A Change of Heart (The Heartfelt Series) (30 page)

 “Yeah, Larry’s really excited about it.”

 “Her visit or getting the jewels back?” Marianne was unsure.

 “Both, don’t be cynical.” Ryan said.

 “Question - has Larry ever had a girlfriend?” Marianne could not help but ask.

 “Not to my knowledge.” Ryan replied.
 “Boyfriend?” she tested.

 “No, why do you ask?” Ryan laughed.

 “Love you,” she said, blowing kisses as she put the phone down.

There was a lot of work to be done before Ophiuchus, the fading Georgian mansion standing proud above the village, could be turned into the
Oonagh Quinn Foundation
, Marianne’s dream holiday retreat for young people, whose daily lives were filled with the stress of taking care of elderly or terminally ill family members.

 The board, as Miss MacReady insisted they call themselves, were poring over plans in the back room of the post office, the paperwork spread across a large table. Sinead was making tea in the kitchen. Marianne pushed the papers aside, making way for refreshments. Miss MacReady was deep in thought, halfway through yet another list.

 “We’ll need a couple of working parties,” Marianne said, once everyone was settled again. “Ryan and I had a good scout round last weekend and though there isn’t any major work needs doing, the cellars and the attic rooms are vast, running the length of the place top and bottom and there are cupboards and chests full of stuff from the Maguire days.”

 Miss MacReady took her glasses off.

 “I’d love a good dig about in some of those big chests,” she said, eyes wide in anticipation. “They had some very good silver, a fine art collection and a super library back in the day.”

 “I doubt there’s anything of any value left. The agents acting for the stockbroker were very thorough, they cleared the place out, even took the garden furniture.” Marianne said, between bites of cake. Miss MacReady looked pensive.

“Well, we can make a start can’t we? And if there’s anything too heavy for myself and Ryan to shift, we’ll have to call upon Padar and a few of the lads,” said Father Gregory.

Marianne started folding the plans away.

 “You’ll be wasting your time with Padar. He won’t have anything to do with the project.”

 “Even though it’s in Oonagh’s memory?” Sinead was put out.

 “He’s not keen on roughnecks coming here from the towns, as he put it.” Marianne shrugged, “We’ll win him round eventually.”

 “I’ll ask him to come and give me hand if you like. When he sees how amazing it’s going to be, I’m sure he’ll change his mind.” Sinead was adamant.

 “And the building lads are full-on working on the new bridge, thank goodness.” Miss MacReady cut in. “What about Dermot and the lifeboat boys? I’ll supervise their shift, if we can get them to help. I’d like to watch them work up a bit of sweat.”

 “Now, now, Kathleen,” laughed Father Gregory, “not in front of the clergy.”

 “If we need more labour, I can leave the recruitment to you then, Mother.” Marianne flashed Miss MacReady a look.

 “My pleasure,” she beamed, lifting a china cup to crimson lips. She loved it when Marianne called her mother, even if it was in chastisement. “I’ll see to it when I get back from New York if you like. Did you know I was going to New York?” she asked Father Gregory and Sinead, who had no choice but be regaled with every detail.

They were in the largest cellar room, at the very end of the long corridor which ran from the bottom of the stairs the length of the house. The windows were high, small but plenty of them. Painted white instead of gloomy mustard brown, it would transform the place, Sinead thought, placing her clipboard on a chest.

 “Great breakout area, don’t you think? Perfect for a pool table, some sofas, a bit of music,” She said to Padar, hoping he was impressed. He strode to the far end of the room, pushing back a screen on squeaky wheels.

 “Hey, what’s this?”

She looked up. Half a dozen steps led to a pair of narrow doors. The doors were paned with glass but the glass had been blacked out. He tried them.

 “Stuck, or locked or both.” He took a crowbar from the tool bag, easing it into the gap. It made a loud crack, and as he pushed the doors open, beetles and moths scrabbled for cover. He brushed cobwebs away. The doors led onto a patch of overgrown gravel, a lower lawn, a slice of beach and then the shore.

 “Come and see,” he called to her, amazed the house, so high above the village, secretly slid down to the water once you were inside. He looked up. “I’ve found a balcony, a tiny Juliet balcony.” He pulled at the strands of ivy, trailing down. “Romantic.”

 “There hasn’t been much romance here in a long time,” Sinead said, beating dust off the drapes with her clipboard.

 “Come out here,” he demanded, taking her hand, pulling her outside to stand on the gravel looking down to the secret beach.

 “Oh,” she said, surprised. “It’s like a smuggler’s cove.”

 The sun was sliding towards the horizon, the sky cloudless and bleached blue. They stood side by side, arms touching. They could feel the heat. She dropped his hand and stepped back inside.

 “Okay, you win, I’ll help. Do you want to make a start on the painting, or have we other stuff to do?” Padar called after her.

 “The first coat’s not dry yet, tomorrow’s job. Let’s get stuck into these chests, see what we can sling or recycle,” she told him.

 “Good plan,” he agreed, not moving from his lookout post, the bewitching promise of a glorious sunset rooted him to the spot. “Look at this.”

 She was poking through a pile of files.

 “There’s so much should have been thrown away, medical records from years ago.”

 “Just bin them,” he advised. “Come and look at the sunset
woman
.”

 She had a headache, her feet hurt. She dropped the bin bag and, kicking off her shoes, went to join him.

 “At last,” he smiled into her face. A light breeze was coming off the water, the air sweet and clean. They stood shoulder to shoulder looking out. It stretched before them, a smooth of green, a rustle of blond and then the sea, deep, dark and glistening. She shivered. He put an arm around her. She inhaled deeply and nestled into him, his scent mixing pleasingly with the salt air. She put her head on his shoulder. He leaned down to her, rubbing his cheek briefly on her hair, breathing her in. She lifted her chin to speak, her lips almost touching the small, soft space of skin beneath his ear. The sun had turned into a huge, orange orb.

 “This is stunning,” he whispered, staring straight ahead. “I could stay here like this forever.”

 “Me too,” she replied, the breath from her words tickled his skin. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. She looked up at him, his eyes were soft, kind, loving. She was suddenly tearful.

 “Hey, hey,” he said cupping her chin in his hand. “You’re too beautiful to be always so sad.”

 She blinked the tears away, then standing on tiptoe she kissed him, the lightest kiss, her mouth just brushing his lips.

“And you, all the sadness you’ve had, I wish I could kiss it all away,” she told him.

 Releasing herself, she went back into the house. He pushed his hands into his pockets, frowning out to sea, breathing deeply, willing the desire away. He watched the sun start to sink.

 “Come inside,” she called out to him. “I’ve something to show you.”

 The room was gloomy now, the sun nearly gone. He went to switch on the lights.

 “Don’t, come here,” she said softly, her voice coming from behind the screen near the drapes. He followed her voice, his foot caught in something soft, he kicked it aside.

 “Are you hiding?” he asked, with a smile in his voice. He pulled the drapes aside. She stood there in the half-light, hair loose around her shoulders, blouse open to the waist, her breasts barely covered by a sheer vest top. She had taken off her long chambray skirt and her smooth legs shone like marble against the dark, full-length curtains. She raised her arms above her head, leaning back against the wall so he could see her, every inch of her from head to toe. She was smiling, a low sweet smile, lips parted.

 He was stunned, too shocked to speak. His eyes flickered as his gaze swept over her, her glistening lips, the curve of her breast, the nipples raised, her softly rounded belly, thighs slightly apart. He tried to look away but his body was responding in a way he had not felt for a long time. Seeing him struggle, she gasped and pulled her blouse closed, stooping to collect her skirt.

 “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice a rasp in her throat.

 “Oh God, don’t be,” he begged, taking her hand, letting the skirt fall. He took her face in his fingers and with one piercing look of hungry desire, pressed her mouth with a kiss. She sank into his arms as his tongue darted thrillingly in her mouth, eating her with passion. He pulled the blouse from her shoulders, pushing down the thin satin straps of her top to reveal her breasts. She moaned with pleasure as he cupped the soft flesh in his hands and burying her fingers in his hair, she pressed him into her skin, every inch of her tingling with longing.

 He stopped.

 “Did you hear something?”

 Her heart was pounding in her ears.

 “No, don’t stop,” she begged.

 “I heard something.”

 “Please don’t stop,” she started to unbutton his shirt, desperate to feel his warm, hard chest against her naked breasts. He undid his belt. She ran her fingers across the hardness in his pants. She let out a gasp as he released himself.

There was a muffled clunk behind them. He looked backwards.

 “Ignore it,” she whispered, parting her legs, ready for him, taking him inside her.

Voices. Another clunk - closer.

 “I thought they were here,” someone said.

 A door banged, another opened.

 He was pumping into her. She was grinding her hips, pushing hard against him.

 A key slipped into the lock.

 “Here, it’s open,” a voice said.

 The door swung wide, the lights flicked on.

 “
Don’t,
” she called out, pulling the drapes around them, “stop.”

“Sinead?” a woman’s voice asked, “Sinead is that you?” Another figure stepped through the doorway, a man.

 “And Padar,” he whispered, taking Marianne by the shoulders, turning her quickly away. Ryan switched off the light and pushed her out into the corridor, closing the door behind them. “Well, that’s them found anyway.”

 “Ryan, what ... the ..?” she burbled. “Was that what I think it was?”

 “Haven’t a clue. I’ll be honest, Marianne, I’ve no idea what you’re thinking, ever,” he replied, walking stoutly on. “Now come on, we’ve work to do.”

Marianne was in what would have been the kitchen of the old house. As part of the refurbishment programme carried out by the previous owner, the former kitchen had been turned into a highly organised utility room, with washing machines, tumble dryers, large built-in airing cupboards and masses of storage. Whatever hobby or pastime the former incumbents or their guests may have wished to indulge in, every conceivable piece of equipment was to hand.

 Marianne determined to put any uncharitable thoughts regarding Sinead and Padar out of her head. She was merrily opening doors and enjoying the elegant swish as they closed when Sinead appeared, her pretty face slightly pink, hair smoothed back into its customary clip. She stood in the doorway, nodding appreciatively at the smooth, clean lines of the room, its fitments appealing to the clinician in her.

 “Fantastically equipped,” she said, running her hands along the work surface.

 “Yes,” said Marianne, straightening up to look her companion in the eye, “more than fit for purpose.”

 “It’s such a shame it’s never been used to its full potential. Used for what it was designed for,” Sinead said.

 “Indeed.” Marianne folded her arms. “But we never could have been able to buy the property and carry out refurbishment anywhere near to this standard, it’s a gift really.”

 The door from the kitchen opened. Padar and Ryan clattered down the stone steps to the utility room. Sinead turned away as they entered, reaching up to a cupboard, to see what was stored there.

 “Look, life jackets and sea boots, we’ll have enough for all the activities we could ever dream of.” She pulled on a piece of fabric and a pile of clothing tumbled down. Padar took the length of the room in two strides, reaching over to catch the equipment before it landed on her.

 “Careful,” he said, arms extended, hands full of kit.

 “I’ll try to be,” she answered, looking up at him, brushing her fingers against his as they laid the contents of the cupboard on the worktop. Marianne turned to Ryan, who was flicking switches and turning dials in the laundry.

 “It’s amazing, it’s almost as if the English stockbroker, had kitted it out for you. All you could need to run a small five star hotel, anyway,” Ryan said.

 “Not so small,” said Padar, “Sinead and I counted two forty-piece dinner services and the same amount of breakfast things. Fair play to you Marianne, you knew what you were about.”

 Marianne laughed.