Hot Whispers of an Irishman (28 page)

Pat shrugged.

“This your beer?” Liam asked, raising the bottle.

“No, it’s Danny’s. Which is why I think I’ll be drinking one later and blaming its disappearance on you, as well.”

“Glad to oblige,” Liam said, then had a swig of his beer.

Pat pulled out a chair and sat opposite Liam. “Have you known my sister long?”

“Since she was ten.”

“She’s never mentioned you.”

“I knew her in Duncarraig, and neither of us has been there in a number of years.”

“Ah.”

Liam watched as the younger man drank more water and apparently waged some great internal war, based on the expressions passing over his face. Liam was willing to be patient. He didn’t plan to walk from Vi’s life, and having the trust of her brothers was crucial.

“You probably should know that I’m the smallest of Vi’s brothers,” Pat eventually said, stretching the fingers of his good hand as though readying to make a fist.

Liam nodded. “A burden for you, I’m sure,” he replied, thinking the near-boy reminded him of his youngest brother, Stephen, off in Australia. Both still had a rawness about them, and strength both physical and mental yet to be tapped.

Pat frowned, clearly concerned his message hadn’t been delivered. “Here’s what I’m saying, Rafferty…that is your name?”

“My surname. All things considered, you might think of calling me Liam.”

Pat scowled, and Liam decided to pass up any more attempts at humor.

“I just want you to know,
Rafferty,
that though Vi’s my elder sister and would likely have me by the neck for saying anything at all to you, should you ever make her cry or hurt her in any way, I’ll be hunting you down and bringing my larger brothers with me.”

Liam nodded. “Fair enough. And I want you to know, Pat, that I love your sister and will do my best never to hurt her. But if she should cry—and women do that over programs on the television, you know—ask why she’s crying before you come hunt me down.” He reached his hand across the table, offering a shake. “Agreed?”

Pat mulled the matter a moment. “Agreed.”

Of course he still had enough boy in him that he tried to crush Liam’s knuckles together in a vise of a handshake. Liam masked his wince, for he still had a measure of boy in himself, too.

Once he’d freed his hand, he stood. “It’s been grand meeting you, Pat. Now if you don’t mind, I’ll go say goodbye to your sister.”

With that, Liam took his half-finished beer in his aching hand and left the kitchen, thinking that if Vi had handled his mam, surely he could take on three Kilbride siblings. Or lose a hand in trying.

Many a sudden change takes place on an unlikely day.

—I
RISH
P
ROVERB

D
awn and dusk could look one bloody lot alike to a woman who neither wore a watch nor got enough sleep. Uncertain of the hour, Vi hurried from bed and began a search for her well-worn robe. She found only several unmatched socks beneath her bed.

From her small closet, she pulled one of her many work shirts and a long skirt she’d fashioned from soft jersey years before. Once she was semi-dressed, she ventured forth. Behind her, she could hear Roger’s grunt as he launched himself from the bed and landed solidly on the floor, followed by the click-clack of his nails as he tailed her.

Liam must be in the kitchen, for he’d hardly leave without saying goodbye. Vi straightened the shirt’s collar where it was turned awkwardly at the back of her neck. As she did, she experienced a half-recalled memory—or maybe a dream—of a man’s kisses on her nape and a whispered invitation to dine.

In the kitchen, she found Pat at the table, one empty beer bottle before him and a nearly finished one in his hand, which meant it was likely evening. Her brother knew he’d not live to tell the tale of drinking beer for breakfast while residing in his sister’s house.

Still, Pat had a smug look about him, as though he’d gone one up in his quest for dominance chez Kilbride. Vi, however, knew how to squash her not-so-little brother.

“I’m quite sure that was Danny’s beer,” she said in her keeper-of-the-fridge voice.

“Rafferty drank ’em both. Damn thief,” he said, then drained the bottle in his hand.

“Right, then,” Vi said, figuring that Liam had suffered worse fates than being falsely accused a beer thief. “So where is he?” she asked, looking about as though he might be hiding in her worn cupboard.

“Gone a half-hour and more,” Pat replied.

Grand. She was about to grill Pat for more information when the telephone rang. She hadn’t heard one in so many days that she started at the sound.

She walked to the front room, where the phone waited on its small table, shrilly demanding attention.

“Hello?” Vi said, thinking how much she hated this particular modern inconvenience.

“So you live.”

Vi smiled, forgiving the phone its intrusion, for her beloved Jenna, best friend and veritable prodigy in the kitchen, was on the other end. “I do, though barely.”

“I’d seen some evidence, but it’s nice to be sure.”

“Evidence?”

“About six-foot-four or five, dark brown hair, blue eyes to die for.”

“Dev would be quite displeased if you died, I’m thinking,” Vi said, referring to newlywed Jenna’s businessman husband, who hadn’t gone lacking in the looks department, himself.

“I’m married, not blind, and don’t try to lure me off topic. Liam Rafferty said he was in Ballymuir to see you. Was he conning me?”

“No,” Vi admitted.

“Good, because I’d hate to think that I had given my very best new suite to a con man.”

“Liam’s staying with you?” Vi said, feeling somehow as though her property were being poached on.

“Liam and his daughter,” Jenna affirmed. “We had a really interesting talk this morning.”

“About?”

Jenna laughed. “You, of course.”

Aye, Rafferty was poaching. It might be unwitting on his part, but best friends were sacrosanct, damn it all. Vi began to pace her small front room.

“So is he your new boyfriend?” Jenna asked. “You’ve always kept them conveniently out of town.”

And for good reason, too. “I wouldn’t be calling him a boyfriend,” she said aloud.

“What, then?”

“A grand entanglement,” Vi replied.

Jenna laughed again, but at least this time Vi knew it was with her, and not potentially at her.

“With the two of you there, this will be the best victims’ dinner I’ve had in a while,” Jenna said.

So she hadn’t imagined the dinner invitation. Victims’ dinners were Jenna’s term for meals made of new recipes she tested on friends before serving to the public.

“You’re coming, right?” Jenna asked.

“I could hardly miss, as someone has to defend my reputation. Are you serving anything without eyeballs?”

“You’re safe. My parents have threatened to show up for Christmas, and my mother has apparently gone vegan. That rules out anything I’d normally serve over the holidays, and if I ship in a box of tofurkey, my reputation will be shot.”

“Tofurkey?”

“Never mind. You’d probably like it. Of course, by the time my mother gets here—if she actually shows up at all—she’ll be on to eating only sushi or whatever the fad of the week is.”

Vi was pleased that Mrs. Fahey had timed her vegan phase well, for the very thought of sushi made Vi mourn those fish. “What time, then?”

“Six-thirty, which gives you a whole hour to get ready and be here. And come straight to the kitchen, okay? I want the scoop on Rafferty.”

No doubt she did.

Vi pulled on a jacket and went to her car to collect her belongings, which had been languishing there since her Friday return. It was then she discovered that her patchwork bag still waited at her studio. By the time she’d retrieved it, showered, and dressed, six-thirty had passed. It was a blessing that Jenna knew Vi was none too handy with time.

She was about to leave when Danny, now home from work, stopped her. “Vi, the removal company you hired called from Kilkenny early this morning. You can expect your load first thing tomorrow.”

“Damn!” Yet another thing she’d forgotten. “Could you see if you can get the panel van from Michael? We’ve some furniture removing to do at dawn.”

“Furniture removing?”

“Yes,” Vi said as she mentally inventoried what would have to go. “Most everything on the ground floor, I’m thinking.”

Wrapping her scarf about her neck, Vi rushed out the door, leaving behind her brother’s protests. All the more reason to stay out late tonight, for he might just cool by morning.

Vi reached Muir House fifteen minutes tardy, which was very nearly early for her. On the short drive there, a nasty mix of rain and icy sleet had begun to fall. Up in the mountains it might be lovely snow, but not so close to the shore as Muir House. Vi pulled into the car park and readied herself to leave the shelter of her car. Remembering Jenna’s request, she jogged round the grand manor house to the kitchen door.

Aidan, Jenna’s second-in-command, was in back at the broiler. Brushing icy pellets from her hair and shoulders, Vi called a greeting to him. After leaving her jacket and scarf on a hook at the door, she located her friend in the front half of the kitchen. Jenna was fussing around with some wee vegetables, more toy than food.

“I take it you think vegan is code for miniature?” Vi asked.

“No, it’s code for I damn well better make it look nice because here on the edge of civilization, it’s hell to come up with the right flavors this time of year.”

Vi laughed at Jenna’s out-of-sorts comment. For a woman so overtly feminine in appearance, she had some sharp teeth to her.

“Don’t worry,” Vi said. “We’ll all lie and say everything’s wonderful.”

“Thanks,” she said as she whisked some stuff in a bowl.

“That’s all that’s bothering you?”

“The vegetables, and Sam and Reenie…they’re having one of their fights. It’s like living in the middle of a stage production when they visit.”

Reenie was Jenna’s younger sister, lover to a movie star, and before that, already quite well spoilt by her jet-setter parents.

“And there’s more,” Jenna said, pouring the bowl’s contents into a larger bowl filled with frilly lettuces. She began tossing it. “I had an unexpected visitor a while ago.”

“Who?”

“Your mother,” Jenna answered, but only after widening the gap between Vi and herself. “She got here just after we talked.”

“My mother? You’re sure?”

Jenna started to mound the lettuce onto white salad plates. “Of course I am,” she said as she worked at a lightning-fast pace. “She looks the same as she did at Michael and Kylie’s wedding.”

Which meant royally peeved.

“Put four roasted beets at the edge of each of these,” Jenna directed Vi, who was glad for the distraction.

“I don’t suppose you told her you’re booked?” Vi asked as she fumbled with the tiny vegetables.

“Right. Then she’d be at your door.”

At that miserable thought, Vi abandoned the beets and pulled the bottle of white wine that Jenna must have been cooking with. She poured some into a water glass from the tray by the hall entry, then shoved the bottle back to her friend.

“I could have offered you better,” Jenna said.

“This will do.” Vi took two large swallows and winced as they hit her empty stomach.

“Hope so, because I’ve invited her to dinner.”

“Bloody damn hell! Why’d you do that?”

“It’s Monday, which means the restaurant is closed, and when I suggested a few places in the village, she pulled a helpless act.”

“Aye, she’s helpless as a shark.” Vi sighed. “And how long is she staying?”

“She asked for the reservation to be open-ended. Since we close for Christmas holidays, that gives you a little less than a month, at the outside.”

Vi finished her wine and tried to reach for a refill, but Jenna moved the bottle out of range. “Go to the lounge. Dev will pour you a glass of something you’d better not swill.”

“You’re sure you need no help in serving?” Vi asked, as always unwilling to face her mam.

“You’re out of luck. I have a server arriving any second. Go on out there and face your fate.”

“Fate with a wee shove from you.”

“Could be worse. At least you’ve got Liam Rafferty waiting for you.”

That sped Vi’s steps, for the thought of Liam with her mother was enough to put her hair on end.

Vi entered the lounge, where the group was having cocktails. It appeared a quiet gathering, and Vi supposed she could always count herself thankful that no one in the room was pregnant or apt to yatter on about babies and nappies and such. However, ensconced on the sofa was indeed Maeve Kilbride, Sixteen Curlew Court, Kilkenny, where Vi heartily wished her mam had stayed.

Next to Mam sat Meghan, who had pulled up her sleeve and was showing off what appeared to be a new tattoo on her forearm. “It’s henna,” she was saying to Mam. “Grandda gave me a kit before we left Duncarraig.”

Mam limited her comment to one disapproving arch of her brows.

Liam came up and settled a hand on Vi’s waist, then gave her a brief kiss. “You look beautiful,” he said in a low voice. “Almost as much so as earlier, on your bed.”

“I’d have been a bit underdressed had I arrived like that,” Vi said, then looped her fingers through Liam’s, intending to drag him with her for this mam-greeting.

On the way, she said quick hellos to Sam and Reenie, who appeared to have survived their latest tempest, and to Kate, who was Dev’s mother, and her lover, Brendan Mulqueen, a sculptor famous enough to also be a tourist attraction. Dev was behind the small bar set up in the corner of the room, too far off to be used as an additional evasion.

Vi leaned down and gave her mother a quick kiss on the cheek. “Hello, Mam, it’s a surprise to see you.”

“Of course I’m here. I’ve a grandchild on the way.” She held out an empty martini glass. “Freshen my drink, would you, Violet?”

Taking it was a rote action, as Vi’s mind was too busy filtering its way to the truth of her mam’s statement to actually direct her hand.

“Be right back,” she said to Mam, thankful for Liam’s palm beneath her elbow as she made her way to the bar.

Of course Maeve had a grandchild on the way, and had known so since early summer. Until now, the news hadn’t been enough to make her pick up the telephone or write a letter inquiring after Kylie’s health. No, this had to do with Mam, not babies, and not her own children, whom she spoke to as infrequently as possible.

“Holding up all right?” Dev asked once Vi had rather ungently deposited the martini glass on the bar’s small ledge.

“Better with wine, I’m thinking,” Vi answered. “And don’t be wasting your fine Chateau Frou-frou wine on me. I’m drinking for effect, not flavor.” She glanced over at Liam. “What are you drinking?” she asked, thinking she’d just go for the same.

“Chateau Frou-frou,” he said, then tucked his arm around her waist, drawing her closer. As Dev laughed and then poured Vi her very own flighty French wine, Liam said to Dev, “And make Maeve’s martini a double-shot.” He squeezed Vi momentarily tighter and said, “You have my word we’ll lull her into complacency.”

As Vi had no better plan, she went with what was offered. She and Liam returned to the sofa, and Liam sent Meghan off for another Club Orange. Vi settled in at her mam’s right hand and Liam at her left.

“So truly, Mam, why Ballymuir just now?” Vi asked.

Mam took a quick sip of her martini, then said, “If your father can have a holiday, I can, too.”

“I wouldn’t call it a holiday that Da’s having.”

“I would,” she said with clamp-jawed finality.