The Fight for Dolores

by Catherine E Chapman

  “Where have you been all this time?” Maggie asked Carmel as soon as they were alone.

  “Brunch!” Carmel replied, unable to suppress her elation as she said it.

  “Brunch that lasted until the middle of the afternoon!” was Maggie’s response.

  “With Champagne!” Carmel continued, having to share all the detail with Maggie as she knew she wouldn’t be able to share it with her husband that evening without reproach. Despite Maggie’s frown, she couldn’t help but elaborate, “I left my car at the place we went to –very exclusive!– and had a lift home with Callum’s chauffeur–”

  “Uh!” Maggie said disapprovingly.

  “Callum had already booked it all so he said we should go ahead with it anyway, even though you weren’t there…”

  Maggie’s eyes opened wide.

  “Yes, Magdalena, if you hadn’t given up the Lough Lodge ‘file,’ you too could have been enjoying the finer things in life today.” Carmel didn’t mean to sound smug but she couldn’t help it. “I’d never eaten lobster before,” she babbled. “Callum says he eats nothing else.”

  Maggie rolled her eyes, experiencing an emotion that she was adamant wasn’t jealousy.

  A phone was ringing with muffled tones. “My mobile!” Carmel declared and leapt to retrieve it from the handbag she’d thrown down into her desk chair.

  From the conversation that followed, Maggie could tell what was afoot.

  “I’ll contact the family immediately and get back to you as soon as I have an answer,” Carmel said.

  “I’ll make you a coffee – a strong one,” Maggie offered when Carmel ended the call, reluctant to hear what happened next.

  * * *

  A certain amount of negotiation had ensued on the afternoon of Carmel’s lingering brunch, so that Maggie had left the office before anything was concluded. But, when she arrived at work the next morning, the wide smiles on the faces of both her colleagues left her in no doubt as to the outcome of Carmel’s phone conversations. Maggie didn’t want to know.

  When a large bouquet of flowers arrived mid-morning, an over-eager Carmel sprang up from her desk to receive it from the delivery man, only to be disappointed that the small envelope on the bouquet read, ‘Magdalena.’

  Magdalena insisted that the flowers –deep red roses– shouldn’t be placed on her desk –there wasn’t room for such a vast bouquet anyway– and she opened the card with no small degree of trepidation.

  As she feared, it was from him.

  Beautiful Magdalena,

  I’m so sorry that you couldn’t share in the celebrations surrounding my successful bid on the Lodge. This is a small token of my gratitude for everything you did to enable the sale – it wouldn’t have happened without you!

  Once I am resident in West Lough, I intend to explore the locality and hope sincerely that our paths cross again…

  Devotedly,

  Callum McCoy

  Was it a joke? Was he taunting her or did he genuinely think she’d wanted him to buy the house?

  “What does he say?” Carmel asked, intrigued.

  “Oh, just, ‘Thanks,’” Maggie replied dismissively.

  Carmel knew this was nonsense but realised she wasn’t going to get any more out of Maggie. “I suppose, when you’ve sent a bouquet like that, you don’t really need to say much,” she observed, reflecting that she wouldn’t have been so envious if it had been anything other than red roses.

  “You take them home, please, Carmel,” Maggie said soberly.

  “I couldn’t possibly,” Carmel protested.

  “Yes you could,” Maggie said firmly – and she made certain that Carmel did.

  Chapter 2

  To Maggie O’Reilly’s annoyance, Callum McCoy’s purchase of West Lough Lodge progressed smoothly, with no hint of any radical plans on his part to demolish the house. It seemed there was nothing she could do but reluctantly resign herself to her new neighbour.

  When Callum’s ownership of the Lodge looked imminent, Maggie received an official-looking letter through the post. She opened it before leaving for work and wore a wry smile as she read its contents: solicitors acting on behalf of Mr Callum McCoy wondered if she would be interested in selling him ‘Dolores’ on very favourable terms. She tore up the letter and, needing to set off immediately to avoid being late, left the fragments of paper on the sill of a window by the front door of her parents’ house.

  All day at work, Maggie struggled to resist the urge to share news of her letter with Carmel; not that Carmel would sympathise, but it was hard for Maggie to remain silent upon a matter that was constantly occupying her thoughts.

  Maggie had given Carmel very specific instructions not to tell Callum about her ownership of the chalet. To let Carmel know about his attempt to buy Maggie out would only make her more likely to be indiscreet.

  When Maggie returned home after a long day at the office, the sight that beheld her as she entered her parents’ house was the last thing she needed.

  “I suppose you thought you could get away without telling us about this,” her mother surmised, standing in the entrance hall of the house, waving the torn pieces of paper in Maggie’s face before she’d even had a chance to remove her uncomfortably high heels.

  Maggie sighed and braced herself for an interrogation.

  “I’ve spoken to the McNamaras and the Fitzpatricks today: both of them have accepted their offers without question.”

  Maggie looked up from rubbing her sore feet, frowning disapprovingly at her mother’s disclosure.

  “You’re every bit as stubborn as your father, Magdalena. But, on this occasion, even he agrees with me that you should take the money.”

  “No,” Maggie said flatly, brushing past her mother, bound for the kitchen. There, she rifled through the cupboards, looking for the strongest coffee possible, although, after receiving her mother’s news, she really felt she could do with something altogether stronger than coffee.

  “You shouldn’t be drinking that in the evening. I imagine you’ve drunk nothing else all day at the office.”

  “Would you like a cup?” Maggie asked, trying to sound calm.

  “You know I don’t touch caffeine after two in the afternoon.”

  “I’ll make you a nice herbal infusion, then,” Maggie offered diplomatically, taking the small cafetiere that only she used and heaping a generous spoonful of the ground coffee into it.

  Her mother had taken a seat at the kitchen table and now watched her intently. Maggie knew she wouldn’t let this one go.

  “I would have thought that, you being an estate agent, you’d have bitten off McCoy’s hand. What he’s offering is twice what that old shack is worth.”

  “Dolores’ value can’t be quantified.”

  “Nonsense. With that money you could buy yourself a lovely home – one for Paula too.”

  “So you want rid of us now?” Maggie couldn’t help but snap as she stood over her coffee, waiting for it to brew.

  “That’s not what I’m saying, sweetheart, and you know it,” her mother stated firmly. “Your father and I love having you girls here but, for heaven’s sake, Magdalena, you’re twenty-seven. Paula’s nearly thirty!”

  “Somebody mention me?” Paula asked, having swept through the front door, dumped her bag and entered the kitchen in what appeared to Maggie to have been an instant. Paula threw a local newspaper down on the table before her mother. “Am I interrupting something?” she continued, when her opening line met with no response from either of them.

  “Just your sister being impossible as usual,” her mother replied in a tone that suggested she didn’t want to relate the details to Paula just now.

  “What’s with the paper?” Maggie asked, feeling instantly more in control as she leant back against the kitchen counter and sipped at her strong, black coffee.

  “I’m tempted to hit you with it!” Paula replied animatedly, leaping forward to pick up the newspaper and scrolling it up to fashion it into a
weapon. She had just been to the gym and still wore her track-suit. She lunged across the floor and acted out an assault on her sister.

  Maggie fended off Paula irritably, utterly confused as to how she could have offended her today too if she was still ignorant of the McCoy fiasco.

  “Feast your eyes, Mammy, upon the heavenly vision who is the centrefold of this evening’s West Lough Chronicle,” Paula said, un-scrolling and unfolding the paper and setting it down on the table before their mother again. “Can you believe that my eejit sister could have had lunch with this man and she passed over the opportunity?”

  Peering over the table, Maggie was aggravated to see the affable smile that was, unfortunately, now so familiar to her, staring out at the readers of the Chronicle. She quickly calculated that Paula must have bumped into Carmel at the gym to gain such intelligence – she certainly hadn’t provided Paula with it herself.

  Their mother was rapt in reading the article.

  “Why didn’t you tell me he looked like that?” Paula asked Maggie accusingly.

  “Like what?” Maggie replied evasively.

  Paula opened her eyes wide and said, “Get real, Magdalena – he’s dreamy. His eyes are like green pools – you could dive into them–”

  “Have you had your eyes tested recently, Paula?” Maggie responded, rolling her own eyes at her sister’s naivety.

  “Stop bickering!” their mother ordered.

  “Anyway, the good news, Mammy, is that he’s coming to live here,” Paula continued.

  “I know that,” their mother replied with gravity, glancing at Maggie to remind her that she hadn’t forgotten about their earlier discussion.

  It wasn’t long before Paula left them, bound for the shower.

  “I’m not going to tell your sister what you’ve done, Magdalena,” her mother began when they were alone. “It would upset her too much.”

  Maggie reflected that the onslaught of emotional blackmail was inevitable.

  “Although your grandmother left you that cottage, I believe she intended it for both of you. This is Paula’s future you’re destroying too–”

  “How can you say that?” Maggie protested. “I’m keeping Dolores so that her children can play there along with mine, just like we did when we were kids.”

  “The way the two of you are going, I’ll be lucky if there are any grandchildren at all!”

  “You know, when you’re in this mood, Mammy, there’s no point talking to you.”

  “I could say the same for you.”

  Maggie picked up her bag from the back of the chair she’d slung it over and announced, “I won’t be having dinner – I’m going out.”

  “Where?” her mother asked.

  But by this time Maggie was already heading for the door; she chose to pretend not to have heard the question.

  Twenty minutes later Maggie sat at a window-table in a snack bar, eating a burger; she’d made a point of selecting a venue and menu that would have left her mother horrified. It was just too much: contending with McCoy was bad enough but to have her family appearing to fight for his corner too was insufferable.

  She’d had to get out of the house. Sometimes her mother’s relentless criticism was unbearable. Maggie noted that she’d chosen to go on the offensive when her father was absent – a carefully calculated move, no doubt. Her mother couldn’t possibly appreciate what Dolores meant to Maggie because the chalet had belonged to her father’s side of the family. Maggie’s mother just didn’t understand everything Dolores stood for.

  Maggie took another bite of her burger and drank some sickly cola. She had to get out of her parents’ house for good. But how? She and Paula had both been saving to buy places of their own whilst living with their parents; probably, Maggie had to admit, both hoping to meet men who would make their dreams of home ownership come true. That, of course, hadn’t happened.

  Maggie quickly turned her face away from the window, through which she’d been gazing. Callum McCoy was walking along the pavement on the opposite side of the street. It got worse: from the corner of her eye she could see him crossing the road and heading for the door of the café. Maggie hastily wiped her sticky fingers on her napkin and picked up her bag. It was too late either to leave or to retreat to the bathroom. She opened the sizeable handbag, bowed her head and attempted to hide it in the bag as she rifled through its contents. Drawing out and opening a compact mirror, Maggie held it up to her face and, whilst pretending to check her make-up, saw that Callum was standing at the counter and being served.

  It seemed like an eternity before he received his order, which, to Maggie’s relief, was in a take-out bag. Within moments he was gone.

  Maggie heaved a sigh and slurped the last dregs of cola through the straw in her cup. Good riddance to him. Suddenly a thought occurred to her. The solution to her problem had been staring her in the face all the time. How could she not have seen it?

  Magdalena O’Reilly already owned a home of her own and there was nothing to stop her from going to live there. In fact, if she went to live there, she’d be killing two birds with one stone: escaping her parents and strengthening her position in her conflict with McCoy. Perfect!

  * * *

  The following day, having been constantly distracted from work by her preoccupying thoughts of independent living, Maggie once again found herself staying late at the office – this time just to complete tasks she should have finished already. By 6pm both Billy and Carmel had left but Maggie remained seated at her desk, engrossed in the details of a new property that had come onto their books.

  The door to the office opened. Without looking up, Maggie called, “Sorry, we’re closed.”

  “Then what on earth are you still doing here, Miss O’Reilly?”

  Maggie stifled the urge to look at the speaker, knowing very well his identity. “If you have an enquiry regarding the Lodge, you’ll need to wait till tomorrow to see Carmel,” she said, glancing up from her desk but not actually looking at Callum McCoy.

  He had walked across the office floor and now loomed over her desk. “It’s you I wanted to see,” he said, in a tone that Maggie would have had to describe as commanding, had she been asked.

  Against her better judgement, Maggie looked up, only to see his piercing green eyes staring down at her intently. She was vaguely aware of a strange sensation in the pit of her stomach but her head was preoccupied with the question of whether he knew about Dolores.

  Maggie tried to hold Callum’s gaze but it was hard. Disliking the fact that he towered above her, she got up from her chair. However, she immediately regretted the move: having taken off her heels, she was dwarfed by him, even when she was standing, and she felt anxiety upon recalling Paula’s comment that, without heels, Maggie was ‘dumpy.’

  “I have a problem,” he said.

  Maggie said nothing in response.

  “Well, I have two problems, to be precise. And I suspect you have the answer to both of them.”

  Maggie tried to wear her best dubious expression but staring him in the face was unnerving. She had to look away. “I’m just about to leave,” she said.

  “Good, that solves my first problem; you can come to dinner with me.”

  “Huh?” Maggie replied, truly amazed at his arrogance. “I already have plans,” she stated.

  “Change them,” he replied instantly. “Whatever you were going to have for dinner this evening, I can better it.”

  ‘Really?’ she was tempted to ask, given what she’d learnt about his dining habits yesterday – the snack bar certainly didn’t serve lobster! But, of course, she mustn’t let him know that she’d been at the café too. “I’m sorry Mr McCoy, I don’t have time for games.”

  “But you do have time for dinner, right?” he said irrepressibly.

  “No, I don’t,” Maggie replied firmly.

  “That’s a shame because I really wanted to pick your brains about a professional matter–”

  “It’s Carmel you need to sp
eak to,” Maggie said briskly, making to put away the papers that were strewn about her desk.

  “But you seem to have a better understanding of things; this isn’t about the Lodge itself.”

  Realising what he was likely to be referring to, Maggie waited to hear him out.

  “I’m looking to acquire the vacation cabins at West Lough,” Callum began, having finally turned off the charm, to Maggie’s relief.

  She nodded her head and tried to look disinterested.

  “Two of them, no problem, but the third is a tricky customer.”

  “Really?” Maggie said, now looking him steadily in the eye.

  “I wanted your advice on dealing with them–”

  “If they don’t want to sell to you, you’ll just have to accept it,” Maggie responded instantly.

  “But I’ve offered twice what the property is worth already–”

  “It must be of sentimental value to them,” Maggie said dispassionately.

  “But it’s a wreck! It’s falling apart and they’re never there,” he said.

  “That’s not true. How do you know…?” Maggie snapped, having to stop short and pull herself together.

  He was looking at her strangely, as if pleased he’d unsettled her. Annoyingly, he waited for Maggie to speak again.

  “Look,” she began, trying to sound calm and measured, “you’re the sort of man who thinks everything and everybody has its price.” To her consternation, the remark didn’t seem to offend him. “But there are some things –and some people– that money can’t buy, Mr McCoy.” Maggie was pleased with the statement – she felt she’d put it perfectly.

  “So you won’t have dinner with me?” Callum asked, infuriating Maggie with the return of a glint in his eye as he posed the question.

  “No!” she repeated irritably.

  He sighed and threw back his head in mock despair. “Do you know what you are?” he asked her.

  Maggie shook her head.

  “You’re a totally impossible woman, Miss O’Reilly.”