Chapter 11
ELEVEN
‘There ya are! Where’d ya go? I took away yer starter plate.
Ready for your mains? You must be famished?
’ Mary stands over me, hot and bothered, wisps of grey hair stuck to her perspiring forehead.
She has stains on her yellow tie and a pencil and crumpled notepad in her hand. ‘I didn’t take your dessert order?’
‘Mary?’ Draping my satchel over my seat I do a double take and quiz her, ‘Are you double jobbing . . . no, triple jobbing?’ Didn’t someone say that Mary is doing the afters food? And singing? Is it a different Mary?
‘Donal, who took your starter order, is off inside now,’ she says by way of explanation but with her big, heart-warming smile that melts my heart.
‘The weddings drain our staff resources,’ she adds as the music from the ballroom continues to vibrate around the Sweet Orange Room.
‘All of our full-time and part-timers are at the wedding, ya see. Small village, small community.’ There’s not an ounce of sympathy in her voice for herself.
‘I see. Yes, I’m ready for my steak, please,’ I say, settling back and picking up my wine glass, my fingers numb, when she closes one eye tight, sucks in her breath and winces.
‘You alright, Mary?’ Hurriedly, I push my chair back in concern.
‘Ahh, don’t get up, sorry, it’s me ole hip, please sit.
I’m waiting on a hip replacement, long waiting lists I’m afraid and I can’t afford to go private.
It’ll ease off me now, gimme a sec.’ Mary puts both her hands flat on the table and winces again, then she stands up straight.
‘I’m grand now, we’ve nothing left on the dessert menu bar vanilla ice cream, I’m afraid .
. . but if ye take yerself down to the Heartwell Lounge, Marie Woodcock makes an Irish Brandy Christmas pudding with fresh cream from the local dairy you’ll never forget and nor will your waistline.
’ Mary winks. ‘Not that there’s a pick on ye! ’
‘Maybe tomorrow night. I’ll only be fit to pass out in that great big four-poster bed after dinner,’ I say with a big laugh, but I’m concerned for the older woman.
‘Good idea, lovey. Won’t be long with the dinner plate.’ Mary takes her leave.
While I wait, I download the photos onto my MacBook.
They are so natural, so real, I suddenly realise my vision is the complete opposite of the posed, highly filtered, staged shoots that the magazine normally uses.
One thing I know for sure is that if I was in the market for a wedding – which I definitely am not – these are the kind of images I’d want to see in a wedding magazine.
Honest. Candid. Genuine. A picture of all the men pulling a face makes me throw my head back and laugh out loud.
I hope this is a good thing. Should I send a sample to Amanda to proof?
Or should I just trust my gut? Lifting my glass of wine, I swirl it.
The Sweet Orange Room is all but empty now.
I am more than curious to sample the food.
Reluctantly, I open a Word document and title it:
CASTLEMOON REPORT:
FOR FREDERICK MACKEN AT ACQUIRED FINANCE
FROM MAGGIE GRACE
PRIVATE & CONFIDENTIAL
My fingers hover over the keys. What the hell am I supposed to write here?
Like I don’t have enough to do. I sip. I think of what Mary told me earlier.
What parts can I report without betraying her trust?
What have I actually seen for myself that I can stick in a report?
I can’t know about the roof, the cracked fireplace spreading, the bedroom windows, the lack of weddings booked in or the need to sell off items like the Rolls-Royce.
Maybe I can report on the upcoming castle fundraiser?
How do I actually word only that in a report?
That’s not going to be enough to satisfy him.
I need to figure out a clever creative way to fake my way out of this.
‘Heard you laughing there, care to share the joke? I could do with a good laugh after the day I’ve had.
’ That familiar thick accent lilts beside my table again.
This time I slam my MacBook shut and look up quickly.
Dan’s standing over me. But he’s all cleaned up now.
Smartly dressed in black jeans and a black linen shirt, his unruly hair brushed back, still damp.
His dark stubble seems to have grown thicker since I last saw him.
Those sultry brown eyes hold intensity and charm.
Ridiculously, I feel utterly giddy. I can smell his cologne again, it’s rich and alluring, like warm spices and smoky wood.
I notice now he is holding a long screwdriver in his hand.
‘Look, I just came over to say, I’m not normally so hot-headed, not quite sure what came over me earlier.
You . . . you . . . anyway, what I’m trying to say is I’ve a lot on my plate at the minute.
’ He runs his fingers through his damp hair, pulling it from his eyes.
‘So I apologise, it was very unprofessional of me. Mary berated me. I do hope you enjoy your stay here at Castlemoon.’ He flashes his perfectly straight white teeth.
‘Have you come to kill me?’ I’m still eyeing up the screwdriver.
‘This,’ Dan holds it up, ‘this job may be the death of me, never mind you.’ He pushes his free hand deep into the pocket of his snug black jeans.
My eyes flick to the brass buckle on his leather belt then slowly rise up to the tufts of dark chest hair creeping through the open top buttons on his shirt.
I sit bolt upright, like I need to take him all in before he leaves again.
The pitter patter of my heart rate sounds in my own ears.
I busy myself by unnecessarily pouring more wine into my already half-full glass.
‘By the way, I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced?’ Dan says as our eyes lock. He spins the handle of the screwdriver, it’s almost like a kaleidoscope, the orange and black handle spinning.
‘I didn’t think you’d want to fraternise with a criminal.
’ I snort, it’s a lot louder than I am comfortable with.
I rest my elbows on the table, drop my chin in my hands.
I’m really not behaving like I normally do.
I feel completely out of sorts. This man brings out a very different side of me.
But despite my unattractive snort, for whatever reason, I feel fun and playful yet strong and bold.
‘Well . . .’ Dan crosses his arms, the bulge of his biceps again not lost on me.
Those dark eyes beneath the long spiky lashes bore into me.
‘You never heard me mention fraternising with you, did ya now? I was only after your name. Don’t be getting ahead of yourself.
’ He teases me again, still twirling the handle on the screwdriver.
Leaning back in my chair, I circle my finger through my mass of curls. ‘My name is Maggie Grace. I assumed you got it from my insurance details?’ I give him a winner’s smirk, delighted with myself.
‘Maggie Grace, what a beautiful name.’ Dan says it in a very pronounced, slow delivery, and as he speaks, his eyes linger on the Claddagh ring on my hand again. How my name sounds on his lips takes me by complete surprise.
‘And you are?’ I ask yet again.
‘I’m Dan Delaney, nice to meet you.’ Dan extends his hand and I raise mine to take it.
As our palms graze off one another and his long fingers wrap around my hand, some kind of fizzle of electricity bolts through my entire body.
Swiftly, I pull my hand away. Now I’m flummoxed. Damn, I was doing so well.
‘I-I have a lot of work to finish here, so if you don’t mind.
’ I flip open my MacBook, tipping it awake and trying to hide my shaking hand.
It doesn’t need a password to reopen so I minimise my Word doc to Frederick.
I’m not entirely sure of Dan Delaney’s job description around here but I doubt he should see it.
Mary berated me, repeats in my head. Obviously, Mary told him to apologise out of fear that I would write a bad article about the castle. If it weren’t for Mary, he wouldn’t be anywhere near me now, I think. The thought disappoints me greatly. Much more than I’m comfortable with.
‘Right? That’s not a very gracious way to accept an apology.’ He stares hard at me again, tilts his head quizzically.
‘I’m pretty sure it didn’t come from the heart,’ I say with a knowing, slightly sarcastic half smile.
‘That’s not very nice,’ he says softly but I can tell he’s shocked at my reply and again I’m floored by the tone of his voice, it’s so sultry, so sexy. I could listen to it for hours and never get bored.
‘Well, it wasn’t—’
‘Steak, medium well.’ Mary interrupts us in the nick of time, arriving with a white bowl and plate perched on her outstretched arms.
‘Where is Betsy? She’s supposed to be helping you!’ Dan says, instantly reaching to help Mary with the plate. ‘You should not be working this hard. Let me take over, please?’
‘Ah, leave her off inside, she’s enjoying herself.
Gráinne popped back to gimme a hand there earlier.
Careful, the baked potato is very hot, lovey.
’ She places the plate in front of me as Dan puts down the bowl.
‘Mind away now, lad, and fix that lock before the céilí! I’m grand.
’ She shoos Dan away from the table before he has a chance to say another word then follows along after him, slowly but steadily.
‘Thank you,’ I call after Mary.
Snapping my linen napkin out with more force than is necessary, I place it on my lap.
I’m annoyed now because Dan is distracting me and I don’t like how he’s making me feel.
I pick up my knife and dig it into the middle of my soft baked potato.
I have to avoid him for the rest of my stay.
I add a knob of creamy butter and watch it melt as the steam rises and swirls.
‘Good plan,’ I mutter under my breath.
He wouldn’t look out of place in a Tom Ford aftershave commercial, I know that much, I admit with a shrug, picking up my fork now and cutting into the tender steak.
I spear a piece of the chargrilled meat and pop it in my mouth, chewing slowly, tasting it.
‘Mmmmmmmm.’ My eyes roll as I groan in culinary appreciation. It’s so succulent and tender and tastes utterly divine.
Cutting another soft strip, then another, I eat hungrily. The creamy butter has fully melted into my potato and I scoop some out. Also absolutely delicious. It has a natural starchy sweetness. Potatoes do not taste like this in New York! I look across the table to the empty chair facing me.
What would it be like to share a meal with Dan, I suddenly wonder.
‘Maggie. This Irish air really has gone to your head,’ I mutter under my breath, then giggle lightly.
And what would it be like to be kissed by him?
The hardness of his stubble, the softness of those lips?
I shock myself! It’s been so long since a thought like this has crossed my mind, I’ve been so shut off to any romantic endeavours.
Sweeping the thought away, I concentrate on devouring the most delicious meal I’ve eaten in ages.
Clearly the quality of the food is not the reason the dining hall is empty.
Or the service. With less than half my steak left, I make myself take a time out.
I minimise my Castlemoon report to Frederick and open the one for my article. I type:
‘The atmosphere of the Sweet Orange Room is elegant without being stuffy, just like the menu which boasts simple Irish food, cooked to perfection. No bells and whistles. All organic from Jimmy Murphy’s local farm.
The room is filled with simple round tables with starched white linen tablecloths, straight backed wooden chairs and heavy antique cutlery.
Sophisticated, real, done in a way this writer has never experienced before.
Reader, for the night before, or indeed after, your wedding, this is the dinner spot for you.
I dined on a succulent chargrilled striploin steak so tender that it melted in my mouth and all sorts of flavours exploded.
Crispy fried onions, salty and slightly caramelised, that didn’t stand a chance.
As I write, a wedding is in full swing next door and there is undeniable aura of love in the air.
There is a magic between these sandstone walls, I can feel it .
. . I can almost taste it . . . I’m starting to believe . . .’
I pick up my fork and spear another strip of meat, pop it in my mouth, pick up a long stem of broccoli with my fingers, when suddenly a light bulb sparks in my brain.
Dropping my cutlery, swiftly I push my chair, slam the MacBook shut, wondering what I am thinking sitting here?
Hadn’t Mary mentioned this was the only wedding booked in this month!
I have to see the Heart Ballroom in full wedding swing so that my readers can too.
I’ve been far too distracted with this Dan Delaney guy and all the goings on.
I need to pull myself together. Pushing my camera, Dictaphone and MacBook into my satchel, I snap the copper clasps shut, but not before I pop the last piece of steak in my mouth and throw back the rest of my wine.
I decide against going back up to my room to change into my red ball gown, I’ve already been invited as I am – Aisling did ask me in after all.
Instead I make a quick dash to the ladies to fix my face.
Inside the grand old-fashioned bathroom, there is a huge vanity table with a backlit mirror and two old armchairs siting on a carpeted floor.
Running my fingers through my curls, I dab on concealer and gloss my lips.
Luckily, there is a little box with hygiene products and I pick up a body spray called Coconut Passion and give myself a good spritz.
I take a glance in the mirror and smooth myself down.
Happy with my reflection, I head for the wedding, eager to see the Heart Ballroom and also excited to feel like a tiny part of this incredible wedding party.