Page 38 of Boomerville at Ballymegille

Allegra had been killed in a freak accident some distance from their home, near Elviria, on the A7 road. She’d been driving from Marbella to Malaga, alone at the wheel of her luxury sports car. Mystified, the Spanish police found no explanation as to why she’d spun off the road and careered down an embankment, on a sunny spring day, when driving conditions were perfect. The car was so badly damaged that a fire crew and paramedics struggled to reach Allegra, where they discovered horrific injuries and she was pronounced dead at the scene of the crash. Following his mother’s death, their son, Giles, went completely off the rails and Malcolm needed a firm hand to keep him occupied in the family business in the years that followed.

Malcolm reached the steps and climbed out of the water. He picked up a towel and put thoughts of Allegra out of his mind. He knew that at some point soon, he would need to deal with Melissa. The silly cow should be grateful to him, not running away to some godforsaken pit to bury herself in the north of England with a bunch of tired old losers, only fit for euthanasia.

A maid appeared with coffee and croissants and placed them on the table. Malcolm finished drying his skin and tossed the towel to one side. He stared out across the misty mountains and let his gaze wander over the hillside, which rolled towards the sparkling expanse of sea, and remembered how much Melissa had enjoyed sitting on this terrace with a glass of chilled wine, telling him how much she loved him and how lucky she was to live in such splendour.

The maid poured coffee and retreated across the patio to her kitchen. Malcolm took a sip of the strong dark liquid and as the bitter caffeine kicked into his veins, he smiled.

Melissa would never see this view again.

* * *

In Ireland,the gates were open and a sign had been erected at the end of the driveway at Boomerville Manor. Suspended high and swaying gently, solid gold letters stood out against a glossy black background, surrounded by a fancy border. Jo and Finbar admired the handiwork as Declan and his sons hammered the final nails and turned the last screw.

‘It’s a fine sight,’ Finbar said. ‘With parties and dancing and things to learn, your boomers will flood through these gates and your coffers will soon overflow with euros.’

‘I do hope so,’ Jo replied. The budget she’d set aside was diminishing and it was becoming clear that the sooner they got this show on the road and the manor open, the better.

The sign had caught the attention of several passing vehicles and local motorists stepped out of their vehicles, curiosity piqued, to greet Finbar and enquire what all the fuss was about. A tractor too had pulled up and now blocked the road. The driver jumped down to slap Finbar on the back and greet Declan and his sons, who’d all stopped work to join in with the craic. Finbar, in full flow, invited everyone to spread the word and bring their family and friends to the grand opening in seven days’ time.

Jo decided to leave them to it and eased away. But as she walked back to the manor her mind was preoccupied.

Earlier that morning, Pete had called but she’d been in the shower at the time and had missed him. As Jo listened to his message, she’d felt her blood begin to boil. The arrogant bastard sounded cheery and full of himself. Pete hoped that things were progressing in Ireland and thanked Jo for being so understanding about Amanda. He wanted Jo to know that Amanda had moved in and things were going well. Jo had been inclined to delete the message at that point, but gritting her teeth, she’d continued to listen Pete drone on. He’d arranged to have Harry pick up the belongings she’d left at Pete’s home and drop them off with Hattie.

Jo was furious as she pounded across the grass. Pete obviously didn’t want a meeting with Hattie and had got Harry to do his dirty work. Nor did he want to run the risk of Jo meeting up with Saint Amanda. He was covering his back, by arranging to get Jo’s things out of the way. Well, he could get stuffed. Jowouldturn up, on the pretext of having left something, and she’d give him a piece of her mind in front of Amanda.

But as she approached the manor, Jo knew in her heart that she wouldn’t do anything foolish and make a scene. There was no point. It was over. The only heart that was broken was her own and single-handedly she would pick up the shattered pieces. Pete had moved on and had a new love in his life.

‘Have you come to inspect progress?’

Jo looked up to see James at the door. He was smiling and his eyes, grey with flecks of silvery light, were gentle as he stood to one side.

‘Yes,’ Jo said. ‘Have you time for a chat?’

‘Of course,’ he replied as they stepped into reception and made themselves comfortable on chairs by the desk.

‘Have you any idea how many people will turn up for the opening?’

James was working hard on the arrangements but told Jo that so far he had no idea of numbers. On the day, Boomerville Manor would be an open house. They discussed the tours around the reception rooms and bedrooms, which would take place hourly. In the garden, several marquees would be erected for stalls, and James had arranged for a stage to be built.

‘Finbar is waiting for confirmation from five local bands who will play during the afternoon and evening and we have two Irish dancing troupes who’ve agreed to come along too.’

‘The locals need to know that they can bring a picnic and enjoy free entertainment.’

‘I’ve added that to the advertisement for the Kindale News.’

‘I pray that the weather holds and we’re blessed with sunshine; Declan and his sons have worked so hard to prepare the grounds.’

As they both edited and revised their notes, Jo said, ‘We’re trying to achieve in a few weeks what would normally take months of planning.’

‘I’m sure it will all come together perfectly.’

Satisfied that James was up to speed, Jo nodded when he asked if she’d like a cup of tea and as he headed for the kitchen, she flicked the computer on and checked the bookings. All of the sixteen bedrooms were now booked for the opening weekend and several locals, curious to see what was on offer, had reserved tables in the restaurant. A mailshot had been sent to former Boomerville guests and combined with a social media campaign to raise awareness of the new business in Ireland, Jo hoped that in time, rooms and courses would steadily fill.

She noted that Finbar’s singing classes were popular and James’ public speaking course was also selling, as were Connor’s cookery classes. Declan’s gardening group seemed to be a hit, much to his delight, for Declan had dreams of hosting his own horticultural show on RTE, Ireland’s national broadcaster.

Jo made a note to check that the dining room had everything necessary to cater for larger numbers. She’d bought extra tables and chairs from an antique dealer in Cork and the eclectic mix of furniture worked well in the lovely panelled room, where French windows surrounded by climbing wisteria cameoed a view of the lake. Scented blooms hung heavily over the terrace and Declan had placed earthenware pots of sweet-smelling flowers beside pretty ironwork tables and chairs.

But best of all was that Hattie would be there too. Jo knew that her friend would enjoy every moment and bring life to the proceedings, as well as being a great support.

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