What Happened That Night: The page-turning holiday read by the No. 1 bestselling author

by O'Flanagan, Sheila

  ‘Are you learning much?’

  ‘Loads,’ Bey replied. ‘The Jurados take such care about their work. Their cutting is exquisite and they polish and polish until the silver is like a glass lake.’

  ‘What about your own designs?’

  Bey told her about the ring she was working on, and said that the Jurados wanted an entire collection of her designs for their shop.

  ‘Would you like to stay there with them?’

  Bey shook her head. ‘They couldn’t afford to take on an extra person full time. Besides, I really want to work with precious gems. The Jurados use crystals and glass stones. They’re lovely, but they’re not diamonds.’

  ‘You’re such a snob!’ Lola laughed. ‘I like Swarovski myself. And it’s a lot less scary to lose a crystal necklace than a diamond one.’

  ‘I’m working on the kind of clasp that will mean you’ll never lose your jewellery at all,’ said Bey. ‘And don’t tell me you prefer crystals over diamonds. You’re not fooling me for an instant.’

  ‘I don’t suppose I ever could,’ said Lola.

  ‘You’ve had it painted!’ Bey put her case on the floor and looked around the small house. ‘It’s lovely, Mum, really lovely.’

  ‘It is, isn’t it?’ Lola smiled in satisfaction.

  ‘Totally. And you’ve had the floors redone too. It’s totally a single-lady pad now.’

  ‘Never think that.’ Lola was aghast. ‘It will always be your home, Bey. No matter what. You know that.’

  ‘Of course I do,’ said Bey. She gave her mother a hug. ‘All I meant was that you can see your personality shining through. I love the artwork.’

  Lola grinned. The canvas had been done by her fourteen-year-old nephew, Sean, her sister Gretta’s oldest child. He’d won a prize in the Texaco Children’s Art competition with it. It was called Moo Cow , and was an almost comic-strip rendition of a black and white cow on a yellow background. It brightened the living room considerably.

  ‘I’m waiting for him to become famous,’ she said. ‘Then I’m going to sell it for a fortune.’

  ‘He’s really good, isn’t he?’ Bey looked at it critically. ‘It’s very clever.’

  ‘We’re an arty family,’ said Lola.

  ‘You think?’

  ‘Of course. You. Sean. And Gretta does all the promotional stuff for the co-op, you know – the brochure design and everything. It’s really good. If she wasn’t such a hot-shot executive, she’d be an artist too.’

  ‘I’m not an artist,’ said Bey.

  ‘What would you call yourself then?’ demanded Lola.

  ‘I guess I consider my design work to be art,’ admitted Bey. ‘But not everyone would. And of course the jewellery gene is from Dad’s side, so it doesn’t count on the art front.’

  ‘Maybe your love of jewellery is from Philip’s side,’ said Lola. ‘But the Warrens don’t do the design themselves, you know that. So your arty side is entirely Fitzpatrick. Don’t forget your gran and her egg cosies!’

  Bey laughed. Eilis had taken up crocheting a couple of years earlier and had surprised them all by concentrating on quirky little egg cosies, which she’d started to sell along with some of the farm produce at farmers’ markets around the country. They’d proved to be an astonishing hit with the buyers, and Eilis could hardly keep up with demand.

  ‘What’s she going to do about them while she’s laid up?’ asked Bey.

  ‘Aodhan is going to go round the markets with them for her,’ said Lola. ‘It’s good experience for him.’

  Aodhan, three years younger than Bey, was studying agriculture. His father Milo, Lola’s older brother, had taken over the farm on their father’s sixtieth birthday. Billy Fitzpatrick had said he didn’t want Milo hanging around forever waiting for him to die before getting his hands on the farm. So he’d sold a small field with road frontage to a local developer and used the money to build a pretty cottage near High Pasture for himself and Eilis. Everyone was happy with the arrangement. Neither Gretta nor Lola was interested in the farm. Lola had made her life in Dublin with Bey, and Gretta was a senior executive at the co-op.

  Lola found it ironic that her sister, who’d planned to be married and have a family by the time she was twenty-one, had turned into the kind of career woman she’d longed to be herself. Gretta had broken off her engagement to Mossy McCloskey shortly after Bey was born, saying that she wasn’t ready to be a wife and mother, and had applied for a job at the creamery, where she rose rapidly through the ranks, becoming the first female director. Much to everyone’s surprise, because she’d embraced the role of career woman so thoroughly, she then married Tony O’Mahony, who came from a nearby town. When they started a family, it was Tony who stayed at home with the children while Gretta continued to work. This had caused quite a bit of comment in Cloghdrom – they were the first family in the town where the term ‘house husband’ was used, but as Tony was also a carpenter and made bespoke furniture to order from a workshop in the garden, it was felt by the more traditional inhabitants that he hadn’t been totally emasculated by the decision, and the arrangement worked well for everyone.

  Although Lola didn’t want to blame herself for Gretta’s broken engagement, she knew her pregnancy had been a catalyst. Seeing her sister so ill had completely changed Gretta’s view about marriage and babies and the direction of her life. Lola sometimes found it hard not to envy Gretta, who often stayed with her when she came to Dublin for meetings with agricultural organizations, and who always seemed so calm and self-assured.

  ‘D’you think I’d have time to visit Cloghdrom?’ Bey asked as she slipped off her jacket and draped it over a chair.

  ‘I don’t see why not,’ said Lola. ‘I’m sure your gran would love to see you.’

  ‘I can’t imagine being in Ireland without going to visit her,’ said Bey.

  ‘Well, let’s wait for news from your dad and we’ll make our plans. In the meantime, how about a cup of tea?’ Lola headed for the kitchen.

  ‘I’m dying for a decent cuppa.’ Bey flopped onto the sofa and kicked off her shoes. ‘And I’d forgotten how good it is to have someone who looks after my every need.’

  ‘You lazy wretch!’ But Lola was laughing as she switched on the kettle.

  Chapter 21

  Clarity: one of the major factors in grading and valuing gemstones

  They were drinking the tea and eating chocolate Kimberley biscuits when Lola’s mobile rang.

  ‘Oh, Philip. I’m so sorry,’ she said after she’d listened for a few moments. ‘Have you got any details yet? . . . I understand. OK.’

  She hung up and looked at Bey.

  ‘Your grandfather passed away a few hours ago,’ she said.

  Bey replaced the chocolate Kimberly on her plate. She hadn’t honestly believed that Richard would die. And it had happened while she’d been upending coffee over a fellow passenger on the aeroplane, or coming in to land, or hurrying through security. While he’d been slipping out of the world, she’d been occupied with something mundane. She found herself suddenly choked up.

  ‘Are you OK?’ asked Lola.

  ‘I’m fine,’ said Bey as she pushed away the plate. ‘It’s just – well, we didn’t know each other very well, but anyone dying is . . . it makes you think.’

  ‘Life is short,’ said Lola. ‘Too short for squabbles and feuds and things that don’t really matter in the end. Too short for manipulating people’s lives for your own ends.’

  ‘Huh.’ Bey made a face. ‘I don’t think the Warrens could live without squabbling. As for manipulation – Grandfather was head of the business and probably had to make some big decisions, but I bet Adele was behind most of them.’

  ‘Your grandmother might have ruled the roost,’ agreed Lola. ‘But Richard was his own man. Like all of us, though, he made some bad choices.’

  ‘What were they?’ asked Bey.

  ‘None that matter now.’ Lola had kept her promise to Richard and never said anything about th
e money he’d given her to keep Bey a secret from her father. Now that he was dead, she wondered whether she should tell her. But she hadn’t thought it through enough yet.

  Hearing the slight edge to Lola’s voice, Bey decided to avoid the topic of her grandfather’s bad choices for the time being.

  ‘Was there any news on the raiders?’ she asked. ‘And does Grandfather dying turn it into a murder enquiry?’

  ‘Nothing from your dad, at least,’ replied Lola. ‘As far as your grandfather’s death is concerned, I don’t think they can call it murder because they didn’t actually shoot him or assault him physically. At least I don’t think they did. Maybe it could be manslaughter. I’ve no idea.’

  ‘It’s horrible.’ Bey shuddered. ‘Really horrible.’

  The doorbell buzzed and Lola got up to answer it. Bey heard a low murmur of voices and then her mother walked into the room followed by a stocky man with greying hair, wearing casual trousers, a T-shirt and a jumper.

  ‘This is Des,’ said Lola, a touch of apprehension in her voice. ‘Des, this is my daughter, Bey.’

  Bey knew all about Des. He was a client of the property management company Lola had been working for over the past few years. Her mother had mentioned him a number of times since Bey had gone to Córdoba, and then, when she’d asked her in exasperation if Des Halligan was the only client she had, Lola had admitted that she was seeing him outside of work.

  ‘Dating him?’ Bey had asked in surprise.

  ‘Does it bother you? If it does . . .’

  ‘Hey, I’ve no right to tell you how to live your life,’ Bey replied. ‘I’m delighted you’re seeing someone. You’ve always been the one caring for people. It’s nice to think there’s someone caring about you for a change.’

  She’d meant it at the time. But now, face to face with her mother’s boyfriend – companion? Lover? She wasn’t really sure what the appropriate word should be – she felt suddenly uncertain.

  ‘Hello,’ she said as she took his outstretched hand. ‘It’s nice to meet you.’

  ‘It’s nice to finally meet you too.’ His handshake was firm and decisive. ‘Your mum has told me a lot about you.’

  ‘She has?’

  ‘Not that much,’ said Lola. ‘Don’t flatter yourself.’ But she smiled.

  ‘I stopped by to see how Lola was,’ he explained as she boiled the kettle again. ‘A terrible thing, that shooting. You never think something like that will happen to someone you know.’

  ‘No, you don’t,’ agreed Bey.

  ‘I was thinking it would be a good plan to go out for something to eat,’ said Des. ‘Unless there’s something you need to do, Lola?’

  ‘They haven’t made any arrangements yet,’ she told him.

  ‘Go ahead and get yourselves some food,’ said Bey. ‘I’m not very hungry. I’ll stay here in case . . . well . . .’

  ‘Your father will call my mobile, not the house,’ said Lola. ‘You should come with us.’

  Bey suddenly realised that Des’s invitation to eat had been decided in advance.

  ‘It would be good to get to know you,’ he said.

  She’d been telling the truth when she said she wasn’t hungry, but she took her jacket from the back of the chair and slipped it on.

  When they reached the pub, Des held the door open and Bey followed her mother inside. She remembered the place as dark and traditional, but like so much of the area it had been given a makeover, and now the interior wood was blond rather than mahogany and the ancient carpet had been replaced by high-gloss tiles. It also served a gastropub menu that included mushroom arancini balls and gambas in aioli, which was a far cry from the cheese and onion crisps and salted peanuts that had been on offer before.

  ‘I can’t believe how much Dublin has changed,’ she remarked as she opted for a Caesar salad. ‘It’s like someone has airbrushed it into gorgeousness.’

  ‘Let’s hope it stays that way,’ said Lola. ‘The economy isn’t doing as well as it was. Especially for property owners.’

  ‘Like you?’ Bey turned towards Des.

  ‘Ah, I’m grand,’ he said easily. ‘My properties are all in good locations, and a lot of them are in the UK or Florida. I’m diversified.’

  ‘Do you live in them or rent them all out?’ asked Bey.

  ‘Rent them, of course,’ he said. ‘It’s a business, and managing them all needs professionals. That’s why I’ve got your mother’s agency on board. Well, for the Irish and UK properties anyhow. I have different companies for the States and Eastern Europe.’

  ‘It sounds like an empire,’ said Bey.

  ‘Just a business.’ Des grinned.

  ‘I’ve never known anyone who owned more than one house before,’ she told him.

  ‘Your dad has three,’ remarked Lola. ‘Cleevaun House, a villa in Marbella and a studio in New York.’

  ‘Really?’ Bey was surprised. ‘The jewellery business must be doing well.’

  ‘If he didn’t rake it in over the last five years he’s an eejit,’ said Des. ‘And even in a downturn the cream will always rise to the top. I keep telling your mum she should leave the agency and work for me full time. She’d certainly make a lot more money that way.’

  ‘Are you thinking about it?’ Bey glanced at her mother.

  ‘Perhaps in the future,’ replied Lola.

  Bey guessed that this was a conversation she and Des had had before.

  ‘Are you two . . . serious?’ She tried to keep a straight face, but then began to laugh. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m sitting here between my mum and her boyfriend, about to quiz them about their relationship. It seems a bit arse-over-tit to me.’

  Des laughed too and Lola grinned at her daughter.

  ‘I suppose you have to make sure it’s not some irresponsible fling,’ she said.

  ‘You can have as many flings as you like. It’s not up to me,’ Bey told her.

  ‘I care about your mum a lot,’ said Des. ‘We’re making decisions about the next level.’

  Bey smothered a giggle and Lola shot her an amused look.

  ‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’

  ‘I’m remembering all the times you asked me about my boyfriends at college,’ she said. ‘And how you lectured me on responsible sex and stuff.’

  ‘Oh God.’ Des hid his face in his hands.

  ‘We’re very responsible,’ Lola said. ‘And as for the next level – I’ll keep you informed.’

  ‘As long as Des can keep you in the style to which you should be accustomed, I guess I’m fine with it,’ said Bey.

  ‘I’m not sure I can keep up with the Warrens,’ said Des. ‘But I’ll do all right.’

  ‘The Warrens.’ Bey returned to the real reason she was in Dublin. ‘This must all be so dreadful for them.’

  ‘And they have to think about the business even while they’re grieving,’ said Lola.

  ‘What d’you think will happen?’ asked Bey. ‘Who’s in charge?’

  ‘You dad has been the managing director for a few years already,’ said Lola. ‘So nothing fundamental will change. I guess Richard’s role has been more honorary recently.’

  ‘And there’s always Anthony,’ Bey commented.

  ‘Anthony?’ Des looked at Lola.

  ‘Philip’s son,’ she said. ‘Bey’s half-brother. But it’ll be quite a while before he has anything to do with it. He’s still only a teenager.’

  ‘They talked about it the year I went to them for Christmas,’ Bey told them. ‘They said that Anthony was the heir.’

  ‘That’s a cheering kind of conversation to have over the turkey,’ said Des.

  ‘I asked why it wasn’t Astrid, and they said because Anthony was older.’

  ‘The eldest usually gets the top job,’ agreed Des.

  ‘But Anthony isn’t the eldest.’ Bey looked at her mother, an amused gleam in her eyes. ‘I remember thinking it at the time. Strictly speaking, I am.’

  Lola looked startled,
but it was Des who asked if she thought she should or would have a stake in the firm in the future.

  ‘Mum clearly hasn’t told you much about them.’ Bey shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t want to work with them and they certainly wouldn’t want to work with me. All I’m saying is that Anthony isn’t the eldest of Dad’s children.’

  Lola said nothing. But she couldn’t help mulling over Bey’s words.

  It had never occurred to her before, but her daughter had a point.

  It was after nine by the time they left the pub. Lola invited Des back to the house, but he said he needed to get home as he had some more work to do. Even as he spoke, he raised his arm and hailed a passing cab, giving Lola a quick peck on the cheek before getting inside.

  ‘He’s nice,’ said Bey as the cab pulled away and they began to walk down the road.

  ‘I was hoping you’d think more than just nice,’ said Lola.

  ‘I think he cares about you a lot,’ Bey said. ‘And I think you totally deserve that. Has he been married before?’

  ‘He got divorced a couple of years ago,’ said Lola. ‘He has a son and a daughter, aged twenty and seventeen. I’ve met Rory, who’s in college. Ciara, his daughter, is at school in Cork. She lives with her mum, who moved back there after the divorce.’

  ‘So if you marry him, I’ll have a stepbrother and stepsister to add to Anthony and Astrid,’ said Bey. ‘Families can become very complicated, can’t they?’

  ‘I’m not planning on marrying him yet,’ said Lola. ‘If at all.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I’ve lasted this long without getting married,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure I need to.’

  Bey looked at her thoughtfully.

  ‘Does Des want to marry you?’

  ‘He’s asked,’ said Lola. ‘I told him I needed time to think. And that you’d have to meet him first, of course.’

  ‘It’s not up to me,’ said Bey.

  ‘It is.’

  ‘No.’ Bey shook her head so vigorously that her tumble of red curls fell over her face and she had to push them back again. ‘In the same way it’s not up to you to tell me who to marry either.’