Page 111 of The Matchmaker
“Then what are they doing?” she asks, as another truck passes by.
“I don’t know. Intimidation?” And it’s working. I hate to admit it, but it is. The last of the vehicles rumble past, leaving only the Jeep still loitering across the road and a dirty gray van bringing up the rear. The van actually pulls up to the pub, though, and a bearded man in mud-stained overalls pops out with an almost sheepish expression.
“Can I help you?” I ask, instantly suspicious as he makes his way toward us.
“You the wishing well lady?”
I swear to God Nush gets into a fighting stance next to me. “Yes,” I say, giving her a look in case she plans to attack him with her clipboard.
“I’m working on the hotel right now, and my sister saw you guys on the news. She was wondering if I could take a picture of the well. For my nieces. They asked me to make a wish for them.”
I shut my mouth as soon as I realize it’s open. “Sure,” I say. “Yeah. Of course. It’s right through there.”
“Cool.” He lingers awkwardly. “And the festival is, uh…are you still selling tickets for that or is that a done deal now?”
“We’re all sold out.”
“You doing it next year?”
“If we’re still here,” I say slowly, but he doesn’t seem fazed by that.
“Great, yeah. Getting harder to meet people online these days, you know.”
“Sure,” I say, and he nods before following my wordless gesture around the pub.
“Is that a good sign?” Nush asks, as he goes off.
“I don’t know,” I say helplessly, but my attention goes back to the shiny Jeep. There have been lots of new cars around the village lately, and, even though it’s too far away for me to see inside, I suddenly know in my heart exactly who this one belongs to, and so I lift my hand in a mocking wave, greeting Jack Doyle, until the engine starts again and he drives off, out of the village.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The rest of the day passes by without incident and, by dinner, most of the guests who slept in torecoverfrom the night before have re-emerged. It feels like in the blink of an eye all the activities we’d planned are done, and we have nothing left to do, but tilt our heads and look up at the night sky.
When the sun finally sets, we gather all the guests and the press back at Kelly’s to lead them over to the fireworks, and I know I just have to get through the next few hours before I can go home to my bed and sleep for an eternity. But of course, nothing is ever that easy. I’ve just finished welcoming the last group of people off their hotel shuttle when I step back into the pub and see Jack Doyle standing by the bar.
I freeze at the sight of him, every muscle locking down as I watch him look about the room with vague disinterest.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, just as Callum reaches my side.
“Jack,” he says, sounding disappointed. “Come on. What are you doing?”
“I’m just trying to order a drink.”
“It’s the final night,” he says grimly. “Just let it go.”
“Believe me,” Jack says. “I’d much rather be spending my time somewhere else. But I was asked to be here.”
“By who?”
His eyes flick over my shoulder in response, victory flickering in his gaze, and I spin around to see a man entering the pub.
He must be in his mid-sixties. A small man, with a head of white hair and large brown eyes, he looks kind but looks can be deceiving and I watch warily as he strides toward us, the crowd on either side parting like the Red Sea.
“Jack?” Callum’s voice is low and angry, but his brother doesn’t seem to care. “What’s he doing here?”
Jack doesn’t answer, and a moment later, the man stops before me, beaming like we’re old friends. “You’re the young lady I’ve been seeing on all my television screens,” he says. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He shakes my hand, his grip strong and sure. “Gerald Cunningham. I’m sorry I haven’t stopped by before.”
Those closest to me immediately go quiet, and Callum meets my questioning gaze with a small nod.
