The Fight for Dolores

by Catherine E Chapman

  Maggie didn’t laugh or react to the comment in any way.

  “The kind of woman who drives men crazy,” he continued, reaching into the inside pocket of his tailored jacket and taking out a card. He handed it to her. “If you change your mind about dinner, call me,” he said.

  As he turned away and walked to the door, Maggie exhaled relief and then worried that it had been audible.

  At the door, Callum turned to face her and said, “And I will get that cabin. Everything has its price.” He saluted her and left.

  Maggie leapt to the door, locked it behind him and pulled down the blind. Turning to rest her back against the door, she tipped back her head and closed her eyes.

  He wasn’t the first man to have told her she was impossible. But what was different was that, previously, it was a verdict that had been delivered at the end of a relationship; not as a forerunner to an invitation to dinner.

  Maggie laughed out loud wryly. If he’d been anyone but Callum McCoy, she’d have accepted his offer gladly. He was a gorgeous man, there was no doubt about it. She didn’t care what cheesy descriptions her sister and Carmel used – the fact was he was beautiful: thoroughly masculine but somehow transcending all earthly norms of desirability. She couldn’t explain it – you just had to look at him.

  ‘Over my dead body,’ was the parting shot she wished she’d made to his penultimate claim. She kicked herself to have missed that opportunity. But in truth, what really irked her was that, if she herself were forced to come up with an over-used term to describe Callum McCoy’s appearance, she had to confess it would be, ‘to die for.’

  What a shame he was such a complete eejit!

  * * *

  “She’s gone insane! Tell your daughter she’s insane, Paddy!” Linda O’Reilly exclaimed as Maggie loaded the last of her possessions into her car.

  “Linda, I think you’re over-reacting–”

  “No, you’re under-reacting, Patrick; she can’t go to live in Dolores!”

  “Mammy, I am going to live in Dolores. Now will you please get out of my way!”

  Paula sat on the stairs, watching the scene and keeping her distance.

  “That place isn’t fit for habitation,” Linda protested – not for the first time. “The nights are cold already; you’ll catch your death–”

  “She’s old enough to make her own decisions–”

  “Thanks Daddy, yes I am,” Maggie said as she took out the final box.

  She returned to the house to find her mother in tears. “Look, Mammy, it’s not that far away. I’ll be back to do my laundry every week and, if I really think I’m at risk of hypothermia, I’ll abandon ship–”

  “But I know you, Magdalena. You say that now but when it comes to the crunch you’ll dig your heels in and make yourself ill.”

  Maggie hugged her father, who shook his head at her mother’s fussing.

  “Bye Sis,” Paula called from the stairs, thinking the emotional outbursts were thoroughly unnecessary.

  “Don’t forget we’re always here for you, darling,” Linda said, embracing Magdalena as if she were off on a round-world trip. “We will always love you,” she added, with the implication that this would be the case however stupid the schemes that Maggie undertook.

  Somehow Maggie finally managed to get away from them and, barely half an hour later, found herself alone in the woodland, lakeside setting of Dolores. She was annoyed to find that, since her trips to deliver things to the chalet on the previous weekend, ‘sold’ signs had appeared in the gardens of both neighbouring cottages. It was completely silly as there was nobody here to see them anyway. It was, no doubt, a psychological move on the part of McCoy (or his solicitors) to make her feel uncomfortable.

  Standing at the gate of the cottage garden, looking towards the Lough, with fleeting glimpses of the Lodge on the opposite shore visible through the tree branches that moved in the gentle wind, Maggie had a strange dual sensation: on the one hand, the peace and tranquillity of the place was incredibly soothing but, on the other, she suddenly realised how isolated she was. Nobody else lived here – McCoy would be her nearest neighbour, and she didn’t expect him to be resident in the Lodge very often. The ‘sold’ signs reinforced her sense of seclusion in a rather eerie way; she couldn’t quite believe she hadn’t anticipated this feeling.

  But it wasn’t rational. Maggie opened the boot of the car and began to take out her bags and boxes, telling herself that, once she was inside the house, she would feel better.

  But this wasn’t really the case: the interior of the chalet felt odd too. It was a place intended to be sporadically full of people – not the lonely home of a spinster. Was she destined to go mad here?

  Maggie stopped herself – she was being ridiculous. She filled up the kettle and switched it on, intent on brewing some coffee. She was thankful that her grandfather had had the foresight to supply Dolores, not only with drinking water, but also electricity, during his lifetime. She had everything she needed here – and she was perfectly safe.

  Chapter 3

  “Sorry I’m late, Billy,” Maggie said as soon as she stepped over the threshold of the office. Billy stood in the middle of the floor space. Maggie was about to say that the traffic through town had been a nightmare but, realising that this was as good a time as any to come clean with him, she instead explained, “I’ve been staying in the chalet and miscalculated how long it’d take to get here.”

  “You’re stopping in Dolores?” Carmel asked incredulously.

  “Yes, living there now,” Maggie stated plainly.

  Billy wore a quizzical expression. “Wait a minute, isn’t this the place that’s causing Callum McCoy so much heartache?”

  And so it was that Maggie had to spill the beans about her ‘conflicting interests.’ “I’ll understand if you sack me,” she said to Billy once she’d confessed all, “only, I’d rather you didn’t. Now I have a place of my own, this job has never been so dear to me.”

  Carmel raised her eyes to the heavens –or the false ceiling, at least– wondering how Maggie got away with it.

  “I ought to sack you,” Billy concluded. “This whole episode serves to prove just how impossible you truly are,” and with that he retired to his room.

  When the two women were left alone, Carmel gave Maggie a look that made her feel tempted to tell Carmel that he had described her as ‘exasperating’ but she didn’t.

  Carmel’s expression became more serious and she commenced, “Well, since we’re into confessions, I have one to make to you.”

  Maggie looked up from the pile of correspondence she’d started sorting through on her desk.

  “Unwittingly,” Carmel continued, noting that her friend was frowning already, “I let slip to Callum about you owning Dolores.”

  Maggie tutted and examined the false ceiling herself. “When?” she asked pointedly.

  “On the phone, just before you arrived.”

  There was no point in grilling Carmel as to how she’d managed to do that – it was done. “What did he say?” Maggie asked.

  “That it all made sense,” Carmel replied.

  “How did he sound?”

  “Amused,” Carmel said, after thinking for a moment about the best way to describe his response.

  Maggie nodded her head and pondered the implications of the revelation.

  “You haven’t seen him then?” Carmel continued.

  “Should I have?”

  “Well, he moved into West Lough Lodge over the weekend. I just thought you might have bumped into him.”

  “Carmel, it’s a ten-minute drive around the shore of the Lough to get from my place to his – why would I see him?”

  Carmel looked concerned. “And you’re really planning to live there?” she asked.

  “Yes!”

  “It’s just so isolated.”

  “That’s the appeal.”

  “Well, it’s a good job you have a dashing young man to hand to defend you–”


  “A ten-minute drive is hardly ‘to hand’–”

  “And I imagine, being American, he probably owns a gun…” Carmel suggested, looking dreamily up at the ceiling.

  “It’s West Lough, not the Wild West!” Maggie responded scathingly. “And anyway, the only person likely to pose a threat to me is McCoy himself – I have no other enemies.”

  * * *

  The week passed quietly, with Maggie slowly adjusting to the privations of life in Dolores. Contrary to her mother’s predictions, the regional weather forecast was for the onset of a late spell of summer heat and, by the weekend, Maggie was glad of the inherent coolness of the chalet and its position in the shady woodland.

  Maggie had to work on Saturday morning but, in the afternoon, she met up with Paula and went shopping for a few cushions and a couple of throws, to make the old living room furniture in the cabin feel a bit fresher and more personal to her. She was pleased with her purchases but annoyed that Paula, like Carmel, was full of questions about her new neighbour. Maggie hadn’t seen Callum and had no intention of doing so.

  On Sunday, Maggie’s parents insisted on visiting her at Dolores and bringing food, her mother appearing to believe that she would, by now, be starving.

  It transpired to be a pleasant afternoon, spent sitting in the shade, sipping Linda’s home-made lemonade, a key feature of Maggie’s childhood visits to Dolores. The lemonade triggered her father’s reminiscences of the old days too and Maggie enjoyed hearing about his earliest childhood memories of the chalet.

  When her parents left her, in the late afternoon, Maggie once again felt strange about being alone at Dolores but the talk of the past had reminded her why it was so important to keep hold of the house, however arduous living there might be.

  Bathing was an issue – it was hard to get enough hot water to have a decent bath and Maggie was loath to return to her parents’ house to bathe – she was already sending her washing home.

  Today, however, as it was still so hot and sticky, Maggie intended to take the kind of bath that was best in West Lough; she donned her swimsuit and headed to the lake-shore.

  Stepping tentatively over the stones in her bare feet, Maggie felt the instant shock of the cold water – even in a heat wave, the Lough was refreshing. This sensation, too, was loaded with memories of childhood. Maggie couldn’t be doing with exercising in a gym as her sister so regularly did, but she adored swimming in the open air – ‘wild swimming’ they called it nowadays.

  It wasn’t long before she was immersed in the water up to her chest. Her feet were still touching the silty bed of the Lough. The final plunge –submerging her shoulders and actually beginning to swim– was always the hardest part.

  Maggie took a deep breath and leant forward, allowing her feet to lose contact with the lake’s bottom. She shivered momentarily as she commenced swimming breast-stroke, before gradually relaxing, as her whole body acclimatized to the temperature of the water. It was always worth the effort to get started; once you were in, it was heavenly.

  Maggie swam away from the shore, her eyes scanning the Lough’s surface and fixing on the expansive elevation of the Lodge on the distant shore. As a child, she’d been desperate to swim the full width of the Lough but her father had forbidden it, saying it was too far and the water was dangerously deep in the middle. Now, she wouldn’t dream of trying, though the idea was still tantalising.

  Maggie’s attention was suddenly arrested by the sound of a disturbance in the water to her right. Immediately, the thought occurred to her that a large fish had jumped out of the Lough, though this seemed unlikely so near to the shoreline. She turned about to face the disturbance, lowering her feet as she did and ascertaining that she could no longer touch the bottom.

  Initially, Maggie could see nothing but ripples on the surface where the water had been disturbed, near to an elevated headland, from which the boys in the neighbouring cabins had used to dive in Maggie’s adolescence. Maggie watched the spot for what seemed a long time, anxious as to what was in the Lough – it had sounded big. Was it better to swim for the shore or stay put, treading water?

  Maggie panicked and swallowed a mouthful of lake-water as something surfaced from the depths just ahead of her. When she saw what it actually was, she wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or more alarmed.

  It was his dark hair that gave it away – black, now it was wet. As he emerged, he ran his fingers through his hair to direct the water away from his face. He beamed at her, saying, “Invigorating, isn’t it?”

  Maggie was momentarily speechless, wondering where he’d come from. She thought that, if he’d parked at the neighbouring cabins, he’d be trespassing – until she remembered that he now owned them. “How did you get here?” Maggie asked confusedly.

  “Swam,” was his response.

  “Across the Lough?”

  “Sure,” he said.

  Despite herself, Maggie was impressed.

  “You see, we do have things in common,” Callum observed.

  Maggie looked at him blankly, wiping the water from her own face as she continued to tread.

  “You looked to me like the kind of girl who’d float well – all those curves.” Callum raised his eyebrows suggestively.

  Maggie was uncertain whether he was implying she was fat. “Well, Mr McCoy, I was just having a quick dip to cool down and now I’m done.” But as she said the words, Maggie realised she didn’t want to be the first to get out of the water – not now she knew Callum would be scrutinising her figure.

  “Yes, I need to be getting on too,” Callum said, to Maggie’s relief.

  She waited for him to start ploughing his way back over the Lough but, to her surprise, he headed back to the near shore. Maggie couldn’t help but watch him as he swam away from her. Soon, he was walking, his broad shoulders emerging from the water and being swiftly followed by the smooth skin of his back. Maggie was transfixed until a suggestion of his buttocks beneath the line of his trunks caused her to spin in the water like a synchronised swimmer to avert her eyes. She then instantly regretted the move, wishing she’d allowed herself to gaze upon his perfect form for one moment longer. When Maggie turned and looked again, it was too late: back on shore, he’d put on a pair of baggy shorts. She saw his long legs, though – with just the right degree of muscularity.

  Callum disappeared behind the headland. Maggie’s head fell back in the water and she allowed her legs to lift to the surface – he was right, of course, she did float effortlessly and had, since childhood, marvelled at the taller, leaner Paula’s struggles to do the same. Maggie felt exhausted – Callum was exhausting. She gazed up into the clear, blue skies, contemplating what an exhausting man he was. She had forgotten she’d told him she was getting out of the water too.

  Some moments later, Maggie once again heard motion in the water. Righting herself and looking across to the headland, Maggie saw a kayak emerge from behind it. The paddler looked ahead of himself, making a beeline for the far side of the Lough. As he passed her at some distance, he turned his head and winked mischievously.

  Exhausting!

  * * *

  Inevitably, it wasn’t long before the hot spell fizzled out, giving way to autumn. Maggie settled into life at Dolores but her mother harboured hopes that, in time, the worsening weather would flush her daughter out of the summer house.

  Maggie saw nothing more of Callum but, annoyingly, was given regular updates on him by both Carmel and Paula; though how much of it was anything more than a figment of their imaginations, she didn’t know.

  However, barely a week after the bathing encounter, Maggie received a letter from Callum’s solicitors, revising his offer on Dolores: the sum he was now willing to pay was, Maggie estimated, ten times the cabin’s market value. After opening the envelope and reading the letter, Maggie stared hard at the figure quoted for some minutes – she must tell no one about this.

  She didn’t tell anyone but, of course, every mention of Callum was then overs
hadowed by Maggie’s awareness that she could be a very wealthy young woman, if she were to stoop to accept his offer.

  * * *

  Imperceptibly, the season turned from autumn to winter and Christmas came around. When Maggie dropped in at her parents’ house on Christmas Eve, she discovered that Paula had received bad news.

  “Be kind to your sister tomorrow,” Maggie’s mother told her, “the envelope that she thought contained a Christmas bonus turned out to be a redundancy notice.”

  “No!” Maggie responded. “Where is she now?”

  “The gym, of course. She insisted she didn’t want to talk about it.”

  The news preyed on Maggie’s mind throughout her drive back to Dolores. She’d resisted her mother’s pleas for her to stay with them over Christmas, assuring her that she’d be back tomorrow in good time for lunch.

  When Maggie pulled into the parking bay in front of the chalet, and looked involuntarily at the house, she was shocked to see a man sitting close to the doorway, wearing what looked like a skiing jacket, hunched over, absorbed in his phone. He looked up.

  As Maggie, still perplexed, stepped out of her car, Callum began “Happy Christmas, Magdalena!”

  “Strictly speaking, it isn’t yet,” she replied.

  “We’d had a bit of a party at the Lodge and I wondered if you’d like to share some leftovers with me,” he continued, sounding as if his patter was rehearsed.

  Maggie was offended by the idea that he was actually expecting her to let him into her home. “You after sizing the place up?” she said involuntarily.

  “It’s Christmas,” he maintained, “the season of goodwill. I just thought it would be nice to catch up with my nearest neighbour–”

  It was too cold to stand outside debating the issue and, judging from his pale cheeks, Callum had already been waiting for some time.

  Begrudgingly, Maggie opened the front door and ushered her uninvited guest inside. She discovered that the basket he’d been sitting on was a picnic hamper.