Maura was taken aback at Rita’s candour, but had to admit she loved hearing all the gossip from behind the scenes. Rita didn’t seem to take any of it too seriously.
The line was getting crackly, but she could just make out Rita’s words. “She tried to take Galway, as well, from you and Lorikeet Hill, until we explained about the twinning connection between the two Clares, and how it made sense for you to do the neighbouring counties too. But I heard her asking how long it would take to drive from Cork to Galway, so you never know . . .”
The mobile phone suddenly went out of range and the connection was lost.
Dominic looked over. “Mrs Rogers is the terrifying woman from the cocktail party, I guess?”
Maura was about to elaborate, when a mental image of Mrs Rogers feeding gossip about her and Richard to Carla crossed her mind. She suddenly decided to keep quiet. Maybe she’d started to relax too much with Dominic. She had to remind herself of the Carla connection. And his deal with her father.
Instead, she smiled brightly. “That’s her. Good heavens, you get some characters in this industry, don’t you?”
Her airy reply surprised him, she could see that, and he was about to ask her another question when she made a point of looking at her itinerary again. She and Dominic weren’t staying in Sligo that night, but moving on to a small town in Mayo, to give them an early start the next morning. She estimated less than an hour’s travelling time. Good, she could have an early night. It was just what she needed. The jet-lag wasn’t too bad but she was tired nevertheless.
Dominic was quiet as they drove through the town. She glanced over at him surreptitiously. They’d hardly exchanged a word all afternoon. Maura had been busy conducting the wine-tasting and every time she had looked over at Dominic, he’d been speaking on his mobile phone. Either Carla or work, she’d guessed. God knows how he’d managed to be able to take off a week like this, when he was in charge of an international company. But maybe that was one of the perks. You hired others to do the running around for you, while you managed from afar.
She looked at him again. He seemed worried about something.
She spoke impulsively, hoping she wasn’t intruding on him. “Is everything all right, Dominic? I’m sorry to be so curious but I saw you on the phone. I realise this is keeping you away from your work and I really do appreciate you guiding me around, despite our shaky start. If you have to cut it short, really, I’ll understand.” She smiled across at him.
He looked at her for a long moment, as if he wasn’t completely separated from his thoughts. Then a sudden grin changed his whole face. “No, I’m fine, work is absolutely fine. Everything’s fine. But thanks for asking.”
“You’re welcome,” she answered quietly, wondering if she was going soft in the head. Two days ago she was practically spitting at this man, now she was gently enquiring after his health. Hunger, that’s what it was. She was getting lightheaded with hunger and that, mixed with the leftover jet-lag, was obviously a pretty potent combination.
Dominic spoke suddenly. “We’ve time for a pub meal if you’re up to it, or would you rather drive straight on to the hotel we’re staying in tonight?”
She was taken by surprise. “Actually, I’m ravenous. I’d love something to eat.”
“Then eat you will,” he said lightly, as he found a parking space not far from a pub advertising evening meals.
She glanced over again, trying to fathom his mood. Despite his easy manner, he was obviously preoccupied about something. She started to wonder if there was another problem with the trip. Perhaps there was a problem with Bernadette’s house after all? She suddenly pulled herself up. What are you doing, Maura Carmody? she asked herself in exasperation. You’re in beautiful Sligo, in beautiful Ireland, you’re about to have your first authentic Irish pub meal instead of an Australian theme pub version. Now stop worrying and start enjoying yourself!
“Exactly,” Dominic answered.
She looked up quickly. “I was doing it again?” He nodded. She caught his mood, and grinned up at him.
As they were waiting to cross the road, a gust of wind blew handfuls of her hair across his face. Apologising, she gathered the unruly tendrils back into a loose plait behind her head.
“You’ve got beautiful hair,” he said, to her surprise. She looked up, about to babble on about it actually being a real bother to wash and how she’d always longed for thick straight hair. Then she stopped and cursed herself for behaving like a teenager out on a first date. Taking a deep breath, she looked up at him and gave what she hoped was a very grown-up smile. “Thank you,” she said stiffly. Inside she groaned. Now she sounded like the Queen Mother thanking a loyal subject for shining her shoes, she thought. What was it about Dominic that kept unsettling her?
They walked into the pub, which was only half-full, but looked very comfortable. And it was warm, Maura thought with relief. The evening had turned very cold and she gratefully went over to a blazing log fire and warmed herself in front of it, looking at the blackboard menu hanging on the wall as she did.
“I’ll order at the bar while I get you a drink, will I? What would you like – wine, Guinness?”
She shook her head. “Just a mineral water, please.” She was feeling a bit lightheaded already, and an alcoholic drink would probably tip her over the edge.
“And food?” he asked.
Her choice was simple. “Seafood chowder for me,” she said.
They were soon seated at a table close to the fire, steaming bowls of soup and freshly cut bread in front of them. Maura tasted it and sighed. “Oh, this is delicious. I love fish and seafood. I don’t get to have it very often these days.”
“But Australia’s surrounded by sea – surely you can get hold of all sorts of exotic fish for Lorikeet Hill,” he asked.
“Not really, Clare’s too far from the coast and we can’t always rely on getting fresh fish. I base most of our menus on what is produced locally, lamb and beef especially. It was great when I was in Sydney – we could experiment with lots of different fish dishes.”
“That was the restaurant you owned with Richard Hillman, is that right?”
She looked up in surprise, before remembering the newspaper article. Of course he knew who Richard Hillman was. “No, it was Richard’s restaurant, I was the apprentice really.”
“But you were more than that . . .?” Dominic left the question unfinished. It seemed it was his turn to probe.
“For a while,” Maura answered, suddenly finding a spot on her wrist to scratch. It was a nervous habit she had when she found herself embarrassed or under scrutiny.
Dominic watched her movement with interest. “You don’t like talking about it?”
Maura looked down. “No, it’s not that, I must have been bitten by something,” she improvised. “So tell me, how did you get started in magazine publishing?”
He gave a slight smile, acknowledging her swift change of subject. She’d half-expected him to evade her question, to stay mysterious, but to her surprise he seemed relaxed, almost pleased to talk about it.
“I’d wanted to be either a musician or a writer and thought it was as simple as that: you decided what you wanted to be, and then that’s what you were. But it’s not like that, of course, and my parents very cleverly talked me into studying for a degree in journalism here in Ireland.”
“So you’re a journalist?” Maura asked. “Did you work in newspapers here when you graduated?”
“No, I never completed the degree,” he answered.
“Oh, why not?” Maura asked. Many of her friends had dropped out of courses midway and gone on to very interesting careers.
He looked up but not at her. “My parents were killed in a car accident when I was in my first year at college. I dropped out then, and didn’t have the heart to continue. That’s when I went to America. And I never really came back.”
She watched him closely as he spoke. She had an odd feeling he hadn’t told this story very often and
was as surprised to be telling it as she was to be hearing it.
He explained that in his first year in New York he had just found work in Irish pubs and cheap restaurants. “Then I kept thinking about the writing and being a journalist after all, so I scratched all my savings together and started up a small street magazine for Irish people in New York.
“It wasn’t exactly investigative reporting,” he laughed softly as he remembered it. “I got most of the news from home out of old copies of the Irish newspapers in the library, or from phone calls with people back here. And it looked very rough and ready – but a lot of people started reading it. And because of that, advertisers got interested too, so it started to take off. Still a pretty basic print-job, mind you, and only once a fortnight, but it did very well. Then I did a foolish thing – overstretched myself and got into financial trouble. So I took a gamble and went to see one of the newspaper bosses to see if he’d help me through the bad times, with me paying him back when it came good. And he took a gamble on me.” He grinned, the light suddenly coming back into his eyes.
“And that was Carla’s father?” she guessed.
He gave her a surprised look. “Bernadette told you that?”
She just smiled mysteriously. Well, Bernadette probably would have told her if she’d known. She thought it best not to mention her source, just in case Dominic happened to know Cormac had a friend in the company.
“She’s a better information service than Reuters,” he said with a laugh, mistaking her silence for assent. “But yes, it was Carla’s father. He realised it was an idea ready for its time,” he explained. “There are always thousands of Irish people in New York looking for news from home, so we started producing a quality weekly paper, hired a couple of real writers to help me out and we actually reported on events in Ireland within days rather than months.” Dominic took a sip of his drink, then continued his story.
“Henry Thomas, Carla’s father, had an Irish great-grandmother, so he had an interest in the country. That one did so well, I was able to pay him back very quickly, so then he let me loose on my other ideas. I set up a music magazine, mostly focusing on new bands. Then I started one to promote young American writers. We discovered a new hip writer from New York, which gave us a lot of kudos, and it just went from there. Henry was a great man, full of ideas himself. I miss him.”
“And do you write yourself?” she asked.
“Ah, I used to, then I realised I had a better talent for recognising other people’s genius.”
“And now you travel the world?”
“Closing down magazines that don’t suit my taste?” he finished, teasing her.
She blushed, glad the low light hid her rising colour.
He glanced at her, then continued. “Australia’s a new market for the company, but yes, we’ve big plans there, and here too. That’s the main part of my job now, researching possible markets and openings for new publications. Maybe you can convince me there’s a market in Australia for a weekly magazine of restaurant reviews?”
She smiled wryly at him. She wasn’t getting into all of that again. Finishing her drink, she looked at her watch and realised with a start it was nearly ten o’clock. The open fire, the food and the surprisingly easy conversation with Dominic had made the time sweep past.
He caught her glance and seemed surprised at the time himself.
“We’d better drive on,” he said. “But we’re not far away, you’ll be asleep well before midnight, I promise.”
Feeling pleasantly full and cosy in the warm car, Maura let her thoughts drift, enjoying the soft classical music playing from the radio. The car quickly left Sligo town behind, and she gazed out into the night, guessing that the large shadows on the horizon were mountains, and seeing tiny dots of lights sprinkled across the fields.
One day gone. It felt like a week already. Tomorrow they’d travel through Mayo and Galway and the day after that they would move on to County Clare. Maura felt herself tense at the idea but was determined not to think about it yet. There’ll be plenty of time for that, she told herself. She leaned her head against the comfortable headrest and let her eyelids slowly close.
A sudden noise awoke her with a start. Her neck was sore and the side of her face felt cold from where she was leaning against the window. The car had stopped. Outside, it was very misty and a steady drizzle of rain was falling. There was no sign of any town lights – or of Dominic. Maura opened the door and then shrieked in fright as a figure stood up from a kneeling position beside her.
Dominic’s voice was calm in the darkness. “It’s okay, it’s me. We’ve had a puncture, I’ve just changed the tyre. The spare is quite flat too – I’ll have to get them both repaired in the morning. Luckily we haven’t got much further to drive tonight.”
“Oh, you should have woken me, I could have helped, or at least got out, made the car lighter.” She knew she was babbling but they were standing uncomfortably close.
“I managed perfectly well. And you were in a very deep sleep, I didn’t want to wake you.”
She was embarrassed to think she had fallen asleep in front of him. She only hoped she hadn’t started talking in her sleep, or even worse, snoring. If she knew one thing, it was that she wanted to keep her wits about her when she was with Dominic.
She got back into the car, rubbing her sore neck as she heard him move to the back of the car to put the flat tyre away. As she started to wake up properly, he climbed back into the driver’s seat and looked over at her.
“You slept for quite a while. Are you still feeling jet-lagged?”
“Not too bad, I’m sure I’m nearly over it,” she said, putting on a deceptively cheery voice.
“We’re nearly there, I’m sure you’ll be back asleep very soon.”
Maura breathed deeply, looking forward to the idea of some time to herself in her own hotel room. She certainly felt more relaxed with Dominic than she had when they set off this morning, but the tension still ebbed and flowed between them.
She knew a lot of it was coming from her. She had felt herself growing to like him, especially in the occasional moments when he would relax or smile at her. Certainly, she couldn’t deny the fact that he was a very attractive man. But every time she felt the attraction she made herself remember Dominic’s deal with Carla’s father. And Dominic’s reasons for helping Bernadette. He might be charming and handsome, but that didn’t mean she could trust him.
It was almost eleven thirty and the rain was still falling as they drove slowly through the narrow, cobbled streets of their destination for the evening. Dominic found the hotel with ease but it took more than five minutes to find a space in the crowded carpark. The hotel foyer was also bustling with activity and Maura could see groups of men and women gathered in the bar area. She was surprised at how busy it was.
The middle-aged receptionist smiled brightly at them as they walked toward the reception desk, carrying their suitcases, but it was a tense smile, Maura could tell. One of those professional ‘I’ll be nice to you as long as you don’t give me a second’s trouble’ smiles. Maura had a version she used herself on particularly busy days at Lorikeet Hill.
“The rooms are booked under the name of the Wine Society, aren’t they?” Dominic asked Maura as they reached the desk. She nodded. All the travelling and accommodation details had been sorted out weeks ago – she remembered sitting on the verandah at home in South Australia looking at the name of this hotel and trying to imagine what it would be like.
The receptionist ran her finger down a long list of names and slowly and carefully marked two small crosses beside their booking. She looked up and smiled the stiff smile again. “I hope you don’t mind carrying your own bags up. As you can see, we’ve a terrible rush on tonight.”
“No, that’s fine,” Maura answered, suddenly very weary and longing for her bed.
“That’s grand, so,” the older woman said with a distracted air, before dropping a key-ring onto the counter with a loud clatter
. “So that’s just the one double room, Mr and Mrs Carmody, straight up the stairs there to your left.”
Chapter Eleven
Dominic and Maura spoke as one. “One double room?”
Dominic recovered first. “I’m sorry, there must be some mistake. Ms Carmody and myself are business associates. There should be two separate rooms.”
“Well, I’m sorry, Mr Carmody . . .”
“It’s Hanrahan, not Carmody,” Dominic corrected her quietly.
“I’m sorry sir, yes, we did have the Wine Society booking as a two-room suite. But then we had this conference come in, and then we lost the use of two of the rooms because of storm damage to the drains last week, so we had to juggle the rooms around.”
That storm again, Maura thought to herself. It was like the hounds of hell following her around, upsetting all her plans. Thank God she hadn’t been in the country at the time. With her current run of luck she probably would have been swept up in a rogue tornado, never to be seen again.
The receptionist was continuing her explanation. “I’m sorry you weren’t told about the change before you arrived. I’m sure someone meant to ring you but we’ve been so busy. Our room allocations manager must have assumed you were together because you both were booked under the same surname.”
Maura realised immediately what had happened. The bookings were still under the Carmody surnames. She and Bernadette had thought it a sign of fate that they shared the same name, as a good start to their friendship. She hadn’t imagined it getting her into this mess.
“Well, I’m sure it won’t be a problem changing the booking into two separate rooms,” Dominic said in a steady voice, but one that showed he expected to get his own way.
“Oh, I’m afraid that’s impossible, sir. As you can see, we’re completely full tonight. Indeed, I know for a fact there isn’t a room free in the town tonight, or in the next town if it comes to that. You know what they say, if it doesn’t rain it pours. We’ve got the Car Dealers Annual General Meeting, a group of local councillors up from Cork on a fact-finding trip, the ladies from the Catholic Women’s League, a volleyball team from the North of England . . .”
A Taste for It Page 9