
“You’re leaving?” He leaned back and stroked the neck of the champagne bottle. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to stay for a little...bubbly?”
I closed my eyes for an instant, the picture of us in a huge double bed flitting through my mind. “Positive,” I snapped, more annoyed at myself than him. I pointed at the documents on the table. “If you’ll sign that contract, I’ll leave and get back to work. I have a paper to get out. That is, unless you really want to close it down. But, in my humble opinion, that wouldn’t be a wise move. I have plans, big plans to increase our circulation even more.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” I hauled out a pen from my bag and handed it to him. “Here, sign, and we have a deal.”
“For what?” He drawled.
“For me rescuing the paper from the ashes and earning you even more money.”
“Okay.” He scribbled his signature on the contract and handed it to me. “There. So what is this plan of yours? Would you care to sit down and tell me about it?”
I pushed the contract into my bag. “I’ll e-mail it to you. Must go. Have a safe trip back to London.”
He waved a lazy hand in my direction. “I’m not going back just yet. I’m going to stay around for a while. This is a great place. The weather is terrific, and I just found myself some fabulous golf partners. Maybe we could get together one evening when you’re not so...busy?”
“That would take a while.” I took a deep breath. Holy shit, he was not leaving. I hoped he’d stay out of my way. How long would it take before he managed to break down my defences and seduce me?
“I’m sure you could find a little time to have fun.”
“See you, Christopher,” I said and walked away, fighting with my hormones and my libido.
“Just a minute,” he said, his voice dropping the languid tone.
I stopped and turned. “Yes?”
He gazed at me. “I believe I just signed a contract for three months of temporary office space?”
“Eh, yes.”
“And you asked for permission to replace some of the equipment that was lost in the fire?”
“That’s right.” I waited while he seemed to consider what to say next.
After a long silence, he finally nodded as if he were granting me some magic wish. “Okay. Here’s my deal: You turn that paper around and three months from now have the circulation above what it was before the fire. I’ll give you two thousand to get the basics of whatever you need in electronic equipment. But if, when the three months are up, the paper is no longer making a considerable profit—” another long pause while I held my breath “—The Knockmealdown News will be closed down.”
I stiffened. That was a hell of a tall order. “That’s not—” I started but closed my mouth mid-rant. No use arguing.
He lifted that eyebrow again. “You were going to say...?”
“Nothing. Fine. I’ll be in touch. Bye.” With that, I marched off, my heels clicking against the marble floor, feeling I had been handed a deal nobody should have to accept by a man I found dangerously attractive.
He’d given me three months. I’d have to rescue the paper and increase circulation by the end of the summer or we would all be unemployed. Could I do it? I nodded to myself as I waited for my car to be brought around by the valet. Yes, I can and I will, I thought. I just had to come up with that killer plan. And stay away from trouble in the form of a very sexy man.