Chapter 47
Maeve grabbed her jacket and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?”
“If I have to humiliate myself I’d like to do it without an audience. I think I’ll go walk around the estate grounds. It’s so quiet and peaceful, maybe that’ll give me some inspiration.”
She strolled down the path from the inn to the estate. Tourists stood around in small groups outside the main entrance, waiting to join the last tour of the day.
Maeve stood looking up at the graceful, classical architecture of the manor house, reflecting again on what Kathleen’s life must have been like here, living among a wealthy, privileged family, yet knowing she would never be considered worthy to be one of them, always a barely tolerated outsider.
She followed a walkway that skirted the house and wound around to the sunken garden, finding a seat on a bench beneath an elm tree that overlooked a manmade lake where a pair of swans glided over the water’s placid surface.
“Stop stalling,” she muttered, pulling out her phone and clicking on Liam’s phone number.
It rang three times and she was about to disconnect when he answered.
“Maeve? Is that you?”
She was relieved to hear his voice, but suddenly tongue-tied.
“Hi. I’m sorry to call you out of the blue like this. You’re probably still working…”
“Actually, I’m just finishing up. It’s no bother at all. In fact, I’m glad to hear from you.”
She took a deep breath in an attempt to calm her racing pulse. “The reason I called is, we’re leaving in the morning, and I’ve been regretting how I acted Sunday night.”
“You’ve nothing to apologize for. I was the one who was an ass. Maddie rang yesterday, and she said Jamie didn’t feel at all as though he was being interrogated. She thinks it helps him—to talk about his mum, and their relationship.”
“Really?” Maeve closed her eyes and exhaled, feeling herself relax—a little.
“When are you leaving?”
“We drive to Dublin tomorrow, and our flight leaves first thing the next morning.”
“Can I see you? Maeve, if this is goodbye, I don’t want it to happen over the phone.”
“Okay,” she said.
“When? Where?”
“I’m at the estate now. I just wanted to get in a walk before I start packing.”
“Come over to the distillery, will you? It’s quiet. I’ll fix you a drink.”
“Now?” She’d thought to tell Liam goodbye on the phone.
Not in person, and not looking like this.
Her jeans—the ones Therese had so thoroughly dissed—were on day four, her turtleneck sweater had a grease spot over her left breast where she’d dropped a bit of bacon at breakfast, and she hadn’t bothered with makeup that morning.
She also hadn’t combed her hair before leaving the inn.
“Is that a problem? I can’t meet up later because I’m putting on a private tasting for a group in from London over at the manor house tonight.”
“I guess not,” she said. She told herself it didn’t matter. This was goodbye, and in all likelihood she’d never see Liam Grogan again after today.
There was a CLOSED sign on the entry to the Tarrymore distillery, but Liam met her there and unlocked the door.
He was dressed exactly as he had been the day she’d met him during her tour on her first day in Ireland: Tarrymore Distillery logo shirt, jeans, and a long leather apron. A grin creased his face and he pulled her into his arms.
“I’m so glad you called. I wasn’t sure you’d ever want to see me again after I was such an arse to you.”
“Therese bullied me into it. To be honest, I was halfway hoping you wouldn’t answer when I called, so I could tell her I’d tried but failed.”
He took her hand and led her over to the tasting room, where he’d opened a bottle of Olde Tarrymore. Two crystal rocks glasses stood on the counter. He’d piled ice cubes into one.
“Have a seat.”
She took the chair he’d pointed to. He poured an inch of whiskey into her glass. She sniffed, sipped, and nodded her approval, then took a longer drink—for courage.
“What’s happened to your face? Did you get in a fistfight?”
“Therese and I were walking home from dinner, and I tripped and fell,” she said, not wanting to go into the details of her narrow escape.
“Coincidentally, your brother Luke and Angela happened to be at the same restaurant. He paid our tab without our even knowing it. Please thank him for us, will you?”
“I will. Other than that, have you had a good visit? Accomplished what you set out to do?” He sat opposite her, laser focused on her face.
“It’s been … as you Irish like to say, grand. We mostly did get the answers we’d hoped for, and a lot of that was due to you—arranging for me to meet Jamie. It opened doors we didn’t expect to walk through.”
“Now that does sound mysterious. I take it you found out how the stolen portrait found its way from the hands of the IRA to an auction house in New York?”
“We did.”
“Then I’m glad. Can you tell me what you discovered? I find I’m now heavily invested in this particular whodunnit. And I’m sure Jamie would like to know too.”
Maeve sipped her whiskey, wondering how much would be safe for her to divulge without betraying Esme Rossington’s confidences.
“Sorry to sound vague, but I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say more.”
“Did you ever manage to get out and see some sights, in between all your sleuthing?”
“Today we drove to the Dingle Peninsula. It was … awe-inspiring. And we spent nearly our last five euros so my dingbat sister could hold a baby lamb.”
“Ahh, I know exactly the spot where you encountered that. Clive O’Neal has been sitting in that spot with his caravan for as long as I can remember. He must be nearly a hundred years old by now. So you got a cuddle with Meggie, did you?”
“How’d you know its name?”
“They’re always called Meggie.”
“Gotta give him credit for consistency,” Maeve said.
He reached across the counter and put his hand over hers. “How long are we going to do this, talking pleasantries and avoiding the real reason why you called today? And the reason I was so desperately hoping you would?”
She chewed her lower lip, looked down at her hands. They were scraped up from her fall and she needed a manicure.
He tipped her chin with his index finger.
“Maeve? If it makes things easier, I’ll go first. I don’t want you to leave.
I realize we’ve only known each other a week, and it sounds daft, but I don’t care.
I don’t know exactly what this is…” He gestured at her, and then at himself.
“But I do know that I don’t want it to end. ”
Her throat was so dry she struggled to speak. She didn’t dare look at him.
“Maeve? Say something. Am I out of line?”
She shook her head, still mute. How to tell him she’d already resigned herself to the cold, hard facts.
She couldn’t risk letting her fragile heart get shattered again.
Liam Grogan was a one-week wonder. Too good to be true.
She would pack this time away, the memory of it, tenderly wrap it in tissue and tuck it away like one of Mary Helen’s Belleek teacups, before the cold, hard realities of daylight revealed the inevitable flaws of a doomed relationship.
“I can’t,” she said. “I’ve done the long-distance thing. The late-night phone calls, the texts. I can’t do a FaceTime romance again, Liam. I know from experience that absence actually doesn’t make the heart grow fonder.”
“It doesn’t have to be like that. We’re working on a distribution deal for our whiskey brands that could mean I’d be in the States two or three times a year. Maybe more often. And you could come over here…”
“Two or three times a year—you’d be tied up with business, and either I’d resent you ignoring me or you’d resent me for resenting you.
And I’m still unemployed. And basically broke.
As soon as I get home and we get my mother’s estate settled, I have to find a job.
I had … have a career. I have to be a realist. University-level teaching positions aren’t exactly going to fall in my lap. ”
Liam leaned forward, his dark eyes intense.
“You keep telling me what you have to do. Have you asked yourself what you really want to do with the rest of your life? Have you ever considered taking a risk? Walking away from the safe bet? I realize it’s wildly selfish of me, but I keep wishing you’d take a chance—on us. ”
Her laugh was mirthless. “Therese and I were just quoting our mom. One of her favorite sayings was ‘Wish in one hand and spit in the other and see which one fills up.’” She drained the rest of the whiskey in her glass and pushed her chair away from the counter.
“So that’s it?”
“I wish things were different, but I don’t see how they can be.” She turned and faced him. “But I’ll never be sorry for the time we had this past week.”
He shook his head. “We could have so much more. If you’d just…”
She had to stop him from talking, from saying something that could melt her icy resolve. Maeve wrapped her arms around his neck, leaned in, and kissed him with every drop of passion she possessed. He pulled away a bit. “You’re giving me mixed messages here, Maeve.”
“I just don’t want to be accused of pulling an Irish goodbye,” she said. “You take care now, you hear?”
Therese had her suitcase open on her bed when Maeve returned to their room. “That was a pretty long phone call. How did it go?”
“It went,” Maeve said dully. “He was still at work, so I walked over to the distillery, we had a drink, it was all very civil. And sad. But now it’s done, and I really don’t want to discuss this any further.”
She picked up her own suitcase, opened it, and started to pack.
“Have you eaten? The guy at the desk said there’s a decent curry place in the village. Super cheap, according to him. I thought we could check it out.”
“You go,” Maeve said. “I’m not really hungry.”
“Shit, Maeve. Like that, huh?”
“Yeah. I just wanna pack and get to bed early. We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”