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‘Miss Carmichael?’ a gruff male voice called from behind her.
Harriet stilled and turned round to find a little man the shape of a tub with a round merry face and a beard struggling to catch up with her. ‘Yes?’
‘I’m Frank Kearney…’
Father Kearney, Harriet affixed inwardly, noting his clerical collar and shabby dark jacket.
‘I couldn’t help overhearing that exchange in the shop. Mrs Tolly must be having a very trying day,’ the priest asserted in an anxious and valiant attempt to smooth matters over. ‘I’m certain she could not have meant to say what she did—’
‘Tolly…’ Harriet frowned in surprise at that familiar name. ‘You’re referring to the woman in the gift shop? Is she related to Joseph Tolly?’
‘Why, yes,’ he confirmed. ‘Sheila is married to Joseph’s son, Robert.’
‘Tolly didn’t mention that he had a son.’
Father Kearney said only, ‘Will I be seeing you soon at mass?’
‘I wasn’t raised a Catholic, Father.’
‘Sure, you can’t help that.’ His round brown eyes twinkled. ‘The chapel is always open here, and you’ll be made very welcome.’
On the drive home Harriet stopped for a moment to admire the stylish sign below the chestnut tree which now advertised the Flynn Court Livery and pointed the way. The old lane that ran down to the back of cottage had already been opened up and freshly stoned. Mature beech trees lined the rough track, which curved round the base of the hill before reaching the superb stable yard. Parking outside the yard, she walked in through the first door past the entrance to where she had set up a convenient office, complete with computer and phone. The stone walls held on to the chill and she had already learned that it was wise to keep a little fire burning in the ancient iron grate. Peanut and Samson abandoned the rug there to subject her to a rapturous welcome.
The phone rang: it was Una, who had phoned Harriet almost every day since her return to boarding school. As usual the teenager was bubbling with questions about everything that was happening at the livery yard.
‘How does the new sign look?’ she demanded.
‘Totally fantastic. You were right…that guy is a real artist,’ Harriet enthused, since the teenager had given her the name of the signwriter. Asked, she then spelled several words for Una, who said she had lost her dictionary.
‘Have you heard from Rafael yet?’ Una asked eagerly.
‘No.’ Harriet smiled bright
ly, while wondering whom she was trying to impress with her chirpy show of indifference.
‘Whatever you do, don’t ring him,’ Una warned her very seriously.
‘If I was drowning I wouldn’t ring him.’ Harriet reddened at that less than cool comment and compressed her lips, hoping it had gone unnoticed.
‘You should get yourself another fella and flash him around Ballyflynn…not Fergal, though.’
‘Una…I don’t know where you get the idea that I’m desperate for your half-brother to phone me. He’s my business partner, and if he’s content to stay in the background and let me get on with running the yard on my own, I’m all for it.’
‘All right—pretend there’s nothing else going on if it makes you feel better.’ Una’s chagrin at what she had interpreted as a snub was perceptible. ‘Rafael’s playing the same game.’
But there was no game, Harriet reflected ruefully, finally surrendering to Peanut’s persistent blandishments and throwing a ball out on to the cobbles for the pig to chase. Rafael’s silence simply spelled out the truth that he was not that interested in the livery business…or in her. On the other hand he had barely left the country before experts on eighteenth century follies, landscape and thatching started rolling up at her door to perform detailed surveys and squabble with each other. How was her self-esteem supposed to survive the truth that a thatched roof had more instant pulling power than she had? After all, every one of the experts must have heard from Rafael.
A piggy squeal of rage made Harriet fly upright. One of the elderly wolfhounds from the Court had run off with Peanut’s ball. As the dog capered round the yard like a giant shaggy coat, Samson set off in enthusiastic and noisy pursuit. The wolfhound dropped the ball to lie down and play with the chihuahua. Little round eyes bright with superior porcine intelligence, Peanut trotted over and deftly recaptured her favourite toy.
A few minutes later the customer Harriet was expecting arrived, with her child’s pony in a trailer. Business was booming, and Harriet could not understand why she was feeling so edgy and unsettled…
*
Rafael strode out of the shower and snatched up a towel.
It was still dark. Would Harriet turn up? Or wouldn’t she? For the first time in his adult life he could not be confident of immediate success with a woman. That singular sense of uncertainty fascinated him. He didn’t even know why he had invited her to share a pleasure that he usually preferred to enjoy alone. Was the secret of her attraction her level of casual uninterest that he had never met with before? She was in love with someone else. No secret there, he thought with brooding exasperation.
Yet nothing else was so clear-cut. He had expected her to phone with regular updates on the livery yard. He had assumed that she would take advantage of his vast experience and ask for advice. He had been certain that she would play on their partnership connection to ensure that he didn’t forget her while he was away. But she had done none of those things and he was intrigued.
