Chapter 2 #2
When they had worked out the details of the kitchen, Maeve picked up her bag from the living room, said goodbye to Mr Taylor and walked down the garden path, her thoughts on her trip to Ireland.
Only two days away. The big canvas bag dragged on her shoulder, and she was just contemplating taking a taxi, when a voice from a car startled her.
‘That looks heavy. Would you like a lift?’
Maeve peered at the silver Audi and discovered Stephen Taylor at the wheel. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I thought you were meeting someone in Sloane Square?’
‘My daughter. She just cancelled. Had something better to do. Teenagers, huh?’
‘I wouldn’t know. I haven’t got any children.
Just three wild nephews in Ireland. But I haven’t seen them for—’ She stopped, knowing she was babbling.
She hitched the bag higher on her shoulder.
It weighed a ton. It had been a struggle to get it here on the Tube and she wasn’t looking forward to repeating the journey back.
‘A lift would be nice,’ she said. ‘But I don’t want to put you to any trouble. The office is in Fulham.’
‘No problem,’ he said, and got out to help her with the bag.
‘I had freed up this afternoon for Zoe, so now I have all the time in the world. It’s only three o’clock, so the traffic won’t be too bad.
I’ll have you back in the office in half an hour or so.
Quicker on the Tube, I suspect, but a lot less comfortable. ’
‘That’s for sure,’ Maeve said, settling into the passenger seat, admiring the plush interior. The cream leather felt butter-soft and the mahogany panelling on the dashboard added to the luxurious feel. The car even smelled expensive.
Stephen’s phone rang as he started the engine. He glanced at the caller ID. ‘Client,’ he grunted. ‘I’ll take that later.’
‘What do you do?’ Maeve couldn’t help asking.
He glanced at her as they drew up at a red light. ‘What would you guess?’
‘Hmm.’ Maeve thought for a while. ‘You said client… And they call you on your mobile… You’re not a stockbroker, are you?’
‘I hear a note of panic,’ he said, laughing. ‘What’s wrong with being a stockbroker?’
‘Everything,’ Maeve muttered. ‘But that’s a private matter.’
‘Oh?’ The lights changed. Stephen put the car in first gear and it rolled into the traffic. ‘No, I’m not a stockbroker. I’m a literary agent. You might have heard of me. The Taylor Agency. One of the biggest agencies in London right now.’
‘Eh, no. Not really in touch with publishing and literature. I’m sure it’s very interesting work, though.’
‘It’s fabulous. We sailed through the bad times in publishing by making a few sacrifices, and it paid off.’
‘What kind of sacrifices?’
‘Oh,’ he said airily. ‘We took on some of the more popular authors in the romance genre. It took a bit of soul searching, but we had to do it to save the agency. Proved to be a good move, even if it was a little painful.’
‘How very brave of you,’ she replied with a teasing smile.
He shot her a glance but seemed to take her remark as praise rather than sarcasm. ‘Yes. But sometimes you have to go with what makes the money to stay afloat.’
‘I know. That’s why I have to wreck architectural gems sometimes. All for the sake of staying afloat.’
He laughed. ‘Touché.’ He looked at her as they pulled up at a set of traffic lights. ‘Are all Irish girls this witty?’
‘I don’t know,’ she replied, returning his smile. ‘I wouldn’t call myself witty, either. Maybe just good at the old repartee.’
‘I would agree with that.’ His smile widened. ‘I like someone who can bounce the ball back.’
‘As long as it doesn’t hit you where it hurts, I bet.’
‘Absolutely.’ Their eyes met for a second before the lights changed, and Maeve felt a spark between them, something she hadn’t experienced for a long time.
As the traffic grew heavy, they didn’t speak while Stephen expertly weaved in and out of lanes, dodging taxis, trucks and buses, and taking shortcuts through narrow streets. He finally pulled up outside the Victorian building where Maeve’s office was situated. ‘This is it?’
‘Yes.’
He glanced up at the facade. ‘Nice house.’
‘On the outside, yes. Our office is in the basement, down the steps. A bit dark, but I don’t spend that much time there.’
‘I see.’ He looked at her for a moment. ‘I know this is short notice, but would you like to go out for a bite later?’
‘A bite? You mean dinner?’ she asked, confused. ‘But… your… or whatever, uh, I mean…’
‘No wife, as you might have heard. No significant other either at the moment. You?’
‘Not at the moment, no,’ she replied. She’d been single for over three years – the whole time she’d been in London. Not that she’d admit that to him right now.
He smiled and held out his hand. ‘Let me introduce myself properly. Stephen Taylor. Soon to be divorced. Father of the dreadful but very loveable Zoe. Literary agent at the Taylor Literary Agency.’
Maeve returned his smile and shook his hand. ‘Nice to meet you, Stephen. I’m Maeve McKenna from Dublin. Single, but still hopeful. Haven’t found that significant other. But maybe I’m getting too old and picky.’
‘You don’t look old to me.’
‘Right now I feel about sixty. Work, work, work, you know?’ She grimaced as her phone rang, and checked the caller ID. ‘Got to take this, sorry. Bathroom tiles gone wrong.’
‘How about that bite to eat later? I hate eating alone. I’ll come back around seven, if you’re free then?’
‘Yes, I should have finished then.’ Maeve smiled and nodded, getting out of the car, answering her phone at the same time.
Stephen lifted her bag out, placed it on the ground beside her and drove off.
In deep discussion about bathroom tiles, Maeve took her bag, walked down the area steps and entered the office.
Once she had promised the client that she would call the supplier and the decorating firm and had hung up, she sat down at her desk and tried to remember what she had said to Stephen before that phone call.
Had she really agreed to go out to dinner?
Well, why not? She could do with some food and a bit of a laugh.
He seemed capable of delivering both. He just wanted company, anyway.
She looked at the calendar hanging on the wall.
Wednesday. Two days and she’d be off to Ireland.
Which reminded her that she hadn’t yet got around to call either her sister or her aunt to say she was coming.
All she had managed to do was book her flight to Dublin. Great planning.
Her phone rang again and she answered, her mind still on bathroom tiles and curtain fabrics. ‘Ava McDonald Interiors, Maeve McKenna speaking.’
‘Maeve!’ the voice exclaimed. ‘The very woman.’
‘Yes?’ Maeve said, puzzled. The Irish voice, laced with a Kerry accent, was so familiar. ‘Who…?’
‘It’s Phil, me darlin’. Your auld auntie in Kerry.’
‘Aunt Philomena?’
‘Bingo! Gee, you’re gettin’ slow in your old age. Forty, is it?’
‘Not yet.’ Maeve burst out laughing. ‘You sure haven’t changed. How are you?’
‘Ah sure, I’m grand,’ Aunt Philomena replied. ‘A bit lonely and sad of course. But that’s life, isn’t it?’
‘I’m so sorry, Auntie Phil,’ Maeve exclaimed. ‘It must be so hard for you.’
‘Yes, but I have to go on living… Anyway,’ Aunt Philomena breezed on. ‘I was wondering if you could help me out with something that has popped up. It’s a bit… puzzling. I’m after discovering something alarming in Joe’s computer.’
‘Oh? Like what?’
‘I’m not sure. It’s about the Internet and such.
And… things.’ Philomena sighed loudly. ‘I need help to sort it all out. There’s no one else I could ask.
I remembered how good you were with computers and things on the Internet, so I decided to call you and…
’ Aunt Philomena paused. ‘I know you’re very busy, but I’ve missed you so much.
So I was wondering if maybe you might come over for a weekend or something soon? ’
‘Well, yes. Funny you should call right now. I am actually planning to take a break,’ Maeve replied, her eyes suddenly welling up. Poor Auntie Phil. She must be so lost and lonely. ‘I was actually about to contact you and ask if I could come and stay for a week or two.’
‘Lovely!’ Auntie Phil said, laughing. ‘Must be telepathy. Please come as soon as you can, darlin’. I’d love to see you, and Sandy Cove is so beautiful right now.’
An image of the village popped into Maeve’s mind, with Willow House perched on the edge of the cliff and the sea crashing below. The blue ocean, the seagulls, the beach. Swimming in the water warmed by the Gulf Stream. The glittering stars at night and the fresh air…
‘I can’t wait,’ she heard herself say. ‘I’ll spend the weekend at Roisin’s and then rent a car and drive down. I could be there on Monday night. Would that be okay?’
‘It would be heaven, my sweet,’ Philomena said with a sigh. ‘I’ll air your bedroom and make the bed. See you at around teatime on Monday, then?’
‘I’ll be there,’ Maeve promised, feeling her spirits rise.
She hung up, wondering why Philomena needed her so badly.
It had to be more than just for the company.
Something a bit alarming to do with her late husband, she said…
Maybe she had found emails Uncle Joe had sent to someone?
Or… Maeve shook her head and told herself to stop making things up.
She’d find out soon enough. The phone rang again and she took the call, this time from workmen asking about paints and plumbing in a house in north London.
The rest of the busy afternoon whizzed past, and when Maeve emerged from the office a little after seven, she was startled to see Stephen Taylor leaning against his car, smiling when he spotted her.
She had been so wrapped up in everything at the office and Auntie Phil’s phone call, she had forgotten all about their arrangement.
‘Hello, there. All finished?’ he asked.