The Stone House

by Marita Conlon-McKenna

  Hunkering down on the floor she riffled through more paperwork, old bank statements.

  ‘Dad, I don’t believe it! There’s a cheque here from one of your clients and you didn’t even bother lodging it.’

  ‘Give it to me!’ he insisted, pulling it out of her hand and immediately tearing it up.’

  ‘What the hell did you do that for?’ she demanded.

  ‘I was only holding it for someone. Anyway, it was long out of date.’

  No wonder his affairs were in such a state of calamity, thought Kate as she studied a massive red folder, her heart sinking as she perused the contents.

  Cove Cottages. She remembered the time her father and Martin had built the sixteen summer homes; a journalist from the Dublin papers had come down to photograph them and everyone was amazed when they were all sold thirty-six hours later. Looking through the folder she discovered a copy of the deed of sale of the late Maggie Roche’s three-bedroomed cottage and stables and acre of land to Cove Holdings. Dillon and Duffy had acted as auctioneer for the executor who was Maggie’s only living relative, a nephew in New Jersey. A private treaty sale, the old woman’s house and land, looking at it now, seemed to have gone for a lot less than the market value. A copy of her father’s letter to Dwight Roche advising him to accept the offer as the dwelling was almost uninhabitable and the land not worth much was still on file.

  Kate could remember the old woman out lovingly tending her garden and vegetable patch and the two ageing donkeys she kept. The nephew had approved the sale and Dillon Duffy had passed the parcel of land to Cove Holdings, one of their own privately held companies. Planning permission had been granted almost immediately. Kate groaned. What would happen if this nephew surfaced or could ever be found? ‘Dad why did you do this?’ she said.

  ‘Not a sinner ever came to see that poor soul! Not a visitor from across the way ever, not even a postcard from America – ask Larry Murphy the postman. He’ll tell you. Maggie hadn’t even made a will. It would have stuck in my craw to send a big cheque off to some high-flying young buck in America! Martin and I did give a big donation afterwards to the Donkey Sanctuary place on Maggie’s behalf. She’d have liked that.’

  ‘Jesus, Dad, donkeys or not, it wasn’t your decision to make.’ She laughed. ‘And you’d no right to manipulate the sale. You are legally up the fucking creek!’

  ‘Kate, I know I’ve let you all down,’ he admitted despairingly, slumping across his office desk. ‘As God is my judge, I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.’

  Kate knew from dealing with cases over the years that what he really meant was that he hadn’t intended being caught. She’d pack up the rest of the stuff tonight and hopefully get it to Rory over the next day or two. Her father was in a whole heap of trouble and she would have to do her utmost to bail him out.

  ‘I always knew some day having a lawyer in the family might be a good thing,’ he said half jokingly as he passed her a box.

  ‘You and your bloody Donkey Sanctuary! The Revenue Commissioners will go crazy!’

  Chapter Twenty-six

  ‘KATE, YOU KNOW something, you’re getting to be a boring old fart.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, taking a sip of her beer. If it had come from anyone else, she would have ranted and raved and retaliated in some smart Alec fashion but since the speaker was her cousin Conor Quinn and he was only saying it in her best interest she had no option but to humbly agree with his rather insulting opinion.

  They were in McDaid’s in Harry Street drinking, pints of cool Miller.

  ‘You bloody well work too hard and don’t go out and enjoy yourself enough.’

  Sitting in her black pinstripe suit she stared into the golden bubble of liquid and knew that much of what he was saying was true.

  ‘I have a very demanding job,’ she tried to explain, ‘and . . .’

  ‘We all have jobs! Everyone works hard to get the money to go out and give it a lash during the weekends or after work.’

  ‘But my day isn’t nine to five. At my level the company expects more as I’m dealing with big corporates.’

  ‘Expects too bloody much if you ask me. Do you want to waste your life away on some big fat ass company when you’ve no life of your own?’

  ‘Conor, that’s a bit harsh,’ she argued.

  ‘You hardly ever get home for the weekend. You work overtime so you’ve no chance to go out with your friends and have a bit of crack.’

  There was no point telling him she’d actually spent more time down home in Rossmore the past few weeks than she’d done for months. ‘I still see Minnie and Dee sometimes,’ she protested.

  ‘Yeah for a quick lunch or to go to the cinema, I bet.’

  She slumped against the bar counter. Everything he was saying was true.

  ‘My life is shit,’ she admitted, catching the barman’s eye and ordering another pint. ‘Correction, I enjoy my work but my personal life is shit.’

  ‘Then we need to remedy it.’

  ‘Do what, though?’ She felt totally deflated, wondering how she was ever going to rescue herself from the boring structure she had created. Another pint and she’d be weeping on Conor’s shoulder.

  ‘Listen, you’ve got to make sure your free time is your own and that you don’t spend it banjaxed lying in bed on a Saturday or Sunday trying to sleep off the exhaustion of a week in work.’

  Did Conor have a secret camera hidden in her new apartment or was he just able to read her that well?

  ‘You need rescuing.’ He grinned, stuffing his face with peanuts from the bowl near them.

  ‘What did you have in mind?’ she laughed.

  ‘Fresh air and sails and life on the ocean wave!’ he coaxed.

  ‘Sailing?’

  ‘Yeah I need to crew a boat down to West Cork and I’m short a hand. It’s only for a few days.’

  ‘I’m up to my tonsils with work,’ she began to explain.

  ‘I’m not asking you about work. I’m asking you to take a few days off work and spend some time on the boat with me. It’ll be fun, if you remember that word.’

  Fun. That was the something she was definitely lacking. Between the office and her father’s problems she’d been stressed out lately. She didn’t even have to think about it any more. She’d always loved sailing and crewing with her cousins, and it was ages since they’d sailed together. A few days of uncomplicated simple living would be great.

  ‘I’ll do it. I’ll sail to West Cork with you.’ She laughed, elated to have made a decision with regard to herself.

  Minnie had given a big cheer when she’d phoned her to tell her she would be off sailing for a few days and unavailable for their weekly lunch.

  ‘For Christ’s sake have a bit of fun and give Conor a big hug from me.’

  Bill O’Hara her boss had huffed and puffed a bit when she asked him for the few days off.

  ‘It’s just it’s all a bit sudden, Kate. You know how busy we are at the moment. You should have put your holiday request in months ago.’

  ‘I didn’t know that I was going to be going away then.’

  She knew that Bill was reluctant to deal with Alan MacCarthy on his own, having rowed with him two years ago about the privatization of his company, and now relied on her to smooth the waters.

  ‘You’ll just have to deal with MacCarthy yourself,’ she said.

  ‘Perhaps we should leave it till you get back?’

  ‘Bill, it can’t be left, you know that! Everything is on a tight deadline in terms of the company and announcements. You’ll just have to do it.’

  Inwardly she cursed the lazy so-and-so who regularly didn’t turn in for work and took off for rugby breaks to matches in Paris and Rome and London and golf outings to Scotland and Augusta, and Valderrama while she covered for him. For once she was asking him to cover for her and he was making a big deal out of it.

  ‘Alan’s a nice guy, just go easy and give him what he wants and he’s like a pussycat. Fighting with hi
m only riles him and brings out the tiger.’

  Getting away from the office and Dublin was exactly what she needed and throwing her kitbag on deck of the brand-new forty-footer moored in Howth harbour she banished all thoughts of the office from her mind. The galley was a delight with a huge microwave and fancy gas hob, the fridge stocked with beer and wine and fat juicy steaks, rashers and eggs and tomatoes and salad.

  ‘Hey Conor, this is great.’

  ‘Yeah your man who owns her is a chef. Shay has two or three fancy restaurants in Cork. I suppose you can take the cook out of the kitchen,’ he joked, ‘but you can’t take the kitchen out of the cook.’

  ‘Well at least we’ll eat well.’

  Kate grabbed one of the small bunk-cabins, plomping her minidisc player and some reading material on the cosy bed before going up on deck and helping her cousin to cast off. She watched the pier and Howth harbour disappear as they slipped out into the open Irish Sea, the gusting wind catching the sails as she raced from aft to fore, Conor shouting instructions to her.

  Later she cooked up steak and onions and mushrooms with big floury potatoes and the two of them listened to the radio and chatted companionably as they washed down a bottle of red wine. They took turns on watch and for her few hours Kate slept like a top, blinking when Conor shook her awake. Up on deck she stretched her limbs, enjoying the peace and solitude of the darkness and the constant lapping water against the hull. Two and half hours later she watched the sun slowly begin to rise from out beyond the line of the water and the light creep across the sky as dawn came. Tears running down her face with awe, she was glad that her cousin was snoring below in the bunk and not seeing what an emotional eejit she’d become.

  The day grew cold and wet and windy, and Conor and herself worked well to use the elements to speed them on their way, passing down by Wexford’s coast and deserted beaches. Her cousin seemed to know the coastline well, and was like a guide mapping out their position hourly. Hours slipped by and although her arms and shoulders ached she realized that the tension and stress she normally carried had somehow disappeared. Conor made hot soup and brought it up on deck so they could watch a group of seals.

  ‘Look at that fat fellow there!’ he joked. ‘He reminds me of my old boss.’

  Kate looked around to see if she could spot one that resembled any of the senior partners she worked with, but decided that the seals were far too nice.

  That night it was dark by the time they reached Cork, Conor mooring the boat in Kinsale so Shay O’Driscoll, the owner, could drive over to see it. After a quick look around his new purchase he insisted they join him for a meal in the Spinnaker.

  ‘I’ve two huge parties booked in to the restaurants over the weekend, so there’s no way I’ll get down to our house in Baltimore till Monday. Will you stay on? I’ll need you to run through how she works, the spec etc. with me then.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Then I intend spending the next two weeks with Tina and the kids sailing around Sherkin and Castletownshend and over to Crookhaven and Schull just getting to know her.’

  ‘They’ll love it.’ Kate smiled, almost envying the O’Driscoll family their boat.

  The next morning they set sail again, Kate enjoying a freedom she had forgotten. As they cast off and slipped out into the Atlantic, heavy waves pushed against the boat as strong winds caught the sails. Up on deck she could hardly get her breath as her hair whipped across her face, stinging her eyes; and she felt the sheer exhilaration of struggling with the elements while Conor shouted orders at her. Her body ached with effort but she had never felt better as they passed Cape Clear and Sherkin, the heavy fishing trawlers and the island ferry and finally dropped anchor in the port of Baltimore.

  She was tired and hungry and readily fell in with Conor’s plan for a huge plate of pizza and fries at La Jolie Brise’s restaurant on the harbour, which was packed with sailors and a few tourists and visitors. The young Breton owner discussed the new boat with Conor and promised to go down and take a look at it in the morning.

  After wolfing down their food and a carafe of wine, Conor insisted on joining the throng in the pub next door.

  ‘I’m so tired, I’ll fall asleep,’ she yawned.

  ‘It’s just all the fresh air. You’re not used to it,’ he said.

  She would have loved to have curled up in a corner of Bushes, and fallen asleep but Conor ran into an old friend who was down staying in one of the hotels and she was dispatched to the bar to buy a few pints for them. Trying to balance the two pints of Guinness and her own glass of beer as well was difficult enough. Negotiating the crowd around the counter she almost fell, pushing against a wall of navy ribbed wool.

  ‘Hey it wouldn’t do to be throwing good pints on the floor,’ he teased.

  Looking at the big wet stain on his jumper, Kate wanted to die with embarrassment. ‘I’m sorry. I nearly fell.’

  ‘No harm done.’

  ‘What about your jumper?’

  The words were hardly out of her mouth when he had peeled it off to reveal a pale blue denim shirt the exact colour of his eyes.

  ‘It will dry.’

  She stood there feeling like a clumsy oaf with her wind-burnt skin and crazy wild hair as she felt his eyes run over her.

  ‘Here, let me give you a hand with those before you spill any more,’ he offered, taking a pint glass from her.

  Conor raised his eyebrow when he saw her approaching.

  ‘I’ll pass this one to your boyfriend,’ the man offered.

  ‘I’m her cousin,’ protested Conor, introducing himself and his friend Tom who in a roundabout fashion introduced Kate to Derry Donovan.

  Next thing she knew, two more stools had been brought over and Derry and his friend Erik had joined them, Derry’s denim-clad leg pressing against hers.

  The talk turned to boats and yachts and Conor was incredulous when Derry told them, ‘I design boats for my living. That’s my profession. Erik here and his family have a big boat yard in Galway where they help me to build them.’

  Kate sighed. A boat-builder. She should have guessed. He was broad and strong and obviously worked with his hands; his blue eyes stood out in his tanned face.

  Conor told them about the boat they had sailed from Dublin.

  ‘The market is tight at the moment. People are cutting back on their luxuries but I suppose the past few years have been good, and there will always be people who want to sail,’ Derry told them.

  ‘I’ll drink to that,’ joked Conor, as they decided to order another round.

  Kate relaxed as the conversation wheeled around her, sipping her beer, watching the beam from the lighthouse through the pub window.

  ‘What do you do, Kate?’ asked Derry.

  ‘I’m a lawyer.’

  ‘Defending the poor and downtrodden, I trust.’

  ‘Actually no, it’s mostly mergers and acquisitions and compliance, corporate law at this stage. I work in one of the big firms in Dublin.’

  ‘So maybe one day you’ll get me to design a yacht for you.’

  ‘I’m only just rediscovering my sea-legs,’ she admitted. ‘Conor thought it would do me good to come away sailing for a few days.’

  ‘And has it?’

  ‘Has it?’

  ‘Has it done you good?’

  Looking into his eyes she could see he was serious.

  ‘Yeah, I guess. I was stressed out, working too hard.’

  ‘So, you will go sailing again?’

  ‘I suppose, when I can get the time.’

  ‘Sometimes we have to make time.’

  She watched as he stood up and went for more drinks, Conor and himself laughing and joking already as if they were old friends. She wished she could be at ease and relaxed like that immediately with people, instead of being so fecking uptight.

  On his return he once again pushed in beside her. Although everyone laughed and chatted Kate was conscious all the time of Derry, drawn to want to talk to him and h
ave him look at her. As closing time drew nearer she began to dread the time Conor would announce they must be on their way, and was steeling herself to say goodbye.

  ‘Time, folks, time!’

  The barmaid began to collect the empty glasses and they all stumbled out of the warmth of the pub onto the roadway, the soft clang of rigging the only sound in the still night air.

  Conor and Derry were busy exchanging cards.

  ‘I tell you, Derry, a complete IT package could really simplify your work. That’s what I do for small businesses, I give them a state of the art system that makes everything easy.’

  ‘It sounds interesting.’

  ‘Well look me up if you or Erik need any advice. Anyways, Kate and I’d better get back to the boat. I’m whacked.’

  Kate stood there with a stupid grin on her face as the moonlight danced on the water.

  ‘It was nice to meet you too,’ Derry said, turning towards her.

  ‘I’m sorry about your sweater.’

  He was so close she could feel his warm breath on her neck, and couldn’t believe it when he leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers. Kate for one crazy second was tempted to throw her arms about him and kiss him passionately.

  ‘Good-night, Kate,’ he said, disappearing off along the front.

  The next two days they lazed and read, and Conor had sailed over to Sherkin Island, both of them enjoying the crazy wildness of the place as they picnicked on the beach and swam in the chilly water. She had cooked them fresh fish with greens and baby potatoes, and they’d sat listening to a radio play companionably. She had never felt so relaxed and refreshed. On Sunday night after they’d eaten they’d gone back to the pub, Kate disappointed to see no sign of Derry as they settled into a corner seat.

  Conor was good company and soon had her in stitches about Aunt Vonnie and Uncle Joe and his brothers and the harum-scarum things they all got up to when they were younger.

  Shay O’Driscoll, the boat’s owner, had arrived down to the harbour the next day, all excited to get a proper chance to see his new purchase in broad daylight. Kate skedaddled for a walk as Conor started going through the log book and explaining the yacht’s wonderful features and the technical stuff for the forty-footer.