Page 41 of Boomerville at Ballymegille

‘Yes, fine,’ Bill said. ‘Just a bit of a headache.’

‘Have a game of croquet,’ Alf said and thrust out a mallet. ‘Why not try something new.’

‘Well, perhaps,’ Bill stuttered and, summoning up courage, he turned to Melissa. ‘Would you join me?’

‘Oh no, I’m sorry but I need to dry my hair.’

Deflated, Bill watched Melissa move away, Teddy still in her arms and Bunty padding behind.

Alf placed the mallet with the others, in a neat stack by the bench. ‘Another day, old son,’ he said.

No one wants you. You’re a stupid man if you thought you had any friends.

This time, Bill knew in his heart that his mother was right.

* * *

Malcolm saton the VIP terrace of an exclusive club in Marbella and sipped an ice-cold beer. His business meeting was over and the associates that he’d spent the last hour with were now having lunch in the restaurant by the octagon-shaped bar, which overlooked a sandy beach and the warm blue waters of the Mediterranean.

Malcolm wasn’t hungry. He’d made his excuses and left the other men to wine and dine the afternoon away, in the company of the many models and money-grabbing beauties who strutted around the complex, on the look-out for a lonely millionaire to spend the afternoon with.

He checked his phone for messages.

There was a text from his informant in Cumbria. Melissa had left the pool and returned to her room, where she’d ordered a light lunch. The waiter went on to say that things were changing at the hotel and a group was planning a trip to Ireland. Melissa was going too. Malcolm’s wife had arranged to check out in a couple of days.

Malcolm typed a reply. He wanted to know her travelling arrangements, where she was staying and when she was due to arrive. He wasn’t going to let her slip away and disappear.

Checking his watch, Malcolm smiled; he had another meeting to go to, this time in one of the secluded cabanas, hidden by a wall of palm trees. It was patrolled by beefy security guards and was discreet amongst a thick hedge of pink hibiscus.

Someone paused on the path and a shadow fell over Malcolm. He looked up to see a woman wearing stilettos and the briefest of bikinis. She was tall, striking and had the looks of Russian royalty and as she removed her designer sunglasses she raised a perfectly-shaped eyebrow, then walked away.

Malcolm allowed a little distance then reached into his pocket until his fingers brushed against a small gold tin. He remembered the woman’s words from their last encounter, when her seductive foreign lilt had whispered in his ear, ‘Cocaine, my dahling, is a pleasure we must not resist - my sugar rush, my bliss, it makes the perfect kiss.’

He stood, took a last sip of his beer, and followed her to the cabana.

18

The kitchen at Boomerville Manor was buzzing. Chef Connor had his fiery red hair tucked under a colourful bandana as he bent down to reach into an oven for yet another tray of scones. Freshly baked and ready to eat, their surface was golden brown.

Hattie hovered nearby. She held a pot of jam and a knife.

‘If you eat any more, there’ll be none left for the opening,’ Connor said as he slapped the hot scones onto a stainless-steel table and loaded them onto a wire cooling rack.

‘You won’t miss a couple,’ Hattie said and helped herself from the top of the pile. ‘There’s hundreds stashed in the freezer now.’

Connor raised a muscled arm and loosened the top button of his chef’s jacket then took a scone too. Splitting it open with a sharp knife, he took a bite.

‘These will be popular on the day, cream teas for everyone.’ Hattie licked jam off her lips.

‘Move yourself,’ Connor said as he finished his scone in two mouthfuls. ‘A man has work to do here.’ He wiped his brow with a beefy hand and smoothed his palm along the folds of a crisp white apron. Nimble on his feet, despite being a giant of a man, the chef eyeballed Hattie.

‘Aye, you’ve certainly got your work cut out with guests arriving tomorrow and the opening party only two days away.’

Hattie heard the point of the knife being tapped on the table and decided not to push her luck with another scone. She flicked crumbs off her blouse and nodded to the assistant chefs, who were scurrying around the kitchen. The young apprentices were prepping for the workload ahead. With the restaurant and hotel soon to be fully functional, there was much to be done. Hattie decided to leave them to it and pop back a bit later, when Connor had more recipes for her to sample.

As she hurried through the manor, she greeted staff who were busy with final touches. There was a strong smell of beeswax and the furniture shone, cushions were freshly plumped and muted light from table lamps softened the corners of rooms, where curtains hung in generous folds around mullioned windows. Bedrooms were ready with bathrooms gleaming and toiletries, towels and luxuries all in place. Hattie stopped to chat to the florist, who’d arrived with buckets full of flowers and was now creating arrangements throughout the manor.

It was just like old times, Hattie thought, as she went in search of Jo.

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