by Zara Keane
“Next Wednesday sounds good. Where are you off to this weekend?”
“I have meetings in Belfast and Dublin with my agent and a few TV execs.”
“Ah,” she said, brightening. “Is this about your TV series?”
“Yes.” It was his turn to smile. “There’ll definitely be more Detective Inspector Brady episodes next winter, and I’m hoping my new miniseries will get the green light too.”
“Excellent news. Congratulations.”
“Daaad.” Luca appeared at his side, clutching the bag of scones. “Are we going for our walk?”
“When I pay Olivia.” He slipped the money onto the counter, his fingers brushing against hers for a delicious instant. “Enjoy your evening.”
***
Through the café window, Olivia watched Jonas and Luca cross the street and walk in the direction of the beach. Was she mad to accept his dinner invitation? And if so, did she care? If the past few weeks had taught her anything, it was to let go of the past and live life on her own terms.
In the two weeks since the café opened, she’d seen little of Jonas. She was backachingly busy from morning until night, and he had a looming deadline. She’d seen more of his pint-sized mirror image. Luca had wasted no time in dragging his new babysitter over to the café for Olivia’s inspection.
The beeper on the oven went off, calling her back to the kitchen. She removed a tray of fruitcakes. Mmm…she sniffed the tray in appreciation. The aroma of baking never failed to lift her mood. Actually, her mood had been great since she’d signed the lease for the café. She might not be completely shot of Aidan, but she was well on her way to achieving financial independence.
The jangle of the door indicated the arrival of another late customer. “Hang on a sec,” she shouted.
The kitchen door slid open. “It’s only me.”
The familiar sound of his voice sent shivers skittering through her body.
The visitor was Aidan.
Chapter Twenty
OLIVIA’S FORMER HUSBAND SLUNK into the kitchen. He seemed calm, and he seemed sober. Definite pluses, but she’d known Aidan too long to trust appearances. She groped in her apron pocket for her phone. “Leave now, or I’m calling the cops.” A treacherous trickle of sweat snaked down her back.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Olivia. I don’t want to hurt you. I’m here to talk.”
He moved a step closer. She took a step back, deftly maneuvering herself behind the work counter. From the corner of her eye, she could see the door leading from the kitchen to the small lane behind the cottage. A quick sprint and she’d be free.
Her finger hovered over the number for emergency services. “Do we have anything left to talk about, Aidan?” Her voice dripped ice. “Apart from stuff our solicitors can deal with?”
“I think we do, yes.” He was dressed in a pressed suit, his hair gelled back in his preferred style. He was a handsome man—if your taste ran to Ken doll lookalikes. His only facial flaw was a small scar on his cheek, courtesy of an attack by two Chihuahuas at last year’s Christmas bazaar.
“I trust you’re recovered from your ailment?” she asked in a silky voice.
His forced composure wavered. “Unfortunately for you, yes. You won’t be a wealthy widow just yet.”
He leaned against the kitchen counter, making his intention to stay clear. Her fight-or-flight response was at the ready. Trust him to corner her in the kitchen, where they weren’t visible from the street. She’d lay bets he’d waited until Jonas and Luca left. What Aidan didn’t know was that Fiona and Jill were expecting to meet her in MacCarthy’s pub in fifteen minutes. If she was late, they’d come looking for her. But in certain circumstances, fifteen minutes was an eternity.
“There’s no need to be frightened.” Aidan gave a hollow laugh. “I don’t bite.”
No, he’d never done that. He confined himself to well-placed punches.
She cast him a look that would have made Medusa proud. “What’s this about?”
He loosened his tie. “I’m not going to contest the divorce.”
Her breath left her lungs in a whoosh. “Why the change of heart?”
“You’re moving on with your life. It’s time I did the same.”
“Yes,” she said, instantly wary. “Moving on would be best for both of us.”
He gave an exaggerated sigh. “I did love you, you know.”
Her ears pricked up. What bullshit line was he about to spin this time?
“When we were first together,” he clarified, seeing her expression of incredulity. “Oh, I was aware it wasn’t mutual. I’m not a fool. You married me for my money. But I hoped in time you’d come to have feelings for me.”
She had developed feelings for him, but not the way he meant—she was pretty sure “loathing” wasn’t the emotion to which he was referring. “You married me because I reminded you of my mother.”
He shrugged, not bothering to deny it. “I was in love with Victoria for years, but she married your father. There were certain aspects to your personality and appearance that reminded me of her, although you’re not much alike.”
“As you reminded me on a daily basis.”
“Don’t hate your mother. She’s had a hard life.”
Olivia snorted. “If she has, it’s been of her own making.”
“Perhaps. But I didn’t come here to talk about Victoria. I came to apologize for what happened on the beach.”
“What about all the other times? Are you sorry for them, too?”
A muscle in his cheek spasmed. “I don’t know what comes over me. We seem to bring out the worst in each other.”
If she hadn’t already suspected Aidan had an ulterior motive for this visit, his insincere apology confirmed her suspicions. What was he playing at? “I agree we bring out each other’s bad sides, but that’s no excuse for hurting me.”
“I know. Can’t we forget it and move on?” he asked in a beseeching tone. “I’ve said I won’t contest the divorce proceedings, and I mean it. I’ll provide you with a settlement. It won’t be massive, but it’ll be more than is currently reflected in my bank accounts. Mother’s agreed to help out.”
Olivia’s bullshit radar was at full alert. “Hmm…sounds tempting. What’s the catch?”
His insincere politician’s smile slid back into place. “You don’t discuss our marriage with anyone.”
She rolled her eyes. “Who would I discuss it with, apart from the people I’ve already confided in?”
“I don’t know, Olivia,” he said with a touch of impatience. “I simply don’t want our dirty laundry aired in public.”
She sniffed in disgust. “You don’t want me trash talking you in the run up to the mayoral elections.”
“Precisely. I need to exercise some damage control.”
“And a vindictive ex-wife who claims you were abusive toward her wouldn’t go over well with the voters?”
Aidan’s mouth hardened. “Your words, not mine.”
“Yes, they are my words. And accurate ones at that.” She stared him down. “What about my parents’ debt?”
“That’s got nothing to do with you.”
“No, nor do I care what happens to them. I’m concerned about the boys.”
“The debt still stands.” His expression hardened. “They borrowed money from me, and I expect them to continue paying it back. Their financial obligation to me is not your problem. I don’t know why you’ve always insisted on making it so.”
Ah, the irony of hearing sound advice from her crazy ex. “Aidan, let me get this straight—you don’t contest the divorce, and I get a settlement. In return, I keep my trap shut.”
“Exactly. Do we have a deal?”
“I’m not committing myself to anything yet. Not before I’ve had time to think it over. I also expect you to show evidence of this settlement to my solicitor before I sign your gagging agreement.”
“Olivia,” he protested, “I’d hardly call it gagging.”
“How else would you define it?” She arched an eyebrow. He opened his mouth to argue the point but she silenced him with a warning finger. “No, Aidan. Don’t spout legalese. I’m not in the mood. I’ve said I’ll consider your proposition. You know my lawyer’s address. Once I’ve discussed the matter with him, we can talk further.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “And I did mean it about loving you.”
“Perhaps you did, but whatever you felt for me died a long time ago. Let’s not pretend otherwise.” In his own warped way, perhaps Aidan had loved her, but not in a manner destined to bring either of them joy.
He nodded grimly. “I’ll see myself out.”
When the café door closed behind him, she slid the lock into place and sagged against the frame. If she signed a gag order, she was a hypocrite, but one with the financial independence she’d always craved. Could she stand by and watch Aidan shake voters’ hands and promote traditional family values? And what did it matter if she did? Weren’t all politicians crooks?
She glanced at her watch. She had three minutes to make it to MacCarthy’s before her friends called out the cavalry. An evening out would do her good. She had a lot to think about. After all, it wasn’t every day she was asked to sacrifice her principles for a wad of cash.
***
Fiona’s jaw dropped. “He made you an indecent proposal?”
“Shh,” admonished Olivia. “Keep your voice down.” They were attracting far too much interest from the people at the next table. “And it wasn’t that sort of indecent proposal.”
“The slimy fecker,” Fiona said in disgust. “It’s bad enough having him on the town council. If he goes into proper politics, he might end up in parliament.”
Olivia gave an exaggerated shudder. “Perish the thought.”
They were sitting at their preferred table in the snug of MacCarthy’s pub. While she’d formed friendships with Fiona and Jill at separate times in her life—Jill at cookery school and Fiona at secondary school—she was pleased to see how well they got along with one another.
“I never liked that man,” said Fiona dourly.
“Thanks for mentioning that little tidbit before I married him,” Olivia said sardonically.
Fiona toyed with her lip ring. “Would it have made a difference?”
Olivia sighed. “Probably not.”
Jill fiddled with a ragged beer mat. “Are you seriously considering agreeing to his terms?”
“It’s tempting. It would give me enough money to rent a house large enough for my brothers to move in.” Olivia wrinkled her brow. “Kyle was in trouble with the police again last week for underage drinking and rowdiness. It wouldn’t happen if he lived with me.”
“Jaysus, Olivia,” Jill said. “I wouldn’t sign a piece of paper to benefit Aidan, no matter what sort of money he was offering.”
“If Aidan had any sense, he’d realize I’d never sell my story to a newspaper. I hate people knowing my business. I’m hardly going to reveal all to the media.” Olivia squeezed her lemon slice and watched the yellow droplets disperse in her gin and tonic. “As for whether or not I accept the deal, I’m going to sleep on it.”
“Always the money, Liv,” Fiona admonished. “Any money Aidan offers is tainted. It might bring you financial security, for what that’s worth these days, but it’ll never make you happy.”
“Perhaps you’re right.” She met Fiona’s sardonic gaze. “Okay, I know you’re right, but I’m not making a decision until I’ve had time to think it over.”
Jill had reached the beermat-ripping stage, a clear sign she was stressed or irritated. “I’m with Fiona on this one. If you accept the money, you’ll live to regret it.”
“Okay,” she said with a small laugh, “you’ve both made your point. I’ll sleep on it and call my solicitor tomorrow. By the way, Jill, you were paying particular attention to the post this morning. Expecting anything special?”
Jill grimaced. “Yeah. And it showed up. Which means I’m now a nervous wreck.”
“Is it a job interview?” Fiona asked curiously. “You said you were only going to be working at the café on a temporary basis.”
Jill nodded. “I’ve been invited to interview for a position at a multinational drinks company on Friday. They even sent me a train ticket to Dublin. Because my interview is scheduled at the end of the day, they’ll put me up in a hotel for the night.”
“Hey, that’s wonderful news.” Olivia squeezed her friend’s arm. While she’d be disappointed to lose Jill from the café, she’d known it was a short-term arrangement.
“It is, but I’m trying not to get too excited. They’re interviewing several candidates before me. The competition’s bound to be fierce. Plus…there’s a catch.”
“Isn’t there always,” Olivia said dryly. “Come on. Spill.”
“Richard works for the company.”
“Ah.” Olivia drew the syllable out with emphasis.
Fiona raised an eyebrow in question. “Who’s Richard?”
“My ex,” Jill said. “Olivia calls him Ratfink, if that tips you off.”
Fiona grinned. “She may have mentioned a Ratfink at some point.”
Olivia smiled over the rim of her gin glass. “Ratfink doesn’t quite reach Aidan’s low standards, but what man does?”
“If Ratfink—Richard—works for this company, would you turn down a job with them on his account?” Fiona asked.
“Given that this is the first interview I’ve gotten in months, I don’t think I’m in a position to be picky.”
“Cross that bridge when you come to it,” Olivia said. “At the very least, you’ll get a free trip to the Big Smoke.”
“True,” Jill mused. “It’s been ages since I was last in Dublin.”
“Same here. Must be two years since I visited you, Fiona.”
“More like three,” Fiona said.
“That long?” asked Jill in surprise. “Why don’t you two join me? We could meet Friday evening after my interview, then go shopping on Saturday.”
The idea was tantalizingly tempting. If the timing were different, Olivia would seize the opportunity. “I’m nervous leaving the café so soon after opening.”
“I get that. Why don’t I ask my sister to come in on Friday afternoon, and you can join me in the evening? She works at the café on Saturdays anyway, so you can leave her any last-minute instructions. Come on, it’ll be a laugh. When was the last time we had a night out anyplace but Ballybeg?”
“So long ago I can’t remember.” Olivia’s tone was wistful.
Fiona took a sip of her drink. “I’m game if Olivia is. My new teaching job doesn’t start until after the summer holidays, so I can be flexible.”
“All right. You’ve convinced me.” Olivia turned to Jill. “I’ll talk to Naomi and come up with a solution for the café. If I’m confident I can leave it without incurring disaster, I’ll go.”
Jill beamed. “Excellent. The train journey is between two and a half and three hours, depending on the connection. Why don’t we meet at the hotel at around seven? My interview should be well over by then.”
“Which hotel are you staying at?”
“The Ashbourne.”
Olivia whistled. “Swanky. I’ve always wanted to stay there.”
“One of my aunts is assistant manager. She’s already given me a room upgrade. As long as you and Fiona don’t mind sharing a bed, we’ll have loads of space.”
“Leaving you two with more cash for shopping on Saturday.” Fiona said with a laugh.
Visions of the latest fashions danced in Olivia’s head. She couldn’t afford to go wild, but her budget would extend to a couple of inexpensive items. “Will our evening involve cocktails?”
“We’ll make sure of it.” Jill laughed. “I haven’t had a mai tai in years.”
“Nor I.” Ballybeg might sport more pubs than grocers, but none of them catered to a cocktail-drinking clientele.
“I know a few good cocktail bars
in Dublin,” Fiona said. “Come to think of it, the hotel bar serves a mean cocktail, if I recall correctly.”
Jill raised her beer glass. “Here’s to fun, frolics, and friendship in the Big Smoke.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Olivia said. “Sláinte.
Chapter Twenty-One
JONAS SLUNG HIS CARRIER BAG on the hotel room bed and collapsed into a plush armchair. After two days of meetings in Belfast and Dublin, he was bone tired and hoarse from talking. The good news was that he’d signed a deal for a new miniseries due to start filming the following year. He’d also received interest in a TV script based on Trial by Blood, the book his agent had failed to sell a couple of months previously. Tomorrow morning, he was scheduled to attend a book signing at a large Dublin library. Once that was over, he was free to return to Ballybeg and Luca.
Speaking of whom…He hit speed dial on his phone. “Hey, kiddo. Are you behaving yourself for Nana and Granddad?”
“Most of the time,” his son replied with his customary directness. “They weren’t too thrilled when I cut the living room curtains.”
“What did you do that for?”
“One side was uneven. I took a scissors to it and Nana had a fit.”
“Oh, dear. Not good, Luca. We’ve talked about this before. It doesn’t matter if something doesn’t fit or is uneven. You’re not allowed to cut someone else’s property without checking with them first.”
“I know. I helped Nana in the garden to show I was sorry.”
“I’ll bring her a large box of chocolates from Dublin.” Maybe he’d throw in a bottle of whiskey. It sounded as though his parents would need it after three days looking after their grandson.
“Will you be home soon? Granddad tries but he’s crap at reading bedtime stories. His character voices are all wrong.”
The image of his gruff father attempting to do voices brought a smile to Jonas’s lips. “I’ll be home tomorrow evening and back on story-reading duty. Can you keep out of mischief until then?”
“I can try.”
“That’s good enough for me. Night, mate. Sleep well.”