Page 13 of The Book of Irish Secrets (Magnolia Manor #5)

EIGHT

Karina dropped Claire off at the B&B on her way home. Claire felt exhausted and longed to flop onto her bed for a nap.

‘So,’ Karina said as she pulled up outside Madigan’s, ‘your first day is over. I’m sure you’re looking forward to a good rest. But I just want to tell you before you go that I’m delighted to have found you.

You seem to click with the Fleurys in an odd way.

They’re not always that welcoming to strangers.

Keep themselves to themselves mostly, even though they’re very friendly.

Going there straight away was a bit of a test. There’s a reserve there that many don’t seem to be able to break through, but you did it in only an afternoon. How on earth did you manage that?’

‘Oh,’ Claire said airily, ‘I think it’s just some kind of chemistry that happens between people from time to time. A random thing you can’t make up.’

‘A very lucky thing, I have to say,’ Karina remarked. ‘But I won’t analyse it. I’ll just be grateful it happened and that you fit in so well straight away. Have a restful evening. We’ll be in full swing again tomorrow.’

‘Thanks for today,’ Claire said. ‘I really enjoyed it. See you tomorrow.’

‘Bright and early,’ Karina said. ‘Eight thirty okay with you?’

Claire nodded. ‘Great. I’ll be there.’

‘Brilliant.’ Karina started the car and Claire got out and waved before she went into the house and walked up the stairs. She couldn’t wait to get to Auntie Rachel’s book and have a look through it again.

On her way to her room, everything that had happened since this morning went through her mind.

It was like a kaleidoscope of many brilliant colours: her first meeting with Karina, the introduction to Magnolia Manor and her relatives from whom she had to keep her real identity secret.

All that fitted into her plan like pieces of a jigsaw that was slowly coming together.

But oddly, one person stood out among the people she had met today and it wasn’t any of her third cousins.

It was Karina’s brother Pierce. Claire stopped on the top landing and thought about him for a moment.

She had felt oddly drawn to him straight away.

There had been a feeling of warmth between them even though they had only exchanged a few words during their brief meeting.

She shook her head and tried to get his lovely smile and bright blue eyes out of her mind.

What was it about him she had found so endearing?

She had been suspicious of men ever since her divorce and been content to be single and free of all such concerns.

But the meeting with Pierce O’Farrell – and that strange connection – had awakened something in her she had though was dead and gone.

She couldn’t put a finger on it and decided not to try.

They had only just met and her feelings might never be reciprocated.

I must not get trapped into falling for a man who might not make me happy , she thought .

I’ll just enjoy his company and be friendly without trying to start something.

Besides, things are already much too complicated…

With that decision firmly in her mind, Claire went into her room and took out the big book that she had hidden in her suitcase. Then she settled on the bed and flicked through the photos and the few little notes underneath them she hadn’t seen in the dim light the night before.

Good Lord , she thought, here are all the names.

I didn’t see them before, they’re so faint.

Claire carried the book to the window, and in the light of the setting sun that was streaming in, she could finally read what was scribbled in pencil under each photo in Auntie Rachel’s neat handwriting.

There was a photo of a family group standing in front of the manor wearing formal clothes that was described as Possibly Maria Fleury’s sixtieth birthday in 1912 or thereabouts .

Claire stared at the photo of the woman who was her great-great-grandmother, now older than in the portrait she had seen today.

The black and white photo was a little blurred but Claire could still discern the square jaw and the dark curly hair, now with a few whitish streaks.

She could see Cornelius and Louis but they were not standing together.

Maybe the discontent had already started between the brothers?

Claire assumed that the rift between them must have happened when they were quite young, so Rachel had probably never met her grandmother.

How sad for Louis’ children to have grown up with that kind of background sadness.

Claire remembered her own grandparents with great affection and treasured the happy memories of visiting them in their old house just outside Dublin.

Sunday lunch with them had been the highlight of the week in those days.

Then they had died fairly young and Auntie Rachel had taken their place as a kind of grandmother.

Claire studied the photo, noting that there were three children in the Fleury family: the twins, Cornelius and Louis, and then their younger sister, Iseult, a pretty young woman in a white dress wearing an ornate necklace.

Maria Fleury was a handsome woman, standing straight and proud beside her much older-looking husband, John.

The other photos were of the next generation, when Louis had broken with his family, moved to Dublin and married Helen, a young girl from an Anglo-Irish family in nearby Wicklow.

There were Rachel’s parents, Louis and Helen, Claire’s great-grandparents, all looking heartbreakingly young in those faded old photos.

The 1920s and 30s had been hard times in Ireland when the fledgling country had struggled to find its feet in an increasingly unsettled world.

Claire looked through an array of photos, fascinated by the clothes and other details that told of a family that started off with very little but became eventually prosperous.

Louis studied law and worked in pubs and restaurants to pay for his university fees, his children doing the same but now with the help of their parents.

But those photos, although touching, held less interest as Claire was more focused on what had caused the feud and Louis’ hasty move to Dublin.

She didn’t find anything that gave her a clue.

But maybe the answer was not to be found in the book, but right here in Dingle, or even at Magnolia Manor?

Claire closed the book, feeling no closer to the solution.

Later that evening, Claire went to the nearby pub to have dinner as she had enjoyed their fish and chips the night before. Tonight she decided to sample their ‘Irish stew just like Mammy made it’, as it was described on the blackboard above the counter.

‘How can I resist it?’ she asked the waiter.

‘You can’t,’ he said. ‘It’s fabulous. And only on Thursdays like tonight. Catch it while you can. It might never be on the menu again.’

‘Of course I will,’ Claire said. ‘And a glass of Guinness to go with it.’

‘Excellent choice,’ the waiter, a tall young man with curly dark hair, said. ‘My name’s Brian, by the way. What’s yours?’

‘I’m Claire and I’m from Dublin. Nice to meet you, Brian.’

‘Hi, Claire from Dublin. I’ll get your Guinness and place your order right away.’ Brian sailed away through the crowd and Claire watched him go with a big smile.

‘Hiya,’ a voice said beside her. ‘Can I sit here? There isn’t anywhere else free.’

Claire looked up and discovered Pierce standing at her table with a pint of beer in his hand. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Sit down. Nice to have company for dinner.’

‘I heard you ordered the stew,’ Pierce said as he sat down opposite Claire. ‘So did I. Karina will be livid if she finds out that I skipped her cod in lemon sauce for a meal in the pub, but Irish stew is one of my favourite dishes and the one they do here is especially good.’

‘I won’t tell her,’ Claire promised, smiling at his confession.

‘I’m actually here for another reason,’ Pierce explained. ‘I’m organising a pub quiz for tomorrow night in aid of the dogs’ and cats’ home here in town. They take in strays and look after them until they can find a good home for them.’

‘That’s a very good cause, then,’ Claire said, looking into his earnest blue eyes behind the glasses. ‘I love dogs and cats.’

‘Do you have a dog yourself?’ Pierce asked.

‘Not at the moment. But I did have a West Highland terrier a few years ago. He died of old age. I still miss him. I wanted to get another one, but my then husband didn’t like dogs so…’

‘I wouldn’t trust a man who doesn’t like dogs,’ Pierce declared. Then he looked awkward. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to…’

‘Oh, please don’t apologise,’ Claire exclaimed. ‘You’re right. There’s something suspicious about people who don’t like dogs. It’s as if there’s something missing, like empathy or humility or the capacity to love or something.’

Pierce nodded. ‘Exactly,’ he said, returning her smile.

They were interrupted by Brian, the waiter, arriving with their plates of stew. ‘Oops, forgot your Guinness, Claire,’ he said as he put the fragrant plates in front of them. ‘I’ll get it straight away. Sorry about that. Won’t be a tick.’

Claire smiled at him. ‘No bother. Not easy to carry plates of stew and a glass at the same time.’

‘Bless you,’ Brian said and disappeared again.

‘It’s very busy here on Irish stew nights,’ Pierce said.

Claire picked up her knife and fork. ‘I can imagine. This looks and smells delicious. Mind if I dig in?’

‘Go ahead,’ Pierce said and grabbed his fork. ‘No need to hang around. And here’s Brian with your Guinness anyway.’

‘There you go,’ Brian said and put the glass in front of Claire. ‘Enjoy your dinner, lads.’