A Secret in Clover Cove: a heart-warming romance set on the beautiful west coast of Ireland

by Maggie Finn

  ‘Okay, okay, I’ll speak to him,’ she sighed. ‘But no dates.’

  She saw Molly and Kate exchange a look.

  ‘We wouldn’t dream of it,’ said Kate with a smirk. ‘Never crossed our minds.’

  Chapter Six

  Danny pulled his Mini into a parking space next to the only other car in the square, briefly considered reversing, then shrugged and turned off the engine. No point in making space when space wasn’t needed. It was rare to see more than three vehicles in the square; surprisingly few people in the village owned cars. If they needed to go down the coast, everyone used the bus, and if they needed to move anything, Davey was happy to offer up his van. The only other car was Tommy McFadden’s lime green Rover parked right by the pub – shortest distance was the best, obviously – and Garvey the Farmer had left some sort of agricultural trailer in the spot next to the fishmongers, not that it sold fish anymore. But that was all. Twenty miles up the road in Ballymintoe, the place would be crammed this time of day, tourists taking pictures of the cute church and the general store with its Gaelic sign and the well that granted wishes if you fed it a Euro. But Bally-em was just off the highway and Clover Cove was hidden away down single-track roads that often led you in a circle back to where you started. And despite Connor having rebranded the pub as a ‘Spa and Suites’, it was still a pub where people looked at you with curiosity when you walked in. That made the few tourists who found their way to the Cove uncomfortable: tourism was supposed to work the other way around, wasn’t it?

  Danny pushed inside. No such curiosity for him; a few nods, a few ‘howsyerselfDan’s, but Danny Brennan was as much part of the village as the leaky vinyl stools by the bar, born and bred in the Cove. He supposed many people might find that reassuring; to be part of a community where you are fully integrated and accepted, but to Danny it was depressing, especially after his conversation with Ciaran and the exciting news that his words – his words – were going to published in The Globe! In New York!

  ‘What’s new Dan?’

  Danny sat at a stool at the end of the bar and clapped Raff the fisherman on the shoulder.

  ‘I’m going to be published in America, Raff. In The Globe.’

  ‘New York, is it?’ said Raff without surprise. ‘Ah, so that’s grand Dan. Calls for a celebration, wouldn’t you say?’

  Danny’s smile faded. It figured: Raff’s enthusiasm was a ruse to get a free drink.

  ‘That’s very generous of you, Raff,’ he said smoothly, ‘But I’ll have to pass just now as I’m actually working. I was looking for Kate actually.’

  ‘Young Kate’s moved to your Ma’s guest house,’ said Mikey.

  ‘She has?’

  Raff nodded solemnly and lowered his voice slightly. ‘For the sake of decency, y’see? Couldn’t keep courting Connor and living in a spa suite here, could she now? People might talk.’

  Danny’s gaze swept across the bar, seeing people who would be only too happy to talk about anything. If gossiping was the national sport – and it certainly beat Hurling and Rugby in terms of participation – then Clover Cove would be able to field a few world-class teams.

  ‘Talk they might,’ he agreed. ‘So is that where she is? The Guest House?’

  Raff shook his head.

  ‘No, I saw her on my way in, said she was heading down to see Tessa.’

  ‘The sculptor?’

  ‘Tchoh. The most beautiful girl in the Cove and you’ve never noticed her? Boy, if I was ten years younger…’

  Aiden cracked up laughing. ‘Sure, and had a body transplant with your man James Bond.’

  ‘I’ve always fancied I had a look of Sean Connery.’

  An earnest discussion followed over the merits of the various incarnations of the super-spy and Danny, having heard it before, slipped out and headed for the harbor, smiling to himself. He had of course ‘noticed’ Tessa; everyone had. It would be hard to miss a gorgeous blonde woman walking on the beach, especially as Danny’s windows overlooked the sand. Danny had seen Tessa close up once or twice – most recently at the church for the village meeting when Kate O’Riordan had laid out the Ross Oil proposals and had been so dramatically broadsided by Connor James. He might have talked to her too, but that night Danny was far too busy trying to get the scoop.

  Danny had even thought to speak to Tessa on one occasion, in the beer tent at the village fete last summer, but she had been talking closely with Sir Charles Balcon; some sort of argument, he thought, which would fit with local rumor. According to the gossip, Tessa and His Lordship had been seen ‘canoodling over lobster’ at the fancy Watch House restaurant up on the headland.

  Danny pulled a face as he followed the twisting cobbled lane down towards the water; he wasn’t exactly sure why the idea of Tessa Drake dating Charles Balcon made him feel so uncomfortable. Perhaps it was because on a cub reporter’s salary, he’d barely be able to afford a starter at the Watch House, let alone expensive shellfish. Or perhaps it was because as a life-long resident of Clover Cove, he shared the villagers’ uneasy relationship with the Balcons, somewhere between cap-doffing respect and grumbling resentment. Not that Sir Charles had ever been anything but charming to Danny and his family, but there was history there. In Ireland, there was always history.

  Danny stopped at the harbor, hands on his hips. Ah, but that was grand, wasn’t it? One in the eye for Ross Oil, eh?

  He smiled. They had drummed it into them at journalism school that a reporter had to be impartial, but it was hard to keep your feelings out of it when you were faced with something so pretty.

  If the Ross Oil project went ahead, it would change the village, perhaps for the better – there would be new roads and more money and so on – but down here, where the sea met the land, all this would change and that would be a terrible shame.

  Danny turned to look at the village buildings and the cottages. Some of that would have to go, too. And where walls were knocked down or homes bulldozed, the families inside would also go. Some of those familiar faces in the bar would disappear. A small thing, perhaps, but Danny had always thought of Clover Cove like a reef, a delicate eco system where every part from the coral to the sharks played its part. Remove one and the whole thing might collapse.

  ‘Ach, get over yersel’,’ he said to himself. The truth was, while Danny was attached to the village – it was where he’d grown up after all – he only stayed in Clover Cove for his mother’s sake. While he enjoyed the view from his house, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been down here to the water. Up early, drive to the station, work late; that was his routine. And due to the office politics at the Examiner – dog eat dog, even if it was only a small-town paper – meant that Danny had barely taken a day of holiday since he’d been working there. In fact, it would make much more sense if he moved to Kilmara permanently.

  So why did he stay? It wasn’t due to the Cove’s sparkling nightlife, and his mother never seemed to appreciate his presence.

  Focus, he told himself. You’re here to see Kate O’Riordan. You’re here to get the story.

  Dany walked up to Tessa’s studio, an old stone building originally created to dry and store fishing nets; the tall shuttered windows designed to let in warming sunshine was presumably now good for the painter too. He paused by the front door, peering in. He could a large open room, paintings propped up all around the walls. And he could see Tessa Blake – her back, anyway – as she bent over a canvas, her brush poised as she added some final touches to a seascape of blues and greens.

  She was evidently concentrating and Danny didn’t want to disturb her, so he gently pushed the door open and tip-toed inside as quietly as he could.

  ‘ScreeEEEE!’

  Heart leaping, Danny span around to see a Siamese cat hissing at him, back arched. Unbalanced, he stepped back and bumped straight into Tessa’s sculpture, the six-foot figurehead statue. It rocked backwards, then began, seemingly in slow motion, began to fall towards him, arms outstretched.

>   ‘No, no, nooo!’ cried Tessa, ‘Look out!’ She jumped up to grab the wooden lady, but missing her aim, threw her arms around Danny instead, pulling him to the ground with a thump. In a flash, Danny rolled on top of Tessa, bracing himself for the impact of a giant wooden woman. He turned just in time to see the sculpture pause in mid-air, then rock back onto its plinth, finally settling safely back where it had started, the haughty look on the figure’s face seemingly arched in disapproval. Danny looked back at Tessa, squished under him, her frowning face only inches from his.

  ‘If you don’t mind…?’ she said.

  ‘Oh, yes, sorry,’ said Danny, quickly jumping up. ‘I was… well, I thought that thing was going to fall on top of you.’

  ‘It was,’ said the girl, rising and dusting off her dungarees. ‘No thanks to you.’

  ‘Me? I, I certainly didn’t mean to,’ said Danny, annoyed that his gallant gesture had been ignored. ‘And I was trying to save you.’

  The girl glared at him.

  ‘I’d have been more impressed if you’d tried to save the art.’

  ‘Well I’m sorry…’ he began.

  ‘Apology accepted.’

  ‘No, I mean…’

  But Tessa had disappeared into the back of the gallery. Utterly confused now, Danny followed to find her throwing dust sheets over the paintings he’d seen through the windows.

  ‘Look, I think we’ve got off on the wrong foot,’ he said. ‘Can we start again?’

  Ignoring him, she finished what she was doing, then crossed to an old enamel sink and began washing her hands. Rude, he thought, just as she turned and fixed him with her blue eyes.

  ‘Fine,’ she said, hands on her hips. ‘But don’t touch anything else, okay?’

  Was there the hint of a smile on her full lips? Danny wasn’t sure, but he was certainly glad that Tessa Drake seemed less angry with him.

  ‘So let’s start again,’ she said, putting out a hand. ‘I’m Tessa. You’re Danny, I take it?’

  ‘Yes, I am,’ he said, shaking. ‘How did you know?’

  The girl definitely smiled this time, although there was a touch of irony attached.

  ‘Everyone’s heard of the famous Danny Brennan. Everyone hangs on your every word in the Cove.’

  ‘I’m not sure that’s true,’ unable to hide a smile.

  ‘Hmm. Maybe you’re right,’ Tessa shrugged. ‘So what can I do for you?’

  ‘Oh, ah. I was actually looking for Kate. Kate O’Riordan.’

  ‘And there I was thinking you’d come to see me. Maybe do a feature on the exhibition.’

  Danny looked at her blankly.

  ‘The exhibition? I hadn’t heard…’

  ‘Not into art?’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Danny, completely wrong-footed. ‘I didn’t know that you were…’

  ‘You have heard of Simon Drake?’

  Danny’s smile dropped.

  ‘Yes,’ he snapped, ‘I have heard of Simon Drake, I’m not a complete eejit.’

  Tessa raised her eyebrows.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry I bumped into your… thing,’ he gestured helplessly towards the sculpture. ‘And I’m sorry for bumping into you too. But there’s no need to be so…’

  ‘Horrid?’

  ‘I was going to say ‘obtuse’.’

  ‘Big word.’

  Danny curled his hands into claws and squeezed his eyes shut. He had never met such a self-centered, spoilt, rude person. He took a deep breath. Be professional, Danny, he said to himself. Find some common ground.

  And then, just to his left, he saw it.

  ‘Hey, is that you?’ he said, bending down. It was a book, propped up on a radiator and on the back cover was a slightly smeared picture of Simon Drake sitting next to a little girl, painting.

  ‘You were a cutie as a kid,’ he said, moving to pick it up.

  ‘Don’t!’ cried Tessa, stepping across and practically snatching it out of Danny’s hands.

  ‘It’s drying. I spilt something on it. Or rather Ghost did.’ She put the book on a table and threw a rag over it.

  Wow, thought Danny. She really is a fruitcake.

  ‘Well if Kate’s not here, I’ll bid you good day,’ he said through tight lips.

  He turned, and carefully stepping around the figurehead, opened the studio door.

  ‘She went for a walk on the cliffs,’ called Tessa. Danny looked back, utterly perplexed.

  ‘Kate. You can probably catch her if you trot.’

  Danny nodded, not at all sure what he would say to her if he opened his mouth.

  As if she was reading his mind, she added. ‘And don’t slam the door.’

  He carefully closed it, then let out a silent scream.

  Chapter Seven

  Tessa was feeling guilty. Worse than usual in fact. She hadn’t meant to be so mean to that reporter Danny; it was just his timing had been so terrible. She looked at the paintings arranged around the Port Quinn gallery. Danny had almost seen these. Tessa swallowed. No, it was worse than that: he’d almost discovered The Lie.

  ‘That everything?’ asked Connor, walking back in through the loading bay, accompanied by his younger brother Ryan.

  ‘Yes, that’s the last one,’ said Tessa. ‘Thanks boys, you’ve saved my life.’

  Connor shrugged.

  ‘Don’t thank us, thank Ken for the loan of the van.’

  Ryan’s eyes twinkled mischievously.

  ‘Oh no, listen to the girl, she can thank us if she likes.’

  Tessa laughed.

  ‘Well, I certainly thank Kenny for the van, but he didn’t move all these paintings here for me, did he?’

  Ryan and Connor had come to the studio and helped her cover each canvas with bubble wrap, then loaded them into Kenny’s van, drove them over here to the Lombard Gallery in Port Quinn. Then they had repeated the process in reverse.

  ‘I think I owe you a drink at least,’ said Tessa.

  ‘It’s not necessary,’ said Connor, but Ryan nudged his brother’s arm.

  ‘Now she mentions it, I’ve an awful thirst on me and Sullivan’s bar is just down the road.’

  Connor gave a rare smile. ‘Alright, just the one though. We have our own pub to run and I don’t want to leave Raff in charge for too long otherwise we’ll have dry pumps. Tess, shall we pick you up on the way back?’

  ‘Sure. And thanks again.’

  She watched them go, the James boys, heartbreakers both. Ryan was young and full of fire and swagger, Connor dark-eyed and brooding. Tessa certainly hadn’t missed the man’s good looks in her time in the Cove, but he’d always been so closed off and preoccupied. Until Kate O’Riordan had rolled into town and somehow melted the ice Connor had built around himself. Tessa sighed. She certainly didn’t begrudge her friend her new found love, she just wished some man would look at her the way Connor looked at Kate. It had been a long time since she had even been on a date. Too long. But, she thought, looking back over at the paintings, at least I have my work.

  ‘Oh my Lord, oh my Lord.’

  Ted Gervis, the owner of the Lombard gallery, scurried in, his face flushed with excitement.

  ‘Tessa,’ he breathed. ‘It’s just… they’re wonderful. I mean, I thought the last collection was breathtaking, but this batch…’ he shook his head, taking on a far-away look. ‘They’re just wonderful.’

  Tessa allowed herself a brief smile, a few seconds of pleasure that were all hers. In that moment, she felt what it must feel like to be Simon Drake. Or rather how it had felt, back in those glory days when people queued up to tell him how his work had moved them.

  ‘They’re going to flip,’ gushed Ted. ‘I won’t be able to keep these paintings on the walls. I mean, look at this one.’ He pulled back the bubble wrap covering a large canvas. ‘Your father has outdone himself this time, hasn’t he?’

  And Tessa’s bubble burst with an almost audible ‘pop’.

  Because there it was: the lie. The reason she had treated Danny so
badly, the reason she hid away in Clover Cove, the real reason she didn’t date. The lie, the guilt and the terrible fear that someone like Danny Brennan would discover her secret: that Simon Drake didn’t paint his art anymore. Tessa Drake did.

  ‘Don’t you think they’re amazing?’ said Ted.

  Tessa’s throat was dry.

  ‘I think they might be some of his best,’ she croaked finally.

  ‘Might be!’ cried Ted. ‘No question. This is as good as the ’98 exhibition. And that was a sensation – not that you remember that, of course.’

  Tessa shook her head and tried not to cry.

  ‘Now, is this all of them? You haven’t kept any back?’

  ‘Actually, there’s one more,’ she said, thinking of the canvas she had been working on when Danny Brennan had walked into the studio, the one he’d almost seen – and the reason she’d been so horrible to him. ‘I’ll bring it over from the studio in the morning.’

  Ted looked at her with admiration.

  ‘I think it’s just perfect how Simon runs them past you first, lets you curate the collection.’

  ‘Who knows him better?’ said Tessa with a weak smile.

  Ted pursed his lips, looking at the collection. Tessa knew what he was thinking: none of the paintings were signed.

  ‘And he’ll be along the night before for the signing?’

  ‘As always,’ said Tessa. ‘You know he likes to see them hanging before he commits. He wants his babies to be perfect before he sends them out into the world.’

  Ted looked troubled, but Tessa touched his arm.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she said reassuringly. ‘He always signs them, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course he does.’

  Of course he does, thought Tessa. What else is he going to do? Paint another?

  ‘Excuse me a moment,’ she said, ‘I left something in the van.’

  Tessa walked back out into the street and down the side of the gallery, past the van and down to the harbor. She sank onto a bench, covering her eyes but still feeling the tears run down her face. The lie.