Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
K enmare was a beautiful town, filled with flags and bunting as it did to celebrate most major festivals or events.
Bunting in the colours of the local football teams, black and orange at Samhain, the Irish origin of modern-day Halloween, green and red at Christmas.
She’d even seen bunting made of donated bras for breast cancer awareness.
All of which added cheer to the bleak, cool days of autumn and winter.
She parked outside a row of multicoloured buildings, lime-washed in yellow, pink and blue, and entered the white building housing the solicitors.
White, because she was on the side of justice and truth, and after this meeting, everyone would know she and her family were completely innocent of whatever it was that Aidan Quinn and his blessed grandmother so erroneously believed.
Everyone would know the Quinns were mistaken, and her family’s name and reputation could be upheld as it always had, and always would be.
She entered, and smiled graciously at Shelene, the friendly receptionist. “I have an appointment with Patrick.”
“Of course. He’s with a client, but I’ll let him know you’re here.”
“Thank you.”
She settled on the faux leather lounge in the waiting area, and glanced at the magazines, which included copies of Irish Countrysports and Country Life , Stellar , and Business Plus .
“How is Fiona these days?” Shelene asked.
That’s right. Shelene and Fiona had been in school together.
“She’s still in Dublin.” And presumably still annoyed with Colin for taking the reins of what she had thought would be her role.
Not that it was Colin’s fault. That had been strictly their father’s decision, and he was old-fashioned like that.
But that was likely the reason she rarely came home these days.
Apparently she was intent on making her own mark, instead of “riding the coattails of their father’s success like nepo-baby Colin” as she’d expressed in a particularly harsh comment last Christmas.
Happy families that had not been, despite her mother’s hopes and prayers.
The door to Patrick’s office opened, and Rory straightened, affixing a small smile she hoped would pass for pleasant. She needed Patrick to be on her side, to do all he could to ensure that the right result was achieved.
He shook hands with the elderly gentleman, then glanced at Rory. “Ah, Miss Fairall. This is a surprise. Come on in.”
Shelene passed him a file, and sent Rory a wink, which gave fresh courage as she entered the office.
Patrick was neat to the point of fastidious, and she felt her nerves bite as she perched on the chair opposite his desk.
He sat, leaned his elbows on the desk and eyed her. “So, what brings you here today?”
She drew in a deep breath. Lord, help me say this clearly . “I have been asked by my family to get some clarity about the legal boundaries of the Castle Griffin Hotel resort, and whether there is any chance that the old castle ruins could have belonged to a family named Quinn.”
He frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“There is a lawyer who has come to stay and is spreading rumours that his family were the rightful owners of the old castle on the resort’s grounds.
We have always been under the impression that it was Griffin land, and Mam is convinced of this.
Yet Mary Connolly, who is a local historian, seems to think that there is some evidence to the contrary.
So I’m here to find out the truth and show people the legalities of when the Griffin family acquired the land and to prove to these people that they’re mistaken. ”
“Well, those are some rather bold claims. Who did you say this lawyer is?”
“Aidan Quinn. He’s from Australia.”
“I see.” The vertical lines between his brows deepened. “And has he got any proof of this?”
“I don’t know. I only learned about this last night, and was shocked that Mary, who just happens to be my boss, was busy filling his ears with all kinds of supposed proof. But it can’t be true. Can it?”
He studied her a moment, then stood, moving to the filing cabinets and searching through the top drawer.
She practiced deep breathing, willing her pulse to calm. Aidan and Mary had to be wrong. There was no way the Quinns had any legal right to the Griffin property.
“Hmm.”
Her breath hitched. Was that a good “hmm” or a bad one?
He returned to sit in the chair next to hers, opening the file on the desk so she could see. “This document shows the property boundary, and shows the two castles on it.”
He pointed to the ruins of the old castle, a square walled block hard pressed against the sea. Then the second, the newer Castle Griffin that was the hotel.
He traced the boundary line. “As you can see, both fall inside the estate boundary lines.”
Tangled heartstrings released. “And that land has always been Griffin land, yes?”
He gently pulled out another paper, touching it gingerly. “This one shows the title deed. It clearly states that in 1717 a deed of sale was registered in Wakefield to a James Griffin.”
“And who did they buy it from?”
“Hmm.” He frowned, studying it. “I’m afraid it does not seem to say. Perhaps it was a grant.”
“From whom?”
“I shall have to find out.”
“But there is no mention of Quinns?”
“None at all. So I’m not quite sure what legal grounds this Australian lawyer seems to think he has.”
“And Mary Connolly.” She still couldn’t believe the sense of betrayal. “There must be something, for I don’t think Mary would suggest something if she couldn’t justify it.”
“Well, this is a pretty little puzzle you have presented me. Nevertheless, I shall investigate and let you know what I find.”
“Is… is it possible for you to speak with him and Mary? To show them these deeds and things? Surely then they will leave it alone.”
“I am happy to speak with them if they wish. But you may find that they wish to employ their own legal representation.” He eyed her. “In fact, you may find if this is not resolved quickly that it may even descend into the courtroom, which is something I would advise against.”
“But how could they win?”
“I know it seems impossible given the records we hold here, but it is always a consideration to be aware of. When land and buildings and perceived fortunes are in play sometimes the knives come out.”
“But there is no land. And the building they’re contesting ownership of is a ruin.”
“I know.”
“And there definitely is no fortune.”
“But they may believe the Griffin family has benefited at their expense, and seek compensation, considering your family does have an impressive hotel portfolio.”
“Are you serious?”
“I’m afraid so.”
She’d have to call a family meeting. Colin needed to know this. Fiona too. What would Mam say?
“I am sorry if this sounds rather dire, but it’s best to be prepared rather than receive a nasty surprise.”
“This whole thing is a nasty surprise. And I still can’t believe Mary is involved. I thought she was my friend.” How would any of this benefit Mary? Why was she so keen to be involved?
“People have their reasons, muddled as they may sometimes be. So I would advise you to tread carefully. Do nothing to antagonise them that might make them want to escalate matters.”
“So you want me to bide my time?”
“Just until I have confirmed the sale and grant. Then perhaps you can tell them I’d be happy to meet them and we can discuss this in a civilised manner.”
Civilised? She gritted her teeth. She’d need God’s grace to help her stay civilised.
“Thanks for joining us,” Rory said.
“So what has got your knickers in such a knot?” Colin asked.
Rory glanced at her mother and sister then back at the computer screen where two boxes showed her brother and an impatient Fiona, who had questioned why an emergency meeting was needed.
“So I went and talked with Patrick Fuller today.” She told them what had been said, and his advice to keep cool about things and not inflame the situation.
“What kind of sap thinks we’d lie down and take this?” Fiona demanded.
An Australian kind , she thought snarkily. Then exhaled. No. She’d dealt with many lovely Aussie tourists over the years. She shouldn’t tar them all with the same brush.
Fiona kept on ranting, and Aisling quickly joined in.
And while it was nice to feel like Fiona was on their side at last, it was also kind of awful how they only seemed to have bonded over a problem against someone else, not because they had actually mended what was wrong between them and found a way to move forward together.
But perhaps there was no way for Fiona to mend her dispute with Colin. Not until she chose to forgive him. And forgive their father, whose decision it had been to hand the responsibility of the Killorglin group to Colin in the first place.
“It’s good that Patrick is on the case,” Colin said. “He’s pretty switched on.”
“He should be, at the rates he charges,” Fiona muttered. “I can’t believe you just went and saw him without asking any of us if you thought it a good idea.”
“I did ask,” Rory protested. “I asked Mam and Ash, and we called Colin who thought it was a good thing to do.”
“Of course you did. Ask the man of the family. But you didn’t ask me, did you?”
“I thought you’d be too busy,” Rory said in a small voice.
“Well, clearly that’s not the case, as I’m talking to you now, aren’t I?” Fiona huffed. “It’s always the way, though. People in this family don’t trust me do they? Da never did. You don’t either, apparently.”
And just like that they were back to Fiona’s usual crabbiness. Those hopes for reconciliation looked like they’d need to wait another day. Or year.
“I’m sorry.” Oh, she hated feeling at odds with her sister like this. What could she say that would make things right?
“Yeah, well, I’ve got to go.”
“Well, please pray that this works out,” she pleaded.
“Like prayer ever works,” Fiona grumbled, before her screen went black and they realised she’d ended the call.