Page 65 of Boomerville at Ballymegille

‘He’s with Alf near the lake, fixing up some bunting,’ Willie said. ‘If you’d be kind enough to do the woodwork on the inside?’

‘Yes, of course.’ Melissa took a duster and polish from Willie’s wrinkled hands. ‘Anything I can do to assist.’

* * *

Finbar wasin the music room where Miss O’Connelly sat at the piano, her fingers travelling confidently over the keys, as the students sang their hearts out. They’d nailed the two songs that Finbar wanted to perform that evening and he was delighted.

‘May the wind always be at your back,’ Finbar said and clapped his hands, ‘you’re all to be congratulated.’ He went around the room shaking hands. ‘Now make sure you’re ready on time tonight and I’ll see you all on stage.’

‘Break a leg,’ someone called out.

‘We can do it!’ shouted another.

Finbar walked over to Miss O’Connelly and after conferring for a few moments, raised his hand to say goodbye to the group and left the room.

He walked down the hallway and into reception and noting that there was no one about, headed outside. ‘The quiet before the storm,’ he said to himself as he wandered over the drive, where a coach was being buffed and polished.

‘Top of the mornin’ to you, lads,’ Finbar called.

As he acknowledged their greetings in response, he looked up. A woman was on the coach and she appeared to be cleaning the woodwork trim that ran throughout the interior. Strands of strawberry blonde hair had come loose from combs holding it away from her pretty face. Finbar watched her stretch and bend, noting her neat figure as she faced the window and began to wipe the glass.

Suddenly, as if magnetically drawn, she stopped. Their eyes met and Finbar felt as though he’d been struck by a bolt of lightning. The woman’s eyes were as blue as a tropical pool and he had the urge to dive in.

Glued to the spot, he gazed back.

But in what seemed like only seconds, she turned and fled. He heard her steps crunch as she hurried across the gravel and disappeared into the manor.

‘Wait!’ he called out, but it was too late.

Finbar realised that Bill was standing next to him, the hose still gripped in his hand.

‘She’s fragile,’ Bill said, ‘let her be.’

The hose in Bill’s hand splashed water onto Finbar’s legs and shoes and he jumped back. As he looked at Bill in amazement, he saw something menacing in the man’s eyes.

Now was not the time to be making enquiries about the mysterious blonde.

‘I’ll be on my way,’ Finbar said, shaking his trouser leg. ‘You’re doing a grand job, lads.’

He turned and set off. There was much to be done in the stage area; groups who’d perform later had arrived and begun sound checks and rehearsals, and as compere for the evening, in charge of just about everything to do with the show, Finbar needed to be on hand.

As he walked across the grass he nodded to members of the Round Table, who were setting out their stalls in the marquees. He smiled when he saw Audrey and her Babes, trooping towards the lake, clad in dressing gowns and carrying flippers.

‘Will you be havin’ a livener, Finbar?’ Ted called out from the pub as he set up the bar.

Finbar shook his head and carried on. His mind was full of things that he had to do but there was one thing that he needed to add to his list.

The woman with the blue eyes was familiar. He couldn’t for the life of him think where he’d seen her but, sure as saints were saints, Finbar knew that it wasn’t the first time they’d met. As he waved a hand in greeting to the guys and girls gathered in groups, Finbar vowed that, just as soon as he could, he’d track her down and find out who she was.

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The gates of Boomerville Manor were opened to the public at precisely two o’clock and as volunteers directed cars to park at the bottom of the drive, families and friends who’d walked to the event from Kindale and the surrounding area began to pile in.

On stage, The Bothy Brothers, a local folk band, played catchy tunes as a troupe of young Irish dancers performed. In distinctive costumes, their leather ghillies, laced from ankle to toe, were soundless as they made their way around the platform.

On the carousel, garishly-painted wooden horses began to turn. From the top of the helter-skelter, cries of excitement could be heard, as children clinging to straw mats whooshed down at speed, twisting and turning until, ejected like bullets from a gun, they ricocheted across the grass. The ladies from the Women’s Institute were busy in the refreshment tent, serving cakes and scones and at Father Ted’s a queue had formed as Ted and his team kept up with the demand for beer.

Lucinda, revived from her morning’s sleep, had set up an easel and stool. She was busy face painting and her paint-daubed smock billowed around her bony body. She held her cigarette holder aloft and blew smoke in the face of any whingeing child that didn’t like her creations.

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