by Zara Keane
“Do you miss living in Dublin?” she asked, still toying with her glass. “I’d imagine Ballybeg seems rather tame after the bustle of a big city.”
He considered a moment. “I miss certain aspects of city life, but I prefer raising a child down here. I still go up to Dublin every three to four months to see my agent, attend book signings, give interviews, and so on.”
“Where did you inherit your creative streak?”
He smiled. “I have no idea. It’s a mystery to my parents—no pun intended. They’re not big readers. My dad can’t understand how I can make money from writing.”
“But you do.”
“Yes. Not as much as some people seem to think, but enough to provide for Luca. The Irish market is a small one. I’ve been lucky to have success in the UK too. My main source of income at the moment is from the Detective Inspector Brady TV series. Because I contributed to the scripts, I get royalties from international distribution, DVDs, and so on.”
She took another sip of her wine. There was something erotic about the movement of her throat when she swallowed.
“Are you published in America?” she asked.
“Not in print but in e-book format. Kate—my agent—is in negotiations with a New York publisher, but there’s no guarantee it’ll pan out. It’s hard for foreign writers to break into the crime fiction market. There are a lot of talented homegrown authors.”
“Making a living wage is hard for everyone these days, regardless of industry. Poor Jill’s not even getting invited to interviews, never mind getting job offers.”
“At least she has a job at your café once you open.”
“Temporarily. She needs the money, and I need someone to help out. I know she’ll move on once she finds a job in her field, but at least this is something to tide her over.”
Jonas fingered the stem of his glass. “How are things with Aidan?” he asked, keen to shift the focus away from him. “Have you set the divorce process in motion?”
“This is Ireland, Jonas. I can’t even file for a divorce until I’ve been living apart from Aidan for at least four years. Depending on the backlog of cases when I am allowed to file, it could take five years in total.
“Wow. That’s a long time to be stuck with a spouse you don’t want.”
“True. I won’t be allowed to remarry for the next few years—not that I’m planning to. In the meantime, I’ve filed for a legal separation. If Aidan and I agree on a financial settlement soon, it should be through within a few weeks.”
He raised an eyebrow. “That’s pretty quick.”
“Not quick enough. I filed the week after I moved out. We have no children, and I’m not looking for a huge financial settlement. That speeds things up considerably.”
“Seriously, why did you marry Aidan in the first place? I’ve never understood your motivation.”
She quirked an eyebrow. “Come on, Jonas. You and everyone else in Ballybeg guessed correctly—I married Aidan for his money.”
“I don’t believe you’re that mercenary.”
“Don’t you?” She smiled. “Perhaps not in the way people think. I grew up with very little money. Getting our electricity cut off was a regular occurrence. I didn’t want that for my future. After…” She hesitated, her brow furrowing. “After Bry died and we split up, I was lost for a time. Couldn’t concentrate on my uni course and failed my exams. Couldn’t motivate myself to organize my future. And into that depressive haze stepped Aidan. He was a friend of my parents. I’d known him all my life. He was handsome, suave, and sophisticated. I fell for the idea of the man, not the man himself, but I didn’t realize it at the time. Does that make sense?”
“In a weird way, yes.” He reached for the bottle and topped up their glasses. “Go on.”
She took a sip of her wine and toyed with the stem. “During our engagement, Aidan was charm personified. He encouraged me to pursue my dream of becoming a qualified chef and paid my cookery school fees. For the first couple of years of our marriage, everything was okay.
The cracks started to show around year three. I’d passed my exams and applied for jobs at local restaurants. Aidan freaked when I said I wanted to work outside the home. He had envisaged my cookery school course as a hobby and preferred me in the permanent role of wealthy housewife—a sort of status symbol to prove to the world that he had so much money his wife didn’t need to work.”
“How did you end up working for him at his practice?”
She sighed. “When the property market collapsed, my parents defaulted on their mortgage and almost lost their home. Aidan bailed them out at the last second and has made significant financial contributions to them ever since. He made it crystal clear that his generosity came with a hefty price tag. Part of that price tag was me agreeing to work as his secretary. In Aidan’s mind, the secretarial job gave me something to do outside the home but still enabled him to keep a close eye on me.”
“He wanted to control you.”
“Of course. And it worked. Fast forward a few years, and I was well and truly trapped. I had hardly any savings of my own and a husband who vacillated between indifference and bullying. My parents were beholden to him financially, and because of that, my brothers’ welfare depended on my continuing to play my role.”
“Where did the plan for the café fit into all this?”
“Last year, Aidan and I ended our marriage in all but name. I moved into the guest room, and he was willing to consider a formal separation after the mayoral elections were over. What he didn’t anticipate was me seeking to establish my own business. I’d managed to squirrel away a bit of money over the years. Aidan paid my salary into his own bank account, but I saved whatever cash I got my hands on.”
“He paid your salary into his account?” Jonas said, appalled. “Why didn’t you leave? You’d have found some sort of job.”
“Desperation. Fear. Guilt.” She shrugged. “I don’t know. My parents’ debt to Aidan played a role. I don’t give a damn what happens to my parents. Don’t mistake my reluctance to piss off Aidan for filial devotion. But I do care what happens to my brothers. If my parents lose their home, so do the boys. Until they finish school, they need to have some semblance of stability.”
“But at what price?” He leaned forward and took one of her hands in his. “I know it’s none of my business, but I’ve done quite a bit of research on spousal abuse for my books. I don’t believe the day of the parade was the first time he hit you.”
She bit her lip. “It wasn’t.”
He stroked the soft skin of her wrist. “Why in the name of goodness didn’t you call the police?”
“For all the reasons I’ve already listed. Besides, Aidan is respected in this town—goodness knows why, but there you have it. In contrast, my parents are Ballybeg’s token bohemians. Most people around here believe the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. How many would take my word over Aidan’s?”
“I would,” he said, stroking her hair.
“You’re one of a very few,” she whispered, close enough that her breath tickled his cheek.
He cupped her chin and lowered his mouth to hers. She smelled flowery and fresh, like clean sheets on a summer day. This woman had defended his son against harassers. The thought made his heart swell and his already turned-on body even harder.
Their mouths clashed and meshed. He tugged on her hair, pulling her closer. His hands found her hair ribbon, and her hair cascaded down her back in silky waves. She broke the contact.
“What did you do that for?” Her voice was low and husky.
“Kiss you, or take down your hair?”
“Both.”
“Because I wanted to.” He ran his fingers through silky strands. “Do you want me to, Olivia?”
“Yes…No…Yes.”
“Not sure? Perhaps this will persuade you.” He teased one of her ears with his tongue, nipping the lobe playfully.
She gasped. “You remembered?”
“Of course.
I remember everything about you. You were my first…” He checked himself. “First woman I loved.”
Olivia’s laugh reverberated against his chest. “Nice save, O’Mahony. I knew you were a virgin when we first had sex. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You knew? Damn. Was I that bad?”
“Not at all. I guessed because you didn’t seem to know what you were doing any more than I did.”
He spanked her behind. “We figured it out soon enough.”
“So we did.” She gazed up at him, her eyes cloudy with longing. He bent to kiss her.
“Dad! My curtains are all wrong.”
Jonas drew back. “On my way,” he called. “Sorry, Olivia. Luca is particular about his curtains. They need to hang perfectly straight or he can’t sleep.”
“It’s okay.” She shoved a lock of red hair back from her forehead. “I’d better go before this goes any further.”
“I don’t think it can go any further,” he said with a low laugh. “I have no idea where my condoms are.”
She quirked an eyebrow. “Somewhere in an unpacked moving box, perhaps?”
He grinned. “More than likely. I’ve promised Luca I’ll unpack the last of them this weekend.”
“Besides, I think it’s too…” She broke off, uncertainty flickering across her beautiful face.
He stroked her cheek. “Too soon?”
“Maybe. I know it sounds daft after everything I’ve said about Aidan, but it doesn’t feel right to sleep with another man until the legal separation comes through, even if we have been living separate lives for over a year.”
He grinned. “Not waiting five years until the divorce is final?”
She swatted him playfully. “I’m not that much of a martyr.”
“That gives me hope that I might aid and assist in your future nonmartyrdom.” He retrieved her ribbon from the living room floor and handed it to her. “Thank you for standing up for Luca today. It means a lot to me.”
“No problem. He’s a good kid, and no one deserves little shits making snide remarks about them.” She hovered on the doorstep. “Good night, Jonas.”
“Daaaad! My curtains!”
“Duty calls.” He dropped a kiss onto her forehead. “Sweet dreams, Olivia.”
Chapter Seventeen
IF OLIVIA’S WEEK HAD BEEN ON FAST FORWARD, it couldn’t have gone by any quicker. Just as well. Keeping busy kept her from dwelling on The Kiss. Her life was complicated enough without adding her conflicted feelings about Jonas into the mix.
On Tuesday, a bank in Cork City approved a small business loan, and she was able to order the last few items she needed for the café. Liam O’Mahony and his crew finished their work on Friday afternoon, including installing a trap door for the cottage’s loft bedroom to give her privacy from the café below.
Friday also marked Olivia’s last day working for Aidan. After all the years dreaming about escape, it was almost anticlimactic. Aidan was out on campaign business for most of the day, but Brona, the solicitor who worked part-time, and Martin, Aidan’s paralegal, bought her flowers to mark the occasion.
By Friday evening, exhausted but exhilarated, she prepared a sherry trifle at the café and packed it into her little car. She’d arranged to have dinner with her grandfather and Bridie Byrne, her host for the past few weeks, and dessert was to be her contribution to the meal.
The lights were on when she pulled up at her grandfather’s house. He lived in a two-bedroom new-build on the outskirts of Ballybeg. When he spotted Olivia climbing out of her car, Jasper, her grandfather’s Cavalier King Charles spaniel, yipped in unbridled delight.
“Come in, my dear,” said her grandfather from the open doorway. He wore tweeds but had replaced his smart walking shoes for comfortable slippers. “Down, Jasper boy,” he ordered. Jasper paid him no heed. “Daft dog,” he snapped. “Go to your corner.”
Jasper wagged his tail and regarded his master with cheerful indifference.
Olivia laughed and reached down to stroke Jasper’s silky fur. “Is Bridie already here?”
“Indeed I am,” a booming voice said from the hallway. “I don’t want to miss your sherry trifle.” Bridie Byrne was a broad-hipped and broad-minded woman in her sixties who never had an opinion she didn’t express. She was also Olivia’s grandfather’s good friend. Whether Bridie and the Major were more than friends was a subject of much speculation in Ballybeg.
Olivia slipped off her coat and handed it to her grandfather. His house was cozy and crammed full of ornaments. They were out of place when contrasted with the modern architecture. The predominant colors were rusty orange and brown. Granddad had bucked the trend for polished wood floors in favor of thick carpets. Olivia’s feet sank into them when she followed him and Bridie down the hallway toward the kitchen, Jasper close at her heels. The tempting aroma of roast chicken made her mouth water. “That smells good.”
“I hope so,” he said with a chuckle. “It’s the one semi-fancy dish I know how to make.”
Olivia inhaled and moaned in appreciation. “It’s been ages since I had roast chicken. Aidan’s not into poultry.”
“And you’re not into red meat. I can guess who won that argument,” her grandfather said in an arch tone. Although he’d never cared for Aidan, he’d rarely said anything negative in the years Olivia was living under the same roof as her husband.
She laughed. “Put it this way, I’ve prepared more roasts of beef than I care to remember.”
Bridie took china plates out of a cupboard. “I made chestnut stuffing to go with the chicken. It’s the recipe you gave me years ago, when you attended that cookery school.”
“Yes, that’s a good one.” She peered into the oven. “Ooh…roast potatoes too.”
“And gravy.” Her grandfather laughed. “Can’t have a proper roast without gravy.”
“Thanks for going to so much effort.”
“Entertaining you is no effort at all, my dear.” He dished generous portions onto three plates, and they carried them to the dining room.
The food was even more delicious than it smelled. They washed it down with wine and laughter. When the meal was finished, Bridie helped Olivia to clear the plates. “Are you looking forward to moving into the cottage?”
“Yes. It’ll be strange, though,” Olivia mused. “I’ve never lived on my own before.”
“It can be lonely at times, but you’ll get used to it.” Bridie squeezed her arm. “I’ve enjoyed having you to stay. I got used to having someone around when Fiona lived with me last year.”
“I’m grateful to you for taking me in. Fiona offered to have me stay with her and Gavin, but I think they need their space.”
Bridie let out a cackle of laughter. “Go on with you, missy. You didn’t fancy living with a shoe-eating dog.”
Olivia grinned. “Wiggly Poo’s wild behavior was a consideration.”
“Jokes aside, I have a business proposition for you,” the older woman said. “Did I tell you I’m on the organizing committee for this year’s Ballybeg Sports Day?”
“You mentioned being asked to join.”
“One of my responsibilities is booking catering for the event. I told the committee that you helped Fiona with scones and sweet treats for the Book Mark last year and that I’ve asked you to be our regular supplier once you open for business. And I told them I’d like you to supply the desserts for this year’s event.”
“Seriously? That would be fantastic. Thank you so much.”
“Thank you. It’s self-preservation, believe me. Last year, Nora Fitzgerald’s fool of a husband persuaded the committee to let him do the baking with predictably disastrous results.”
When Olivia and Bridie returned to the tiny dining room, the Major had produced a bottle of sherry. “Can I tempt you, ladies?”
“None for me, thanks,” Bridie said. “I’m going to take Jasper for a walk.”
Olivia blinked. “What about dessert? I thought you were looking forward to the tr
ifle.”
Bridie’s eyes twinkled. “I am. That’s why I need to work off a few calories before I indulge. I’ve arranged to meet Fiona and Wiggly Poo out by Craggy Point.”
“How will Wiggly Poo cope with Jasper?”
Bridie gave a bark of laughter. “They get on fine. Jasper is one of the few dogs Wiggly Poo doesn’t regard as dinner.”
“In that case, enjoy your walk.”
“I intend to.” Bridie dropped a kiss onto the Major’s bald pate. “Save some dessert for me.”
After Bridie left, Olivia served the trifle. “Bridie was about as subtle as a boulder. I assume you want to talk to me about something.”
“Actually, yes.” Granddad swirled his sherry, and she waited for him to begin. “You know, of course, that my father’s family once owned land in Ballybeg.”
That was an understatement. Until they were driven out during the Irish War of Independence, his family had owned most of Ballybeg.
“Anyway,” he continued, “my grandfather was more perceptive than many Protestant landlords of that time. He’d seen the way things were going long before the rebels took his land and had a contingency plan.”
“Careful, Granddad,” Olivia said with a grin. “Long before the Irish reclaimed their land.”
His white mustache bobbed. “Right. At any rate, my grandfather managed to hang onto Clonmore House right through my childhood. Even though I grew up in England and served in the British army, I’ve always had an affection for Ballybeg and intended to retire here once my army days were done.”
“And you did. Was it strange coming back here with the big house gone?”
“No. My father sold it when I was in my twenties. That he’d held on that long was something of a miracle. I had no expectation of inheriting the estate intact, if at all. Times had changed, and the house has changed owners several times since then.”
