Page 127 of The Last Love Song
‘Now, are you sure you don’t want to come back with me?’
‘No. I want to stay here and get on with my life. There’s so many things I want to sort out. Your daddy left me well provided for and I’ve already had someone mention they’re interested in taking over the practice. I think I’m best to sell the house lock, stock and barrel. I’ll find a smaller place in town somewhere.’
‘I was only thinking of a break, Mammy. A few days. I’d love you to see our house in London.’
‘And I will come, Sorcha, maybe in the autumn. But just leave me be for now.’
Sorcha studied Mary for signs of impending depression, and decided that her mother was looking much better.
‘If you get lonely, call me, any time of the day or night.’
‘I will of course, but I have a lot of friends here who have already given me invitations. In fact, I’ve never been so popular,’ Mary smiled. ‘Now put your coat on and be off with you. The taxi’ll be here at any moment.’
Ten minutes later, Mary embraced Sorcha as the driver put her suitcase in the boot. It was still pouring with rain and Sorcha shivered involuntarily.
‘I hope you’re not on for a cold. Keep yourself wrapped up.’
‘I will.’ Sorcha gave her mother one last hug. ‘I know I shouldn’t say this, because it was such a dreadful few days for you, but I have enjoyed it.’
Her mother gave her the warmest of smiles. ‘Me too. And now there’s no reason why you shouldn’t come home whenever you want. Bring that husband of yours next time.’
‘I will, I promise.’ She ran to the car and hopped inside, Mary following her under the umbrella.
‘May God go with you, Sorcha.’ She swallowed back tears.
‘See you very soon, Mammy.’
The driver started the engine. ‘I’ll call you to let you know I’m home safe. Goodbye.’
Sorcha’s mother stood on the pavement, watching the taxi until it disappeared around the corner of the square.
For some awful reason, Mary O’Donovan had the strangest feeling that she wouldn’t be seeing her daughter again.
Sorcha said a silent goodbye to Ballymore. She swallowed hard and noticed the roughness in her throat. Her mother was right: she was on for a cold.
The rain-washed streets glistened as the taxi sloshed through the puddles. This was where it had all begun for her and Con.
She was determined she would not let it end.
40
‘Morning, Katie.’
‘Morning, Miss McCarthy.’
‘As it’s such a beautiful day, I think I’ll take my breakfast outside.’
‘Of course, Miss McCarthy. The usual?’
‘Yes. Thank you.’
Helen picked up her post and sauntered through the French doors onto the small patio. She placed the letters on the table and sat on a wrought-iron garden chair. She closed her eyes and put her face up to the sun.
Thank God it was Saturday. And thank God that, at ten o’clock last night, the last box had been moved from Metropolitan’s old premises to its new home.
The building was going to be fantastic when everything was organised. Helen thought of her big office on the top floor. It had been decorated to her explicit taste with antique furniture, a thick green carpet, and heavy damask curtains draping the large window. She’d even had a small en-suite bathroom installed for those times when it was impossible to get home before going out in the evening.
She reached forward and tore open the thick brown envelope on top of the pile of post. Enclosed were details of a large country house near Cobham in Surrey, complete withgym in the basement and indoor swimming pool. She read through the details.
