~The Fight for Dolores~
By Catherine E. Chapman
Published by Catherine E. Chapman at Amazon
Copyright 2017 Catherine E. Chapman
Kindle Edition, License Notes
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Also by the author
All the Trimmings
Braggot Park
Brizecombe Hall
Clifton
Collected Romances
Danburgh Castle
Elizabeth Clansham
High Sea
Kitty
Miss Millie’s Groom
Opening Night
Rhiannon
The Beacon Singer
The Family Tree
The Hangar Dance
The Laird’s Right-Hand Lady
The Office Party
The Ramblers
Three Medieval Romances
Three Romances
Chapter 1
“Maggie!”
Magdalena O’Reilly swung around in her office chair to face Billy Mulholland, her boss. She knew that tone of his all too well and, in truth, she also knew exactly what had occasioned it.
“What do I pay you for?” Billy asked sarcastically.
“To sell houses,” Maggie replied plainly.
“Then how do you explain the fact that Callum McCoy insists you were trying to dissuade him from buying West Lough Lodge this morning?”
“I was just truthful about the work that needs doing to the place–”
“There’s no need to draw his attention to its shortcomings; he’s probably going to demolish the house and start again anyway. To the McCoy empire, money is no object.”
Maggie raised her left eyebrow. This was one of the things that made her so determined McCoy wouldn’t get his hands on the Lodge.
“Do you always employ such unorthodox methods in your business dealings, Miss O’Reilly?” Callum McCoy had asked her that morning, as he’d stood at a full-length window in the grandest room of the Lodge. ‘Lodge’ seemed an inappropriate description for the sprawling house. In its heyday, this space had been a ballroom.
As he’d spoken, he’d turned to face her and had flashed her the confident smile that Maggie believed intended to mock her.
“It’s my policy to be honest, Mr McCoy,” Maggie had replied as dispassionately as she possibly could. “Accordingly, I have to point out that, whilst, as you say, this is a well-proportioned room, it’s damp.”
Callum had laughed. “As I’ve pointed out, I’m quite happy to make the necessary investments to address the damp issues–”
“I suspect you’re under-estimating the cost. There’s damp throughout the house – the result of it sitting on the edge of the Lough for over a century.”
“If it’s stood for a hundred years, the damp can’t be that much of an issue,” Callum had responded dismissively.
“Please yourself,” Maggie had concluded, aware of how unprofessional she sounded and that nothing she said appeared to sway him. “But, if you ask me, if you buy this property, you’ll simply be throwing away your hard-earned cash.” Immediately she’d uttered those words, she’d regretted them: McCoy hadn’t done a day’s work in his life; he’d inherited his fortune – just another reason to despise him.
Back at the office, Maggie was pondering how much detail of their conversation Callum would have given Billy. She didn’t really care if she was sacked; she had to try to prevent Callum McCoy from buying West Lough Lodge.
“You’re going to have to come clean with him,” Carmel warned, once Billy was safely installed in the back room that was his private office.
Maggie briefly looked up from her desk but said nothing.
“You should have told him about your family’s interests from the start – he’d have put me onto the job if he’d known about the cabin.”
“Feel free to take over at any point–”
“Really?” Carmel asked animatedly. “Oh lord, what I’d give to spend five minutes in the company of Callum McCoy–”
“Please!” Maggie said tiresomely.
“He’s divine.”
“Yuck! You’re old enough to be his mother!”
“Maybe he goes for older women,” Carmel suggested, unperturbed.
“Are you for real?” Maggie said, having to laugh at her friend. More soberly, she continued, “Seriously Carmel, you take over from me. I’m sick of the sight of the man. It will sicken me all the more to watch him buy that house and its grounds.”
“Is that you admitting defeat?” Carmel asked.
“No way. This is just the start,” Maggie vowed.
That afternoon she kept having flashbacks to the vision of him earlier in the day: his strong, tall frame framed in the window; his expensive dark suit –expensive, she knew, because it was tailored to look so casual that it was almost scruffy– being struck by the beams of morning sunlight streaming into the ballroom. She’d watched him run his fingers through his equally dark hair, to brush a stray strand of it from his brow. The haircut was probably expensive too – designed to make him look as if he was in need of another one already. As Callum had turned to face her, and had flashed her his devilish smile, his whole pose had been so relaxed: hands in the pockets of his loose trousers; one leg bent at the knee as he’d rested his foot on the low ledge of the full-length window.
Maggie realised that she hated Callum McCoy; hated him out of all proportion with his identity as the potential buyer of West Lough Lodge – it had become more personal than that already.
“I guess it’s short for Margaret, right?” he’d said in his impertinent American accent. They’d been surveying the bedrooms: she providing him with insight into the many draughts that were sure to plague the upper floors of the Lodge during the winter months, due to the windows being original; he responding to her observations with the nonchalance she had come to expect and appearing far more interested in Maggie than the particulars of the master en-suite.
“No, Magdalena,” she’d replied instinctively, immediately kicking herself for answering his question rather than pointing out its inappropriateness, as she’d ushered him into the bathroom, intent on acquainting him with its antiquated plumbing.
“A lovely name,” he’d remarked, gazing at her with unnerving intensity. His eyes were green, she’d noticed; not brown as she’d expected. “It sounds more Spanish than Irish and suits you perfectly, with your beautiful, long, dark hair.”
Maggie had flatly refused to take the bait of his sidetracks. “Of course, being so old, the house isn’t connected to mains sewerage, so you’d have to pay for maintenance of the many septic tanks, which are notoriously inclined to stink the place out over the summer,” she’d continued in her brusque, Irish lilt.
Callum had shrugged his shoulders. “My grandfather’s vacation place has septic tanks and he doesn’t even know where they are – they’re so reliable.”
Maggie had ignored the comment and reflected that ‘vacation place’ probably meant ‘vacation palace.’ “And I wouldn’t think of swimming in the Lough,” she’d added. “The septic tanks overflow to it.”
He’d nodded his head and, after a pause, asked, “Am I missing something?”
“Sorry?”
“Something in your relationship to this house?” He’d clarified his question tentatively, as
if fishing for the right line of enquiry.
“I’m merely doing my job,” Maggie had maintained defensively, unable to make eye contact with him as she’d spoken the words.
“Another thing,” he’d said, eager to engage her, “O’Reilly, that’s a name I keep encountering hereabouts. Have your family lived here a long time?”
“O’Reilly’s a common name all over the country,” Maggie had responded dismissively.
“You know, my family hailed from these parts originally – it’s possible our ancestors would have known each other,” he’d said, choosing to ignore her dismissal of his question and concluding, “It seems we have a lot in common.”
Maggie had raised her eyebrows at the suggestion. Unable to stop herself, she’d blurted, “I doubt that very much, Mr McCoy. My family aren’t millionaires.”
“Well, I look forward to finding out more about you as the transaction progresses, Miss O’Reilly,” Callum had replied with a pleasant persistence that Maggie had found infuriating.
“Have you seen everything you want to?” she’d asked him finally, instantly regretting her choice of phrase.
It had met with an impish twinkle in Callum’s eye. Momentarily, he’d looked her up and down, replying, “I get the impression from your tone that I’m going to have to be satisfied for one day.”
How he’d persisted in attempting to flirt with her despite her every rebuff, Maggie didn’t know. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr McCoy, I’ll show you out,” she’d said, adding, “I’m already late for my next viewing.”
“You’ve been incredibly helpful,” Callum had continued, beaming at her. “And, for future reference, it’s Cal – please dispense with the formality.”
“I’d rather not,” Maggie had insisted, ushering Callum through the heavy front doors of the Lodge.
* * *
Billy didn’t appear again until it was almost time for them to close the office.
“Go on Maggie,” Carmel said under her breath. “Tell him about your interests in West Lough Lodge.” When Maggie’s response was an evasive glance away from her, she added, “If you don’t, I will.”
The whispering caught Billy’s attention. “Everything alright with you ladies?” he asked.
“Billy, there’s something I need to discuss with you,” Maggie began.
“Shall we talk in private?” Billy asked, ever-sensitive.
“It’s OK; it concerns Carmel too,” Maggie replied, trying to sound casual.
Carmel stared at her colleague, wondering what she was about to say.
“We’ve decided it would be best if Carmel took over the West Lough Lodge file,” Maggie announced coolly.
Carmel noted Maggie’s use of the word ‘file’ – to have said ‘sale’ would have implied more upheaval than she wanted; but Carmel knew that Maggie couldn’t fool Billy.
“Why?” he asked dubiously.
“I can’t stand McCoy; he’s an eejit,” Maggie said bluntly. She really didn’t care if Billy sacked her; he was welcome to use the grounds of her misplaced assertiveness, her lack of professionalism or both.
“Has he made a pass at you?” Billy asked protectively.
“No!” Maggie retorted, offended by the suggestion that she couldn’t cope with unwanted attention. “But I realise that my dislike of him might jeopardise the sale and I don’t want that to happen,” she continued graciously, resulting in a raised eyebrow from Carmel.
“I’d really rather not alter arrangements this late in the day,” Billy said. “I think McCoy is going to say he wants the place any time now.”
“The deal will be sealed all the sooner with Carmel on the case,” Maggie insisted. “Plus, we’ve talked a lot about the file; Carmel’s pretty much up to speed with things already.”
Carmel’s eyes opened wide upon hearing this, until she realised Billy was looking at her.
“What do you say?” he asked.
“It’s fine by me, boss,” Carmel replied agreeably, tempted to add that it was more than fine and that there wasn’t a man on the planet to whom she’d rather show a master bedroom –her heart began to pound at the very prospect– other than her husband, of course.
Shaking his head, Billy announced, “As you wish, Magdalena.”
Maggie smiled understatedly, pleased to get her own way again, if not entirely pleased with the overall state of the conflict with McCoy.
As Billy retreated back into his room, having forgotten why he’d come out of it, Maggie reflected that, in allowing Carmel to take over from her, she was effectively permitting McCoy to at least initiate the purchase of the Lodge. She pondered what actions she could now take to scupper his plans: torch the place, perhaps? But, as Billy had suggested, that might well just be saving him the cost of a proper demolition job.
Maggie had her doubts about Callum’s declared intention to invest in the sympathetic restoration of the house to its former glory. If he was, indeed, aiming to get rid of the old building, one plan of action might be to spearhead a campaign objecting to his proposals on the basis of the Lodge’s historical value.
Maggie was distracted from her thoughts by Carmel, who watched her accusingly. “Happy now?” Maggie asked her rather pointedly.
“Happy that you’re not going to lose us a key sale, so that my job should be secure for the next few months.”
Carmel’s tone told Maggie that there was a ‘but.’ She tried to forestall it, saying, “Good,” with an air of finality.
“But I still think you should have told Billy the whole truth.”
Maggie had to put a stop to this nonsense. “Look, you’ve got what you wanted. I’m off the sale and you can schmooze up to McCoy all you like now. In return, I simply ask that you don’t tell Billy about Dolores – it’s just not relevant.”
Carmel could tell when her friend’s cage was rattled. She realised that, against her better judgement, she’d have to back down, or risk ruining their relationship forever (not ideal when, Billy aside, they were alone in the office together every day). “OK,” she said reluctantly, adding, “I’ll make some coffee.”
But just then a client of Carmel’s came into the office so Maggie offered to make the drinks instead, relieved too, to have reached some sort of resolution with her friend and wanting to have some real, strong coffee, rather than the awful instant stuff Carmel brewed up.
Standing over a kettle she had just set to boil, Maggie considered what the ‘whole truth’ was. In some respects, Callum had been right when he’d suggested that she and he had things in common. Whilst Maggie’s family weren’t rich by any stretch of the imagination, she was proud of the fact that her grandparents had not only defied their families’ objections in marrying one another, but had also founded a successful chain of coffee houses, the proceeds from which had funded the purchase of a small holiday chalet –newly-built at the time– which they’d named, ‘Dolores.’
‘Dolores’ nestled on the opposing shore of West Lough from the far grander Lodge. The windows that ran along the length of the lake-side of the chalet gave a panoramic view across the smooth surface of the water to the relatively palatial house.
Maggie’s family had owned the chalet for nearly six decades now so Dolores shared over half the Lodge’s history with it. Following the death of her grandmother a couple of years back, the cottage had formally been bequeathed to Maggie herself.
Whilst Maggie didn’t consider Dolores her exclusive property –as far as she was concerned, the house belonged to her family– the fact that it was her name on the title deeds meant that she felt fiercely protective towards it.
When West Lough Lodge had gone on the market, Maggie had known it was bad news for her and Dolores. The family who’d owned the Lodge for nearly a century had respected the small properties (Dolores and two similar chalets, which stood either side of it) but Maggie had foreseen that the kind of buyer who’d be attracted to the grand house today –now its value had six zeros on the end of it– would regard the cabins a
s inconvenient eyesores and their inhabitants as intruders.
West Lough Lodge had been billed as an ‘exclusive retreat’ in the promotional material that Billy had produced for it; a label which didn’t conjure up images of squatters on the opposite shore of the Lough.
But the likes of Callum McCoy, even Maggie hadn’t anticipated. Why the reputed New York playboy should even want to reside in the sleepy backwaters of rural Ireland, she just didn’t know.
* * *
The following morning, Maggie arrived at work, only to be informed by Billy that Carmel had already left the office, bound for West Lough Lodge, to show Callum McCoy around the house again.
“Again!” Maggie exclaimed.
“It’s a very promising sign that he’s so eager,” Billy said, in response to which Maggie turned her face away to hide her scowl.
It was a long morning, during which Maggie struggled to behave in a civilised and accommodating manner towards the numerous people who came into the office to browse properties and, in particular, towards Carmel’s clients, whose queries she had to deal with in her colleague’s absence.
When it hit three pm and Carmel still hadn’t reappeared, Maggie stormed into Billy’s office, demanding, “Where is she?”
Just at that moment they both heard Carmel’s greeting called from the shop floor. When they went out to the front, Maggie discovered a Carmel flushed with excitement.
“Well?” Billy said.
“I have everything crossed,” Carmel replied, “not least because I really need to use the bathroom.” She giggled girlishly, disappearing out to the back of the office.
“She can be exasperating,” Billy observed.
“She’s sozzled,” Maggie said scathingly.
When Carmel returned, Billy looked at her seriously and repeated his interrogatory, “Well?”
“I’m very hopeful of an offer,” Carmel said. “If not today, then tomorrow morning.”
Maggie tutted and had to apologise to Billy.
“Good,” Billy said and left them, without further questions.
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