‘Is there someone?’ Lola sounded excited. ‘Have you and the sultry Spaniard got it together at last?’
‘Mum!’ cried Bey. ‘That’s totally not a question to ask me.’
‘Why not?’ demanded Lola. ‘I’ve laid my love life out for you. You should do the same for me.’
‘I should not ,’ said Bey firmly. ‘Martín and I are . . . are . . .’
‘Don’t say friends with benefits,’ begged Lola. ‘Please don’t.’
Bey grinned. ‘We’re close,’ she admitted. ‘But he’s not the One.’
‘You never give any man the chance to be the One,’ protested Lola. ‘At college you kept telling me about this guy and that guy, and none of them lasted longer than a jar of coffee.’
This time Bey laughed. ‘I’m far too young for long-lasting relationships,’ she said. ‘Coffee-jar men work just fine for me.’
Lola frowned. She knew mothers worried about everything to do with their children, and she knew Bey had to live her own life, but she couldn’t help feeling that her daughter’s attitude towards relationships was too dismissive. That she would never see a man as forever.
‘Anyway, you’re one to talk,’ Bey added. ‘You turn down all your marriage proposals.’
‘There were only two,’ said Lola. ‘And I haven’t completely written Des off yet.’
‘But you did write Dad off,’ Bey remarked. ‘You said you didn’t love him enough. I certainly haven’t met anyone I love enough yet either . . . Oh!’
Her exclamation came as she saw a group of people standing outside another gastropub on the opposite side of the road.
‘What?’ asked Lola.
‘That man,’ she said. ‘The one on the end, not smoking. He was on the flight from London.’
‘And?’
‘I dumped a cup of coffee over him.’
‘Bey Fitzpatrick! You didn’t.’ Lola smothered a horrified laugh when Bey explained what had happened. ‘Although,’ she added appraisingly, ‘if I was going to drench someone in coffee, he wouldn’t be a bad choice. He’s got quite a sexy vibe going on there, and he’s about the right age for you.’
‘Would you stop it!’ demanded Bey. ‘Honestly, if this is what being in love – even with someone you might not want to marry – has done to you, I’m glad I’m going to die alone and single in an attic, mourned only by my cat.’
Lola made a face at her. Bey made a face in return. And neither of them noticed that the man across the road, who’d heard their guffaws, was watching them as they turned the corner arm in arm.
They turned on the late news out of what Lola called a morbid curiosity to see how the story of the raid on Warren’s was being treated by the media. Bey looked at footage of the gardai outside the Duke Lane shop, which then cut to Philip on the steps of his parents’ house thanking people for their support and saying that there was no further information. Despite the tragedy, she thought he looked well in his tailored suit and dark tie, and he spoke courteously to the reporters standing on the pavement.
‘He’s classy,’ she said. ‘Very confident.’
‘He’ll need to be now he’s in charge of everything,’ said Lola. ‘I used to think he wouldn’t be any good at it, but I was wrong. I suppose with a family firm you grow into it.’
‘Maybe.’ Bey picked idly at the cuticle of her thumb.
‘Leave your nails alone,’ said Lola.
Bey sighed but stopped. It had been a long-running battle when she was younger. She used to pick and pick until she tore the skin, which drove Lola mad.
‘I’m not—’ She broke off and stared at the TV screen, her face frozen in shock.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Lola.
Bey didn’t answer. She was transfixed by the story that had come on after the report on Warren’s.
‘. . . Mr Fenton’s body was identified by dental records,’ the reporter was saying. ‘It’s believed that it had lain undisturbed for at least ten years before its discovery two months ago.’
‘Bey?’ Lola looked at her daughter and then at the screen, where they’d moved back to the studio.
‘It’s him,’ said Bey, her voice barely above a whisper.
‘Who?’ asked Lola.
‘Him.’ Bey swallowed. ‘The man whose car I got into.’
‘What!’ Lola stared at the screen and then cried out in frustration as the news moved on to something else. ‘Are you sure?’
Bey nodded. ‘Absolutely.’
‘You said you couldn’t remember what he looked like,’ said Lola.
‘I couldn’t,’ said Bey. ‘I didn’t want to. I completely blocked him out of my head. But that picture – with the flat cap and the glasses – it’s him, Mum, I’m certain.’
‘Oh my God.’ Lola wasn’t sure what to say or do.
‘Do you know anything about it?’ asked Bey. ‘They said his body was discovered two months ago.’
‘I remember the initial report,’ said Lola. ‘A man walking his dog in the Dublin mountains found him. I don’t recall exactly where. In a wood, I think. There was an appeal for anyone who knew him to come forward.’
‘I didn’t hear anything,’ said Bey.
‘It was a local story, so why would you?’ Lola took her by the hand. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I . . . think so.’ Bey’s heart was racing. She didn’t know how she felt. Except that, even as she was sitting there, she could feel a burden she hadn’t known she was carrying slide from her in a way she’d never expected. Seeing the news story had been a shock, but the greater shock was the realisation that she didn’t have to be afraid of seeing her abductor again. Or that one day she’d feel a hand on her shoulder and it would be his. She’d always told her mother that she wasn’t scared of him, but deep down a nugget of fear had remained. Nor did she have to be afraid that he might succeed in doing to some other girl what he’d nearly done to her, which had also preyed on her mind. She took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly.
‘You’re really sure it’s him?’ asked Lola.
‘I couldn’t possibly mistake him for anyone else,’ said Bey. ‘Oh, Mum . . .’
And then she burst into tears.
Chapter 22
Amber: the fossilised hardened resin of the pine tree
Lola went out early to get the paper the following morning. The story about Raymond Fenton, aged sixty-four, was on the inside page. He’d been reported missing by his son a month after Bey had got into the car with him.
‘Hopefully that means he didn’t get the chance to take anyone else.’ Bey released her breath slowly. ‘Every time I heard anything about someone going missing, I was afraid it was him. I blamed myself for not remembering what he looked like. For not being able to help the police. For being afraid they’d . . .’ She stopped. Her fear had been that the police would ask about Lola rather than her abductor. That they’d find out she really had stolen something from the Warrens in the past. That Adele’s words would turn out to be true no matter how much Bey believed they couldn’t possibly be. It may have been a childish fear. But it had been real nonetheless.
Lola wrapped her arms around her and held her close.
‘If it hadn’t been for Grandad dying, I never would have known,’ Bey said suddenly. ‘It’s like . . . it’s fate, Mum. I feel I should thank Grandad for . . .well, not for dying, that’s ridiculous, but . . .’
‘Plenty of strange things happen in life – and in death,’ said Lola. ‘You know I’m not religious, or even very spiritual. But perhaps somehow your grandfather’s spirit influenced the identification of that man.’
‘I like to think so,’ said Bey. ‘He was the kindest of the Warrens.’
‘Why do you think that?’ Lola’s voice was suddenly tight, but Bey, still overcome by the discovery of Raymond Fenton’s body, didn’t notice.
‘He talked to me like I mattered,’ she replied. ‘Like I was a real person.’
‘We should go to the police,’ said Lola after
a moment. ‘I don’t know if they still have a file open on your case, but it would be the right thing to do.’
Bey swallowed hard a few times, then nodded. She still couldn’t quite believe that the man who’d been in her head for so many years was finally gone. She was astonished at how strong that suddenly made her feel.
Philip rang shortly afterwards to give Lola information about the funeral arrangements. Richard’s body would be brought to the house in Rathgar, where he would remain overnight ahead of the funeral service that would take place the following day.
‘The house is private,’ Philip said. ‘Immediate family only.’
‘OK,’ said Lola, who’d decided not to say anything to him about Raymond Fenton until a more appropriate time. ‘We’ll see you at the funeral. I really am sorry, Philip.’
‘He was in his seventies,’ said Philip. ‘He’d had double heart bypass surgery. Two thugs came at him with sawn-off shotguns. It would have been a miracle if he hadn’t had a heart attack.’
‘No news on the raiders yet?’
‘They’re not saying much, but I think they know who did it.’
‘It must have been horrifying for you.’
‘Yes. Well, I’m in charge of things now and I have to get over the horror and step up to the plate,’ said Philip. ‘The shops will be closed as a mark of respect but I’ll talk to all the managers after the funeral and set out a strategy for them. I need to work on that. I have to talk to Peter, too.’
Lola knew that Philip was still in shock about the raid, but he was certainly revelling in his elevation to head of the family. There was an authority in his voice that she’d never heard before. Despite Philip’s designation as managing director for a number of years, Lola knew that Richard hadn’t handed over the reins to his elder son quite as completely as her own father had handed over the farm to Milo. Richard had always been the one who made the final decisions on the things that mattered, which she was sure would have irritated Philip, especially since she was aware that his father didn’t interfere quite so much with the financial side of the business, happily leaving that to Peter. Even when she’d first known him, Lola had been aware of a certain friction between the brothers caused by the fact that while Richard had absolute faith in his younger son’s ability with numbers, he didn’t seem able to accept that Philip would be equally good at running the stores. She wondered if the tension was still there, and if it was, whether Richard’s death would change anything.
God preserve me from a family business, she muttered as she replaced the phone. Maybe it was just as well that Bey had no romantic interest in Martín Jurado. Although she wished her daughter had a romantic interest in somebody. It wasn’t right that a girl of her age had never had a serious boyfriend.
She was brewing coffee when Bey walked into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes.
‘Did I hear the phone ring?’ she asked.
Lola told her about the arrangements.
‘So we’re not invited to Rathgar tonight. That’s a relief.’ She popped some bread in the toaster. ‘I’ve never seen a dead body before and I would’ve freaked to see Grandfather lying in a box in the living room.’
‘You’d have been fine,’ said her mother.
‘I really don’t think so.’ Bey shuddered. ‘Well, as we’re not doing anything today, can we go to Cloghdrom?’
‘I assumed you’d want to do that after the funeral,’ said Lola.
‘I need to get back to Córdoba afterwards,’ Bey said. ‘I hate leaving work sitting on the bench, and I made a mess of soldering a ring when you called.’ She showed her mother her injured finger as proof. ‘So if you don’t mind, it would be great to visit today.’
‘We’ll go to the Garda station first,’ Lola said. ‘And then my wish is your command. As always.’
A kind and sympathetic garda took down their statement and told them that Raymond Fenton hadn’t been known to them prior to Bey’s experience. It was likely that she’d been his first attempt at snatching someone, and thanks to her resourcefulness, the outcome had been a good one. As they left the police station, Bey felt more relaxed than she’d done in Dublin for years.
She phoned her grandmother when they were on the road. Eilis was delighted to hear from her and was standing at the door of the cottage waiting to greet them when they arrived.
‘Granny! How are you? Are you feeling OK? Can you walk better? Are you pain free?’ Bey threw her arms around the older woman, who laughed at the force of her granddaughter’s hug.
‘I’m grand, not a bother on me,’ she said. ‘A bit stiff, but that’s to be expected. It’ll take me a while to get up to speed on the new hip, but it’s so much better to be able to move without agony.’
She led the way into the kitchen, where the aroma of freshly baked bread filled the air.
‘Oh, Gran! Soda bread. My favourite.’ Bey hugged her again.
‘Mine too,’ said Lola, sniffing appreciatively.
‘Sit yourselves down and I’ll put the kettle on. Then you can tell me all your news, Bey. And your mother can tell me about the Warrens.’ She blessed herself. ‘That poor man. What a dreadful thing to have happened.’
‘It was terrible,’ said Lola, ‘but we have other news first.’
Eilis looked at them in surprise and Lola told her about Raymond Fenton.
‘Thank God.’ Eilis’s words were heartfelt. ‘I’ve always prayed that one day that man would be found. And I’m delighted that Bey won’t have to make any more statements or give evidence or anything horrible like that.’
‘It’s definitely good news,’ agreed Lola.
‘Are you all right about it, pet?’ Eilis asked Bey.
‘Totally,’ she replied. ‘I suppose I shouldn’t be glad that he’s dead, but at least he hasn’t been able to harm anyone else.’
‘Well it’s uplifting that something good has come out of something terrible,’ said Eilis. ‘Billy will be glad to hear about it too.’
‘Where’s Dad now?’ asked Lola.
‘Low Pasture with Milo,’ replied Eilis. ‘In fairness, he’s hands-off now as far as running things are concerned, but you can’t keep him away from his cows.’
Bey laughed. Her grandfather very definitely cared for his cows as much as he did for his family.
‘D’you want tea?’ Eilis paused with the kettle in her hand. ‘Or would you prefer a fancy coffee?’
‘What sort of fancy coffee?’ asked Bey, a little surprised by the offer. Eilis had always been a traditionalist when it came to hot beverages. Tea, strong with plenty of milk and two spoons of sugar, was her usual brew.
‘Gretta bought me a machine for my birthday,’ her grandmother said. ‘She has one herself and she loves it. It does those lattes and cappuccinos and stuff that people seem happy to spend a small fortune on these days. It’s a long way from how I was reared, but I have to say that I’ve taken a bit of a shine to them now.’
‘I’ll have one,’ said Bey. She grinned as she picked a capsule from the box that Eilis had taken from the cupboard. ‘I’m very impressed with you these days, Gran. Fancy coffees and a very fancy kitchen!’
‘Ah well, when we were having this place built, we decided to make it as high tech and low maintenance as possible,’ said Eilis. ‘I have to say I miss my Aga, but I’ve got used to the new oven and hob. And of course the lighting is great so I can see what I’m doing. Anyhow, pet, it’s lovely to see you, even if the circumstances are not ideal. D’you have any more information about the raid?’ she added, turning to Lola.
Lola told her mother what little she knew, and Eilis said it was shocking and that she’d seen the TV pictures and read the papers and she never would have believed such an awful thing would happen to someone she knew. Or, she corrected herself, to someone she knew about, and who was connected to her even if they’d never met.
‘Poor Grandfather,’ said Bey. ‘I can’t imagine how he must have felt with someone waving a shotgun in his face.’
‘No indeed,’ agreed Eilis. ‘I don’t think I’d have done well with it myself. Of course we have one ourselves for security.’
‘Mum!’ Lola was horrified.
‘We’re isolated up here,’ said Eilis. ‘And you know how it is, the criminals can terrorise you if you’re on your own. So we have the shotgun. It’s licensed, of course.’
‘Can you use it, Gran?’ asked Bey.
‘I practised up at High Pasture when your grandad got it.’ Eilis nodded. ‘And if I say so myself, I do a pretty good Annie Oakley impression.’
Bey rocked with laughter but Lola looked at her mother in despair.
‘I don’t like to think of you with a gun,’ she said.
‘And I don’t like to think of myself without one,’ said Eilis. ‘Of course it’s a whole different scenario for us up here than having someone raid your shop like that. There’s just something about those Warrens that invites trouble. Some people are like that and they mess up everyone close to them.’
‘Richard had . . . good intentions,’ said Lola. ‘He always put his family first. He always wanted to do what was best.’
‘That doesn’t always mean doing the right thing,’ Eilis said.
‘We’ve given the Warrens enough time today.’ Lola’s voice was firm in her determination to change the subject. ‘How’s Gretta?’
‘Ah, now, she’s doing great,’ began Eilis.
Bey smiled as she listened to her mother and grandmother chat. There was a comfort factor in being at Cloghdrom that didn’t exist anywhere else. Something about the farm seemed to reach out and envelop her in warmth and love. In Cloghdrom she was always the Bey she wanted to be. She wondered if she’d ever find a place of her own to make her feel that way. But Cloghdrom was more than a place, she reminded herself. It was people. And Bey knew she wasn’t good with people. She didn’t like getting close to them. That was why her men never lasted longer than a jar of coffee.
And that was the legacy Christmas Day with the Warrens had left her.
What Happened That Night: The page-turning holiday read by the No. 1 bestselling author Page 20
