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The following Sunday, with the plans for the new weekend edition coming along nicely, I took a break from work to spend time with my dad. He arrived bright and early in his old Volvo loaded with tools. It was yet another hot day of the freak Mediterranean summer we were having. Knowing he would have rushed over without eating, I had laid out a breakfast of scrambled eggs, sausages, and brown bread on the old table in the garden. Cat walked around in the dappled sunlight under the old rose bushes, pouncing on ants and the odd grasshopper. I could hear music coming from the other side of the wall. Liz was enjoying the summer as much as I was.
Dad dropped his toolbox on the floor of the living room when he spotted the food through the open window. “You made me breakfast.”
“I knew you wouldn’t have bothered eating.”
Dad went into the garden and sat down on one of the rickety chairs but hopped up again. “This chair’s wobbly. Let me just...” He ran to get a wrench from his toolbox and tightened the screws on the chair before he sat down again. “There. Should be safe now. But you should fix the other ones and oil them. This is hardwood. Needs to be oiled regularly.”
“I know.” I sighed. “I’ll do it as soon as things calm down a bit. I’ll get the tea.”
“Thanks.” Dad dug into the spread before him. He was about to bite into one of the sausages, but his fork froze in mid-air. “That music. Where is it coming from?”
“The garden next door. It belongs to Liz. You know, the cute woman you met last Tuesday.”
“Oh.” He put the sausage into his mouth and chewed while he listened. “It’s Seán Ó Riada. ‘The Banks of Sulán.’ Beautiful.” His eyes had a distant look as he ate, listening to the lilting tune, so fitting for a warm Sunday morning in June. How strange that Liz should be playing that particular piece by that particular composer just then.
The morning quickly turned busy and noisy with Dad hammering and banging, hanging pictures and curtain rails, putting together the bedroom furniture from IKEA, and readjusting some of the kitchen cupboards he declared were in danger of falling down. I was holding the ladder as he was putting up the light fixture in the living room ceiling when the door opened and Liz peered in, Jonathan hovering behind her.
“Hello?” she called. “Can we come in? We’re bearing gifts and food.” I noticed she hadn’t taken a huge amount of trouble dressing up, but she still looked nice in her white shirt and jeans. Fresh and classy with a slight tan. Cool and unassuming. “I hope we’re not interrupting,” she added cautiously.
Dad laughed and came down the ladder. “All done. Hello there...Liz?”
Liz laughed and came in. “That’s right. And you’re Sean. I was playing some music by your namesake earlier. I hope it didn’t disturb you.”
Dad beamed. “Not at all. It was a lovely surprise. Ó Riada happens to be one of my favourite composers.”
Liz returned his smile. “How odd. Not many people seem to like him. But I do. He had that Celtic soul, don’t you think? As if his music rose from the Irish soil.”
“That’s a lovely image.” Dad looked past Liz. “And is this your son?”
Jonathan laughed. “No, I’m Jonathan O’Regan. The owner of the building.” He held out his hand. “And also, I hope, a friend of Audrey. Nice to meet you, Mr Killian.”
“Please. Call me Sean. I’m not a hundred years old yet.”
They shook hands, then Liz revealed the contents of her basket, and Jonathan pulled a bottle of chilled wine from the bag he carried. “A housewarming gift that I was hoping we could all share.”
With much laughing and joking, we went out to the garden and sat down on the grass after I had found wineglasses and plates in one of the boxes under the kitchen table. Liz had made a chicken salad and bought two baguettes at the bakery down the street, with an apple pie to finish. There was more than enough for everyone, including Cat, who gobbled up the piece of chicken Liz put on the grass for her.
Jonathan and I tidied up and made coffee while Dad and Liz continued to chat. Jonathan filled the sink with hot water and detergent. “We might as well wash up while they’re getting to know each other.”
I grabbed a towel from the hook by the sink. “Yes, they’re getting on well.”
“A budding romance?”
I shook my head and sighed. “I wish. But no, don’t think so. Dad is still living in the past. He says Mum’s waiting for him in the next life. I have a feeling he doesn’t really want another woman in his life. He’s quite content on his own. Loves music and reading and fixing things. And now he says he’s moving out of his house when he retires from the bank at the end of the year. I bet he’ll buy an old wreck that’ll take years to do up. Just his cup of tea.”
Jonathan turned and looked at me. “And you? How are you settling in?”
“So far I love it. The office upstairs is a little small for what we plan to do, but it’s fine until we have the new weekend edition off the ground. Then we’ll show the publisher it’ll be a huge success. It has to be or...”
“Or...?”
“We’re all out on the street looking for a job.”
Jonathan put a plate in the rack. “Can he do that?”
I sighed. “Of course he can. He’s the publisher.”
“Who is he?” Jonathan asked, rinsing the glasses.
“Christopher Montgomery of the Montgomery Group. They own a huge number of newspapers and magazines all over Britain and Ireland.”
“Like a small-town Murdoch or something?”
I dried the glasses and put them in a cupboard. “Yes. Something like that. And he throws his weight around in a similar fashion. I used to hate him. But I’ve discovered he’s not all that bad. Fancies himself too much of course and has an irritating attitude toward women.”
“But he has a nice side too?” Jonathan looked at me while the water gurgled in the pipes as he pulled the plug.
“Let’s call it a ‘not-as-bad-as-he-looks’ side.”
“Or ‘I-fancy-him’ wishful thinking?”
I dried the cutlery and put it in a drawer before I replied. Then I met Jonathan’s eyes. “Okay, I admit it. I fancy him. And maybe I’m hoping he’s better than he looks. But he’s my boss, so that’s a one-way street I’ll never turn into.”
Jonathan leaned against the sink and folded his arms. “Why do you fancy him?”
I sighed. “I don’t know. His bedroom eyes? The way he looks at me? The way my whole body tingles at even the slightest physical contact? I’m ashamed of myself, to be honest, but I can’t help feeling drawn to him. He’s an intelligent man but ruthless. Maybe I want to sleep with him and then kick him in the balls?” I put my hands over my face. “I must be mad. What’s wrong with me?”
“Nothing at all.” Jonathan put his arms around me. “You’re confused. You want to be the cool editor, the career woman without feelings. But then your heart and your hormones get in the way. Don’t worry about it. Stay strong and follow your own star.”
I hugged him back and put my head on his chest. “My star,” I mumbled against his crisp linen shirt. “I’d follow it if I could find it.”
He hugged me tighter. “You’ll find it. But stay cool and don’t get involved with that man. He’ll only break your heart.”
I pulled away and gave him a wobbly smile. “You’re right. You’re a wonderful friend, Jonathan. Thanks for listening.”
He put his hand on my arm. “Audrey, I’ll always be here for you. I know we’ve only just met, but if you need a friend, you know where I am.”
“You’re a brick, Jonathan. Now let’s make coffee to go with the apple pie.”
“Yeah, I’m a brick. As solid as the wall.” He shook himself. “But go on, let’s make coffee and enjoy the lovely day.” There was a sad twist to his smile that puzzled me. Maybe he was also lost and lonely, looking for love? If he weren’t gay, he’d be any girl’s dream. Even mine.
***
Kit called me later that evening. “Are you in bed?”
I turned off the TV. “No. It’s only ten thirty. I’ve just watched the BBC news. What do you want?”
“That, my dear girl, is not something I wish to tell you. But here’s an idea I had. Why not do a launch for the new magazine?”
I sat up. “You’re going to host it at Killybeg? Why don’t you ask Pandora to organise it?”
He laughed softly. “Gosh, no. That wouldn’t go down well with the locals. I was thinking something rural and homespun. A party at that old pub in the middle of town. What’s it called? McKenna’s?”
“McCarthy’s,” I corrected.
“That’s it. We could do country music, pints of Guinness, and that vile Irish food that’s so popular around here.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why?”
“It just isn’t. It’ll cost money, and it would only attract people who’d come for a free drink. Forget it, Kit. There’s going to be a staff party, though. I just spoke to Jerry’s sister-in-law, Jules. She’s throwing us a party on Saturday night at her house, just the staff and a few friends. You’d be welcome too, of course,” I said without thinking.
“Uh, okay. Thanks. I’ll think about it.”
“How long are you planning to stay here?”
“Oh,” he said airily, “I haven’t decided yet. But at least another week. There are some rather spiffing people from Dublin at the hotel right now.”
“Oh, uh, that’s good.” I managed not to laugh at the use of “spiffing.” So very posh boarding school. “Let me know about Saturday night.”
“Right-oh. Talk to you soon. Good luck with the magazine. Looking forward to seeing the first issue.”
Me too, I thought when he had hung up. It was all a bit of a mess, trying to decide on a theme and a new look for the cover. It had to be perfect right from the start. But the articles were shaping up nicely. We were doing a “hero of the week” spot where we’d feature young people who had done something amazing, be it in sports, academics, or cultural pursuits such as Irish dancing or music. Then my own favourite: an interview with a newcomer from a foreign country. As there had been a big influx of refugees and other foreign nationals to rural Ireland, it was important to write their stories. It would make Irish people more inclined to see foreigners as a welcome part of the community who would add colour and new life to small towns such as ours. Many Irish people still clung to old traditions and were suspicious of outsiders. Even I was seen as a blow-in, and that kind of thinking had to be stamped out.
I called Cat in from the garden, closed the windows, and turned out the lights. I was about to get into bed when the phone rang.
It was Jules. “Just to check you’re all right there all on your own.”
“I’m fine.” I sat down on the bed. “Why wouldn’t I be? I love my new flat. It’s the first time in my life I’ve had my own home. I always lived with other people before or in someone’s guest room.”
“About time you had your own place, then. But I—or Marcus, to be exact—thought I should call and check to see if you were all right.”
Marcus. I closed my eyes for a moment. We’d had a fling that had seemed casual at the time, but there were both lingering regret and tenderness between us. It could have been so great if only... “You can tell him I’m absolutely delighted with my flat. Never felt more content, actually. The neighbours are terrific too. Lovely woman next door. And Jonathan O’Regan, the historian, upstairs. So I really fell on my feet when this flat came up.”
“Marcus told the agency about you. They were about to call you when you beat them to it.”
“He did? Well, there was no need. I would have found it all on my own.”
“I know. Anyway, if you need anything, give us a shout. And we’ll see you at the party on Saturday.”
“Oh.” A thought struck me. “I invited the publisher too, hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not. Should be fun to meet him. And how about inviting your neighbours? That nice woman. And Jonathan O’Regan? I’ve seen his TV programme about the Iron Age finds. I’d love to meet him in person. I could listen to him speak for hours.”
“Yes, me too. He has a wonderful voice. Sounds boring, but he’s a very interesting man.”
“Cute too,” Jules chortled.
“Very,” I agreed. “Pity he’s gay. But in a way that’s a good thing. We’re becoming close friends.”
“He’s gay?” Jules said incredulously. “That’s news to me. I mean, it’s never been mentioned anywhere.”
“Maybe he’s keeping it quiet? After all, that’s nobody’s business, is it?”
“Except his ex-girlfriend’s?”
I froze. “What?”
“He used to date a TV producer. A nice woman called Anne-Marie. Tall brunette. I’ve seen pictures of them in gossip magazines at the dentists’. Years out of date of course. The magazines, I mean.”
“Jonathan and a woman? Are you sure it was him?”
“Positive. There couldn’t be another historian with the same name. But they broke up. I think she married someone else, in any case.”
I was speechless. Jonathan wasn’t gay? But Liz had said— What had she said exactly? That Jonathan was “close to his feminine side,” which I took to mean— Which it didn’t. He wasn’t really gay. And I’d been pouring my heart out to him about my sex life and all kinds of other personal details. How embarrassing.
“Audrey?” Jules called at the other end. “You still there?”
“Yes,” I mumbled. “Just a little confused.”
“About Jonathan? Well, you know what? Maybe he discovered he was gay, and that’s why he broke up with her. I mean, there has been no woman since, as far as I know.”
I thought for a moment. “That’s possible, of course. In fact it seems the most likely situation. We’ve become quite close in a very short time but not close enough for him to talk about that kind of thing.”
“Is this a problem for you?”
“Not really. I like him a lot. He’s a terrific friend.”
“Isn’t that enough for now?” Jules asked. “Isn’t it better to just go with the flow and enjoy the friendship?”
I considered this for a moment and realised she was right.
“Hello?” Jules called. “You still there?”
“Yes. Sorry. A bit tired. We’re working so hard on the new magazine.”
“Of course,” Jules soothed. “I’ll let you go. We’ll call around some evening to inspect the new flat.”
She said goodnight, and I hung up, my head spinning. Was Jules right? Or was Jonathan not gay at all? But maybe he and that woman had just been friends, with a relationship similar to ours. He hadn’t talked about his love life during that long warm evening on the terrace. But I hadn’t given him a chance as I rambled on about my own woes. He had listened and been so sympathetic and supportive but never once opened his mouth about any of his own troubles. What was going on behind that sweet expression? And what about Kit? He was showing a nice side I found hard to believe. And then Marcus being so concerned about me. I felt the beginnings of a headache. Things were getting seriously complicated.