‘Brandy and ginger,’ Colette purred gaily, fluttering her eyelashes at him.
Hilary saw Niall’s eyes widen slightly. Typical of Colette to go for an expensive short when someone else was paying.
‘Er . . . mine’s with cider, not champagne,’ she added hastily in case he thought they were way OTT.
Niall winked at her and gave the order and added, ‘A pint of Harp for me, please. So, ladies, are you students here?’ he asked, smiling down at Colette. Hilary’s heart sank. It was always the way. Once men saw blonde, petite, dainty, effervescent Colette, she was forgotten about.
‘Hilary is. She’s doing a boring bookkeeping course; I’m just here for the craic! I’m studying Fine Arts in London. I’m home for the weekend.’
‘Interesting! Fine Arts. How did that come about?’ Niall leaned against a pillar, thumbs hooking into his jeans, and Hilary thought how typical of her luck to encounter a hunky guy when Colette was home from London on one of her rare jaunts across the Irish Sea. Since she had moved to London to live with her father’s widowed sister, her friend rarely came home, and wasn’t great at keeping in touch either. She was having a ball going to polo matches, and weekend parties in the country, and drinking in glamorous pubs in Kensington and Knightsbridge and shopping in Harvey Nicks and Harrods.
‘My parents wanted me to study law. They’re both barristers,’ Colette added, always keen to slip that bit of information into any conversation. ‘I couldn’t bear the idea,’ she trilled, throwing back her head so that her blonde hair fell in a tumbling mane over her shoulders, and giving a gay laugh. ‘My dad’s sister has a big flat in Holland Park, and her husband died and they have no children so I went to stay with her for a while and she knew someone in Dickon and Austen’s Fine Art and I worked there and did my degree and that’s where I’ve fetched up.’
Fetched up, thought Hilary irritably. Colette was becoming more English than the English themselves.
‘And yourself?’ Niall’s heavy-lidded brown eyes were focused on Hilary. But there was a twinkle in them that she liked and she found herself responding with an answering smile.
‘I work in my dad’s lighting and electrical business—’
‘She’s a shop manager,’ interjected Colette brightly. ‘Oh look, here’s our drinks.’
‘Let me pay,’ Hilary urged. ‘After all I’ve ruined your shirt.’
‘Another time,’ Niall said firmly, taking his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans and extracting a twenty.
‘And what do you do apart from playing the bodhrán fabulously?’ Colette arched a perfectly manicured, wing-tipped eyebrow at him, before taking a ladylike sip of her brandy and ginger.
‘I work in Aer Rianta International, in travel retail. And in my spare time I play gigs with these hoodlums.’ He indicated his three band buddies in the background.
‘Really? An interesting job, I’d say?’ Colette was impressed. ‘Do you travel much?’
‘I do indeed.’
‘I love to travel,’ Colette commented gaily.
‘What’s your band called?’ Hilary interjected, knowing that unless she steered her off track, Colette would launch into a description of her travels and Hilary would end up feeling like a real gooseberry. She was beginning to feel like one already!
‘We’re called Solas, which I’m sure you know is the Gaelic for “light”. Somewhat of a synchronicity, Hilary, wouldn’t you think? Both of us work with light!’
‘Umm.’ Hilary was caught mid-gulp of her Black Velvet and was afraid she had a creamy moustache. ‘I guess so.’
‘Well, I should get back and play another set, or Solas won’t get paid tonight. It was nice meeting you both.’
‘Are you playing anywhere else over the weekend?’ Colette asked casually.
‘We are. Are you into trad? I wouldn’t have thought that would be your scene,’ Niall remarked.
‘Oh I LOVE it,’ Colette fibbed. ‘I adore The Dubliners and . . . er . . . um . . . eh . . . The Clancy Brothers.’
‘And yourself, Hilary?’ Niall turned to look at her.
‘I like trad.’ She nodded. ‘I like the liveliness of it, the buzz of a good session.’
‘And who do you like?’ he probed.
‘I like The Bothy Band, Planxty, De Dannan, and The Chieftains are amazing.’ She shrugged.
‘A woman after my own heart. They’re all unbelievable musicians, aren’t they?’ he said enthusiastically.
‘The best,’ Hilary agreed.
‘So where are you playing tomorrow?’ Colette persisted, annoyed that she hadn’t thought of naming any of those bands, although she only vaguely knew of them. She was more into The Rolling Stones and The Eagles.
‘O’Donohue’s. Why, are you going to come?’
‘Well, who knows?’ Colette flashed her baby blues at him. ‘But if you don’t see me there you can always ring Dickon and Austen’s and catch me there. Thanks for the drink,’ she drawled before sauntering back to where they had been sitting.
‘Do you think they would take a collect call?’ Niall grinned and Hilary laughed.
‘Not sure about that.’
‘So will you both be coming to O’Donohue’s tomorrow night?’ he queried.
‘Not sure about that either. We’re doing a big stock take in the shop, and I have to be there. And it’s much easier to get it done after closing time.’
‘Sure, if I see you I see you,’ he said easily. ‘Enjoy the rest of the evening.’
‘You too and sorry about your shirt and thanks for the drink,’ she murmured, heart sinking when she saw him glance over to where Colette was now chatting animatedly to a tall bearded guy, looking like a dainty little doll beside him.
‘Another brandy and ginger coming up soon, I’d say,’ Niall said wryly, amusement causing his eyes to crinkle in a most attractive way.
‘What?’ She was caught off guard.
‘Your little friend has expensive tastes.’
‘Er . . . she doesn’t like beer, or Guinness,’ Hilary said loyally, taken aback by his directness.
‘She’s lucky to have you for a friend; you have a very steadfast quality, Hilary. Would you come out for a drink with me sometime, when your stock taking is over?’
‘Me! . . . Oh! . . . I thought it would be Colette you would ask out if you were asking either of us,’ Hilary blurted.
‘Did you now? Well, ladies who pour their Black Velvets all over me to get my attention are much more interesting than flirty brandy and ginger drinkers.’
‘I didn’t pour my drink over you to get your attention. It was an accident. I tripped!’ Hilary protested indignantly.
‘Well, it worked, didn’t it? I’m asking you out for a drink,’ he pointed out.
‘Is that right?’ Hilary said hotly. ‘How very arrogant that you would think I’d want to go for a drink with you. I’m not that desperate to get a man that I’d waste a Black Velvet on him.’
Niall guffawed. ‘Sorry, Hilary, I couldn’t resist it. Just wanted to see if you’d rise to the bait. I was only teasing, honest. I know you tripped. Come on, give me your number and let me make amends,’ he smiled.
‘You’ll get me at Kinsella Illuminations, Kirwan’s Industrial Estate; it’s in the phone book. Don’t call collect,’ Hilary retorted, but she was smiling as she made her way back to the table.
Patricia Scanlan
A Time for Friends
When are the boundaries of friendship pushed too far, and when is it time to stop flying over oceans for someone who wouldn’t jump over a puddle for you? There comes a time when Hilary Hammond has to make that call.
Hilary and Colette O’Mahony have been friends since childhood, but when irrepressible Jonathan Harpur breezes into Hilary’s life and goes into business with her, Colette is not best pleased.
After their first encounter Colette thinks he’s a ‘pushy upstart’ while he thinks she’s ‘a snobby little diva’. And so the battle lines are drawn and Hila
ry is bang in the middle.
But as the years roll by and each of them is faced with difficult times and tough decisions, one thing is clear . . . to have a friend you must be a friend.
And that’s when Hilary discovers that sometimes your best friend can be your greatest enemy . . .
Patricia Scanlan
With All My Love
On a crystal clear Mediterranean day, Briony McAllister sits playing with her four-year-old daughter, Katie, while she waits for her mother, Valerie, to join them. Valerie has recently moved to a picturesque town in southern Spain to finally leave behind her turbulent past and find a peace that has always eluded her. Briony has no idea that in a few moments’ time her relationship with her mother will change irrevocably.
As Katie plays, Briony pulls from her bag an old photo album, found in a box in her mother’s new home. As she begins to study the faded photos, a letter falls to the ground. It is addressed to her.
My Darling Briony, it begins. As Briony reads the words with mounting shock, realisation dawns. Her mother lied to her about what happened with her beloved grandmother Tessa all those years ago – and denied Briony that most precious of relationships, the type of relationship Valerie now enjoys with Katie.
The lives of three generations of women are set to change forever as the past is revisited and the truth unfolds through the undelivered letters Tessa wrote to Briony over the years. Secrets, lies, betrayals and sacrifices – the complex bonds between mothers, daughters and granddaughters are intricately explored as Patricia Scanlan takes us into the hearts and homes of a family at war.
Also by Patricia Scanlan
Apartment 3B
Finishing Touches
Foreign Affairs
Promises, Promises
Mirror Mirror
Francesca’s Party
Two for Joy
Double Wedding
Divided Loyalties
Coming Home
Trilogies
City Girl
City Lives
City Woman
Forgive and Forget
Happy Ever After
Love and Marriage
With All My Love
A Time for Friends
First published in Great Britain by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd, 2017
A CBS COMPANY
Copyright © Patricia Scanlan 2017
This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.
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® and © 1997 Simon & Schuster, Inc. All rights reserved.
The right of Patricia Scanlan to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
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Hardback ISBN: 978-1-4711-5112-5
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eBook ISBN: 978-1-4711-5115-6
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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