Chapter Ten

He'd wriggle his way between a tree and its bark.

—Irish Saying

 

Despite the knowledge that Dev Gilvane was lying in wait, Jenna had found the zone, and what a sweet place it was. The passion of creating was why she had become a chef, not to deal with front-of-the-house hassles or half-reliable suppliers. She found her happiness in the perfect turn of the wrist and the searing heat of the line.

Without turning from her sauté pan, she called to Hector on the broiler, "How much longer on the beef?"

"Up."

Jenna turned and readied a plate for her entree. Just then, Evie came into the kitchen.

"Dev Gilvane's says he's needing you," she said from her spot opposite Jenna's station. The comment ended with an innuendo-laden snicker.

Jenna turned away. She had enough matters to juggle without adding Evie. "Tell Mr. Gilvane that I don't have time to talk with guests tonight."

"And here I was thinking he's more than a guest."

"Save it," Jenna ordered as she turned back to plate the Dingle Bay scallops on a bed of saffron basmati rice and added tiny dollops of caviar garnish. She slid it across the counter so that it was next to Hector's beef. "Your food's up, Evie. Take it and get out."

"But—"

When the waitress still lingered, Jenna added a blunt, "Now."

Evie's mouth took a sullen downturn as she gathered her plates. "You needn't get nasty with me. And your Mr. Gilvane's tending bar."

"He's what?"

Having gained the upper hand, the waitress left.

Jenna rounded to the other side of the counter, yanked off her lucky cap and wrenched out of her apron.

"Cover for me," she called to Hector, who said something in Portuguese that she suspected translated to "get stuffed."

In the library she found Dev Gilvane behind the bar, just as advertised. Instead of his usual evening attire of a custom-tailored suit, he'd discarded the jacket. His shirt's cuffs were folded midway up his tan forearms. Jenna took in his broad shoulders and the bit of skin at the base of his throat, where he'd unbuttoned his collar. A thought flitted through her mind, one of how it would feel to put her mouth just there. How warm he'd be... If his heart would beat swiftly...

She forced her gaze upward and was relieved to be irritated by the intimate twinkle in his dark eyes. He appeared content, at ease, the lord of her damn manor.

"Where's Padraig?" she asked.

"Nursing a bloody nose in the men's room. I don't believe it's broken, though."

While she tried to process this information, he cheerfully added, "Padraig's nose, not the facilities."

"Thanks."

She looked around for some hint of what might have happened. Only one item other than her bartender was missing. "Where's my Portmeiron dog?"

"That hideous thing on the bar? A victim, luckily."

She had liked that statue, dammit. "A victim of what?"

"Padraig's girlfriend, who discovered there's already a Mrs. Padraig. Strong arm on the woman. She swung a mean purse."

"Great." Padraig down, Saul missing, Aidan home sleeping off the remnants of a reaction to the painkiller he'd been given. Not to mention the busboy she had yet to hire. Muir House had reached critical mass.

"So, shall I get Rose her cocktails?" Dev asked, and then gave the waitress a friendly smile. "I'm glad to help."

Jenna's answer was fast and certain. "No."

She could always put Evie behind the bar and have Niamh take over the waitress's tables. Or not, she decided, recalling Evie's Beltane gift of the restaurant's wine. To his credit, Dev wasn't prone to the theft of objects as small as bottles. He was more about taking the entire property.

Niamh appeared. "Evie claims she's having a migraine set in and needs to go home. I'll handle her guests."

Evie wasn't sick, and Jenna knew a payback when hit by one.

"Have you seen my sister?" she asked.

Niamh shook her head. "I looked, but she's not about."

It occurred to Jenna that she hadn't seen Maureen, either, since they'd been chased inside by the helicopter this afternoon. Automatically she glared at Dev.

He moved from behind the section of antique mahogany pub counter. "Pride stuck somewhere mid-throat, is it?"

"This has nothing to do with pride." A lie, but it sounded good.

"Ah, then it's having to be grateful to me."

"So, shall I...," Niamh prompted.

"Yes," Jenna said. "And thank you."

Niamh departed, Rose waited for her drinks, Hector was no doubt tearing apart the kitchen, and Dev looked at his watch.

"You've got a good bit of the evening to go," he pointed out.

"I know." She wanted to owe him nothing, but she was trapped. "Do you think you can handle this?"

He laughed as he stepped back behind the bar. "I've handled five-hundred-million-pound acquisitions, so I doubt a whiskey and water will throw me."

She gave a dismissive flick of her hand. "Those are just zeroes after a number. If you don't know how to make a drink, ask Rose or Niamh."

And then it was back to the kitchen to cajole a hungover Portuguese chef into finishing the night.

 

Jenna sent the last meal out of the kitchen at ten. Another hour past that and she and Hector had finished their cleanup. Hector found himself a belated hair of the dog while Niamh and Rose filled pepper grinders and sugar bowls. Jenna worked up the energy to deal with Dev.

Gratitude for his help battled with a very healthy mistrust of the man. That was a difficult enough mix without adding in the simmering sexual curiosity that she couldn't quell. Stalling, she stopped in the ladies' room. There, she washed her hands with lavender-scented soap, winced at the pale and tired face looking back at her in the mirror, and then did her best to fix her hair. Giving good looks up for lost, she left.

When she arrived in the library, she saw no sign of Dev, but he must have heard her.

"And they say the Irish drink," he said from deep within a wing chair in front of the dwindling fire. "Try a group of Americans."

Danny Kilbride, who was wheeling in the vacuum cleaner to give the rugs their nightly once-over, nodded in righteous agreement.

"Fu... Uh, damn right," he said.

Willing her aching feet to hang on just a bit longer, Jenna walked to the fireplace. Dev smiled a greeting. He was more sprawled than seated, his black hair was untidy, and for the first time he looked tired to her.

"Americans? Ah, the McGuire party," she said. One wealthy set of parents, three grown children with spouses all seeking their roots equaled an enormous dinner bill and apparently, even a bigger bar tab.

"Yes, the McGuires. What the hell is a Manhattan, other than an island?"

Jenna smiled. "A drink I was sure died before we were born."

"As it should have," he commented.

Niamh drifted in. "If there's nothing else you're needing, Jenna, I'll be on my way."

"I'm all set, and thanks for covering tonight. I don't know what I would have done without you."

"Tried to do it all yourself, of course," Dev supplied.

Niamh chuckled. "I'm glad to help. It's part of the business, though if I run off to Majorca for some sun next week, I expect you'll not complain."

"At least not to your face," Jenna replied, softening the words with a smile. "Speaking of running off, have you seen Maureen at all?"

"Not once," Niamh replied.

Danny Kilbride looked up from his work. "I saw her down to O'Connor's earlier. She came in with Lorcan, but—" He stopped short and fussed with the cord to the Hoover.

"But what?" Jenna urged.

"I shouldn't be talking. It's not my business."

"But it's mine, Danny. What happened?"

He turned a shade of red close to that of his hair and stammered out an answer. "She—she was drinking, you see, and not just a little. Lorcan was none too happy. And then she left without him."

"Alone?"

"No, with a group of students. Americans." The last word was spoken with a certain lack of fondness.

"What time was this?" Dev asked.

Jenna was startled by his question. He scarcely knew Maureen.

"No later than nine," Danny replied.

Jenna checked her watch and frowned. She wasn't Reenie's keeper, but still she would have expected her sister to say something before taking off for the night.

"Maybe I should check the village," she said.

"Pat's still there," Danny said, referring to his brother. "I could ring him." He'd pulled his cell phone from his pocket before Jenna could even thank him.

While he talked, Jenna sent Niamh home, assuring her that everything was under control. But the burn in Jenna's stomach told her she'd overstated the case.

Danny hung up and said to Jenna, "No sign of her."

"Thanks for checking," she said. Worry moved upward, becoming a physical ache at the back of her neck.

Danny switched on the vacuum.

Frowning, Dev stood. "Your office?" he suggested over the noise. She nodded her assent.

As they neared the service hall to the kitchen, another thought struck Jenna. "Did you get to eat tonight?"

He paused before saying, "No, and until you asked, I'd forgotten."

"Well, let me make you something before you take off, okay?"

"I won't be leaving until your sister is home," he said very matter-of-factly.

His concern over Maureen had surprised her, but these words set her back on her heels. "You don't have to stay."

"And you don't have to be alone."

She considered which was more unsettling: waiting for Maureen in solitude, or with Dev Gilvane. Her conclusion was unexpected. "Maybe you could stay for a while."

"As long as you wish."

He was working his way past her defenses, and it frightened her. She reached for familiar ground. "Would you like an omelet?"

"Perfect," he said.

They entered the kitchen, and Jenna tried to relax.

"Let me get a few things together," she said, but Dev was already occupied by gazing into Harold's tank.

She'd almost forgotten sending Dev's phone to swim with the fishes. Or at least a lobster.

"Do you think your friend, here, would mind if I retrieved my phone?" Dev asked.

"I'm sure he's fine with it. I shouldn't have disturbed him that way."

Dev laughed. "It's grand you've at least got his comforts at heart."

"Harold doesn't give me much grief."

"And I do. The burial at sea was nearly deserved," Dev said with a touch to the glass that separated him from his phone.

"Nearly?"

"Had it not been my mum, I'd give you full dispensation." He pushed one sleeve past his elbow and flexed his fingers. "The creature looks old enough. He doesn't move very quickly, does he?"

"No more than a slow crawl," Jenna said as she pulled a couple of eggs from the reach-in fridge beneath the front of the sauté station. "At least, I don't think so. He's never had much in the way of incentive."

She stood in time to see Dev dipping his hand into the tank.

"Well, let's hope he doesn't find my fingers appetizing. That's a fine lobster...stay," he directed Harold.

Jenna held back a smile. "I'm a bad pet owner. I haven't trained him yet."

Dev came up with his cell phone.

"This is your pet?" he asked. "What about the little dog on the big rope?"

"Roger? He's Vi's. I was just watching him."

"That's a relief. I thought he'd been hanged for poor behavior."

"Funny," she said. "I'll be right back." She headed to the walk-in refrigerator and gathered a plum tomato, some fresh herbs and scallions, and a bit of cheese.

When she returned, Dev was using one of the kitchen's white utility towels to dry the remains of his phone.

"This has been one bloody long night," he said.

And destined to grow longer yet, unless Maureen called or returned. Glad for even the simple distraction of an omelet to make, Jenna busied herself seeding and dicing the tomato.

"Your sister," Dev asked, "has she done this before?"

He seemed to have picked up on her thoughts. This knack of his gave her a sense of having known him for more than the several days that had passed.

"No, but Maureen hasn't been here long." She hesitated. "I really don't know her that well. But honestly, it wouldn't surprise me if she had some of the same issues I did when I was her age."

"Ah," was all he said in return.

Heat crept to Jenna's cheeks. Her words had felt cleansing, but this was no confessional. And despite the cult rumors she'd been happy to spread in Ballymuir, Dev was far from clergy of any sort. For the first time that she could recall, she had overstepped. Usually, she failed to reach far enough.

"I'm sorry," she said without looking up from her work. "You don't need to hear all of this. I'll just stick with the cooking."

"No, tell me about your sister," he urged. "I'm an only child. Except with my schoolmates until I got bigger than them, I've had none of the name-calling and what-not."

He was easing her past her embarrassment, and she was grateful. "Well, I'm eight years older than Reenie, so we didn't do much growing-up together. And what little we did just proved my father's theory that I'm a changeling."

"A changeling?" he echoed.

"You know the old tale," she said as she whisked the eggs. "The real baby is taken away by the spirits and a cursed replacement left in its place."

"Your father compared you to this?"

Jenna spoke as she poured the eggs into the pan and worked the omelet into shape. "For what it's worth, he didn't say it directly to me. I overheard him talking to my mother one night." She paused to add a sprinkling of freshly chopped chives to the pan. "I must have been about ten at the time. He'd been drinking, but that was true pretty much every night, so I can't say that excused him. Anyway, the next morning I asked my nanny what the word meant." She shrugged. "At this point in my life, it's no big deal."

"But the unconditional love of a parent is a big deal, indeed," Dev said. His mouth curved into a brief smile, as though he was amused by the American phrase delivered with an unmistakable Irish accent. "My father was a distant man, but never cruel. And with my mum, there's no doubt of her love. But I'm thinking your father must be a very unhappy man. That's nothing to say about one's child."

"Well, there's the rub. My father doesn't think he has children so much as he has props for business and social events. And I wasn't much to brag about when I was a kid." She sprinkled smoked Gouda cheese and tomato bits onto half of the eggs and then deftly folded the omelet. "But I got over taking it personally a while ago. Going sober and making it stick involved a lot of therapy sessions. Now I understand why things were the way they were, when I was growing up." She was still working on forgiveness, though. She'd found that a more difficult challenge than sobriety.

"You're an amazing woman, Jenna Fahey," Dev said.

She glanced over at him and was warmed by the empathy she saw on his face. "I'm a work in progress. Your omelet, however, is done. As is the topic of my father," she added with a smile.

Dev nodded his understanding.

"Follow me," she said after she'd plated his meal.

While they sat in the war room and he ate, Jenna fought back worry about Maureen.

"Do you think I should call the Gardai?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No, they'd think you were another anxious American. It's been only a few hours. Give her the chance to come home on her own. She's hardly unsophisticated."

Jenna contemplated the image of Reenie dumping the tray of fish. "I don't know. I'm beginning to see that she puts on a good front, but that worldliness doesn't run deep."

Dev stood and gathered his plate and cutlery. "Shall I wash this up?"

"We'll leave it for Emer. If she doesn't have a mess waiting for her, she worries about losing her job."

He laughed. "There's not much difference between my position and your dishwasher's, then."

A passing comment, but one that led to a question that had been bothering her for days. Jenna showed him where to stack his dishes, and added hers from her cooking, too. As they left the kitchen, she said, "You know, you've never said exactly what you do for a living, Dev."

Timing and quick reflexes: with these skills Dev had seized success. But here—now—when Jenna had given him the opportunity to bring out the truth, he found himself unwilling to inflict hurt. Except that through delay, he would only make matters worse. Buying time, he asked where she might like to wait for her sister.

"My office," she replied.

They were there all too soon.

"Let's sit," he said, gesturing at a thickly cushioned blue sofa.

Dev settled next to Jenna. She was close enough to touch, should he be so foolhardy. Shadows lingered in her hazel eyes, and she held herself with wariness.

"We should talk about this afternoon," he said. "We need to get it out of the way."

She looked down at her hands. His gaze was drawn there, too. Her nails were blunt, but her fingers long and surprisingly delicate-looking. A mysterious mix, just like the woman herself.

"About the helicopter, you mean?"

"Yes, that, and what I'm doing in Ballymuir, too." He summoned the truth. "Jenna, we both know that I haven't been on holiday, but I also haven't been looking at Muir House for myself."

She watched him, so silent, so still, that it seemed almost torture to sit under her steady gaze.

"You could have been honest with me days ago. Why now?" she finally asked.

He was a man of many words, but they had fled. "Because now I want no misunderstandings. Now there's more to us than this damn house."

"Is there?" Her words carried a deeper hurt than their current mess. After what she'd said about her father, he knew this. But he also knew that words alone would never separate the way it might seem that he'd been using her from her father's poor behavior.

"You know there is." He reached out to touch her hair, but she drew back.

"Please don't touch me," she said. "Just talk."

"If that's what you wish. I'm with Harwood International, out of London. It's—"

"I know what Harwood is."

Dev gave up on softening any of his words. "I'm second-in-command of the resorts division. I was asked to scout a site in Ireland."

"And you've settled on Ballymuir?" she asked. "Galway's too pedestrian? Kildare's overdone?"

"Jenna—"

"I asked you at Kilmalkedar and I still want to know. Why Ballymuir?" She'd spoken in a quick cadence, yet so controlled that it was nearly dispassionate.

"I came here because—because—" He dragged in a breath and tried again. "I can't tell you why I came here. I don't know myself, except that the name was familiar, and faced with an unacceptable assignment, it was the easy choice." He trailed off, leaving unspoken the odd feeling that instinct had lured him here, too. But he was better damned a bastard than a lunatic.

"Don't take this so personally," he said.

"It couldn't be any more personal. Have you suggested Muir House as a site?"

"I've forwarded information." And done more, including securing an option on adjacent land.

"So Ballymuir was the easy choice," she said. "Then what about the easy solution? If there's more to us than my home, prove it."

He knew the impossible path she was taking, yet still he asked, "How?"

"Pull Muir House from consideration."

"I can't."

"I see. It's not so easy, then, is it?"

"You don't bloody see at all." He turned to what he knew, what he could account for in pounds sterling. "This is business, Jenna. Cold, impersonal business. What would you have me do, tell them now that I've met you, wanted you...hell, hungered for you, that it would be wrong to proceed? That I was wrong?"

Her finely arched brows curved upward, but she left him to slog in his guilt.

"It doesn't work that way, and you know it," he accused. "You're a Fahey. I know your family's background. You understand business. But what you don't seem to understand is that I'm not using you."

She stood and put a distance between them. "I don't see what point there is in talking any more about this. Instead of fighting just you, I've got a multinational corporation going at me."

He left the sofa and closed in on her. It pleased him to see anger in her eyes. Anything was better than chill indifference.

"The point in talking is this." He drew her closer and despite her unwillingness, kissed her, took her mouth, owned it, and commanded more. But beneath the demand, one word repeated in his thoughts: please. Please soften, please bend, please want as I do.

God, how this man can kiss, Jenna thought. And it was a low act, a desperate act, trying to sway her with kisses. It was also one that had been attempted by others. She was wiser now. She would not give up her heart just to come second again, and this time behind her own house.

Jenna turned her face away from Dev's, but he wouldn't set her free. Instead he kissed her low on her throat, at the exact spot she'd earlier imagined kissing him. His tongue pressed against her skin, sending a thrill through her. Her ethical stance was losing ground to her body's instinctual response.

"Don't," she said.

"Don't what?" He cupped her breast, brushing his thumb against the nipple. Even with the barrier of clothing between them, it rose to his touch. "Don't want you as you want me?" he asked.

"Don't complicate things."

"They needn't be. We have this. We shouldn't, but we do, and it could be amazing if you'd just let it." His mouth again neared hers, and he whispered the one word that she least expected to hear: "Please."

As she drew in a surprised breath, he kissed her. She intended to push him away, but instead found herself flexing her fingers against his strong upper arms, like a cat kneading with pleasure.

Please. Usually it was a small politeness, casually spoken. Yet she sensed that in this instance, it was none of those things to Dev. It was a word of need, perhaps even capitulation.

Please... Pleasure... She let her tongue tangle with his.

She'd had enough darkness in life, and she knew there was more to come. Soon, too. But maybe what Dev asked wasn't impossible. For the time that he remained in Ballymuir, she could keep her heart to herself, yet still enjoy his touch, revel in his taste, and perhaps even finally experience passion.

Jenna drew back far enough to give him a quiet, "Yes."

His arms closed tighter around her. She rested her head against the crisp white cotton of his shirt and listened to the rapid rhythm of his heart.

After a moment he tilted up her chin until she met his gaze.

"I'm sorry I've told them about the house," he said. "If I could change matters, I would. And I promise I'll try to find a better site."

Jenna stiffened. His words were tearing at the gossamer-thin curtain she'd just hung between pleasure and reality. "Please don't mention Harwood again."

He frowned. "But if there's something—"

She settled her fingers over his mouth. "Nothing more. I need your word."

He gently nipped at the pads of her fingertips, and then clasped her hand in his as she pulled it away. Dev looked at her for a beat of the heart, then two more. She couldn't imagine what he was seeking. Finally he kissed her palm. "You have my promise. And Jenna, you won't regret this."

Jenna drew him back to the sofa so they could wait for Maureen. No regrets, she thought as she relaxed against Dev. It was a wonderful concept, but probably impossible to achieve.

 

The shrill ring of a telephone jarred Jenna awake from a deep, warm sleep. She shifted, noting that she seemed to be atop Dev and that his arms were around her. It felt close to paradise. The phone rang again. Alarm shot through her when she recalled why she wasn't in her bed and for whom she waited.

"Sorry," she blurted as she untangled herself. Jenna scrambled off the couch, bounded to her desk, and grabbed the phone.

"Hello?"

"Jenna?"

The caller was whispering. Out of instinct, she pushed the phone closer to her ear. "Reenie?"

Jenna glanced over at Dev, who seemed to have come wide awake. He was sitting up and combing one hand through his sleep-mussed hair.

"Wait. Hang on," the voice on the other end of the line hissed.

"Maureen?" Jenna repeated.

Dev rose and came to stand beside her.

"I'm back," Maureen said in thin voice. "I thought I heard someone."

"Where are you?"

"I'm not sure."

"What?"

"I got a ride to O'Connor's and while I was there, I met these guys. They seemed nice, but now I can't get out."

Her sister's words had come in such a rush that Jenna struggled to sort one from the next.

"From O'Connor's?" She glanced at her watch. It was after three, well past legal closing time.

"No. We drove to another pub in Castlegregory, and then back to their place. I kind of passed out. I woke up in this—this room. It's too high up to jump out the window, and I can't get out, so I'm using my cell phone to call you."

"What do you mean, you can't get out?"

"The door is locked from the outside. What the hell kind of country is this, with doors that can lock you into a bedroom? I mean, what if there's a fire, or an abduction—" Her breath hitched, just a fraction away from a sob.

Jenna spoke firmly, trying to calm her sister. "Reenie, think about what you saw when you were driving. Can you remember anything?"

"Of course I can," her sister snapped. "I'm not a total idiot."

That would be a subject open to discussion once Maureen was safe.

Dev settled a hand on Jenna's shoulder. "Do you know where she is?"

"Maybe around Castlegregory." Not far by miles, but separated from Ballymuir by a stretch of mountains.

"Put her on the speaker phone."

Jenna did as directed.

"Maureen, this is Dev Gilvane. Can you describe for us what you saw?"

"When we drove from the pub, we turned right, up toward the mountains."

"How long did you travel?" Jenna asked.

"Sounds to me like she's near Camp," Dev said in a low voice to Jenna, referring to a village by Castlegregory. "Look out the window, Maureen. Are there lights from other houses about?"

"Yes, but not many." Now she was definitely crying. "I was going to start screaming, but then I thought, what if they come back? I mean, they locked me in, after all. Oh, God, I really messed up."

Feeling protective of her sister's dignity, Jenna switched the call off the speaker and back to the handset.

"I'm going to gather her home," Dev said. "The village is small enough that I'll not miss her."

"Hang on, Reenie." She muffled the mouthpiece with her palm. "She's my sister, I'll get her. I can call the Gardai, then head out," she said to Dev.

"Think about this, Jenna. Who has the faster car? Who has explored every drivable inch of land over the past week?"

His arguments were sound, practically unassailable, but the idea of just sitting and waiting made her stomach knot.

"Let me go to her for you," he said. "Please."

Again, a please. She could not refuse him.

"Jenna? Jenna?" she heard her sister calling. "Don't hang up on me!"

She uncovered the phone. "I'm here. Dev's coming for you, and I'm going to have to put you on hold while I call the police on my other line. Then I promise I'll stay and talk to you."

Maureen sniffled. "All right, but I think the battery on my phone is low."

"Okay. Then we'll save it. Give me your number." She did, and Jenna jotted it down on the pad and paper Dev scooped from her desk and handed to her. "Is there a light in the bedroom?"

"Yes."

"Keep flashing it on and off so Dev or the police can find you."

He nodded his approval.

"You'll be okay, Reenie," she promised. "Now hang up."

For once, Maureen obeyed.

"I'll need to get my suit coat from the library." Dev said. "And do you have a cell phone I could use?"

"Sorry. I think I'm the last person in Ireland without one."

He shook his head. "No, there's two of us, just now."

Before she could bludgeon herself with guilt, he leaned forward and quickly kissed her. "You call the Gardai, and I'll call you from Maureen's phone as soon as I can."

He left.

Jenna made her call and settled in to worry some more. After a time she reached the point where she was checking her watch only every three minutes. The wind rattling the loose shutters outside her office window, the creaks and groans that were part of an old house's chatter, all of them seemed amplified to her ears.

Funny how being alone unsettled her when it had always been a comfort. Maybe that was because this time she waited for someone, when all the nights before she'd believed herself safe in her solitude. Minutes piled one on top of another until almost an hour had passed. Finally the phone rang, and Jenna grabbed it.

"Hello?" she said over the loud echo of her heart.

"I have her."

Dev. The thought of him brought a warmth that, for a change, had nothing to do with anger. "Is she okay?"

"She's sleeping."

Jenna smiled. "She must be exhausted to pull that off, the speed you drive."

His laugh was warm and intimate. "Some Faheys have more trust than others."

"I'm trying to trust you, Dev."

He was silent a moment, as though testing her words for truth. "Thank you for that."

"Safe home," she said, giving him an old Irish farewell, though in this case she meant it as a welcome, too.

For however long, Dev Gilvane was now part of her life.