Chapter 7 #2
“Ah, and that’s a very nice green,” the elderly lady of Quills Woollen Shop studied him, a smile on her face and in her eyes. He supposed that was what was meant by the phrase Irish eyes are smiling . “Makes your eyes pop.”
“I hope not out,” he joked.
Her forehead creased, as if puzzled by his comment, then she glanced at her equally friendly co-worker. “I don’t think we’ve ever had someone’s eyes pop out because they bought one of our knitted cardigans, have they?”
“Not that I can recall, no.”
They turned back to him, and he wasn’t sure if they had taken him seriously or not. Then he spotted the twinkle in the first woman’s eye and knew he’d been had.
He chuckled. “You had me going for a moment there.”
“Now, do you like it? It’s only seventy euros—”
Which was how much in Australian dollars?
“—but you’ll always know it’s real wool and been hand-knitted here in Ireland. Not any of that cheap polyester stuff from China.”
These two ladies might look sweet but they sure knew how to put on the hard sell. “I might need to think about it,” he hedged.
“Well, I wouldn’t think too long if I were you, lad. You might be our first customer today, but you surely won’t be our last. What’s to say someone won’t just walk in here and snap it up the moment they see how beautiful it is?”
“That’s a risk I’m going to have to take,” he said gravely.
The other woman sighed. “Ah, well, I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes when you return and it’s nigh disappeared.”
Wow. These two were good. “Fine. I’ll take it.”
Their faces wreathed in matching grins. “You won’t regret it, young man.”
He handed over his card, refusing to gawk at the price.
It wasn’t like he hadn’t set aside funds for the occasional Irish souvenir.
And a jumper-cardigan was exactly the kind of non-tacky souvenir he preferred, rather than a dust collector like something his Gran had too many of. Which reminded him…
“Have you got anything that my grandmother might like?”
The taller one chortled. “Well, now, that’s a challenge indeed, seeing as neither of us know your grandmother. But if you’re asking what ladies of our vintage might like, then you can’t go past this beautiful blanket, hand-knitted by Dorie and myself.”
“Hmm.” He fingered it. It was very pretty, but, “It’s very pink.”
“She’s not a fan of pink?”
“Not really.” Not at all. But these two seemed fond of the colour, seeing as they were dressed head to toe in it.
“Well, it is a steal at only eighty euros, but if she does not like pink…” Dorie moved to another one, held out the edge. “Perhaps this might be more her cup of tea.”
He willed his nose to not wrinkle. “Um, I don’t think yellow and purple is her preference either.”
“What? Well, I guess there’s no accounting for taste. But it’s only ninety euros. That makes it a bargain, especially as it is made from—”
“Let me guess: it’s real wool and—”
“None of that cheap polyester stuff from China.” She nodded.
“I actually don’t think a blanket will work. Now I think of it I’ll need something smaller that I can pack in my suitcase more easily.” He glanced around. “Um, what about this?” He held up an odd-looking hat. It had holes in it. “Is this a beret?”
“Oh dear no.” Dorie and her friend laughed. “That is a tea cosy. But you could wear it on your head if you preferred.”
His cheeks heated. “How much is that?”
“Only twenty euros. But you’ll know it’s made with real wool and hand knitted—”
“—in Ireland, yes. Fine. I’ll take it.”
He didn’t care if it wasn’t exactly something he could see his grandmother using.
He could give it to his sister as her token Irish souvenir if necessary.
Regardless of if she liked it, he needed to get out of here, and he guessed the old lady and their hard-sell spiels would keep on going until he bought up half the shop.
They wrapped his purchases in paper, warned him about how to wash ‘real wool’, then he paid, and they explained about the VAT refund for tourists. “For you are a tourist, yes?”
“I’m from Australia.”
This then led to them sharing about various family members and friends who had moved there, and he had to admit he didn’t know them either.
“Oh! So you’re the one who has come here claiming that your family owns the old castle on the Griffin estate.”
Huh. “I didn’t know others knew.”
“Word travels fast in these parts. No secrets lay unturned forever.”
“Exactly. Like the secret about the Quinn family’s claims to the castle.”
Their expressions, bland until now, tightened.
Uh oh. Were these two ladies part of Team Griffin? “It’s part of my family history that I’m investigating,” he said carefully.
“Hmm. I don’t think it’s something that will help the town. The Griffins and Fairalls have done a lot of good for the community.”
Dorie nodded. “In fact, it was old Mrs. Griffin, God rest her soul, who suggested we start our woollen store, said it would give the older folk extra income and help keep local handcrafts alive.”
“That’s admirable.”
“It is, especially when they purchased this very store for us, and we only have to pay a nominal rent each year.”
“It’s good to see the family’s philanthropic arm.”
Dorie pshawed. “It’s not charity they’re doing, but benefitting the town.
You can have no idea of the kinds of friendships that have been fostered because of this place, people who used to be by themselves who now feel valued and contributing members of society.
Did you know the funds we raise here have helped build the local playground? ”
“I did not, no.”
“And even if it’s just for a wee chat, this place is important to many people. It’s just one of the many good things the Griffin family has done over the years. We need them.”
“I’m not talking about sending them bankrupt. Just seeking compensation for what has been stolen.”
“Stolen?” Their eyes widened.
“I didn’t mean to say it like that.” Especially when it was apparent people talked in this town. Who knew how long it would take for Rory to hear he thought her family were thieves? He winced.
“I cannot believe ill of that family,” Dorie said, her pale skin flushed.
“And if by some chance you were right,” her crony said, “just how much do you think you might receive? That castle has been a ruin for over a hundred years. If all the possible descendants throughout the world made a claim then that would be perhaps half a euro each. And that’s only for the land.”
“I’m simply investigating, that’s all. It was never my intention to cause upset in the village.”
Dorie huffed. “Then what did you think you were doing coming here?”
Okay. That sounded like his cue to leave. “I’m sorry for upsetting you.”
“It’s upsetting the Fairall ladies that I’m most concerned about. A nicer Christian family you cannot meet.”
He had to go. Now. “Well, thank you. I hope you have a nice day.”
He left the shop with its tea-towels pronouncing Irish blessings of roads rising to meet people, and stood outside for a moment, catching a few rays from the weak sun.
Whew. That had been a mistake. He glanced at his paper bag of purchases and headed to his car.
He had a few hours to kill until his visit to the lawyers, and he wanted to make the most of his visit to the village before word spread that he was the bad guy, out to rip off the Griffin family legacy.
A visit to the bakery was followed by one to Callinan’s record store, and after a few vintage finds he realised it was nearing lunch time, and time for his appointment in Killarney.
He got in the car and passed the church then the bridge, slowing as he waited at a stop sign.
Only to recognise the redhead driving the red hatchback coming the other way.
His heart tensed. He knew Rory saw him from the way their gazes met then she scowled and glanced away, nearly running over a family of ducks, who hastily squawked their protest as she gunned the car and drove away.
He hated this tension between them. Hated it, because he actually wanted to like her.
Heck, he actually already did like her. Even if he wasn’t a huge fan of how she treated him sometimes.
But that passion intrigued him, as it was clear she loved her family and wanted to do all she could to protect them, just like he did his.
And from what he’d gathered from the old ladies, her family were trying to do all they could to bless the community. Just like he did too. And she was a Christian, too, huh?
Perhaps they had more in common than he’d first thought, after all.