Empress of Ireland

by Conner, Jennifer

  “I did ‘handle it,’ sir, even though I’m on vacation.” She steeled her courage. “I deserve this time off. It’s been four years and it states in the restaurant’s employee handbook that for every six months…”

  “I do not wish to hear what is in the handbook.”

  “And sir, Rickman’s is the place you had me call. You gave me the number right before I left, and told me to use them exclusively for the arrangements. They said they would be there today. I called them from my layover at the airport in Denver to confirm, and then I left that message on the machine in your office.”

  “Well, they aren’t here. I will handle this. Just like I handle everything else.” There was a pause at the other end. “Maybe you should stay in Ireland if it’s more important to you than your job.”

  The line went dead.

  Laila’s head pounded. She’d done everything he’d asked her to do and he was still upset? After four years of no more than a few days off at a time, she’d asked for two weeks and he was threatening to take away the job she’d worked so hard for? If she’d dealt with the problem at the restaurant she would have missed her flight. If it wasn’t the refrigeration, it would have been something else. There was always another problem.

  This was why she hadn’t gone with Janelle, but it wasn’t going to happen this time. She wasn’t going to be bullied. She would keep her promise to her friend. She tossed her cell phone back into her purse and looked up the narrow street lined with bright-colored buildings in every shade from yellow to purple.

  Her stomach emitted a loud, un-ladylike growl that reminded her she hadn’t eaten in almost fifteen hours. Between the flight and the food onboard the plane, she’d opted to wait until she was settled. Spotting a pub, Laila grabbed the handle of her suitcase and headed across the street just as the first raindrops landed on her face.

  The pub’s wooden sign creaked and she looked up. Empress of Ireland. Established 1883.

  The place looked promising. Laila pressed through the door. She was instantly wrapped in the warm dark colors of the wood interior and the smells of dark ale and baking bread coming from the kitchen. Her feet and back ached from hauling her luggage through the airports and on the bus. She waited to be seated, but when no one came, Laila chose an empty table toward the back. It felt good to be settled.

  “I’ll be with you in a bit,” the waitress said as she breezed past the table.

  Laila waited another twenty minutes before the woman returned.

  “What’ll you have?” the waitress asked as if in a hurry, even though there were only a few patrons in the place.

  “The fish chowder and soda bread, please, and—”

  The young woman walked off before she could order anything to drink. How rude, Laila thought.

  She sat back in the booth and wished that she could kick off her shoes. Her gaze traveled around the bar where she noticed the waitress texting on her cell over in the corner. The kitchen was in the opposite corner which meant the girl hadn’t yet placed her order. Anger filled her veins. Really? How difficult was it to give her order to the kitchen? She waited, eyes narrowed, as the woman continued her screen conversation with thumbs flying.

  After another fifteen minutes, Laila had enough.

  She spotted a man at the bar with a white ledger and computer printouts spread before him. Whipping her suitcase upright she descended on him. “Are you the manager?” she asked in a sharp tone.

  The man’s head snapped up as though he hadn’t heard her heels on the wood floor. He looked her up and down. “Yeah… and who might you be?” he replied in a thick Irish brogue.

  “I’m a dissatisfied customer is who I am.” Laila grabbed her suitcase as it started to topple forward. “I was abandoned at my table for nearly an hour with no food and wasn’t even asked if I wanted a drink.”

  He looked around to find the waitress who’d conveniently dropped her phone back in her pocket. “Mandy never took your order?”

  “After she left me waiting forever, she took my order… a half hour ago, but never put it in to the kitchen. She’s been in the corner, texting. How are the cooks expected to keep up with the orders if she doesn’t put them in? It makes the kitchen staff look bad.”

  “And how would you know this… Miss…”

  “Byrne. It’s Miss Byrne. I know this because she never went even close to the kitchen. Do you text the orders in?”

  “Well… no.”

  “I was afraid of that. So unless your staff uses ESP, they don’t have my order. I’m a chef at a prestigious restaurant in Seattle and I’d never put up with anything like this.”

  His cell rang and he glanced down at the incoming number. He held a finger up and answered the call.

  “It’s the same here as it is in the States. Everyone’s addicted to their screens!” She threw up her hands. “Forget it,” she grumbled. Grabbing her suitcase, she turned and headed out the door. The fog still hung over the harbor but now a heavy rain fell, obscuring even more of the view.

  Of course, I forgot an umbrella.

  Laila spotted a covered gazebo in a small park and headed toward it. Gust-driven rain beat on her head and shoulders. The torrent splashed into her shoes, and the soggy wetness made her groan. A full moon broke through ominous clouds only to be sucked into darkness again.

  The small seaside town was all but abandoned. Traveling off-season in February, she doubted there were many tourists and the locals appeared to be home for the night. She shivered and tightened the clasp at the neck of her coat, breathed into her scarf for warmth, and looked around for some form of life.

  What am I going to do?

  There were no hotel signs or open restaurants that she could see in her limited sight range through the fog. No Micky D’s or Starbucks. Back home you could find one every twenty feet and open twenty-four hours a day. So why now, when she needed them, were there none to be found? She took out her phone and checked to see if she’d missed a call. Still no message from the landlady where she’d booked the room. She blew on her fingers to warm them enough to punch in the digits, but again, the number only rang and rang with no answer.

  “Miss Byrne?” a deep voice asked. She turned to find the man from the restaurant behind her. “I’m happy I spotted you. I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot back there and that you were skundered. I just came out to make sure you got safely to where you were going.” At well over six feet, the pub’s manager was much taller than he looked sitting on the barstool.

  “Are you sure there’s not an urgent phone call you have to take?”

  “Contrary to belief, I am not addicted to screens.” His smile was warm and sincere. “It was urgent, or I would never have picked up. I was waiting for a call from the local fisherman who brings in the catch for our Monday meals. He comes in at random times. If I miss his call, I may not get the delivery. If you are a chef, I’m sure this is something you can understand.”

  It was a legitimate excuse. Her tone softened as she replied, “I’m sorry I yelled at you back there. I’m usually not one of those kind of customers. But, I’m tired and my feet hurt.”

  He looked down at her soaked shoes. “I wasn’t ignoring your concerns. I take great pride in my restaurant. It’s been in my family for five generations. Please except my apology for what happened.”

  “I’m grumpy. I haven’t slept in over twenty-two hours, I can’t reach the front desk of the B&B, and all I wanted was a bowl of fish chowder and bread. It smelled wonderful.”

  “It is wonderful.” A grin lifted a corner of his mouth. “It’s my great-grandmother’s recipe. If you’ll give The Empress of Ireland another chance, your dinner’s on me.”

  She hesitated. “I’m very tired. I was hoping to check into my room.”

  “At least let me take you there. My car’s around the corner. It�
��s a fierce rain tonight. Where is it?”

  “McMannus B&B.”

  “Oh…” He frowned. “We have a problem. Mrs. McMannus is a grand aul doll, but sometimes a bit gone in the head. She just left for a week in Dublin.”

  “What? You have to be kidding!”

  “My grandmother drove her to the train station this morning, and I fed her cat a few hours back. The place is closed down tighter than a clam. You had no way of knowing this, but it’s known around here that she’s not too good at remembering her bookings any longer.”

  “What about my room? Do you think I can still stay there?”

  “I’d not feel right if she’s not there, but we can try and get ahold of her in the morning. Let me drive you there so you can verify I’m telling the truth.” He rubbed his chin in thought. “Please, it’s a terrible night. It’s Sunday and there’s nothing else open. Except this umbrella.” He held it out to her.

  “Is this a peace offering, since I was the dummy who forgot mine?”

  “Call it what you will. Is this your first night in Ireland?”

  “Yes. I flew in today.”

  “Then it can’t start out like this. But I have to warn ya, most people who come, never leave.” He gave her a wink that made his eyes sparkle under the dim streetlights. He was kind of cute, and what else could she do?

  “This is Kinsale not Brigadoon,” she said with a chuckle.

  “Let me take your bag,” he offered. “By the way, the name’s Alasdair. You can’t be walking the streets at night with a complete stranger.” He smiled again. Okay, he was really cute with ebony tousled hair and emerald green eyes.

  She popped open the umbrella and raised it above their heads. He stepped close and put a tentative hand around her back to join her under the cover. He was warm, solid and smelled like firewood. Her stomach did a little flip.

  “Shall we?” he asked.

  She smiled. “Sure.”

  Chapter Three

  Alasdair drove Laila to the B&B to verify that Mrs. McMannus had indeed left town. While the wipers tried to keep up with the rain, Alasdair peered out the windshield at the dark two-story house.

  “Alright now. You can see that the place is shut down until she returns. Come back to the pub with me and we can figure out where you’ll stay from there,” Alasdair said and softened his tone. She’d obviously been through much today.

  He glanced over and saw her fight to control the shiver in her shoulders and knees. He removed his seatbelt, hauled off his coat and draped it over her shoulders. “It’s bucketing down out there, but I’m used to the rain. I know that it’s only a short bit back, but you look like you will freeze to death between here and there.

  “I’m not sure why I’m so cold. I’m used to the rain too. It’s similar to the weather in Seattle,” she bit out between chattering teeth.

  “Then why aren’t you wearing rubber boots instead of heels?”

  “I was trying to look nice.”

  “You do.” He eyed her shapely legs as he cranked the heater dial to the right. He wasn’t complaining one bit that she was the one beside him.

  After he’d settled Laila at a quiet booth in his pub, he asked her if he could bring her hot tea. When she nodded, he left for the bar. He spotted Mandy and motioned with his head for her to join him.

  “See that woman over there?” Alasdair jabbed a finger in Laila’s direction.

  “What about her?” Mandy laid her bar towel down as she swiveled her head to look where he’d pointed.

  “She was in here a bit ago, and ate my arse off for your poor service. We have had this discussion before about ignoring customers and being on your damned phone. You’re lucky I didn’t catch you earlier, because if I do again, you will be able to keep the phone but not your job.” Alasdair picked up a teapot from under the bar and thrust it into her hands.

  “Please don’t fire me.” Mandy’s face paled. “I need the job.”

  “I know you do, so prove to me that you want to keep it. This is our family’s business. We all have stock in The Empress of Ireland. Bring the poor lady hot tea, then go in the kitchen and get her a large bowl of fish stew and a wedge of the freshest soda bread… with butter.”

  “Yes, sir… I mean Alasdair.”

  He turned his back to Mandy and walked toward the table.

  Laila smiled and shook her head as she saw him approach. “Your poor worker looked like she was going to pass out. I feel bad that I got her in trouble.”

  “You shouldn’t. She needs to stop messing. Do you mind if I join you?” he asked. When she motioned with her hand, he slid into the opposite side of the booth. “Mandy’s my cousin, and Gran insisted we give her a waitress position. She’s made a bags of doing her job before. I have enough to worry about other than Mandy.”

  “It seems like such a peaceful, friendly place. How can it possibly have problems?”

  “Here? You have to be kidding me! Most of the time it’s a complete haymes.”

  “Haymes?”

  “Chaos,” he explained and laughed. “I’m sure our problems aren’t different than any other restaurants’. Staff problems. Menu problems. Day in and day out problems. Don’t ruin my good mood. Enough talk about this place, what brings you to Ireland?”

  “A promise to a friend that I would get out and experience life. She left behind a map of the world and a box of thumbtacks. Wherever our pin landed, her last wish was that we travel there. She died a few months ago.”

  “I’m deeply sorry for your loss.”

  “Thanks.” Her dark-eyed gaze unlocked from his and dropped to the table as she fidgeted with a crack on the top. It was a subject which made her uncomfortable.

  Mandy arrived with the hot pot of tea and the finest cup from the rack. “Here you are, miss. Your food will be out in a minute. Is there anything else I can get you?”

  “No. I’m good.” When Mandy walked away, Laila kidded, “There’s abundant and prompt service at your establishment.”

  A minute later, as Mandy promised, the stew and bread came. Mandy set the bowl and plate down. “Is there anything else I can get the two of you?”

  “No, thank you,” Laila replied. When Mandy headed away, she waved two hands over the soup and inhaled. “Wonderful.” Lifting her spoon she dipped it in the soup, raised it to her mouth, and sipped the rich broth. She closed her eyes. Her long, black lashes skimmed her cheek. “Mmmmm… amazing.”

  “Worth the wait? Second try’s a charmer.”

  “Definitely. You’ll have to share your recipe with me.”

  “It’s a four generation secret. My gran would kill me if I told you.”

  “Well then… I’ll just have to guess.” She took another taste. “Scallops, clams, bay leaf, flat leaf parsley, garlic, but there’s an ingredient I can’t put my finger—”

  “Hush, my gran’s right over there.” He laughed and pointed to the old woman at the bar. It felt good to laugh. He didn’t do it nearly as much as he used to. Alasdair knew the recipe by heart and so far, Laila was spot on. “My death will be on your hands.”

  Laila grinned and wrapped her hands around the bowl. “The soup will also warm up my fingers. You’re right, if I’d stayed outside any longer, I would have frozen to a block of ice.”

  “Glad I could come to your rescue.” He studied her face. She was beautiful, there was no doubt. Her sable hair tumbled over her shoulder. The tips of the strands were still damp with rain and curled around each other. Her dark brown eyes didn’t miss a thing. As they spoke, she watched the goings-on around the pub.

  “Could you excuse me for a minute?” He slid out of the booth and headed to where his gran held up her usual spot at the end of the bar. She hadn’t had a drink in over twenty years, but seized her coveted stool which was worn from her rear. Ev
eryone in town knew that it was Máire’s stool.

  Alasdair laid a hand on the old woman’s shoulder. She turned and smiled when she saw him her.

  “How are you tonight, Gran?” He gave her a kiss on the cheek.

  “I looked for you earlier. Were you out?” she asked. “You never leave.”

  “I needed to save a poor woman from drowning. See the lass over there in the booth?” He pointed. “This is her first night in Ireland and she’s had the pitiable misfortune of booking a room with Mrs. McMannus.”

  “Poor girl. She had no way of knowing about the dealings with Abbie.”

  “Who would you suggest I call to see if they have an open room?”

  “Nonsense. You won’t find anyone to answer their phone this late on a Sunday night.” Máire slid off her stool, grabbed her cane and strode toward the table. Laila looked up as the old woman stopped next to her. “My grandson tells me that you need a room for tonight.”

  “I do,” Laila said. “It looks like the one I booked isn’t available.”

  “Abbie McMannus is one of my best friends, and has been for over fifty years, but I swear lately she’s been a header. Can’t keep her arse straight from a teakettle. After you finish your soup, I’ll have Alasdair carry your bags to your room.”

  “My room?” Laila asked.

  “We can’t have you going back out in this weather. It’s not meant for man nor beast,” she said with a tsk of her tongue.

  “I think what my gran is trying to say is that she’s offering for you to stay with us tonight… until you can make other arrangements.”

  “Thank you! But I hope I’m not an inconvenience. I’m the one who didn’t do my travel research,” Laila said.

  “It was no fault of yours,” Alasdair said as he slipped back into the booth. “Above the pub, are rooms that used to be for occupancy. Now Gran lives in the four facing the water and the others are spare rooms.”

  “Do you live here too?” Laila asked.

  “I do, but my flat is below. I like to keep an eye on Gran, though she’ll tell you she doesn’t need it. But we are both strong personalities and need our separate space.”