

English actress, Jenna Sutton, and American artist, Guy Sinclair, are thrown together when they find they've jointly inherited a house on the west coast of Ireland. Neither knows their connection to their unknown benefactress, but set about unravelling the intriguing tale of a 19th century love affair. Despite their personal reasons for not wanting romantic involvements, Jenna and Guy feel their growing attraction.

When local property agent, Eve Callaghan, appears to have her own agenda, friction builds over Jenna and Guy's decision about the house and its contents.

Will their Irish inheritance bring them together - or drive them apart?

IRISH INHERITANCE

Mist na Mara Series, #1

Paula Martin

Tirgearr Publishing

Author Copyright 2017 Paula Martin

Cover Art: EJR Digital Art - http://www.ejrdigitalart.com

Editor: Christine McPherson

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away. If you would like to share this book, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not given to you for the purpose of review, then please log into the publisher's website and purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting our author's hard work.

This story is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, incidents are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

DEDICATION

For all my Irish friends, especially Ellen

IRISH INHERITANCE

Mist Na Mara Series, #1

Paula Martin

Chapter 1

'A house in Ireland?' Jenna Sutton stared over the mahogany desk at the lawyer. 'Someone I've never heard of has left me a _house_ in Ireland?'

The white-haired lawyer peered over his steel-rimmed spectacles. 'A half share of the house, Ms. Sutton. Along with a half share of what, at current exchange rates, amounts to approximately fifty thousand pounds.'

Jenna shook her head and swiped several strands of her hair back behind her ear. 'I don't understand, Mr. Moore. Why would this Helena – what did you say her name was?'

'Miss Helena Keating.'

'Why has she left me a house and twenty-five thousand pounds? How does she even know about me?'

'Ms. Sutton, I can only give you the information passed to me by the law firm of Daniel McGrath in Dublin. We were instructed to find any descendants of James Oliver Sutton—'

'My grandfather.'

'Yes, and as far as we can ascertain, you are his sole descendant. I understand your father died in an automobile accident about twenty years ago. My condolences.'

'Thanks, but I was six when he died and only have some vague memories of him.' She frowned. 'Do you know what the link is between this woman and my grandfather?'

'That wasn't part of our instructions.'

'Have you any information about her?'

Mr. Moore pushed his glasses back up his nose and flipped through the papers in the blue manila folder on his desk. 'Miss Keating was born in 1920 in County Galway, Ireland, and died last year in Dalkey, near Dublin, where she has lived since 1940.'

'That means she was—' She did a quick calculation in her head. 'About fifteen years older than my grandfather.'

The lawyer picked up another sheet of paper. 'Yes, he was born in April 1936.'

'I wasn't aware he knew anyone in Ireland, and I'm pretty sure he never went over there. He lived his whole life in a small village in Kent.'

She couldn't imagine her grandfather being anyone's toy boy either. He'd been devoted to her grandmother, so what on earth was his connection with this Irish woman?

Another thought occurred to her, and she looked at Mr. Moore again. 'You said I had a half share of the house and the fifty thousand pounds.' Even saying the words seemed surreal. She hadn't yet wrapped her mind around what the money meant. 'Who gets the other half?'

'I'm sorry, Ms. Sutton. I don't have that information. The Dublin law firm is dealing with the estate. Our job was simply to—'

'Yes, okay, to find the descendants of my grandfather.'

'I'm sure Mr. McGrath will be able to tell you more when you meet him in Dublin.'

'When I meet him in—? Whoa, who says I'm going to meet him?'

'Mr. McGrath has suggested an appointment at two-thirty on May 10th, to be followed by a visit to the house the next day.'

'May 10th? That's—' Another quick calculation. 'That's next Tuesday.'

'Yes. Will that be a problem? I would be more than happy to contact your employer and request leave of absence for you.'

'Erm – well, I'm an actress and – and kind of between jobs at present, so I don't have an employer.'

'I see.' The lawyer cleared his throat, and Jenna had the impression she might as well have said she was a nightclub stripper. 'That simplifies matters, of course.'

She chewed her bottom lip. Not really, but maybe Charley would lend her the money for a quick trip to Dublin.

_No, hold on_. If she was due to inherit twenty-five thousand pounds plus half a house, perhaps she could get an advance.

'Actually, no, it doesn't. The thing is I'm – erm – I have some cash flow problems at the moment.' _Slight understatement, Jenna_.

'I understand, and in that case, on the basis of Miss Keating's will, I can arrange for our bank to advance you a small loan to cover your expenses.'

'Great. Thanks.' She cocked her head to one side. 'Why does this Irish lawyer want me to go to Dublin?'

'As the executor of the will, he has visited the house and requires you to visit, too, before you make any decision about it.'

Jenna narrowed her eyes. 'Why?' Visions of a dilapidated Irish cottage flashed through her mind. Had the roof fallen in? Was it riddled with wet or dry rot? Or overrun by rats?

'I'm sorry, Ms. Sutton, I don't have—'

'That information,' she finished off for him. 'Seems like I need to curb my curiosity until I get to Dublin. So – erm, this loan?'

'If you leave your bank details with my secretary, I'll arrange for the transfer of funds tomorrow morning. How much will you need?'

Jenna raised her shoulders and held out her hands. 'No idea. What do you suggest?'

'Would a thousand pounds cover your expenses for a few days?'

'A thous—?' She stared at him, open-mouthed. The last time she'd visited Dublin, for a St Patrick's Day weekend, she'd stayed at a crummy two-star hotel. She and Charley had paid thirty-six euros a night for a cramped room overlooking a railway line.

'I can recommend the Westgate Hotel, if you're unsure about where to stay.'

'Thanks, I'll check it out online.'

Ten minutes later, she stepped out of the lawyer's offices and stood for several moments as her mind struggled to absorb the news she'd just received. _Half a house and twenty-five thousand pounds_.

Taxis turning into the hotel across the road caught her eye and, with a quick grin, she pulled her phone from her pocket.

'Charley, meet me outside Charing Cross Station in half an hour. I'm gonna treat you to afternoon tea at the Savoy.'

* * *

Guy Sinclair eased his stiff shoulders and stretched out his legs as the plane circled on the final descent to Dublin airport. He hated red-eye flights. Even though his business class seat had converted to a lie-flat and he'd slept for a while, which he was never able to do when he travelled economy, his bones and muscles still ached. He was desperate for a shower, and a shave, too. His overnight beard growth was already starting to itch.

He glanced through the porthole as they circled the wide bay and wondered for the hundredth time why he'd agreed to come to Dublin. He couldn't give a damn about an old house and didn't understand why the Irish lawyer was so insistent.

'He wants you to see the house before you make any decision about selling,' the New York lawyer had told him.

Still reeling from the surprise of discovering he was about to inherit half a house and cash from some old dame in Ireland, he'd shrugged. 'I guess I can humour him. With the promise of this legacy, I can afford to fly over to Dublin, can't I?'

After he left the lawyer's office, he crossed Fifty-Ninth, found an empty bench at the edge of Central Park, and called his mother in New Jersey.

'Mom, do you know if Dad's mother had any connections with Ireland?'

'Is this something to do with the letter you had from the lawyer?'

'Yes, I've been to see him and – well, this is gonna sound crazy, but some woman who died last year has left me about forty thousand dollars and a half-share of a house in Ireland.'

'You're kidding me.'

'No, I'm not. The lawyer was asked by a Dublin law firm to trace any descendants of Catherine Emily Lewis, but I can't for the life of me figure out what connection my grandmother might have had with this Irish woman.'

'What was her name?'

'Helena Keating. Born in Galway in 1920.'

'Not a name I've ever heard. Your dad's father came from New York, and his mother had a Boston accent.'

'And both places have a huge Irish population, of course.'

'Does it matter if you can't work out the connection? She's left you money. That's wonderful news. Have you decided what you're going to do with it?'

'I've not had time to think about it yet.'

Even as he said the words, Guy knew he didn't need to think. He had no idea what the house might be worth but, with a bit of luck, there'd be enough for him to employ someone to look after his father's sign painting business for a few months. Then he could take some time out and forget the clients who ignored his advice and insisted on their own ideas for signs. Forget, too, the computer programmes which had taken over from the old skills of sign painting and forced him to sit in front of a screen instead of an easel.

Instead, he'd concentrate on the subjects he longed to paint. The panhandler, the street musician, the pushcart peddler, and all the wonderful images he saw every day in New York City. People, real people. Not signs advertising auto sales, or cafes, or tattoo parlours. Maybe he could even rent a small gallery to exhibit his work...

He gripped the armrests as the plane decelerated on the runway and held his breath until it slowed to taxiing speed. He hated landing almost as much as he hated taking-off.

Business class had been an extravagance but it had definite advantages. He was one of the first off the plane, his bag appeared quickly on the carousel, and he joined the short line to the Passport and Immigration desk, instead of the long line of economy class passengers.

'How long will you be staying in Ireland, sir?' the officer asked in a lilting accent.

'A couple of days.' When the man raised his eyebrows, he went on, 'I have an appointment with a lawyer in Dublin.'

'Best of luck, then, sir. _Céad míle fáilte_. Welcome to Ireland.'

In the arrivals hall, he searched for the taxi sign and saw the arrow pointing downwards.

A young woman in a bright red jacket was struggling with a small wheelie case at the top of the escalator.

'Need some help, ma'am?'

She turned to him, her expression changing from frustration to relief. 'Oh – thank you. The wheels on this case are worse than a supermarket trolley.'

''Scuse me?'

'Ah, you're American, aren't you? I think you call them carts.'

'Yes, I'm American, and yes, we call them shopping carts.'

With a broad grin, he picked up her suitcase and carried it down the escalator. At the bottom, she turned to him. 'Thank you very much.'

'My pleasure. Are you heading for the taxis?'

'Yes, but there's no need—'

'No problem. I'll carry your bag.' He bent his head to study it. 'One of the wheels is loose. That's why it's misbehaving.'

'I've had this case for years. I should have bought a new one but I hoped it would survive one more trip.'

'You're not Irish, are you?' he asked as they joined the line of people waiting for taxis.

'No, I'm from London. How about you?'

'From New York.' He rubbed his cheeks and chin. 'I guess the stubble on my face is the evidence of an overnight flight. I'll be glad when I get to my hotel.'

'Where are you staying?'

'The Westgate.'

'Ooh, very nice.'

'You know it?'

'Only that it's one of Dublin's most luxurious, and most expensive, hotels.'

'Someone recommended it to me. I've never been to Ireland before.'

'I've been here once. A friend and I came over for a weekend to celebrate St. Pat's Day about five years ago.'

'We have a St. Patrick's Day parade in New York, but it must be awesome to celebrate here in Dublin.'

'Yeah, until you get too tipsy to remember it. At least the grotty hotel where we stayed looked better through an alcoholic haze.'

He chuckled. 'Where are you staying this time? Not the same place, I assume?'

'No way. A fairly standard hotel near Merrion Square.'

They reached the head of the line, and he turned to her as a taxi pulled up beside them. 'Is that anywhere near the Westgate? If so, we could share this cab.' At least it would be a way of prolonging his acquaintance with this bubbly girl. An attractive one, too, with her dark shiny hair framing her face.

'Is that okay with you? I think Merrion Square's quite near the Westgate.'

They climbed into the back seat while the driver deposited their bags in the trunk. After they'd told him where they wanted to go, they set off.

'I'm Guy Sinclair, by the way.'

'And I'm Jenna Sutton. Pleased to meet you.'

She stuck out her hand to shake his, and he liked the way her face and eyes lit up when she smiled. Especially her eyes. Mid-brown, a warm coppery colour. He was always a sucker for eyes.

'What brings you to Dublin, Jenna? You're too late for St. Pat's Day this year.'

'Oh, some legal business.'

'That's a coincidence. I have a meeting with a lawyer, too. It's the only reason I'm here, but I'm enjoying being away from work for a few days.'

'What do you do? Work-wise, I mean?'

'I'm a—' He was about to say sign painter, until he remembered the decision he'd made. 'I'm an artist.'

'Really? What kind of artist?'

'Well, during the last ten years, I've painted shop signs, trucks and cars, and motorbike gas tanks. I was still in art school when my dad first got sick, so I had no option but to join the family business once I graduated. Dad died a couple of years ago, and since then I've been trying to keep the business going. Not easy in this recession, of course. I'm hoping I might soon have the opportunity for some time out to paint the things I want to paint.'

'What things?'

'People.'

'You mean portraits?'

'Good lord, no. I mean real people. The ones you see on the streets, on the subway, in the park. I love people-watching.'

She smiled. 'Me, too. I like watching mannerisms. How someone's head tilts, or how they wave their arms around, or point a finger at the person they're talking to.'

'That kind of observation is fun, isn't it? Do you do it for amusement or—'

'I'm an actress. I spend my life pretending to be someone else.'

'Ah.' He nodded, even though warning bells clanged in his mind. 'So, you're an observer of humanity. Artists, actors, writers, we're all trying to portray it in different ways, aren't we? Erm – I don't recognise your name. Should I know something you've starred in?'

'I haven't starred in anything. I've had a few minor parts in television dramas and soaps, but my only claim to fame is a two-month tour around the UK in _Hobson's Choice_.'

'Sorry, I'm not familiar with the play.'

'No need to apologise. I wasn't either, until I got the part. No, that's not strictly true. I'd heard the expression, even though I didn't know the play.'

'Hobson's Choice is an expression?'

'It means you don't have any choice at all.'

'Like Henry Ford's statement about his Model T cars.'

'What was that?'

'He said you can have any colour, so long as it's black.'

She laughed and splayed her fingers to push her long hair back from her face. For some reason, the movement was incredibly sexy, and he experienced a momentary urge to run his own fingers through her hair, exactly as she'd done. A vision of her wavy hair spread on a pillow jumped into his mind...

_Cool it, Guy. You've only just met this girl. And she's an actress_.

He gazed through the cab window to distract his mind from the still painful memory of the way Suzie had dumped him when he told her he wouldn't move to Los Angeles. 'How far are we from Dublin?'

'I think the airport's about twelve miles from the city centre.'

'Can you recommend anything I should see while I'm here? I hope to have at least one free day before I go home.'

'Depends what you're interested in but, as you're an artist, the Book of Kells might appeal to you.'

'Of course! I forgot that was here in Dublin.'

'There's a permanent exhibition at Trinity College.'

'Of the ninth century manuscript? I'd love the chance to look at the original illustrations. I've seen photos, of course, and they're beautiful. I never dreamed I'd ever see the real thing. We don't have really old stuff like that back home.'

'It's a shame you only have one free day, because Ireland has a lot of medieval sites. Not that I've seen any of them.'

He shot her an amused glance. 'Should I be asking you about the best places to get drunk instead?'

She laughed again. 'Oh, that's easy. Temple Bar. I think it's officially called Dublin's cultural quarter, although that depends on your interpretation of culture. It's full of restaurants, clubs, and bars.'

'Where is it?'

'About five minutes' walk from your hotel.'

'So—' He hesitated for a moment, wondering how an English girl would react to an invitation from someone she'd just met, but decided to take the risk. 'Would you consider meeting me tonight and showing me around this Temple Bar place?'

Her wide smile did weird things to his guts. 'Yes, that could be fun. How about I come to the Westgate about seven o'clock?'

'Perfect. We could find a restaurant for a meal before we hit all the bars.'

'Sounds good to me. Oh, this is my hotel.' She leaned forward to the taxi driver. 'How much—'

Guy shook his head. 'Forget it. I'll pay him when we get to my hotel.'

'Thanks, but only on condition you'll let me buy you some beers tonight, or whatever else you like to drink.'

'You have a deal. See you later. Look forward to it.'

'Same here.'

As she got out of the taxi and the driver retrieved her bag, she waved to him before going up the few steps to the door of her hotel. He waved back and allowed himself a satisfied smile as the driver set off again.

Maybe this short trip to Ireland would be more fun than he'd anticipated, once he'd paid the necessary visit to Daniel McGrath on St Stephen's Green.

Chapter 2

Jenna dumped her suitcase on the chrome luggage rack and looked around. It was a standard hotel room, nothing special, but at least it was spacious and clean.

A sliver of regret slid through her. It might have been fun to stay at the same hotel as Guy Sinclair, but she'd balked at the cost of rooms at the Westgate.

'I'm not paying over two hundred quid for a bed for the night,' she'd told Charley.

'Not even for a monogrammed bath robe, silk curtains, and a turndown service?'

'I can turn my own bed down, thank you very much, and I can survive without a chocolate wrapped in pink foil on my pillow.'

Now she wandered across to the window, gazed down at the busy street below, where cars, taxis, and open-topped green and red tourist buses passed in a never-ending stream, and thought again about the American she'd met at the airport.

She'd liked him the minute he grinned when he picked up her case. Early thirties, she guessed, and about six foot one or two. With blue eyes and dark wavy hair that reached the collar of his navy tee-shirt, he was good-looking in a clean-cut kind of way. Not male model, drop-dead gorgeous, but a well-balanced face with a strong jawline and the hint of a dimple in his cheeks when he smiled. Good body, too. Broad shoulders and wide chest, tapering to slim waist and hips. He was interesting to talk to, and yes, if she was being honest, her pulse quickened at the prospect of seeing him again this evening.

Meantime, she had an appointment with the lawyer at two-thirty. She glanced at her watch. Eleven-fifteen. Plenty of time to unpack, find a pub nearby for some lunch, and then make her way to St. Stephen's Green.

An hour later, after a quick shower and changing from her cropped jeans and tee-shirt into the grey pants and silky crimson top she'd decided were more suitable for a visit to a lawyer's office, she set off clutching her pocket guide to Dublin. She smiled as she remembered Charley's warning about it always raining in Ireland. At least today was warm enough not to need a jacket, and the sky was bright blue with a few fluffy white clouds.

After potato and leek soup and an egg salad baguette at a pub around the corner from her hotel, she headed for Merrion Square. With her phone camera, she snapped some shots of the Georgian redbrick townhouses surrounding the small park on three sides, and the large, impressive buildings in white Portland stone on the fourth side. Her guidebook told her they were the National Gallery and Natural History Museum.

It didn't take her long to walk to St Stephen's Green – a much larger park, again surrounded by Georgian houses with all the different coloured doors for which Dublin was renowned. As she halted by the steps up to one of the houses to double check the address Mr. Moore had given her, she glanced along the row and squinted into the sunshine.

_Was that—? Yes, it was_. Guy Sinclair was approaching from the opposite direction. He'd changed from jeans and tee-shirt into mid-grey trousers and a navy gilet over a pale blue shirt. Something about the way his long legs strode along the street caused a strange flip somewhere around her midriff.

She gave a small wave as he approached. 'Hi, we meet again. Are you exploring Dublin?'

'Not yet. I have an appointment at two-thirty.' He looked up at the bright red door with its arched fanlight. 'Here, I think.'

'Is your appointment with Daniel McGrath?' Her heart started to race as her mind did the quantum leap. 'Helena Keating's will?'

'That's right. How did you—?' Realisation dawned across his face. 'Are you the other half of this woman's will?'

'Yes.' She debated whether her next question would make her sound foolish, but decided to ask it anyway. 'Do you know who she is?'

'No, I've never heard of her, and neither has my mom. My dad's mother was the one named in the will, and my lawyer said I was her only descendant,'

'Mine said I was the only descendant of my grandfather. Do you think there's some kind of link between him and your grandmother?'

Guy's blue eyes widened. 'I hadn't thought about that. Did your grandfather ever visit America?'

Jenna laughed. 'No way. He had a market garden in Kent, and a day trip to Margate was probably the furthest he ever travelled. What about your grandmother? Did she ever come to England?'

'I don't think so. My mom said she was from Boston, and moved to New Jersey when she married my grandfather.'

'Isn't there a big Irish population in Boston?'

'Yes, but I don't know if she had Irish ancestors.' Guy looked at the brass plate at the side of the door. 'Let's hope this Mr. McGrath can throw some light on the mystery, and on the house we're supposed to be inheriting. Come on, let's go hear what he has to say.'

The middle-aged receptionist ushered them into a small room on one side of the hallway, where they waited a few minutes until she returned to say Mr. McGrath was ready for them.

Jenna smiled when Guy winked at her and put his hand lightly between her shoulder blades as they followed the woman into the lawyer's oak-panelled office. It gave her a warm sense of pleasure, almost as if he was saying, _We're in this together, whatever it is_.

She'd imagined the lawyer would look like the white-haired one she'd met in London. Instead, Daniel McGrath was probably in his early forties, solidly-built, and only a couple of inches taller than her five feet six inches, with a square face, light brown hair, and blue eyes. Very Irish-looking, somehow.

He stood up to greet them. 'Ms. Sutton, Mr. Sinclair, it's a pleasure to meet you both. Thank you for coming to Dublin. We have some interesting times ahead of us. Do sit down, please.'

He beckoned, not to the chairs in front of his desk, as Jenna expected, but to a black leather couch near the window. She half-turned to look at Guy as they sat down, and he raised his eyebrows in an unspoken question. Perhaps he was thinking the same as she was: _Interesting times ahead of us? What does that mean?_

Mr. McGrath picked up a folder from his desk, pulled a chair across, and sat facing them.

'I expect you're wondering why I've asked you to come here, rather than dealing with everything through your respective lawyers in London and New York.'

Guy replied before Jenna could open her mouth. 'We're both trying to figure out, not just why we're here, but who this Helena Keating is, and why our grandparents are named in her will.'

'I'll explain as much as I know. Helena Keating was born in County Galway in 1920 and died last year in Dalkey, a small town a few miles south of Dublin. As far as we can ascertain, she was the only daughter of William Keating. The family originally lived at Mist Na Mara House, near Clifden in County Galway. When William died, his widow and daughter Helena moved east to Dalkey. Helena eventually bought another house in the town and continued to live there until her death.'

'Is that the house she's left to us?' Guy asked.

'No, Miss Keating left the Dalkey house to a close friend of hers. It's the other house, the one near Clifden, she's left to you or, to be more precise, to James Oliver Sutton and Catherine Emily Lewis.'

Jenna nodded. 'My grandfather and Guy's grandmother, but why? That's what we don't understand. We don't know of any link between them, or with this Helena Keating.'

Guy's face creased into a puzzled frown. 'Didn't they sell the house at Clifden when they went to Dalkey?'

'This is where the legacy becomes interesting, Mr. Sinclair,' the lawyer said. 'Mist Na Mara wasn't sold, but was left by William Keating to his daughter Helena. He established a substantial trust fund for its upkeep, and his will contained explicit instructions that Helena could not sell, but must bequeath it to a member or members of the family. She had no children of her own, and bequeathed it to James Sutton and Catherine Lewis, or their descendants. Not the easiest clause for any lawyer, I assure you. Our researchers have taken almost a year to narrow it down to you two.'

'So, our grandparents are classed as family?' Jenna asked. 'Even though we've no idea how they might be connected to Helena Keating or her father?'

'Yes. Which brings me to another interesting aspect of this case. We know William Keating died in 1940, aged forty-two, but we can't find any evidence of his birth.'

'Maybe he wasn't born in Ireland,' Jenna ventured.

'We've done an extensive search of worldwide records for a William Keating born plus or minus five years of his estimated birth date of 1898, with no conclusive results.'

Guy shook his head. 'This is getting more and more confusing but, leaving aside all the genealogical stuff, what about the house? Mist something?'

'Mist Na Mara, which means mist of the sea. An attractive name, don't you think? It's a large Victorian house in the western part of County Galway. Whoever built the house chose the perfect site for a view of the ocean on one side and the Connemara mountains on the other.'

'And you said there's a trust fund for its upkeep?' Guy went on. 'Who administers that?'

'An agent in Clifden.'

'Has he authorised the necessary maintenance and repairs?'

'Not he, she. Eve Callaghan. I met with her last month. The property is in excellent condition, despite being unoccupied for many years.'

Jenna relaxed. At least they weren't looking at thousands for restoring the house.

'What's its market value?' Guy asked.

'That's difficult to say because house prices are fluctuating at present, and although the contents have been valued for insurance purposes—'

'Contents?' Guy interrupted. 'What kind of contents?'

'Mainly furniture, but also various ornaments, lamps, pictures, etcetera. It's not easy to assess what those might raise at auction.'

'Could you give us a rough estimate?'

'Guy, hold on a minute.' Jenna held her hand up to stop him pursuing the subject of the sales value. She looked back at Mr. McGrath. 'Does William Keating's instruction about bequeathing the house to a member of the family apply to us, too?'

'No, but there is a clause in the will that I'm not permitted to reveal to you until you've decided what you wish to do with the house. There's also another stipulation.'

'What?'

Jenna said the word at the same time as Guy, and she looked round at him. His eyes had narrowed into wariness.

Daniel McGrath pulled a brass key from a clear plastic envelope stapled to a sheet of paper. 'One room in the house is locked, and this is the only key. Miss Keating deposited it with us when she made her will in 1970, following her mother's death. She said the room was only to be opened by the heirs.'

Guy blinked. 'It hasn't been opened since 1970?'

'It would appear no one has had access to the room since Miss Keating and her mother left the house in 1940.'

Jenna started to giggle. 'Oh my God, I can't even begin to imagine all the dust.'

'And cobwebs, too,' Guy added. 'It'll probably look like a scene from a spooky movie. Cue eerie music.'

Jenna giggled even more, and they exchanged amused glances until Daniel McGrath gave a small cough. She struggled to straighten her face and saw Guy was doing the same as they both turned back to him.

'I've arranged for a driver to take you both across to County Galway tomorrow to see the house.'

'Do we need to see it?' Guy asked. 'Can't we simply instruct you to sell it and divide the proceeds between us?'

'No, Miss Keating was very categorical about that.' Mr McGrath checked the document in his folder. 'No decision about the future of Mist Na Mara House should be taken by the heirs until they have visited it.'

Somewhat puzzled by Guy's apparent lack of interest in seeing the house, which had already captured her imagination, especially with the mention of the locked room, Jenna gave him a tentative smile. 'Seems like we have no option.'

He shrugged. 'Okay with me. I was going to take the tourist bus around Dublin tomorrow, but a trip to County Galway sounds good.'

'Excellent.' The lawyer stood up. 'If you let my receptionist know your hotels, I'll instruct the driver to pick you up about nine o'clock tomorrow morning, and I'll reserve rooms for you at a hotel in Clifden.'

'Reserve rooms?' Jenna looked at him curiously. 'Can't we get to Clifden and back in one day?'

'It's a three-and-a-half-hour drive from here, and I would prefer you to take your time at the house, and also talk to the agent before you make any decision.'

Ten minutes later, after giving their hotel and phone details to the receptionist, Jenna followed Guy down the stone steps to the street. At the bottom, he stopped and turned to her.

'We're not much wiser, are we?'

'We know where the house is, and we know it has a locked room, which seems rather weird, but we still have no idea about any family connections with Helena Keating or her father. We could be second cousins, twice removed, or something like that, for all we know.'

'How about we go find a drink someplace? I need to get my head around all of this.'

'Good idea.' Jenna pointed along the street. 'If we continue up here, I think we'll reach Grafton Street, which is one of the main shopping streets.'

Guy grimaced. 'You're not taking me shopping, are you?'

She laughed. 'No, but I'm sure we'll find a pub somewhere nearby.'

* * *

When they walked into Donnelly's Bar, on a small side street a short distance from the crowded shopping street, Guy stopped. He let his gaze travel from the long mahogany bar with a dozen or more shiny black hand pulls, to the panelled walls with portraits of various Irish writers, and the bare wooden partitions that divided the sitting area into small booths.

'What's the matter?' Jenna's voice said behind him.

He turned to her. 'We have what we call Irish pubs back home, but this is the real thing, isn't it?'

'Yes, I suppose you can't get more Irish than Dublin. Anyway, I owe you a drink, since you paid for the taxi. What do you want?'

'In an Irish pub in the middle of Dublin? Guinness, of course.'

Pursing her mouth into a wry smile, she lowered her voice. 'I shouldn't really say this here, but I don't like Guinness. Have you had it before?'

'Yeah, but I bet it tastes better over here. Ours is brewed in Canada, I think.'

'Whereas here it's brewed about half a mile away, at the original St. James's Gate brewery.'

He liked the way she took charge and ordered the drinks, and they carried their glasses across to one of the small square tables between wooden partitions.

'I've been thinking,' she said, after she'd taken a gulp of her lager. 'Helena Keating named our grandparents—' She laughed as she looked at him. 'You have a white mustache.'

He wiped away the froth with his finger. 'It's impossible to drink Guinness without getting one, and this _does_ taste different from what we get at home.'

'Do you like it?'

'Might be better if it was colder but yes, it's good.'

'I'd forgotten Americans like their beer ice-cold.'

'And the English like warm beer.'

'Ssh.' She put her finger to her lips. 'People here are Irish, not English.'

He gave her a mock-guilty grimace. 'Sorry. Anyhow, what did you say about Helena Keating and our grandparents?'

'They were the ones she named in her will. Do you think that could be because she didn't know about their children or grandchildren?'

'Good point. It's interesting that she used my grandmother's maiden name of Lewis, not her married name of Sinclair.'

'When did your grandparents get married?'

'1941, just before Pearl Harbour. They had a couple of months together before America declared war and my grandfather enlisted. He served in the Pacific until 1945, and my dad was born the following year.'

Jenna's forehead wrinkled in concentration before she spoke again. 'Mr. McGrath said William Keating, Helena's father, died in 1940, and that was when she and her mother left the house in Clifden and moved to Dalkey. This might be a long shot, but perhaps she only knew about my grandfather and your grandmother through her father. Once he died, she had no more information about them or their lives and families.'

'That makes sense. Especially as my grandmother moved from Boston to New Jersey after her marriage.'

'And my granddad was born in London in 1936, but his family moved out to the country shortly before the war started in 1939.'

'That would make a double reason for Helena not knowing anything more about them, wouldn't it? Her father died, and our grandparents both left the addresses she or her mother may have had for them.'

'But we're no further forward, are we? We still have no clues about any family link between William or Helena Keating and our grandparents.'

'Our visit to the house tomorrow might give us some more information.' He downed the rest of his drink. 'How far is Trinity College from here? I'd love to see the Book of Kells.'

'Less than five minutes' walk. I've never seen it either. Let's go.'

Surprised but pleased by her response, he struggled to define his feelings about her as they walked along the crowded shopping street. They obviously had some link through their grandparents, but he was starting to think there was a tentative link between them both, too.

_If only she wasn't a damned actress_...

Chapter 3

'We're going across to County Galway tomorrow to visit the house,' Jenna said into her phone, after she'd finished telling Charley all the details of the meeting with Daniel McGrath.

'And this American? Guy something? What's he like?'

'Guy Sinclair.' Stretching her legs out on the bed, she relaxed against the padded headboard. 'He's okay. I met him at the airport, and we shared a taxi into Dublin, but of course I didn't know who he was until he turned up at the lawyer's office. We spent the rest of the afternoon and this evening together.'

'Don't tell me! You both got drunk and then made mad passionate love at his hotel?'

'Ha-ha, very funny. If we had, I might have been able to check out the two hundred quid rooms at the Westgate, because he's staying there. No, he walked me back here, gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, and said he'd see me tomorrow.'

'How disappointing.'

'Not really, because we had a fun time. First, we went to the Book of Kells exhibition, which is quite impressive, by the way, and Guy was over the moon at seeing the real thing. Then, after we'd had a meal at a pub in Temple Bar, we went on a ghost walk which was interesting although not the least bit spooky, and we ended up at another bar with live music. Two fiddlers and an accordionist, all playing traditional Irish stuff. Guy kept saying, _This is just how I imagined Ireland_ , and he drew quick sketches of different people. He's a very good artist, and he's easy to talk to, and we laughed a lot, but—'

'Ah, the big _but_. Go on, he's fifty, bald, and has a huge beer belly?'

'Wrong, wrong, and wrong. He's thirty-two, has thick dark hair, and no sign of a paunch. Rather good-looking, too.'

'Bingo, the perfect man. Why the _but_?'

'I think it's because he's more interested in finding out the value of the house and contents, and then selling. Whereas I—' She stopped as she tried to sort out her thoughts.

'Oh, come on, Jenna, you don't need me to tell you the money would solve your financial problems.'

'Yes, of course it would, but it's different from Guy wanting to give himself the chance to pursue his dream of real painting instead of sign painting. All the money in the world wouldn't get me a starring role in the West End or on TV, would it?'

'It would stop your bank manager harassing you to pay off your overdraft.'

She let out a quick sigh. 'You're right, of course, but this house in Clifden intrigues me. Abandoned since 1940, and a locked room. I'm excited to find out what it's like, and we might get some clues about the connection between my grandfather and Guy's grandmother.'

'Maybe they're both descended from the same person sometime in the past.'

'Good thinking. A mutual ancestor would make sense, since it's unlikely they ever met, but I haven't a clue how to do that kind of research.'

'There's loads of stuff online. My brother once did some family history. I'll find out what websites he used. In fact, if you give me a name, I'll ask Matt to check it out.'

'Thanks. My grandfather was James Oliver Sutton, born in 1936. If Matt has to pay for any searches, I'll refund him, of course.'

'I think he uses a free BMD website.'

'BMD?'

'Births, marriages, and deaths. Anyway, are you still coming home on Thursday?'

'I'm not sure. We're staying in Clifden tomorrow night, so it depends what time we get back to Dublin on Thursday. I may need to change my flight to Friday.'

'Let me know, and I'll pick you up at Heathrow.'

After ending the call, Jenna stared up at the ceiling. It seemed silly to feel excited about an old house. The chances were they would sell it anyway. Charley was right. She needed the money as much as Guy did. It was over a month since her last acting role, and her job at the coffee shop only stopped her getting deeper into debt. The money from the sale of the house would be more than welcome. It couldn't buy her a role in the West End, but at least she'd be able to afford to travel further afield to attend auditions.

Guy had already taken the practical approach, and she needed to do the same. After all, the reasons for the legacy weren't really important. They couldn't find a link between their grandparents, let alone any link to Helena or William Keating. Better to forget them and use the money to make life easier for herself.

* * *

'Morning, Jenna!'

At the sound of Guy's voice, Jenna leapt up from the armchair in the hotel lobby where she'd been sitting for twenty minutes. She'd started to think the visit to Clifden must have been cancelled, but decided to wait until nine-thirty before calling Daniel McGrath.

Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of Guy. His blue and white striped polo shirt stretched across his broad chest and was tucked into his well-cut jeans. As he picked up her case from the side of the chair, his eyes twinkled. 'I'm making a habit of carrying your bag, aren't I? We'd better hurry. Daniel's parked illegally on some yellow lines. Not best practice for a lawyer.'

'Mr. McGrath? I thought he was getting a driver to take us to Clifden.' Jenna followed him through the swing door to the street.

'The driver he normally uses wasn't available. Anyway, he says he's dying to find out what's in the locked room.' They reached a silver-grey car. 'Climb in the back, and I'll put your bag in the trunk.'

As she slid into the car, Jenna was surprised to see the lawyer in a blue checked sports shirt instead of the formal grey suit he'd worn the previous day.

He turned to smile at her. 'Sorry we're late. I was stuck in traffic on my way in, but at least we're heading out of town now. Hopefully in the opposite direction to everyone else.'

When Guy got into the front seat, disappointment shafted through her. She'd imagined sitting next to him on the journey across Ireland, but she felt invisible as the two men chatted while they headed along the road by the River Liffey.

After about twenty minutes of driving through the city suburbs, they reached the motorway. 'This is the boring part,' Daniel McGrath said, 'but at least it's quick. Before this road was built, it took forever to get across to the west coast.'

Jenna settled back against her seat, watching the countryside slip by. Fairly flat fields, mainly arable and grazing land, and a few wooded areas every so often. Not much different to the view from some English motorways. Lulled by the car's motion, she struggled to stay awake, but her eyelids started to droop until she heard a laugh followed by Mr. McGrath saying, 'It's like stepping into a time warp. Everything exactly as it was in 1940, wallpaper, rugs, and furniture.'

Suddenly alert, she leaned forward. 'What's the furniture like, Mr. McGrath?'

'Call me Dan.' The lawyer glanced at her through his rear-view mirror. 'Eve Callaghan says it's a mixture of Victorian and Art Deco, the latter from the 1930s.'

'When was the house built?'

'The mid-1890s, I think. Eve has more information, because she's seen the title deeds which are held by a bank in Clifden.'

'Do the deeds show the original owner of the property?' Guy asked the question that had also jumped into Jenna's mind.

'Yes, and also the subsequent owners.'

Guy looked round at her. 'That might give us a clue to Helena Keating's ancestry.'

'Not necessarily,' Dan said. 'It's quite possible her father bought the house, rather than inherited it.'

'True.' Jenna thought for a few moments and then frowned. 'But why would William Keating instruct his daughter Helena to leave the house to members of the family? Doesn't that suggest it had always belonged to his family?'

'Good point.' Guy turned to Dan. 'Would the census records tell us anything more about him, or about who lived at the house?'

'Most of the nineteenth century records were destroyed, either by government order or by a fire at the Public Record Office during the Civil War in the 1920s. Only the 1901 and 1911 censuses are available. I think they're both online.'

Jenna pressed her phone screen and typed _Irish census_. 'I've found the National Archives, Census 1901-1911.' Quickly she entered the words William Keating and Clifden into the search boxes. A few seconds later, she let out a triumphant cry. 'Found him.'

Guy twisted around from the front seat. 'Go on, what information is there?'

Jenna touched the screen and waited for the page to load. 'This is the 1911 census, and it's listed as House 46. The head of the family is Michael Keating, gardener, and his wife is Bridget. William is the oldest son, aged thirteen, and they had—' She counted quickly. 'Four younger children. They were all born in County Galway.'

Dan nodded. 'Now try the 1901 census, Jenna.'

She did so and frowned. 'There's only one William Keating born in County Galway, and he's aged nine. So where is our William Keating?'

'Our researchers drew a blank. They couldn't find him on the 1901 census. Michael and Bridget Keating are living at the same house in Clifden, but there's no William with them, even though he would have been three at the time. He's not on any other census, either in Britain or anywhere else. The researchers have tried them all. They couldn't find William Keating before 1911.'

'Weird,' Jenna said. 'If we can't find him, we don't stand any chance of finding a link to our grandparents.'

Guy turned in his seat again. 'I called my mother and asked her to find out about my grandmother's family.'

Jenna grinned. 'And my friend's brother is looking up information about my grandfather.'

'Seems like neither of us is going to give up on finding the missing link, Jenna.' The amusement in his blue eyes sent a pleasurable tingle down her spine.

After a brief stop for coffee in the small town of Athlone, they returned to the motorway, and Jenna continued searching the census records, but with no further clues to William Keating.

It was almost midday when Dan said, 'We're approaching Galway City now and, although it's worth seeing, I need to bypass it. We're meeting Eve Callaghan at two o'clock, but the motorway ends here, and we'll be on an ordinary road between Galway and Clifden, so I won't be able to drive as fast. Quite apart from which, I'm sure you'll want to admire the scenery.'

Not long afterwards, Guy let out a low whistle. 'Hey, you're right. It's as if we've crossed an invisible line into a completely different landscape.'

Jenna agreed. After the gentle green fields of central Ireland, they were now driving through the wild open countryside of Connemara, uninhabited apart from sheep and lambs. New vistas appeared at every twist and turn of the road: clusters of bright yellow broom, small brooks rippling over stones, breeze-whipped lakes at one side of the road, low green hills with rocky outcrops on the other, and the occasional ruins of stone cottages. A range of sharp peaked, green-grey mountains dominated the view ahead of them.

'What are those?' she asked Dan.

' _Na Beanna Beola_ , the Twelve Bens. Ben means mountain here, the same as in Scotland. None of them higher than two-and-a-half thousand feet, but they're quite dramatic, aren't they?'

Guy pulled his small sketchpad from his pocket. 'They sure are. It's an awesome view.'

Jenna watched over his shoulder as, with purposeful strokes, he drew a quick outline of the Bens. 'How on earth can you draw them when their shapes change every second we get nearer to them?'

'Not sure. I think I hold them in some inner vision. Maybe it's similar to how you learn your lines. You have a verbal memory, I have a visual one.'

She nodded. It was as good an explanation as any.

Once they'd skirted the mountain range, the road began to descend, and a cluster of grey-roofed buildings came into sight, with the spires of two churches rising above them.

'Is this Clifden?' Jenna asked.

'Yes.' Dan slowed down as they reached the outskirts of the town. 'And you might be interested to know this area has two links with America, Guy.'

'Really?'

'Marconi opened the first public wireless station to North America here, and I've forgotten the year, but the first non-stop transatlantic flight landed near here, too. A flimsy biplane. God knows how they did it. A pub on the main street in Clifden has a lot of information about the flight. We could stop there for some lunch before we meet Eve.'

'Sounds okay to me.' Guy grinned round at her. 'Could be a good omen. If this place has links with America, we might be able to find the link between the Keatings and our families.'

_Damn it_ , why did his smile make her heart go flippity-flop every time?

* * *

The walls of the pub were full of framed photos, information, and copies of contemporary newspaper articles about the transatlantic crossing, as Dan had said. While they waited for their soup and sandwiches, Guy wandered around, reading them all. Two men braving the elements in a tiny airplane, one of them even crawling along the wing in mid-flight to de-ice it. _Awesome_. It made a total mockery of his own fears of taking off and landing in a modern jet airliner.

Shaking his head slightly, he wondered why the past twenty-four hours had changed his mind about the puzzling legacy. He'd only come to Ireland because the lawyer had insisted. Back in New York, his main interest had been how much money he would inherit, and whether it would be enough to give him the chance to opt out of the family business for a few months.

But now? What intrigued him about Ireland? Why was he fascinated by some long past family history? Did it really matter why his grandmother had been named in a stranger's will?

'Guy, your soup's here.'

He turned at the sound of Jenna's voice and, as he walked back to the table where she sat with Dan, he tried to quell his interest in her. Yes, they'd had a good time in Dublin, and yes, something drew him to her. Not just her looks, although she was attractive enough with her heart-shaped face, long wavy hair, and slim figure. Her lively personality appealed more to him, but all his instincts balked against any involvement with someone in the acting profession. The cliché was true: _once bitten, twice shy._

'I just called Eve,' Dan said. 'She'll meet us here and then take you to Mist Na Mara.'

'How far is it from here?'

'A couple of miles. Overlooking the bay near where it meets the Atlantic. It was quite a stormy day when we visited last month, and we stood for some time on the terrace, watching the huge waves roll in. It'll be calmer today because there's less wind, but it's still a deadly view.'

'Deadly? You mean dangerous?'

Dan laughed. 'No, deadly is our Irish slang for cool or, as you might say, awesome.'

'Ah, okay.'

They continued the conversation about differences in meaning between Irish, American, and English words as they ate, but impatience jiggled through Guy's veins. He wanted to see the house, find out more about the occupants, and discover how his own family was linked to them.

When Dan went to the bar to order coffees, he turned to Jenna. 'Are you still excited about the house? Last night you said you couldn't wait to visit it.'

'Yes, it'll be interesting, but we'll have to sell it, won't we? I mean, no way could we – you know, live there—'

She broke off, and the flush of embarrassment staining her cheeks made him smile. 'We don't have to live there together. We could be co-owners, rent it out, and share the proceeds.'

'Oh! I hadn't thought about that, but I thought you were all for selling.'

'I was, until Ireland cast its spell over me.'

She gave him a mischievous grin. 'Must be the leprechauns. You were looking for the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.'

'What about you?'

'I realised I need to be as practical as you. About the money, I mean. It would certainly be very useful, and it isn't _really_ relevant why we've inherited the house, is it?'

'I guess not, but—' Guy stopped as his glance swivelled toward the bar. Dan had been joined by a petite woman in a grey business suit, her dark auburn hair fastened into a sleek roll at the back of her head. 'Do you think she's the agent?'

Jenna looked around. 'If she isn't, then he's pulled.'

'Pulled?'

'Here we go again. It means attracting someone in a bar or club.'

'We'd say pick up, but she looks too classy somehow. Nice legs, too.'

'Ssh.' Jenna nudged him as Dan headed back toward them, accompanied by the auburn woman.

'Jenna, Guy, this is Eve Callaghan, who can answer your questions much better than I can.'

Once the introductory pleasantries were over, Eve sat on one of the padded stools at the side of their table. She was younger than he'd expected, probably early thirties, and he had to force himself not to rivet his eyes on one shapely leg crossed over the other below her short grey skirt.

'Dan says you're interested in the previous owners of the house, in case they can throw any light on the reasons for you being named in the will.' Her accent was different from Dan's. Softer, more musical, somehow, and not quite as easy to understand.

He nodded. 'We're both completely baffled. Do you know who originally owned the house?'

'Mist Na Mara was first registered in 1895 to an Ellen Hayden. We don't know if she ever lived there, but in 1901 and 1911 the occupants were Michael Keating and his wife Bridget. It's somewhat curious because neither of their names appear on the deeds. The first change of ownership came in 1919 when William Keating became the registered owner. He married the same year, and his marriage certificate shows him living at Mist Na Mara.'

'Does that mean he bought the house prior to his marriage?'

'But why should he, when his parents were already living there?' Jenna broke in, and turned to Eve. 'Did Michael and Bridget continue to live at the house with William and his wife?'

Eve laughed and held up her hands. 'Oh my, so many questions! Guy, the deeds only show ownership passing from Ellen Hayden to William Keating in 1919. Similarly, in 1940, ownership passed to William's daughter Helena. In answer to your question, Jenna, Michael Keating died at Mist Na Mara in 1937. That's not necessarily proof he lived there the whole time, of course, but it does appear he and Bridget continued to reside at the house, as their two daughters' marriage certificates give Mist Na Mara as their residence.'

'Must have been rather crowded,' he said.

'It's a large house,' Eve replied. 'Nine bedrooms, ten if you count the locked room.'

'Whoa, I didn't expect that.' He turned to Jenna. 'Did you?'

'No. I'm not sure what I expected, but certainly nothing so big.'

'The original house was smaller,' Eve explained. 'It was extended sometime in the 1920s, when more bedrooms were added at the back.'

'Do you know why?' Jenna asked.

Eve shrugged. 'More children possibly, or extra rooms for servants?'

Guy turned to her again. 'Dan mentioned a trust fund for its upkeep. Can you tell us anything more about this?'

'It was established in 1940 under the terms of William Keating's will. Originally, it was administered by Connolly's Bank in Clifden, which eventually became a subsidiary of the Bank of Ireland. My partners and I act as their local agent, and we organise regular maintenance checks and employ a cleaning company once a year.'

'Okay.' He thought for a few moments. 'The most interesting part of all this is that the house was never owned by Michael and Bridget Keating. Their oldest son William bought it from Ellen Hayden, the previous owner, in 1919. Am I right, Eve?'

'Yes. Of course, it's possible the Keatings paid rent to Ellen Hayden, until William decided to buy the house.'

He caught sight of Jenna's doubtful expression. 'What are you thinking?'

'According to the census, Michael Keating was a gardener. Could he afford to rent a ten-bedroom house? More to the point, why? He and Bridget had five children. Why would they need ten bedrooms? Something about this doesn't make any sense, unless—'

'Unless what?'

'I'm probably jumping to wild conclusions here.'

'I don't have any conclusions, wild or otherwise.'

She hesitated before she went on, 'Could Ellen Hayden be some relative who allowed Michael and Bridget to live in the house, and then left it to their oldest son? Or – no, I really am being too fanciful now.'

'Come on, throw all your ideas into the melting pot.'

'We know William wasn't living at Mist Na Mara with Michael and Bridget Keating in 1901. What if he was living somewhere with Ellen Hayden? What if she left the house to him because he was _her_ son, not theirs?'

Guy watched as she typed something on her phone. 'What are you doing?'

'Looking for a William Hayden on the 1901 census.' After a few moments, she sighed. 'Nope, nothing.'

'Try William Lewis,' Eve suggested.

Guy jerked from craning his neck to see Jenna's phone and stared at the agent. 'Lewis? Why?'

'William's full name in the title deeds is William Lewis Keating.'

His pulse quickened. 'My middle name is Lewis and so was my father's. I always assumed it was because my grandmother's maiden name was Lewis.'

Dan grinned. 'We may have the first clue to a connection.'

Chapter 4

Jenna shot a nervous glance at Guy as they climbed into the back of Eve's SUV. 'Now we finally get to see our house.'

'I've no idea what to expect. Have you?'

She rolled her eyes. 'I'm imagining some ghastly mix of cluttered Victorian rooms with dark wallpaper, and 1930s chintzy flower curtains.'

Eve laughed as she drove along the road leading out of the town. 'I think you'll both be pleasantly surprised. The décor is quite elegant downstairs, although there _are_ flowery drapes in some of the bedrooms. Most of the furniture is Victorian, but William and his wife obviously had the place redecorated in the twenties or thirties. Did you know he was an architect and also an amateur artist?'

Guy's eyes widened. 'So it's not just the Lewis name that gives me a connection to him. What did he paint?'

'Land and seascapes mainly. A couple of the art shops in Clifden sell prints of his work. Views of the bay, and Connemara scenes.'

'And you drew the Twelve Bens this morning,' Jenna reminded him.

'I'm not sure why. Usually I want to capture people, not scenes, but those mountains triggered some response in me. Must be the leprechauns again.'

His smile as their eyes met made Jenna's heart jump, but she kept her voice light. 'Or an ancestor returning to haunt you?'

Dan turned to them. 'William's daughter Helena was quite a renowned artist in Dalkey, too, Guy.'

'Really? This is becoming rather surreal, discovering I have something in common with these unknown relatives.'

Jenna gave a mock pout. 'And I'm feeling a little left out, because you're finding links to your art, but there's no link to acting.'

Guy turned to her. 'Your family has no connections with the stage?'

'None that I know of. My father was a science teacher, and my grandfather a market gardener.'

'The census said Michael Keating was a gardener. Perhaps your grandfather inherited his skills.'

'Skills which haven't been passed on to me. Even pot plants take one look at me and die. Hey,' she broke off as Eve turned from the main road into a narrower road from where they could see a long stretch of sea, 'that's a wonderful view.'

'It's called a bay, but really it's a narrow inlet, less than half a mile at the widest part,' Eve explained. 'Not as famous as Galway Bay, of course. A lot of the west coast of Ireland has inlets like this. You'll catch glimpses of it again, but wait until you see the view from Mist Na Mara.'

After about half a mile, they turned along an even smaller road between rock-strewn grassy hillocks and with thick hedgerows either side.

'Is this a farm track?' Guy asked.

Eve laughed. 'Guy, this is a genuine Irish country lane, built before the motor car era.'

'What happens if we meet another vehicle?'

'As long as it's not a bus, we can probably squeeze past each other. I've not yet ended up with my wheels in a ditch, but we're unlikely to meet anyone here. Apart from those two modern bungalows we passed at the top of the lane, there's only a farm and Mist Na Mara House along here. All the land belongs to the farm, apart from a couple of acres around the house.'

As they rounded a bend, a dry-stone wall on their right replaced the hedgerow, and Eve slowed before turning into the entrance to a driveway, where a wide wrought iron gate blocked their way.

Jenna peered through the window as Eve handed Dan a key, and he jumped out to unlock the gate.

Beyond the gate, the driveway mounted a small rise between a hillock dotted with shrubs and rocky outcrops, and a line of small bushes on the left. She couldn't see any sign of a house until Guy nudged her. 'Over there, behind that tree – see the chimney pot and the edge of the roof?'

Jenna squinted to where he was pointing, and a feather of excitement tickled her stomach. They had to wait until Eve drove through the gateway, and Dan closed it and got back into the car. She held her breath as they mounted the rise, turned right, and climbed another gentler slope between more shrubs until they were in a wide gravelled area in front of the house.

For a few seconds, she gazed open-mouthed. 'Oh, wow.'

Built of grey stone, Mist Na Mara House had a central doorway, flanked on both sides by a pair of long sash windows and, at each end of the frontage, large square bay windows on the ground and upper floors.

'Welcome to Mist Na Mara House,' Eve said.

Jenna opened her door and stepped out. 'This isn't a house, it's a mansion.' Her voice came out as a kind of croak.

Guy, too, got out and moved around the car to where she stood gazing up at the house.

'Quite impressive, isn't it?'

'I can hardly believe this is ours, can you?'

'Nope, not yet. Have you seen the view?'

She turned and let her eyes take in the panoramic view. Not only did they overlook the narrow bay and the low green hills on the far shore, but they were high enough to see another stretch of water beyond and some larger hills. On their left were the peaks of the Twelve Bens, and to their right, broken by a few rocky islets, was the vast grey expanse of the Atlantic Ocean.

'I must be dreaming.' Her voice caught somewhere in her throat as tears flooded to her eyes at the wild beauty of the landscape. 'This kind of thing doesn't happen in real life. At least, not to me.'

Reality returned with a sudden jerk when Guy put his arm around her shoulders. 'You're not dreaming, Jenna, and some instinct tells me there's more to come.'

Acutely conscious of the warmth of his arm, she gave him a tremulous smile. When he broke the contact and moved a couple of steps away from her, she wondered whether he felt awkward about his spontaneous hug. She didn't look at him again as they walked toward the front door which Eve was unlocking.

Once inside, she stared around, hardly able to take in the elegance of the large hallway with oak wainscoting and polished parquet floor. In the centre stood a rosewood pedestal table on an ornately-carved column, and a crystal chandelier sparkled in the sun's rays through the arched fanlight above the door. On each side of the hallway were two solid oak doors, much broader than modern doorways. Ahead of them, a wide wooden staircase curved upwards, with a brass handrail and wrought iron balusters, and a corridor at the side of the stairs led to the back of the house.

She took some photos with her phone camera and saw Guy was doing the same. Then he bounded up the first few steps to study the gilt-framed paintings on the cream wall of the staircase.

'I was hoping these were William's paintings, but they're prints. I assume his wife took the originals when she left here. This is the view from the front of the house, and this—' he climbed a couple more stairs, '—is Clifden with the two church spires.' He peered at the print. 'The signature is W. Lewis Keating. Interesting that he used his initial and middle name.'

'But I checked the 1901 census and there was no William Lewis,' Jenna reminded him. 'At least, none of the right age, and although there were a couple of William Haydens, neither was with an Ellen Hayden.'

After taking more photos, Guy came back down the stairs. 'It was an interesting conjecture about a link between William Keating and Ellen Hayden, though.'

'Which turned out to be a dead-end, but—'

Eve interrupted. 'Are you ready to see the rest of the house now, Guy?'

'Of course. Lead on, Eve.'

As they explored the ground floor, Jenna noticed Eve making copious notes on her clipboard, and also directing all her comments to Guy, not to her. A small sense of disquiet persisted despite her interest in all the rooms.

As Eve had said, they were tastefully decorated with pastel coloured walls – robin's egg blue, mint green, or cream. In contrast, the furniture was heavier, with overstuffed couches and wing back chairs, either in dark leather, or upholstered in burgundy or deep gold velour. A grand piano stood in one corner of the large drawing room, and there was a heavily carved dark oak dresser in the dining room, as well as a long oak table surrounded by eight chairs with carved backs.

The lighter touch came from some Art Deco pieces: a sunburst mirror, a couple of walnut circular tables, and angular wall light sconces in one of the smaller rooms, which Eve said was probably a family parlour.

Guy picked up a Tiffany lamp in the other smaller room whose oak shelves suggested it had once been a library or study. His eyes widened as he turned it to inspect the bronze base. 'This is an original.'

'How do you know?' Jenna moved nearer him, but Eve was already by his side.

'I agree, Guy. The stamp is _Tiffany Studios_ , not _Tiffany and Co_.'

'Yes, and the bronze base is hollow, but has a ring of lead to weight it.'

Jenna wasn't sure why Eve's blatant interest in Guy had started to irritate her.

'That means it's worth a lot,' Eve said. 'Especially as it's floral and not geometric.'

Guy shook his head. 'I wouldn't want to sell this.'

Eve's eyes widened. 'Even though it might be worth thousands of dollars?'

'The beauty of this outweighs its value.'

Jenna warmed to the way Guy smoothed his fingers gently over the blue and white glass flowers before replacing the lamp carefully on the shelf and taking a photo.

'Guy, if you want it, you must keep it,' she said. She wouldn't object, whatever its value. He'd obviously fallen in love with it.

She hadn't seen anything to fall in love with. So far, their exploration of the house had seemed more like visiting a retro hotel. It was stylish and had been well maintained, but there was no sense of the family who'd once lived here.

Apart from the few paintings on the walls, the house didn't feel like a home. She wished there'd been some family photos, or other knick-knacks, but William's widow and daughter must have taken all their personal possessions with them when they moved to Dalkey.

Guy and Eve were still discussing the lamp, and she walked across to the window and gazed out at the stunning view of sea and green hills.

'Everything all right, Jenna?' Dan's voice said behind her.

'Yes, fine. Except I'd hoped to find out more about the family, but it's kind of anonymous, isn't it?'

'I know what you mean. There are some old serving dishes and pans in the kitchen, but nothing very personal.'

'I don't understand how Michael and Bridget, or even William, could afford a house like this.'

'Architects are fairly well paid. I think you might be right about Michael and Bridget renting it until William bought it.'

Jenna did a quick calculation. 'He was thirteen at the 1911 census, so he would be twenty-one when he became the owner in 1919. He was at the beginning of his career, not an established architect able to command large fees. How could he afford it?'

'Do you think he inherited it from Ellen Hayden?'

'I'm starting to think that's the only explanation, but Michael and Bridget Keating were here in 1901 and he wasn't. Where on earth was he?'

Guy's voice broke in. 'Dan's researchers didn't find him, so what chance do we have?'

Jenna turned to him, aware of an inordinate sense of pleasure that he'd detached himself from Eve's attentions. 'We'll probably never know the whole truth, but it's still fascinating to speculate.'

'And don't forget there's still the locked room,' Dan reminded them. 'But let's take a look at the other rooms upstairs first.'

The bedrooms were as impersonal as the ground floor rooms, even with their 1930s floral wallpaper and drapes. One had a double bed with a walnut headboard; another two had single beds with oak head and footboards. The rest, along a corridor in what was obviously the extended part of the house, were smaller, and were empty apart from a couple of old chests of drawers in one of them.

'The fireplaces are awesome,' Guy said.

Eve sidled up to him. 'They're so evocative of the era, aren't they? Cast iron, and with those attractive ceramic tiles down each side. They're very sought-after these days.'

'I hope you're not suggesting we rip them out and sell them. These fireplaces belong with this house.'

'I like the bathrooms,' Jenna said. 'The claw-foot baths and the wash stands with flower and leaf prints are wonderful.' She turned to Dan. 'Are they Victorian?'

'Probably. Whoever built this place was very rich compared to most people around here in the late nineteenth century. They lived in small cottages, used a tin bath in front of the fire, and had an outhouse with a wooden seat over a hole in the ground as a lavatory.'

Jenna wrinkled her nose. 'Yuck.'

'Yes, indeed, it's not surprising disease spread so easily. Anyway—' Dan unzipped his document case and brought out a plastic zipper bag with the brass key, '—there's one room left. Do you want to open the locked bedroom now and find out if it helps to unravel the mystery of William Keating or Ellen Hayden?'

'Oh, do let's open it.' Eve came up behind Guy and put her hand on his shoulder. 'I'm dying to know what's in there.'

Dan shook his head. 'Under the terms of Helena Keating's will, the heir or heirs must, I quote, _satisfy themselves as to the contents of the room before deciding to reveal such contents to public knowledge_. Guy and Jenna must enter first.'

Eve huffed. 'Ach, so melodramatic.'

Jenna sensed her frustration and suppressed a small smirk. At least Eve was excluded from trying to monopolise Guy for this part of their exploration.

Guy's smile sent a warm tremor along her veins. 'Are you ready for this?'

She inhaled deeply. 'Let's do it.'

'Okay.'

'I can't imagine what we're going to find,' she said as they walked along the corridor and past the balustraded landing to the room on the western side of the house.

'Dust and cobwebs?'

'In which case, the first thing we'll need is a vacuum cleaner.'

'Of course, it might be completely empty.'

Outside the wide oak door, Guy stopped, and Jenna turned to him. 'Go on.'

He gave her a wry grin. 'I'm not sure whether I'm excited or scared.'

'Scared?'

'For all we know, there might be a dead body in the room.'

Her eyes widened. 'Sheesh, I never thought of that.'

'If this was a movie, spooky music would be playing right now.'

'There can't be a body. It would smell.' She stared at him. 'You don't think—'

He put his arm around her. 'You're too easy, Jenna. I'm kidding you.'

'Oh, you—!' She flicked her fingers across his ribs. 'Stop winding me up.'

His hand tightened on her arm, and she leaned against his shoulder. It felt good, so good...

'Jenna—'

She twisted her head to look up at him. The gentleness in his eyes, soft as a caress, sent a tsunami wave of heat rushing through her from head to toe. They gazed at each other for what seemed like forever, but could only have been a few seconds.

Guy was the first to break their eye contact. 'Let's open the door, shall we?'

With his arm still around her, he put the key into the lock and struggled to turn it. She'd started to think it must be too stiff to open, when a loud click made her jump.

He reached past her to twist the brass doorknob. 'Do you want to go in first, or shall I?'

After her wimpish reaction to his earlier joking, she decided on bravado. 'Go on, push the door, and I'll go first, but you'd better be right behind me.'

'In case there's a skeleton hanging from the chandelier?'

'Stop it!' She dug her elbow into him. 'If this door creaks when you push it open, I shall probably scream.'

The door didn't creak, but opened smoothly. Jenna took a small step into the room and clapped her hand to her mouth.

'Oh!' she whispered.

Chapter 5

Only half-aware that he was pressed close to Jenna's back with his hands gripping her arms, Guy gazed over her shoulder. Sunlight flickered through the lacy drapes, presumably once white, but now yellowed and frayed. Cobwebs festooned the green and gold damask walls and hung from the tarnished brass chandelier, and a thick layer of dust covered the furniture and floor.

A magnificent four-poster bed dominated the room, with carved dark oak headboard, canopy, and columns, and threadbare silk drapes that had once been gold. Beyond it, a huge marble fireplace half-covered the far wall, its mantelpiece crowded with china figures, two silver candle holders, and an ornate brass clock. In the corner to their right, a walnut dressing table topped by a large gilt-framed mirror still held dusty bottles on a porcelain tray. To their left, a thickly padded green chaise longue stood next to a tall chest of drawers, and in the square bay window, two balloon-backed chairs, with gilded wood and sage green velvet upholstery, were positioned either side of a polished rosewood table.

'Whoa.' He bent forward so his face touched the side of Jenna's. 'In all my wildest fantasies, I never imagined anything like this.'

'Neither did I. It must have been stunningly beautiful at one time with all the green and gold. Do you suppose this was Helena's room?'

'Or it could have been William and his wife's.' His gaze travelled round the room. 'Except this is Victorian, not 1920s or 30s.'

'Maybe they kept it as it was originally.'

'And didn't even wire the room for electricity? Those are real candles in the chandelier.'

Aware he still gripped her arms, he released his hold and moved away from her. Her nearness confused him, and this wasn't the time to be distracted.

His sudden movement kicked up a cloud of dust, and Jenna waved her hand in front of her face and then sneezed. 'I told you we'd need a vacuum cleaner.'

'I'd like more than a vacuum cleaner,' he said, taking a couple of cautious steps into the room so as not to disturb more dust. 'I'd love to bring in some experts to restore this room to its former glory.'

'You've changed your mind about selling?'

'When we were downstairs, every instinct told me the rooms should be preserved. And now, this bedroom. It's such an amazing glimpse into a long-forgotten past.'

'But—' She screwed up her face. 'What can we _do_ with the house? You mentioned renting it out, but it's too big for an ordinary family to rent for a week's holiday.'

'This room would make a wonderful honeymoon suite.'

'You mean as part of a hotel? Guy, converting this place to modern hotel standards would cost a fortune.'

'You're right, of course, but it's ironic, isn't it? Yesterday, I was being realistic while you were getting excited about the house, and now you're the one being practical.'

'This place has really captured your imagination, hasn't it?'

He nodded. 'It's a wonderful house, in beautiful surroundings and with a sensational view. I'd love to have enough money to restore it, but it does make more sense to sell all the contents, and then put it on the market.'

'Let's talk about all that later. I want to explore first.'

'Sure.'

He walked across to the fireplace and carefully brushed the cobwebs from the ornaments on the mantelpiece. 'This is Royal Worcester, and this is Wedgwood.'

'How on earth did an Irish couple afford all this?' Jenna wandered across to the dressing table and pulled the stopper from one of the dusty bottles. He watched as she sniffed it. 'Could be rose water, and the cream in this one—' She sniffed again. 'Ugh, that's gone off.'

'No lipstick or rouge?'

'Victorians didn't use them. It was considered scandalous. They had to bite their lips and pinch their cheeks to bring colour to them. Only loose women wore cosmetics.'

'And if you believe that you—oh!' As he turned back to the fireplace, he spotted a draped picture frame on the wall at the far side of the bed.

'What have you found?'

'Another picture. The other paintings here are typical Victorian watercolours, so I wonder why this one has been covered?'

He moved across to the frame and tentatively pulled down the linen drape, which created a cloud of dust. He coughed and wafted it from his face, and then stared at the large, gilt-framed oil painting.

A woman, in a low-cut, off-the-shoulder, dark green silk gown trimmed with lace, reclined with one arm on the end of a chaise longue. The same chaise longue, he confirmed after a quick check of the one near the door.

'Jenna, come here.'

More dust rose as she walked around the bed. She sneezed a couple of times and pulled a tissue from her shoulder bag.

'We really do need a vacuum— Ooh!'

Her voice ended in a small squeak and he smiled. 'Exactly.'

'She's beautiful, isn't she? I love her hair.'

Guy gazed up again at the portrait. The woman's dark hair was piled up at the back of her head, but some ringlets fell onto her forehead and coiled at the side of her cheeks, softening her face.

He turned to Jenna. 'If you wore your hair like that, you'd look very much like her.'

'Me?' With both her hands, she pulled her long dark hair up to the top of her head and laughed. 'You mean, like this?'

'You might need some curlers to get those ringlets, but yes, I can see a definite similarity.'

Jenna studied the painting. 'I can't, but I'll tell you something.'

'What?'

'She was in love with the artist.'

Guy turned back to see what she meant. 'I agree she has a kind of tenderness in her eyes.'

'It's the look of love. Perhaps with the artist, or perhaps her lover was standing at the artist's side while he painted her.'

'Her lover? Not her husband?'

Jenna smiled. 'It's more romantic to think he was her lover, isn't it?'

'And did she bite her lips and pinch her cheeks to give them that colour? Might be artistic licence, of course.'

'I was about to tell you, before you found this picture. There are some make-up items in one of the dressing table drawers.'

'You said Victorians thought make-up was scandalous, so why—? Hey, you don't mean she was a prostitute?'

'The Victorian euphemism was lady of the night, but there's another reason why she might have make-up.'

'What's that?'

'She could have been an actress.'

'Ah.' Guy grinned. 'And you said you had no family links to acting.'

'We've no evidence she was either family _or_ an actress.'

'You want to know what I think?'

'Go on.'

'I think this could be Ellen Hayden, the original owner of the house.'

'Who painted it? Is there a signature?'

He stepped nearer the portrait and narrowed his eyes to focus on the bottom right hand corner. 'E.W.L. 1896.'

Jenna moved closer. 'Could W stand for William? And L for Lewis?'

'You think William Lewis Keating was named after the artist?'

'Perhaps the artist was Ellen's lover, and she named her child after him.' Jenna shook her head. 'I honestly don't know, Guy. My mind's going around in circles.'

'Mine, too. Anyway, shouldn't we go tell Dan and Eve what we've found? They'll be dying to know.'

'We haven't fulfilled the terms of the will yet.'

'What do you mean?'

'We're supposed to satisfy ourselves as to the contents of the room before— Oh, I forget the exact words, something about before we reveal it to anyone else. And we haven't seen even half the contents yet. The dressing table drawers are stuffed with all kinds of things, and what about those two doors on either side of the fireplace?'

Guy looked around. 'With everything else in this room, I hadn't even noticed those.'

'Neither did I at first, because of those wrought iron plant stands in front of them. I'll let you move them. They're probably too heavy for me to lift.'

'And not just because they're covered in cobwebs?'

'I reckon any spiders in here died a long time ago. They had no flies to eat.'

'You could be right.' He moved the tall stands away from the doors and opened the one on the left of the fireplace.

Jenna's eyes widened as she peered inside. 'A dressing room and—' She pulled aside a heavy linen cloth draped over a rail and squealed. 'Ooh, clothes. Real Victorian clothes!'

'I'll leave you to drool over those while I check what's in the other room.' He had to put his shoulder against the door on the right of the fireplace. 'It's their personal bathroom,' he called out.

'Their?'

'You now have me imagining Ellen Hayden and her lover sharing the bedroom, and this bathroom.'

'What's it like?'

'Thick with dust, of course, but there's a rather attractive washstand, and a slipper bath, too.'

When she didn't answer, he headed back into the bedroom. 'Are you okay in there? Or have you been eaten alive by spid—?'

'Ta-da!'

Jenna came out of the dressing room with a green silk dress held up to her shoulders. He didn't have to look again at the portrait to know it was the same dress, but that wasn't the reason for his sharp intake of breath.

With the dress clutched in front of her, the similarity was undeniable. Despite her long dark hair pushed back behind her ears, rather than clipped on top of her head, there was no doubt Jenna was related somehow to the woman in the portrait.

Even more overwhelming was the hard pull of desire he experienced. He took several steps toward her. 'You would look as stunning in that dress as she does.'

She blushed. 'Thank you.'

For a few seconds, he gazed down at her, caught her uncertainty as her eyes met his, but threw caution to the wind. He cupped his hands around her face, and kissed her.

He half-expected her to push him away. She didn't, and he continued their kiss, exploring her slightly parted mouth with his tongue. Her lips were warm and soft, and when the tip of her tongue reached out to meet his, a shaft of flame raced through his blood.

She dropped the dress somewhere between them and wound her arms around him as she returned his kiss with increasing fervour.

He slid his arms down her back, pressing her against him, and felt another warm leaping deep inside when she opened her mouth more fully to him. His chest constricted, his breathing became shallow, and his heart beat faster as their lips and tongues continued an escalating sensual union.

* * *

'Everything all right up there?'

Dan's voice made Jenna jump back from Guy. For a moment, she stared at him before taking a step away. She bent to retrieve the silk dress from the floor as she tried to process what had just happened.

'Yes – yes, we're fine, Dan,' she called back. 'We'll come downstairs in a minute.'

Draping the dress over her arm, she raised diffident eyes to Guy. 'I—'

'Yes, I—' He fingered the collar of his polo shirt awkwardly. 'Must be this room, and that dress, and— Oh, I don't know. I'm sorry, Jenna.'

'No, it's okay, but—'

'But it's ridiculous. Yes, I know. We only met yesterday and—'

'Let's put it down to – well, the excitement of finding this room and—'

'And maybe your romantic notion of Ellen Hayden and her lover.'

'Yes. Erm, I'd better put this dress back, and then we can go down and tell Dan and Eve what we've found.'

She returned to the dressing room, trying to quell an odd sense of disappointment. They'd shared an intimate kiss, but now Guy was embarrassed and apologetic. So why had he instigated the kiss?

More to the point, why had she responded so eagerly? All right, she couldn't deny she was attracted to him, but he was going home tomorrow and so was she. End of story, apart from dealing with the estate through Dan McGrath or their respective lawyers.

When she went back into the bedroom, Guy was taking photos of the portrait and of the chaise longue. Pushing the memory of his kiss to the back of her mind, she took several photos, too, and her tension eased as he made casual comments about the furniture and ornaments.

When they finally left the bedroom, he locked the door.

Her brow creased into a puzzled frown. 'Why are you doing that?'

'Because I don't want anyone else to see the room. Not until we've decided what to do with this place.'

They started down the stairs.

'Guy, we have to sell it. Neither of us can afford to restore it, even with Helena Keating's legacy, and you need the money, and so do I.'

He caught hold of her hand. 'Give me some time to think about it, will you?'

Chapter 6

'What did you find?' Dan looked up from the hallway as they went down the stairs.

'May we see the room?' Eve added.

Jenna waited for Guy to reply.

'We haven't had the chance to study everything yet, so we – no, sorry, I can't speak for Jenna, but I would prefer to keep the room locked until we make a decision.'

Eve's eager expression turned into a glower of annoyance, but Jenna pretended not to notice. 'I agree with Guy. We've had a lot to take in, not just in the locked room, but the rest of the house, too.'

They reached the foot of the stairs, and Eve immediately linked her arm through Guy's. 'Can't you at least give us a clue about what's in the room?'

Jenna bridled slightly when he didn't make any effort to disentangle himself, but he looked around at her and raised his eyebrows in a silent question. Forcing herself to relax, she gave a small nod, and he turned back to Eve.

'It's a bedroom, and there's enough to make us think it might have belonged to Ellen Hayden. The furnishing is Victorian, and the room hasn't been modernised at all.'

Eve's green eyes widened. 'You mean it's been locked since Ellen Hayden left the house, whenever that was?'

Guy nodded. 'It's possible. The room's covered with a century of dust and cobwebs.'

'What's the furniture like?' Eve asked. 'Anything valuable?'

'I've no idea of the value,' Guy replied, 'but there's a bed, a chaise longue, a dresser, and a table and couple of chairs.'

'What makes you think it was Ellen's bedroom, Guy?'

Determined not to be excluded from the conversation, Jenna said, 'There's a dressing room with what I think are late Victorian gowns and suits, and one of them—'

Guy broke in. 'And Jenna fell in love with one of them.'

She realised he'd stopped her from mentioning the portrait and, although she didn't understand why, she took the cue from him. 'I fell in love with them all.'

'The National Museum of Ireland might be interested in those,' Eve said. 'What about ceramics? Or artwork?'

'A few pieces of china.' Guy glanced at his watch. 'I'd love to spend the rest of the day here, but I understand we have a reservation at a hotel in Clifden, and Jenna and I have a lot to discuss.'

At last, he freed himself from Eve's arm, and Jenna nodded. 'Yes, we have.' She had no idea of his agenda, but it was obvious he was reluctant to give Eve any more than the minimum information.

On the way back to Clifden, they talked generally about the house and the surrounding area. Jenna noticed Guy avoided answering any further questions from Eve about the bedroom. She didn't have to avoid anything because she felt invisible as far as Eve was concerned.

They stopped in the town for Dan to collect his car, and Jenna hoped this was the last they would see of Eve Callaghan. Her heart sank when Eve said, 'I'll meet you all for dinner this evening. Seven thirty?'

'Yes, that'll be grand,' Dan replied. 'See you later, Eve.'

He drove to their hotel on the outskirts of Clifden, and Jenna laughed when Guy picked up her suitcase and carried it into the lobby.

'I need to buy a new one, don't I?'

'I don't mind carrying it, of course, but the rivet's snapped on the wheel. It would probably cost more to repair than to invest in a new case.'

'I think I paid less than ten quid, so it doesn't owe me anything.'

'And now you can afford a Louis Vuitton.'

'Why? A suitcase is a suitcase.'

'Practical as ever, Jenna.' He looked over his shoulder at Dan, who was sorting out their reservations at the reception desk, and then turned back and spoke in a low voice. 'Could we talk before we meet Dan and Eve for dinner?'

'Yes, of course.'

When Dan gave her the key to her room, she held it so Guy could see the number on the plastic tag. He winked in response, and a weird sensation somersaulted somewhere in her stomach. Remembering his kiss gave her another buzz, until she recalled how he'd backtracked afterwards.

Still, she'd enjoy spending some time alone with him, if only to talk, as he'd said.

Their rooms were all on the second floor, but hers was on a different corridor. She caught Guy's eye as she took her case from him. He mouthed, 'Thirty minutes?' and she nodded.

Inside her room, she unpacked the few items she needed overnight, took a shower, and changed into her dark brown trousers and a cream and brown leaf-patterned top.

After she'd fixed her hair and make-up, she remembered she'd muted her phone and retrieved it from her shoulder bag. Two texts: one from Charley and one from Sharon, her agent.

She opened Sharon's message first: _Auditions for TV period drama next Monday. Interested?_

She typed a quick reply: _Yes, please send details_.

Charley's text read: _Call me. Matt has found some of yr Gfather's ancestors_.

Curious, she hit the fast dial for her friend's number.

Charley answered after two rings. 'Hey, you took your time getting back to me.'

'Sorry, Charley, we've been at the house all afternoon, and I forgot to check my phone.'

'What's the house like?'

'I'll tell you in a minute, but what has Matt discovered?'

'Let me find the email he sent.'

Jenna heard the click of laptop keys, and grabbed a sheet of hotel notepaper and a pen.

'James Oliver Sutton,' Charley said. 'Born second quarter of 1936, in Fulham, London.'

'Yep, that's my grandfather.'

'His father was Henry Sutton, and his mother was Louisa Oliver.'

A knock on the door made Jenna jump to her feet. 'Hold on a minute, Charley.'

She went to open the door and beckoned to Guy to come in, indicating her phone at the same time. He'd changed into grey pants and a grey and white striped open-necked shirt, and looked so good she had to force herself to concentrate again on her conversation with Charley.

'Go on. Has Matt been able to get any further back?'

'Not with Henry Sutton, but Louisa Oliver was the daughter of Robert Oliver and his wife Ellen. They were living at Burford Road, Wimbledon, London, at the 1911 census.'

'Ellen?' Her heart clicked into double time as she scribbled the names. 'Are you sure?'

'It's here on the census page he sent me.'

'Does it give Ellen's maiden name?'

'No, it says Robert Oliver was a newspaper proprietor, aged forty-six, Ellen was forty-one, Louisa five, and they were all born in London.'

'Has he found them on the 1901 census?'

'He found Robert Oliver, but not Ellen, so he thinks they must have married after 1901.'

'Tell him thanks from me, and would you ask him if he can find Robert and Ellen's marriage? I need to know her maiden name.'

'Will do. Now tell me about the house.'

'Erm—' She glanced sideways toward where Guy stood near the window. 'I'll call you later, Charley.'

'Are you all right? You sound kind of tense.'

'I'm fine. It's been a busy day. Bye for now.'

After hitting the end call icon, she gave Guy an apologetic smile. 'Sorry, but my friend's brother has been doing some research.'

'And he's found an Ellen? Apologies, I couldn't help but overhear.'

'No problem. Do sit down.' As he sat on one of the black leather bucket chairs near the window, she looked down at the list of names she'd scribbled. 'My grandfather's mother was called Louisa Oliver, and she was the daughter of Robert Oliver and his wife Ellen.' She raised her head. 'I always thought my grandfather's middle name of Oliver was another personal name – you know, like Oliver Twist – but it appears to be his mother's maiden name.'

'Which is like my middle name of Lewis, which was my grandmother's surname. What about Ellen, though? I gather you don't yet know her maiden name?'

'No, that's not shown on the census.' She put down the sheet of paper and crossed to the other chair. 'Ellen was a very common name in the nineteenth century, though, wasn't it? What are the odds she was Ellen Hayden?'

'Having seen the portrait, I'd say they were high. There's a definite resemblance between you and the woman in that painting.'

'Why didn't you want to tell Eve about it?'

'Mainly because she seems too interested in any valuable items in the house.'

Jenna rolled her eyes. 'You think she's casing the joint, ready to send in her burglar friends?'

He laughed. 'That's a slight exaggeration, but I admit to being a little uneasy.'

'If we're going to sell, she'll have to make an inventory of all the contents.'

'Now you're being practical again, which is why I decided we ought to talk.'

Jenna had to make a conscious effort to divert her attention from the way he sat with his right ankle resting on his left knee. _It was so sexy, somehow_...

'About the house?'

'Yes. I don't think either of us can make a decision today or even tomorrow.'

'When then?'

'I'm not sure. When I first arrived here, I intended to go home tomorrow with everything signed off, and then I'd wait for the money to be deposited in my bank account, but—'

'But what? You've already said the money would allow you to paint the pictures you want to paint. Surely selling the house and all the contents would give you that opportunity?'

'You're right.' He raised his shoulders in a small shrug. 'But maybe some things are more important than money.'

'Like the Tiffany lamp?'

'Yes. I love that lamp, and I don't care how many dollars it would fetch at auction.'

'And I adore those Victorian gowns.'

'I think we both want to find out more about Ellen Hayden, too, or at least our connection to the Keating family.'

'I agree, but—' She shrugged awkwardly. 'Well, I can't put my life on hold while we try to solve some past mystery. I had a message from my agent about an audition next Monday for a period drama on TV.'

'I must go home, too, but I want to come back to Ireland and visit the house again, and see what else we can discover.'

She shook her head. 'There didn't appear to be any photos or letters in the dressing table, if that's what you mean. Anyway, online research can tell us the family details.'

'The official records, like the census and the birth, marriage, and death indexes only show names and dates.' He paused for a few moments. 'I want to know who painted the portrait, and also why Dan's researchers can't find William Keating before 1911.'

'I've heard family history researchers often meet brick walls when they can't find someone's birth or death.'

'Sometimes one small detail can help them break through the wall.'

'You think we'll find that small detail in the house?'

Guy shrugged. 'I dunno, but it's kind of like detective work, isn't it? You have to follow all possible leads. I don't think there was any personal link between my grandmother and your grandfather, so we need to go further back and find out more about William Keating, and whether he was connected to Ellen Hayden in some way.'

'Does this mean you're not ready to sell the house?'

'No, not yet.' His eyes held a mute apology. 'Is that going to make things difficult for you?'

'I wonder if it's possible to separate the money side of the inheritance from the house?'

'You mean could we get an interim payment before the whole estate is sorted out? We can ask Dan.'

She gave him an embarrassed half-smile. 'I really do need the money, if only to keep my bank manager happy.'

'Yes, I understand.'

She sensed his disappointment in her response, but it didn't matter, did it? They'd go back to Dublin tomorrow, and then they'd both fly home and never see each other again. The realisation created a hollow sensation somewhere inside her.

After a short silence, he said, 'When I come back to Ireland, would you consider coming, too? It wouldn't seem right to visit the house again without you.'

'Oh!' She hadn't expected him to say that, and a quiver of pleasure replaced the hollowness. 'Yes, that would be good. It depends how my audition goes, though. If I'm offered a part, obviously that has to take precedence.'

'Of course.' He stood up. 'I get the message. The inheritance money and your job are more important to you.'

Alarmed, she stood, too. 'Guy, that's not fair. Yes, I have to earn a living, but it doesn't mean I'm not interested in the house or in the mystery of all the family stuff. I'd love to stay here in Ireland to find some answers, but I can't ignore real life.'

'You're right. I apologise.' His shoulders relaxed. 'I – um – I had a friend once who was more interested in money and her job than anything else, including me. I shouldn't have assumed you were the same.'

Relieved he'd backed down from a possible confrontation between them, Jenna spoke lightly to ease the tension. 'I hope she wasn't an actress.'

'Actually, she was.'

'Oh! Sorry.' She had no idea what to say next.

'No problem, it's water under the bridge now.' He gave her a small smile and went on, 'If you _are_ offered a role, when would you start work?'

'It depends on the role and the shooting schedule. Sometimes they want you within a few days, other times it could be several weeks. I won't know until I get more information from my agent.'

'In that case, we need to keep in contact and find a time when we're both free to come back here.'

'Yes, that sounds good.'

They were standing close, and the air between them seemed to be charged with electricity, making all the hairs on her arms stand on end. For a second, she was sure Guy was going to kiss her again, but he took a step back and looked at his watch.

'Would you like a drink before dinner? We have some time before we meet with Dan and Eve.'

Aware he'd deliberately distanced himself, she hid her disappointment behind a quick smile. 'I think we both deserve a drink, don't we? It's been a long day.'

The hotel bar had double doors leading to a terrace, and they took their drinks outside. It was a balmy spring evening, and Jenna gazed at the harbour below them. The tide was in, and several moored yachts and dinghies bobbed up and down. In the distance, the blue-grey water of the bay sparkled in the early evening sunshine, and the low hills surrounding it were lush and green.

'Must be wonderful to live somewhere peaceful like this, with the breeze coming in from the sea and the beautiful scenery all around.'

'It sure beats the view from my apartment.'

'You mean you can't see the Statue of Liberty or the Empire State Building?'

'Nope, just the fire escape at the back of the building on the next street.'

Jenna laughed. 'We have a small garden, but at the end of it is a huge brick wall, which is the side of what used to be a cinema and is now a bingo hall.'

'The view from Mist Na Mara is quite a contrast for both of us then.' Guy took a slurp of his Guinness and went on, 'You will let me know if you find out anything more about the Ellen in your family tree, won't you?'

'Yes, of course, but I'm not expecting her to be Ellen Hayden.'

'I think she will.'

'Come on, be realistic, Guy. The Ellen who married Robert Oliver was born in London and lived in London. Why on earth would she own a house in a remote corner of Ireland in the nineteenth century?'

'I've no idea, but I think you may be right about a link between her and William Keating, and—'

'Ah, here you are.'

They both turned at the sound of Eve's voice. Jenna tried to ignore her unkind reaction when she saw the other woman had exchanged her grey suit for a very low-cut, emerald green top and a short cream skirt. Her four-inch heels emphasised her shapely legs.

'Have you had the chance to relax after your busy day? Guy, you look very American in that shirt.'

'I'm not sure if that's a compliment or not. I thought everyone expected Americans to wear loud Hawaiian shirts.' He stood up. 'May I buy you a drink, Eve? What would you like?'

'A dry white wine, please, Guy.'

Eve sat down as Guy went inside to the bar. 'Have you been discussing the house, Jenna?'

'No, we've been talking about Ellen Hayden and William Keating.'

'I think I've told you all I know about them, but have you come to any decision about the house? Are you going to sell it?'

'Not yet, no.' Remembering Guy's unease at giving Eve more information than necessary, Jenna side-tracked. 'The trust fund William set up for maintaining the house – is it in perpetuity?'

'I think it ends if and when the house is sold.'

'That makes sense, I suppose.' She took a sip of her wine. 'If we decided to keep the house, and maybe rent it out, would the fund for its upkeep still be available?'

'Possibly, as long as there is enough money in the fund.' Eve's eyes narrowed. 'You're not seriously thinking of keeping the house, are you? You're based in London and Guy's in America. It doesn't seem very practical.'

Instinct told Jenna not to get into any further discussion with Eve about the house. 'We're still exploring our options. After all, the house has stood empty for over seventy years. A few more months aren't going to make much difference.'

'As a matter of fact, they might. House prices have dropped dramatically over the last few years, because of the recession and the financial crisis here in Ireland, and they're continuing to drop. You really must sell the contents and put the house on the market as soon as possible.'

Jenna sipped her white wine, and wondered why Eve Callaghan was so keen for them to sell.

Chapter 7

Jenna kicked off her shoes and threw her handbag on the bed. With a frustrated exhalation, she yanked open the door of the minibar fridge and pulled out a small bottle of white wine. So what if she'd already had two glasses during the evening?

_Damn this Irish inheritance. Damn the family links that had brought her here. Damn Eve Callaghan. And damn Guy Sinclair, too_.

Glass in hand, she dropped down on the chair near the window. Some of the wine sloshed on her trousers, leaving a dark stain after she'd brushed it with her fingers.

She took a quick gulp of wine.

_Calm down, Jenna_.

The evening had been a disaster. Eve Callaghan had fawned over Guy, directing all her comments to him, leading him off in discussions about Ireland and America, and heaven knows what else. Despite what he'd said about feeling uneasy, he'd responded to her flirting, laughing with her and exchanging amused glances.

In contrast, he'd hardly spoken more than a dozen words to Jenna all evening. Instead, she and Dan had chatted, and she'd shared with him what Charley had told her about her grandfather's mother and grandmother.

So, what game was Guy playing? Was he interested in Eve Callaghan, despite his reservations about her?

The memory of his kiss forced its way into her mind. He'd made excuses, said it was the room and the dress, but she hadn't imagined the passion in their kiss or the intensity in his eyes after Dan's voice had interrupted them.

'Oh, to hell with him,' she muttered, and downed the rest of her wine.

Tomorrow they'd return to Dublin and, with a bit of luck, she could catch an evening flight to London. If he wanted to come back to Ireland, he could do it on his own. She'd tell him she wanted to sell the house, and that would be the end of it.

A light knock on the door startled her. _Who on earth—?_

Her breath hitched when a squint through the peephole showed Guy standing outside. For half a second, she was tempted to ignore his knock, but curiosity got the better of her.

She opened the door but left the security chain on its latch.

'What do you want?'

'To talk to you.'

'Like you've been doing all evening?'

'Jenna, I need to explain. Please, may I come in?'

After a moment's hesitation, she released the chain. 'What do you need to explain?'

'Two things. First, about Eve.'

Turning away from him, she headed back to the window. 'What about her?'

'She's pressuring us to sell, Jenna, and I don't understand why.'

'I had the same impression. While you were at the bar getting her drink, she said we should sell as soon as possible, before the market gets worse.'

'That might be true, but she's too insistent, which makes me wonder if she knows someone who wants to buy the house.'

'It's possible, I suppose. You seemed to be getting on very well with her.' She winced inwardly as she realised her last sentence sounded like a jealous and resentful lover, and raised her hands. 'Sorry, none of my business.'

'I was simply trying to sweet talk her in the hope she'd let her defences down and slip up somewhere about her unusual interest in the house and its contents.'

'Did she?'

'No, but she gave me her email address and asked me to let her know what we decide.'

Still smarting from the way he'd given all his attention to Eve, she couldn't stop her response. 'Huh! What if that's nothing to do with the house, but because she fancies the pants off you?'

''Scuse me? Fancies the pants?'

Despite the tension between them, she managed a smile. 'Are you not familiar with the expression? It means to be very attracted to someone.'

Guy started to laugh. 'She wants to get my pants off?'

Her cheeks grew hot, but she nodded. 'Yes, I suppose so.'

'Jenna, I have no interest in Eve, at least not as far as my pants are concerned.' He looked down at the minibar. 'Is there a can of beer in there?'

'Help yourself.'

He bent to retrieve a can and held up a bottle of wine. 'Want another? You may need it when I tell you what I've discovered about Ellen Hayden.'

'I shouldn't because I've already had too much wine tonight, but okay, I will. I can't believe so much has happened in one day.'

'Me either.'

She sat down and tried to relax as she waited for Guy to pour her wine. 'We'd say me neither, but I'm not into semantics right now. What have you discovered about Ellen?'

He handed her the glass and sat in the other chair. 'I found an article about her. She was an actress.'

' _What?_ ' As she jerked upright, some wine splashed over the glass. 'Oh, damn, it's the second time I've done that in the last ten minutes.'

Guy started to stand. 'I'll get a towel from the bathroom.'

'No, I'm fine.' She brushed the splashes away from her knee. 'Come on, tell me more about Ellen Hayden.' She was tense again, but now it was for a different reason from her earlier annoyance over Guy and Eve.

After settling back in his chair, he pulled his phone from his shirt pocket. 'There's a short biography and a photo, too.'

He handed the phone to her, and she peered at the sepia photo with the caption: _Ellen Hayden as Portia in The Merchant of Venice, 1893_. It showed a woman in a high-necked dress with large puffed sleeves, finished with ribbon bows. Although she was half turned to her left, rather than looking straight at the camera, and her hair was pulled into a bun on the top of her head, it was without doubt the same woman as in the portrait.

'It's definitely her, isn't it? At least it means the make-up I found in the dressing table drawer was theatre make-up, and not because she was a prostitute.' She grinned as she gave the phone back to Guy. 'Having said that, acting was considered a morally dubious profession for Victorian women.'

'Because men disapproved of women who put themselves on public show?'

'Double standards abounded at the time. The Prince of Wales had his mistresses, but his wife was expected to be beyond reproach. The same probably applied to all the upper class.'

'And the middle class, too.' Guy swiped his screen and read, 'Ellen Hayden, born about 1870, made her debut at Mr. Toole's Theatre in the Haymarket in 1889, attracting critical acclaim for her portrayal of the tragic heroine in _Romeo and Juliet_. She followed this with more success in a variety of Shakespearean roles, from a witty Rosalind in _As You Like It_ to an anguished Desdemona in _Othello_. For five years, she was the darling of the London stage, but disappeared from public life in 1895. It is believed her family had disowned her, some reports suggesting she was the daughter of a respected Anglican priest and the sister of a Member of Parliament, neither of whom could be expected to approve of her career choice. Nothing further is known about her once she abandoned the theatre.'

'Maybe her stuffy father and brother made her give up her acting career.'

Guy pursed his lips. 'Or perhaps she escaped to Ireland to get away from them, and lived at Mist Na Mara with her lover.'

Jenna stared at him, and then laughed. 'Now you're letting your imagination run riot.'

'No, it was you who suggested the portrait had been painted by her lover, and it's dated 1896, the year after she disappeared from London.'

She nodded. 'Somehow, the artist caught a loving look in her eyes, but he may not have been her lover, of course. He might have told her to think of her lover while she was sitting for the portrait.'

'William Lewis Keating became an artist as well as an architect, and that skill seems to be in my family genes. It's too much of a coincidence to ignore.'

'And if Ellen Hayden is my ancestor, maybe I get my acting skills from her. Not that I've emulated her at all. The darling of the London stage when she was nineteen? I wish!'

'What is your ambition, Jenna? I mean, if all things were possible?'

His acute gaze sent a small shiver down her spine, but she smiled. 'When I was in my teens, I used to dream of going to Hollywood and starring in some blockbuster movie. I'd be quite at home at the bow of the Titanic, throwing my arms out wide and letting Leonardo DiCaprio hold me, but that's dreamland stuff, isn't it? If I'm honest, all I want is to enjoy my work, and for other people to enjoy the results, whether it's a TV drama or a stage show.'

'Good answer. We all need some kind of approval for our work.'

'What's your ambition, Guy? What do you want to achieve?'

'In a sense, it's very similar to yours. I'd love to hold an exhibition, not in some posh gallery with the snobbish people who only want to be seen in the right places, but somewhere I can invite people who genuinely enjoy my kind of pictures.'

'But first, you need to paint those pictures. That's why you wanted to sell the house, wasn't it? To give you the money to take time out from your business and paint pictures instead of signs.'

Guy stood up and tossed his empty beer can into the wastebasket under the desk of the wall unit. 'I've been subjected to sell, sell, sell, all evening from Eve. Now you're doing the same. I can't take much more.'

The irritation in his voice grated on her nerves. 'I was just reminding you of what you said yourself.'

'I've changed my mind.'

She looked up at his stern features and quirked her mouth wryly in an effort to defuse the situation. 'I thought that was a woman's prerogative.'

His face relaxed, and he gave her a sheepish grin. 'Sorry. It's just that I don't like feeling pressured. And I don't mean I've changed my mind about wanting to paint, but I don't want to make any rushed decisions.'

'Yes, I know, and I appreciate what you said earlier this evening, and—' She was tempted to make another comment about the way he'd talked to Eve all evening, but resisted. 'And I asked Dan about an interim payment, and he said there'd be no problem.'

Guy's eyes widened. 'We can have our half shares of the money before we make any decision about the house?'

'Yes.'

'Great. That means I can afford to come back to Ireland sooner than I expected.'

Jenna stood and took a couple of steps toward him. 'Guy, I do understand why you want to come back here. Ireland's worked its magic, and somehow there's a link between us in the past.'

His deep blue eyes rested on her. 'Not only in the past.'

As she stared up at him, common sense told her she should move away, but her wine-fuddled mind stopped working when his mouth met hers and his warm tongue teased her lips.

Automatically, her arms went up to grasp his shoulders. One of his hands caressed her back and the other tangled her hair as their kiss deepened. The room whirled around her, and she knew she'd had too much wine, but nothing existed except him and her growing arousal. She was only half-aware of him edging her backwards until he fell onto the bed and pulled her down with him.

His hand moved to her breast, fondling it gently until she was gasping at the thrills scudding through her, and she reached to unbutton his shirt. Three buttons were enough for her to slide her hand against his warm chest, and his tongue leaping into her mouth told her his arousal was as high as hers.

With a supreme effort, she managed the rest of the buttons and thrilled to the feel of his firm abdominal muscles. Their kiss became intense and hungry, but when she started to move her hand down past his waistband, he pulled away with a sudden groan.

'If we don't stop now, I won't be able to.'

She rested her hand on his chest again. 'Do you want to stop?'

'No, but—' He moved aside and hauled himself upright. Reluctantly, she did the same and sat by his side at the end of the bed.

'But what?'

He didn't reply, and she looked round at him. His chest was heaving, and she suppressed a smile when he squirmed and adjusted the pull of his pants. After he'd refastened the lower buttons of his shirt, he turned to her.

'I'll be honest. I was attracted to you when we first met at the airport. That was why I suggested we might meet up in the evening. Of course, I didn't have a clue then about— Well, I was knocked out when you appeared outside Dan's office.'

'So was I.'

'It seems ages ago now, doesn't it?'

'Yes. Last night at this time, we were in the bar in Dublin, listening to the music.'

'I wanted to kiss you at least half a dozen times.'

'Why didn't you?'

'Too fast, too soon, maybe?'

'And now?'

He studied her for a moment. 'Has it occurred to you we might be related? Blood-related, I mean.'

'Yes, but even first cousins are allowed to—' She'd been about to say marry but stopped, her cheeks growing hot. That was definitely too fast, too soon. 'You know what I mean. It seems unlikely our grandparents knew each other, so any blood relationship between us is probably fairly diluted.'

'True, and so far we haven't found the link to William Keating, apart from a wild guess about him being Ellen's son. In which case, he's related to your family, because I'm sure you're one of Ellen's descendants—'

Jenna put her hand on his arm. 'Guy, I can't cope with any more family history right now.' She wanted another arousing kiss from him, and more...

'You're right, it's been a long day, and you're tired. I'll go now and let you get some sleep.'

She slipped her arm round his back and rested her head against his shoulder. 'No, that wasn't what I meant. You don't have to go.'

'I know it wasn't, but I _do_ have to go.'

'Oh, come on, Guy.' Bringing her free hand up to his chest, she slid it through the open part of his shirt. 'You can't kiss me like that and then leave me.'

She raised her head and reached forward for another kiss.

He jerked away and stood up. 'I'm sorry. Sleep well. See you tomorrow, Jenna.'

Before she could reply, he'd taken a few long strides to the door and closed it behind him.

She stared at the door, frustration tightening her nerves. _How dare he walk out on her?_

In the next second, a lead weight dropped inside her as she realised she'd made a complete and utter fool of herself.

* * *

Guy let himself into his own room, but didn't bother to turn on the light. He pulled a can of beer from the minibar and took a big gulp as he walked across to the window. A full moon had risen, and he gazed at the silver edges of the small waves in the harbour below. Beyond, the uneven low hills were black against the moon glow of the navy-blue sky.

Beautiful, entrancing, uplifting... What was it about Ireland that had stirred his imagination and provoked such an emotional response deep inside him? He was no stranger to awesome scenery. He'd hiked in the Adirondacks, skied in the Rockies, camped in Yellowstone, even motorbiked the whole of Route 66 one summer vacation. But, after only two days here, this small island exerted a strange kind of pull he'd never experienced anywhere else.

Twenty-four hours ago, he'd had every intention of telling Daniel McGrath to sell the house. Eve's advice should have confirmed that decision.

Her words echoed in his mind. 'House prices have dropped all over Ireland and are continuing to do so. There are English people with a soft spot for the Emerald Isle who are taking advantage of the low prices to buy second homes here.'

It made sense to sell before prices dropped even further, so why was he hesitating?

No, it was stronger than that; more positive than simple hesitation. Somewhere, at the back of his mind, where he couldn't quite catch hold of it, was a whisper of some hazy and unsubstantial idea.

When had that idea, whatever it was, first started? As they drove through the Connemara mountains and something compelled him to draw quick sketches of them? When he'd discovered a link to the Lewis name and the family history started to intrigue him? Or was it when they first saw the house in its sensational setting?

His mind jumped to the dust-covered bedroom, and then to the portrait, and Jenna appearing with the green gown clasped in front of her.

_Jenna_.

He took another swig from his beer can.

What he'd told her was true. He _had_ been attracted to her when they met at the airport. He'd wanted to kiss her last night in Dublin, too. He liked her easy-going and unpretentious charm, her sense of humour, her enthusiasm and, yes, if he was being honest, her attractive features and her slim figure, and...

A small groan escaped him. Dammit, once he'd realised she was an actress, every instinct told him to stay clear. No way did he want another Suzie.

To start with, Suzie had been fun – vivacious, attractive, sexy. But how many times had she broken their dates to go to yet another audition? He'd tried to be supportive, to commiserate with her when she didn't get the part, and to sympathise with her criticisms of whoever _had_ been successful, and how she knew she was so much better than them.

He had gone with her to the kind of parties he loathed, where everyone was trying to impress everyone else with how wonderful they were, and he'd lost count of the times some unemployed actor name-dropped a famous director or Hollywood star, as if they were bosom buddies.

The theatrical world was all so phoney, so overdone. It seemed to him they were acting offstage even more than onstage, calling everyone darling when he knew damn well they wanted to scratch out each other's eyes. They were all – or so it appeared – on the verge of being discovered, whereas the truth, of course, was that for every single actor on the Broadway stage, there were a hundred others desperate to get a foot inside the door.

And then Suzie got her big break, as she called it. He saw it for what it was – a very small role in a Hollywood B movie, with an unknown director.

'This is just the beginning, honey,' she told him. 'I feel it in my bones, so let's move to Los Angeles and start living. There are so many more opportunities over there.'

'Not for me,' he said. 'My business is here.'

Their three-year relationship had ended, and he had been relieved. Never again would he get involved with any actress.

Chapter 8

The insistent beeps of her phone alarm woke Jenna. As she reached to switch it off, she groaned at the dull ache behind her forehead.

'Shouldn't have had the last glass of wine,' she muttered.

The events of the previous evening percolated into her mind. Had she dreamt all that? A second later, she knew she hadn't, and the heat of mortification crept from her neck to her cheeks.

She sat up and winced at the morning light coming through the gap in the dark blue curtains. Leaning back against the cushioned headboard, she closed her eyes and tried to think.

All right, Guy had instigated the kiss, but then she'd gone overboard, and he'd pulled away from her. Not once, but twice.

If she hadn't been tipsy, she'd have understood the message the first time when he broke their kiss and sat up. He'd even started to fasten his shirt buttons again. That should have spelled it out to her, but...

_Oh God, I was all over him. I even invited him to stay here overnight_.

Her mind worked overtime as she switched on the coffee maker and went into the bathroom for a shower. Once dressed, she downed a full bottle of water from the minibar followed by a large mug of black coffee. The pounding in her head lessened, and she started to feel a little more human, but a knot of apprehension formed in her stomach as she went downstairs.

How on earth was she going to face Guy again? Act nonchalantly and pretend nothing had happened? Or apologise for her stupid behaviour? She slowed down as she approached the restaurant door, and struggled to control her inner trembling. Maybe it all depended on whether Dan was with him.

'Good morning. Table for one, madam?' the breakfast host asked.

'No, I'm with—' When she spotted Eve Callaghan with Guy and Dan, her already taut nerves tightened into coiled springs. 'I'm with those three.'

'Ah, here you are, Jenna,' Eve said as she approached the table. 'Oh, you're very pale. Are you not well?'

'Too much wine last night.' Jenna sat next to Dan and avoided looking across the table at Guy. 'Is there any coffee?'

Dan lifted the white jug and poured some into her cup. 'This should revive you, and you can help yourself to whatever you like from the buffet.'

'I usually have toast for breakfast.'

'You don't want a full Irish? Eggs, rashers, sausages, fried potatoes, black pudding?'

She shuddered. 'No, thanks, not unless you want me puking up in your car on the way back to Dublin.'

Dan stood up. 'I'll get some toast for you, Jenna.'

'It's okay, I can—'

He'd already headed across the restaurant to the buffet table and, still not wanting to look at Guy, she turned to the window. 'The weather's not as good as yesterday, is it?'

What an inane comment! Yesterday had been sunny and warm; today, low grey clouds hung over the hills.

'Aye, rain's forecast for later,' Eve said, 'but we're used to it. It comes in from the Atlantic, and of course we get more here on the west coast than the east.'

'Is that why it's called the Emerald Isle, because the rain makes everything so green? Forty shades of green?'

Jenna glanced at Guy when he asked the question, but he was looking at Eve and not at her. _Was that deliberate?_ She wasn't sure, but one thought dominated her mind. She'd completely blown it with him because of her behaviour the night before.

Eve laughed. 'Everyone thinks forty shades of green was invented by Johnny Cash, but the phrase was used long before he sang it, Guy.'

'He wrote the song after visiting Ireland in the fifties, didn't he?'

Jenna gazed through the window while Eve and Guy talked about Irish songs. She was past caring now. The sooner she was on the plane away from Ireland and away from Guy Sinclair, the better.

Dan brought her a plate of toast, including a slice of soda bread, which looked more like cake to her.

She eyed it curiously. 'I've never had this before. Do I eat it as it is?'

'You can slather it with butter and jelly like I did,' Guy said.

Startled, she looked across at him. 'Jelly?'

'He means jam.' Eve put her hand on Guy's arm. 'We've already had this discussion. You say jelly, and we say jam.' She glanced across at Jenna. 'I've been teaching him our Irish words.'

Jenna began to butter her toast. 'Don't you mean English words? I thought the Irish spoke Gaelic.'

Her words came out more abruptly than she intended, but Eve let out a peal of laughter.

'Ach, I don't want to confuse the poor man too much. I'll give him a lesson in _Gaeilge_ next time he comes to Ireland.'

Guy chuckled. 'The only Irish I know is _céad míle fáilte_. A hundred thousand welcomes.'

'No, no, you're pronouncing it all wrong, Guy. _Céad_ is pronounced kade, and it's meela, not mila, and—'

Jenna tuned out of the conversation as she buttered her soda bread. Perhaps she didn't need to be embarrassed about the previous evening, since Eve was now flirting outrageously. The difference was that Guy seemed to be lapping it up, whereas he'd walked out on her.

But she hadn't been flirting, had she? Her cheeks flooded with heat. No, she'd gone for a full-scale seduction – which hadn't worked.

'Eve has discovered something.'

Dan's voice broke into her thoughts, and she turned to him. 'About what?'

'Not what. Who. There are two people in Clifden with the surname Keating. Eve found them in the phone book and wondered if you'd like to visit one of them before you leave here.'

Jenna's eyes widened. 'We can't drop in on someone unannounced and ask them about their family history.'

'No, but maybe you can browse around a small gift shop in the town and get into conversation with the owner who's called Rose Keating.'

'Do you think she's related to our Keatings?'

'I've no idea, but Guy told me last night he wanted to follow up any lead to possible family connections.'

'I heard my name,' Guy said.

'Yes, I was telling Jenna about Rose Keating.'

'What do you think, Jenna?' Guy asked.

She avoided looking directly at him by taking her final gulp of coffee. 'It might be a wild goose chase, but it's worth a try.' She diverted her attention to Dan. 'How long will it take us to get to Dublin Airport? I'd like to catch a flight back to London this evening.'

'Three-and-a-half to four hours, depending on the traffic on the M50 around Dublin.'

'Do we have some spare time this morning? It might be interesting to meet this Rose Keating.'

'We'll need to leave here around eleven, so that gives you a couple of hours.' Dan stood up. 'I'm packed and ready. How about you?'

She stood, too. 'Give me five minutes to throw the last few things into my case.'

'I already brought my bag down,' Guy said, 'so Eve and I will meet you in the lobby.'

Jenna followed Dan out of the restaurant.

'They're getting on well, aren't they?' he said, as they waited for the lift. 'I wonder if Eve's told him yet she has a husband and six-year-old son.'

Jenna gaped. 'Are you serious?'

'Perfectly serious. When I met her here about a month ago, she had to rush off to pick him up from school.'

She frowned as they both entered the lift. 'What's she playing at now?'

Dan shook his head. 'I have no idea.'

After she'd put her toiletries and make-up bag into her case and zipped it shut, Jenna thought again about Eve. Guy had insisted he was trying to sweet talk her in the hope of discovering her hidden agenda, if indeed she had one. But his relationship with her, both the previous evening and again this morning, seemed to be going way beyond sweet talk.

'Oh well, it's none of my business,' she told herself, as she pulled on her lightweight red jacket and headed along the corridor.

As she stepped out of the lift into the lobby, her heart sank when she saw Guy standing alone, studying a notice board with tourist information.

'Where are Dan and Eve?' She wished at least one of them was here right now.

'Dan's putting his bag in the trunk – no, the boot, isn't it? And Eve's outside, too. Want me to carry your case again?'

He grinned, and something melted inside her. 'No, it's okay, I can—' She took a deep breath. 'Guy, I need to apologise. I don't usually behave so badly, but I had too much wine last night, and – and I apologise, and—'

He put his hand on her arm and she felt the pressure of his fingers. 'I had too much Guinness, too. Let's forget it.'

She allowed her eyes to meet his. 'Yes – all right – thanks.' _Come on, Jenna, say something coherent that doesn't make you sound like a complete idiot_. 'Do you think this Rose Keating will have any connection with our Keatings?'

Guy released his hand from her arm and bent to pick up her bag. 'Who knows? Oh, and by the way,' he stopped as he reached the front door of the hotel, 'I still have the key for the bedroom at Mist Na Mara. Eve offered to keep it in her office safe, but I told her I'd check with you. What do you think?'

'I'm not sure. Is it the only key?'

'Yes. Eve's agency holds the keys to the gate and house because of the trust fund, and Dan has copies of those keys, but the bedroom key was deposited with his law firm when Helena Keating made her will.'

'I think Dan should keep it.'

She said the words tentatively and was surprised when Guy smiled. 'Good. I was hoping you'd say that.'

Her mind worked overtime as she followed him across the car park to where Dan was waiting with his boot lid open. She'd half-expected Guy to suggest Eve kept the key, but he obviously agreed with her suggestion.

Eve turned as they approached Dan's car. 'I have to go to my office this morning for an appointment at nine-thirty, but you'll let me know if you find out anything from Rose Keating, won't you, Guy?'

'Sure, but don't hold your breath.'

Guy bent to give Eve's cheek a quick kiss, and Jenna noticed her hands gripping his arms which, nevertheless, stayed straight down his sides. She suppressed a smirk and then felt guilty at being so small-minded.

Eve turned to her. 'Lovely to meet you, Jenna. Are you intending to return to Ireland, too?'

'Oh yes. Guy and I are going to find a time when we can come back here. Together, I mean.'

_Heavens, how did she ever learn to be so catty?_ And why did Eve Callaghan provoke this kind of response from her?

' _Guh maith_. Very good.' Eve's reply rang with insincerity, and she turned again to Guy. 'What did you decide about the bedroom key?'

'I'll leave it with Dan. Jenna and I both think it should be kept with Helena Keating's will.'

Jenna knew she hadn't imagined the stony expression on Eve's face.

'Aye, for sure, if that's what you think is best.'

It was blindingly obvious she didn't think it was best at all.

They exchanged farewells, and Jenna's tension eased once Eve left. Ten minutes later, Dan parked in the town's main street with its row of shops, bars and houses, which were colour washed in white, green, blue, cream, even bright orange.

'I'm not sure which is Clifden Gifts,' he said, 'but Eve said it was near the pub where we had lunch yesterday.'

'Okay.' Guy opened his door and turned back to Dan, who'd left the engine running. 'You're not coming with us?'

'No, I need to go to the garage to fill up. Gas station to you, Guy.'

'And you fill up with petrol, not gas. I'm learning the lingo.'

'I'll meet you in the coffee shop over there, but take your time, no hurry.'

It started to drizzle as Jenna walked up the street with Guy. The Connemara mountains they'd been able to see in the distance the previous day were now hidden by grey clouds.

'I guess I won't be drawing any sketches of the Twelve Bens on the way back to Dublin,' Guy said.

'We were lucky with the weather yesterday. Oh—' She stopped beside a shop window in a two-storey cottage-type building, sandwiched between a wine bar and a shoe shop. 'This is it. _Clifden Gifts_.'

Guy studied the window display. 'Some good quality crystal pieces, and attractive china.'

'The Connemara marble jewellery is beautiful. I love the Celtic designs.' Jenna turned to him. 'How are we going to play this, Guy?'

'There's always the possibility that whoever is working in the shop might not be Rose Keating, of course. She may employ someone else as a salesperson. Let's go find out, and then we'll play it by ear.'

He held open the door for her, and she looked around the well-stocked shop, its glass-fronted cabinets containing china and crystal, shelves with linen and woollen goods, and display stands with jewellery and some of the cheaper Irish souvenirs.

'Good morning, how are ye?' A slim, middle-aged woman with sandy hair smiled at them. 'Are ye lookin' for anythin' in particular?'

'You have some very attractive goods here,' Guy said, returning her smile, 'but we're hoping to meet the owner, Rose Keating.'

The woman's eyes narrowed, and her tone was cautious. 'I'm Rose Keating, and this is my shop. And you are?'

'I'm Guy Sinclair, ma'am, and this is Jenna Sutton, and we're trying to find out more about a Keating family who lived around here in the early part of last century.'

The woman's blue eyes lit up with amusement. 'Ah, it's family history ye're after. Are ye related to the Keating family?'

'We're not sure,' Guy replied. 'In fact, we're trying to solve a small mystery.'

'A mystery, is it?'

'We're looking for anyone with links to a William Keating, or to Michael and Bridget Keating, or to Mist Na Mara House.'

'Mist Na Mara? Well now, that's very interesting.'

'It is?'

'Aye, because my grandfather grew up there.'

Chapter 9

'Your grandfather?' Guy shot a quick glance at Jenna before looking back at Rose Keating again.

The Irish woman nodded. 'Aye, Thomas Keating. He lived at Mist Na Mara until he got married. That would be about 1930, because my dad was born in 1942, and he was the youngest of five.'

'Is your grandfather still alive?'

'Bless ye, no, although he lived to a good age. He was eighty-five when he died in—now let me think. Yes, it was 1995.'

Guy heard Jenna's intake of breath and looked round.

'There was a Thomas Keating living with Michael and Bridget on the 1911 census,' she said. 'He was one year old, so he's the right age.' She turned to Rose. 'Did he have an older brother called William?'

Rose frowned. 'William? No, I don't remember him. Grandpa Thomas had two sisters, they were my dad's aunts, o' course. We used to visit one of them when I was small – Aunt Mary, the older one. She never married and lived on the Westport Road. Then there was Aunt Annie, who married a teacher and went to live in Cork.'

Jenna remembered the names from the census. 'Was there a Patrick, too?'

'Ye're right, I forgot about Patrick. He got a job in Dublin, and he was at the Croke Park football match when the Black and Tans fired into the crowd. 1920, that was, and Pat was only eighteen, poor lad.'

'He was shot?'

'Wounded, and died about two days later.' Rose raised curious eyebrows at Jenna. 'How did ye know about Patrick?'

'I found the Keating family on the 1911 census. Michael and Bridget, with five children: William, Patrick, Mary, Annie, and Thomas.'

'Seems you found the right family, 'tho I never heard anything about William.'

'Will your father remember his aunts and uncles?' Jenna asked.

'More than likely. He's in his seventies now, but his memory's as good as it ever was.'

'Would it be possible for us to visit with him?' Guy looked down at his watch. 'We have an hour or so before we need to return to Dublin.'

'It wouldna be a problem, 'cept he and my mam are in Spain. They always go for two weeks every May, and they'll not be back until a week Saturday.'

Guy stopped himself from letting out a grunt of frustration. Instead, he smiled at Rose. 'Maybe we could meet them next time we come to Ireland.'

'That would be grand, 'specially if ye're distant cousins. And you're American, aren't you?'

'Yes, from New York City.'

'O' course, thousands went to America during the Great Famine. There's plenty o' folk here with relatives in America.'

Guy nodded. 'They say fifty million Americans can claim Irish ancestry.'

Rose turned to Jenna. 'Now your accent is English, isn't it?'

'Yes, I grew up in Kent, but I live in London now.'

'And do ye know your link to the Keating family?'

'No, not really.'

As Jenna hesitated, Guy decided there was no harm in telling Rose Keating the reason for their interest in the family. 'Jenna and I have inherited Mist Na Mara as part of the legacy of a Helena Keating who died last year.'

Rose's blue eyes widened. ' _Jaysus_ , is that right? The house has stood empty for as long as I can remember. When we were kids, we used t'say it was haunted, and that's why no one would buy it.'

He laughed. 'Nothing quite so exciting, I'm afraid. It was left to Helena by her father, William Keating, who instructed her to leave it to members of the family. According to our lawyers, that's Jenna and me, but neither of us is aware of any connection between our families and the Keatings.'

'Have ye visited the house?'

'We went there yesterday.'

'What are ye going to do with it?'

He shot a quick glance at Jenna. 'We've not decided yet. It's only been a few days since we first found out about all this.'

'But ye'll be coming back here to Clifden?'

'Yes, but we're not sure when.'

Rose reached over to the side of counter and picked up a couple of small cards. 'Here, take these. They show my phone number and my email address. I'm not very good with the email, but my niece puts me right when I do something wrong on the computer.'

Guy fished in his back pocket for his wallet and pulled out his own business card. 'And here's mine. If your father can tell you any more about your grandfather's family, perhaps you'd email me?'

'I'll do that, and will ye let me make you both a cup of tea now?'

'Thank you, but we mustn't take up any more of your time.' He looked around as an elderly couple came into the shop. 'You have customers to attend to, and we'd like to look at some of the goods you're selling here.'

'Ye're very welcome.'

As he and Jenna moved away from the counter, he bent toward her and kept his voice low. 'I think we ought to buy something, as a kind of thank you for her help.'

'Yes, you're right. I'd like one of the sweatshirts.'

'And my mom would love some real Irish crystal.'

They wandered to different areas of the shop, and Guy picked up a boxed set of Galway crystal tumblers. On his way back to the counter, he passed a stand with a display of Connemara marble jewellery. One caught his eye, and he pulled out his phone and scrolled through the photos he'd taken the previous day. When he found a close-up of the portrait, he smiled and picked up the green Celtic knot pendant on a silver chain.

He paid for his purchases and waited until Jenna eventually came to the counter carrying two sweatshirts. 'Couldn't make up your mind?'

'This one's for me—' She held up a dark green sweater with a Celtic design on the front, and another with a large dancing leprechaun. 'And this is for my friend Charley.'

He remembered she'd been speaking on her phone to someone called Charlie last night and wondered if he was her boyfriend. A second later, he told himself it didn't matter. He wasn't interested in Jenna Sutton.

So why had he just bought a Connemara marble pendant for her?

* * *

After bidding farewell to Rose Keating, they walked to the coffee shop to join Dan. Now Eve was no longer with them, Jenna was relieved her easy-going relationship with Guy had resumed. She forced herself to forget his kisses, and tried to get her mind around Rose Keating's information.

'I'm certain our William Keating was one of Rose's grandfather's brothers,' she said. 'All the other names fitted with the 1911 census record of the family. Patrick, Mary, Annie, and Thomas.'

'I wish her father wasn't on vacation right now.'

'Actually, it could help.'

Guy frowned. 'Huh? How?'

'If Rose tells him about us, he'll have time to think about his family, including details he might not recall if we visited him out of the blue.'

'I get what you're saying, but it's still odd how Rose knew her father's other aunts and uncles, but not William.'

'Rose said her father was born in 1942, so he might not know anything about William, because he died in 1940, and his widow and daughter moved to the other side of Ireland.'

'But she knew Patrick was killed in 1920.'

'Oh – yes, I didn't think about that.' Jenna cast a wry glance at him. 'We seem to be taking one step forward and three steps back, don't we?'

'Has it occurred to you that all this family history doesn't really matter?'

'You mean we should be thinking about the present, not the past, and deciding what we're going to do with the house?'

'I guess so, although I admit I'm becoming increasingly intrigued about the family.'

'So am I.'

'Are you still willing to come back here and explore the house?'

'I'd started to think you might prefer to explore it with Eve Callaghan.' She said the words without thinking, and held her breath as she waited for Guy's reaction.

To her surprise, he caught hold of her hand and pulled her to a standstill. She looked around at him, only to see a reproachful expression in his eyes.

'Have you forgotten what I said last night?'

She knew exactly what he meant, but feigned innocence. 'About what?'

'Jenna, I have absolutely no interest in Eve.'

'Despite the fact she's obviously interested in you?'

He shook his head. 'She's far more interested in persuading us to sell Mist Na Mara, but if she thinks her over-the-top flirting tactics will make me say, _Yes, we'll sell_ , she's seriously misjudged me.'

'She hasn't tried _any_ tactics with me, apart from telling me house prices are dropping.'

Guy's mouth twitched slightly before he said, 'Perhaps she thinks she only has to persuade me, and you'll follow like a docile lamb.'

'Huh, as if!'

He laughed. 'Exactly my thoughts. Forget Eve Callaghan, Jenna. We make our own decisions about the house, okay?'

She smiled, despite her nerve-tingling response to his firm fingers still gripping her hand. 'Okay.'

'Now, may we return to my original question? Do you still want to come back here and visit the house again?'

Relieved they'd cleared the air, she nodded. 'Yes, of course I do. I only had a quick poke in all the drawers in the dressing table, and there are lots of wonderful clothes in the closet. I didn't have time to look at everything properly.'

They reached the coffee shop where Dan was waiting for them and, over their cappuccinos, Jenna told him what Rose Keating had said.

'So it's the right family?' Dan said.

'Definitely. All the names Rose told us are on the 1911 census.'

'Except for William,' Guy added. 'Rose hadn't heard of him and, of course, we still don't have a clue about his connection to Ellen Hayden, or even if there _was_ any connection.'

'We know he bought or inherited the house from Ellen in 1919, so—' Jenna pulled her phone from her bag and swiped the screen.

'What are you doing?' Guy asked

'Charley mentioned a free website with births, marriages, and deaths. Yes, here it is.' She gave him a pert grin. 'You said I looked like Ellen Hayden, and we know William became the owner of the house in 1919, so I'm checking whether my great-great-grandmother Ellen Oliver died in 1919.'

'What will that prove?'

'I'm not sure, but how old would Ellen Hayden be in 1919?'

'The article said she was born about 1870.'

'Which means she'd be forty-eight or nine.' She typed _Ellen Oliver_ and _1919_ in the search boxes and scanned the results. 'Nope, none the right age.'

'Try 1918,' Dan said. 'Or even 1917. If you're thinking William inherited the house from Ellen Hayden, it could have taken a year or more for her will to be proved and administered.'

Jenna changed the date and looked at the list. 'All the wrong – oh, wait a minute. Here's one. Fourth quarter of 1918. Oliver, Ellen H, aged forty-eight.'

'Her middle initial is H?' Guy asked.

Jenna's eyes widened. 'H for Hayden?'

'Her death certificate might confirm that,' Dan said.

'I'll ask Charley's brother how to apply for a death certificate. It's interesting she died so young, as William wasn't very old, either, when he died.'

'William's daughter Helena lived until she was over ninety,' Guy reminded her.

'Good point.' Jenna tapped her screen again. 'Hey, there were a lot of deaths in that quarter of 1918, and not just old people either. All ages.'

Dan nodded. 'That was when the Spanish flu epidemic was at its height, around the end of the First World War.'

'I'm starting to feel really sorry for Ellen Hayden. If this is the same person, of course, and that's still a big if. The darling of the London stage in the 1890s, but disowned by her family until they made her marry some respectable newspaper proprietor, and then she dies of the flu.'

Guy laughed. 'I think you're letting your imagination run away with you, Jenna.'

'Tragic heroines are always more intriguing than sweet, happy ones. And if William _was_ her son, that's another strand to her tragedy. The result of her liaison with an Irish lover, perhaps?'

'You're forgetting the American connection, which I'm at a total loss to explain, apart from William's middle name of Lewis.'

'You can search your American records when you get home, Guy.'

A strange bleakness washed through her at the prospect of him going back to America the next day, and she downed the last of her coffee in an effort to ignore it.

Dan checked his watch. 'If you've finished your coffees, we ought to be setting off, especially if you want to get to the airport for your five o'clock flight, Jenna.'

For a moment, Jenna contemplated staying over in Dublin for another night, but dismissed the idea. Although their morning visit to Rose Keating had eased her tension with Guy, nothing else had changed. Whatever attraction she felt for him was irrelevant. She didn't want to get involved in any relationship right now, let alone a long distance one.

* * *

On the drive back across a grey, drizzly Ireland, Dan and Guy chatted about Ireland's history. Jenna made sporadic comments and, in between, studied the website Guy had found the night before about Ellen Hayden. Was this really her ancestor? And if she was, what link did she have to Ireland?

When they reached Dublin airport, Guy and Dan both got out of the car with her. After Dan pulled her case from the boot, she smiled. 'Thank you so much for taking us to Clifden, Dan.'

'My pleasure, and I hope to see you here again soon.'

'I hope so, too, unless real life gets in the way.' She laughed as Guy picked up her case. 'Guy, you don't need to carry it again.'

'Why break the habit of a lifetime?'

'Hardly a lifetime; just a couple of days.'

His blue eyes met hers. 'It seems a lifetime since we first met here.'

Aware of a frisson of something she couldn't define, she nodded. 'Yes, that's true. We've had a lot to take in.'

'I guess we still have more to discover. You'll let me know if you find the link between your family and Ellen Hayden, won't you?'

'Of course. And you'll—'

'I'll email you with anything I can find out, too. Oh, you'd better give me your email address and phone number.'

They exchanged details, and Guy accompanied her to the check-in desk. He waited until her case disappeared along the conveyor belt, and she picked up her passport and boarding card.

'I need to go through security now,' she said, uncertain whether simply to say goodbye to him or....

'Yes.' He solved her dilemma by bending to kiss her cheek. 'I've enjoyed this time with you, Jenna, and I'm already looking forward to returning to Ireland and seeing you again.'

Her nerves quivered at his kiss and the firm grasp of his hands on her arms. 'Me, too.'

'Hopefully this is _au revoir_ and not _adieu_ then. Oh, and—' He put his hand into the pocket of his jeans and brought out a small velvet-covered box. 'I hope you'll like this. Safe journey, Jenna.'

After thrusting the box into her hand, he turned abruptly and headed for the exit.

Jenna watched as he disappeared through the automatic door, and then lifted the box lid. She stared at the Celtic knot pendant in silver and Connemara green marble, snapped the box shut again, and ran toward the door.

'Guy!' she called.

He'd reached Dan's car, too far away to hear her. A minute later, the car pulled out of its parking space and turned to the exit.

She gazed down at the pendant again and shook her head, unable to make any sense of his unexpected gift. An expensive one, too. She'd noticed the prices in the shop window.

After she'd cleared security and bought a coffee, she pulled out her phone and found Guy's business card in her jacket pocket. She dialled his number, and he answered after one ring. Had he been waiting for her to call?

'Guy, thank you so much. It's beautiful.'

'I'm glad you like it. Can you remember where you saw a similar one?'

'In Rose Keating's shop, you mean?'

'No, someplace else.'

'Where?'

'I'll leave you to figure that out. Call me when you remember.'

She heard the amusement in his voice, but was still puzzled. 'At least give me a clue.'

'No, that would make it too easy. I'll call you later.'

Even after the hour's flight to Heathrow, she was no nearer to working out what Guy meant. Once she landed, she switched on her phone again and saw she had two texts. Perhaps he'd relented and was going to solve the mystery for her.

Disappointment kicked in when one text was from Charley, and the other from her agent.

She opened Charley's first. _Held up in big traffic jam at Chiswick. Wait in arrivals and I'll find you_.

She might have guessed that would happen. Six-thirty in the evening wasn't the best time to be trying to get out of central London. She found a seat in the arrivals hall and opened Sharon's message. _Sent your résumé to casting director. He suggests you audition for Diana Rivers. Call me_.

The name rang a vague bell, and she pressed the key for Sharon's number.

'Hi, Sharon, I just got back to Heathrow. What's the TV series?'

'Oh, didn't I tell you? A new adaptation of _Jane Eyre_ , six-part serial. Could be high profile.'

Jenna's pulse rate increased. Of course! Diana Rivers was the sister of St. John Rivers, who took _Jane Eyre_ in after she fled from Thornfield and Mr. Rochester. Admittedly, it was a small role, probably only appearing in one episode, but at least it was better than an unnamed and uncredited maidservant. She made a mental note to read the relevant chapters in the novel before Monday.

'Sounds good. Any idea what the director's looking for?'

'I'll email you the character profile.'

'Great, thanks. Talk to you soon.'

After she ended the call, Jenna let her mind wander around the possibilities. _If_ she got the role and _if_ the series was well received, this might be the break she'd been hoping for.

She pursed her lips. It meant she had to forget the house in Ireland, forget the family history intrigue – and yes, forget Guy Sinclair, too. This had to take precedence. It was her career, her whole future.

Chapter 10

Charley opened the pizza boxes they'd collected on the drive back from the airport. 'Come on, tell me all about it.'

Jenna poured out two glasses of red wine. 'I've just told you about the house.'

'I couldn't concentrate properly while I was driving. Anyway, I want to know everything, right from when you landed in Dublin and met your American.'

'He's not _my_ American, but he did give me this as a parting gift.'

She pulled the small box from her bag and handed it to Charley, whose eyes widened.

'Connemara marble? Must have cost him a packet. It's not cheap stuff.'

'He said I'd already seen a similar one, but I can't remember where. All I can think of is when we stood outside Rose Keating's shop, and I made a comment about the jewellery being beautiful. But he said it was somewhere else.'

'What about the Book of Kells? It has Celtic designs, hasn't it? And you said you went to the exhibition with him.'

Jenna chewed a slice of pizza. 'I don't recall seeing anything like this pendant. Heavens, that was only on Tuesday, but it seems ages since we were there.'

'You've obviously had an action-packed three days. C'mon, spill it all.'

Two hours later, interrupted by Charley's frequent comments and questions, Jenna finished telling her friend everything. Or nearly everything. She balked at recounting the previous night's fiasco. Her humiliation still ran too deep to admit Guy's rejection of her drunken pass, even to her best friend. Instead, she told Charley how Eve Callaghan had flirted with Guy.

'He thinks she has some hidden agenda.'

Charley grunted. 'I bet she knows someone who wants to buy the house and all its contents at a bargain price. She's probably guessed the value of some things, but hopes you won't bother to get every single item valued.'

'She made a lot of notes when we went round the house, and she was miffed when Guy wouldn't let her see the locked bedroom and told her he was leaving the key with Dan.'

'Did you tell her what was in the room?'

'Only the very basic information. Guy stopped me from mentioning the portrait.'

'What makes you think it's a portrait of Ellen Hayden? Oh, I forgot something.'

'What?'

'Matt sent me an email this morning, but I was rushing to get to my nine o'clock appointment. It was headed _Info about Ellen Oliver for Jenna_ so I didn't open it. Hold on a mo, while I go and print it out.'

Jenna was in the process of clearing their pizza debris when Liz and Maria, their two housemates, came into the kitchen.

'Hi, Jenna, did you have a good time?' Liz asked.

Maria giggled. 'What she means is, did you meet any lovely Irishmen?'

Jenna's cheeks started to burn, but she laughed off the question. 'Does an Irish lawyer count? Early forties, very pleasant, and very professional.'

'Bor-ing!' Liz sang, as she dumped a bag of groceries on the table.

Jenna picked up their wine bottle and glasses. 'We'll go into the lounge if you want to cook in here. Oh, how was your audition, Maria?'

Maria turned her thumb down. 'The usual _thank you very much, Ms. Crossley, we'll let you know_ crap. Not a flicker across their faces during the whole audition.'

'Bad luck.' Jenna gave her a sympathetic smile. The same would probably happen at her own audition the following Monday, despite her raised hopes.

'Liz got another advert job, though.'

'Yeah, hair conditioner again.' Liz struck a dramatic pose with one hand to the back of her head and her other arm outstretched. 'I toss back my honey blonde locks and rave about how Gloopy Gunk makes my hair gloriously gorgeous.'

Maria snorted. 'Your out-of-a-bottle honey blonde hair, you mean.'

'Don't knock it. At least I get my hair coloured and conditioned for free.'

Maria fingered her own mousey brown curls. 'Maybe I should go blonde and try for advert jobs, but this isn't why we all went to drama school, is it?'

Jenna gave a philosophical shrug. 'We always knew it wouldn't be easy. They told us eighty-five percent of Equity registered actors are out of work at any given time. Though in my case, out of work means doing all the hours they can give me at the coffee shop, and it's why Charley has – what's the word? – diversified into event planning.'

'We could all end up diversifying.'

Maria's voice held a gloomy note of resignation, and Jenna patted her shoulder. 'Don't get depressed. Remember what A.J. said over and over again at drama school?'

'Yeah, yeah. Learn something from every rejection, and persevere. I'll probably be repeating the same mantra when I'm sixty-five, even though I still haven't had anything more than a walk-on role.'

It was the wrong time to tell the disillusioned Maria she had an audition for a part in _Jane Eyre_. 'I'll leave you to sort your supper,' she said. 'Charley's been printing some information out for me.'

As she reached the door of the lounge, Charley came downstairs. 'Here it is. I asked Matt to search for Ellen's marriage to Robert Oliver. He said this is probably the right one.'

A gasp escaped Jenna as she looked down at the printed sheet. 'Oh, my God, it really _is_ her.'

'Why? What?' Charley crowded her, peering over her shoulder.

'Marriage, June 1901. Robert Oliver and Ellen Hayden Maguire. This has to be more than a coincidence. Guy was right. I _am_ descended from her.' She sank down on the couch. 'Ellen Hayden, the darling of the London stage in the eighteen-nineties, was my ancestor.'

'Why does Guy think you're descended from her?'

'He said I look like her. I must tell him.'

She pulled her phone from her pocket and typed a text message: _Confirmed. Ellen Hayden Maguire married Robert Oliver in 1901_.

While she waited for a reply, she turned over the printed sheet and drew a family tree diagram. 'This is what we have so far. Here's me, and my father, John Sutton, and my grandfather, James Oliver Sutton. His mother was Louisa Oliver, and Louisa's mother, according to this info from Matt, was Ellen Hayden Maguire who married Robert Oliver. That makes Ellen Hayden my—' She counted up. 'My great-great-grandmother.'

Charley twirled her finger in her dark curly hair. 'Where's what's-her-name? The one who left the house to you.'

'Helena Keating.' Jenna added some more names at the side of her own family. 'Here's Helena, born 1920, died last year. Her father was William Keating, who we thought was the son of Michael and Bridget Keating, but—' She drew a line from William to Ellen. 'It's possible William was Ellen's son.'

'Seems like a quantum leap to me.'

'It might not be such a long shot after all, because we've now proved Ellen Hayden became Ellen Oliver, who died in 1918. The deeds show William as owner of the house the following year, so he could have inherited it from her.'

'Where does Guy's family fit into all this?'

'He's not found a definite link yet.' She added some more names in another column. 'Here's Guy, and his father. I don't think he told me his father's full name, except his middle name was Lewis, and Guy's middle name is Lewis, too. His grandmother was Catherine Lewis. He's not got any further back, but there seems to be a link to the Lewis name, and both William Keating and his daughter Helena were artists, and so is Guy.'

'Why is the name Lewis significant?'

Jenna studied her hastily drawn diagram. 'Oh, sorry, I should have shown William Keating's middle name as Lewis. He signed his paintings as W. Lewis Keating, and the portrait of Ellen was signed E.W.L., so we wondered if the W and L might stand for William and Lewis.' Jenna stopped, widening her eyes as the image floated into her mind. 'The portrait! Why didn't I think of that?'

'What d'you mean?'

Jenna hit the photo gallery icon on her screen just as her phone rang. She smiled when she saw Guy's name.

'Hi, did you get my text about Ellen Hayden Maguire?'

'Yes, but I already knew you had to be descended from her.'

'And I've realised where I saw the Celtic knot pendant. I was about to check my photo of Ellen's portrait.'

Guy's laugh sent a warm buzz through her. 'You're right. As soon as I spotted it in Rose's shop, I realised it was very similar to the one Ellen wore when she sat for the portrait.'

'It's beautiful, Guy. I shall love wearing it.'

'Good, and do you want to know what I've discovered tonight?'

'Go on.'

'My mother called and said she'd asked a friend to do some research. Evidently, my grandmother, Catherine Lewis, was the daughter of Samuel Lewis, and he was the son of Edwin William Lewis who—wait for it—was a well-known Boston artist at the end of the nineteenth century.'

'Great.' Jenna scribbled the names on the family diagram. 'I've been trying to sort out all the info we discovered, but couldn't find any link between your family and the Keatings or Ellen Hayden, except—'

'Jenna.' Guy's voice interrupted her. 'Remember the initials on Ellen's portrait?'

'E.W.L.' Jenna stared down at what she'd just written. 'Edwin William Lewis. Of course! Wow, this is amazing.'

Guy laughed again. 'We're connecting a few jigsaw pieces now, aren't we?'

'We certainly are. Ellen Hayden Maguire was my great-great-grandmother, and Edwin William Lewis was your great-great-grandfather.' Her mind worked overtime. 'If Edwin painted the portrait of Ellen, and if William Lewis Keating _was_ their son, we've found the link between our families and Helena Keating.'

'You're right. William would be the half-brother of both Ellen's daughter Louisa, and of Edwin's son Samuel. The link we haven't yet found is between them and the Keatings. If William was the son of Ellen and Edwin, why did they leave him in Ireland with Michael and Bridget Keating?'

'Good question. I don't have an answer. Do you?'

'Nope, apart from Ellen's marriage to Robert Oliver. Maybe she couldn't tell him she already had a son.'

'More to the point, why didn't she marry Edwin Lewis?'

'I wondered about that, until I checked the dates. Edwin's son, Samuel, was born in 1890, and his mother's name was Violet. Doesn't that suggest Edwin was already married?'

'Ah-ha.' Jenna nodded slowly. 'Perhaps he abandoned Ellen when he discovered she was pregnant, and went back to his wife in America.'

'In which case, I'd say what a jerk. Unfaithful to his wife, and leaving his lover with an illegitimate child? When I get home, I'll see what else I can find out about him.'

'Did you manage to book a flight tomorrow?'

'Yes, eleven o'clock.'

'Where are you now? Temple Bar again?'

'How did you guess? We're in the same bar you and I visited on Tuesday evening.'

'We?' As soon as she said the word, Jenna bit her lip, hoping he wouldn't think she was being nosey.

'Yeah, Dan's with me. He's been telling me a few things about Eve, but I'll email you when I'm home.'

A flame of longing to be back in Dublin with him scorched through her, but she kept her voice casual. 'Look forward to it.'

* * *

Guy put his phone back in his pocket and wished Jenna was sitting next to him, as she'd been two nights earlier. He couldn't blame her, though, for wanting to go back to London. She must be as embarrassed as he was about what happened in her room in Clifden. Okay, she came on to him, but it wasn't her fault. He'd behaved like a desperate-for-sex adolescent, pulling her down on the bed with him. Thank God his brain had clicked into gear when it did.

Not that he would have been averse to taking things further, but no way could he take advantage of a woman who'd had one drink too many. Besides, after his spontaneous kiss in Ellen Hayden's bedroom, he'd told himself to knock his attraction to her on the head. Even if she hadn't been an actress, any relationship between them was doomed to failure when they lived in different countries.

He dismissed his thoughts when Dan returned from the bar with two more pints of Guinness.

'Thanks, Dan. I called Jenna, and it's possible Ellen Hayden Maguire and Edwin William Lewis are the link between our families. Jenna thinks William Keating was their illegitimate son.'

'Your next step is to check for any birth records of William with the surname Lewis, Hayden, or Maguire.'

'If he was adopted by the Keatings, won't there be adoption records, too?'

'No. Adoption wasn't legally recognised until the 1950s here in Ireland. It happened, but it was a private arrangement, with no official records. If William Keating _was_ Ellen's son – which is still a big if, of course – and if she entrusted him to the care of the Keatings, they probably gave him their own surname when he started school, and also on the census record, to avoid any awkward questions being asked.'

'That might explain why he used the name Lewis on his paintings, because it was his real surname, not a middle name. Wonder why he kept the Keating name, though?'

Dan sipped his beer. 'There could be any number of reasons. Presumably everyone knew him as Keating, or he did it out of respect for Michael and Bridget who'd brought him up, or he didn't want to be confused with his father by calling himself William Lewis. That's assuming he was registered with his father's surname, and not Hayden or Maguire.'

Guy's mind went back to the portrait. Ellen Hayden, painted by Edwin Lewis. _The look of love_ , Jenna had said. _Perhaps with the artist_. He'd laughed at her over-active imagination, but now it seemed she might be right.

Another image came into his mind: Jenna, holding the green dress in front of her. The colour suited her, and he'd love to see her wearing it and reclining on the chaise longue, exactly as Ellen had done. He imagined himself standing at his easel, painting her portrait.

Something tightened deep inside him, and he took a quick gulp of his Guinness.

'You're intending to come back to Ireland to visit the house again?' Dan asked.

'Definitely. I know it makes perfect sense for us to sell before prices drop even more here, as seems to be happening right now. I lost count of how many times Eve pressed that fact on me. But I don't want Mist Na Mara to be sold to a property developer, to be torn apart and converted into apartments for tourists who'll only spend a couple of weeks there each year.'

'I'm inclined to agree. It's a beautiful house.'

'You're right.' Guy stared into space for a few moments. 'And there's a vague idea at the back of my mind I can't quite catch hold of.'

* * *

He caught it halfway across the Atlantic the next day. Flicking through his sketchbook, he stopped when he reached his sketches of the Twelve Bens and the view from his hotel room of the harbour with the hills beyond it. Even though he always thought of himself as a people painter, the beautiful Connemara scenery had prompted him to make those sketches.

The idea rushed into his head like a flash flood. What if the house became an artists' retreat? A secluded location in the surroundings that had already inspired him, for others to come and relax, and draw and paint. They could employ an artist-in-residence to run workshops and...

He slumped back in his seat. What was it about being airborne that took your thoughts away from reality and into some fantasy land? It was impossible, of course. To set up something like that needed money, far more than he had, even from Helena Keating's legacy. Her father's trust fund was limited to essential maintenance, not to updating the house to modern, and probably legal, requirements for commercial use.

Deflated, he continued to flick through his photos, and stopped at the portrait of Ellen Hayden.

He needed to do some research about Edwin Lewis when he got home. All he knew about the Boston School in the late nineteenth century was that they were influenced by European impressionism rather than by the American style. The portrait of Ellen was a typical example in its use of colour and detail, and simple but genteel sophistication.

It could be worth several thousand dollars, but even that wouldn't be enough for his new dream of an artists' retreat. Anyway, it wasn't his to sell. It belonged to Jenna, since it was her great-great-grandmother.

He rested his sketchbook on his knees and started to draw. Fast, decisive strokes of the dress, the arms, the hands, the silver Celtic knot pendant around her neck. With lighter strokes, he added the face and hair. From his memory, not from his photograph of the portrait.

When he gazed down at his completed sketch, he realised he'd drawn Jenna, not Ellen Hayden.

Chapter 11

After three days of nine-hour shifts at the coffee shop, all Jenna wanted to do on Sunday evening was take a long relaxing bath and chill out in front of the television. Instead, she settled down to prepare for her audition the next day.

First, she reread the character description for Diana Rivers: _intellectually charismatic, aware of, and frustrated by, the injustice of society's treatment of unmarried intelligent women_. Diana was obviously ahead of her times when women were expected to obey their fathers, and then marry and obey their husbands.

Jenna's mind drifted to Ellen Hayden. She'd also defied Victorian conventions by pursuing a career – and not even a respectable one. An actress, not a governess or schoolmistress or nurse, probably the only occupations deemed acceptable for middle class women.

Did Ellen then disappear with her lover to Ireland and have an illegitimate baby? But she'd married someone else and abandoned her son. Why?

With a quick shake of her head, she forced her mind back to the script Sharon had emailed, the scene where Diana Rivers persuaded _Jane Eyre_ not to marry her brother St. John Rivers.

For the next two hours, she rehearsed the lines, recorded herself and listened, then stood in front of the mirror as she decided on gestures and facial expressions.

When her phone rang, she was tempted to ignore it until she saw Guy's name on the screen.

'Hi, Guy.'

'I was about to say good afternoon, but it's evening for you, isn't it?'

'Nine-thirty here. You got back safely then?'

'Yes, I was home mid-afternoon on Friday. I intended calling you yesterday, but my brain was too fogged with jetlag. Next time I come over, I'll make it longer than three days so my internal clock doesn't get confused. At least that's not a problem for you when you travel to Ireland.'

'True. Did you decide when you're going back there again?'

'Not yet. Several of my clients are impatient for new signs, so I need to work on those, and also find someone to take over from me for a while. I have some ideas I want to discuss with you, too, but meantime, here's what I discovered today. Edwin William Lewis, who we think might be Ellen Hayden's lover, died in September 1897. He was thirty-six.'

'Good grief,' Jenna breathed. 'There are a lot of early deaths in this family.'

'Except for Helena Keating, of course. She lived to the ripe old age of ninety-two, remember.'

'She bucked the trend, so there's hope for us all. Do you know the cause of Edwin's death?'

'Not yet. My mom's friend has sent off for a copy of the certificate. At least his death might explain why Ellen didn't marry him.'

'It doesn't explain why she left her child in Ireland.'

'When Dan and I talked about this on Thursday evening, I decided Edwin was a jerk for abandoning his pregnant lover. I'm not sure what word I'd use for Ellen abandoning her child.'

'It was a different world, though, wasn't it? Life wouldn't be easy for an unmarried woman with a child at the end of the nineteenth century.'

'Did you find her on the 1901 census?'

'I haven't had the chance to look. I've been working the last three days—'

'Acting work?'

'No, at a local coffee shop. But I have an audition at one o'clock tomorrow.'

'Yes, I remember you telling me. A period drama, you said.'

'It's a serialisation of _Jane Eyre_.'

'And you're auditioning for the part of Jane?'

Jenna laughed. 'In my dreams. No, one of the smaller roles.'

'Good luck, anyway. Let me know how it goes.'

'Thanks, and yes, I will. I shall wear my Celtic knot pendant for luck.'

'Perhaps I should have given you a leprechaun instead.'

'No, I love the pendant, and I'll imagine I'm Ellen Hayden and stun them with my amazing talent.'

Guy chuckled. 'Game on, Jenna. I'll call you sometime next week. By then I should know when I can visit Ireland again.'

'Great, and I'll try to find out more about Ellen.'

After they both disconnected, Jenna took a long deep breath as her mind ran through their conversation. He had such a wonderful sexy voice, smooth and deep, the kind she always described as dark chocolate. In fact, he was too damned sexy altogether, with his dark hair and blue eyes, and his wide shoulders and firm chest...

She straightened up before her thoughts travelled further, but the heat still rose to her face. Every time she recalled what happened at the hotel on Wednesday evening, mortification swamped her. Quickly, she turned her attention back to the script, before her mind went through the whole embarrassing episode again.

* * *

'Jenna Sutton?'

Jenna jumped up from her chair in the green room and followed the production assistant along the corridor. She fingered the Celtic knot pendant under her plain grey top, and checked her hair was still held back neatly into the smooth bun at the nape of her neck. As the assistant opened the door of the audition room, she slid her clammy hands down the sides of her long black skirt, drew a deep breath and let it out, and entered the room. At least there were only three members on the audition panel, not a dozen or more as there'd been at some of her previous auditions.

Despite her nerves, she remembered to smile. 'Hello, I'm Jenna Sutton, and I'm reading the Diana Rivers role.'

The man in the middle, with a long face and curly brown hair that reached his shoulders, nodded. 'I'm Rob Barton, the casting director.' He indicated the fair-haired woman on his right. 'Hannah, my assistant, will read _Jane Eyre_ 's words. In your own time, Ms. Sutton.'

'Thank you.'

Jenna linked her hands at waist level, with the fingers of one hand curled around the fingers of the other, and let her mind switch into the role. Adopting the concerned expression she'd rehearsed, she started the first speech.

'Jane, you are pale and agitated. Tell me what is amiss between you and my brother. He has long distinguished you by an interest he has never shown to anyone else...'

As the scene continued, and Diana changed from hoping Jane would marry her brother to shock that St. John Rivers wanted Jane to go to India with him, Jenna enjoyed the switch in Diana's attitude.

'Madness!' she exclaimed. 'You would not live three months there. You have not consented, Jane?'

The later speeches, in which Diana persuaded Jane not to be chained to a man who regarded her only as a useful asset to his missionary work, were exciting.

'Impossible! Out of the question!' she said, exactly as she imagined Ellen Hayden saying the same words to her parents when they tried to make her marry a man she didn't love.

The scene ended with another change of mood. 'My brother is a good man,' she said, with a mixture of pride and sorrow, 'but he forgets the feelings of others while he pursues his lofty ideals. And I regret to say he completely dismisses any feelings a woman might have.'

The assistant ended the scene with Jane's words, 'Here he comes. I will leave you, Diana.'

Jenna turned as if watching Jane depart, and then straightened her shoulders waiting for her brother's entrance. She held the pose for a couple of seconds before relaxing into her natural stance and giving the panel a quick smile.

'Thank you, Ms. Sutton,' the casting director said.

The other man on his left, with receding dark hair and black rimmed glasses, let his gaze rest on her. She recalled he'd turned to say something to the casting director during the audition. 'I'm Peter Stones, the director, and I congratulate you on your performance, Ms. Sutton. Tell me, why do you want this role?'

Jenna had prepared for this. No gushing about how she'd always longed to play this part, or about Charlotte Bronte or _Jane Eyre_ , but a truthful answer. 'I like Diana's attitude, Mr. Stones. She's intelligent, and she's frustrated by Victorian attitudes to intelligent women. They were expected to submit to the wishes of the men in their lives. Their fathers first, and then their husbands, or in Diana's case, her brother. I think Charlotte Bronte was expressing her own frustrations through Diana's words. She was a woman in what was then a man's world, and even had to give herself a male name when she first submitted her work to a publisher.'

'What about _Jane Eyre_? Did Charlotte Bronte express her own feelings through Jane's words, too?'

'I believe so. When Jane was leaving Rochester, she made an impassioned speech declaring herself to be his equal. The critics accused Charlotte of trampling on the customs and conventions of the time, which obviously meant male dominance. Of course, the early suffragette movement approved of Charlotte's portrayal of strong women who had minds of their own.'

'Would you have been a suffragette, Ms. Sutton?'

The question from Peter Stones took her aback, but she recovered quickly. 'I'm sure I would have supported their cause, although I don't know if I'd be brave enough to chain myself to the railings at Buckingham Palace. However, if I was living at that time and wanted to be an actress, I hope I'd have the courage to pursue my ambition, despite what society might think about women who put themselves on show.'

Peter Stones raised his eyebrows. 'A chorus girl, Ms. Sutton?'

'No, a serious actress. Like Mrs. Patrick Campbell – or Ellen Hayden.'

_Thank you, Ellen_ , she said inwardly.

'No further questions,' Peter Stones said.

'Thank you, Ms. Sutton.' The casting director glanced down at the papers on the table. 'Your agent is Sharon Woodall?'

'Yes.'

'And will you be available if we require you for a further audition?'

Jenna's heart went into triple beat. 'Yes, of course.'

'We'll contact your agent when we've made a decision.'

'Thank you.'

Before she reached the door, Peter Stones called her back.

'I'm curious, Ms. Sutton. Most people in the acting profession have heard of Mrs. Patrick Campbell, not least because of her relationship with George Bernard Shaw. But Ellen Hayden? The darling of the London stage in the 1890s, who disappeared without trace at the height of her career? Why did you mention her in particular?'

Jenna hesitated, but decided she had nothing to lose. 'Last week, I learned she was my great-great-grandmother, and I'm still trying to find out more about her.'

'How very interesting,' Peter Stones said. 'If you discover why she disappeared, please let me know.'

'Yes, of course I will.'

Jenna's heart danced as she walked along the corridor toward the exit. She had a good feeling about this audition, and sent another silent thank you to Ellen Hayden. If she and Guy hadn't discussed Ellen's life, she wouldn't have been able give such coherent answers to Peter Stones' questions. His interest in Ellen's disappearance was an additional bonus.

Ten minutes later, her phone rang as she entered the underground station, and she stopped to retrieve it before she reached the escalator. Seeing Guy's name on the screen, she stepped to one side, away from the commuters heading down to the platform.

'You're not in the middle of your audition, are you?' he asked.

She laughed, but at the same time a thrill zipped through her because he'd remembered. 'No, I switched my phone off while I was there and switched it on again once I left.'

'How did it go?'

'Quite well, I think. The director was interested in Ellen Hayden.'

'How did you manage to bring up the subject of Ellen at an audition?'

'I talked about attitudes to women in Victorian times and said I hoped I would have had her courage to go against society's expectations.'

'Sounds good, and I'm sure you would, but I don't think you'd abandon an illegitimate child.'

'Perhaps the stigma of that was greater than becoming an actress? If she was strong enough to defy her family with her career choice, there must have been a valid reason for her to leave William with the Keatings.' It seemed slightly incongruous to be having this conversation with Guy at the entrance to the busy station. 'I'm sure we could discuss this forever and a day, but this call is costing you a fortune, Guy.'

'I found a cheap deal for overseas calls. I guessed I might be calling you quite often. You don't mind, do you?'

'Of course not.' Again, the pleasurable tingle shot through her.

'I wanted to tell you what I've discovered about Edwin Lewis. They have several of his paintings in the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, and one called _Mother and Son_ at the Smithsonian in D.C.'

'Does that mean he was – is – quite famous?'

'It would appear so, and it also means his portrait of Ellen could be quite valuable.'

'I hadn't thought about that. Do we need to check the insurance policy for the contents of Mist Na Mara?'

'I called Dan to ask his advice. Didn't tell him about the portrait, but asked whether the insurance would cover the items in the bedroom. He said anything valuable which exceeds the policy limits won't be covered until we give permission for someone to enter the room to assess its worth.'

'As long as it's not Eve Callaghan, I've no objection.'

'You and me both.'

'What should we do, Guy?'

'I'll find out how we can get someone to value the portrait. If everything goes to plan, I can probably fly to Ireland next Friday. How about you?'

Her mind worked overtime. She longed to return to Clifden and see Guy again, but the casting director had mentioned a callback.

'I'm not sure about Friday, in case I'm asked to attend another audition later this week. I might be able to go over to Ireland again after next weekend.'

Guy was silent for a moment. 'Let's see how it goes. I'll call you as soon as I confirm my plans.'

'Yes, I will, too.' Aware of a slight tension, Jenna struggled for something more to say. 'Edwin's painting, _Mother and Son_ – do you know if that's Ellen and William?'

'I checked online, and no, it isn't. The woman has a much longer and thinner face than Ellen. I think it might be Edwin's wife Violet and their son. The child looks about two years old, and it's dated 1892, which would fit with my great-grandfather Samuel's birth around 1890. I have a couple of appointments today, but I'll try to do some research this evening.'

'Let me know if you find any more.'

* * *

Guy sat still for a few moments. He should be making an effort to get Jenna out of his mind, but that was proving difficult. His inner vision still held the image of her face, especially her expressive brown eyes that danced with amusement or livened with interest. The eyes that had avoided his after their first kiss in Ellen's bedroom, but softened with sultry seduction in the hotel.

_Admit it, Guy, you're attracted to her_. Not just physically attracted, although he couldn't deny that part of it, but drawn to her lively personality and her genuine openness. What you saw was what you got, and he liked what he saw.

If only her mention of auditions hadn't reminded him vividly of Suzie... How many times had Suzie broken dates or changed arrangements, in case she was called back to another audition?

His mind shifted tracks. Jenna's words might have echoed Suzie's, but the similarity ended there. Jenna, he was sure, wouldn't be false and flirty with her actor friends, as Suzie had been. She'd rely on her talent, not on cultivating the right kind of people, or being seen at the right kind of parties.

Maybe his opinion of actors was jaundiced, based solely on what he'd experienced with Suzie. All actors weren't necessarily like her and her friends.

'Forget it,' he muttered, as he reminded himself of Jenna's friend Charlie. If she already had a boyfriend, that was another reason he needed to stay clear.

Anyhow, he had too much work to do today to think about Jenna, or even about Ellen Hayden and Edwin Lewis. First, a visit to a bakery on the Upper West Side, followed by lunch at a café on Fifty-Seventh with Andy Russell, who might be interested in a short-term contract as a sign painter. After that, he had to finish his designs for a motorbike repair shop and a mobile pet grooming van.

At six o'clock that evening, he rotated his aching shoulders. The meeting at the bakery had been productive, but Andy had branched out into magazine design and wasn't interested in sign painting. He'd spent the remainder of the afternoon in front of his computer, and the last thing he needed right now was more time staring at a screen. Any further research about Edwin Lewis would have to wait.

His phone rang after he finished the tuna pasta he'd cooked for his supper, and he pulled it from his shirt pocket. Seeing his mother's name on the screen made him realise his pulse had quickened in the hope it might be Jenna.

'Hi, Mom, you okay?'

'You sound tired. Been working hard?'

'Yeah. Probably still some jetlag, too.'

'Did you find out any more about Edwin Lewis?'

'Not had the chance yet. I've had a busy day.'

'Do you want me to call you another time, honey? I have some more information from Roger. You know, Roger Jones from my book club, the one who's into genealogy research.'

'Go on. What else has he discovered?'

'Edwin Lewis was born in 1860 and married Violet Quinn in 1888. Most of the 1890 census was destroyed by fire, so there's no way of finding out where they were then, but Roger got Edwin's death certificate which says he died in a streetcar accident, and in 1900 Violet Lewis was in Danvers Asylum.'

'Asylum?' Guy jerked out of his tiredness. 'Lunatic asylum?'

'Insane asylum, yes, but don't forget, they had different ideas about insanity at that time. Violet was admitted in June 1897, with a diagnosis of hysteria, which could simply mean she was a highly strung young woman. She was released in 1902, and at the 1910 census she was living with her parents in Boston.'

'What about her son Samuel?'

'He was with her in 1910.'

'Where was he in 1900?'

'With his maternal grandparents in Boston.'

'Okay.' Guy's brain struggled to cope with the dates. He grabbed an envelope from the kitchen counter and scrawled the information before he forgot it. 'Anything else about Violet or Samuel?'

'No, that's all Roger told me today.'

'Thank him from me, Mom. I need to get my head around this now.'

'Have you decided what to do with the house?'

'Not yet. I may go back to Ireland at the end of this week.' He remembered what Jenna had said. 'Or possibly the beginning of next week.'

After chatting with his mother for a few more minutes and promising to visit with her soon, he ended the call. He was about to click Jenna's number, but stopped as he remembered the time difference. She wouldn't thank him for disturbing her after midnight.

Maybe, though, he could face an hour or so at the computer after all, if only to satisfy his curiosity about Edwin and his wife and child.

Chapter 12

After a couple of days, Jenna realised she and Guy had slipped into a routine that accommodated their five-hour time difference. He called her first thing in the morning, which usually coincided with her lunch break, and she called him in the late evening when he was finishing his work for the day, between five and six New York time.

'Managed to get two days' work at a local travel agent,' she told him on Thursday. 'I'm stuck in the back room, stamping brochures, which is boring, but it's extra money so I'm not complaining.'

'I don't understand why you—'

'Why I don't get a proper job? You sound like my careers teacher at school.'

'No, that isn't what I was going to say. I know you want to follow your dream. I'm hoping to do the same, if I can find someone to run the business for me.'

'Can't you sell it?'

'No, because I can't sell my father's dream. He started it when he came home from Vietnam. Dreaming about a business of his own helped him cope with everything he experienced out there, so it still operates under his name, not mine.'

'That's a wonderful tribute to his memory.' Jenna's heart warmed at this evidence of Guy's loyalty to his father.

'He taught me a lot about drawing and lettering and three-dimensional work and – anyhow, that's beside the point. What I was about to say was, I don't understand why you haven't applied for a backstage job in the theatre or television. Wouldn't working behind the scenes be better than the boring jobs you're doing in coffee shops and travel agencies?'

Jenna hesitated before she replied, not sure he'd understand her explanation. 'It's something I've considered, but I want to act, and I've given myself five years to find out whether I'm good enough to make acting my lifetime career. I have one year left, so it all depends on what happens in the next twelve months.'

'I guess I'm in the same situation. I'd like to take a year out to find out whether I can make it as an artist, rather than a sign painter. Not that I hold out any hopes of being hung in the Smithsonian like Edwin Lewis.'

'That's like my dream of a starring role on TV or in the West End.'

'We all need dreams, don't we?'

After they finished their call, Jenna returned to the pile of brochures and let Guy's words roll around her mind: _We all need dreams_.

Her dream of a role in _Jane Eyre_ seemed to have come to nothing, since she'd not received any message from her agent. Maybe tonight she'd check _The Stage_ website for any other audition calls...

* * *

'Come on, give me some ideas for _Gone with the Wind_ ,' Charley said.

Jenna arched her eyebrows. 'What kind of ideas?'

'I have an appointment in an hour at a hotel near Barnet. They're planning a theme evening in the autumn, and I've run out of inspiration. Want to come with me, so we can talk about it on the way?'

'Okay.' At least it would take her mind off her disappointment about not getting a callback.

They tossed ideas around as they drove to the hotel in north London. After a tour of the hotel's public rooms, they sat in the bar with the assistant manager – a slim, fair-haired man in his early thirties.

Charley opened her laptop and gave him her suggestions for decorations and floral arrangements, and also southern food and drinks.

The man's anxious expression changed to a relieved grin. 'This is already sounding good. I must admit I had no idea where to start. It was the manager's idea, after a guest said the staircase reminded her of the one in the film.'

'Not the one Scarlett O'Hara fell down, I hope,' Charley said with a laugh. 'Although, thinking about it—'

'Yes, it's similar, but not quite as high.' Jenna looked around at the assistant manager. 'I don't think your health and safety regulations would allow a re-enactment of that scene, Mr. Hunter.'

'Call me Steve. If we're going to work together, we may as well be on first name terms.'

'I'm Charley, short for Charlotte, and this is Jenna.'

'Not short for anything,' Jenna said, 'and I'm here unofficially, but Charley and I have discussed a few ideas.'

'Great. This is my first assistant manager job, and I panicked when the manager delegated the event to me. I saw the film on television years ago, but I can't remember the details, apart from the town being on fire. What did you say earlier about a re-enactment?'

'It can work two ways,' Charley replied. 'There may be guests who are willing to dress up and act out some scenes, or I can book a group of professional actors who specialise in re-enactments.'

Jenna listened as Charley explained some of their other ideas, until the buzz from her phone startled her. Seeing the name on the screen, she stood up. 'Excuse me, I need to take this call.'

It was unusual for her agent to contact her out of office hours, and her pulse quickened as she moved toward the bar door and pressed the icon on her screen.

'Good news, Jenna,' Sharon said. 'Rob Barton rang a few minutes ago. He apologises for this last-minute call, but they want to see you tomorrow afternoon, three o'clock, same place as Monday. Can you do it?'

'Try stopping me.' Excitement mingled with relief that she hadn't agreed to go back to Ireland tomorrow, as Guy had first suggested.

'Good, I'll let Rob know. It'll probably be a longer audition this time, and they may do a screen test. Go prepared with a monologue. Any idea what you might use?'

Jenna's mind zipped through the monologues she'd used in previous auditions. 'Katherine's _My hand is ready_ speech from _The Taming of the Shrew_?'

'Yes, good one. Make sure you sound genuine, not tongue-in-cheek.'

Jenna laughed despite the upsurge of mingled excitement and apprehension that made her heart thump. 'Will do. Thanks, Sharon.'

'Break a leg. Let me know how you get on.'

The deep breath she took to calm herself did nothing to stop the hundred butterflies doing a crazy dance in her stomach. A callback meant there was still a chance of landing a role, and it was impossible not to let her hopes rise.

Charley and Steve were in animated conversation as she went back into the bar, and Charley turned to her. 'Steve doesn't think the gardeners would appreciate an American Civil War group churning up the lawn with their heavy artillery.'

Jenna glanced through the long window at the impressive expanse of manicured grass patterned by the evening shadows of the surrounding trees and shrubs. 'Can't say I blame them, but it would be fun to watch.'

'Mr Hedges, our head gardener, wouldn't think so.'

Charley's eyes widened. 'A gardener called Mr Hedges? I don't believe it!'

'It's true, and one of the assistant gardeners is called Mike Eden. Garden of Eden?' he added, when Jenna gave him the same quizzical look as Charley. As they laughed, he stood up. 'Can I get you both another drink?'

'An orange juice for me,' Charley said. 'I'm driving.'

'Same for me, please.'

'Same for you?' Charley echoed as Steve crossed to the bar. 'Are you ill or something?'

'No, but I'm not risking a hangover. I have a callback tomorrow.'

'Yeah, fantastic!'

'Don't tempt fate.' She made a conscious effort to temper her excitement with realism. 'It's only a first call. There could be half a dozen more before they make the final decision. Anyway,' she went on, after a quick glance toward Steve at the bar counter, 'you two seem to be getting on well.'

Charley's cheeks reddened. 'Yeah, he's very easy to get along with, compared with some of the event people I've worked with in the past.'

'You fancy him!'

'No, I don't! Okay, perhaps a little.'

Jenna winked at her friend as Steve brought the drinks to their table. They chatted for another half-hour, bouncing ideas around about quizzes, Civil War music and dances, and competitions for best impersonations, bonnets, and southern accents.

'I'll work out a possible schedule,' Charley said, 'and I'll get back to you over the weekend.'

'Look forward to it, Charley,' Steve replied as he escorted them to the door.

'He fancies you, too,' Jenna said as Charley drove them home.

'Shut up, or I'll start teasing you about your American.'

Jenna smirked at Charley's embarrassment to disguise the way her heart missed a beat at the reminder of Guy. 'I already told you he's not my American.'

'Oh yeah? But you call him every day or he calls you.'

'We have a lot to discuss, about Ellen Hayden and Edwin Lewis, and all the unanswered questions.' There was no need to tell Charley they hadn't talked much about the family history for a couple of days. 'And we still need to decide what to do about Mist Na Mara, of course.'

'When are you going back to Ireland?'

'I'm waiting to find out when Guy can fly over again.'

* * *

Guy raised his eyebrows when his phone rang at four-fifteen. Jenna didn't usually call until after five.

'Hi,' he said. 'Everything okay?'

'Yes, fine. Are you still working?'

'Almost finished for the day. I had to redesign the pet grooming sign, and I'm hoping for third time lucky. The owner kept changing her mind about what kind of dog she wanted on the sign.'

'What's your third attempt?'

'A cartoon dog, of indeterminate breed. It's a kind of weird cross between schnauzer, spaniel, and poodle, but the owner thinks it's cute.'

'And the customer is always right.'

'So they say. How was your day? Did you stamp all your brochures?'

'I was promoted to filing invoices this afternoon, and this evening Charley and I went to a hotel in north London. She's organising a _Gone with the Wind_ event for them.'

Guy frowned. 'She?'

'She what?'

'You said she.'

'Yes, Charley – Charlotte, my best friend since we were at drama school together.'

'Charlie's a girl?'

'She was last time I looked.' Jenna started to giggle. 'Oh, my goodness, you thought Charley was _male_?'

'I wondered if he was your boyfriend.'

'No, he isn't – she isn't – oh, you know what I mean.'

Guy allowed himself a satisfied smile. 'I'm glad we've cleared that up.'

'Me, too. Anyway, I was calling to tell you my good news.'

'You got the part?'

'Hey, not so fast, it doesn't work like that, but I've been called for another audition tomorrow afternoon, which means they haven't crossed me off the list yet.'

'That's great. Congratulations, and good luck. I have some news, too.'

'What news?'

'I contacted an old college friend this morning. It was a long shot, but she may be interested in a six-month contract. She's been freelancing in advertising and is tempted by a regular income. I'm meeting her tomorrow, so I'll cross my fingers for you, if you cross yours for me.'

'Will do. If she agrees, will you be able to go back to Ireland?'

'I've almost cleared my backlog, and if Leanne takes on the less urgent stuff, I can probably fly over next Monday or Tuesday. How about you?'

'It depends what happens tomorrow.'

'Yes, of course.' Guy was silent for a moment. 'Would it be better if I came to London instead?' He said the words without thinking and became aware of the silence at the other end. 'Jenna? Are you still there?'

'Yes, sorry. I'm surprised, that's all. You want to come to London?'

'Yeah.' He'd surprised himself, too, but it _was_ what he wanted. He gave a sheepish laugh. 'I could make an excuse and say my mom gave me some old family photos she found in the attic, and I'd like to show them to you. But if you can't manage to go over to Ireland, then— Well, I'll be honest, Jenna. I want to see you again, and I don't mind whether we meet in Ireland or London. If it's okay with you, of course, and if you don't have another boyfriend called Charlie hidden away someplace?'

'No, I don't have a boyfriend, and yes, it is okay with me. I want to see you, too.'

'Good.' His smile broadened at her slightly breathless response.

'Guy—'

'Let's talk about this when we meet, Jenna. Talking on the phone isn't the same.'

'No, you're right. I'll call you tomorrow, after my audition.'

'Okay, and I'll let you know what happens with Leanne. Good luck.'

'You, too.'

* * *

Jenna took a deep breath and then smiled. Prickles of delight raised the hairs on her arms at Guy's suggestion of coming to London, and at the echo of his words: _I want to see you again_. Maybe she hadn't ruined everything with her stupid behaviour in Clifden, after all.

'What's with the Cheshire Cat grin on your face?' Charley said as she came into the lounge with her laptop.

'I called Guy, and he wants to see me.'

'So? You knew you'd see him again when you go back to Ireland.'

'He said if I can't get over to Ireland, he'll come to London instead.'

'Oh, now this _is_ getting interesting.' Charley sat on the couch next to her. 'I thought you were just into all the family history stuff.'

'Yes, we were – I mean, we _are_ both interested in finding out more about our ancestors and why Helena Keating left the house to us. But there's something I didn't tell you when I got back from Ireland.' She hesitated before deciding to tell Charley the truth. 'The thing is, he kissed me. Twice. The second time, I – well, I don't want to go into all the details, but I made a fool of myself, and anyway, I was sure he fancied Eve.'

'And now you think he fancies you?'

'I'm not sure.' Jenna fingered her Celtic pendant. 'He gave me this, because it's similar to the one Ellen wore in the portrait, but our phone calls haven't all been about family history. We've talked about lots of different things, but—'

'But what? You like him, so what's the problem?'

She ticked her fingers. 'First, he lives in America and I live here. Second, I decided when I finished drama school, I wouldn't get involved with anyone for five years.'

'Not even Jake Goodier?'

'All right, I admit I had a fling with him a couple of years ago, but I let him down gently when he started getting too intense, and we've stayed good friends. But that brings me to my third problem. Why in heaven's name do I meet a man I could seriously be interested in at the same time as I may have the chance of a part in a television series?'

Charley shook her head. 'Kismet? Something will push you one way or the other.'

'You're right.' She let out a hollow laugh. 'Of course, both could come to nothing.'

'If they both come to something, you might have to make a big decision.'

'If it ever came to that, I've absolutely no idea which I'd choose.'

* * *

'How was the audition?' Guy asked, when Jenna called him the following evening.

She made a face. 'Not good.'

'Why?'

'They asked me first if I had something that wasn't from _Jane Eyre_. My agent said this might happen, and I'd prepared a speech from _The Taming of the Shrew_. They seemed to like it, and then they filmed me doing the scene I did at the first audition.'

'You're used to being filmed, aren't you?'

'Yes, and the director went through it with me first, telling me when to look at the camera and when to look at the imaginary _Jane Eyre_ , and I think that went well. It depends on whether they like what they saw on screen, compared with live, of course.'

'It all sounds straightforward to me. What was not good?'

'Peter Stones, the director, asked me to read the _Jane Eyre_ lines in the same scene, instead of Diana Rivers, and they filmed that, too. It's what we call a cold reading. I had to improvise with all my reactions and expressions.'

'I assume they were interested in how you coped with something you hadn't rehearsed.'

'It threw me off balance, and I messed up a couple of the speeches.'

'When will you know if you've got the part?'

'They didn't say. It was the usual _thank you, we'll let you know in due course_ , which usually means thanks, but no thanks. It won't be the first time that's happened, or the last either. I bet even Maggie Smith was turned down for some roles when she was younger.'

'You sound very philosophical about it.'

'There's no point being otherwise. Failing an audition is an occupational hazard for actors. Anyway, how did you get on with Leanne today?'

'All systems go.'

'She'll look after the business for you?'

'We're gonna have a trial run for a few days, but I think she'll be good. She's a talented artist, and freelancing has given her the skills she needs to deal with clients.'

'Sounds great, but does it mean you won't be going to Ireland next week?'

'I thought I was coming to London?'

'That was when I didn't know if I could get away, but after today's audition I doubt I'll get another callback. Besides, we need to find out if Ellen's bedroom holds any more clues.'

'And Rose Keating's father will be home after this weekend, won't he? He may be able to tell us more.'

'Good point, I'd forgotten about him. The thing is, though—' Jenna hesitated, but decided to be honest. 'The advance my lawyer gave me on the basis of Helena's legacy won't stretch very far once I've paid for another flight to Ireland, and we haven't had the interim payment from Dan yet. I'll need to find a cheap bed and breakfast place somewhere, rather than a hotel.'

Guy chuckled. 'Aren't you forgetting something, Jenna?'

'What?'

'We own a house in Clifden.'

Her face relaxed into a smile. 'Of course! I'll bring my sleeping bag.'

'That's exactly what I intend to do. How about next Wednesday?'

'Aren't you involved with Leanne next week?'

'I'll be working on the backlog with her over the weekend, and I'll take her to visit some new clients on Monday and Tuesday. If she's happy to continue on her own, I can catch an overnight flight on Tuesday evening.'

Jenna struggled to ignore the warm flood of excitement which rushed through her. 'If you catch the same time of flight to Dublin as you did last week, and I take the same one from London, we can meet in the arrivals hall again.'

Guy started to laugh. 'Promise me you'll buy a new wheelie case.'

She laughed, too. 'I'll bring my bigger case this time, and I'll check the wheels first.'

'Good idea.' He paused for a moment. 'I'm looking forward so much to seeing you again, Jenna.'

Her blood went on another crazy race around her veins, and she struggled to keep her voice normal. 'Yes, me, too. I'll let you know once I've booked my flight.'

After they ended their call, she sat with what Charley called her Cheshire Cat grin. Five more days, and she'd be in Ireland again. With Guy.

Chapter 13

Jenna's glance darted around the crowded arrivals hall. She'd seen from the screens in the baggage reclaim area that Guy's flight from New York had landed forty-five minutes earlier, and she searched the sea of faces.

'Over here, Jenna!'

As soon as she heard his voice, she saw him waving and maneuvering through the crowd towards her, and her stomach nerves jumped. He looked so good in his navy gilet over a turquoise polo shirt.

'Hi,' she said when they eventually met.

'Hi.' After a couple of awkward seconds, he laughed. 'Oh, come here.' Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her to him, kissed her cheek, and hugged her. 'It's wonderful to see you again.'

'Yes.' She felt tongue-tied as the heat flooded her cheeks. Unable to put her arms round him because of his bulky backpack, she rested her hands somewhere near his waist. 'Yes, this _is_ good, isn't it?'

'As soon as I heard the cabin steward's Irish accent, I felt as if I was on my way home. Ireland's magic is already pulling me in.' He released his hold on her. 'Would you like a coffee at the café over there?'

'I'm fine, but if you want one?'

'They've been trying to fill up our coffee cups ever since dawn over the Atlantic. In the end, I had to ask for water.'

'All right, let's go and find the car rental desk. It's okay, I can manage,' she added, as he reached for the handle of her suitcase.

'No, I insist. After all, I need to check the wheels are in working order on this one, don't I?'

Half an hour later, after sorting out the paperwork, they heaved their bags into the trunk of their white rental car.

'Heavens, how long are you intending to stay?' Jenna asked, looking down at Guy's suitcase and backpack.

'I'm not sure. How about you?'

'Probably a week, like we said. It depends on what we find out, and what we decide to do with the house, of course.'

Guy held up the car key. 'Do you want to drive, or shall I?'

'Have you ever driven on the wrong side of the road?'

'Nope, but there's always a first time.'

She took the key from him. 'Spare my nerves, and let me drive into the centre of Dublin. You can get used to driving on the left once we're on the motorway.'

He gave her a mock salute and grinned. 'Yes, ma'am.'

With the aid of the car's GPS, she followed the route into the city and found St. Stephen's Green shopping centre car park, which Dan had suggested when she emailed him. From there, they had only a short walk to his office.

'Seems much longer than two weeks since we were last here,' Guy said as they climbed the steps and rang the bell.

'We had no idea what lay ahead, did we? Dan was right when he said something about interesting times.'

The middle-aged receptionist opened the door and smiled. 'Good morning. Ms. Sutton and Mr. Sinclair, isn't it? Mr. McGrath is expecting you.'

They followed her along the corridor, and she stood back to let them enter Dan's office.

He sprang up from his desk. 'Jenna, Guy, it's grand to see you both again. Would you like coffee?'

Guy laughed. 'After being overdosed with caffeine on the plane, no, thanks, Dan.'

'Can't offer you any Guinness, I'm afraid.'

'Perhaps as well if I'm going to drive across to Clifden. Assuming Jenna trusts me to keep to the left, of course.'

'I'm sorry I can't come with you this time, but I have a court case tomorrow. Anyway, do sit down. I really appreciate you keeping me informed with your emails, and I'm glad you managed to find the link between your families.'

'A tentative one,' Guy said as they sat on the chairs in front of Dan's desk. 'Jenna's confirmed Ellen Hayden as her ancestor, and I've confirmed Edwin Lewis as mine. We suspect there was a liaison between them, but don't know if William Keating was their son. He could be Edwin's, since he had Lewis as his middle name, but we haven't found any link between him to Ellen.'

Dan opened a folder on his desk. 'I think I can help there. Once you told me about Ellen and Edwin, I asked one of our researchers to check.' He handed a sheet of paper to Guy. 'A copy of the birth certificate of William Lewis.'

The hairs on the back of Jenna's neck stood on end as she looked down at the certificate.

He put his arm round her shoulders and gripped her upper arm. 'February 14th, 1898,' he read aloud. 'Mist Na Mara House, Clifden. Child's name, William Lewis. Mother, Ellen H. Maguire. Father, Edwin W. Lewis. Occupation, Artist. Informant, Ellen Maguire, mother.'

'Amazing,' Jenna breathed. 'My wild guess turned out to be correct. And look, William was born on Valentine's Day.'

'Kind of appropriate since it's now obvious that Ellen and Edwin were lovers.'

'But Edwin died in September 1897, didn't he? I wonder if Ellen knew about his death before William was born?'

Guy shook his head. 'This certificate doesn't show him as deceased, so I assume she didn't.'

Jenna shuddered. 'I can't even begin to imagine her devastation when she found out.' Trying to distract herself from Ellen's tragedy, she turned to Dan. 'Did your researcher manage to discover where William or Ellen were at the time of the 1901 census?'

Dan smiled. 'How did I guess that would be the next question you'd ask? In fact, they were on the other side of St. Stephen's Green, a few hundred yards from where we're sitting right now. Ellen Maguire was a guest at the Shelbourne Hotel on the night of the census, March 31, 1901, together with her son, William, aged three, and a nursemaid, Mary Ann Keating, aged twenty-two. William's surname was listed as Maguire, but that might be an error by the census enumerator, or the hotel, or Ellen may have deliberately given him her own surname to avoid any awkward questions being asked.'

'Does the census show where they lived in 1901?' Jenna asked.

'No, only that Ellen was born in England. William and the nursemaid were both born in County Galway.'

Guy broke in. 'I'm trying to connect some dates in my mind. Didn't you say Ellen married Robert Oliver in June 1901, Jenna?'

'Yes, but that means the second quarter, which covers April, May, and June.'

'And the census was the end of March.'

'What are you thinking?'

'I'm thinking she couldn't admit an illegitimate child to her future husband, so this was when she left him in Ireland with the Keatings.'

Jenna shook her head. 'What kind of mother would abandon her child?'

'It might have been the hardest thing she ever had to do, but Edwin was dead, and she was about to marry a respectable newspaper owner.'

She let out a small sigh. 'I'm disappointed in her. She had enough courage to defy all the conventions of her social class by becoming an actress and disappearing at the height of her career to be with her lover in Ireland. Now she's conforming to society, not just with a suitable marriage, but also abandoning her lover's child.'

'It now seems very likely she left Mist Na Mara to William when she died in 1918,' Dan said. 'I don't think we need to obtain a copy of her will, since the facts are shown in the title deeds of the house. Ellen owned it and, after her death, William became the owner. I wonder if this came as a complete surprise to him, or if he already knew about his real mother and father?'

'An interesting question to ponder,' Guy said, 'but at least now we know why William's daughter Helena left Mist Na Mara to us. Her grandparents, Edwin and Ellen, were lovers, and Jenna and I are descended from them, via their other partners. Louisa, daughter of Ellen and Robert Oliver was Jenna's great-grandmother, and Samuel, son of Edwin and his wife Violet was my great-grandfather.'

'And here are the keys to your house.' Dan handed clear plastic envelopes to each of them. 'I had extra copies made, so you both have a full set. The large one is for the gate, and the other three are for the front door, back door, and the bedroom.'

'It's okay for us to stay there, isn't it?' Guy asked. 'I assume the main services are connected – electricity and water?'

'As far as I'm aware, yes. Eve will be able to tell you where to switch everything on.'

Guy pursed his lips. 'I'm hoping it won't be necessary to have much contact with her.'

'She ought to know you're staying at the house. Her agency is still responsible for it until we complete the transfer of the property, and I presume she has someone who checks it regularly.' Dan made a note on the pad on his desk. 'I'll call her and say you'll be at Mist Na Mara from today until— How long _will_ you be staying there?'

'We're not sure yet,' Guy replied.

'I'll tell her you'll let her know when you're leaving.'

* * *

As they walked back to the multi-storey car park, Guy tried to shake off his unease. 'I guess Eve does need to know we're staying at Mist Na Mara, but I wish it wasn't necessary. She's too interested in the house and all the contents, and I lost count of how many times she insisted we should sell.'

'She's right about the property market declining, though. I read an article online which said prices here have dropped about fifty percent in the last six years, and are likely to drop even more before hitting rock bottom.'

'Good for buyers, not good for sellers,' Guy said wryly. He glanced at his watch. 'It's twelve o'clock. How about some lunch before we set off for Clifden?'

'Excellent idea, because I can't remember if there are any service stations on the motorway.'

'I assume you mean rest stops on the freeway?'

She dug her elbow against his ribs. 'You're in Ireland now, so use our words.'

He slipped his arm around her and hugged her to his side. 'I'm teasing you.'

'And we'd say you're winding me up.'

She didn't pull away from him, and he kept his arm round her as they walked along Grafton Street to Donnelly's, the pub they'd visited after their first meeting at Dan's office. It occurred to him that she fitted perfectly against him, and he enjoyed the snugness of her arm around his waist.

After buying drinks and ordering their food at the bar, they crossed to a table enclosed by wooden partitions. This time, they sat together on the upholstered bench instead of on chairs opposite each other.

Jenna took a sip of her orange juice and looked around at him. 'What you said earlier about Eve trying to persuade us to sell – it doesn't make sense, does it?'

'How do you mean?' He didn't want to talk about Eve Callaghan, or even about the house. He wanted to tell Jenna she was the most attractive and fascinating woman he'd ever met, but he pulled his mind back to what she'd just said. 'Why doesn't it make sense?'

'If she knows someone who wants to buy Mist Na Mara, wouldn't she be telling us to wait, in the hope prices will drop even more?'

'Good point. I may be misjudging her, but something doesn't add up.'

'You said Dan told you a few things about her, but I forgot to ask you what he said.'

'And I forgot to tell you.' Guy recalled his conversation with Dan at the pub in Temple Bar. 'He said Eve is married and has a young son.'

'Yes, he told me that, too.'

'Did he also tell you her brother has an auction house in Galway City? Specialising in fine arts and antiques.'

He watched Jenna's eyes widen before she let out a quick exhalation. 'That explains it. She wants all the antique stuff for his auction room.'

'But her brother doesn't buy houses, so why is she pressuring us to sell?'

Jenna held up her hands. 'She wants to demolish the house and build a theme park?' She laughed. 'Sorry, my silly sense of humour. I have absolutely no idea, Guy.'

While they ate their cheese salad baguettes, Guy broached the subject of what and where they were going to eat in Clifden. 'We can buy stuff at a supermarket for breakfast and lunch, can't we?'

Jenna nodded. 'Cereal, milk, bread, butter, and cheese and ham to make sandwiches.'

'What about cooking anything? Do you remember what the oven was like?'

'I think it was a gas stove, but it may not work now.'

'If it doesn't, we can find some places downtown.' Guy looked down as his phone and swiped the screen. 'Seems there are several takeouts – Indian, Chinese, pizza—'

'Bet there's a chippy, too.'

'Chippy?'

'A fish and chip shop. Chips meaning French fries to you, but our chips are better than your fries.'

'And these shops sell fish and fries?'

'Battered fish, and different kinds of pies. I think the Irish call them chippers, whereas in England we call them chippies.'

'I guess my education won't be complete until I've visited an Irish chipper.'

'We also need to visit Rose Keating again, don't we?'

'Yes. I sent her an email to say we were coming to Ireland again, but didn't get a reply.'

'She said she wasn't very good on the computer. Which reminds me, I wonder if we can get wi-fi at the house? I've brought my tablet, in case we needed to do any more research.'

'I brought mine too, but I'll need to buy an adapter to recharge it.'

Jenna slanted her lips. 'I've just thought of a problem.'

'What?'

'We're going into a house that hasn't been lived in since the 1930s. I bet all the plug sockets are different from modern ones.'

'It appears my suggestion of staying at the house wasn't such a good one, after all.'

'We'll sort something out. There's bound to be an electrician in Clifden who can help us.'

'Yeah.' Guy finished his sandwich and took a gulp of his iced water. 'This may be the wrong time and place to say this, but I have had some thoughts about the future of the house.'

'Go on.'

He sensed Jenna's uncertainty and gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. 'Don't worry, I've completely dismissed my first crazy notion of turning it into an artists' retreat – you know, somewhere people could visit to relax and paint, and attend workshops with an artist-in-residence—' He stopped when delight danced in her dark eyes. 'What? I just said it was a crazy idea.'

'It's a fantastic idea.'

'Fantastic as in fanciful, and not based on reality?'

'No, fantastic as in wonderful and brilliant. I think your American word would be awesome.'

'Really? No, you're not serious. Are you?'

'Of course I am.'

She rested her hand on his thigh, and he put his own hand over it. 'Jenna, it's not fantastic. It's fantasy.'

'Why?'

'Because – well, you've just given one reason. It's a Victorian house, and even the most basic modernisation would cost more than either of us can afford, let alone all the adaptations to meet current health and safety standards.'

'There are probably grants available for arts projects. I'm not sure where from, but we can find out.'

He raised his eyebrows. 'You said you wanted to sell.'

'So did you.'

'Yeah, I admit that. Originally I _was_ only interested in the money.'

'What's changed, Guy?'

'Hard to define. Ireland? Family history? Realising Mist Na Mara must have been a special place for our great-great-grandparents? All I know is I don't want it to become just another Clifden hotel, or be turned into apartments, and definitely not demolished for someone to develop the land.'

'I'm starting to feel the same, now we've discovered more about Ellen and Edwin. It seems kind of appropriate for it to be linked to the arts, too, so let's not dismiss your idea out of hand. We can investigate the possibilities and decide what's feasible and what's not.'

'I love your pragmatism, Jenna. In fact—' He stopped, suddenly wary of saying too much.

'In fact, what?'

First, he needed to clear the air. 'Look, I'm really sorry about that night in Clifden. You know, when—'

'It was my fault,' she muttered, as a blush stained her cheeks.

'You've not been blaming yourself, have you?'

She raised her eyes to meet his. 'Yes, of course I have. I had too much wine that night. I don't usually behave so stupidly.'

'Jenna.' He tightened his hand around hers. 'The fault's mine. I started it by kissing you and dragging you down on the bed.'

'But you—'

'Backtracked? Yes, and that was me being stupid.'

'I don't understand.'

He decided to be honest. 'I once swore never to become involved again with anyone in the acting profession.'

'Again?'

'I had a girlfriend for about three years who left me with a somewhat jaundiced view of actresses.' He sensed Jenna was waiting for him to say more and went on, 'After failing a few auditions, she decided the director's casting couch might be an easier way to stardom.'

'Ouch.' Jenna winced. 'I'm sorry. That must have been hard to take, but we're not all like that.'

'I know. In fact—'

'It's the second time you've said that and stopped.'

'Sorry, but if you want the honest truth, all I want to do right now is kiss you.'

Her eyes lit up with a mischievous twinkle. 'Even though I'm an actress?'

'Maybe _because_ you're an actress, a genuine actress. And because you don't have a boyfriend named Charlie either.'

She laughed. 'So kiss me.'

'Here?'

'Why not?'

Heedless of the crowded pub, he kissed her warm, moist lips.

* * *

Jenna forced herself to focus on the traffic as she followed the route out of the city centre to the motorway. The memory of Guy's kiss sent a delicious shiver through her bones that threatened to destroy all her concentration. She pulled off the road about a mile before they reached the M4. 'Want to do some driving now?'

He grinned. 'I thought you'd never ask.'

'I'm sorry, but I know how tricky it can be at times adjusting to driving on a different side of the road. I've done it once, in France. The motorways were fine, but it was much harder in the towns.'

'I'll try the freeway. I mean motorway, don't I?'

He dropped a quick kiss on her cheek. When she turned to him, he brought his hand up to the side of her face, and she smiled as their lips met in a soft and gentle union. The feathery flutter thrilled through her again as his tongue caressed the tip of hers.

He pulled away and shook his head. 'I'm not backing off, honestly, but if we're aiming to get to Clifden today, perhaps we ought to stop now and resume later?'

Jenna laughed as they got out of the car to exchange seats. Once Guy was in the driving seat, she tapped his thigh. 'Your mantra for the day is to keep left.'

With a grin, he removed her hand from his leg. 'Then please give me a fighting chance of concentrating.'

As he drove across central Ireland, Jenna relaxed. The motorway was quiet, and Guy soon seemed at ease. They chatted almost non-stop during the journey, exchanging stories about their childhood, teenage and college experiences, and discussing their favourite books, movies, and songs.

When they passed Galway Airport, she looked round at him. 'Shall I take over while we do the ring road?'

'Nah, let me do some real driving. The freeway was too easy.'

'There are a lot of roundabouts to negotiate. Think you can cope with those?'

'Yes, as long as I remember to go left. Who has right-of-way?'

'The traffic already on the roundabout, which means anything to your right.'

'Got it. Guess I'll just follow the other cars.'

'You'll need to take a right turn onto the N59 at one of the roundabouts. There should be a signpost to Clifden.'

'Okay, here we go. End of motorway coming up.'

Twenty minutes later, when they were on the N59, heading away from all the traffic on the busy road around the city, Jenna gave him a thumbs-up sign. 'Congratulations. If you can survive the Galway ring road, you can survive anything.'

'And you didn't scream even once.'

'I clenched my hands at the roundabout when you were in the wrong lane. Apart from that, you did fine, and now it's a straight run to Clifden.'

'We won't have such a good view of the mountains as last time we were here, will we? Too much low cloud.'

'If it starts raining, I think the wipers are—' Jenna stopped at the sound of a phone ringing. 'Is that yours?'

Guy pulled his phone from his pocket. 'See who it is, will you?'

Her heart sank as she saw the name on the screen. 'It's Eve Callaghan.'

Chapter 14

Guy grimaced. 'I guess you'd better speak to her.'

Jenna gave him a wry glance as she pressed the key. 'Hi, Eve. Guy can't answer as he's driving.'

'Oh, I see. Hello, Jenna. Dan called to tell me you were on your way to Clifden again. What time will you be here?'

'We're on the outskirts of Galway, so it'll be about an hour.'

'Good. I'll meet you at Mist Na Mara around five o'clock.'

'There's really no need, Eve. Dan gave us the keys and, anyway, we want to stop in Clifden to buy some supplies: tea, coffee, bread, and so on.'

'Shall I make it six o'clock instead?'

'I'm sure we'll be fine.'

'Aye, but the alarm system is set and the water's turned off, so you'll need me to sort those out for you.'

'Can't you tell me the code for the alarm and where the water tap is?'

'It's much easier to show you.'

'Okay, if you're sure?'

'No trouble at all, and do tell Guy I'm looking forward to seeing him again. And you, too, of course.'

Jenna clicked off his phone. 'I tried to put her off, but she's insisting on meeting us at the house.'

'I gathered that from what you said.' He shook his head. 'Wonder if she'll start pressuring us again to sell?'

'Or asking to see the bedroom?'

'That's not going to happen until we've explored it thoroughly.'

'Do you think we'll find anything to throw more light on Ellen and Edwin's affair?'

She waited while he negotiated a small roundabout before he replied, 'I doubt it. I think we've discovered all we can. Let's face it, we know a lot more than we did two weeks ago.'

'Perhaps Rose's father will remember something about William, or about Mary Ann Keating who was on the census as the nursemaid. I'm curious about why she was with Ellen and William at the Dublin hotel.'

'My guess is Mary Ann was taking William back to Clifden, and Ellen was returning to England to marry what's-his-name.'

'Robert Oliver.' Jenna let out a frustrated grunt. 'It's as if her whole character changed. In 1890, she rebelled against her family, but eleven years later she married and, presumably, became a dutiful wife and mother.'

'Do you think that's why she left her son with the Keatings?'

'It's possible. I might be putting two and two together and making five, but I don't think Robert knew about William.'

'Bet he had a shock when he discovered the terms of her will.'

Jenna shook her head. 'He probably never knew, because he died before she did.'

'You didn't tell me that.'

'Didn't I? Sorry, life's been hectic these past two weeks. Charley's brother keeps emailing stuff to me. I've saved it, but haven't had the time to sort everything out. Robert died in October 1918, and Ellen in November, both of influenza. The Spanish flu epidemic was at its height at the time.'

'At least their daughter survived, otherwise you wouldn't be here now.'

'Poor Louisa, losing both her parents when she was about twelve. I wonder who brought her up once they died?'

'Grandparents possibly. Do you think she ever knew she had a half-brother in Ireland?'

Jenna smiled. 'I'm beginning to realise why people get hooked on researching their family history. You answer one question, and you're immediately faced with ten more.'

'Let's forget history for the moment and think about the present. Jet lag's catching up with me, and I need some coffee.'

'Pull into the gateway ahead, and I'll take over the driving. We're not far from Oughterard now, and we're sure to find a café or pub there.'

After a brief stop in the small town, Jenna continued the drive through Connemara. Their conversation became more spasmodic and, when it stopped completely, she glanced round at Guy who'd rested his head against the side window. Strands of his dark wavy hair fell over his forehead, and his eyes were closed. The steady rise and fall of his chest showed he was asleep, despite the coffee they'd had in Oughterard. He'd probably have a stiff neck when he woke but, at the moment, all his features were relaxed.

A small tugging sensation in the pit of her stomach reminded her of the way he'd kissed her, and her skin tingled with pinpricks of excitement. She couldn't deny her keyed-up anticipation at the thought of this coming week with him. After that, of course, they'd go back to their own lives, but why not enjoy this short time together? It wasn't as if they were going to become serious about each other...

Her breath hitched as she remembered what she'd said to Charley. _A man I could be interested in_. Was she interested in him? Or had they simply been drawn closer because of their intriguing family history?

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see his relaxed hand on his jean-clad thigh, and her heart quickened in involuntary response. No, it wasn't the family history. She liked him. A lot.

But she still had another year before she took stock and made some hard decisions. Maybe she should try for a backstage job, as Guy had suggested. Another possibility was joining one of the re-enactment groups Charley used sometimes for her events. At least she'd still be acting...

She stopped her train of thought before it depressed her, and made a mental list of what they needed to buy in Clifden. Tea, coffee, milk, bread, cereal, butter, jam—or jelly, as Guy called it.

That reminded of her of the conversation over breakfast at the hotel, and her thoughts diverted to Eve Callaghan. Guy was right when he said something about her didn't add up. Not only her interest in the house, but also her obvious flirting with him, even though she was married with a young son. Was that because he'd used his charm on her in the hope she might let something slip or—

A small grunt from Guy startled her. He straightened up and rubbed the back of his neck. 'Sorry, I've not been very good company.'

'No problem. You're still recovering from your overnight flight.'

He dragged one hand through his hair to push it back from his forehead, and stifled a yawn. 'I think I'm still five hours behind. Where are we?'

'Not far from Clifden, and you didn't miss much. The Twelve Bens were shrouded in low cloud, and everywhere else is rather grey, but at least it's not raining.' She negotiated a sharp bend and went on, 'I was just thinking about Eve.'

Guy groaned. 'Not sure I'm in the mood to sweet talk her.'

'Not even if she starts flirting with you again?'

'Eve is only interested in persuading us to sell the house.'

'Perhaps we should ask her why.'

'And she'll tell us house prices are falling. She's trying to give the impression she's on our side, wanting us to get the cash for it now rather than much less money later. Which makes sense, but I still suspect she has some other agenda.'

'How about calling her bluff? You could ask her advice about establishing an artists' retreat, and see what her reaction is.'

Guy's blue eyes twinkled. 'I didn't realise you had such a devious mind.'

'It's not devious,' she protested. 'Simply a way of finding out whether our suspicions are correct.'

He grinned. 'It _is_ devious, but I like it.'

'You said yesterday you'd abandoned your dream of a retreat, but you had other ideas about the house. Such as?'

'All rather hazy, and in the end, it depends on what you want to do. Even with house prices as they are, it's still worth about half a million euros.'

Her jaw dropped. 'Half a million?'

'I checked out some online property sites, and that's what similar houses go for, so I wouldn't blame you at all if you wanted to sell, but—'

'But you don't?'

'The money would be good, I'm not denying that, but I keep thinking about William and his daughter. Helena honoured his request to bequeath the house to family members, and now it's come down to us because we're the only living descendants of Ellen and Edwin. This might sound weird, but I feel a kind of responsibility to them all to keep the house.'

'It's not weird, but if we can't afford to update it, what can we _do_ with it?'

'The trust fund provides for the essential maintenance, so we could retain ownership and rent it out.'

'Guy, no one will want to stay in a house that belongs in a 1930s movie. People expect hot tubs and towel warmers these days, not a shared bathroom along the corridor, with a cast iron bath and no shower.'

'I wasn't thinking of anyone staying there, but maybe using it for wedding receptions or other celebrations, or even corporate events.'

'They'd still want modern facilities. Sorry, I'm not trying to be negative, just practical.'

'Yeah, I understand.'

His resigned tone made Jenna realise she _was_ being negative about his ideas. Thinking about what she'd said earlier, she went on, 'What about offering it as a movie or TV location? Ireland's a popular place for filming, and it would be good for period dramas. Producers like places they don't need to pay thousands to redecorate or refurnish.'

He laughed. 'If we left all the dust and cobwebs in the bedroom, it would be perfect for spooky movies.'

'Or a Victorian murder mystery.'

They continued throwing out suggestions that became more outrageous by the minute, and Jenna was relieved the momentary tension had evaporated. It didn't alter the fact that neither of them had the resources to modernise the house, but it seemed better to leave such a fraught discussion until later.

As they reached the outskirts of Clifden, she saw a petrol station ahead of them. 'I'm going to pull in here to fill up. Oh, and look, a supermarket, too. Saves having to find somewhere to park in the town.'

She turned into the supermarket car park, and they collected their basic supplies, as well as a couple of bottles of wine and some cans of beer.

When Guy picked up a packet of pasta, she stopped him. 'We don't know yet if the cooker will work.'

He replaced the packet on the shelf. 'Good point, but I do make a mean five cheese pasta, and my chicken marsala with fettuccine is to die for, even if I say so myself.'

For some reason, the image of Guy cooking gave Jenna a warm fuzzy feeling. 'What else can you make?'

'My cooking begins and ends with pasta. Sometimes I use my mom's recipes, but I've invented my own, too.'

'Here in Ireland, it's potatoes with everything, which is why they all starved when the potato crop failed in the nineteenth century.'

'And those who didn't starve went to America.'

'Or to Britain, which has a sizeable Irish population, or at least people with Irish ancestry.'

'Isn't Maguire an Irish name? Your Ellen might have Irish ancestry.'

'I doubt that's the reason for her coming over here with Edwin.'

'I wonder why they _did_ come here? Edwin's paintings were influenced by the Impressionists, so you'd think France would appeal more to him.'

'Perhaps neither of them spoke French. Come on, let's pay for this stuff, and then I can fill up the tank.' She checked her watch. 'It's nearly six o'clock. Eve will probably be at the house now.'

'Maybe she'll get tired of waiting for us.'

'Somehow, I don't think so.'

* * *

'Told you,' Jenna said, as she turned through the open gateway about fifteen minutes later. 'She's still here.'

Eve's car was parked outside the house, and Guy made a wry face. A fawning Irish woman was the last thing he needed right now, especially when he wanted to enjoy Jenna's company.

He couldn't fault her for being practical. She'd voiced the problems he'd been trying to tell himself, even though part of him still clung to his dream of living here and painting the entrancing scenery.

He turned as he got out of the car. 'It's so different from when we were here before, but this view is even more soul-stirring.' Jenna came to the front of the car to join him, and he slipped his arm around her waist and pointed. 'Look at the water being whipped into white crests by the wind, and the contrast between the land on the far side of the bay and the hills beyond. They're a symphony in dark and pale grey, like an old monochrome photograph. The clouds covering the top of the higher hills give it a mystical quality.'

'To me, it's kind of gloomy, so I'm fascinated to see it through an artist's eyes.'

'I don't usually go into raptures about scenery, but I envy Edwin Lewis. He must have seen this view in so many different lights.'

'And William, too.'

'Yeah.' He gave her a quick kiss. 'Now let's go and pretend to be polite to Eve, but kick me if I say something I shouldn't.'

As they approached the front door, Eve opened it.

'Eve, good to see you again.' He gave what he hoped was a genuine smile, and then did a double take. 'Hey, what happened? Did you walk into a lamp post?'

Eve put a self-conscious hand up to her swollen cheek, above which her half-closed right eye was surrounded by shades of black, yellow, and purple. 'The result of playing swing ball with a six-year-old last weekend. I didn't move out of the way fast enough when he whacked the ball.'

Jenna winced. 'It must be painful.'

'Ach, no, not now, just a wee bit tender. Guy, you look tired. Have you driven all the way across?'

As Eve put her hands on his arms to hug him, he gave her cheek a perfunctory kiss and took a step away from her. 'Jenna did most of the driving. I did the easy part on the free – I mean, the motorway.'

'And did you find a supermarket to do your shopping?'

'A small one, on the outskirts of Clifden,' Jenna said. 'Next to the petrol station.'

'Aye, I use that one myself sometimes.'

Guy noticed Eve didn't attempt to give Jenna a hug. Dammit, what _was_ the woman playing at?

After she'd closed the front door, she turned to them. 'I've made a list of everything I need to tell you. First the alarm system. The insurance company insisted on it about thirty years ago, and we upgraded it last year. The control box is over here. Let me show you how it works, Guy.'

As he followed Eve to one side of the hall, he chuckled inwardly at Jenna's mock long-suffering smirk. Eve demonstrated which buttons to press in what order and gave him the code for the system.

He turned to Jenna. 'Can you remember that? I'm hopeless with numbers.' It wasn't true, but Eve's deliberate exclusion of Jenna grated on him. He moved to her side again. 'What else did we say we needed to know, Jenna? Whether the cooker still works?'

'And the electric sockets. We talked about charging our tablets and phones, and I need somewhere to plug in my hairdryer.'

He suppressed a grin at the casual innocence in her tone, which belied the fact that she'd caught on to what he was trying to do. Distancing himself from Eve, and hinting at a closer relationship between them both. Not that he was a hundred percent sure about any relationship, despite the kisses they'd exchanged in the pub and the car, but at least they were on the same wavelength right now.

Eve led them along the corridor to the kitchen. 'The house was rewired several years ago, so it has the same kind of sockets as in England. The cooker is gas, but the tank outside is empty. I've brought you an electric kettle, a microwave, and a double burner.'

'That's very good of you, Eve. Thank you,' Jenna said.

The modern equipment looked somewhat incongruous on the large wooden table in the centre of the old-fashioned kitchen. Guy looked round at the faded blue cupboards and empty open shelving.

'Any cooking equipment?'

Eve pointed to one of the cupboards. 'A few pans and bowls in there. Nothing very special. William's wife probably took her best stuff when she moved to Dalkey. There's some crockery in the cupboard near you, Jenna.'

Jenna opened the cupboard door. 'Yes, plates and cups.' She pulled out a small china cup and grimaced. 'I think we may need to buy a couple of mugs.'

'Yeah, that cup's about a quarter of the size of mug I normally use.' Guy turned to Eve. 'What about the water supply?'

'The main tap's over here, under the sink. I turned it on and ran the water for a while to clear the pipes. Let me show you, Guy.'

'I have a better idea. Show Jenna while I bring our supplies from the car, and then we can make some tea or coffee.'

He winked at Jenna as he left the kitchen.

Ten minutes later, they sat on the wooden chairs at the large table with their china cups of coffee.

'What are your plans while you're here?' Eve asked.

'We want to explore all the rooms, because we didn't spend much time here before.'

'And the bedroom? When are you going to tell me what's in there?'

'Not yet. All we saw last time was a lot of dust and cobwebs, and a bed, a dresser, and a closet with some old dresses.'

'If there's anything valuable, I need to inform the insurance company.'

'We'll let you know in due course.' He kept his voice neutral, but wondered if she was more interested in informing her auctioneer brother rather than the insurance company.

After a short pause, she went on, 'Did you have any further thoughts about what you intend to do with the house? I took the liberty of having someone come out here to value it last week, and at current rates, and taking into account the need for modernisation, he said it would probably be put on the market for about six hundred thousand euros.'

Guy let out a low whistle. 'About eight hundred thousand dollars. That's more than I estimated.'

Jenna met his eyes briefly before she turned back to Eve. 'It's very tempting, but we've been talking a lot about it and – well, we've decided we might keep the house.'

He expected to see annoyance on Eve's face. Instead, he caught a glimpse of – what? Alarm? Panic?

He was sure he hadn't imagined it before Eve recovered and said, 'Of course it's your decision, but remember what I told you about house prices dropping here. Another year, another six months even, and it could go down by a quarter. My advice is to sell now.'

There it was again. _Sell now_. Guy sipped his coffee. Why was she so desperate for them to sell?

Chapter 15

After a final wave to Eve, Guy closed the door and blew out his breath. 'I thought she'd never leave.'

Jenna laughed as they walked back along the corridor to the kitchen. 'You probably scared her off by describing your cooking disasters. Come to think of it, I'm not sure I trust you not to put raspberry juice instead of marsala in your chicken marinade.'

'As we have neither in our current food stocks, you don't need to worry.' He put his hand to his rumbling stomach. 'What _are_ we gonna eat tonight? I'm hungry. It's hours since we had lunch.'

'Cornflake sandwiches?'

'You should have let me buy the pasta.'

'Sure, and we could cook pasta with grapefruit. No, I can't even think about that. Let's go into Clifden and—'

'And find a chippery?'

'Chippery?' She laughed. 'You're getting your English and Irish words confused. It's—'

He put his hands on her waist and pulled her towards him, smiling when she rested both her palms on his chest. 'It's where they sell chips also known as fries, and – oh, who cares?' For a long moment, he gazed into her brown eyes, which met his with a tender and beguiling smile.

As he bent forward to kiss her, she slid her hands up to his shoulders and wound one round his neck. The feel of her fingers tangling the hair at the back of his head was even more arousing than her welcoming lips. Involuntarily, he deepened their kiss with his tongue. When hers touched his in tentative exploration, the blood started to pound through his temples, and he crushed her to him, loving every inch of her slender body.

Their kiss continued until she let out a yelp.

Startled, he pulled away. 'What's wrong?'

'Sorry. I put my hand back against the table to steady myself, and the edge is really rough.' She examined her left hand. 'I've got a big splinter.'

'Let me see.' He took her hand in his. 'It's not gone in too deeply. Want me to pull it out?'

She shut her eyes tight. 'Do it fast. It hurts.'

With his thumb and forefinger nails, he pinched the sliver of wood stuck into the fleshy part of her palm near her thumb. 'Got it.' He held up the offending splinter and kissed her hand. 'That stopped us in mid-tracks, didn't it? It's a good thing I didn't give into the temptation of lifting you onto the table and undressing you.'

Jenna licked her palm and rubbed it. 'The idea of splinters in other places isn't very appealing.' She raised her head and stared at him with wide eyes. 'You were going to undress me? Here?'

'The possibility did cross my mind, yes.'

'Oh.'

He frowned. 'Did I say the wrong thing?'

'No, you didn't, but—'

'But what?'

'But – no, forget it.'

He caught hold of her hand again. 'Jenna, you're confusing me.'

She gave a small shake of her head. 'Not half as much as I'm confusing myself. Come on, let's go and find something to eat in Clifden. I'm starving.'

As she drove the couple of miles into the town, he struggled to make some sense of her words and actions, but failed.

* * *

The rain was coming down heavily, and Jenna had to concentrate on driving along the unfamiliar road into Clifden. It was perhaps as well. They needed to talk seriously sometime, but she wasn't ready yet. Not until she'd sorted out the jumbled thoughts in her mind.

She found a parking place on the main street. 'I've no idea where the chippy is, but I can see at least three pubs, so how about some pub grub instead?'

'Pub grub?'

'It's our term for food served at public houses.'

'Do they have fish and fri— I mean, chips?'

'Usually, yes. Should we try the pub we went to with Dan the other week?'

'The one across there is the nearest, which seems to be the best idea in this rain.'

'You're right. Let's go and check out their menu.'

Guy caught hold of her hand as they waited for a gap in the traffic, both of them laughing as they tried to avoid being splashed by passing cars. Once inside the compact but cosy bar, they sat at a small table near the window.

Jenna glanced around. 'There are quite a few people eating, and their accents sound local. Always a good sign.'

'Yep, if the locals eat here, the food must be good.'

Guy ran his hand through his damp hair and, much as she wanted to, she resisted the temptation to push back a couple of stray strands from his forehead. It was far too intimate a gesture. She studied the menu card for a couple of minutes. 'I think I'll try the chicken and bacon boxty.'

'What's boxty?'

'It's a kind of potato pancake. Very Irish.'

'Okay, but I'm going for the beer-battered cod and chips, even though I'm not sure what beer-battered means.' He looked across the table at her. 'Are you driving back to the house, or am I?'

'I'll drive. Can't let you loose on dark roads just yet.' She gave him a knowing grin. 'Which means yes, you can order a Guinness, and I'd like a lemon and lime, please.'

While they waited for their food, Guy pulled some photographs from his wallet. 'My mom found these. That's me with Grandma Sinclair when I was a baby.'

'Aww, you look so cute. You had a lot of dark hair even then. Is this the grandma whose surname was Lewis before she married?'

'Yes, Catherine Lewis, and this is her with her parents. On the back, it says, _Catherine, aged six, with Sam and Jane._ '

She took the photo from him. 'So this is Edwin's son Samuel. I wonder if he looked like his father?'

'Judge for yourself. Mom thinks this is Edwin and his wife Violet.'

He handed her a sepia photograph of a Victorian couple. The woman wore a dress with tightly-fitted bodice, long sleeves, and ruched skirt, and the man had a dark suit, white shirt with high wing collar, and a dark tie.

She held up the photo and studied Guy. 'You have his eyes.'

He gave a comical roll of his eyes. 'My mom says we have the same chin.'

'Difficult to tell when he has that short beard, but he's certainly a handsome man.'

'Does that mean I am, too?'

'Fishing for compliments, are you?' she teased.

Their banter continued as they ate their meals, and Jenna relaxed. Okay, they'd kissed again. It was no big deal, was it? If only he hadn't made the comment about undressing her... Imagining what might have followed if the splinter hadn't stabbed her hand sent a small, but undeniably pleasant, tremor through her. Making love would be good. No, more than good. Her insides contracted.

'I've absolutely no idea what you're thinking,' Guy said, as he finished his food and took a mouthful of his Guinness.

The heat rose to her cheeks. No way could she tell him she was fantasising about making love with him. 'I'm not sure what I'm thinking either,' she replied lightly.

Guy took another sip and licked the froth from his upper lip. 'If you think I was out of order for kissing you—'

'It's not that. I've enjoyed our kisses.'

'Me, too.' He reached across the table to grasp her hand. 'Despite what I said about undressing you, I wouldn't do anything you didn't want.'

She gazed into his intense blue eyes and longed to say she'd love him to undress her, but common sense prevailed. Before she had time to think, the words skittered out of her at top speed, 'The thing is, I'm not into short-term relationships. I don't mean one-night stands, although I'm not into those either, I never have been. I mean a going nowhere relationship. In fact, I don't want any kind of involvement right now because I—'

Guy held up his hands. 'Hold on, slow down. A going nowhere relationship? What do you mean?'

She decided to be honest. 'I like you, Guy, but it's simply not practical, is it?'

'Why not?'

'We live in different countries.'

'Other people find ways around the problem.'

'It wouldn't work in our case. Your business is in New York, and mine is in England.'

'We have television in America, and there's always Broadway.'

Jenna bristled. 'You'd expect me to live in America?'

'No, I was simply giving an example of how people solve the problem. I assume English people need signs for their shops and vans, therefore it could work the other way. If we wanted it to.'

'Yes.' Somewhat mollified, she regrouped. 'Forget all the rubbish I just said about one-night stands and going nowhere relationships. The truth is I want to concentrate on my career for five years without any emotional entanglements getting in the way.'

'You mentioned something about that on the phone and said you still had a year left.' He nodded. 'I understand your need to establish yourself as an actress, and I respect that. So, just good friends, huh?'

'Yes.' Jenna wondered why she felt so empty. She'd told him what she wanted, or rather didn't want, and he'd accepted it. Why then did she still wish he'd lifted her onto the kitchen table and undressed her?

'Okay, let's concentrate on Ellen and Edwin, and whatever else we can find out about them.'

She switched her mind away from her contradictory thoughts and concentrated on the practicalities. 'There's the bedroom to explore, and we need to see Rose Keating again.'

'I guess we should go to Rose's shop tomorrow and arrange to visit with her father. How about we make a list of questions we want to ask him?'

'Good idea.' She pulled out her phone and hit the icon for the memo pad.

* * *

Regret percolated through Jenna as she drove back to Mist Na Mara. It might have been fun to take things further with Guy. The melting sensation in her stomach was proof enough of her attraction to him, but it wouldn't be fair to let him think she wanted any long-term relationship. It simply wasn't on her agenda right now.

She hunched over the steering wheel, driving slowly and peering through the windscreen once she turned off the main road into the narrow lane. Even at full speed, the wipers were hardly coping with the heavy rain. 'Everything looks different when it's dark and pouring down. Hope I can find the gate.'

'Watch out for the small bend and then the stone wall after the road narrows.'

'That could be a problem if we decided on any commercial venture for the house.'

'What could?'

'This is a narrow lane, so access isn't easy.'

'Good point. Are there laws about such things?'

Jenna shook her head as she turned into the gateway. 'I don't know, but Dan can probably tell us.'

'I bet Eve could, too. She'll say there's no way we'd get permission for anything.'

'Have you had any more ideas about why she's so keen for us to sell?'

'Nope. I'm even coming to the conclusion she might be genuine in her advice to sell now. Except—'

'Except what?'

'Did you notice her reaction when you said we probably wouldn't be selling?'

Jenna stopped the car in front of the house. 'She went into her usual spiel about prices dropping.'

'No, there was something more. She looked panic-stricken for a split second.'

'Why on earth should she be panic-stricken?'

'I've no idea, but I'm sure I didn't imagine it. Hey, it's getting really windy now, isn't it? The car's being slammed.'

'It must be blowing in from the Atlantic. Pity we can't see the bay. I bet the waves are wild out there.'

Guy fished in his pocket for the key. 'Ready to make a run for it?'

'If we don't get blown over, yes. Do you remember the code for the alarm?'

'One-nine-four-zero. The year the house was abandoned. Come on, let's go.'

Laughing, they almost fell into the hallway after struggling against the strong gusts and stinging rain. Guy banged the front door shut, and Jenna blinked in the darkness.

'Guy, didn't we leave the hall light on?'

'Yeah, and the alarm's not beeping. Stay here a minute while I find the light switch.'

She heard a click, but nothing happened.

'Seems like the electric's off,' his disembodied voice said. 'Eve didn't show us where the main electric box is, did she?'

'No, but thinking about it now, I didn't see any lights in the two houses at the top of the lane, so it could be a power cut. Perhaps the wind's brought down the wires.'

'Possibly. I dumped our backpacks and suitcases here somewhere when I emptied the car. If I can find them, I have a flashlight in mine. Ouch!'

'What's wrong?'

'I forgot about the table in the middle of the hall and banged my hip against it. Stay still, Jenna, and I'll find my light.'

Slightly unnerved by the darkness, Jenna knew she'd probably be having a panic attack if Guy wasn't so calm and practical about their predicament. Her eyes gradually adjusted, but the only break in the blackness came from the fanlight above the front door.

When she heard a rustling sound, her nerves jumped into overdrive. 'What's that?'

'Only me trying to unfasten the buckles of my backpack. At least, I think it's mine and not yours.'

'Mine's smaller, and it has – oh, thank heaven,' she breathed, as a beam of light penetrated the darkness.

The light flicked around until it rested on her.

'Ah, there you are,' Guy said. 'Now walk toward me.'

She did so and relaxed when she reached him.

He put his arm around her. 'You okay?'

'Yes, I'm fine, but what do we do now?'

'We can't use the electric kettle to make coffee, so how about we take this stuff upstairs and find a bedroom?'

Jenna giggled. 'Preferably not Edwin and Ellen's cobwebby room.'

Guy handed her the flashlight while he heaved his backpack onto his shoulder and picked up their suitcases. Jenna held her own smaller backpack as they went upstairs.

The first bedroom into which she shone the light had a double bed, and he looked round at her. 'I think one of the other rooms has a single bed, but we could share this one, if you like? We'd use our own sleeping bags, of course. Otherwise, you can keep the flashlight because I don't mind being in the dark.'

Jenna's pulse quickened at the thought of sharing the bed with him, but it made sense with only one flashlight between them. 'I'm fine with using this one. I don't fancy being on my own with no lights and the wind howling around. I probably wouldn't sleep a wink.' She didn't add that trying to sleep on the same double bed as Guy, albeit in separate sleeping bags, might have a similar effect.

'Sit on the bed,' he said, 'and give me the flashlight.'

'Why? What are doing?'

'I need to find the nearest bathroom. Will you be all right here for a minute?'

'Yes, of course.'

She gripped the edge of the mattress with both hands as Guy went out of the room. She wasn't afraid of the dark, and it wasn't as if this house was haunted. In the next second, she wished that thought hadn't entered her mind.

The flickering light from the corridor disappeared, and she assumed Guy must have found the bathroom. The minutes ticked by, and she heard his footsteps going down the stairs. What on earth was he doing?

To distract herself from the blackness around her, she pulled her phone from her jacket pocket and typed a text to Charley: _No lights in house tonite, power cut. Sharing bed with Guy_. A small snicker escaped her as she pressed the send key, imagining how Charley's mind would work overtime.

She checked her other messages, but there was nothing needing any urgent response. Nothing from her agent, either, so obviously she hadn't had a callback. Maybe she really would have to think seriously about what she was going to do with her life.

'Oh my God, you scared me,' Guy said.

She looked up. 'Me? Why?'

'Your phone screen's giving your face a kind of eerie blue glow.'

Now he was back in the bedroom, she relaxed. 'Are we going to scare each other to death by telling ghost stories?'

'I had a better idea.'

The flashlight beam moved around the room until it lit up a polished walnut dressing table, and Jenna saw him deposit a bottle of wine and two china cups on it.

'Couldn't find any glasses, and thank God we bought wine bottles with screw caps. At least I didn't have to search for a corkscrew.'

He poured the wine, passed one cup to her, and came to sit next to her on the bed. After positioning the flashlight between them, he raised his cup. ' _Sláinte_.'

She clinked her cup against his. 'That's Irish for cheers, isn't it?'

'Yeah, Dan told me how to pronounce it. I thought it was _slayntay_ , which is kind of how it's spelt, but he said it was _slawn-cha_.'

'I never knew how it was pronounced.'

'That's your Irish lesson for tonight.'

Jenna laughed. 'This is surreal. Sitting drinking wine in the dark in an old house in Ireland. I wonder who last used this bedroom?'

'It's a pity there's no one still alive who can tell us. Rose's father was born in nineteen forty-something, and the house was closed up by then.'

'She may know of someone else in Clifden who remembers when it was occupied.'

'They'll probably be in their eighties by now.'

They continued chatting while they finished their wine, and then Jenna stood up. 'Which way's the bathroom?'

'To the right. Third door along. I left it open.'

He passed the flashlight to her, and she rummaged in her suitcase until she found her wash bag and pajamas. She was relieved she'd brought her grey ones with a cartoon face and the words _Smart Cookie_ , and not the ones Charley had given her last Christmas with _I'm Sexy and I Know It_ in large letters across the front.

'Won't be long,' she said. 'I doubt there will be any hot water for a bath so it'll have to be a quick wash tonight.'

'Where's your sleeping bag?'

She passed her backpack to him. 'In here, along with an inflatable pillow, if you have enough breath to blow it up.'

'I think I can manage that.'

She found the bathroom and propped the flashlight on the narrow wooden shelf above the large porcelain washbasin. After she'd changed into her pajamas, she removed her make-up and, as she splashed cold water on her face, her thoughts wandered.

Guy had impressed her by taking charge as soon as he realised the electricity was off. He'd been so calm and clearheaded about the whole situation, and even had a flashlight in his bag. It hadn't occurred to her to bring one.

While she brushed her teeth, her mind drifted back to their conversation in the pub. She wished now she'd waited until she'd worked out the right words to say, instead of coming out with an incoherent babble about relationships and what she didn't want.

She stopped with the toothbrush still in her mouth. Guy hadn't said anything about what he wanted. Had he accepted her reasoning because he wasn't into relationships either? He'd had a bad experience with one actress, so maybe he wasn't willing to risk another. But when they kissed in the kitchen, he said he was tempted to undress her. Did that mean all he wanted was sex?

Her mind rejected the thought. He didn't seem like the kind of man who went for a quick gratification of physical needs. She'd met some of those in the past: the ones who tried a hurried grope backstage, and the ones who expected some kind of reward after a dinner date.

No, Guy wasn't like that...

The flashlight flickered a few times, and her heart raced unevenly. Surely the battery wasn't about to run out?

She pushed her toothpaste and brush into her wash bag, and picked up her clothes from the side of the bath. The light continued to flicker as she edged along the corridor to the bedroom, and she glanced around uneasily at the shadows on the walls.

A clattering crash echoed from somewhere downstairs, and she froze.

Chapter 16

Guy's heart thumped against his ribs as he yanked up his pajama pants and sprinted out of the bedroom. The flickering light showed him where Jenna stood, and he reached her side.

'What on earth was that?' she croaked.

'Dunno. Give me the flashlight.'

'The battery's going.'

'It's a hand crank one.' He took it from her, pulled out the handle, and cranked it until the light brightened.

Jenna gave a teeth-chattering attempt at a laugh. 'You didn't tell me that.'

'Sorry. Hey, you're shaking.' He put his arm around her and pressed her trembling body tightly against him.

'Hardly surprising. I thought I was about to be plunged into darkness, and then there was that awful crash.'

'Wait here, and I'll go down and find out what's happened.'

'No way. I'm not staying up here on my own.'

As they tiptoed down the wide staircase, he grasped her hand. 'Don't worry, it's probably nothing drastic. Could be a draught from a window knocking something over. Where did the noise come from?'

'Somewhere at the back, possibly the kitchen.'

'We'll try there first.'

She stopped when they reached the bottom of the stairs and gripped his arm with her free hand. 'What if it's an intruder? They'll know the alarm system is off because there's no power.'

'The noise will have scared them away.'

'But what if they think there's no one else in the house?'

'Stop giving me the heebie-jeebies. It's a good thing I used to do karate, isn't it?' He swept the hallway with the flashlight. 'No sign of any break-in through the front door.'

Grasping her hand tightly, he led the way along the corridor to the kitchen. Outside the door, he whispered, 'Stay here while I investigate.'

With pounding heart, he edged into the room and flicked the light around. A second later, he let out a relieved guffaw. 'It's okay, Jenna. Come in.'

As she peered around the door, he shone the light on the stone floor to show her all the beer cans scattered around.

She bent to pick up one of the cans near the door. 'How on earth has this happened?'

'It's my fault. I lifted the supermarket bags onto the table while I searched for the bottle of wine, and must have left the bag with the beer can too near the edge.'

'I can't decide whether to thump you for scaring me half to death, or to hug you in sheer relief.'

'I think I prefer the hug, even though I deserve the thump.'

'And I think I need you to hold me until I stop shaking. I was petrified when we were coming downstairs.'

'Yes, I know.' He put his arms round her and hugged her, smiling as she rested her head against his bare shoulder. The pressure of her hands on his back was good, too.

For a few minutes, they stood in comfortable silence. He longed to put his hand under her chin and raise her head to kiss her, but she'd made her stance regarding relationships only too clear, and he'd promised to respect it.

Eventually, she took a small step away from him. 'Erm – thanks. My heart's stopped galloping now.'

Recognising a note of diffidence in her voice, he picked up the flashlight. 'And the bags are now safe in the middle of the table, so there'll be no more crashes to scare us out of our wits.'

'It sounds as if the wind's dropped,' Jenna said as they walked back to the hallway. 'The forecast for tomorrow is quite good, once this low pressure moves north east.'

'Hopefully we'll be able to see the Twelve Bens again.'

Were they really exchanging small talk about the weather? Maybe it was for the best, though, since the prospect of lying next to her on the bed conjured up images in his mind that ought not to be there.

'I'd love to visit the places where they filmed the John Wayne and Maureen O'Hara movie,' she went on as they climbed the stairs. 'I'm sure some scenes were shot in Connemara.'

'We must try to get to Galway City sometime, too,' he added. 'I can't leave Ireland without seeing Galway Bay.'

At the top of the stairs, she stopped. 'May I use the flashlight for a minute while I collect my clothes and wash bag? I dropped them somewhere when I heard the crash.'

'Hang on here, I'll go find them for you.'

He shone the light along the corridor and spotted the pile of clothes. This was going from bad to worse. They were stilted and formal, and he had no idea why. It couldn't be the result of the hug he gave her in the kitchen, because she'd asked him to hold her, so what on earth was she thinking now?

* * *

Jenna watched him. In the dim light, only his outline was visible. Wide shoulders, tapering to slim waist and hips, long legs... She remembered how she'd liked his sexy walk along St Stephen's Green the first day they met. Who could have predicted that a couple of weeks later they'd be sharing a bed in the middle of a power cut?

Her heart began to thump. Leaning against his bare skin in the kitchen had been a definite turn-on, but her mind still insisted there was no point in letting things go any further.

Why, then¸ did she wish she hadn't made her garbled speech in the pub tonight?

'I think I found everything.' Guy handed over her clothes and wash bag.

'Thanks.' Her heightened awareness of him made every nerve contract. 'Erm – if you want to use the bathroom now, I'll get into my sleeping bag, and you can take the flashlight.'

He waited while she unzipped her bag, clambered into it, and zipped it up again. 'You'll be okay in the dark?'

'Yes.'

Once he'd gone, she pulled the bag around her and curled up with her back to the centre of the bed. There was no way she could lie facing him.

Somehow everything had changed. Was it because he'd rushed to her after the crash and automatically decided to investigate the cause? After all, even a modern independent woman appreciated the equivalent of the knight in shining armour. Or was it the way he'd hugged her in the kitchen? He'd recognised she needed a calming respite after the panicky few minutes.

While he held her close, she felt safe and content, knowing he understood and cared. It was an experience she'd never had before, and before she had time to analyse it, the mind-shattering realisation had swamped her like a tsunami wave. She'd fallen in love with him...

_And so I backed off_. Talked about the weather and sightseeing – anything but admit her feelings, even to herself.

She tensed when he returned to the bedroom. In different circumstances, she might have peeked out and made some joke about sharing a bed. Now, a weird kind of awkwardness stopped her from saying anything, and she lay without moving, hoping he'd think she was asleep.

Every sound was amplified: the zip of his sleeping bag, the bed creaking, another zipping, and a small clunk. Even with her eyes closed, she was aware he'd turned off the flashlight and put it on the floor.

The mattress moved as he settled into a comfortable position. She had no idea which way he was facing. Towards her or with his back to her? _God, he smelled so good_. A mixture of soap, some kind of sandalwood aftershave or cologne, and an indefinable male scent.

For a long moment, she was tempted to turn over and tell him— Tell him what? She'd changed her mind and wanted him? No, she needed to think about this more carefully and not respond to an involuntary reaction or physical longing.

Her mind continued to go round in circles long after Guy's steady breathing told her he was asleep.

She wasn't sure what woke her. It was still dark, but even in her half-asleep state, she became aware of Guy curled up against her back. His head rested against her shoulder, and his arm draped around her. With a small smile, she pulled her own arm out of her sleeping bag and put her hand over his.

* * *

Guy set the jug of coffee and two cups on the dressing table and looked round at the curled-up shape on the bed. Jenna's face was buried in her sleeping bag; only the top of her dark hair was visible.

Sometime in the middle of the night, he'd half-woken to find himself with his arm around her and realised her hand was clasped around his. They were still lying the same way when he woke again as sunlight brightened the room, and he allowed himself a few minutes to enjoy the closeness of her body.

She probably wouldn't remember, but he smiled at the memory. It would have been even better if they hadn't been in separate sleeping bags, of course, but at least she hadn't wriggled away from him.

'Jenna?' he said in a low voice.

She peered above her bag, squinting at the brightness in the room.

'Is it morning already?' She yawned and heaved herself further out. 'I smell coffee.'

'No mugs, but I filled a jug so you can have as many cups as you want.'

'Oh, wonderful.' She struggled to sit up and pushed back her tangled hair. 'What time is it?'

'Eight o'clock. Too early for you? I've been awake for about an hour.' He poured some coffee into a cup and handed it to her.

'No, it's fine. I usually get up about seven-thirty at home.' She took a sip of the steaming coffee. 'This is heaven. Thank you.'

He watched as realisation dawned and her eyes widened. 'You made coffee! The power's on again?'

'Yep. No idea when it was restored, but I pressed the bathroom switch and the light came on. The immersion heater's on, too, so we have hot water.'

'Oh, wonderful. Pity there's no shower in this house, though. Had showers been invented in the 1930s?'

'If they had, probably only rich people could afford them.' He picked up his coffee cup and perched on the edge of the bed.

She moved her legs to allow him more space. 'Edwin must have been pretty rich to build this house, and Ellen had enough money to let the Keatings stay here and take care of William.'

'And William obviously inherited her wealth, since the trust fund he set up has maintained this house for seventy-plus years.'

'I'm quite excited about visiting Rose's father and finding out more, aren't you?'

He nodded. 'Yes, and I'm looking forward to seeing the bedroom again. Wonder what else we'll find in the dressing table or the closet?'

'What shall we do first? Rose's shop or the bedroom?'

'Let's go see Rose and tell her we're here in Clifden again, and if it's not convenient to visit with her father today, we can come back and explore the bedroom.'

Planning their day helped to distract his mind from his ever-growing desire to wrap his arms around her and kiss her again.

* * *

The storm had blown over, and it was a crisp and clear morning when they parked in Clifden's main street soon after nine-thirty. Guy drove into the town, and Jenna was impressed by how quickly he adapted to driving along the narrow country lanes.

In daylight, and with the power back on in the house, she was far more relaxed than she'd been the night before. Guy's easy-going manner helped. He laughed and joked with her while they had breakfast but, as they walked along the street to Rose's shop, he didn't hold her hand like he'd done the previous evening. She tried to ignore the tinge of regret simmering through her.

Rose Keating was arranging some ornaments on a shelf when they went into the shop, and her face lit up. 'Hello there, it's good to see you both. How are ye?'

Guy smiled. 'Happy to be back in Clifden again, Rose.'

'Thank ye for the information you sent in the emails, Guy. I printed them out and showed them to my father, an' he's most interested in all this family history. He'll tell you more about William – Uncle Liam, he calls him, an' he also has some photos. Come through to the back room. We can talk there while I make ye both a cup o' tea.'

'We don't want to put you to any trouble,' Jenna said quickly.

'No trouble at all. Katie, my niece, is here today. She's on what they call study leave from school, so she'll keep her eye on the shop.'

They said hello to the teenage girl as they followed Rose into a room behind the shop. It was cluttered with boxes of all shapes and sizes, but Rose pulled out two wooden chairs for them and filled the electric kettle at a small sink.

'So, ye've found out about Liam's real parents now?' she asked. 'My dad remembered how his father had this older brother, 'cept he wasn't a proper brother, and he died quite young, so my dad never met him.'

'He died in 1940," Guy said. 'Did we discover his cause of death, Jenna?'

'I don't think so.'

'My dad may know.'

'Does he remember anything about his grandparents?' he asked.

'His grandfather Michael died before he was born, but he remembers Grandma Bridget 'cause she lived with them in the house on Church Street when he was little.'

'It'll be interesting to hear his memories of her,' Jenna said. 'Would it be convenient for us to meet him?'

'Aye, he's lookin' forward to meeting you both.'

Jenna sipped the strong tea while Rose spoke on her mobile phone. She broke off and turned to them. 'He'll be out this afternoon, but he's home this morning, if that's convenient for ye both?'

'Yes, perfect,' Guy said.

Rose raised her phone to her mouth again. 'Get all the old photos out, Dad.'

* * *

Twenty minutes later, they walked up the path to a semi-detached house, not far from the supermarket where they'd shopped the previous day. Even before they reached the door, it was opened by a tall, lean man with thinning sandy hair.

'Hello,' he greeted them. 'Guy and Jenna, I presume. Come in, ye're very welcome. I'm Tom Keating.'

He led them into a living room, with a beige couch and two matching armchairs arranged around a low pine coffee table.

'Sit ye down. Aye, anywhere,' he added.

They sat together on the couch, and Tom sat in one of the chairs and picked up an envelope from the table.

'Rose said you were interested in my grandparents, Michael and Bridget. Here's a photo of 'em. Must have been taken about 1912. My father's the one sitting on his mother's knee. He was born in 1910 and he looks about two.'

Jenna nodded. 'Yes, I found him on the census, and the others, too.'

Tom handed them the sepia photograph mounted on stiff card. 'My aunt Annie's the little one standing between her father's knees, she'd be about five, and the girl standing next to her mother is Mary.'

Jenna smiled. 'Don't they all look stiff and serious? They probably had to pose for ages waiting for the photographer. And the two boys – it's easy to tell which is William, isn't it? He has dark hair, whereas all the other children are fair-haired.'

'Ginger hair runs in our family,' Tom said, 'so ye're right. The tall boy on the left was William – or Liam, as they called him. Never met him, or Patrick either. They both died afore I was born.'

'Rose told us about Patrick dying in Dublin when he was eighteen,' Jenna said. 'Do you know anything about Liam's death?'

'He was killed at Dunkirk.'

'Dunkirk?' Jenna echoed. 'But Ireland was neutral in the Second World War, wasn't it?'

Guy looked from one to the other. 'I've heard of Dunkirk, but can't remember the details.'

Jenna was about to reply when Tom answered for her. 'The British army was pushed back to the French coast. They learned the lessons from the First World War, so instead of digging trenches to fight back, they evacuated the army home across the English Channel.'

'Hundreds of small boats crossed the Channel to take the men out to the larger ships,' Jenna added. 'Churchill called it a miraculous deliverance.'

'Aye, deliverance for hundreds of thousands, but not all. Liam was one of many who never returned. My aunt Mary said he was killed while he waited on the beach at Dunkirk. The Germans were strafing the beaches, ye see, and his body was never found. He could have been blown to pieces, or else he's in one of those unnamed graves in a war cemetery. His name's on the memorial in Dunkirk.'

'No known grave.' Jenna shook her head sadly.

After a moment's silence, Guy spoke again. 'He lived all his life in Ireland, so why was he in the British army?'

'He went over to England and volunteered as soon as war broke out,' Tom said. 'Aunt Mary told me he allus thought of himself as one-third English, one-third American, and one-third Irish.'

Jenna's eyes widened. 'He knew who his real parents were?'

'Aye, indeed, because his mother left a letter for him, to be given to him on his twenty-first birthday.'

'He was born in February 1898, so his twenty-first would be in 1919. Oh!' Creasing her face in sudden anguish, she turned to Guy. 'And Ellen died at the end of 1918.'

'Which means he never had the chance to meet her.' He pursed his lips. 'Must admit I'd love to know what Ellen's letter said.'

Tom reached for another envelope from the coffee table. 'Here's the letter, Guy.'

Chapter 17

Jenna stared at the yellowing envelope in Guy's hand. On the front, in black ink and slightly wavering handwriting, were the words: _For William Lewis, on the occasion of his 21st birthday, February 14, 1919_.

Guy held it out to her. 'Do you want to open it? She was your great-great-grandmother.'

She shook her head. 'My hands are shaking too much.'

After he unfolded two sheets of vellum notepaper from the envelope, the first thing she saw was the date at the top. 'Guy, look. March 31, 1901, the day of the census, when she was staying at the hotel in Dublin with William.'

She leaned against him as they read the letter together.

My darling William

You will already know Michael and Bridget are not your real parents. I have asked them to be truthful and to tell you of the circumstances which obliged me to give you into their safekeeping. Bridget has been with me for several years, first as my personal maid and then as a mother's help, and I would trust her with my life, and therefore with you, too. I am sure she and Michael will bring you up as one of their own, and I do not doubt you will enjoy a happy childhood with them.

I want to reassure you of the great love your father and I had for each other, a love that has transcended his untimely death. It broke my heart when my beloved Edwin died before you were born; indeed, he never knew I was carrying his child. He returned to Boston in the summer of 1897 when he learnt his unbalanced and sometimes violent wife had been institutionalised. He intended to bring his son Samuel here to Ireland to live with us, but the tragedy of his death prevented that from happening. You were less than a month old when I learnt he had died. I wanted to die, too, but you gave me the reason to live through such an unhappy time, and I thank you. I love you so much, and your father, if he had lived, would have given you the same love, since you were created from the deep devotion between us.

My dearest wish was to remain forever at Mist Na Mara where I spent two supremely happy years with Edwin, and the last three years with you, my darling son. Instead, I will marry Mr. Robert Oliver in a few weeks' time, in order to avert a scandal that would destroy my brother's career and bring untold grief and embarrassment to my mother and father.

Tomorrow you will return to Clifden, and I will go to England without you. If there was any other way, I would gladly take it, but the fact you are reading this letter now, on the threshold of your adult life, indicates that circumstances have made it impossible for me to come back to Ireland, or to acknowledge you as my son.

The deeds of Mist Na Mara will be transferred into your name, either on my death or on the occasion of you reaching your majority, whichever event happens first. I trust you will love the house as much as your father and I did. My only request is that you keep it for yourself and your family, and bequeath it to any future descendants of yours, or mine or Edwin's.

I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me for not being a part of your life. Remember, I will never stop loving you, even though time and distance have separated us.

Your ever-loving mama

Ellen Hayden Maguire

Tears flooded Jenna's eyes, and she felt rather than saw Guy swallowing hard. For a few minutes, neither of them spoke, and it was Tom who broke the silence.

'A lot o' heartache in that letter.'

'William must have been very happy to know how much his parents loved each other.' Jenna's voice was choked, and she brushed away the tears from her cheeks.

Guy put his arm around her. 'It appears Bridget or Michael told him about them, but this – in his mother's own handwriting – would mean so much to him.' He looked across at Tom. 'Do you mind me asking why you have this letter?'

'To tell ye the truth, I on'y remembered it when Rose told me ye were askin' about my grandparents. It was in a box of old photos and other things I found when we cleared my dad's house after his death. I s'pose I looked in it at the time, but didna pay much mind to it, jus' pushed it in a cupboard with the other stuff from the house. I think the box might've belonged to Grandma Bridget.' He reached down to the side of his chair and lifted a square, rusty tin box onto the table. 'There's more things in here, an' most of 'em are linked to Liam. Some photos of him, his school reports, hand-drawn Christmas cards. Seems like Bridget saved stuff, in case his mother ever came back to Ireland.'

Jenna shook her head. 'But she didn't. Was this Robert Oliver such an ogre that she couldn't tell him about her son? My heart aches for her.'

'I'm intrigued why she married him,' Guy said. 'All our theories about her being abandoned by Edwin and deciding to marry someone else have gone out the window.'

Jenna pointed to a sentence in the letter. 'She said it was to avert a scandal that threatened her brother's career. Didn't the article about her say her brother was a Member of Parliament?'

'Yes, and her father was an Anglican priest. I wonder what the scandal was?'

'Serious enough to force her into a marriage with a man she didn't love. Oh!' She ended with a sudden gasp.

'What?'

'Robert Oliver was a newspaper proprietor. Could this be some kind of blackmail?'

'How d'you mean?'

'Perhaps he was going to print an article about the scandal, but agreed not to on condition Ellen married him.'

'I think your imagination's working overtime again.'

'You laughed at my imagination when I made a wild guess about Ellen and Edwin being lovers, but now we know they were.'

'You're right.' He pressed his fingers against her arm, and her concentration on Ellen and Edwin threatened to disintegrate. Quickly, she turned to the older man. 'Rose told us your father lived at Mist Na Mara as a child.'

'Aye, he did, until he was about thirteen, and then he was apprenticed to Mr Coyne, the draper, and lived with two other boys above the shop on Market Street.'

'Did he tell you about his parents or about William?' she asked.

'Not so much about Liam. He was much older than my father, twelve years between them, and Liam was away in Dublin at the art college by the time my father was about four.'

'Did he know Liam wasn't his real brother?'

'He called him _me big brother_ , but they all knew he wasn't, even though Liam had the Keating surname. I don't think any secret was made of it, and they accepted it like kids do. He told me once how Liam took them all out to Derrygimla Bog to see the airplane that crash-landed there. My dad was nine, but remembered Liam saying they were witnessing an important historic event.'

'Was that the first transatlantic flight?' Guy asked. 'I read a lot of information about it in one of the pubs downtown.'

'Ye're right. Dad met the two pilots, Mr. Brown and Mr Alcock, and got their autographs.' Tom chuckled. 'They'd probably be worth a fortune these days, but my dad had no idea what happened to them.'

'What did he tell you about living at Mist Na Mara?' Jenna asked.

'He used to talk about the games they played around the house, hide and seek, making rival dens in the bushes, climbing trees, and such like – oh, an' sitting on tin trays for one of the other kids to push them down the corridor from the hallway to the kitchen. Their mam got mad with them 'cos the trays scratched the floor. An' of course, ye know about the locked bedroom?'

Jenna glanced at Guy. 'Yes, we do.'

'On'y Liam was allowed in there, none of the other kids, and on'y when he was about sixteen. Grandma Bridget told 'em it was a very special room. My dad said his older sister Mary scared him and his other sister Annie half to death by sayin' someone had been murdered in there.'

Jenna smiled. 'She sounds like a typical big sister, tormenting her siblings with murder stories.'

'I heard the bedroom stayed locked, even when Liam and his wife lived there,' Tom said.

'It was Ellen and Edwin's bedroom,' she told him. 'We were allowed to enter it under the terms of Helena Keating's will. Helena was William's daughter,' she added.

'Aye, I remember Grandma Bridget going to visit Liam's widow and daughter over in Dalkey once when I was a child. At the time, they were jus' names to me.' He gave them both a curious glance. 'So, you've been into the bedroom? Were all the walls spattered with blood like my aunt Mary told my father?'

'I think Mary had an even more active imagination than mine. No blood splatters or dead bodies, just faded furnishings, and a thick layer of dust everywhere.'

'Kind of disappointin' really,' Tom said. 'And the house belongs to you two now, does it? What are ye going to do with it?'

'We're not sure yet,' Guy replied. 'We've been advised to sell. Eve, the agent who looks after the property, has told us house prices are still falling here in Ireland.'

'Eve?' Tom asked. 'D'ye mean Eve Callaghan at Clifden Properties?'

'Yes, do you know her?'

'Not personally, but I've had dealings with her husband, soon to be ex-husband, or so I heard. Not surprised she's gettin' rid of him.'

Jenna's eyes widened. 'Why do you say that?'

'Sean Callaghan did some building work for me about five years ago. More fool me for giving him the job. He has the gift o' the gab, but we had no end of problems with our kitchen extension. Cracks in the wall, an' blocked drains. He blamed everything 'cept his own cheap materials and poor workmanship, and I had t'get someone else to come an' put it right.'

'I'm surprised he's still in business,' Guy said.

'I did hear he's strugglin' to find work these days.'

'And you said Eve is divorcing him?' Jenna asked. Now Eve's flirtation with Guy started to make more sense.

'I don' think they've lived together for a while now,' Tom said, 'but gettin' a divorce here in Ireland can take a long time. It's more complicated if there are any kids, and I think they've a young lad.'

Jenna nodded. 'Eve mentioned a six-year-old.'

'Aye, so they'll need to agree about all kinds of things to do with the child, not jus' who he lives with, but his education and health an' such like. Anyhow, that's beside the point, 'cos you want to hear more about Grandma Bridget and Mist Na Mara.'

'I guess we got side-tracked,' Guy said with a smile. 'Can you tell us more about Bridget?'

'Ach, she was a grand woman. She allus had time for us kids. Patience of a saint, she had...'

Jenna smiled as she listened to Tom talking about his grandmother. His description of her good nature, together with the photograph showing her round smiling face, gave her a warm sense of pleasure. It wasn't surprising Ellen had entrusted her son to this kindly Irish woman.

'I know your grandfather Michael died before you were born,' she said, as a new thought occurred to her, 'but did your grandmother tell you anything about him?'

'Not very much,' Tom admitted. 'He was a gardener, and a general handyman, I think, so that was how he got the job at Mist Na Mara. Or it might be the other way round, with Bridget getting a job as Ellen's maid and putting in a good word for Michael. All I know is they lived there 'til about 1940. Must have been a lively place at one time, with all the children there.'

Jenna tried to imagine the house alive with the chatter of children's voices, but found it difficult. 'The house has been well maintained, but it's kind of empty and forlorn now. It's like stepping back into the past with all the thirties décor and Victorian furniture.'

'My younger daughter, Rose's sister, would be interested in seeing it. She teaches history at the school here.'

Guy's head tilted slightly. 'History? Perhaps we can arrange for her to bring her students to the house. I'm sure they'd be fascinated by the old kitchen and bathrooms, and the Victorian bedroom.'

'Wouldna mind takin' a look at the bedroom meself sometime,' Tom said. 'In fact, I'd like to visit the house, since it's where my father and aunts grew up.'

'You've never been inside?' Jenna asked.

'It was abandoned and locked up before I was born.'

'Of course, you must visit it,' she said. 'Guy and I are going to explore the bedroom this afternoon, and then we'll ask Eve for the name of the professional cleaners her agency employs. Once the room's cleaned, you must all come – you, and Rose, and your other daughter, and any other members of your family.'

'Thank ye, that's very kind.'

'Erm, this letter,' Guy said, holding up the envelope in which he'd replaced the two sheets of notepaper. 'Would it be possible for us to have a copy of it?'

'Nay, lad, you take it. It belongs to you, and the rest of the stuff in this box, too. Liam's your blood relative, not mine.'

Guy took the box from him. 'We really appreciate this, Tom.'

After thanks and farewells, and promises to keep in contact, they got in the car. Guy started the engine, but didn't drive away, and Jenna turned to him. 'What's wrong?'

'Nothing's wrong, but—'

'But what?'

'Ellen's letter. There was so much in those two pages. I'm still trying to process it.'

'Me, too, but it was good to discover she and Edwin were lovers in the true sense of the word. Not a quick fling, but a very deep love between them.'

'Yeah. I'm sad it all went wrong for them.' He shook his head and heaved a small sigh. 'Anyway, it's all in the past. Do you want to go back to the house? Or find somewhere for lunch first?'

'We could stop off at the supermarket again and buy some more food, now we know we have a microwave and double burner.'

'You mean you'll trust me to make one of my pasta dishes?'

The amusement in his eyes set her pulse racing, but she kept her voice light. 'My chili con carne is pretty good, too.'

After they'd stocked up at the supermarket, Guy drove back to Mist Na Mara.

'I half-expected Eve to be here waiting for us,' Jenna said as they unpacked the shopping bags in the kitchen. 'In fact, I'm surprised she's not called you again.'

'Either she's had a busy morning, or she's given up trying to make us sell. How about omelettes for lunch?'

'With cheese?'

'Sounds good to me.'

'Wonder if Ellen and Edwin ever cooked for themselves?' Jenna said, as she grated the cheese and Guy beat the eggs.

'Nah, he was a Victorian man, probably never set foot in the kitchen.'

'I doubt Ellen did, either. Bridget may have cooked for them, or they employed someone else.'

'This is much more fun. Do these eggs need salt?'

Jenna shook her head. 'Salt's not good for you, and besides, we didn't buy any.'

'Okay. Now let's hope we can find a pan.'

She enjoyed watching Guy take charge, first washing the pan and then waiting for the oil to heat before he tipped the mixture into it. She applauded when he flipped the omelettes perfectly.

'You've done this before,' she teased.

'A few times, yeah.'

Again, his quirky smile sent wisps of pleasure dancing through her veins, and she had to make a determined effort to chat casually when they sat in the kitchen with their omelettes and chunks of the thick crusty bread they'd bought at the supermarket. 'I bet Ellen and Edwin sat at opposite ends of the long table in the dining room and made polite conversation, while a discreet butler stood in the background.'

'Thank heaven I didn't live then.'

A new thought occurred to her. 'Did you find out anything about Edwin's death?'

'Yes. Sorry, I must have forgotten to tell you about that. His death certificate says he died of injuries received in a streetcar accident. Roger, my mom's friend, who's doing some research for us, is searching newspaper records to find out more about the accident. He also discovered Edwin's wife was committed to an asylum in June 1897, and released five years later.'

'So, Edwin went back home in the summer of that year to collect his son, and then was killed. Ellen said he didn't even know she was pregnant. I wonder why she didn't write to tell him?'

'Perhaps she did, but the letter didn't reach him before he died. I'm not sure how long it took for letters to get from Ireland to America. There was no airmail then, of course.'

'And she didn't find out about his death until William was a month old. That would be March 1898.' Jenna shuddered. 'What a horrendous time for her. She's waiting for him to return to Ireland with Samuel, but doesn't hear from him for six months and then finds out he's dead. She must have been devastated.'

'But three years later, she marries someone else and leaves her child with the Keatings.'

'I can understand how some scandal might influence her decision to marry Robert Oliver, but not why she never saw William again. She and Robert had a daughter, my great-grandmother Louisa, in 1906, so they were – you know, intimate.'

'Maybe he was asserting his conjugal rights. That's what they called it then, isn't it?'

'Lie back and think of England.' At Guy's quizzical reaction, she explained. 'It was the advice given by mothers to daughters on the eve of their wedding, when women weren't supposed to enjoy sex.'

The slight lift of Guy's eyebrows and the amused quirk of his lips sent the heat to her cheeks, and she went on quickly, 'Are we ready to find out what else the bedroom can tell us about them?'

Her cheeks burned even more as she realised the implication of what she'd said, but Guy laughed. 'It's over a hundred years ago, Jenna. I think we can cope with whatever they did in the bedroom, don't you?'

'I wasn't – I mean—' She gave him a sheepish grin. 'It's _shut up, Jenna_ time now, isn't it?'

'Not at all, but I must say you look very attractive when you blush.'

Jenna put her hand to her hot cheek. 'Thank you, but it's a curse at times. I blush too easily. Anyway, shall we go up to the bedroom?'

Guy let out a loud guffaw, and she started to giggle. For a few moments, both of them rocked with laughter, until Jenna had to mop her eyes with the back of her hand.

Guy straightened his face. 'Sorry, but after the conversation about lying back and thinking of England, my mind went onto a different plane.'

'So did mine.'

She said the words without thinking, but her eyes met his deep gaze, and everything inside her did a double somersault.

After a tension-filled moment, Guy said, 'I'm not sure whether that's a casual comment, or whether you mean something else.'

It was the right moment to be honest, both with herself and with him. 'It means you can ignore all the crap I gave you last night at the pub.'

His blue eyes studied her. 'You've changed your mind?'

The tension crackled in the air. 'It's a woman's prerogative, isn't it?' she said lightly, and put a tentative hand on his arm. 'I was trying hard to stick to my original five-year plan, but sometimes what you think you want and what you really want can be two different things, and then you have to decide between them.'

Guy covered her hand with his. 'I'm not sure I understand that, but in your own immortal words, shall we go up to the bedroom?'

Jenna started to laugh again. 'I meant Edwin and Ellen's bedroom, although I suspect you may be thinking of a bare mattress with two sleeping bags.' She held up both her hands. 'Let's go to the main bedroom first while I try to sort out my thoughts.'

As they climbed the stairs, he grasped her hand, and her stomach contracted. If she hadn't asked for time to think, she was sure he would have taken her straight to their room. Instead, he turned left along the landing.

'Another actress and artist head for the bedroom, huh?' he said.

She widened her eyes. 'Oh wow, I'd never realised that before, but you're right. Kind of spooky really, isn't it?'

They reached the door of the bedroom, and Guy pulled the brass key from his pocket. 'Ready for whatever the other actress and artist are willing to tell us?'

'And ready to sneeze again at all the dust.'

His phone rang a couple of seconds after he'd opened the door, and Jenna smirked. 'Bet this is Eve.'

He shook his head. 'No, it's Dan McGrath.'

Jenna went into the bedroom, leaving Guy to answer his call. She crossed to the dressing table, sat on the padded stool, and pulled open one of the lower drawers. There were a couple of bottles of perfume, but she grimaced at the vinegary smell of one of them.

She opened the top drawer of the right-hand side and was poking around among several hair brushes and metal clips when Guy came into the room.

'What did Dan say?'

'Maeve Connor, the woman who inherited Helena Keating's house in Dalkey, wants to meet with us. She has some information about Helena she'd like to share.'

Chapter 18

'Meeting a friend of Helena's could be interesting,' Jenna said.

'Depending on how old she is, she may have known William, too, or his wife. Where's Dalkey?'

'Somewhere near Dublin, I think.'

'She's suggested Saturday at two o'clock. I said I'd call Dan when I'd checked with you. Can we get there and back in a day?'

Jenna pursed her lips. 'It took us about three-and-a-half hours from Dublin, so allow four hours to Dalkey. That's a lot of driving for one day.'

'Would it be better to stay in a hotel overnight?'

'The Westgate?'

'Why not? Dan also said he transferred an interim payment of twenty thousand euros into both our accounts yesterday.'

'That's good news, but I'm sure we can find somewhere in Dalkey rather than the most expensive hotel in Dublin.'

Guy walked around the four-poster bed and pulled the drape from Ellen's portrait. 'Come here.'

She crossed the room to join him, and gazed at the picture. 'She's so beautiful, and he's captured the love in her eyes.'

He slipped his arm around her shoulders. 'Jenna, this may be worth a fortune if it's a genuine Edwin Lewis painting.'

' _If_ it's genuine? His initials are in the corner.'

'Those would need to be authenticated.'

'What do you mean by a fortune?'

'A hundred thousand, possibly more.'

'You're joking!' She twisted her head around to him. 'No, you're serious, aren't you?'

'Yes. Any newly-discovered work by a Victorian painter who's already displayed in the Smithsonian and the Boston Museum of Fine Arts is probably very collectable.'

'Maybe we _can_ afford the Westgate,' Jenna quipped, then faltered. 'Except—'

'Except what?'

'I'll admit the money's tempting, but the portrait belongs in this room, doesn't it? The place where Edwin and Ellen were so happy together. The more we find out about them, the more I'm drawn to them.'

'Me, too, and I can't help but think of Ellen's request that William should keep the house for himself and his family, and any future descendants.'

'It explains why he said Helena must bequeath it to members of the family.'

Guy nodded. 'Dan said we must make our own decision about the house, regardless of whatever pressure Eve might put on us.'

'Which brings us back to the question of what we can do with this place. If we sold the portrait, it might give us enough money to bring the house up to modern standards and set up your artists' retreat.'

'I've been thinking of what Tom said about his daughter's history students, too. We have historic places back home, with Living History groups. People in costume explain the history of the place to visitors and re-enact scenes from the past.'

Jenna stared at Guy as the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. An image flashed through her mind of herself, Charley, Liz, and Maria, and some of their other drama school friends, acting out scenes from Ireland's history.

'Did I say something wrong?' he asked.

'No, we have Living History presentations, too, and you've sent my mind on a galloping race into possibilities.' She let out her breath in a deep sigh. 'But they're _not_ possible, are they?'

'Not unless we sell the portrait.'

Her heart sank. 'Is that what you want to do?'

'No. I agree with you. The portrait belongs here.' After a few moments' silence, he changed the subject. 'Found anything interesting in the dresser?'

Relieved to divert to more mundane matters, instead of the decision they would eventually have to make, she shook her head. 'Only some hair things. A few brushes, clips, and rusty metal curlers that look like torture instruments. It appears to be junk she didn't bother to take back to England.'

'No bunch of love letters tied up with a pink ribbon?'

'If there were any, I'm sure she wouldn't leave them here. That reminds me, though, we haven't opened the tin box Tom gave us.'

'My hands were full with all the bags from the supermarket, so it's still in the car. I'll collect it when we go downstairs, but let's look in the closet first.'

Jenna led the way into the closet. At the far end was a gilded cheval mirror and a small vanity table. On one side, a brass rail was covered by a large yellowing linen sheet. On the other, plain wooden shelves held a few dust-covered items: some leather shoes and boots, several wide-brimmed hats decorated with flowers or feathers, and a couple of cardboard boxes.

She wafted the dust from one, opened it, and giggled as she pulled out a pair of silky blue bloomers. 'Ooh, passion killers!'

'In Victorian times, they were probably considered erotic.' Guy rummaged under the linen sheet and brought out the green dress. 'I'm surprised she didn't take this with her, as a reminder of the portrait Edwin painted.'

'Maybe the memory was too painful? Or, more likely, the style was no longer fashionable in London.'

'I'd love to see you wearing it.'

On an impulse, Jenna waved him out of the closet. 'You go down and get Tom's box from the car, and I'll try it on.'

When he'd gone, she studied the dress. The waist was very narrow, but of course, Victorian women wore corsets to give themselves hourglass figures.

'It'll never fit me,' she muttered, but still pulled off her V-necked cotton top and lightweight grey pants, and slipped the green dress over her head.

The smooth silk glided down her skin, so cool and sensual that her breath caught somewhere in her throat. After adjusting the large puffed sleeves off her shoulders, she glanced in the long mirror and realised her bra straps showed.

'Hmm, kind of spoils the effect.' She lowered the top of the dress and removed her bra. After all, bras hadn't been invented in the nineteenth century, had they?

She struggled to fasten the buttons at the back and left some near her waist undone, before surveying herself in the mirror again. The tight bodice and low neck accentuated her cleavage, even without her bra, and the full skirt fell in silky folds from her waist to the floor.

Picking up the skirt at both sides so as not to trip over it, she went back into the bedroom and gazed up at Ellen's portrait. It was a little unnerving to realise she was wearing a dress her great-great-grandmother had worn over a hundred years earlier, but she smiled when she looked at the pendant around Ellen's neck. Not exactly the same as the one Guy had given her, but it was very similar. She fingered her own pendant and thought back to their previous visit to Ireland.

Yes, she'd been attracted to him from the time they first met at Dublin Airport. There'd been a kind of _frisson_ , a strange aura of anticipation, impossible to define, but some sixth sense told her he was special. _A man I could be interested in_...

What an understatement! Last night, when he'd held her after the beer can fright and she realised she'd fallen in love with him, she hadn't analysed the reasons. Now, although her mind skimmed back, she couldn't recall any specific moment when it happened. Nor could she think ahead, because every which way she looked, the future was fraught with problems.

'Forget it,' she muttered. She crossed to Ellen's dresser and used some of the clips to pull her hair to the top of her head in a style reminiscent of her ancestor.

She turned and straightened as Guy came into the room.

* * *

Guy's eyes widened at the sight of Jenna in the green dress. He struggled to avert his gaze from her enticing cleavage, but her bare shoulders had the biggest effect on him. Smooth and pale above the frothy lace of the large sleeves that reached her elbows, they gave his body a swift reaction before his mind had time to process it.

'You look stunning,' he managed to say, even though his mouth had gone dry.

With a coquettish tilt of her head, she pirouetted and flounced over to the chaise longue. 'How was she sitting? Her left arm resting here, and her right hand holding the top of her sleeve. Like this?'

She held the pose, and he gaped at her.

'What's the matter?' she asked.

He glanced towards the portrait and back at her. 'I feel as if I'm seeing a ghost. The resemblance is almost uncanny.'

She laughed. 'I think she was hitching up the sleeve to stop it falling down, and Edwin said, _Hold it right there_ , and proceeded to sketch her. My hair's not the same, though. I'd need to use curling tongs to get ringlets like hers.'

'Your bone structure is very similar.' Inhaling deeply after the shallow breaths he'd taken, he took a few steps towards her and cupped her chin with his right hand. 'Same wide forehead, high cheekbones, straight nose, and determined jaw. And the light of—' He was about to say love, but changed it. 'Of laughter in your eyes.'

As he bent forward, her eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint. 'And now you're about to do what I can imagine Edwin—'

He cut her short with a soft kiss, and had to exercise all the control he could muster when her warm tongue caressed his lips. Her hands reached out to his upper arms, and she pulled him down next to her. Gripping her shoulder with one hand, he caressed the smooth silky fabric around her waist with the other. As their kiss deepened to an arousing intensity, he fought the urge to slide his hand down the front of her dress.

He hauled himself away before the temptation overwhelmed him. She looked so tantalising as she posed against the padded corner of the chaise longue with a teasing smile that softened all her features.

'Jeez, if Ellen was half as seductive as you, Edwin didn't stand a chance.'

'He wouldn't be wearing jeans and a polo shirt.'

'True.' He grinned. 'Would it turn you on if I had a black suit and a shirt with a wing collar? Like he wore in the photo I showed you?'

'I'd prefer a tuxedo, and a bow tie with a crisp white shirt.'

'Dammit, I didn't bring my tux with me.'

She laughed as she reached up to kiss his cheek, and then hitched up the sleeves of the dress. 'Let me go and change out of this before I split the seams.'

'It fits you perfectly.'

'No, it doesn't. I've left some of the buttons at the back unfastened. Ellen had an eighteen-inch waist, and I don't.'

He stood up. 'Stay there a moment and adopt Ellen's pose again.'

As he pulled his phone from his pocket, Jenna laughed. 'Thank heaven for digital cameras. At least it means I don't need to sit here for hours while you paint my portrait.' She straightened her shoulders, composed her face, and then moved her arms into the same positions as Ellen's. 'Is this right?'

He gave her a quizzical look. 'You just did something weird.'

Her mouth quirked. 'Tricks of the trade. It's called getting into character. A technique we were taught at drama school.'

'Awesome.' It occurred to him Suzie had never done anything like that. She'd always been Suzie, even when she was playing a part on stage; she'd never slipped into another character role like Jenna had just done. This was the difference between a genuine actress and a wannabe starlet.

He turned his mind back to taking the photo of her. 'Okay, hold your sleeve higher up, and let your left hand dangle over the end of the armrest. Yep, that's right.'

Moving a few steps each time to catch her from different angles, he took several photos. It was obvious she was used to being filmed from the way she held her pose without even letting her eyes follow him.

'Good job,' he said finally. 'I got some great shots.'

'Please may I sneeze now? You've stirred up the dust by moving around so much.'

He held out his hand to help her up. 'We'll find out tomorrow how to book some cleaners to do a professional job in here.'

Jenna made a face. 'I suppose that means we'll have to contact Eve again.'

'Yes, but only to get the number of the cleaning company.'

'She'll want to see this room.'

'I'll tell her we'll arrange a public viewing once it's been cleaned, and we'll invite Tom and his daughters too.'

'Good idea.'

He liked the way she dropped another quick kiss on his cheek before she gathered up her skirt and headed for the closet.

'I'll be down in the kitchen when you're ready,' he said. 'Want a coffee?'

She glanced back with a quick smile. 'Another good idea.'

Ten minutes later, when she came into the kitchen, he'd laid out the contents of the tin box and was pouring coffee into the large mugs they'd bought at the supermarket.

'It's a shame we didn't discover anything else interesting in the bedroom, isn't it?' she said as she sat on one of the wooden chairs. 'I was hoping we might find out more about Ellen and Edwin. Hey—' Her gaze travelled around the items on the table. 'Is this all from the box?'

'Yes. Tom was right. Most things are connected in some way with Liam.'

Jenna picked up one of the photos showing Liam when he was five or six, standing next to a horse and trap in front of the house. 'He's a real sweetie. Look at his peaked cap and breeches. He's like a miniature adult. Oh, and this.' Her hand alighted on a snowman-shaped card, decorated with felt black eyes and red nose. She opened it and read the childish writing: Happy Christmas, Mama. I love you. From Liam.

'There's this, too.' Guy handed her a square off-white envelope.

'It's addressed to Edwin. _E. W. Lewis, 46 Charlestown Street, Boston, U.S.A._ '

'It's stamped _Return to Sender_. Have you noticed the postmark?'

She peered at the envelope and raised surprised eyes to him. 'We were right, weren't we? Clifden, August 30, 1897. I bet this was the letter telling him she was pregnant.'

'And it was returned to her, presumably because he'd died by the time it reached his address.'

'I wonder what went through her mind when it came back unopened? She must have thought he'd abandoned her.' Jenna opened the top slit of the envelope. 'No letter inside.'

'Maybe she tore it up in anger or depression. We'll never know, but here's something else.'

He passed a typed letter to her and saw her eyes widen as she read the flimsy paper. Half a minute later, she stared across the table at him.

'This must be how she learnt about Edwin's death. Dated March 10, 1898. Almost a month after William was born.' She shuddered. 'After hearing nothing from Edwin the previous autumn, she gets this letter headed _The Estate of Mr. Edwin William Lewis, deceased_. I can't even begin to imagine how she felt when she read that.'

'She explained that in the letter she wrote to William three years later. She wanted to die, too, but he gave her a reason to live. Also, she had Edwin's legacy. This letter says his estate was to be shared equally between her and his son Samuel, and the proceeds of any future sales of his paintings were hers. The Smithsonian and Boston MFA bought some of those, and art collectors probably bought others, so my guess is she was a wealthy woman.'

'It wouldn't make up for losing Edwin.'

'True, but at least it explains why Michael and Bridget continued to live here. Her inheritance must have paid the bills.'

'And, after her death, whatever money she left to William allowed him to continue living here and to set up the trust fund for the house.' Jenna's face screwed up in anguish. 'Guy, there's no way we can sell this place.'

He put his hand over hers. 'I guess not, but heaven only knows what we can _do_ with it.'

Chapter 19

While Guy cooked pasta carbonara for their supper, Jenna studied the map of Ireland. After a brief discussion, they'd decided to drive across to the east coast the next day, rather than setting off very early on Saturday.

'If we take the scenic route,' she said, 'we'll see more of Ireland than we saw from the motorway. Any requests?'

'How about something medieval, like a castle or monastery?'

'Oh, I think we can find something older than that.' She flipped through her guidebook. 'Yep, we could spend an hour or so in Galway, and then take a detour over the Burren before we cut across country to the Wicklow Mountains.'

'What's the Burren?'

She read from the guidebook. 'It means rocky land in Gaelic, and is a large area of limestone pavement formed by glaciation, and wind and rain erosion. There are numerous prehistoric tombs and ring forts.'

'Prehistoric? I've never seen any man-made prehistoric sites.'

'Is 3,000 B.C. old enough for you?'

'Five thousand years old? It sure is. Sounds amazing.' He gave the pasta another stir. 'This is nearly ready, so we'll need some space on the table.'

'You mean we're not going to eat at opposite ends of the dining room table?'

Guy gave her a droll smile as she cleared away the map and guidebook, and the contents of the tin box. 'Not tonight, honey. It's the butler's night off.'

She laughed. 'I'd like to think Ellen and Edwin ate in here sometimes. The Victorians weren't as formal or strait-laced as they're portrayed.'

'Our ancestors have proved that. Wasn't it called living in sin?'

'A hundred years later, no one would bat an eyelid. Times have changed, haven't they?'

Over supper, they chatted about what life might have been like for Edwin and Ellen at the end of the nineteenth century.

'Must confess I'm glad I live now and not then,' Guy admitted as he turned on the hot tap to wash their dishes after they'd finished. 'I miss having a dishwasher – and a fridge,' he added, as he sniffed the carton of milk before pouring it down the sink. 'No cereal tomorrow morning. This milk's already gone sour.'

After they'd cleared everything away, he sat down again at the kitchen table. 'I'm amazed Eve hasn't called today, but I guess we should tell her we won't be here for a couple of days.'

'And ask her about the cleaning company.'

'The sooner we can arrange that, the better.'

'I'll let you call her, while I fetch the charger for my phone.'

She returned to the kitchen to hear Guy saying, 'What happened?' and then, 'I'm so sorry, it sounds real painful.'

She plugged in her charger as she waited for him to finish the call, and raised her eyebrows. 'What was that about?'

'She's been at the hospital most of today. Dislocated her shoulder when she slipped off a step somewhere.'

'Ooh, not nice. It's not her lucky week, is it? First a black eye from the swing ball and now this. Presumably, she won't be able to drive for a while.'

'She said her brother has come up from Galway to stay with her over the weekend.'

Alarm scudded through her. 'And you told her we'd be away for a couple of days? Do you think she'll bring her brother here to value all the furniture and ornaments?'

'It wouldn't surprise me if she's already done that. She does have a key, remember.'

'True, but we'd better make sure the bedroom is locked.'

'I said we'll have an official viewing once it's been cleaned. She thinks the cleaning company will probably be able to come next Monday, and she'll confirm the time after she calls them tomorrow.'

'What about the portrait, Guy? Are we going to leave it on the wall when the cleaners come?'

'It might be better to move it someplace else until we get it valued. I've called in a favour from a contact in Boston, an art expert, and asked him to recommend someone in either Dublin or London.'

'And if we find out it's worth a lot?'

'More decisions, I guess. Let's forget about it for the moment, and work out a route for tomorrow.'

* * *

'Sounds good,' he said two hours later, as Jenna folded the map and closed the guidebook. 'I'm looking forward to seeing more of Ireland. Do you want to drive, or shall I?'

'I'll drive, so you'll have the chance to admire the scenery.'

'Thanks.'

As he dropped a light kiss on her cheek, Jenna's pulse quickened. She'd enjoyed the evening with him, talking and laughing as they discussed what they could visit on their journey across Ireland, and getting side-tracked to a myriad of other topics ranging from family stories to their camping experiences. She loved their exchanged glances, and the way he rested his hand over hers on the table, squeezing it each time their eyes met.

Startled when he pushed back his chair and stood, she looked up curiously.

'We need an early night if we want to set off at eight o'clock tomorrow,' he said. 'Come on.'

Uncertainty rippled through her. Last night they'd shared a bed, albeit in separate sleeping bags. Goose bumps broke out at the back of her neck at the memory of how he'd put his arm around her sometime during the night. But the power had been off, and it had made sense to sleep in the same room.

He stretched out his hand, and automatically she stood and linked hers with his, while her mind worked overtime. His mention of an early night confused her, and she wasn't sure what he was thinking. Was he going to suggest they used separate bedrooms tonight?

The question melted away when he kissed her again, his lips brushing hers and his warm tongue caressing her lower lip. Instinct kicked in, and she returned his kiss. One hand reached to his shoulder, the other wound around his neck and into his soft hair. Their kiss deepened, sending tendrils of hot desire sprawling deep into her body, until Guy pulled away with a part-groan, part-laugh. 'We're in danger of attracting more splinters if we stay near this table.'

She struggled to breathe normally as they went upstairs. _What now?_

He guided her into the bedroom, switched on the light, and glanced wryly at the bed. 'Is this where we curl up in our separate sleeping bags, say goodnight, and go to sleep?'

A new streak of alarm whisked through her. 'Is – is that what you want? I kind of assumed—'

He turned her to him. 'You assumed what, Jenna? That I want sex? You're wrong.'

'Oh.' Flushing with embarrassment, she looked down, but he put his finger under her chin and raised her head so she had no alternative but to look up at him.

His blue eyes smiled softly. 'I want us to make love, and there's a world of difference between that and having sex. Don't you agree?'

Her answer came out as a hoarse, 'Yes,' as the warm fuzziness of delight spread through her.

'Good.'

He pressed her to him, trailing kisses across her cheek and nuzzling her neck. Her stomach reacted as if a million butterflies had been let loose and were dancing around, radiating tingles of pleasure to her every extremity. Even more arousing was the hard bulge pressing against her, and her need for him escalated. As his hands caressed her back and moved to stroke the lower half of her breasts, a small purr of pleasure escaped from her throat.

Still kissing her neck, he slipped his hands under the hem of her cotton top, alternately stroking and squeezing her bare back. An exquisite shudder ran down her spine.

'Sorry,' he said. 'Are my hands cold? Your back is lovely and warm.'

'I was shivering with pleasure, not with cold.'

'Good.' He slid her top upwards, and she raised her arms so he could lift it over her head. After he'd unfastened her bra and tossed it to one side, she watched as he gazed at her breasts.

'You're beautiful,' he breathed. 'More beautiful even than my fantasies.'

'You've fantasised about me?'

'Ever since I first met you.'

She didn't have time to think about his words when he resumed his sensual kiss on her neck, and cupped both her breasts, caressing them gently. As his thumbs flicked across the already taut centres, she let out a gasp at the hot flame that shot down to her most intimate place.

'Why are we still standing up?' she whispered.

'Because once we're on the bed, I won't hold myself responsible for my actions.'

She grinned. 'I'm not sure if that's a threat or a promise.'

'You can tell me later.' He glanced upwards. 'Light on or off?'

'After being in the dark last night, I'd rather leave it on. Unless you—'

'I want to be able to see you.'

She squealed as he picked her up and carried her across the room, kissing her cheek and then placing her on top of her sleeping bag. 'We forgot the silk sheets and the rose petals, didn't we?'

She laughed. 'I wonder if Ellen and Edwin had silk sheets?'

'We'll search the closet tomorrow.' Standing over her, he eased her pants slowly down past her hips, stroking her legs as he removed them completely.

She smiled up at him. 'Are you going to let me take yours off?'

'If you want to, but hold on a minute.'

She watched as he crossed to where he'd left his denim jacket slung over the back of a chair, and understood why when he pulled out his wallet and extracted a foil square. 'Were you a Boy Scout as well as learning karate?'

'Boy Scout?'

'Be prepared, and all that.'

'I don't think they teach you about condoms in the Boy Scouts, and I have a confession to make about the karate.'

'What confession?'

He climbed onto the bed. 'I only went to three lessons.'

'You let me think you could protect me against an intruder after three lessons?'

He slid his arm around her and pulled her to him. 'I was kidding myself as much as you. Thank heaven it wasn't an intruder.'

His mouth returned to hers, and his tongue played softly and seductively on her lips. She responded, closing her eyes and letting the world recede as their tongues met in an increasingly sensual dance. Her hands roamed his body, loving the feel of his back as she ran her fingers down his spine. As she pushed down his pants, he cooperated by easing them over his hard erection and kicking them off the bed. She moved her hand down, but he held it away.

'Not yet. Let me enjoy you first.'

He explored her chin and throat with his moist lips and warm tongue, and she arched her neck for him. As he slid further down, burying his head between her breasts, she writhed with pleasure and brought her hand to the back of his head, holding him where she needed him. Small gasps escaped her when his mouth enclosed one nipple and then the other, flicking them with his tongue and sending hot flames shooting along all her nerves.

At the same time, his hands caressed her hips and thighs, and she slipped into another dimension, where nothing existed except him and her mounting need. She let out an involuntary cry when he finally found her most sensitive place.

He lifted his head. 'You okay?'

'I think I just died and went to heaven.'

He let out a low chuckle, and her eyes flickered shut as he kissed her again, matching the plunges of his tongue with the movement of his fingers. She heard herself gasping, 'Oh!' as she climbed higher and higher, needing the release, but not wanting the ecstatic siege of all her senses ever to end.

Involuntarily, she reached down to Guy's rock-hard shaft, and this time he didn't move her hand away. His hissing intake of air as she wrapped her fingers around him created an electrifying arousal of all her nerve endings.

After several pleasure-filled minutes, he stretched out to the small bedside table where he'd left the condom, but she took it from him. 'Let me.'

A groan came from deep in his throat as she slid it on him. 'Oh God, Jenna—'

She smiled. 'You said you wouldn't be responsible for your actions.'

'Too right. Are you sure you—'

'Guy, shut up and take me. I need you so much.'

His face was serious as he lifted himself above her, his arms braced either side. She watched him as he entered her, loving the way his eyes closed and his hoarse mutter, 'That feels so good.'

The quick breath he took in his struggle for control lit a new fire inside her, and she gripped his shoulders. Slowly, he withdrew before sliding back into her, and each time she raised her hips to take him.

Consciously responding to him at first, she soon lost herself in the rhythm they made together and surrendered to the mixed agony and ecstasy of their search for release. Her gasps mingled with his grunts, and their bucking movements became faster and more urgent.

Her mind ceased to function. She spiralled out of the world, aware only of the sensations that took her to the edge of the precipice, drew her back, and propelled her closer, still closer.

'Guy!' she gasped as her body suffused with heat and shimmering tingles. 'Guy, hold me!'

His hands gripped her arms as she fell into the warm whirlpool, thrilling to every blissful pulse of release. Seconds later, he lost his control and thrust deeply and unrestrainedly into her.

'Jenna!' The cry tore out of him as he stiffened and exhaled a guttural groan.

Still clutching each other and both gasping with ragged breaths, they gradually descended. Guy collapsed across her, his head against her shoulder, his chest still heaving.

Once they quieted into the soporific aftermath, she gave a low moan of protest when he withdrew from her and slid off the bed. He bent over to kiss her lips. 'Back in a minute.'

She curled up, hardly able to believe the wonderful satisfaction that permeated her whole body with warm contentment. Guy had known exactly what she needed...

When the light went off, she shot up.

'Don't worry, it's not another power cut,' he said. 'I found the switch for the landing light, so if we leave the door open, we won't be in complete darkness like last night.'

Relaxing again as he climbed back on the bed and slid his arm round her, she turned to him. 'Thank you.'

'For what?'

'For one of the best experiences of my life.'

'Only one of them?'

'All right, the best ever in bed.'

'Same for me. We're good together, aren't we?'

She shivered suddenly, and Guy squeezed her arm. 'I guess we ought to sort out the sleeping bags before we both catch cold. Ireland in May isn't exactly tropical, is it?'

She snuggled deeper against his shoulder. 'I want to stay here all night like this, but you're right. It isn't practical, is it? Unless—'

'Unless what?'

'Does your bag have a zip all the way round?'

'I think so. Why?'

'We could open them both up, and put one on the mattress to lie on, and cover ourselves with the other.'

His expression was a mixture of amusement and admiration. 'You really do have a wonderful practical streak, don't you? Okay, let's sort them out.'

Two minutes later, the job was done, and they pulled Guy's goose-down sleeping bag over them. Jenna curled up against him again, her head on his shoulder, and her hand on his chest.

For a while, they lay in quiet contentment, until he said suddenly, 'What made you change your mind?'

'Huh?' She raised her head, but he settled her back against him again.

'You said you didn't want a relationship.'

'I thought I didn't, but then I realised I did.'

'When?'

She trailed her fingers around his chest. 'Maybe it first started when I was standing outside Dan's office and saw you. You have a very sexy walk, you know.'

He laughed. 'No one's told me that before.'

'It's true. Some men lope along as if they're coming apart, and others strut around like they own the place. Your walk is kind of unconsciously confident.'

'I didn't realise you were an expert in how men walk.'

'I'm trying to explain why—'

'I know, and I'm real happy you like the way I walk. Want me to tell you what first attracted me to you?'

'Definitely.'

'When I saw the exasperated expression on your face as you looked down at the broken wheel on your case at the airport.'

Jenna laughed. 'It's a good job you couldn't hear what I muttered under my breath.'

'I can guess.'

'And you enjoyed rescuing a damsel in distress?'

'Shall I tell you what I enjoyed even more?'

'Go on.'

'When you flounced into the bedroom with the green dress held in front of you. That's when I fell in love with you.'

'And you kissed me.'

'Yeah.'

She was silent for a few moments. 'Guy, the night in Clifden—'

'We'd both had too much to drink, and I didn't want you to think I was taking advantage of you. Afterwards, I mean. You might have regretted it later, and I couldn't take the risk.'

'Mmm, it was too soon, wasn't it?'

'Partly, but also because you were an actress.'

'I'm still an actress.'

'Yeah, but not like – anyway, you're different.'

'Different from what?'

'I can't imagine you wanting to go to every posh party in London, simply to be seen in all the right places.'

'The only things I go to are auditions.'

'That's what I meant. You rely on your talent, not on flirting – or worse – with directors.'

'Now I have a confession to make.' As Guy tensed slightly, she laughed. 'No, not what you're thinking, but I did send an email to Peter Stones with the information I'd discovered about Ellen and Edwin.'

'Who's Peter Stones?'

'The director of the TV drama series.'

'Ah, yes, I remember you saying he was interested in why Ellen disappeared at the height of her career. Did he reply?'

'A short thank you email. He's probably forgotten all about me now.'

'You haven't had any callback?'

'I'm not expecting one after my second audition, the one I messed up.'

Guy hugged her. 'I'm sorry.'

'Oh, it's not the first time and I'm sure it won't be the last.'

'I hope tonight won't either.'

'Won't what?'

'Be the last.'

She snuggled deeper into his shoulder and trailed her fingers up his chest. 'What were we saying earlier about finding a hotel in Dalkey tomorrow night?'

He put his hand under her chin to lift her head and began to kiss her again...

* * *

Jenna laughed the next morning as they went out to the car. 'We intended setting off much earlier than this, didn't we?'

Guy dumped their backpacks into the boot and grinned. 'There were more important things to do first.'

She reached up to kiss him, and warm tickles fluttered through her at the memory of their morning lovemaking. It had been gentle and unhurried, except for the final few minutes when urgent need pushed them onto the rollercoaster ride to blissful release.

'The route we planned last night is about three hundred miles, and we'll want to stop at some places,' she said as they climbed into the car. 'Maybe we ought to give Galway City a miss today and visit it on our way back.'

'Okay, whatever you say.'

She set the GPS, and soon they were leaving the outskirts of Clifden and heading into the Connemara countryside.

He gazed around. 'Blue skies, puffy white clouds, the sheep grazing on the soft green hills, the sun sparkling on the shimmering lakes, the whole place completely unspoilt. It's kind of how I imagine heaven. I can understand why people love Ireland.'

'Except when it rains like it did the other night.'

'Ah, but the rain makes Ireland so green. I've never seen as many different hues and tints in one place. It's an artist's paradise.'

'D'you think that's why Edwin brought Ellen here?'

'Could be, or else they wanted to be away from everyone who knew them. Clifden must have been very remote at the end of the nineteenth century, and no one would know who they were.'

The landscape changed when they left the main road and took a narrower road south toward Galway Bay. They passed peat bogs where neatly stacked blocks of newly-cut dark peat were drying out, and then travelled through a rock-strewn landscape. The huge boulders seemed to have been dropped randomly by a giant's hand onto the rough heathland.

When they reached the coast road, Guy strained to catch a glimpse of Galway Bay, but new houses between the road and the shore blocked their view of the sea.

'I didn't expect it to be like this,' he said. 'When we looked at this road on the map, I thought we'd have a great view of the bay.'

Jenna heard the disappointment in his voice. 'Maybe the road will run alongside the sea as we get nearer to Galway City.'

A few miles later, their wish was granted, and Jenna pulled off into a parking area overlooking a small beach. As they got out of the car, she took a deep breath of the salty air.

'And this,' she said, with a dramatic flourish of her arm, 'is Galway Bay for you, Mr. Sinclair.'

He caught hold of her hand as they went down the stone steps to the beach, strewn with brown seaweed and grey rocks. The waves lapped gently on the sand, and they stood for several minutes, drinking in the view of the wide expanse of the bay and the low hills on the far side.

'For some reason, all I can think of is the Christmas song about the boys from the NYPD choir singing Galway Bay,' he said eventually, 'but I don't know what song the choir was singing.'

'I've always assumed it was the one about the sun going down on Galway Bay.' She sang the words softly: ' _If you ever go across the sea to Ireland_...' After she'd finished the verse, she gave an apologetic smile. 'Sorry, I don't know the rest.'

Guy bent forward to kiss her lips, and rested his forehead against hers as he grasped both her hands. 'This will be my abiding memory: you, me, the sound of the waves breaking on the shore, and your lovely voice singing about Galway Bay.'

Aware of the leap of desire deep inside her, she wished they could stay here longer, but her practical side surfaced. 'Come on, we still have a long way to go.'

'Wait a moment.' He pulled out his phone and backed a few steps away from her. 'Stay right there, and turn your head to your left. Yes, perfect. The breeze is blowing your hair.'

She posed, aware of him moving to capture different angles with his camera. With a suppressed snicker, she put one hand on her heart and stretched out her other arm towards the sea. 'By a lonely harbour wall, she watched the last star falling, as the prison ship sailed out against the sky.' Knowing she'd hammed up the lines from another Irish song, she laughed as she turned to him.

He stared at her. 'Where did that come from?'

'A different song, and me being silly. Come on, let's go.'

'I wish I'd been quick enough to capture it on video.'

She linked her arm through his. 'Too late, I'm not doing it again.'

'Think about it, though. If we ever had the means to put on any living history at the house, you could declaim those words from the terrace.'

'Yep, Maggie May saying a fond farewell to her lover who's being transported to Australia as a convict.'

'See, you're already inventing scenarios.'

'Guy, get real. It's never going to happen.'

He shrugged. 'Okay. Where to next?'

'Those hills on the far side are the Burren, and we have to negotiate Galway's ring road and the eastern end of the bay to reach it. Then we'll be back in prehistoric times.'

* * *

Guy unfastened his seat belt when Jenna stopped the car outside the hotel in Bray, a few miles south of Dalkey. During their lunch stop in Roscrea, he'd called several hotels, and this was the nearest one with vacancies. Now it was nearly seven o'clock.

He surveyed the L-shaped, grey, two-storey building. 'Looks okay, doesn't it?'

Taking her hands off the steering wheel, Jenna gyrated her shoulders. 'At the moment, anywhere is fine that can serve me a large glass of white wine.'

He kissed her cheek. 'Thank you for driving, and for all the amazing sights we've seen. I'll never forget the prehistoric tomb portal on the Burren, or the awesome monastery remains at Glendalough. Ireland's historic places are so much older than anything we have at home. And the drive through the Wicklow Mountains was sensational, with the view of the hills and valleys changing at every bend in the road.'

She gave him a tired smile. 'I'm glad we chose the right places to visit, but I must admit I can't wait to get out of this car, and relax in a comfortable armchair.'

Checking in at the hotel was quick and easy, and he carried their backpacks up to their room.

'Do you mind if I have a shower before we eat?' Jenna said.

'Of course not. Shall I order some wine from room service?'

She shook her head. 'I'll survive until we go downstairs to the restaurant.'

Once she disappeared into the bathroom, he sat on the bed and studied the photo gallery on his phone. Working backwards through the ones he'd taken during the day, he came to those of Jenna on the beach. One day, he'd paint a picture of her standing there, gazing out across the bay.

The text signal buzzed, but he didn't recognise the number. Quickly, he pressed the screen to find the message.

_Guy, please call me. Something's happened and I don't know what to do. I need to talk to you urgently_.

He froze. It was from Suzie.

Chapter 20

Guy was tempted to delete the message and ignore it. Instead, after a moment's hesitation, he stored it.

Why the hell had Suzie contacted him now? He hadn't heard anything from her since last September. Soon after she went to Los Angeles, she'd sent a postcard with a picture of the Hollywood sign and a brief message: _Don't you wish you were here?_

It was the last thing he wished. She'd want to drag him to Tinseltown parties in all the right places and with all the right people. Even envisioning them made him shudder, but at least she'd got her wish – a part in a Hollywood movie.

Three months later, while doing some last-minute Christmas shopping in Macy's, he met one of her friends. She told him the movie role had come to nothing, but Suzie was engaged to the director. He assumed there'd soon be another role for her as a result.

So why did she want him to call her now? Of course, Suzie had always over-dramatised minor problems. The memory of her distraught reaction when her hairdryer shorted out and died flashed into his mind. Anyone would have thought their whole apartment had collapsed around them.

It was the _I don't know what to do_ that bothered him. A cry for help? Or was he reading too much into it? Had another movie been abandoned? Or had her director fiancé dumped her? If so, those weren't his problems any longer.

'You look very pensive,' Jenna said, coming out of the bathroom towelling her damp hair.

'I've had a text from – from an old friend.' He decided to ask her opinion. 'If someone told you she didn't know what to do and asked you to contact her urgently, what would your reaction be?'

Jenna stopped rubbing her hair and pursed her lips. 'It depends on the person. If Charley sent me a similar message, I'd treat it seriously because she usually takes everything in her stride. But I can think of other people who overreact when their boyfriend hasn't called them for a couple of days.'

'Yeah.' He pushed the phone into the pocket of his shirt and stood up. 'I might call her tomorrow. Meantime, did I ever tell you how ravishing you look with wet hair?'

'No, but you've never seen me with wet hair until now.'

He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her, then nuzzled her neck, loving the lemony scent of her newly-washed hair. 'Shall we make love before we go down to dinner, or after?'

She slid her hands down his chinos. 'How about before _and_ after?'

'I hoped you'd say that.'

* * *

Jenna rested her hand on Guy's thigh as he drove from the hotel into the small town of Dalkey the next morning.

When they stopped at some traffic lights, he put his hand over hers. 'I'm so happy you changed your mind.'

'So am I.'

It was true, as long as she didn't let herself think too far ahead. For the moment, she _was_ happy. Their lovemaking was a wonderful mixture of fun as they teased each other into a crescendo of arousal, followed by urgent passion when their bodies united in the need for the ecstatic moment of release. But making love was only one part of their blossoming relationship.

Even on the first day they met, she felt at ease with him and enjoyed his company. They'd talked and laughed as if they'd known each other for a long time. If she ignored the temporary hiatus caused by her drunken pass, she could recognise an instant connection, a magnetic force pulling them closer together. Their long phone conversations during the past couple of weeks had helped to strengthen the bond between them, and now, in just a few short days together, that bond had been cemented.

Thinking about phone calls reminded her of the text he'd received the previous evening. 'Did you call your friend? The one who sent you the text?'

He shook his head. 'Not yet. She's in L.A. which is eight hours behind us, so it's still the middle of the night there. I'll call her this evening.' As they arrived at a road junction, he peered through the windscreen. 'Gee, they put so many different signs on every signpost here.'

Jenna pointed. 'Town centre, turn right. No, not here, it's a one-way system. Next right, now right again, and now left.'

Guy drove around a small block of houses and shops, turned into the town's main street, and laughed. 'For a moment, I thought we were going around in a complete circle.'

They found a parking place on a side street, and he held her hand as they strolled along the main street. When they reached a bookstore, he stopped. 'Want to go in here?'

'I was about to say the same thing.' It was another example of how attuned they seemed to be.

After a few minutes' browsing, she drew Guy's attention to one of the framed prints on the wall, a watercolour of a small harbour, and pointed to the signature at the bottom right of the picture. 'It's one of Helena Keating's. Can you read the date?'

'Looks like 2003, or is that an eight?'

'It's 2008,' a voice said behind them, and Jenna turned to what she assumed was the shop owner – a chubby man with greying bushy beard and piercing blue eyes. 'Miss Keating was still painting until about six months before she died last year. This is a print, but it's limited edition and personally signed. She only allowed a hundred prints to be made of any of her pictures. The art shop across the street has a few originals, if you're feeling rich.'

'They fetch a good price, do they?' Guy asked.

'Her work's very popular. The originals go for a couple o' thousand or more. I'm no expert, but people say her pictures are like the old impressionist paintings.'

Guy nodded. 'Yes, this one fits the definition, with its soft edges and contrasting light and shade. Is it somewhere local?'

'Aye, the harbour's about half a mile from here. Miss Keating lived not far from there. A grand old lass, she was. She and Maeve used to walk into town every week to do their shopping and allus had a cup o' tea at Lily's café.'

'You knew her?' Jenna tried to keep her tone casual.

'Everyone in Dalkey knew Miss Keating. She had a sharp tongue if something displeased her, but a heart o' gold. When my nephew did a sponsored bike ride from Dublin to Belfast in aid o' the Multiple Sclerosis Society, she came in here and gave me a thousand euros for him. _My grandmother suffered from MS_ , she told me, and said it was about time they found a cure.'

Jenna's eyes met Guy's, and she guessed the same thought had occurred to him. One of Helena Keating's grandmothers was Ellen Hayden. She might have been referring to her maternal grandmother, of course, rather than her father's mother, but the information set several cogs churning in her mind.

'I'd like to buy this print,' Guy said. 'How much?'

'Seventy euros.'

'Do you accept credit cards?'

With the picture safely encased in bubble wrap in his backpack, Guy gave a sheepish shrug as they went out to the street. 'I'm an impulse buyer.'

'I realised that from the way you shop in the supermarket.'

'Yeah, well, what's seventy euros when we have Helena's legacy? Buying this is my thanks to her. Where to now?'

'The man mentioned Lily's café. It would be fun to go in there like Helena did.'

They continued along the main street, but didn't find the café.

'Let's ask in the castle-type building across there,' Guy said. 'The sign says it's an information centre.'

Jenna rolled her eyes. 'Guy, what you call a castle-type building is a real castle. It dates from the fourteenth century, according to my guidebook.'

He grinned. 'Even better.'

They went into the ground floor room of the square stone tower, which contained a small souvenir shop as well as an information desk.

The middle-aged woman at the desk greeted them. 'Welcome to Dalkey Castle and Heritage Centre. Can I help you?'

Jenna returned her smile. 'Actually, we've been searching for a café someone mentioned to us. Lily's café.'

'Ah, you mean Josie's Tea Shop.'

Jenna suppressed a giggle. Only in Ireland, it seemed, could Lily's café be called Josie's Tea Shop.

'Lily was Josie's mam,' the woman explained. 'She's retired now, but the locals still call the café Lily's.'

Perhaps it wasn't as illogical as she'd first assumed.

'If you turn right out of here and cross the road, the tea shop's about fifty yards away, next to Tommy's Pub. But if you'd like to stay a while longer, a Living History event will be starting in five minutes.'

Jenna saw Guy's eyes light up.

'What about?' he asked.

'Mistress Isabel and Master Richard will tell you about the castle in medieval times.'

He turned to her with a questioning glance, and she nodded. 'Sounds interesting.'

She enjoyed the presentation, appreciating the skills of the two costumed presenters from a professional point of view as they described their lives in the fifteenth century. At the end, as other people in the group asked questions, her mind drifted to Mist Na Mara.

'It would be fantastic to do something similar at the house,' she said after they left the castle and walked further along the road to the café. 'A Victorian household: the lady of the house, the housekeeper, the maid, the butler, and their individual stories, and then the early twentieth century, and the reactions of the family and servants to the Easter rebellion and the civil war.'

Guy squeezed her hand. 'I love your imagination, Jenna, and I can picture you as the lady of the house, in the green dress, of course, talking about how she ran the household.'

'I'd need to do a lot of research.'

'I bet Tom's daughter could tell you plenty, since she's a history teacher.'

After they'd found the café and ordered their coffees, Jenna shook her head. 'We're talking as if this is a possibility, Guy, but it isn't. We can't even afford to update the house, let alone employ a re-enactment group.'

* * *

Guy said nothing as he stirred his coffee. Part of him accepted Jenna was right. Another part balked against giving up and not finding some way to turn their dreams into reality. An artists' retreat and a Living History centre for local schools and other groups.

He reined back his thoughts and glanced at his watch. 'I'd like to visit the harbour Helena painted, and the guy in the bookstore said she lived near there, so how about some lunch here first? They serve soup and sandwiches, and once we've eaten we can head in that direction.'

An hour later, they stood by a low stone wall overlooking the small harbour, which was surrounded by rough-hewn walls with a narrow outlet to the sea. It was high tide, and half a dozen sailing dinghies bobbed about, while gulls wheeled and dived above them, filling the air with their raucous cries. Several hundred yards out from the coast, a long narrow island, its greenness broken by rocky outcrops, provided the background.

'I guess Helena sat over there to paint her picture,' Guy said, pointing to the opposite side where a flight of stone steps led down into the water, 'and she probably came here on a summer evening to get the light and shade. She obviously had a great eye for balance and composition.'

'I wonder what Maeve Connor wants to tell us about her? The man in the book shop said Helena told him her grandmother had multiple sclerosis.'

'And you think that might be Ellen? Perhaps Maeve will know.' He held out his hand to her. 'Come on, let's go.'

They found the house easily – a large white Victorian house midway along a terrace of similar houses – and his hand tightened around hers as he pressed the old-fashioned brass doorbell. 'This is going to be interesting.'

His heart sank slightly when a twenty-something woman with long auburn hair opened the door.

'Ms. Connor?' he said.

'No, no, I'm Kate Leary, Maeve's granddaughter. You must be Guy and Jenna. Grandma's looking forward to meeting you. Come in.'

They followed Kate through a narrow hallway and along a corridor at the side of the stairs. Guy nudged Jenna and indicated with a small tilt of his head when he realised all the framed paintings on the walls were Helena's. If, as the bookstore man had said, her pictures sold for two thousand or more, there was over twenty thousand euros' worth in this corridor alone.

Kate led them into a conservatory at the back of the house, where a petite white-haired woman with bright blue eyes rose from one of the wicker chairs.

'Guy and Jenna, I'm so pleased to meet you.'

After they'd shaken hands, Guy stared through the wide window of the conservatory. 'What a spectacular view, Mrs. Connor.'

'Call me Maeve, and you're not the first person to say that, Guy. Helena always said she bought this house solely for the view of Killiney Bay. It's been compared with the Bay of Naples. Some folk say it's even better.'

Guy let his gaze travel along the sweeping curve of the bay to the rounded headland and two peaks on the far side. 'Were those two mountains once volcanoes?'

Maeve laughed. 'If they were, they're extinct now. We call them Great Sugar Loaf and Little Sugar Loaf. In winter, when they're covered with snow, they do resemble piles of sugar. Anyhow, sit down and Kate will make us some tea.'

'Or do you prefer coffee?' Kate asked. 'Grandma told me you're American, Guy, so maybe you don't like tea.'

He smiled. 'Contrary to what the British – or should I say the Irish – may think, many Americans like tea, even though some of our ancestors dumped a load of it into Boston Harbour. Tea is fine with me.'

'All right, tea it is.'

After she'd left, Guy turned to their hostess. 'Mrs. Connor – Maeve – it's a real privilege to meet you, especially as you knew our benefactress.'

'Indeed I did, for nearly fifty years. I moved over here in the early sixties when I got a job in Dublin, and after I married my husband, we settled here in Dalkey. He died ten years ago, and Helena had the top floor of this house converted into an apartment for me. Kate and her boyfriend live there now.'

'You haven't always lived in Dalkey?' Jenna asked.

'No, no, I was born and brought up in Clifden, but couldn't wait to get away from the place. Dublin seemed far more exciting than a small town in Connemara.'

'Did you already know Helena when you moved here?'

'Only vaguely, but we were kind-of related. Well, not really, but my grandmother was a Keating. Now I'm not sure how much you're aware of the family history, but Helena's father William – or Liam, as they called him – was brought up by Michael and Bridget Keating, and my grandmother, Mary Ann Keating, was Michael's cousin.'

'Mary Ann?' Guy glanced at Jenna and back at Maeve. 'There was a Mary Ann Keating on the 1901 census. A nursemaid.'

'That's right, she helped Bridget with the children until she got married in 1905 and had her own. My father was her youngest son, so there was a family link between Helena and myself, although we weren't blood related.'

Guy nodded. 'Yes, we discovered William wasn't a Keating by birth, even though he took the name.'

'Oh, my, you're way ahead of me.'

'We've done some research,' he said. 'At first, we had no idea why Helena had left us the house, because neither of us had ever heard of her.'

'And have you discovered the reason?'

'We eventually worked out that William's parents were Edwin Lewis and Ellen Hayden. Edwin was my ancestor and Ellen was Jenna's.'

The older woman's face cleared. 'Ah, good, you've saved me a lot of complicated explanations.'

'Did Helena know about Ellen and Edwin?' Jenna asked.

'Oh, yes, her father told her. Almost everything I can tell you is what Helena learned from her father. When she was about twelve, he told her how Bridget wasn't her real grandmother, even though she'd been like a mother to him. He said her grandparents had been a famous artist and a famous actress, but they'd both died.'

Guy reached down to open the front pocket of his backpack and pulled out the cream envelope. 'We have a letter Ellen wrote to William in 1901.'

He and Jenna waited as Maeve donned her reading glasses and read the letter. As she finished, she wiped a small tear from the corner of her eye. 'It's almost as if Ellen knew she'd never see him again.'

'Did he remember his real mother?' Guy asked.

'Helena said he remembered a pretty lady crying when she hugged him. He thought it was at a railway station.'

'He would have been three years old at the time, but we don't understand this part of the story.'

'D'you mean why Ellen married Robert, or why she left William with Michael and Bridget?'

'Both,' Jenna said.

When Kate came into the conservatory with a tray, the conversation ended while Maeve poured the tea and handed round a plate of fruit-loaf slices.

'Have you asked them how they're related to Helena?' Kate asked her grandmother, and turned to them. 'Ever since Mr. McGrath told Grandma he'd found the descendants, she's been dying to find out who you were.'

Maeve nodded. 'Helena was worried she only had two names, but no addresses. She'd be so happy Mr. McGrath found you.'

'I think his researchers found us,' Guy said. 'Helena named our grandparents, and we decided that must be because she didn't know any more about them after her father died in 1940.'

'You're right. Sometime in the 1920s, William traced Ellen's daughter, Louisa—'

'My great-grandmother,' Jenna said.

'She was William's half-sister, of course, and he went to London to meet her. He knew she married someone called Harry Sutton in the thirties, and had a son, James. Helena tried to contact Louisa when William was killed at Dunkirk, but the letter was returned.'

'James was my grandfather,' Jenna said. 'His family moved from London to Kent a few months before the war started, so Helena wouldn't have known their new address.'

'Did William or Helena ever make contact with my family?' Guy asked.

'William wrote to Edwin's son Samuel, but didn't receive a reply. The situation was more difficult because Edwin was already married when he had his affair with Ellen. His wife was committed to an asylum at one time. Did you know about that?'

'Yes, someone back home found her details in the asylum records.'

'My guess is she suffered from some kind of post-natal depression, but no-one understood that at the time,' Maeve went on. 'It might explain why Edwin came to Europe, to escape his wife's volatile moods, and then he met and fell in love with Ellen. It happens, of course, and Helena said his marriage had been arranged by Violet's parents to give them an entry into the Boston elite. A marriage of convenience, it would seem. I'm not sure they ever loved each other.'

'He returned to America when Violet went into the asylum.'

'Yes, to collect his son Samuel, who must have been your great-grandfather, Guy. But then Edwin was killed in an accident in Boston, and Ellen was left in Ireland with her young son.'

'Until she returned to England to marry Robert Oliver.' Guy said. 'The letter says she was marrying him to avert a scandal. Do you know anything about that?'

'Oh, yes. Bridget explained it all to William. Ellen's brother Charles was a Member of Parliament, and he attracted the interest of a woman called Sybil Lloyd. Charles was married and spurned her advances, but she accused him of rape, said she was pregnant, and threatened to sell her story to the newspaper. Robert Oliver's newspaper.'

Guy gave Jenna a wry grimace. 'I need to stop making fun of your imagination, don't I? You said it could be some kind of blackmail.'

Jenna was staring open-mouthed at Maeve. 'Ellen married Robert to stop him from printing the story? To save her brother's career?'

'She felt she owed it to Charles. Her parents disowned her when she said she wanted to be an actress, but Charles and his wife supported her when she first went to London. Without them, she could never have fulfilled her ambition, and she _was_ a fine actress, I understand.'

'She was called the darling of the London stage in the 1890s.'

'And gave it all up when she fell in love with Edwin.' Maeve smiled. 'A real love story. I wish it had a happy ending, but sadly it didn't.'

'We don't understand—'

'Why did she—'

Guy turned as he and Jenna spoke at the same time. 'I think we're about to ask the same question. Go on, you ask it.'

She looked back at Maeve. 'You've explained why she married Robert, which could also be considered a marriage of convenience, but we don't understand why she left William with the Keatings when she went back to England. The letter she wrote to him said how much she loved him and how heartbroken she was to leave him. Why didn't she take him with her?'

'That was the question William asked when he met Louisa, but she didn't know the answer. She was only thirteen when her parents died.'

Jenna nodded. 'Yes, they both died in 1918. We think it was the Spanish flu epidemic at the end of the war.'

'Ellen never told her daughter about William?' Guy asked.

'No. Louisa only found out about him when she was twenty-one and had access to her mother's will. Mist Na Mara and Edwin's fortune was left to William. Louisa inherited her mother and father's money and their London property.'

'So we'll never know why Ellen abandoned her son,' Jenna said. 'I was hoping we'd find an answer.'

'Helena and I discussed this once,' Maeve said. 'In the end, we decided it might be because she didn't want to provoke another scandal by admitting to an illegitimate child when she agreed to marry Robert. Maybe she would have told him eventually, but then she took sick.'

Jenna frowned. 'Took sick?'

'Aye, according to Louisa, she started having problems with her sight soon after her marriage and, when Louisa was about two, she lost the use of her right leg and was confined to a wheelchair. Her sight deteriorated, too, and she was almost blind by the time Louisa was five.'

Guy swallowed hard, and Jenna brought her hand up to her mouth. He caught hold of her other hand and looked back at Maeve. 'We met someone this morning who said Helena had donated a thousand euros to the Multiple Sclerosis Society. Was that what Ellen suffered from?'

'Yes. Helena also left a large amount to the society in her will. Of course, Ellen's disease might explain why she never returned to Ireland for William, but left him with the Keatings. Louisa lived with her father's parents for most of her young life, because Ellen was incapacitated.'

Jenna shook her head. 'That's so sad. She had a son and a daughter, but this disease meant she wasn't able to take care of either of them.'

'Louisa told William how her mother visited her at her grandparents' home, and always cried and said what a bad mother she was.'

Guy shook his head. 'She couldn't help being ill. Leaving William with the Keatings was probably the best decision she made.'

'You're right. Michael and Bridget brought him up like their own. He had a happy childhood and grew into a fine young man. Ellen would have been so proud of him. God rest them both.' After a couple of seconds' silence, Maeve went on, 'And now you must tell me about Mist Na Mara.'

The next couple of hours passed quickly. They described the house, and Guy showed her the photos on his phone, and then Maeve told them more about Helena: how she lost her fiancé during the Second World War, studied at the National College of Art, and taught at the local school, eventually becoming the principal until she retired. Maeve also had several photos of Helena as a child and a dozen or more of her as an adult.

Jenna smiled. 'Until today, Helena's only been a name to us, but I feel I know her as a person now, and her father, too.' She showed Guy a photo of Helena sitting on her father's knee. 'William looks very much like your great-grandfather Samuel, doesn't he?'

Guy nodded. 'The Lewis men seem to have inherited Edwin's genes, while Ellen's descendants have inherited hers.'

'You're right, Guy,' Maeve said. 'Your photo of Ellen's portrait shows how much Helena resembled her, and so do you, Jenna. She would be very happy that another artist and actress have inherited the house. Have you decided what you're going to do with it?'

'Not yet.' Guy admitted, and then said, 'Ellen asked William to keep Mist Na Mara for himself and his family, and any future descendants, and his will instructed Helena to do the same, which is why she never sold it. But Dan McGrath says Helena didn't leave any instruction in her will about future bequests. Do you know why?'

'Mr. McGrath hasn't told you?'

'No. All he required, under the terms of Helena's will, was that we should visit the house before we made any decision.'

A flicker of amusement glinted from Maeve's blue eyes. 'Ah, I see. Perhaps I shouldn't tell you this, but I will, for what it's worth. After Helena told me she was leaving this house to me, and Mist Na Mara to the descendants of Edwin and Ellen, she said, _The right people will make the right decision about the house_. Now, read whatever you will into that, m'dears.'

Guy glanced round at Jenna, whose forehead had creased. Like him, she was obviously mystified by Helena's words.

It was after five o'clock when they eventually left, and both Maeve and Kate promised to travel across to Clifden when the bedroom had been cleaned.

'The right people will make the right decision,' Jenna said as they walked back towards the street where they'd left the car. 'What did Helena mean?'

Chapter 21

'I think it means Helena wanted the house to stay in the family,' Guy said as he drove back to their hotel.

'Has it occurred to you there might have been dozens of descendants if our parents or grandparents had any siblings? But, by a weird stroke of fate, it comes down to us, and we don't have any financial resources.' She chewed her bottom lip. 'Unless we sell Ellen's portrait.'

Guy didn't respond, and she waited. Eventually, he let out a short sigh. 'From a practical point of view, you're right. Assuming the portrait is worth at least a hundred thousand, it would give us some money to modernise the kitchen and the plumbing, and whatever else is needed for today's standards. Having said that, I guess I'd always feel a deep sense of regret every time I went into the bedroom and saw the space on the wall where the portrait has hung for over a hundred years.'

'I feel the same, but I keep wondering what Helena and her father would want us to do. Faced with a choice between the portrait and the house, I mean.'

Guy stopped the car outside their hotel. 'I'm sure they'd want the house to remain with the descendants of Edwin and Ellen, and if you think about Ellen's letter to William, it was what she wanted, too.'

As they walked across the car park to the front entrance, he slipped his arm around her waist. 'We can't make any decision until we discover what the painting's worth, can we? That could be the beginning of many other decisions – or not, as the case may be.'

'What do you mean?'

'Your career, my career, but let's not pre-empt the whole thing by agonising over it now,' he continued as they crossed the reception area to the lift. 'There may be no decisions to make if I'm completely wrong about the value of the painting. In the meantime, I'd like to forget family history and Victorian houses and ancient plumbing, and enjoy the amenities of this modern hotel. In fact, I'd love a shower right now. How about you?'

Jenna smiled. 'I'd say that's the best idea you've had all day.'

* * *

An hour later, after they'd laughed as they lathered each other with shower gel, and then made love with the warm water cascading down on them, they relaxed on the bed. Ensconced in the hotel's white towelling robes, they sipped glasses of red wine.

'Shouldn't you call your friend in L.A.?' Jenna wasn't sure why the text he'd received had stuck in her mind. Perhaps it was because he'd asked her what her response might be.

'Yeah, it'll be nearly lunchtime there now.' After clicking his phone, he held it to his ear. 'It's ringing, but she's not— Oh, it's gone to voice mail.' He waited and then said, 'Got your text, Suzie. What's up? I'm in Ireland, so work out the eight-hour time difference, and call me.'

He put the phone back on the bedside table. 'I bet she's still asleep after partying half the night. Last night's text was probably about something and nothing.'

'Does she often send you messages like that?'

'It's the first time I've heard from her since she went to Hollywood last fall.'

Jenna's mouth dropped open. 'Hollywood? Is she in the movies?'

'A wannabe movie star would be a more accurate description. She had a few small roles in off-Broadway productions and was sure she was destined for stardom when she landed a part in a B movie. It didn't happen, but I imagine she's still trying to be seen at all the right parties in L.A. Those things were bad enough in New York, so heaven knows what they're like in Hollywood.'

Jenna studied her wine glass, aware of a small needle of discomfort she couldn't quite define. 'You've mentioned parties before. Did you go to them with her?'

'I do believe you're fishing, Ms. Sutton.'

She saw the amused glint in his eyes, and smiled. 'I do believe I am.'

'You're not usually so hesitant in saying what you think.'

'I didn't want to appear over-inquisitive.'

'Fair enough. In answer to the question I assume you really want to ask, I dated Suzie for three years, and yes, I went to some of those damned parties. We broke up last September when she went to L.A.'

'I'm sorry. Were you in love with her?'

'I thought I was at one time. We were engaged for about eighteen months, but I think she was cheating on me even before she left New York.'

'And she left you with a negative opinion of actresses in general?'

'You could say that. An opinion which, I'm happy to report, I've now revised.'

'Because I don't go to posh parties and flirt with all the casting directors?'

'I'm sure you'd flirt very well but, in contrast to Suzie, you're realistic enough to understand success comes through working hard, and not from fluttering your eyelashes, or expecting instant stardom.'

Jenna snuggled against his shoulder. 'One of my tutors used to say overnight stardom may come after years of hard work, and will happen to less than one percent of all aspiring actors. He told us eighty-five percent of us would be out of work at any given time, and if we couldn't handle rejection, we should find some other career. Surely Suzie learnt that at drama school?'

'She never went to drama school. Instead, she thought a few successful performances with her drama club at high school were enough to get her onto Broadway, and then into the movies.'

'Ah.' Jenna shrugged. 'It's not impossible, and of course we're all wildly jealous when some unknown is picked up by an agent and lands a starring role in the West End or on TV, but most of us probably have more chance of winning a million on the lottery than becoming movie stars.'

'Don't you ever get downhearted? You seem to be quite philosophical about not getting the part you wanted.'

'It would be good to land a role in a major TV production, but at least the second audition taught me something for the future.'

'What's that?'

'Be prepared to read a different role than the one you've rehearsed.'

'Seems a tad unfair to expect you to do that without any warning.'

'It's the first time I've been asked to do it so I—' She stopped as Guy's phone rang. 'This might be Suzie calling you.'

Guy reached away from her to pick up his phone, and she decided to disappear into the bathroom to let him talk privately to his ex-girlfriend. As she started to slide off the bed, he caught her hand, and she turned back.

'Yes... Oh yes, that's right,' he said, 'We're sure it's a portrait by the Boston artist, Edwin Lewis... Yes, several paintings at the MFA and one at the Smithsonian... No, I'm sorry, I don't know who owns any of his other... Okay, Monday afternoon sounds good... We'll look forward to meeting you, too, Mr. O'Casey... Goodbye.'

He ended the call and turned to her. 'Brendan O'Casey, an art dealer from Galway. He'll come and give us his appraisal of the portrait of Ellen on Monday.'

'Aren't the cleaners supposed to come on Monday?'

'Eve hasn't confirmed that yet, so if they arrive at the same time, we'll let Mr. O'Casey examine the portrait, and then the cleaners can do their stuff. Or vice versa.' He kissed her cheek. 'Come on, let's get dressed and go down for dinner.'

* * *

By mid-afternoon the next day, they were back on the west coast. Guy drove part of the way, and Jenna took over when they detoured from the main road to visit the majestic Cliffs of Moher, where white-capped Atlantic waves crashed against the sheer rock faces.

From there, she drove along the coast road and stopped a couple of times for Guy to take photos of the cracked limestone pavement of the Burren.

'It's kind of surreal,' he said. 'Almost like I imagine the moon, except for those pink and yellow flowers growing in the crevices.'

Galway City provided even more fascination for Guy. He gazed in awe at the monument commemorating Christopher Columbus's visit to Galway.

'Around these shores he found sure signs of land beyond the Atlantic,' he read from the memorial. 'I wonder what those were?'

'An empty cola bottle floated in on the tide? Or a styrene burger box?'

'Or James Cagney rowed ashore singing _I'm a Yankee Doodle Dandy_?'

Their light-hearted conversation continued as they strolled hand-in-hand under the medieval Spanish arch and along the quayside of Claddagh harbour, with its row of stone cottages, colour-washed in shades ranging from cream to tan and from grey to pale blue.

'Another artists' paradise,' Guy commented, 'especially with all the seabirds and the swans.'

'My guidebook says this harbour has been painted more than any other place in Galway City.'

They stopped for an evening meal at one of the pubs on the narrow pedestrianised street near the harbour. After they'd eaten, they took their coffees to one of the tables outside and watched the crowds passing in both directions. Women with paper shopping bags looped over their arms, students with backpacks, tourists studying their guidebooks, and others simply wandering along, absorbing the ambience of the bustling heart of the city. Jenna was reminded of their first conversation in the shared taxi from the airport, when they'd both admitted to enjoying people-watching.

They exchanged expectant glances when three bearded youths – two with violins, one with a flute – settled themselves on wooden stools at the side of the street. As they played a fast Irish dance melody, Jenna tapped her foot in time to the music, and Guy reached down to pull his sketchpad from his backpack.

After he'd finished his quick sketch of the musicians, she put her hand on his arm. 'That's fantastic. You've caught them all perfectly. May I look at your other sketches?'

He handed the pad to her. 'Sure, go ahead. Some are very rough.'

Jenna flipped through the pages, admiring the drawings he'd made of the different sights they'd seen on their trip across Ireland. Turning back even further, she smiled at the pictures of street traders in New York, a man asleep on a subway train, and another man with a cat sitting on his head.

'This one isn't real, is it?'

'Yep, he lives on the next block to me and takes his cat for a walk every night. Correction. He walks, and the cat sits on his head.'

'You're kidding.'

'No, it's the honest truth. New Yorkers are crazy people.'

Jenna's laughter stilled when she turned back another page. 'When did you draw this picture of me? From the photos you took the other day?'

'No, I started to draw the portrait of Ellen when I was on the plane home after our first visit here.'

'And drew my face instead of hers?'

'Yeah.' He reached to clasp her hand. 'I guess that was when I realised I'd fallen in love with you. Even though you're an actress.'

Jenna smirked. 'I understand your _even though_ comment now. Do you think Suzie will call you?'

'She's probably forgotten she even sent me a text.' He glanced around at the musicians who were playing the Galway Bay song. 'Much as I'd love to stay here and see the sun go down over the bay, it's time we headed back to Clifden, isn't it?'

An hour later, Jenna stopped the car outside the locked gate of Mist Na Mara and frowned. 'There's something fastened to the gate.'

Guy got out to unlock the gate and detached the plastic pouch affixed to it. After she'd driven through the gateway, she waited for him to get back in the car. 'What is it?'

'Drive up to the house, and I'll tell you.'

Once she'd parked and switched off the engine, she turned to him.

'It's called a site notice,' he said.

'What's that?'

'Read it.'

She took the pouch from him and scanned the first part of the document through the clear plastic cover: _I, Anthony Michael Byrne, intend to apply for outline permission for development at this site, Mist Na Mara House, Clifden, County Galway_.

Wide-eyed, she stared at Guy. 'Permission for development? And who on earth is Anthony Byrne? How can he put the notice here when we haven't even decided whether we want to sell the house?'

'Beats me. Turn the pocket over. It tells you what he wants to do here.'

Jenna did so and gasped. 'Demolish Mist Na Mara House, and build four one-storey houses? He can't do that – can he?'

'Highly unlikely, without the permission of the owners.'

'What do we do now? Ignore it?'

'I dunno. Let's go inside and think this through.'

They sat at the kitchen table with cans of beer. After he'd taken his first mouthful, Guy said, 'Whoever put the notice on the gate knew we were away for the weekend, and only one person in Clifden was aware of that.'

'Eve.' Jenna shook her head slowly. 'But we told her we wouldn't be selling.'

'Okay, let's take this step by step. First, we need to find out who Anthony Byrne is.' He pulled his phone from his pocket and scrolled through his contacts.

'Who are you looking for?'

'Rose Keating. If this guy is a local property developer, she may know him. No, hold on a minute. I don't think Dan McGrath will object to me calling him on a Sunday evening, so I'll speak to him first and ask him about the legal side of all this.'

Jenna waited while he spoke to Dan, but couldn't glean much from his responses. After ending the call, he turned to her. 'Anyone intending to seek planning permission has to put a notice in the local newspaper, and also post a visible site notice at the entrance to the property.'

'Even if they don't own the property?'

'According to Dan, an agent can do this on behalf of the owner or owners.'

'Presumably with their permission, which we haven't given.'

'Exactly. Dan says he'll call Galway County Council tomorrow morning and find out what's going on.' Guy searched his phone again and tapped the screen. 'I'll call Rose.'

This time Jenna gleaned more from his replies, but her heart sank when it became apparent Rose didn't know anyone called Anthony Byrne. She gave a small pout as Guy finished his call. 'We're no further forward, are we?'

'Nope, but maybe Dan can find out more tomorrow, and of course, the art expert is coming to value the portrait. Depending on what he says, we'll know where we stand. Want another beer?'

As he stood to collect the cans from the shelf, Jenna heard the text signal from her own phone and grinned. 'I bet this is Charley. I forgot to call her last night, and she'll be dying to find out what we discovered when we visited Maeve.' She pulled the phone from her bag and stared down at the message.

'Oh my God,' she choked. 'I don't believe this.'

'What's up?'

She raised wide eyes to him. 'It's from my agent. She's just heard from Rob Barton, the casting director.'

'You got the part you wanted?'

'No, not the one I auditioned for. They want me to play _Jane Eyre_.'

Chapter 22

'I got it! I got the lead role! I'm going to play _Jane Eyre_!'

Jenna was laughing and crying at the same time. Guy hugged her, kissed her cheek, and reached for the box of tissues on the table.

'Congratulations, honey. You obviously didn't mess up your second audition after all.'

She wiped the tears from her face and looked up at him with shining eyes and a beaming smile. 'I can hardly believe it. I'll have to keep reading Sharon's message to convince myself. Oh my God, I must call her, and tell Charley, and Liz and Maria, and some others, too. You don't mind, do you?'

'Of course not. Do you still want this beer?'

'We should be drinking champagne, but beer will do instead.' She pulled the tab and tapped her can against his. 'Cheers! I'm so happy, I feel like my head's going to explode.'

As he listened to her excited chatter while she spoke to her agent, his spirits sank lower and lower.

'We start the table reads at the beginning of July,' she told him after she finished her call, 'and then there'll be studio rehearsals before we go on location in August. Yorkshire and Cumbria, according to Sharon, and a couple of historic houses somewhere. They haven't finalised the details yet. Oh, and Colin Fraser is playing Mr. Rochester. Can you believe it? I'm co-starring with Colin Fraser!'

He gave an apologetic shake of his head. 'Sorry, should I recognise the name?'

'He's very well-known in the U.K. He had millions of women swooning over him when he was in a First World War drama series last year.'

'Did you?'

'Did I what?'

'Swoon over him?'

She laughed. 'Yes, I did – a little – but it's completely different when you're acting with someone. No time for swooning because you're too busy concentrating on camera angles, and remembering your lines and movements.'

Despite her words, Guy's disquiet continued to grow, and swelled to mind-blowing proportions as she called first one friend and then another. He picked up his can of beer and stood up. When Jenna, mid-call with someone, gave him a curious glance, he tilted his head towards the door and mouthed, 'Nice sunset.'

He went out to the terrace, which ran along the side of the house and faced westward with a view of the bay. Leaning on the rusty iron railings, and watching the fiery orange orb sink to the line between sea and sky, he struggled to make some sense of his feelings.

He should be happy for Jenna. She'd worked hard to achieve this success, not like Suzie who... The memories smashed back into his mind, and he winced. Suzie's reactions on getting her Hollywood role had been exactly the same as Jenna's now. Disbelief, giddy excitement, calling all her friends, drooling over some B-lister who would be her leading man in the movie...

_Jenna's different_. It was true, but no matter how many times his mind repeated the words, it was impossible to shake off the despondency that felt like a heavy weight in his guts. She'd go back to England to pursue her career, and forget all about Ireland and everything they'd discovered here.

Of course she would. She'd given herself five years to reach make or break point, and now she'd found success.

So why wasn't he a hundred percent happy for her?

He gazed out at the golden glow of the sunset over the sea, and couldn't ignore the answer. Her dream had come true, while his was disappearing as fast as the setting sun. The dream of living here in Ireland and sharing the transformation of this house into something special.

In quick frustration, he dragged his hand through his hair. The truth was nothing to do with the house, or wanting to fulfil their professional needs or ambitions. It was far simpler. He wanted _her_.

But...

After downing the rest of his beer, he blew out a sigh.

_If you love someone enough, you have to be prepared to let them go_.

He wasn't sure who said it or why he'd suddenly remembered the words, but they were true. When he let Suzie go, it was a negative step. Letting Jenna go to achieve her dream was positive. He wanted her to find the success she deserved, and if that meant the end of their relationship...

He shook his head as he battled with the on-going conflict.

What if he asked her to stay here in Ireland?

Even as his mind framed the question, he dismissed it. It wouldn't be fair to ask her to make such a decision. Besides, he couldn't offer her anything to compete with the excitement of starring in a TV drama, filming in atmospheric locations, attending high profile publicity and promotion events. Yeah, and parties, too, probably accompanied by her swoon-worthy co-star. He'd no idea who this Colin what's-his-name was, but already he was as jealous as hell of him.

* * *

Jenna put her phone on the table and looked through the kitchen window. Not for the first time, because she'd been watching Guy while she made her calls. He was leaning forward, his arms resting on the railings, and she wondered what he was thinking.

She picked up a couple of beer cans and went out to the terrace. He jumped slightly when she put her hand on his back, and turned to her.

Had she imagined the bleakness in his eyes before he gave her a quick smile?

'Finished your calls?'

'Yes. Sorry it took so long. I brought you another beer.' She rested her hands on the railing next to him. 'The sky looks wonderful with all the clouds edged in gold and pink.'

'You've missed the best of the sunset. It was orange and red a few minutes ago until the sun slipped below the horizon. Strange really, I never wanted to paint land or seascapes until I came to Ireland, but now I'd love to capture these wonderful scenes.' He let out a small sigh. 'It's a pipe dream, though, isn't it? Just like all the other ideas we've had about this place.'

She caught the echo of despondency in his voice and put her hand on his arm. 'Guy, even if we sell the house, you can still come to Ireland and paint those scenes.'

'Yeah.' He sounded unconvinced, but smiled. 'And you can enjoy your big break into TV stardom.'

'It's a dream come true, I'll admit that, but it's scary, too.'

'Why?'

'It'll be on national television. If the viewers like it, and if they like me, I may be offered other roles. If they don't, I'm back to square one, or even to minus ten.'

'Pragmatic as ever, Jenna.' He slipped his arm around her waist. 'I understand your excitement, but I love your realism.'

'I've no illusions. Even if this series is well-received, I could still be back on the audition treadmill afterwards.'

'It'll look good on your résumé, though, won't it?'

'Hope so.' After a moment's hesitation, she went on, 'I need to go home on Tuesday, Guy. Sharon says the cast announcement will be made tomorrow, so I'll be needed for press interviews. And they want me to attend a charity event next weekend with Colin Fraser.'

'That's to be expected. The more hype the better, of course.'

'But what if the art expert tells us the portrait is worth thousands? Enough for us to modernise this house, I mean?'

'We'll deal with that tomorrow. How about we forget art dealers and TV shows tonight, and enjoy the time we still have together?'

Deflation replaced the euphoria of the last hour. _The time we still have together_. Was he already assuming their relationship would end once she went back to England and he returned to America?

Perhaps it was inevitable. Long-distance relationships were fraught with problems, but asking him to move to London was out of the question when she didn't even know where she'd be working during the next six months. He couldn't expect her to join him in America either, not at this life-changing moment in her career.

Everything inside her rushed to deny the hopelessness of their situation. She was in love with him, and he'd admitted he was in love with her. Surely they could find some way to make this work? Maybe once she finished filming the series...

She reached up to kiss his cheek. 'You're right. We'll think about tomorrow when tomorrow comes. Tonight, we have sleeping bags on an ancient bed waiting for us. Come on.'

'I forgot the rose petals again, didn't I?'

He caught hold of her hand as they went into the house and headed up the stairs.

* * *

Guy's mouth and tongue trailing kisses across her shoulders and the back of her neck woke her the next morning. Jenna blinked at the shafts of sunshine through the half-closed curtains, and smiled. He was spooned against her back, with his arm round her and his hand resting on her lower ribs. They'd slept like that all night, after their passionate and satisfying lovemaking.

Stretching slightly, she let out a small murmur of pleasure at Guy's continued kisses on her shoulder.

He chuckled softly. 'I love it when you purr like that.'

'Purr? Like a cat?'

'Yeah, when they're happy and content.'

She turned over to face him and they shared a gentle kiss. 'I've never been as happy as I am with you.'

'Last night you said the news from your agent made you so happy your head was going to explode.'

Reality returned with a jolt. For a few moments she'd forgotten, and her stomach did a quick somersault. 'That was different – a kind of exciting but scary happiness. This is happy happiness.'

'Happy happiness? As distinct from unhappy happiness, I assume?'

'I don't know how else to describe it. How would _you_ define happiness?'

'Lying here with you, and wishing we could stay here for ever.'

'Mmm, yes.'

She snuggled against his shoulder, and he dropped a kiss on the top of her head. 'But that's another pipe-dream, isn't it? Especially as it's almost eight-thirty.'

Unwilling to break their cosy contact, she trailed patterns on his chest with her fingers. 'We don't need to get up yet, do we? Eve hasn't confirmed whether the cleaners are coming today.'

Guy jerked up, startling her. 'I forgot to call her last night. Your news drove everything else out of my mind. We still need to find out about Anthony Byrne, too.'

'I'd forgotten him,' Jenna admitted. 'And you told Rose we'd visit her today, so I suppose we must get up.'

Guy slid off the bed and pulled on his jeans. 'You use the bathroom first. I'll go down and fix coffee for us, and I'll call Eve at the same time.'

* * *

As he waited for the kettle to boil, he checked his phone for any text messages that had come in from home during the night. One from Leanne with a query about a client; one from his mother, asking for another update on what they'd found out from Maeve; and one from Suzie.

_Got your message but can't call overseas as am using a borrowed phone. Please call again 8am tomorrow. Love Suzie_.

He frowned. Obviously, her crisis, whatever it was, hadn't been resolved. He did a quick calculation. Eight o'clock in Los Angeles was late afternoon here in Ireland, so he'd have to remember to call her later.

After sending quick texts to Leanne and his mother, he tapped Eve's number.

She answered after the first ring. 'Guy, I'm so sorry, I should have called you yesterday to say the cleaners can't come to Mist Na Mara until tomorrow. I've had a – a rather busy weekend, and I'm on my way to Galway right now for a meeting.'

'You're driving again? How's your shoulder?'

'My brother's driving. I can't do anything with my arm in a sling.'

Remembering her brother was an antiques expert, he decided to make casual conversation before asking the most important question. 'It's perhaps as well the cleaners aren't available until tomorrow, as we're visiting Rose Keating this morning, and an art expert will be coming here this afternoon. Brendan O'Casey from Galway. I wondered if you or your brother knew him.'

He strained to catch the muttered exchange between Eve and her brother, but couldn't hear what they were saying. Eve came back on the phone again. 'My brother has heard the name, but doesn't know him personally.'

'Here's another name for you.' He paused deliberately before continuing. 'Anthony Michael Byrne.'

Her silence told him she recognised this one. When she spoke again, her voice sounded guarded and uncertain. 'Tony Byrne? Have you met him?'

'No, but it appears he's about to apply for planning permission to demolish Mist Na Mara and build some houses here. A site notice was left on the gate while we were in Dalkey at the weekend.'

'He left a site—? No, he can't do that.'

'Damn right he can't, so perhaps you can tell us what this Tony Byrne is playing at?'

'I had no idea this was— Look, leave it with me, will you? I'll find out what's going on.'

'Is this why you were pressuring us to sell the house, Eve? So that your friend Tony can build some lucrative vacation homes to sell or rent?'

'He's not my friend, he's— Guy, I can't explain at the moment, but I had absolutely no idea they – he—' Another silence, and he realised she'd put her hand over the mouthpiece when the background noise of the car engine was deadened.

Not sure whether to believe her or not, he played what he hoped was his trump card. 'I suggest you tell Mr. Byrne that Daniel McGrath will be speaking to someone in the planning department today, and will tell them the owners of the house haven't authorised this, and don't intend to sell Mist Na Mara to any property dealer. Goodbye, Eve.'

He hit the _end call_ icon and turned as Jenna said from the doorway, 'What was all that about?'

'How much did you hear?'

'Just your last statement about Dan.'

'Eve's admitted she knows Anthony Byrne. She seemed surprised when I told her about the site notice, but I'm guessing that was because she didn't know he intended to post it at the weekend.' When his phone rang again, he glanced down at it. 'This is her calling back.' He put it on the table and let it ring. 'Coffee's ready. What do you want for breakfast?'

'Aren't you going to answer it?'

'Nope. Eve's involved in all this, and I don't want to listen to her lies or excuses.'

He passed a mug of coffee to her as she sat on one of the kitchen chairs.

'Why did you tell her we don't intend to sell? We haven't made that decision.'

He sat down across from her. 'I'm hoping she'll report that back to Anthony Byrne, but at least she and her brother don't know the art expert who's coming this afternoon, so we can assume his valuation will be genuine.'

'What about the cleaners?'

'They're coming tomorrow.'

'But I need to go to Dublin tomorrow to catch a flight home.'

'Not a problem. I can drive you to the airport and come back here.'

Jenna shook her head. 'No, you can't. I mean, yes, you could, but don't you think one of us needs to be here? Eve knows the cleaners are coming, and if we're not here, she might take the opportunity for a sneak peek in the bedroom.'

'Good point. What do you suggest?'

'I'll catch a bus from Clifden to Galway, and I'm sure I've seen adverts about an express bus service to Dublin Airport.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yes. If you take me into Clifden early, before the cleaners arrive, you can be here while they're working, and then send me some photos of the bedroom once it's been cleaned.'

* * *

After breakfast, they drove into the town and visited Rose's shop. She made them tea while they told her of their visit to Maeve Connor.

'My dad will be so interested in the reason why Liam stayed with Michael and Bridget,' she said. 'So sad about his dear mama, though. Two children, and herself so crippled and blind she wasn't able to care for them.'

Jenna nodded. 'She had the theatre world at her feet when she was young, and two wonderfully happy years here with her lover, but then everything went wrong for her.'

'An' her son had a tragic end at Dunkirk, too, God rest him. But at least Liam's daughter Helena had a long life, and success with her paintings. Oh, and that reminds me, Dad found a couple more photos.' She scattered a few papers on her desk as she searched for them. 'Here they are. One of Liam in his army uniform, with his wife and daughter. Helena would be about nineteen at the time. And this one, Dad thinks, could be Ellen and Edwin.'

While Guy looked at the photo of Liam, Jenna studied the second photograph. 'Yes, it's them. Guy, look, it was taken outside the house. Edwin sitting at his easel, and Ellen with her hand on his shoulder. They look so happy.'

Guy nodded. 'Victorian photos are usually stiff and formal, but this one is very natural. Obviously a good photographer.'

Jenna handed the photo back to Rose, but she shook her head. 'No, ye must keep it. They were your ancestors. Now, tell me, did ye find out anything about this Anthony Byrne? I asked around this morning, but he's not from Clifden. No one at the bank or the post office has heard of him, not even Mrs. Phelan, the postmistress.'

'We think Eve Callaghan knows something about him,' Guy said.

'I hope he's not connected with that good-for-nothing ex-husband of hers. Sean Callaghan is a bad 'un. I did hear he knocked Eve around a bit when they were living together. She did right to get rid of him.'

Jenna eyebrows shot up. 'He abused her?' Alarm bells rang in her mind. In the last week, Eve had suffered a black eye and a dislocated shoulder.

Rose gave an apologetic shake of her head. 'Sorry, local gossip. Forget I mentioned it. Anyhow, what have you decided to do about the house?'

'It depends what happens this afternoon.' Guy went on to tell Rose about the art expert, but only mentioned an oil painting and didn't specify the artist or the subject.

'I hope ye get the valuation ye're hoping for,' Rose said as they were leaving. 'An' don't forget, my dad and my sister Teresa would love to visit the house, and so would I. Especially the bedroom.'

Guy smiled. 'Tomorrow the professional cleaners are coming to remove a century of dust. After that, we'll invite you all to Mist Na Mara.'

A pang of desolation made Jenna wince inwardly. Rose and her sister and father, and probably Eve and Dan, would all be invited to view the house and the bedroom, but she'd be in London, doing interviews, attending promotion events, and starting rehearsals.

Ireland, Mist Na Mara, and all they'd discovered about Ellen and Edwin would have to be pushed to the back of her mind, and so would Guy.

* * *

After a pub lunch in Clifden, they returned to the house half an hour before the appointment with Brendan O'Casey. Guy's stomach knotted as he pulled the drape down from the portrait of Ellen.

'In less than an hour, we'll know what this is worth.'

'You said it might be worth a hundred thousand.'

'Call that a wild guess. I should have checked with the MFA in Boston, but of course what museums pay can be very different from what private collectors are prepared to pay. It all depends on what happens to be in vogue at any given time, and even an expert's valuation can be knocked out of court at an auction. There was a sale in Paris recently of a portrait by an obscure Italian artist. It was valued at three hundred thousand euros, but went for two million.'

Jenna chuckled. 'Two million would be more than enough to do all we wanted here.'

'It sure would. On the other hand, a painting can easily fall far short of the valuation price. Oh, sounds like he's arrived,' he added, as the doorbell rang. His stomach muscles tightened. 'Prepare yourself for the moment of truth.'

'Should we offer him a drink before or after he's valued the portrait?' Jenna asked as they went downstairs.

'Let's try before. I'd like to check his credentials.'

Mr. O'Casey didn't match his image of an art expert. Middle-aged and burly, with close-cropped brown hair, he looked more like a night-club bouncer.

The business card the man handed to him changed his first impression. Brendan O'Casey had a Master's degree in Fine Arts from London University, and was an art valuer with H. G. White, established 1887, Auctioneers and Valuers in Dublin, Cork, and Galway.

'Started off as an auctioneer,' O'Casey said as he sipped the cup of tea Jenna had made. 'Amazing what rubbish some rich punters will bid for, thinking they're getting a bargain. After about five years of that, I decided to specialise in art valuation.'

'What do you know about Edwin Lewis?' Guy asked.

'Ah, yes.' He pulled a notebook from his briefcase and flicked a few pages. 'Not a name I was familiar with, but I checked our database. Edwin William Lewis, 1860 to 1897. One of the Boston School of artists in the late 19th century. Influenced by European styles of impressionism, with its use of vibrant colour and attention to detail, and the use of light as an emotive tool. Now, my information says you have a portrait painted by Lewis. Any idea of the subject?'

'Yes. Ellen Hayden, an English actress.'

'Having it off with her, was he?'

Guy bristled at the other man's derisory snicker. 'They lived together here for about two years.'

'And then he dumped her and found someone else?'

'No, he—' Guy stopped. 'Anyway, would you like to come upstairs and inspect the portrait?' He didn't like this man, and hoped his appraisal wouldn't be influenced by his cynical view of the artist.

Brendan O'Casey's eyes widened as they entered the bedroom. 'Jaysus, I never saw anything like this before.'

'This room's been locked since 1940, when the family left here.'

'Ye mean no-one's tried to bust open the door with their shoulder?'

'Victorian oak doors are fairly solid, aren't they?' Guy led the way around the four-poster bed and pointed to the large portrait. 'This is it.'

'Attractive woman. An actress, you said?'

'Yes, in London.'

O'Casey set his briefcase on the bed, opened it, and pulled out a large magnifying glass. 'I'll check the signature first and examine the brush strokes.'

'I don't think there's any doubt this is a genuine Edwin Lewis painting, Mr. O'Casey.'

'That's what they all say, Mr. Sinclair, but my job is to authenticate, not to assume.'

Guy watched as the man peered through his magnifying glass, first at the signature, which he compared with a couple of photographs from his case, and then at the lower part of the portrait. 'Good brush strokes, and very nice light and shade on this dress. Must have been silk.'

'The dress is still in the closet.'

'Well now, that's very interesting. If you want to sell, you might consider including the dress with the portrait. Some collectors like that kind of thing.'

Guy glanced round at Jenna who sat on the chaise longue. Although she was wearing a tee-shirt and grey pants, he could still visualise her posing for him in the green dress. Even if they decided to sell the portrait, no way would he include the dress with the sale. It belonged to Jenna now.

He turned back to Brendan O'Casey, who'd produced a digital camera and was taking some full and close-up shots of the portrait. 'If we did decide to sell, how much would this fetch at an auction?'

'The big question. I'll need to check what similar stuff is going for, but I'd estimate about five thousand, six if you hit lucky. If you include the dress, I'd be willing to give you five and a half thousand.'

'Euros?'

'Aye.'

Guy did a quick conversion. About seven thousand dollars. His heart plummeted into his gut like a falling rock. His wild guess had been way off target.

Chapter 23

After bidding farewell to Mr. O'Casey, Guy shut the front door, slumped back against it, and stared up at the ceiling. He let out a long sigh. 'This is the end of everything, isn't it?'

Resignation was etched on his face, and Jenna bit her lower lip. Well aware of how he'd pinned all his hopes on the value of the portrait, she had no idea what to say.

Except for one thing. 'I'm as devastated as you look, Guy.'

He gave her a wan smile. 'I guess the only upside is we don't need to sell the portrait to finance any improvements to the house. The downside is even our joint legacy from Helena isn't enough to cover the cost of doing more than minimal updating. So, we keep the portrait and sell the house. Looks like Anthony Byrne can apply for planning permission and bring in his demolition squad after all.'

A small shudder ran down Jenna's spine. 'We mustn't let him do that.' She frowned in concentration as they went into the drawing room. 'The trust fund will continue to cover the basic maintenance, and perhaps eventually—'

'Eventually we'll save up the hundreds of thousands we need? How much will you earn for your leading role?'

Jenna heard the cynicism in his voice. She couldn't blame him. He was still reeling with shock at the end of his dream. 'Not hundreds of thousands.' She sat with him on the burgundy couch in the elegant room. 'But we can still use this house when we visit Ireland, can't we? We can afford a new oven, and a fridge and freezer, and even a shower.'

'Jenna, how many times will you be able to come over here in the next twelve months? You're going to be too busy with your work, and my business arrangement with Leanne is only temporary. Neither of us can fly over to Ireland whenever the mood strikes us.'

'You're right, but the thought of Mist Na Mara being demolished to make way for some holiday homes is horrible.'

'I don't think we can do anything else.' He gave a hollow laugh. 'This reminds me of the play you said you were in, about someone not having any choice.'

'Hobson's Choice. It's not the same, though, because we _do_ have a choice. We can leave it unoccupied apart from the times we're able to visit, or we can sell it – although not necessarily to a property developer who'll demolish it.'

'Which reminds me, Dan hasn't called about the planning committee or about Anthony Byrne. D'you think I should call him?'

'I'm sure he'll contact you as soon as he has any information.

'True. Wonder if Eve's told Byrne yet about what I said to her this morning?'

'About us not intending to sell?'

'I bet she still thinks we _will_ sell, and through her agency, too. This whole thing stinks, doesn't it? Eve will make sure all the contents go to her brother's auction rooms, and her buddy Anthony will buy the house and demolish it.'

'There must be other options open to us.'

'Such as?'

'I'm not sure, but someone might be prepared to buy the house as it is. Someone with the money to turn it into a hotel or bed and breakfast place.'

'Okay, here's the reality check, Jenna. We're in the middle of a recession. Who's going to risk such a big investment?'

Jenna was aware his negativity stemmed from his gut-wrenching disappointment, but she wished he'd be more open to possible alternatives. 'Anthony Byrne obviously has money if he intends to build some holiday homes here. There may be other people with enough resources to invest in the house, rather than demolish it.'

'In truth, I don't think I really give a damn now what happens.' Guy stood up. 'I'm going for a walk.'

'Want me to come with you?'

'To be honest, I'd like some time to myself.'

Jenna nodded. He had to deal with all this in his own way.

* * *

Guy strode along the lane and down a short path between gorse bushes, until he stood on the stony beach and gazed across the rippling water of the narrow bay. He didn't remember ever feeling as desolate as he felt right now. Everything had been snatched away from him. Jenna was going home to England tomorrow, and there was no hope of doing anything with the house.

With his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans and his head bent against the wind blowing in from the Atlantic, he trudged along the beach, his mind refusing to latch onto any coherent thoughts.

When he reached a craggy headland that blocked any further progress, he stood for several minutes watching the white breakers foam among the grey rocks. A child's small sandcastle nearby gradually crumbled in the incoming tide.

'Yeah, dreams are like that sandcastle,' he muttered. 'The tide comes in, and they're reduced to nothing.'

As he turned to retrace his steps, his phone rang. Pulling it from his pocket, he saw Dan's name on the screen. 'Hi, Dan.'

'I'd hoped to get back to you earlier, Guy, but it took me a while to find the right person on the planning committee. Everyone I spoke to told me I needed someone else.'

'Bureaucracy and red tape. The same happens at home with officialdom. Did you find out anything more about Anthony Byrne?'

'He's a property developer from Westport, County Mayo.'

'I guessed he must be something like that. Any clues about his connection to Eve Callaghan? She admitted this morning she knew him.'

'Eve knows him? I wonder how?' Dan paused for a moment. 'Anyway, I've informed the chairman of the planning committee that the inheritors of Mist Na Mara House haven't given me their permission to sell the property. Mr. Byrne's planning application, if he submits it, will be put in abeyance until legal ownership is confirmed, and the owners' permission is put in writing.'

'Good. Thanks, Dan. Except—' Guy paused. 'Except, in all probability, we _will_ be selling the house, so Mr. Byrne is still in there with his proposals.'

'Oh.' Dan's tone held surprise. 'You've decided to sell?'

Guy was tempted to pour out all the arguments for and against, but nothing would change the bare facts. 'The bottom line is we can't afford to keep it. I was hoping the value of some art work might give us the means to turn the house into— Well, that doesn't matter now, since the valuation was much lower than we hoped.'

'I see.' Dan was silent for a few moments before he went on, 'You need to think very carefully about this, Guy. Helena Keating wanted the house to go to her grandparents' descendants, namely you and Jenna.'

'Yeah, and, according to Maeve Connor, Helena said the right people will make the right decision. Perhaps she thought the right people would be rich enough to do that. She wasn't to know she was leaving it to a penniless artist and—' He was about to say penniless actress, but of course that didn't apply to Jenna any longer. 'Anyway, we appear to have no alternative but to sell.'

'I'm sorry about that,' Dan replied. 'Especially as you and Jenna somehow mirror Edwin and Ellen. An American artist and an English actress.'

Guy let out a low laugh. 'We've already realised that. The difference, of course, is that Edwin and Ellen were already well established as an artist and actress, and both had considerable financial resources. Jenna and I don't, and neither of us can afford the luxury of a property in Ireland.'

There was another silence before Dan spoke. 'I'll need both of you to come to my office and sign a document authorising the sale.'

'Jenna has to return to England tomorrow, but we'll arrange something. I'll contact you again when we can both get to Dublin.'

'Guy, I'm going to remind you of what I told you when you first came to my office. Helena's will contains a clause that I'm not permitted to reveal to you until you've made a final decision about the house.'

Guy chuckled. 'And I guess you're not going to give me a clue, are you? Some love letters between Edwin and Ellen, or another portrait hidden in the attic?'

'Another portrait? By Edwin Lewis?'

Guy hadn't stopped to think before he said the words. The portrait had been his and Jenna's secret. It was the first time he'd mentioned it to anyone else, apart from Maeve and his mother, but the valuation shot back into his mind. 'No need to get excited, Dan. Yes, there's a portrait of Ellen in the bedroom. We had it valued today, and it's worth about five thousand, but that's nothing in the art world.'

'Who valued it?'

'Brendan O'Casey, who works for H. G. White, an auction house in Galway.'

'And he said it was worth five thousand?'

'He offered us five-and-a-half. I hoped it might be more, but hey, that's how the cookie crumbles sometimes, isn't it?'

'I would have thought an Edwin Lewis original would be worth more, too, but the art world is a mystery to me.'

'And to me, even though I'm a part of it – or at least, on the sidelines.' He kicked a stone across the beach. 'This all seems somewhat pointless now, but the professional cleaners are coming tomorrow, and we said we'd organise a kind of open day. Several members of the Keating family want to see the bedroom, and you'll be very welcome, too.'

'Let me know when, and I'll be on the motorway to County Galway.'

'Will do, and thanks for dealing with the planning committee.'

After Guy ended the call, he noticed the time on his phone. Nearly four o'clock, and Suzie had asked him to call at 8a.m. Los Angeles time.

He continued along the beach until the digital figures changed to 16:00, found Suzie's number, and pressed the call icon.

It rang several times, and he assumed it was going to divert to the answer service, but a man's voice answered.

'Hi, who are you, and who do you want to speak to?'

Guy frowned at the abrupt response. He was tempted to make an equally abrupt reply, until he remembered Suzie had said she was using a borrowed phone. 'I'd like to speak to Suzanne Pendleton, please.'

'Suzanne? Oh, you mean Suzie Penn. Hold on, she's here somewhere. What's yer name, buddy?'

'Guy Sinclair.' His frown deepened as the man yelled Suzie's name. There was a jumble of voices in the background, and what sounded like breaking surf. Was it a beach party? Eight in the morning seemed very early for a party, but maybe it had been an all-night—

'Guy, is that you? Oh, I'm so happy you called.'

'What's up, Suzie?'

'Grandma Milly's sick. She had a fall and broke her hip, and she needs surgery.'

'I'm real sorry, but—'

'I wanted to ask you to visit with her. You and she always did get along.'

It was true. He had a soft spot for the spritely and canny Grandma Milly who'd brought Suzie up after her parents died in a plane crash when she was seven.

'Of course I will, once I get home from Ireland.' His anger ignited. 'Why the hell aren't you in New York with her instead of staying up all night enjoying yourself at some beach party? And why are you using a borrowed phone? Who's the guy who demanded to know who I was?' There was silence at the other end. 'Suzie?'

'It's – it's a long story, Guy.'

'For heaven's sake, Suzie, if you had any sense of what's right, you'd have jumped on a plane as soon as you knew about Milly.'

'That's why I contacted you, because I can't go to New York.'

'Why not?'

'Because—' Her voice broke off in a muffled sob that took him by surprise.

'Suzie, what is it? What's the matter?'

'I didn't want to tell you this, but I've no money, and I've not been at a party. I – well, I'm homeless, and I've been sleeping on the beach.'

It took him several seconds to absorb what she'd said.

'Guy, are you still there?'

'Yeah. You're _homeless_? What happened to your— What's happened?'

'Like I said, it's a long story. I can't tell you everything over the phone.'

His decision was already made. 'I'll send you the money for a flight to New York.'

'Guy, that's so generous of you, but I've no bank account, and no address for you to send any money to. I just want you to visit with Milly when you get back to New York, and tell her I love her.'

When her voice cracked again, he knew he had no choice. 'Hang in there, Suze. I'll get a flight to L.A. as soon as I can.'

'Guy—'

Her shuddering gasps told him she'd broken down in tears, but he forced himself to stay practical. 'Can I reach you on this phone anytime?'

'Yes, it belongs to Carlos. He's homeless, like we all are here, but we give him a buck or two whenever we can to top up the credit. He lets us make and receive calls on it.'

'Okay, I'll call you when I arrive at LAX.'

'I don't deserve this, but thank you. Thank you so much, Guy.'

After ending the call, he walked on a few more steps, and sank down on one of the larger rocks on the shore.

Sheer instinct had dictated his offer to go to Los Angeles to sort Suzie out. He could have told her it was no longer his business, could have said she'd made her bed, literally, and now had to lie in it. But no way could he do that, however much she'd hurt him. Suzie shouldn't be sleeping on some beach in L.A. without a penny to her name, and probably at the mercy of drug dealers or pimps. Besides, she needed to be back in New York to visit her grandmother in the hospital.

After several online searches of bus and plane times, followed by fifteen minutes making reservations, he worked out he could be in Los Angeles mid-afternoon Pacific time the following day.

Setting off again along the beach, he stopped to look back at the sea, at the low green hills beyond it, and the hazy grey peaks of the Connemara mountains. Perhaps one day he'd be able to return and paint this beautiful scenery, but for the moment, the dream had ended. Not just his dream about the house, either. Jenna was going home to fulfil her dream, and he had no part in that. He steeled himself to accept it as he walked back up the lane to Mist Na Mara.

* * *

Jenna sat at the kitchen table, searching on her tablet computer for any information about Edwin Lewis and his paintings. She looked up when the front door banged.

'I'm in the kitchen,' she called.

Guy's stony face told her something was wrong.

'Change of plan,' he said abruptly.

'Why? What's happened?'

'I'm going home tomorrow. In fact, I need to get to Dublin tonight, so I can be at the airport early enough for the first flight to Los Angeles.'

'Los Angeles?'

'Rescue mission. A friend of mine is in trouble.'

Without him even saying the name, she knew which friend he meant. 'Suzie?'

'Uh-huh. Her grandmother is having surgery on a broken hip, and she needs to get home to New York, but she's penniless and sleeping on the beach. I can't leave her there, can I?'

She wasn't sure she'd travel halfway round the world to rescue a boyfriend who'd dumped her like Suzie had dumped Guy. His loyalty to his ex-girlfriend sent alarm bells clanging through her mind, but she plastered an understanding smile on her face. 'No, of course you can't. You need to get to Dublin tonight, you said?'

'Yeah, I can catch a bus from Clifden to Galway in about thirty minutes, and then take the express bus to Dublin at six-fifteen.'

Jenna stood up. 'Guy, go and pack your bag, and I'll drive you to Galway. It'll be quicker than the bus which probably stops at every cottage along the way.'

'You sure? I was going to suggest we both went back to Dublin tonight.'

'Have you forgotten about the cleaners tomorrow?'

'Eve can let them in.'

'Eve? But you said—'

'I know what I said, but it doesn't really matter any more, does it?' He raised both hands in a defeated shrug and turned to the kitchen door. 'So, she sees the bedroom tomorrow. What difference is it going to make now?'

'None, I suppose, but—' Impulse prompted her next words. 'Look, I'll stay here tomorrow until the cleaners finish. I can catch a later flight home.'

'If you have time, call into Dan's office and sign the papers. I'll do it before I head for the airport tomorrow morning.'

'What papers?'

'Some official document authorising Dan or whoever to sell the house.'

'Guy, we haven't—'

In the doorway, he turned back to her. 'Face facts, Jenna. Neither of us can afford this place. Let's sell it, and forget all about our damned ancestors.'

Chapter 24

'And that's it?' Charley asked, after Jenna had finished describing her week in Ireland. 'He's gone back to his ex-girlfriend in America, and wants to sell the house without even discussing any alternatives with you?'

They'd collected a bottle of wine on the way home from the airport and had already downed over half of it. Jenna poured another glass. She was hurting more than she wanted to admit, even to herself. 'We did discuss it. Kind of.' Her mind returned to their conversation the previous afternoon, while she drove Guy to Galway City. 'He was adamant about selling, kept on about how we couldn't afford to keep the house, let alone do what we wanted to do with it.'

'His idea of a Living History centre was inspired. People are always fascinated by the differences in the lives of the rich and their servants. Their attitudes to Irish history would add an extra dimension.'

'Charley, it's not going to happen.'

'I bet there are grants available, and we could put together our own group. You, me, Liz, Maria – and Richard and Karl would probably be interested.'

'And your Steve as house manager? You're still dating him, I assume?'

Charley blushed. 'We have a lot to discuss about the _Gone with the Wind_ event.'

'Yeah, yeah, I believe you.' She grinned before taking another mouthful of wine. 'As for the Mist Na Mara Living History Centre, forget it. Guy pinned all his hopes on the value of the portrait, but once that proved to be much lower than he anticipated, he closed his mind to anything else.'

'So, what now?'

'He said he was going to Dan's office this morning to sign some papers authorising the sale. I didn't have time because the cleaners only finished at three-thirty, so I had to go straight to the airport.'

'Are you going to sign?'

She floundered in indecision. 'I'm not sure. Half of me says I've no alternative, but the other half says there must be some way we can stop the house from being sold or, even worse, demolished.'

'Perhaps Guy will change his mind.'

'I think he's gone home to forget all his dreams of Ireland – and me.' She bit her lip as the pain threatened to rise to the surface. 'He gave me a brief kiss at the bus station in Galway and said he was sorry things hadn't worked out. I don't know if he meant the house, or between us. Then he said he'd look forward to hearing about the TV series. It was like we were casual acquaintances and not—' She broke off, blinking to prevent the tears from flooding to her eyes as she recalled their passionate lovemaking, and managed a small shrug. 'You win some, you lose some.'

'Jenna, stop making light of this. You're in love with him, aren't you?'

'Yes, but I'm facing facts. The minute he gets a distress call from his ex-girlfriend, he can't get on a plane fast enough to be with her again. It's the end for him and me, Charley.'

She took another big gulp of wine and wished the alcohol would anaesthetise her memories. Instead, they piled into her mind: Guy's smile, his laugh, the firmness of his hand around hers, the tenderness, and then the passion in his blue eyes...

But he'd gone back to Suzie, and Mist Na Mara would be sold and probably demolished. Eventually, she might be able to look back on this whole episode in her life as simply that – an episode that ultimately meant nothing.

Eventually, maybe. At the moment, the agonising pain deep inside her threatened to wrench her apart.

* * *

Guy reached Los Angeles Airport at four o'clock local time and called Suzie's number. He had to go through the same procedure of saying who he was, and who he wanted to speak to.

'Can't see her around here right now,' the man replied. 'Want to leave a message?'

'Please tell her to take a cab to the Carlton on West Century Boulevard. I'll pay her fare when she arrives.'

'Will do. She's a good kid, mister. Doesn't deserve what happened to her.'

'Yes, I know. I'm taking her home to New York.'

'Good for you.'

After booking two rooms at the hotel, Guy waited in the spacious lobby. Over an hour later, Suzie pushed open the glass door. Her eyes searched anxiously, and he stood and waved to her.

Her face creased as she rushed towards him. 'Guy!'

Automatically, he put his arms around her and hugged her, then broke away. 'Wait here and let me go pay your cab driver.'

As he returned across the lobby, he noticed her bleach-blonde hair was an inch darker at the roots. It was scraped into a bunch at the nape of her neck instead of the immaculately waved style he remembered. Her tee-shirt and shorts, although clean, were obviously not ironed, and she wore plastic flip-flops, not the killer heels she used to wear.

She brushed the tears from her cheeks when he reached her side. 'It's so good to see you.'

He picked up her backpack from the floor. 'There were no available flights to JFK today, but we're on tomorrow's eleven-thirty flight. I've booked rooms for us here tonight. Where's the rest of your stuff?'

'This is it. I had to sell everything else to pay the rent on the apartment.'

'Okay.' The explanations could wait until later. He needed a shower after travelling all day and guessed Suzie probably wanted to freshen up.

'My room's across the corridor,' he said when they reached the fourth floor. 'Four-one-six. Call me when you're ready.'

After he'd showered, shaved, and changed, he relaxed with a glass of red wine and deliberated whether to call Jenna. Catching sight of the red numbers showing 19.00 beneath the TV screen, he allowed himself a small smile. Jenna sure wouldn't appreciate her phone ringing at three in the morning.

Anyway, what could he say to her? Their lives had come together and diverged. Maybe things might be different if she hadn't won that leading role, but he couldn't wish that. She was on the verge of stardom, and he had to let her achieve her dream.

The hotel phone rang, and he picked it up.

'I think I've had the longest and most wonderful shower on record, Guy.'

'Good. Want to meet downstairs in the bar?'

He sensed Suzie's hesitation before she answered, 'Can we use room service instead? I don't have any clothes suitable for a hotel bar.'

'Sorry, I should have realised. Are you ready for something to eat?'

She laughed. 'I'd kill for a New York steak with mushroom sauce and scalloped potatoes.'

'I'll come to your room and order from there.'

Over the next couple of hours, after Suzie had devoured her steak, he listened to the whole sorry tale of how she'd been duped by Richard Curry, the self-styled director who'd promised her a role in his next movie.

'Everything was wonderful when I first came here. Parties in posh hotels, meeting people I'd only seen on the big screen, and living at Richard's luxury apartment in Malibu. It was like a dream come true, but then it all ended.'

Guy swallowed hard. His dream had ended, too. All day he'd been trying to push the memory of Jenna and Mist Na Mara to the back of his mind. Both impossible dreams.

'What happened?' he asked.

'Rich needed an extra investment to secure the sole rights for the movie, so I gave him the money. Call me the biggest fool in America, and you'll be right. I fall for a con man, give him money for his movie, and he does a disappearing act.'

Guy stared at her. 'He took your money and left you?'

'He said he had to go to Toronto to finalise the deal. Except, of course, there was no deal. No movie, either. It was all lies.'

'You've had no contact with him?'

'Nope. Nada. Zilch. I tried calling him, but got a message saying the number was no longer in service. Then I had an official notice about the rent for the apartment being in arrears, so I started selling stuff to pay it. I was sure Rich would come back, but he didn't and – yeah, another long story, but eventually the police told me they'd been tracking him for a series of frauds, and had arrested him in Chicago. They advised me to leave the apartment, but I had no money and no job, so I joined the homeless group on the beach.'

'Why didn't you go home?'

'I told you – I had no money.'

'Milly would have lent you the fare, surely?'

Suzie's blue eyes hazed in anguish. 'I couldn't ask her. When Rich needed money for the movie, I asked her for a loan. She told me to pay her back when I became a famous movie star. How can I tell her that's never going to happen? And now she's gonna need the money for her medical bills, but it's all gone.' Her face puckered. 'I hate myself, Guy. I hate the person I became when I tried to take a shortcut to stardom.'

Guy sipped his wine and studied her. The Suzie he was seeing now was very different from the Suzie he'd known in New York. Life had dealt her some hard blows, but as a result, she'd grown up. She was no longer the flighty, superficial character she used to be.

'What are you going to do?'

'I'll look after Milly when she comes home from the hospital, of course, and that will give me the time to decide what to do next. I need to find some way of paying back the money she lent me. And I promise I'll repay you for all of this. The flights, and the hotel, and everything.'

'Don't worry about it. I received an unexpected legacy which has helped my finances.'

'That's great in one sense, but I'm so sorry you lost someone. Was it a relative?'

Guy stopped with his wineglass midway to his mouth. If anything summed up the change in Suzie, it was what she'd just said. Last year, she wouldn't have cared who had died, but only about how much he'd inherited.

'It was someone I'd never heard of. A distant relative in Ireland.'

'Ah, now I understand why you went over there. What's Ireland like?'

'It's—' How could he even begin to describe the magic of Ireland? The sense of history in Dublin's Georgian terraces, the wild beauty of Connemara, the amazing prehistoric remains on the Burren, the timelessness of Claddagh harbour, the crashing surf against the Cliffs of Moher, and the view from Mist Na Mara. He shook his head. 'I've only seen a small part of it, but—' Again, he stopped. The image of Jenna on the shore of Galway Bay filled his inner vision, one hand on her heart, the other held out towards the sea. 'It's a beautiful island.'

'And you left it to come over here for me.'

'And for Milly.'

'Yeah, I guess you grew to love her as much as I do.'

He downed the remainder of his wine and stifled a yawn. 'Sorry, but it's almost twenty-four hours since I got up in Dublin this morning. I need to go to bed.'

'Guy—'

Her voice stopped him as he reached the door, and he turned. 'What?'

'I'm sorry about the way I treated you last year. I was a selfish brat.'

He grinned. 'Yes, you were, but we've both moved on.'

'So – you and me?'

Understanding her meaning, he shook his head. 'No, that was then, and we can't go back, Suze. Everything's different now. I'll visit Milly with you, but I also need to make some decisions about my future.'

He checked his watch. It would be six in the morning in England and Ireland. Too early to call Jenna or Dan, but if he managed to stay awake another hour...

* * *

The buzz of her phone woke Jenna. She reached out and squinted at it. Nearly seven o'clock. Who on earth was calling her at this time? She swiped the screen, saw Guy's name, and sat bolt upright. 'Hello?'

'Sorry, did I wake you?'

The sound of his voice sent a tremor of excitement scudding through her, especially after the desolate tears she'd shed the night before when she'd convinced herself she'd never hear from him again. 'Yes, but it's okay. I have to get up early. I'm doing a zillion interviews today.'

'A zillion?'

'Slight exaggeration. Just four. A TV magazine and three women's magazines.'

'Sounds like a busy day ahead of you. I'm about to go to bed, but I thought I'd call to check if you got home safely yesterday. Or do I mean today?'

She laughed. 'It was yesterday for me.'

'It's still Tuesday here.'

'Where are you?'

'In Los Angeles, but flying back to New York tomorrow.'

She hesitated but had to ask. 'Is Suzie all right?'

'She will be. I'm taking her home so she can be with her grandmother.'

Her heart began to sink. 'And you're going to stay in New York?'

'I'm not sure. Did you go to Dan's office before you left Ireland?'

'No. I didn't leave Clifden until about three-thirty, so I was in a rush to get to the airport.' She decided not to add that she still hadn't made up her mind about signing away her claim to the house.

'Not a problem, because I'm gonna call Dan and tell him to stick the document in a drawer.'

Her jaw dropped. 'You – you've decided not to sell?'

'I've not decided anything yet. Signing the document was an impulse reaction because I was so disappointed about the valuation of the portrait. But you were right about the alternatives we can investigate. I need some time to think about it all.'

Relief swept through her in a warm wave. 'So do I. Mist Na Mara is too beautiful to be demolished, and the bedroom looked good once the cleaners finished.'

'Jeez, I can't believe I forgot they were coming today, or rather yesterday. What was it like?'

'I'll send you the photos I took. It was kind of shabby chic. Faded, but stylish. The furniture looked wonderful once they'd polished it, the ornaments and glass sparkled, and they steam-cleaned the carpet and all the upholstery on the chairs and couches. The supervisor suggested we should employ some professional furniture restorers, who'd also be able to obtain the right kind of drapes and net curtains to replace the discoloured ones. Oh, and he said the portrait of Ellen must be worth a fortune.'

'Yeah, if you consider five thousand a fortune.'

'Guy, while I was waiting for the cleaners to finish, I searched around online for information about Edwin Lewis's paintings. The Smithsonian paid two hundred thousand dollars for his painting of _Mother and Son_.'

Guy's low whistle was followed by a short laugh. 'If Ellen's portrait fetched that, all our problems would be solved. I'll do some research tomorrow, but now I'd better let you get ready for all your interviews. Best of luck with them.'

'Thanks.'

As Jenna ended the call, a strange kind of disquiet seeped through her. She padded downstairs to the kitchen, needing coffee, and was glad to see Charley had already filled the coffee maker.

'Guy called,' she said.

'Really? That's great!'

'Yeah.'

'What's up? You should be over the moon.'

Jenna perched on one of the kitchen stools. 'It was good to talk to him again, and he's having second thoughts about the house, which is a relief, but—' She gave a small shrug. 'He's taking Suzie to New York, and he didn't say anything about us. It was like we were – you know, just friends, nothing more.'

'Call him and say, _What about us?_ Then you'll know where you stand.'

Apprehension clawed her insides. 'I'm not sure I want to hear his answer. I think I'll wait and see what happens.'

* * *

When they landed at JFK, Guy switched his phone on again, hoping Jenna had sent a message, but the only text was from Dan McGrath: _Call me when you can. H. G. White's confirmed Brendan O'Casey works for them, but he didn't visit Clifden on Monday_.

He did a double-take at the message. If Mr. O'Casey didn't visit the house, who was the overweight art valuer who had claimed to be him?

He looked at his watch, and did a quick calculation. Damn this time difference. It would be late evening in Ireland now, too late to call Dan. He sent a quick return text: _Thanks for info. Very curious. Will call you tomorrow_.

'Problems?' Suzie asked.

'No, but some intriguing information from a Dublin lawyer.'

Tomorrow, he'd contact the Boston Museum of Fine Arts. They'd be able to tell him what an original Edwin Lewis painting might be worth.

Chapter 25

Jenna's phone rang when she was getting ready for the charity ball at the Belvedere Hotel on Saturday evening.

'It's Guy,' she said to Charley, who was helping her fix her hair into a smooth chignon.

'Let him leave a message. There's no time to talk now. Your car's coming in five minutes.'

'I know, but—' She ignored Charley's exasperated expression as held the phone to her ear. 'Hi, Guy.'

'Sorry I haven't called, but my life has been crazy the past few days.'

'Same here. I've been doing interviews and publicity stuff all week, and some prelim. work with the assistant director, and I got the script for the first episode yesterday. Anyway, how are you?'

'I'm good, and Suzie's grandmother's surgery went well. She's already walking around slowly on her new hip.'

'That's great.'

'And there's something else I—'

Jenna saw Charley pointing at her watch. 'I'm sorry, Guy, I can't talk right now. The limo's due in a few minutes to take me to a charity ball.'

'Okay. Enjoy your party. I'll call you sometime next week.'

A click told her he'd ended the call, and she pursed her lips.

'What's up?' Charley asked.

'I think I said something wrong. He sounded normal to start with, but then he became kind of cool.'

'You don't think he's jealous, do you?'

'Jealous? Why?'

'About your dream coming true when his hasn't.'

Jenna shook her head. 'Guy's not like that. I think he was miffed because I said I couldn't talk to him now.'

'That's his problem, not yours. Sit still while I pin this clip in your hair.'

* * *

Jenna sent Guy a quick text at the end of the evening: _Survived my first publicity event. Amazing but exhausting. Red carpet affair tomorrow night for premiere of new James Bond film. Life is busy but fun_.

She got a brief reply: _Glad you're enjoying yourself_.

Halfway through the following week, after she'd sent him a couple more texts about other events she'd attended – and received similar casual responses – she asked Charley for advice.

'Shall I call him? Or does this mean he wants to forget me?'

'He should at least have the decency to tell you straight.'

'Perhaps that's what he meant when he said he was sorry things hadn't worked out. I think he and Suzie are together again.'

'If they are, I'd tell him to get lost. He has a passionate affair with you and goes straight back to his ex? Huh!'

Jenna was tempted to agree. She still couldn't believe Guy had dumped her so casually. He said he'd fallen in love with her, and he didn't seem the kind of man who'd say that simply to get her into bed.

'I feel kind of empty inside,' she admitted. 'I keep telling myself it was never going to work anyway, with him in America and me here, but I didn't think he'd drop me as soon as he went home.'

'You need to call him and ask him what game he's playing.'

Jenna hesitated before pressing the quick-dial. Half a minute later, she hit the end call icon and gave Charley a despairing glance. 'It's the answer service.'

'Why didn't you leave a message?'

'I need to work out what to say. I suppose I could start by asking what he's decided about the house.'

'I thought he wanted to sell it?'

'Last week he said he was going to tell Dan to put aside the document until he has time to think about it.'

'Well, if he's not communicating with you, can't you ring Dan?'

'Good idea. I'll call him tomorrow and find out what's happening.'

* * *

The following morning, Jenna had an early appointment in Hendon in north London to be measured for her costumes. She stopped at a coffee shop on her way back to the underground station and, after a few moments' deliberation, tapped her phone screen.

'Jenna, you must be psychic,' Dan said. 'You're on my list of people to call today.'

'Oh? Why?'

'I wanted to check with you about selling Mist Na Mara.'

Jenna's heart plummeted. 'What do you mean? Guy said he was having second thoughts.'

'Eve Callaghan has received a very good offer for the house, above the current market price, so I'll need your decision soon.'

She bristled. 'If Eve has anything to do with it, there's no way I'll agree to sell. Guy and I both think she has her own agenda.'

'Hasn't Guy told you about Eve?'

'We – erm – we haven't had much contact since he went back to America.'

'But he's here in Ireland, Jenna. Arrived in Dublin yesterday and stayed at the Westgate last night. He's driving across to Clifden today.'

Jenna struggled to absorb Dan's words. Guy was back in Ireland? What on earth was going on?

'Hold on a minute, Dan. First of all, what should I know about Eve?'

'I'll let Guy fill you in with the details because he's the one who's spoken to her, but her agenda wasn't what any of us thought. She was being threatened by her ex-husband, and also physically assaulted.'

' _What?_ ' The memory of what Rose had said about Eve being knocked around by her husband flashed into her mind at the same time as she recalled Eve's black eye and dislocated shoulder. 'You mean her recent injuries weren't accidental? Oh God, poor woman.'

'As I said, Guy will tell you more, but the new offer for the house is nothing to do with her ex-husband or with Anthony Byrne. They're both facing charges, Sean Callaghan with assault, and also with aiding and abetting Tony Byrne, who's being charged with criminal impersonation and fraud.'

'Impersonation and fraud? Why?'

'Remember Brendan O'Casey?'

'Yes, of course. Guy was so disappointed by the valuation he gave us.'

'Not surprising, since he wasn't an art expert. It was Tony Byrne impersonating O'Casey. He did his homework about Edwin Lewis, but made one significant mistake. A genuine art assessor does not make an offer for an object or painting based on his own valuation.'

'But how did Tony Byrne know we were getting the portrait valued?'

'He had a contact at White's in Galway City who informed him of requests for valuation, and who also supplied him with the real Brendan O'Casey's business cards. It's been a profitable side-line for Byrne, buying antiques at well under their real value, and then selling them for at least double the price he paid, and often much more. Sean Callaghan used to tip him off, too, about any valuable items in houses where he was working.'

'Was that why Eve was making notes about everything in the house?'

'Yes, again under pressure from Sean, but she blew the whole thing apart after he dislocated her shoulder. She took legal advice, and then told the police everything she knew about him and Tony Byrne.'

Slivers of guilt dug into Jenna as she realised how much she'd misjudged Eve. 'The pressure she put on us to sell makes sense now, but going back to the portrait, does this mean it may be worth more than O'Casey – I mean Byrne's – valuation?'

'Guy is waiting for an estimate from an expert in Boston. If it's high enough, he said yesterday he'll sell the portrait to finance the modernisation of the house.'

Despite her relief that Guy had changed his mind about the house, an uncomfortable weight settled on her chest. Surely he would ask her opinion before selling the portrait?

'I'm surprised he hasn't already called you,' Dan went on. 'Without wanting to exert any undue influence on either of you, I suggest you and he need to discuss the whole situation carefully.'

'Yes, we will. Thanks, Dan.'

Jenna sipped her cappuccino while she tried to wrap her mind around what he'd said. First, about Eve and the reason she'd pressured them to sell, and then about the portrait, which was probably worth far more than the fake Brendan O'Casey's estimate.

On an impulse, she scrolled to Guy's number and pressed it. Frustrated when it diverted to the answer service again, she left a quick message. 'Guy, I've just spoken to Dan. What's happening about the portrait and the house? Please call me.'

She finished her coffee, but her phone didn't ring.

That evening, when Guy still hadn't called, she tried again and jabbed the screen when he didn't answer. She vented her frustration during supper with Charley and Steve.

'Why doesn't he call me? I didn't even know he was in Ireland, let alone getting another valuation of the portrait.'

'Perhaps he intends to ship it back to America and pocket the proceeds himself,' Steve said.

Jenna stared at him but then shook her head. 'No, he wouldn't do that. He once said I should keep the portrait since Ellen is my ancestor.'

'He might think he has a better claim to it, with the artist being his ancestor,' Charley suggested.

Jenna's shoulders sagged. 'If only he'd call or answer his phone...'

'You could always go over to Ireland and confront him,' Steve said.

'And tell him to go to hell,' Charley added.

* * *

'Do you make a deliberate policy of not answering your phone?' Eve Callaghan asked.

Guy gave an awkward shrug. 'It was Jenna, and I keep putting off talking to her, because I'm not sure what to tell her.'

'Why not?'

They were at Murphy's Bar in Clifden, and he sipped his iced water. 'I'm reluctant to raise her hopes again about the portrait. Also, she's about to start rehearsals for a TV series. It's her break into the big time, and I don't want to distract her, or make her feel she has to drop everything and come over here.' It was only part of his reason, but he didn't intend to divulge all his thoughts to Eve.

His mind had gone round in circles ever since he'd spoken to Matt Palmer at Boston MFA the previous Saturday. When he'd called Jenna, intending to tell her the good news, she told him she didn't have time to talk to him. Once his initial annoyance subsided, he chided himself. Okay, part of his exasperation was because he wished he was escorting her to the charity ball instead of her co-star. He'd love to see her in a beautiful gown, and dance with her. But he couldn't begrudge her this opportunity. She'd worked hard to achieve the exciting turn her life had taken, and he had to take a step back.

'Would she do that?' Eve asked.

'Knowing Jenna, yes, she probably would. She knew I was banking on the portrait's value in order to keep the house and create the kind of arts centre we both envisioned, and if it turns out that might be possible, I bet she'd be over here on the first available plane.'

'Your ideas are infinitely better than my ex-husband and Tony Byrne's plans to demolish it and build holiday homes.'

'I could kick myself now for being fooled by Byrne's impersonation.'

'It's a good thing you decided to get another opinion.'

'All due to Jenna. She discovered how much the Smithsonian paid for one of Edwin Lewis's paintings, which prompted me to contact the Boston museum for an estimate.'

'And you're hoping it will be enough to do what you want with the house?'

'Yeah.' Guy paused. 'I'm so sorry all this has caused you such grief, though.'

'I shouldn't have pressured you to sell.'

'You were under much greater pressure from Sean. Rose Keating said she'd heard rumours about him abusing you, but I didn't connect that with your black eye or your dislocated shoulder.' He recalled his shock when Eve emailed him the previous weekend, explaining what had happened. 'Your brother did the right thing, insisting you got legal advice.'

'I should have done it much sooner, but I was so scared of losing Jonny. Sean said he'd fight me for sole custody of our son if I didn't persuade you to sell the house.'

'And now you know the law is on your side.'

'With the charges against Sean, he doesn't stand a chance of getting custody. So, with my problems hopefully settled, what about you and Jenna?'

'I'll wait until I get the valuation.' After glancing at his watch, he gave her an apologetic smile. 'It's been good seeing you again, Eve, but I need to leave now if I want to get back to Dublin before midnight.'

'Good luck with the valuation tomorrow, Guy. I'll keep my fingers crossed for you.'

* * *

The dashboard clock said 7.30p.m. as he drove out of Clifden. With a bit of luck, he would be back in Dublin before eleven. The road through Connemara was quiet and, for a while, he let his mind wander aimlessly.

Being back at Mist Na Mara that afternoon had brought a flood of memories. As he wandered around the house, all he could think about was Jenna. In the kitchen, he pictured her peeking nervously around the door after the beer can crash and then, during their second visit, laughing and joking as they cooked a meal together. At the door of the bedroom they'd shared, he gazed at the bed for a few minutes, reliving their lovemaking, recalling her enjoyment and her passionate response. It had been fun as well as deeply satisfying.

Swallowing hard, he closed the door and turned towards Edwin and Ellen's bedroom. The dust and cobwebs had gone, but he could still visualise Jenna in Ellen's green dress, posing for him on the chaise longue. He had to push the memory from his mind before he could apply himself to the job of lifting the heavy frame from the wall and carrying it downstairs without damaging it.

Now, with the portrait safely in the back of his rental van, he wondered what tomorrow's meeting in Dublin would bring. If Matt Palmer from the MFA gave it a high enough valuation, what then? Making the decision to sell it wouldn't be easy, but it might provide the finance they needed to modernise the house.

Once he'd negotiated the ring road around Galway City and reached the motorway, his mind moved to the future. It would be so good to sit with Jenna at Mist Na Mara, discussing what refurbishment was needed, poring over plans, and making decisions about artistic and drama activities.

His shoulders slumped. Jenna had a new life now. An Arts and Living History centre at an old Irish house paled into insignificance, compared with a television drama series. Assuming it was successful, and he hoped it would be, Jenna would receive more high profile offers.

For the rest of the drive across Ireland, arguments and counter arguments battled against each other. Eventually, he came to the inevitable conclusion.

What they wanted from life was similar in one sense: fulfilment in their chosen careers. They were both on the verge of reaching their goals but, as a result, their lives had become incompatible. His needs would be satisfied here in Ireland, where the breath-taking scenery had dug deep into his soul, but Jenna had to stay in London, or at least city-based somewhere, and not in a remote corner of the west of Ireland.

There was no hope of ever making things work out between them. Whatever happened at tomorrow's valuation couldn't change that.

* * *

'He's not here.' Jenna wasn't sure whether she was relieved or disappointed as she stopped the car in the empty forecourt outside Mist Na Mara on Friday evening.

'Maybe he's gone back to America.' Charley craned her neck towards the house. 'This is even better in real life than in all your photos. Beautiful building. I love the weathered stonework.' She turned back to Jenna. 'Didn't you text him to say you were coming?'

'No.' Jenna struggled to justify her decision. 'I didn't want to run the risk of him telling me not to come.'

'Why would he do that?'

'I don't know.' She heaved a sigh. 'I thought I knew him, but once he went to rescue Suzie in Los Angeles, he seemed to change.' Her heart jerked as she recalled their ecstatic lovemaking, and the easy and fun companionship they'd shared. Why had it all gone wrong?

'What do we do now?' Charley asked.

'We go inside, of course. The house is half mine, and I have a key. Several keys, in fact. We had duplicates made.'

'Lead on. I can't wait to see all the rooms.'

Jenna took an increasingly amazed Charley on a tour of the house.

'Guy was right,' Charley said, as she wandered around the dining room. 'This place would be perfect for Living History presentations. I can imagine the family having breakfast in here, with the butler standing near the sideboard, listening to them talking about – whatever. Then he goes down to the servants' hall and—'

'There isn't a servants' hall. Just a very large kitchen. Come and see.' She frowned as they went into the kitchen. 'I think we've come on a wild goose chase.'

'Why?'

'Everything's just as I left it. It doesn't look as if Guy's been here.'

Deflated, she took Charley upstairs, but deliberately avoided the bedroom she and Guy had shared. It held too many memories she didn't want to think about. Instead, she showed her one of the other bedrooms, and the bathroom with its porcelain washbasin and clawfoot bathtub.

'Where's Ellen and Edwin's bedroom?' Charley asked. 'That's the one I want to see.'

'It's along here, at the front corner of the house.'

As they reached the door, she stopped. 'Duh, I left the key downstairs. Wait here a minute.'

When she went back upstairs, she blinked in surprise at the open bedroom door. Charley was already inside the room, gazing around in amazement.

'I tried the handle,' she said. 'It wasn't locked.'

'That's strange because we always kept it locked.'

'This room is fabulous. It's like stepping back in time, but I thought you said the portrait of Ellen was in here?'

'Yes, it's—' Jenna walked round the bed, and her stomach went into free fall. 'No, it isn't. It's gone.'

Chapter 26

Jenna stared at the bare rectangle on wall where the portrait had hung. 'It's half mine. He can't sell it without asking me.'

'Don't jump to conclusions,' Charley said. 'He's probably taken it somewhere to be valued.'

'Or shipped it over to America. There's no evidence of him returning here with it. No food in the kitchen, and no sign of— Hold on a minute.'

'Why? Where are you going?'

Without replying, Jenna ran out of the room and along the corridor, with Charley following her. She flung open the door of the bedroom and waved her arm towards the bed. 'See? No sleeping bag, none of his clothes. He isn't coming back.'

Charley peered into the room and turned, her forehead creased in bemusement. 'Jenna, there are half a dozen more bedrooms. Why this one?'

'Because—' Jenna blinked the hot tears from her eyes. 'Because this is the room we shared, and he told me he loved me, and—' She turned away, brought her hand up to her mouth, and swallowed hard. 'I thought we had something special, Charley, but it's all gone wrong, and I don't know why.'

Charley put a comforting hand on her arm. 'Come on, let's go downstairs and open the bottle of wine we bought at the supermarket.'

Even the mention of the supermarket brought fresh tears to Jenna's eyes, as she recalled how she and Guy had joked together while they shopped. Everything had seemed so special when she'd been with him. The whole world had been different.

An hour later, after two glasses of wine, she and Charley were as giddy as they'd been during their days at drama school, and she forced her anger and dejection to the back of her mind.

'We could do a great scene in here,' Charley said. 'Let's imagine Ellen's had a letter from her sister-in-law about her brother being threatened by the newspaper guy. What was his name?'

'Robert Oliver.'

'He's the one she married, isn't he? Okay, she gets the letter and comes in here to tell Bridget. Was she the cook?'

'I think she was a kind of housekeeper who ended up looking after Ellen's son.'

'I'll play Bridget, and I'm making the child's lunch. And you're Ellen, coming in here with the letter you've received.'

Jenna grinned. 'How's your Irish accent?'

'Aye, begorrah and bejaysus, an' the top o' th' mornin' to ye.'

After a few giggles, they both calmed down, slipped into character, and started an improvisation, as they'd done many times during their drama school days.

After recounting the information in the letter, Jenna went on, 'Bridget, I must return to England. I am acquainted with this Robert Oliver. He showered me with flowers and gifts when I played Juliet at Mr O'Toole's theatre. I may be able to find some way of persuading him not to print this scurrilous story about my brother.'

'Will ye take young Liam, too?'

'No, I cannot, although it will break my heart to leave him.'

'Don't ye worry. Me and Michael will take good care of him while ye're away.'

'I know you will, Bridget.'

Another voice broke in. 'Not interrupting anything, am I?'

Jenna spun round. Guy was leaning against the doorframe, a quirky smile on his face. Everything inside her did double somersaults. 'How long have you been standing there?'

He came into the kitchen, dumped his backpack near the door, and put a supermarket bag on the table. 'About half a minute. Why didn't you tell me you were coming?'

'Because—' Jenna forced herself to stay calm, despite her erratic heartbeat. 'Because Dan told me you were in Ireland, and because you've not answered my calls, and because I had no idea what was going on. Does that answer your question?' As Guy nodded, she went on, 'Now I have a question for you. Where's the portrait?'

His eyes narrowed. 'That sounds like an accusation, rather than a question. I'm not sure what you're thinking.'

'Dan said you were hoping to get a valuation from an art expert in Boston. Why didn't you tell me?'

'I was about to tell you, but you didn't have time to talk.'

'When?'

'Last weekend, when you were getting ready for a party with your co-star.'

She had no problem recalling the conversation. After that, he'd sent very brief replies to her texts and hadn't answered her calls. She rushed to defend herself. 'I had about two minutes before the car was due to take me to the charity ball. Don't you ever get calls at the wrong time?' This was ridiculous. They were arguing about one badly-timed phone call. Surely Guy wasn't so petty as to take umbrage over something like that?

'Yes, of course I do, but it wasn't—' He stopped and took a deep breath. 'We need to talk, Jenna, but I haven't even said hello to your friend yet.' Looking past her at Charley, he tilted his head. 'Hi. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to ignore you. I'm Guy Sinclair.'

'I guessed you must be. Good to meet you. I'm Charley Mason.'

After the few tense moments, Jenna was relieved when Guy's eyes twinkled as he shook hands with Charley. 'You're the Charley I once thought was Jenna's boyfriend.'

Charley returned his grin. 'Only my grandmother calls me Charlotte.' She looked round at Jenna. 'Why don't you both go and sit in the lounge, or whatever they used to call the beautiful big room with the dark red couches, while I make coffee for us all?'

Jenna turned to Guy. His questioning gaze rested on her, and she gave a quick nod of acquiescence.

He stood back to let her go first, and her nerves jangled as she led the way along the corridor. How on earth was she going to react if he said he'd sold the portrait? And what could she say if he told her he and Suzie were together again? Cold dread squeezed her stomach like a vice.

* * *

Guy struggled with both longing and annoyance as he followed Jenna to the drawing room. He loved the way her dark shiny hair swayed on her back as she walked, and longed to run his fingers through it. Dammit, the moment he'd seen her in the kitchen, absorbed in the scene she was acting out with Charley, he'd yearned to put his arms around her, feel her slim body crushed against him, and kiss her until she was limp with desire.

Initially confused by her coolness, her accusation about the portrait had shocked him. She'd obviously jumped to conclusions without waiting for any explanation.

When she very deliberately sat in one of the large armchairs and not on the couch, he knew this wasn't going to be an easy conversation. He crossed to sit in the opposite chair, and leaned forward with his arms resting on his thighs. 'You have questions. Shoot.'

'All right. The first one is, where's the portrait? Have you sold it?'

'You must have a poor opinion of me if you think I'd do that without consulting you first. As a matter of fact, it's in the back of my rental van right now. I left it there because, in case you didn't notice, it's raining.'

'Oh.' Jenna bit her lip. 'In that case, I apologise for misjudging you, but it would have helped if you'd answered my calls and told me what was happening.'

'Yes.' He huffed out a quick breath. 'I thought I was doing the right thing, but—'

'What do you mean?'

'I mean, you're starting a new and exciting phase in your life, something you've worked hard for. It will demand all your time and concentration. I didn't want to get in the way.'

'Get in the way? For heaven's sake, Guy, I'm not going into a convent for the next six months. I'll still have a life outside of filming.'

'What about the parties and red-carpet events every night?'

'You must be joking.'

'Am I? Your messages were all about charity balls, and premieres, and magazine interviews, and photo calls.'

'Those were the result of the cast announcement last week. I don't know what happens in New York or L.A., but here, after the initial flurry of publicity, we start the hard work of rehearsing and filming. We haven't the time, or the energy, for parties every night.'

'Okay, but even so—' He swiped his hair back from his forehead before letting his hand drop down to his thigh again, and shaking his head slightly. 'It seemed best to allow you to get on with your new life.'

'Is that why you didn't tell me about getting another valuation for the portrait?'

'You were obviously very busy, and I guessed it must be a pretty nerve-wracking time for you, being in the spotlight. I decided not to distract you until I had some definite news about the portrait.'

'It's been far more distracting wondering why you weren't communicating with me.'

'I'm sorry. I honestly believed you had enough on your plate without me calling you all the time, or raising your hopes in case they came to nothing.'

She blinked a few times, and the tense lines on her forehead melted away. 'And that's the reason you didn't call me?'

'Yes. What did you think was the reason?'

His taut nerves began to relax when a small smile softened her features. 'You don't want to hear the million possibilities that have rampaged through my mind. When you left here, it seemed like you wanted to forget all about Ireland, and the house... and me, too. After all, you rushed back to America for Suzie, and I thought— I thought—'

'You thought I was abandoning Ireland and going back to Suzie?' He stood and held out his hand to her. 'Come with me.'

'Where to?'

'Across here.' His hand grasped hers as he led her to the large window with the view of the bay. The rain had stopped and the dark clouds were breaking up, allowing silver shafts of evening sunlight to radiate down to the sea.

'Beautiful, isn't it? That's the view I want to wake up to every morning. There's no way I can forget about Ireland.' He turned to put his hand under her chin and tilted her face up. 'And no way can I forget you, either. I told you I was in love with you, which is not something I would ever say lightly. I do love you, Jenna. There hasn't been a minute when you haven't been in my mind.'

She stared at him. 'Wh-what about Suzie?'

'Suzie will be fine. She's – oh, forget her. All I want to do right now is kiss you. If that's okay with you, of course.'

Her response came out as a mixed gulp and laugh. 'It's very much okay with me. I love you, too, Guy.'

Wrapping his arms around her, he lifted her against him and kissed her. He let out a satisfied murmur when she opened her lips to him, and their long kiss moved from gentle and seductive to intense and passionate.

'Oops, sorry, didn't mean to disturb you.'

Charley's voice made them break apart, and he turned. 'Hi, Charley. We got somewhat diverted from our talk.'

'So I see.' Charley smiled as she put a wooden tray on the small table between the couches. 'I'll leave these here, and you can continue your – erm, talk.'

Jenna laughed. 'You don't need to make a quick exit.' She glanced up at Guy. 'We still have a lot to talk about, don't we?'

He kept his arm tightly around her as they sat together on the couch. 'We sure do, but come and join us, Charley.'

* * *

Jenna relaxed as she sipped her mug of coffee. Guy's explanation about his lack of communication had moved her, and sent a warm melting sensation into her stomach. He cared enough to step back out of her life so as not to distract her. Now she could dismiss all her negative thoughts and fears. He loved her. Everything else was secondary. They'd find some way to work things out.

She turned to him. 'You were going to tell me about Suzie.'

'Not a lot to tell. I took her back to New York, and Milly, her grandmother, is good. Suzie will look after her for the next few weeks, and then maybe she'll try for a place at drama school.'

Jenna widened her eyes. 'She's left Hollywood?'

'Her bad experience there has changed her. She's realised shortcuts to stardom can turn out to be blind alleys.' He hesitated for a moment. 'I do have a confession to make, though.'

'What about?'

'Suzie borrowed money from Milly, supposedly to secure some movie rights, but the director turned out to be a conman and disappeared. I lent her what she needed to repay her debt. She'll pay me back when she can, but in the meantime, most of my legacy from Helena Keating has gone.'

Jenna rested her hand on his thigh. 'You're a good man, Guy Sinclair.'

He shrugged. 'What else could I do? Milly's worry about her medical bills was affecting her recovery. Now she's okay, and hopefully Suzie will be able to turn her life around. All's well that ends well.'

'It seems that applies to Eve, too. Dan told me all about her.'

'Good. Saves me a lot of explaining. Well, not good for Eve, obviously, but she's far more confident now about gaining custody of her son.'

'Her son? What has he to do with all this?'

'Didn't Dan tell you? The custody issue was the lever her ex-husband was using against her. _Persuade them to sell, or I'll tell them you're an unfit mother_. Accompanied by physical abuse.'

Jenna shuddered. 'I feel so bad about misjudging her.'

'Me, too. I had a long talk with her earlier this week, and she's on our side now, whatever we decide to do about this place.'

'Dan said there'd been an offer for the house.'

'Yes, through another lawyer in Dublin. It's a private offer, not a property developer. Which leaves us with a decision to make.'

'What's that?'

'Do we sell the house, or do we sell the portrait? I've been thinking about it while I was driving here from Dublin, and I still can't decide.'

'Doesn't it depend on the valuation of the portrait?'

'Ah, that's my next item of news. I sent photos of the portrait to my contact at the MFA, but he said he needed to see it. He was flying over to Berlin, and agreed to break his trip in Dublin if I met him at the National Gallery this morning with the painting. That's why I came over here again. I thought it might be my last time. With most of my legacy money gone, I was sure we'd have to sell the house, but—'

Jenna gripped his thigh. 'Come on, tell me. What was his opinion?'

'Take a deep breath, honey. Boston MFA would be prepared to purchase the portrait for four hundred thousand.'

'Dollars or euros?'

'Dollars. Equivalent, at current exchange rates, to about three hundred thousand euros, or two-fifty British pounds.'

'Wow!'

'He said we might get more if we took it to auction. Evidently there are several collectors of Edwin Lewis's paintings.'

'I hate the idea of the portrait leaving here, because it's where Ellen and Edwin were so happy, but would selling it give us enough to modernise the house?'

'I haven't done the math yet, but I guess we could do a lot with that kind of money, and I'd pitch in with some things, like plastering and basic carpentry.' Guy gave a self-deprecatory shrug. 'I'm pretty good with a paintbrush, too.'

The prospect of working here with Guy, helping to refurbish the rooms, brought a smile to Jenna's face. 'If we can afford a modern sewing machine, curtains and drapes wouldn't be a problem, and I can slap paint on walls.'

Guy shook his head. 'No.'

'No? What do you mean?'

'I mean, you're about to shoot a TV series, which is far more important than being an unpaid decorator here.'

'Is it? Ellen gave up her career on the London stage to be here with Edwin, because she loved him so much.'

'Jenna, I won't let you—'

'You can't stop me.'

Guy shot a quick glance of entreaty at Charley, who'd stayed silent during the whole conversation. 'Tell her, Charley. Tell her she can't give up this opportunity because of me, or because of this old house.'

'He's right, Jenna. I know you love Guy and you love this house, but you can't back out of the series now. It's only six months. You'll be finished with filming by the end of the year.'

Deep inside, Jenna knew Guy and Charley were right, but six months without him seemed too long to contemplate. 'All right,' she said eventually, 'but I'm coming over here every time we get more than a day's break in shooting.'

Guy gave her a quick kiss. 'Or I'll come to London, or wherever you are. Do we have a deal?'

Aware she had no option now, she smiled. 'Okay, we have a deal.'

'And you agree to sell the portrait?'

She swallowed hard. 'It breaks my heart, but it's either the portrait or the house. We can't have both.'

* * *

Six weeks later, she clutched Guy's hand as they stood with Dan McGrath at the back of White's auction room in Dublin. The portrait of Ellen was held by two assistants, and the auctioneer started with an opening price of a hundred thousand euros. Bids from the room soon reached the reserve price of two hundred, after which only three phone bidders were left. One withdrew at three hundred.

'That's probably the Boston MFA representative,' Guy whispered.

'What about the other two?'

'No idea. Collectors, maybe, or art galleries?'

Jenna held her breath as the bids increased in ten thousand increments until they reached four hundred and fifty thousand.

Guy's hand squeezed hers, and her heart pounded painfully against her ribs as the auctioneer waited for the phone assistants. When one of them shook her head, he poised his gavel, and then turned to someone in the front row who had raised his numbered card.

Jenna couldn't hear what was said, but after a questioning glance at the remaining phone assistant, the auctioneer said, 'Five hundred thousand in the room. Fair warning.' After five seconds' silence, he banged the gavel. 'Lot three-four-two, sold, for five hundred thousand euros to the gentleman on the front row.'

'Oh my God, nearly seven hundred thousand dollars.' Guy croaked. 'Maybe I won't have to do any carpentry, after all.'

Jenna struggled to start breathing normally again. 'Is this real?'

'It sure is.' Guy gave her a quick kiss and hug before turning to Dan. 'What happens now? Will we find out who made the final bid?'

'I don't know. It depends on whether he was bidding on his own behalf or representing someone else. Go and wait in the entrance hall, and I'll find out what I can.'

While they waited, Jenna jiggled with excitement. 'Half a million euros. More than I dreamed possible. We can refurbish the house now.'

Guy hugged her again. 'And we can afford showers in every bathroom. I think my head's about to explode.'

'Mine, too. Now we need to work out what to spend all that lovely money on.' She let out a frustrated sigh as reality kicked in. 'I'm booked on the first flight to Leeds tomorrow morning, though. We're shooting in Yorkshire for four days, but I want to stay here.'

'Come on, darling, we made a deal. Remember?'

She nodded and turned as Dan came into the lobby. 'Did you find out who bought the portrait?'

He shook his head. 'Anonymous. The bidder was the representative of the purchaser. The only thing I could discover was that it will stay in Ireland.'

'I guess that's better than it being shipped overseas,' Guy said, 'although it'll be sad to see the space on the bedroom wall.'

They left the auction room and walked towards the River Liffey. After crossing Ha'penny Bridge, the arched iron footbridge over to Temple Bar, they reached the pub they'd visited on their first evening in Dublin.

'I think this afternoon's events call for champagne, don't you?' Dan said.

Jenna laughed. 'We'll pay for it, Dan, since the only song going round in my head right now is _We're in the Money_. I can't remember what show it comes from.'

'Cabaret?' Guy said.

'No, that's _Money Makes the World Go Round_.'

'Whatever.' He reached for her hand as they sat at one of the tables. 'How about Abba's _Money, Money, Money_?'

'Ooh, good one.'

They both started to sing the first few lines until Dan held up his hands. 'And you haven't even started on the champagne yet! But before you do, I have a question.'

Jenna stopped singing and looked across the table at him. 'What?'

'You agreed to sell the portrait, but now I need to know about the house. There's been an offer, which equals the price of the portrait. Dividing the total proceeds between you would give you both considerable financial security for the foreseeable future'

Jenna turned to Guy. 'What do you want to do? You've given away most of your other legacy money, so would you prefer to sell the house, too?'

'How about we make our own independent decisions? Keep the house, raise your right hand. Sell the house, raise your left hand. On a count of three. Dan, will you count, please?'

'Of course. Three—two—one—go.'

The three seconds sent Jenna's mind into a whirl, as she calculated half of the combined sale of portrait and house. Over four hundred thousand pounds in her account – or Mist Na Mara? At Dan's final word, she raised her right hand.

Guy did the same, and grinned as he high-fived her with a triumphant cry of, 'Yesss!'

Her heart leapt and she smiled at him. 'No contest. We've let the portrait go, but we have to keep the house. Half a million euros should be enough to refurbish the ground floor rooms and modernise the kitchen.'

He bent forward to kiss her. 'At least we didn't sell the green dress with the portrait, honey.'

'That's your decision?' Dan asked. 'You're keeping the house?'

'Our ancestors were happy there,' Guy said, 'and I know we will be, too. Another actress and artist will eventually make Mist Na Mara their home. I think Edwin and Ellen would approve. And that reminds me, I forgot to tell you what else I discovered, Jenna. Or rather, my mother's genealogist friend discovered.'

'Don't tell me we're not related to Edwin and Ellen after all?'

'No question about that, but do you remember us wondering why they chose some remote corner of Ireland to live?'

'Didn't we decide they wanted a place where no one knew them?'

'There's another reason. Edwin's grandfather, William Lewis, arrived in Boston with his family, including Edwin's father, in 1848, on the _Jeanie Johnston_. One of the famine ships.'

Jenna's eyes widened. 'From Ireland?'

'I remember telling Rose that fifty million Americans claim Irish ancestry. I didn't realise I was one of them. The Lewis family sailed from Cork, but they came from a small parish called Ballindoon, which happens to be about five miles from Clifden, not far from where Alcock and Brown crash-landed after their transatlantic flight.'

'Guy, that's amazing! Edwin returned to his roots when he brought Ellen to Clifden.'

'And now would you like to know about the Maguire family?'

'Go on.'

'Ellen's father, the Reverend Joseph Charles Maguire, graduated from Cambridge University in 1856, but he was born in Galway City in 1834.'

'Really? We both have Irish ancestors?'

'County Galway ancestors. The wheel has turned full circle, hasn't it? Not just from Edwin and Ellen, but from their families, too.' He hugged her to him and gave her a quick kiss. 'Seems like we were destined to meet and make our future here in Galway.'

'Speaking of which—' Dan reached for his document case on the spare stool next to him. 'Remember me telling you about a clause in Miss Keating's will which I couldn't reveal until you made a decision about the house?' He pulled an envelope from a folder. 'She deposited this letter with me a couple of years ago, with instructions to give it to you if you decided to keep Mist Na Mara. I think this is the right moment to hand it over to you.'

Chapter 27

My dear Guy and Jenna

First, I need to explain how I know your names. In my will, I did as my father requested many years ago and said Mist Na Mara was to be inherited by the descendants of my grandparents, Edwin William Lewis and Ellen Hayden Maguire. At the time of writing my will (over thirty years ago), I had no means of discovering who those descendants might be. After my father's death, I lost contact with Edwin and Ellen's other children and grandchildren.

However, I became increasingly curious about who might inherit the house, and therefore I employed a professional genealogist. After some lengthy research, he informed me, as far as he could ascertain, you were the only two living descendants. I did not divulge this information to Mr. McGrath in case his researchers found more descendants.

Imagine my astonishment, though, when I also learned the two young people destined to inherit Mist Na Mara were another artist and actress. It seemed to me to be a strange, but wonderful, coincidence.

At the same time, I was aware that, with one of you living in America and the other in London (another interesting connection to Edwin and Ellen, of course), keeping the house might prove impossible for you. After some thought, I asked Mr. McGrath to add a clause to my will and to give this letter to you if you decide to keep the house.

The fact you are reading this now says you are keeping it. Obviously, I cannot know what has prompted this but I am certain you have made your decision for all the right reasons. My grandparents loved Mist Na Mara, and maybe you, too, have inherited their love for the house.

The trust fund set up by my father will continue to be available for the basic maintenance of the property, but I realise there are many other improvements you may wish to make. Therefore, you will have access to my investment portfolio which holds the proceeds of the sales of all my grandfather Edwin Lewis's paintings. I believe the current balance is approximately five million dollars.

My only request is for you to leave the main bedroom in all its Victorian glory. The rest of the house is yours to do whatever you wish and, of course, I hope you will be as happy at Mist Na Mara as Edwin and Ellen were.

My very best wishes to you both.

Helena Lewis Keating

Jenna gripped Guy's arm. 'Five million dollars? Oh. My. God.'

Guy's mouth had dropped open, but relaxed into a broad smile. 'Any chance we can buy back the portrait now, Dan?'

'Not unless the buyer puts it on the market again.' Dan shook his head. 'There was no way of knowing what Miss Keating's letter contained until you made your decision about the house and, understandably, that depended on the sale price of the portrait.'

'Catch-22,' Guy said wryly. 'What would have happened to the investment portfolio if we'd decided to sell the house?'

'The extra clause Miss Keating added to her will said it was to be used to establish a foundation to assist artists and actors.'

'And we'll be using it to establish our Arts and Living History Centre. For artists and actors, as Helena wished. Maybe we should think about naming the centre after her.'

Jenna shook her head. 'No, it must stay as Mist Na Mara. That's the name Ellen and Edwin gave it.'

* * *

Five months later, on New Year's Eve, Jenna and Guy stood in the hallway at Mist na Mara, waiting for their guests to arrive. They'd spent Christmas at the house with Jenna's mother and aunt, and Guy's mother and her genealogist friend Roger. And the previous day Charley and Steve had arrived, together with their other friends who would soon become the Living History group.

A large Christmas tree stood in the middle of the hall, garlands of pine and holly were draped around the walls and up the banister rails, and she and Guy had decorated both the drawing room and dining room with similar greenery.

At Guy's request, she was wearing Ellen's dress, and he had donned the Victorian tailcoat and trousers they'd found in the closet.

He ran his fingers around the starched wing collar of his white shirt. 'Jeez, I'm so glad I didn't live in those days.'

She patted his chest and reached up to kiss him. 'You ought to be grateful I didn't insist you had your hair cut short like Edwin's.'

'No way.'

'I agree. You look kind of Mr. Darcy-ish with your hair down to your collar.'

'I thought it was Mr. Rochester who turned you on.'

'Only one person does that.'

'Good.' Guy slipped his arm round her and gave her a kiss. 'Love you.'

'Love you, too.'

It was the culmination of a hectic few months of rehearsing and filming for her, while Guy oversaw the refurbishment of the house. The rooms downstairs had been refreshed with new paint in pastel colours; the furniture and wainscoting professionally restored, and the upholstery and drapes either cleaned or replaced. They had decided to leave the kitchen as it was, in keeping with the 1930s style of the rest of the ground floor, and a new extension at the rear housed a modern kitchen, which fulfilled all the current health and safety requirements.

The terrace had been extended with modern decking, and a large conservatory had also been added to the side of the house, its glass walls giving an uninterrupted view of the bay and the hills.

Upstairs, all the bedrooms, apart from Edwin and Ellen's, had been redecorated and refurbished with luxury bathroom pods, and with modern wardrobes and wall units. Central heating and air conditioning units had been installed as unobtrusively as possible, even in the Victorian bedroom, which had received special treatment from the restoration experts.

Jenna had only managed to get across to Ireland five times in as many months, but Guy had been over to England several times, and had even come to London for the Wrap Party once the whole series was completed.

'You hate showbiz parties,' she'd teased him.

'I'm making an exception in this case. Besides, I want to talk to you about my idea for a special party for us.'

That was when they'd planned this New Year event – not as the official opening of the centre, which would take place in the spring – but as a private party for all their friends. It was Charley who'd come up with the idea of them dressing as Ellen and Edwin.

'Only if you and Steve dress as Bridget and Michael,' Jenna said.

Charley's boyfriend Steve had already accepted the job as manager of the Arts Centre, and Liz and Maria were enthusiastic about the Living History idea, together with Richard and Karl, two other drama school friends. They were all in the drawing room now, and Jenna laughed as she heard them discussing the differences between a Dublin accent and a Galway accent.

'You'll find out soon enough,' she called to them. 'Listen to Dan, and then to Eve.'

Guy gave her a conspiratorial wink. 'Especially to Eve and the Keatings.'

She smiled. 'We'll let Charley into the secret later.'

Soon the drawing room was full. The whole Keating family was there: Rose and her parents, Tom's brother with his wife, and Rose's sister Teresa with her husband and two teenage daughters. Teresa had been thrilled when they asked for her help with researching life in Clifden at the end of the nineteenth century, and already had an enthusiastic group of her high school students finding out about homes, food, and clothing.

Eve Callaghan arrived with her brother and her new boyfriend, Allen, who was the manager of the hotel in Clifden where most of their guests were staying.

'He's so different from Sean,' she confided in Jenna. 'He treats me like a princess, and he's wonderful with Jonny.'

Jenna was delighted for her, especially as she'd been granted sole custody of her son. After a short custodial sentence, Sean Callaghan had left Clifden – one rumour suggesting he was working as a door-to-door salesman in Glasgow. Anthony Byrne was serving a two-year jail sentence for fraud.

Guy had also invited several people who had worked on the refurbishment, as well as others who had helped with all the legal, financial, and planning aspects of converting the house into a commercial project. Their neighbours from the nearby farm and the families from the two houses higher up the lane were there, too.

The last people to arrive were Dan McGrath and his wife, who brought Helena's friend, Maeve Connor, with them.

Jenna hadn't seen Maeve since they visited her in Dalkey six months earlier, but had phoned her several times to let her know about their progress in the house. Now she hugged her. 'It's so good to see you again, Maeve.'

'You too, my dear, and how wonderful you look. Ellen's dress, if I'm not mistaken? The one she wore in the portrait?'

'Yes, but I'll let you into a secret. I had to ask a dressmaker here in Clifden to put extra panels in the sides. I don't have Ellen's eighteen-inch waist.'

Maeve laughed. 'If you hadn't told me, I would never have known.'

Jenna glanced past her. 'I thought your granddaughter was coming?'

'Kate and Kelvin will be here soon. They – uh – they were delayed at the hotel.'

Jenna caught a hint of evasiveness in Maeve's voice, but didn't like to ask more. 'I'm sorry we couldn't accommodate you here, but several of the bedrooms aren't quite ready. We're waiting for the new beds to be delivered.'

'No matter,' Maeve said. 'We're very comfortable at the hotel, and o' course, there's only one bedroom here I really want to see.'

'Shall I take you there before we let everyone else go up?'

'No, no, I'll wait my turn with the others.' Her blue eyes lit up as Charley, in a long grey dress and white apron, crossed the hallway with a tray of champagne flutes. 'Champagne, is it? That will do me very nicely. And are the Keating family here? I'm so looking forward to meeting them.'

Jenna accompanied Maeve into the crowded drawing room, and introduced Tom Keating to her. She left her chatting to Tom about his parents and grandparents, and headed back to the hall where Guy stood talking to Dan McGrath.

'We'll join you soon,' Guy said. 'Go play hostess, darling, and save some champagne for me, please.'

Jenna returned to the drawing room, but frowned when Guy closed the door. He was obviously discussing something with Dan, and she metaphorically crossed her fingers, hoping this didn't indicate some problem. For the moment, she had to push her curiosity to the back of her mind, and concentrate on circulating and talking to their guests.

It was a good ten minutes before Guy and Dan came into the room, accompanied by Maeve's granddaughter Kate and her boyfriend. Relieved to see Guy laughing at whatever Dan had said, she relaxed as he crossed the room to her.

'What was all that about?' she asked as he put his arm around her waist.

'What was all what about?'

'You and Dan, and what appeared to be a serious conversation.'

'Nothing important. I was updating him on the progress so far.'

Jenna narrowed her eyes. 'There's something you're not telling me.'

'Whatever makes you think that?'

'The careful innocence in your voice. I'm an actress, remember? I know about voice tones.'

'I guess I'll have to remember that.' He glanced around the drawing room. 'Everyone here is dying to see the bedroom, so what are we going to do? Take them all up at once or—?'

'If we take them all, it'll be too crowded. How about we divide them into groups?'

'Good idea. Who first?'

'Your mom and mine have already seen it, and so have Charley and the others in the Living History group, so how about Maeve and her granddaughter, and Rose and Teresa and their parents? They're the nearest thing to family.'

They gathered the group together, and Jenna led the way up the stairs. 'Bear in mind,' she said, as she stopped outside the door, 'this isn't how we first discovered it. The whole room was covered in dust, the drapes were yellowed or threadbare, and the furnishings were faded. We've put a display here of some of the photos of the room as it was, cobwebs and all. Do take a look at those first, and I hope you'll agree the restoration team has done a wonderful job.'

After giving them a few minutes to study the photos on the wall outside the bedroom, she opened the door, and the small group followed her inside. Eyes widened at the opulence of the room, with its rich gold and green drapes, polished woodwork, and sparkling crystal chandelier.

She and Guy stood near the door, while the others _ooh'd_ and _ahh'd_. He gave her a quick kiss. 'Go on, do your pose on the chaise longue.'

She crossed to the long sofa, adopted Ellen's pose, and said, 'This was how Edwin painted Ellen. Sadly, we no longer have the original portrait, because we had to sell it to give us the money to refurbish the house, but we had a print made. It's on the other side of the bed, where the original portrait hung.'

Rose Keating was standing at the far corner of the four-poster bed. 'A print, you say? This looks like an original painting.'

Jenna shook her head. 'No, it's only a print, Rose.'

'Go and look at it, Jenna,' Guy said.

She walked across the room to the far side of the bed, and gaped at the large frame. 'I'm seeing things. This can't be—'

Guy was by her side, his arm tightly around her. 'Yes, it's the portrait.'

'But – but how?'

'Remember me telling you to go back into the drawing room? That was to give us the time for Kate and Kelvin to smuggle it in, and for Dan and me to bring it up here.'

'I still don't understand—'

'It's my gift to you,' Maeve said.

Jenna spun around, her eyes wide. 'You bought it?'

Maeve smiled. 'Helena left me more money than I could ever spend, so when I knew you were auctioning the portrait – and Mr. McGrath told me the reason – I decided to purchase it so I could return it to Mist Na Mara. It belongs here, doesn't it?'

The tears spilled down Jenna's cheeks as she hugged the older woman. 'Yes, it does. It broke my heart to sell it. Maeve, I don't know how to thank you.'

'No thanks are needed, my dear. The right people made the right decision. Helena, bless her dear soul, somehow knew that would happen.'

* * *

A lavish buffet supper in the dining room was followed by a comedy performance by Charley, Liz, and Maria, entitled _The Butler's Night Off_ , which had everyone rocking with laughter. They spent another hour dancing Irish set dances – with instructions called out by Rose Keating, and accompanied by two fiddlers, a drummer playing the bodhran, and a flautist. Jenna couldn't stop giggling when they all got into a muddle with the movements, and Guy had to skid across the floor to join her after he'd turned the wrong way.

A few minutes before midnight, Guy, being the darkest-haired man, was pushed outside the front door with a loaf of bread and a bag full of mistletoe sprigs. At the end of the countdown from ten to one, he did as the Keatings had instructed him and banged on the door with the bread.

'It's meant to chase the bad spirits out and invite the good spirits in,' Tom Keating said.

With much hilarity, they let Guy back into the house, and he proceeded to give a small piece of mistletoe to every unmarried girl, with the instruction to place it under their pillows so they would dream of their future husbands.

When he reached Jenna, he bent forward to kiss her. 'Happy dreams, darling.'

Over an hour later, after the last of their guests had departed, they sat in the new kitchen with Charley and Steve.

'What a night,' Jenna breathed.

Guy winked at her. 'Are you going to tell them your news now?'

Jenna turned to Charley. 'Only if you promise to say nothing to anyone, because Peter won't be making an official announcement until after the first episode of _Jane Eyre_ is screened at the beginning of March.'

'I assume you mean Peter Stones, your director?' Charley's eyes lit up. 'He's offered you another role?'

'Yes, and a rather special one. Julian Forster, who wrote the _Jane Eyre_ script, is now writing a two-hour television biopic. The working title is _The Actress and the Artist_.'

'And part of it will be filmed here at Mist Na Mara,' Guy added.

Jenna laughed at Charley's dropped jaw. 'Charley, please close your mouth. Peter was fascinated by everything I told him about Ellen and Edwin, and insisted I gave all the details to Julian.'

Charley finally found her voice. 'And you're going to play Ellen?'

'Yes, and Peter has promised there'll be named roles for all the Mist Na Mara Living History group, so start practising your Irish accent.'

'I think this calls for another drink.' Steve fetched a bottle of champagne from the wine fridge, opened it with a satisfying bang from the cork, and poured it into four flutes.

Charley gave Jenna a bear hug. 'This is going to be a wonderful year. All of us living here in Ireland, opening the Arts Centre, and now a TV film.'

Guy stood and raised his glass. 'A toast, I think. To Edwin and Ellen, and to Mist Na Mara.'

They all clinked glasses as they repeated his words.

'And now,' he went on, 'if you'll excuse me for few minutes, I have a small job to do.'

Charley grinned. 'Took me ages to find those for you, Guy.'

Jenna twisted her head from one to the other as Guy headed for the kitchen door. 'What are you talking about?'

Charley patted the side of her nose with her finger. 'I'm saying nothing.'

'Time for bed,' Guy said, when he returned to the kitchen five minutes later. 'Turn off the lights when you go up, Charley.' He held out his hand to her. 'Jenna?'

She smiled as she stood. 'Night, Charley, night, Steve. See you in the morning.'

She picked up her long skirt as she went upstairs with Guy. When he led her past the bedroom they usually shared, she looked round at him. 'Where are we going?'

'Here.'

Guy pushed open the door of Ellen and Edwin's bedroom, and Jenna gasped.

Candles of all shapes and sizes flickered on the dresser table and mantelpiece, giving the room a romantic glow. The ivory silk sheets on the four-poster bed had been pulled back and—

'I remembered the rose petals this time,' Guy said.

Jenna laughed at the red petals scattered on the sheets and pillows. 'This is wonderful.' She clutched his hand tightly. 'What an amazing time we've had, ever since we first heard someone we didn't even know existed had left us a house in Ireland. We've found out so much about our family links in the past and now—'

'And now we have an awesome future to look forward to. Here's to the New Year, darling, and the future of Mist Na Mara Arts Centre.' He kissed her forehead. 'Ellen and Edwin were happy here, and I hope we will be, too. There'll be times when I need to go back to America, even though Leanne is now a full partner in the business, and times when you need to be in England. But this is our home now. Will you marry me, Jenna, and live here in Ireland with me?'

Her heart swelled and she turned to him. 'Yes, of course I will.'

As he bent forward until his warm lips touched hers, she surrendered to the kiss that set every fibre of her body on fire.

When he eventually released her, he ran his finger around his starched collar. 'Can't wait to get this damned collar off, and I guess you'll need some help with all those buttons down the back of your dress.'

'I wonder if Edwin ever said the same to Ellen?'

'I'm sure he did, and then he'd probably say what I'm going to say now.' He yanked off his collar and wrapped his arms around her. 'I love you so much.'

She smiled up at him, happier than she had ever believed was possible. 'And I love you, too.'

If you enjoyed IRISH INHERITANCE, you may enjoy IRISH INTRIGUE, book two in the Mist na Mara Series:

IRISH INTRIQUE

Mist na Mara, #2

Chapter 1

Charlotte Hunter's hands tightened on the steering wheel as she caught her first glimpse of the Connemara hills. When she'd left Ireland nearly two years ago, still numb after Steve's death, she'd sworn she would never return. Only the last-minute change of filming location had brought her back here. With all the studio scenes completed, there was no way she could pull out of the new drama series.

As she continued westward along the almost deserted road, even she had to concede that the early October sun gave this wild and unspoilt corner of Ireland a crisp beauty. On her right, the grey rock faces and peaks of the Twelve Bens stood sharp against the blue sky; on her left, the varied shades of open heathland hinted at the approaching autumn, from the faded green of the rough moor grass to the rich russet of the dying bracken. Clear fast-flowing mountain streams emptied into dozens of breeze-whipped, grey-blue lakes. _Loughs_ , she reminded herself. In Ireland they were called _loughs_ , not lakes.

She reached Clifden shortly before five o'clock and pulled into the parking area of the supermarket on the outskirts of the small town. Still familiar with the layout of the store, she didn't take long to collect some basic supplies.

A tall man in a sheepskin jacket stood near the chilled cabinet of yogurts and desserts, speaking on his phone. 'Kate, which yogurts do the kids like? Melissa said something about pink pots.'

She reached past him to pick up some mixed fruit yogurts at the same moment as he turned and bumped against her.

'Oops! Sorry,' he said.

'No problem.' She put her yogurts in her shopping trolley, but couldn't resist pointing further along the cabinet. 'The pink pots are those strawberry ones.'

'Thanks.' He gave her a quick smile before speaking into his phone again. 'It's okay, Kate, I see them.'

She started to push her trolley toward the cash desk, but stopped when the man said, 'Thanks again, but don't I know you from somewhere?'

With a small grimace of resignation, she half-turned back to him. She didn't recall meeting him when she lived here, but perhaps he'd seen her on television. Or else it was a clichéd chat-up line.

'I don't think so.' She gave him a perfunctory smile as her glance took in rugged good looks in a square face and dark wavy hair. Not exactly tousled, but certainly untamed.

The man frowned for a moment before his face cleared. 'You remind me of my mother-in-law.'

'Really?' She suppressed a grin. Being compared to a mother-in-law was a novel kind of comment.

'Not really, no. Her hair's short and straight, not long like yours, and her face is rounder.'

She couldn't help but laugh. 'So I'm nothing like her?'

'You're much younger, of course, but your eyes are the same colour. Unusual.'

'Brown eyes are unusual?'

'Kind of coppery. I'm useless with colours, but that's what she said hers were.'

'Oh, I see.'

It seemed an odd conversation to be having with a stranger in a supermarket, but her heartbeat quickened at the attractive twinkle in his dark eyes as he smiled.

He held out his hand. 'Luke Sullivan. Pleased to meet you.'

'Oh – erm – yes.' As she put her hand in his, something low in her stomach jerked in response to his strong handshake. 'Charley Hunter.' Deliberately she didn't use her professional surname, which he might recognise if the local press had reported anything about Waterside Hall being used as a film location during the next few weeks.

'Charley?'

'Short for Charlotte, but only my grandmother calls me that.'

'Hunter was my mother-in-law's maiden name. Maybe you share the same ancestry.'

'Maybe.' She'd no intention of telling him it was her married surname. 'I've never done any family history research.'

'Me neither. Can't run the risk of finding ancestors who were sheep stealers, or cattle rustlers, or horse thieves. Could ruin my reputation.'

Intrigued, she raised her eyebrows. 'Why?'

'I'm a vet. My clients might think I'm out to steal their animals.'

She laughed. 'I don't think thieving is in one's genes.'

'Ach, I'm not so sure. I once stole six daffodils from the churchyard for my mam on Mother's Day. I 'fessed up at the end of the day, though. Guilty conscience, it was.'

'How old were you?'

'Seven, and I'd spent all my money on a card for her, so I couldn't afford any flowers.'

'I'm sure she understood.'

'She was relieved, 'cause she thought I might have nicked them from the shop in the village. But she made me buy and plant six daffodil bulbs in the churchyard later that year.'

Charley smiled. 'Wise lady.'

'Aye, taught me a lesson I never forgot.'

'So your clients probably aren't in any danger of you becoming a horse thief.'

He laughed, a deep rich laugh that sent a ripple through her. 'I hope so. Anyhow, what brings you to this neck of the woods? We don't see many visitors here once summer's over.'

She hesitated before deciding vagueness was the best response. 'I have a temporary contract at a hotel near Lough Doona.'

'And you're English, aren't you?'

'Yes, I've just flown over from London.'

'London? Sure, and you'll find things somewhat quieter here.'

'Of course. Do you live locally?'

He glanced down at his brown cords and mud-spattered black boots. 'Aye, I suppose I do fit a Londoner's image of an Irish _culchie_ – country bumpkin to you – but I clean up quite well when I'm not working.'

'I'm sorry, I didn't mean—' Momentarily flustered, she saw his eyes crinkling in amusement again. 'I didn't even notice what you were wearing. Your Galway accent gives you away.'

'Oi be born and brawt up here, so will ye let this _culchie_ buy ye a cuppa tea?' he replied in an even broader accent which made her laugh. 'Just to show there's no hard feelings,' he went on in his normal voice. 'There's a pub across the way that serves tea – or coffee, if you prefer.'

Recognising the gleam of admiration in his eyes, but recalling his phone call about some kids and his mention of a mother-in-law, she shook her head. The last thing she needed was a philandering married man who accosted lone women in supermarkets. 'Thanks, but I must finish my shopping and then carry on to – to my friend's place.'

The small white lie slipped out. Although he seemed genuine, common sense warned her against admitting she would be alone at a cottage in an Irish village.

He glanced down at her shopping trolley. 'Your friend doesn't have any food?'

'I – uh – I said I'd pick up some things on my way.'

'Fer sure. Anyhow, it's been grand to meet you, Charley.'

'You, too, but I do need to go now.'

'Of course.'

He inclined his head, and she gave him a quick smile. 'Bye, then.'

She took a couple of steps toward the cash desk, but turned back when he said, 'Are you staying in Clifden?'

'No, Skelleen village, about eight miles north of here.'

He nodded. 'I know it.'

Her cheeks warmed. Of course he'd know it if he was a local vet. He must think her a complete idiot for telling him where Skelleen was. 'Bye,' she said with an embarrassed half-smile.

When she reached the cash desk, she glanced back, but he was no longer in the aisle.

She forced herself to concentrate on packing her shopping in paper carrier bags. Her hand shook as she pressed her numbers into the debit card terminal, but she dismissed any notion that Luke Sullivan had somehow upset her equilibrium.

* * *

After refuelling at the petrol station near the supermarket, Charley bypassed Clifden town centre and headed north. It seemed strange to approach the junction with the narrower road that led to Mist Na Mara House without slowing down, ready to turn left. In less than five minutes, she could be there, hugging Jenna and Guy, meeting again with her friends in the Living History group, finding out what new presentations they were planning for next year...

She drove on, aware of the tightening in her chest and making a conscious effort to breathe normally. Perhaps she could meet them all in Clifden one evening. There was no way she could return to Mist Na Mara without reliving the horrific _Night of the Big Storm_ , as it had become known.

Switching off her thoughts, she concentrated on the deceptive bends and dips of the dark road. When she started the descent to the lough, she breathed a sigh of relief. Only a couple more miles now to Skelleen.

The narrow main street of the village was lined on both sides with an assortment of small houses and shops, but she soon spotted the sign for Connolly's Bar on a white, two-storey building.

She parked in the gravelled area at the side of the pub and tidied some loose strands of hair into the scrunchy that held her ponytail. With her hair tied back, and only minimal make-up, hopefully no-one would recognise her.

As she pushed open the door, she surveyed the low beams, uneven plastered walls, and dark green furnishings of the cosy lounge with its small round tables. In one corner was a group of hikers, in another a couple were having a meal, while two older men sat on the high stools at the bar counter. Like the pubs she used to frequent in Clifden, this one had the delightful homely feel of a traditional Irish pub.

She crossed to the counter, and a woman about her own age, with sandy hair and a round freckled face gave her a welcoming smile. 'Hello, how are ye? What can I get fer ye?'

Charley returned her smile, and held out the reservation form she'd printed out after making her online booking. 'This says I should come here to collect the key for Skelleen Cottage.'

'Ah, Mrs. Hunter, is it?' The woman's forehead creased. 'Have you been here before? You look kind o' familiar.'

No immediate recognition, just _kind o' familiar_. She could live with that. 'It's two years since I was last in Ireland.'

' _Fáilte ar ais_. Welcome back. I'm Angie Duffy.'

'Pleased to meet you, Angie.' She reached over the counter to shake her hand. 'I'm Charley.'

'I'll just be fetching the keys.' Angie disappeared through a curtained doorway and came back with a key ring. 'This one's the front door, and this is the back door. Ye'll find a folder of information on the kitchen table with all the instructions for the oven, TV, shower, and so on. There's electric heaters in the bedroom and bathroom, and I stocked up the logs for the stove in the living room, so it should be nice and warm. Would you like a drink afore ye go?'

'Thanks, but I'd like to go and settle in. It's been a long drive across from Dublin. Can you give me directions? The website said it was at Skelleen Farm, about half a mile outside the village.'

'That's my in-laws' farm. The cottage was originally a barn, but it was converted about thirty years ago, and we renovated it last spring.'

'It looked very attractive in the website photos. Which way do I go from here?'

'Did ye come up from Clifden?' Charley nodded, and Angie went on, 'Carry on through the village, but when the main road turns left over the bridge, take the narrower road to the right. Ye'll soon see Skelleen Farm on your left, a white farmhouse. Go down the lane straight after the house, and the cottage is at the end of the lane. Ye can park your car at the side. And, o' course, ye'll always be welcome here at Connolly's while ye're staying at the cottage. There's good _craic_ most nights. The local lads will be in later with their fiddles and whistles.'

Charley smiled. 'I'll pop in sometime if my work schedule allows.'

Angie's directions were easy to follow, and a few minutes later she stopped outside the single-storey whitewashed cottage with a thatched roof.

The front door opened into a comfortable living room with oak beams and a stone fireplace in which a wood-burning stove exuded a rich and pleasant scent. A dark red couch piled with plump floral cushions was inviting, but she needed to unload her car before she relaxed.

After finding places in the fridge-freezer and cupboards for the food she'd bought, she chuckled. She was in no danger of going hungry.

A cheese pasta bake didn't take long to prepare, and while it cooked, she returned to the living room to check her phone, which she'd muted when she reached the supermarket. Before she could open her messages, it rang, and she sighed at the name on the screen. Josh Enderby, her leading man in this new drama series.

'Hi, Josh.'

'Darling, where on earth are you? There's no reservation for you here.'

She'd not told him her plans, knowing he'd try to dissuade her. However, Josh's idea of relaxing after the day's shooting schedule invariably involved poker games, too much alcohol, and late nights. Her needs were different.

'I decided not to stay at the hotel. I've rented a cottage.'

'A _cottage_?' Josh repeated the word as if it were a synonym for hovel.

She laughed. 'Yes, a small and cosy cottage where I can unwind each evening.'

'Oh, who cares about unwinding? A few of us are going into Clifden tonight to find something more lively than the bar here. Want to come with us?'

'No, thanks. I'm in the middle of cooking a meal.'

'Cooking? You're a domestic goddess, darling. Sure you won't change your mind?'

'Quite sure. I'll see you tomorrow, Josh.'

She disconnected and checked her texts. Three were from Josh, demanding to know where she was, one was from her friend Jenna, and another was from Peter Stones, the director, with a couple of script changes. She sent him a text to confirm she'd received his message, and another text to Jenna to say she'd arrived safely and the cottage was perfect.

After eating her meal at the small table in the kitchen, she took her glass of wine into the living room, and settled down on the couch, kicking off her shoes and tucking her feet up beneath her.

She made the necessary changes to her script and then relaxed as she sipped her wine, listened to her favourite music through her earphones, and watched the flickering flames in the stove. This was great, far cosier than her soulless apartment in London. Better, too, than being in a noisy hotel or, worse still, on a pub-crawl in Clifden with Josh and some of the extras or production crew.

A few minutes later, her mind strayed to the man she'd met in the supermarket. He'd made her laugh. Not the polite laughs she gave her escorts on publicity dates, but laughs of real amusement as he talked about his ancestors and put on a broad Irish accent.

It had been a casual exchange, but something about him had confused and attracted her at the same time. Was it his dark eyes that twinkled when he smiled? Or his tousled, almost unkempt, wavy hair? Dark and shiny, she imagined how silky it might feel against her fingers.

She brought her thoughts to an abrupt halt. This was ridiculous. For one thing, his mention of kids and a mother-in-law meant he was married. For another, she was unlikely to meet him again. Even more important, she wasn't in the market for any man in her life.

Chapter 2

The next morning, after a leisurely shower and eggs on toast for her breakfast, Charley checked the time. _Half past nine_. Her first rehearsal was scheduled for one o'clock, so she had a couple of hours to explore the village and perhaps take a short walk along the lough.

The mist still clung to the grass on either side of the narrow lane, and the sun was struggling to break through the clouds, but she smiled as she inhaled the familiar scents of damp peat, wood smoke, and a hint of salty air. As she reached the whitewashed stone farmhouse, a buxom woman with dark curly hair opened the door.

'Good mornin', how are ye? Angie told us ye arrived safely. Is everything all right for you in the cottage?'

'Everything's fine, thanks. I'm Charley Hunter.'

'An' I'm Joyce Duffy, Angie's mam-in-law. Are ye off to the village?'

'Yes, I've driven through Skelleen several times in the past, but never stopped here before.'

'There's the usual shops and a café in the main street, and Connolly's Bar, o' course. Oh, an' ye might be interested in the _Now and Forever_ cottage, opposite the churchyard. It was used in a film about sixty years ago, and it's Skelleen's only claim to fame. I think it'll be open. An' I'll bring you some eggs later. Fresh, o' course, laid by our hens this morning.'

Charley thanked her and walked down the road to the village. As she passed a children's playground in a small park, she smiled as a little girl on the swing shouted _Higher!_ to the young woman who was pushing her.

When her glance shifted to the other figures in the playground, her steps faltered. The man she'd met in the supermarket was helping a small boy on the climbing frame. In a navy fisherman's sweater framing his broad shoulders, and straight-cut jeans which emphasised his long legs, Luke Sullivan exuded such compelling masculinity that her heart contracted.

She continued past the park. He wasn't looking in her direction, and she didn't want to intrude on his family. What would his wife think if she knew he'd invited an unknown woman for coffee the previous day? Especially as the gleam of interest in his eyes indicated more than the usual Irish friendliness.

A sudden movement in her peripheral vision made her look around at the playground again. A black and white collie was bounding across the grass toward the iron gate in the stone wall.

Luke's voice rang out. 'Jed, back here, boy! Jed!'

The dog slithered to a standstill, turned its head, and ran back to him. He picked up the little boy from the frame and started to walk toward her, with the dog following him. Reluctantly, Charley stopped. It would be rude to ignore him, despite her opinion of his morals.

'Jed, stay,' he said to the dog, and smiled at her. 'Hello again.'

'Hello. You have a beautiful dog.'

Luke laughed. 'I swear he thinks every human being has been put on this earth to play ball with him.'

'And throw sticks, Daddy.'

Even if the little boy hadn't said 'Daddy', Charley would have known he was Luke's son. He was a miniature version of his father, with the same dark eyes and wavy hair.

'And throw sticks,' Luke agreed, as he put his son down. 'Off you go, Toby, he's dying to play again.'

Charley watched the boy run off and glanced toward the woman near the swings who was looking in their direction. 'I'll go, too, and leave you to concentrate on your family. Bye.'

Her cheeks burned as she set off. Why on earth had she been so abrupt? Doubts assailed her. Had she over-reacted? Or misinterpreted the genuine friendliness for which the Irish were renowned? Or was it because her heart started to beat faster from the minute she recognised him in the park?

_Oh, forget it_. Irritated with herself, she continued into the village. The church bell was tolling, and several people walked purposefully along the main street, presumably to the morning service. It seemed unlikely that Luke Sullivan and his family were heading there, since they had the dog with them, but she didn't want to risk another meeting. Relieved when she saw the small café was open, she went in, ordered a coffee, and sat well away from the window. Once the bell stopped, she set off again, pausing to study the window displays of a gift shop and a craft store.

After reaching the end of the shops, she turned into the lane leading up to the stone church with its graceful spire and a well-kept graveyard. Her mind strayed to Luke Sullivan again. Was this where he'd stolen the daffodils and then been made to plant bulbs to replace them? She let out an exasperated grunt at the reminder of him.

Opposite the churchyard, as Joyce had said, was a two-storey stone cottage with an information board propped up near the door:

This cottage was used in the 1948 film, 'Now and Forever', starring Alice Vernon and Robert Holmes. Much of the original furniture is displayed as it was in the film, along with several costumes worn by Miss Vernon and Mr. Holmes. There is also an extensive display of the filming in Skelleen and surrounding areas.

A list of opening times and entrance fees followed.

She raised her eyebrows. This must have been one of Alice Vernon's early films, before the distinguished actress found world fame with her Oscar-winning performance in _The Lonely Passion_ and her many other roles.

'Hello, do come in.' The middle-aged woman sitting at a wooden table smiled as Charley stepped over the threshold into a square hallway. 'Would ye like to take a look around? It's only three euros for admission. Did you ever see the film?'

'No,' Charley admitted, 'but I have seen a lot of Alice Vernon films.'

' _Now and Forever_ was her first leading role.' The woman rattled off some more details, and Charley smiled, wondering how many times she'd repeated the same information.

She paid her admission fee, and the woman pointed to the doors on either side of the hallway. 'These two rooms are set out like they were in the film, and upstairs we have photos and newspaper articles.'

When two women arrived at the cottage, Charley left her to do her introductory spiel again and wandered around the two downstairs rooms. Her professional interest was aroused when she saw how small they were. How on earth had they managed to get the large camera equipment of the 1940s into them?

Upstairs, she spent nearly an hour studying the scores of photos and reading the framed newspaper articles. She grinned at the picture of the young Alice Vernon and her co-star huddled under an umbrella, looking cold and damp. _Been there, done that_. Nothing much had changed for actors doing outdoor shoots, it seemed.

Downstairs again, she bought a DVD of _Now and Forever_. It would be interesting to watch, now she'd seen where some of it was filmed.

'Would ye like to sign our guest book?' the woman asked.

Charley picked up the pen on the small table and scanned the other entries on the open pages. Her eyes widened when she saw a comment and signature near the top.

_Wonderful, so many memories. Alice Vernon_.

It was dated October 9th, only three days ago.

Surely it couldn't be _the_ Alice Vernon? She must be—what? Nearly a hundred now?

The woman was talking to the other visitors, and Charley decided not to bother her with what was probably a silly question. It must be someone with the same name.

As she left the cottage, the church clock struck twelve, and she hurried home for some soup and a sandwich before setting off to the hotel.

After a five-mile drive, she turned through the stone-arched entrance to Waterside Hall. A long driveway led through woods and open parkland until she reached a large gravelled area where the equipment trucks were parked. After finding a parking space, she stepped out of her car and surveyed the impressive stone hotel.

It was situated in beautiful surroundings near where a fast running river flowed over a weir into Lough Doona. The oldest part of the building, with its crenelated turrets, had obviously been a fortified manor house back in the Middle Ages. Several extensions, ranging from Tudor to Victorian, made it one of the largest hotels she'd ever seen.

She followed the _Focus Productions_ signs to the west wing, which had been taken over by the company for the duration of the shoot. As soon as she went into the lobby where some of the crew were gathered, the tense atmosphere told her something was wrong. Conversation was muted instead of the customary pre-rehearsal clamour.

'What's happened?' she asked Andy, one of the lighting engineers.

'Peter's laying into Josh and some of the sound crew. Seems they created chaos with drunken singing and dancing in Clifden's main street last night. They caused a traffic hold-up, and the police were involved.'

'Antagonising the locals _and_ the _Garda_? Peter must be fuming.'

'Slight understatement, but you know Josh—'

Charley nodded. Josh could be suave and charming as befitted his status of sought-after and good-looking actor, with his blond hair and baby blue eyes. Sometimes, though, and usually when he'd drunk too much, he behaved like an irresponsible teenager, even though he was in his early thirties.

A strident voice stopped the conversations in the lobby. 'Apologies for the delay. Peter wants to start with Scene 20 near the gazebo. Follow me.'

A tall, slim man, with a long angular face and slicked-back dark hair, strode toward the French doors, and Charley turned to Andy. 'Who's he?'

'Nick Holden. Temporary assistant director, hired for this location shoot.'

They followed the new man across the wide stone terrace to the lawn, which sloped down to the lough. The lighting, sound, and camera equipment was already set up and, while the crew scurried to their places, Charley wandered across to the large tent at one side of the lawn to grab a bottle of water from the cold box. From there she could hear the new assistant director berating someone for setting the tracking shot rails at an incorrect angle.

She raised her eyebrows at one of the production assistants. 'Another happy day at Focus Productions holiday camp?'

Tina laughed. 'You can say that again. I've lost count of how many things have gone wrong since we started this morning.'

'The new AD seems a little short-tempered.'

'He's worked with some big American production companies, so perhaps he thinks we're amateurs by comparison.' Tina's walkie-talkie buzzed and she listened for a couple of seconds before nodding at Charley. 'They're ready for you now. Peter's on his way down from the hotel.'

Charley reached the area marked off for the rehearsal at the same time as Peter Stones, the director. She'd worked with him three times, but had never seen him so red-faced, right to the roots of his receding black hair. His lack of any greeting was evidence of his anger when he barked, 'Charley, I want you to walk across the grass from the path to the gazebo, and Josh will— Where the hell _is_ Josh?'

'I'm here.'

Charley turned as Josh sauntered toward them. He appeared to be completely unfazed by the reprimand he'd received. 'And I come around the gazebo to intercept her. Right, Peter?'

Peter nodded. 'Right. Take normal steps, Charley, and we'll count them.'

The rehearsal continued while Peter decided on the exact moment he wanted Josh to appear. Only when he turned to the photography director to discuss shooting angles did Charley have the chance to talk to Josh.

'What on earth were you doing last night?'

Josh leaned nonchalantly against the side of the white gazebo. 'Only some harmless high jinks, darling. This new chap, Nick, is a hoot. We met him in a bar in Clifden, and he roped in about a dozen guys from Galway to join the sound techies and me. We had a real blast, although I confess it did get a little out of hand when we stopped all the traffic while we danced down the main street.'

'And that was when the _Garda_ arrived?'

'Yeah, and then things became difficult.'

'Why?'

'The cop didn't like me calling him _Mr. Plod_.'

Charley choked back a chuckle. 'Not surprising. Isn't that the most derogatory thing you can call a policeman?'

'I suspect the police in London have been called worse, but this country bumpkin took umbrage and threatened to arrest me for disorderly conduct.'

'And you used all your charm to persuade him not to?'

'Darling, you know me so well. Can you imagine what Peter would have said if he'd had to bail me out of the cop shop? I did my best impersonation of a humble penitent, and fortunately Nick re-appeared from wherever he'd been while we were dancing, and calmed things down. He told the cop he'd called a couple of taxis to bring us back here.'

'How did Peter find out what had happened? Did Nick tell him?'

'Nope. Mr. Plod rang here to check we were registered guests, and the night manager told Peter this morning. So, now we're confined to the hotel like naughty ten-year-olds to prove we can behave ourselves. God, I can't wait until this shoot is finished.'

The rehearsal went on under arc lights until after eight o'clock. They repeated the first part of the scene countless times, and went on with their characters' subsequent dialogue while walking down to the lakeside.

Eventually, Peter was satisfied. 'Six-thirty call tomorrow for make-up and costumes, and we'll try the scene while the light's coming from the east. Weather forecast is promising, so fingers crossed.'

'Are you going back to your little hovel now?' Josh asked when they reached the hotel lobby.

'I like my little hovel. It's a great place to relax. See you tomorrow – and behave yourself tonight.'

He snorted. 'I don't have any option, darling. The only excitement here will be a game of Scrabble.'

Charley drove carefully along the dark winding road to Skelleen. Relaxing sounded like a good idea, but her grumbling stomach reminded her she was hungry. When she reached the village, she pulled into the small car park at the side of Connolly's. Despite all the food in her kitchen, she didn't feel like cooking tonight.

As soon as she walked into the pub, her heart jumped. Luke Sullivan, in a beige and brown striped polo shirt, was standing behind the bar pouring a pint of Guinness. For a split second, she contemplated turning back to the door, but Angie had seen her.

'Hello, Charley. Good to see you again.'

She smiled and kept her attention fixed on Angie. 'I know I'm quite late, but I wondered if you were still serving food.'

'Ye're just in time. Here's the menu – and my in-laws are over there in the corner. I'm sure they'll be happy for you to join them if ye don't want to sit on your own. Joyce said you met this morning.'

'Yes, we did.' After returning Joyce's small wave of greeting, she studied the menu. 'The lasagne sounds good.'

'With baked potato or salad, or both?'

'Salad, please.'

'Give me a second to check if we still have some lasagne. We had a group of hikers in at lunchtime, and I can't remember what they all ordered. Luke'll get you a drink.'

Angie disappeared through the curtained doorway at the back of the bar, and Charley couldn't avoid turning toward Luke, who smiled.

'Hello, we meet again. What would you like?'

Mindful of the fact she still had to drive back to the cottage, she let her gaze travel along the shelves of the soft drinks cooler behind him. 'Apple and mango, please.' Curiosity got the better of her. 'I thought you said you were a vet.'

_Heavens, why was she being so caustic?_ She didn't usually react like this with a total stranger.

He gave her a disarming smile as he poured her drink. 'I live near the village, and the reason I'm behind the bar is because Ryan's out with the Mountain Rescue Team. The pub was busy earlier, and Angie was on her own, so I offered to help. Does that explain things?'

'Yes.' She gave him an apologetic smile. 'Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude. No offence meant.'

'None taken.'

Charley was relieved when Angie came back. 'Your lasagne will be ready in a few minutes.'

'Thanks.' As she handed a twenty euro note to Luke, her eyes met his, and a small tingle ignited her nerve endings. 'I–I'll go and join Joyce now.'

During the few seconds it took her to cross the lounge to the corner table, a million questions tumbled through her mind. Why were all her senses heightened whenever she saw him? Why did his dark eyes do weird things to her? Why was she vacillating between wanting to distance herself from him and yet wanting to know more about him?

_Forget it, Charley. He's married with two kids. Totally off-limits_.

She smiled at Joyce. 'May I join you?'

'O' course. 'Tis good to see you here. This is my husband Dermot.'

After the customary greeting and handshake with the well-built and balding farmer, Charley sat down with them at the corner table. Two older men in the opposite corner started an Irish jig on fiddle and whistle, and Charley tapped her foot in time to the music as she ate her meal. This was the Ireland she'd loved so much when she lived here – the friendly pub, the musical _seisún_ , and the _craic_ , as the musicians joked among themselves and with other locals in the lounge.

She was glad she had her back to the bar and could no longer see Luke. It was disquieting enough to hear his voice over the other conversations. Even his occasional bursts of laughter sent a shimmer of unwilling pleasure through her, however much she tried to ignore them.

Chapter 3

Luke pondered on the different signals Charley Hunter sent out. Pleasant and friendly one minute; tense and brittle the next. He was intrigued, and fascinated, too.

Even Sheena Moore, the newest and admittedly attractive member of his veterinary team, didn't have this effect on him. He'd turned down her frequent invitations to social events and concerts, using the children as his excuse. The real reason was that he wasn't ready to embark on another relationship, not when he'd been burned so badly. So, why was Charley proving to be a temptation, despite his vow to leave women well alone?

He looked around as Ryan and a couple of other men came into the pub, all wearing their red parkas with the Mountain Rescue team badge. They were laughing, which meant the rescue had been successful.

With a grin, he poured the first Guinness. 'Pints for the conquering heroes?'

'Ach, easy one. Lower slope of Benmorda. Suspected ankle fracture.' Ryan dragged off his beanie hat and ran his fingers through his dark hair. 'Thanks for helping out here, man.'

'Happy to help. It's quieted down now, but Angie was rushed off her feet when I came in.'

'Make the fourth pint for yourself then. On the house, o' course. I'll take over now.'

' _Sláinte_ , Ryan.'

He poured himself a pint and, after a moment's hesitation when all his instincts screamed at him to stay at the bar, he ambled across to where Charley sat with Joyce and Dermot.

'Mind if I join you?'

Aware of Charley's momentary freeze, he wondered again why she was so tense, but when Joyce said, 'O' course not,' he pulled up a spare stool.

'No emergencies tonight?' Joyce went on.

He patted the phone in the pocket of his polo shirt. 'None so far. One of Rory O'Neal's horses had colic symptoms earlier, but I'm hoping the injection I gave her has done the trick. Anyhow, Rachel's on call after ten o'clock tonight.'

'Luke's our local vet,' Joyce explained to Charley. 'Luke, this is—'

'Charley Hunter. Yes, we've met. Twice.'

He smiled but sensed reserve in the evasive smile she returned. As he continued to chat to Joyce and Dermot, he glanced at her several times. She wasn't taking part in the conversation, but that wasn't surprising since it centred on local topics. Even so, he liked the way she turned her head toward whoever was speaking. At least she was showing interest, unlike his ex-wife who soon tired of village chat and made her boredom obvious.

Dermot interrupted his thoughts. 'Heard there was ructions in Clifden last night.'

He nodded. 'Aye, a crowd of muppets fooling around in Market Street.'

'Did they cause any damage?'

'Some eejit lobbed a brick through the back window at the clinic and trashed the kitchen, but I don't think it was linked to the rowdiness. That was down the other end of the street, near Lonergan's, and the alarm went off at my place much earlier than the other trouble.'

'Ye didn't find out who done your place?' Joyce asked.

'No, they were gone by the time Joe Byrne from the _Garda_ got there. He said they were probably after drugs, but we keep all the inside doors locked, so they couldn't get out of the kitchen.'

'I heard some actors were involved in last night's shenanigans,' Joyce said. 'There was somethin' in the _Courier_ last week about a TV company filming near Clifden, so p'raps it was them.'

'Yeah, they do say actors are crazy people.' Luke downed the rest of his pint before he went on, 'Can't imagine Alice doing anything like that in the 1940s, though.'

Charley turned to him, her eyebrows raised. 'Alice? You don't mean Alice Vernon, do you?'

He nodded. 'Have you seen the _Now and Forever_ Cottage near the church?'

'I went there this morning. Oddly enough, there was a signature in the guest book by an Alice Vernon.'

'Yes, she always visits the cottage if she's in the village.'

Charley stared at him. 'She's still alive? Sorry, I thought she must be dead by now. I assumed it was someone with the same name.'

'She's very much alive. Ninety-two last birthday, and a sprightly old dame. Lives in a big house on the other side of the lough. Bought it back in the sixties, but didn't live there permanently until she retired about ten years ago.'

'She made her last film when she was eighty. _Hotel in Tuscany_. I have it on DVD.'

'You're a fan, are you?'

'I suppose I am.'

'I could take you to meet her sometime, if you like.'

She hesitated. 'Thanks, but I'm only here for a few weeks, and I'll be working most of the time.'

Again, he sensed her withdrawal, but curiosity made him go on. 'You have a temporary contract, didn't you say?'

'Yes, at a hotel near Lough Doona.' Before he could ask which hotel, she glanced at her watch. 'I have an early start tomorrow so I must go home.'

It was clear she didn't intend to offer any more information, and he picked up his empty glass. 'Want another drink before you go?'

She shook her head, and a weird kind of disappointment riffled through him, followed by an even weirder punch in his guts when she flashed a quick smile at him.

Joyce stifled a yawn. 'I'll be headin' home, too, but Dermot'll keep you company, Luke, even though he'll regret it when he has to get up for milking in the morning.'

Dermot grinned at his wife as he handed his glass to Luke. 'Just one more, lass.'

'My car's outside,' Charley said to Joyce after Luke had gone to the bar. 'I can drive you back to the farm.'

'That's very kind o' ye.'

On their way out, Joyce stopped to talk with Angie, and Charley found herself standing next to Luke as he waited for his drink.

He turned to her. 'If you have any spare time, and would like to visit Alice Vernon, my offer still stands – and I know you turned down my invitation to coffee yesterday, and I understand that, o' course. You didn't know me from Adam, but hopefully you've now realised I'm a fairly normal Irishman, so would you like to have dinner with me one evening?'

_A fairly normal – and married – Irishman_. How could this man so blatantly invite another woman to dinner? She gave him her best frosty smile. 'Thanks, but no thanks.' Trying to ignore the rapid beat of her heart, she turned to Joyce. 'Ready when you are.'

They said goodbye to Angie and Ryan, but she avoided looking at Luke again. She had no time for cheating husbands. There were enough of them in London, without meeting another one here.

'Mild it is for October,' Joyce said as they walked across the car park. 'Don't seem right somehow, but mebbe it's this global warmin' they keep blatherin' about.'

Charley clicked her key to open the car, and they got in.

'Luke Sullivan's a good man,' Joyce went on.

She gave a guarded smile as she started the engine. 'He seems very pleasant. I met him yesterday in the supermarket in Clifden, but didn't realise he lived in Skelleen until I saw him at the park this morning with his wife and children.'

'His _wife_?' Joyce echoed as Charley turned into the main street.

'Yes, a woman with short dark hair.'

'Ah, you mean Kate. No, bless ye, she's his cousin, not his wife. She did some childcare training at the college in Galway an' she's been looking after Melissa and Toby for the last two years.'

'So—' Charley struggled to concentrate on the dark road out of the village. 'So, his wife – who – what—?'

'Julia, she was called, and what a disaster that turned out to be.'

'What do you mean?'

'I heard he met her at some hotel in Dublin, but she came from London an' she never settled here. _This place is so boring_ , she used to say. _Nothing ever happens_. Well, I s'pose it don't, not compared wi' London.'

'What happened?'

'Well, right after she'd had Toby – he must only have been about three months old – she upped and left. Went back to London, and they divorced. With her being English, she could get a divorce quicker there than here. Meantime, she took up with some rich American, and married him last summer.'

'And she left the children with Luke?'

Joyce nodded. 'She did. O' course, everyone here pitched in to help him during the first couple o' weeks, 'til he could hire a nanny. He had two different ones the first year, as I recall. Then Kate finished her college course, so he offered her the nanny job. It's all worked out real grand, but now, would ye believe it, Julia's trying to claim custody of the children.'

Charley turned into the lane and pulled up at the side of the farmhouse. Her mind was still trying to catch hold of the fact that Luke was no longer married. This new information caused her mouth to drop open. 'If she abandoned them, surely she hasn't a leg to stand on.'

Joyce shrugged. 'Ach, who knows? I heard she's claiming she can give the children a better life in America than he can give them here. If ye're talking about money, mayhap she could, but kids need love, not money, and Luke loves Melissa and Toby more than life itself. If she wins, the poor man will be broken up. Anyhow, thanks for the lift.'

Charley smiled. 'You're very welcome.'

She drove on, parked up, and went into the cottage. Sinking down on the couch, she let her head drop back against it and closed her eyes.

She'd got it wrong. He wasn't a philandering husband, after all.

Did that make everything better or worse? While she'd thought he was married, she had every reason to rebuff his invitations. Every reason, too, to ignore the responses of her mind and body to him.

_But now?_ First, she needed to apologise for her coolness and explain her mistake.

And after that?

No, she wasn't ready for anything more, not even with a man whose smile and dark eyes started her pulse racing.

* * *

The weather cooperated the next morning, and they filmed the first part of the scene more than a dozen times while the camera operators followed the schedule of different angles.

During a break when the cameras were being moved nearer to the lough, Charley sat with Josh in the large tent at the side of the lawn.

'How was your evening? Did you have your game of Scrabble?'

Josh grunted. 'I might have had more success with that than I had in the poker game.'

'How much did you lose?'

'About two grand.'

Charley shook her head. 'You'll be seriously out of pocket if that happens every night.'

'No way. I'll win it all back tonight.'

'You hope. Is Peter still insisting you stay here in the evenings?'

'Not insisting, just advising, darling. _I would strongly advise you to stay here and not go into Clifden again_.' His perfect imitation of Peter's voice made Charley laugh, and he went on, 'Perhaps we can find a decent pub in one of the villages instead. Are there any near where you're staying?'

She winced at the thought of Josh and some of the crew turning up at Connolly's. 'None that would appeal to you. No karaoke or pole-dancing. Not even a juke-box.'

'How boring.'

'Not so. The one I went to last night was cosy and friendly. Actually, they mentioned your antics in Clifden, and someone made a comment about actors being crazy people—'

She broke off, remembering that had been Luke's comment. She'd been trying not to think about him, because every time she did, embarrassment burned her cheeks at her haughty dismissal of his dinner invitation.

Josh looked at her curiously. 'Well, now, you've either flushed a delightful pink because you're angry at being called crazy, or there's something you aren't telling me.'

She recovered herself quickly. 'The people I was talking to don't know I'm an actress, and I'd no intention of admitting I had any connection with the crowd who caused the problems in their local town. Did one of you throw a brick through the veterinary clinic window, by the way?'

Josh frowned. 'A brick? No, we didn't do any damage. Well, apart from the beer glass Barry dropped in the pub, but that was before we went outside to dance. Why? What happened at the clinic?'

'Someone broke in that night and trashed the kitchen.' She glanced around when the new assistant producer came into the tent and spoke sharply to one of the production crew about the delay. Charley turned back to Josh. 'Can't say I'm impressed by your friend Nick. He's very impatient and abrupt.'

'He usually does more high-profile work than this.' Josh bent confidentially toward her and continued in a lower tone, 'Off the record, he's worth cultivating, darling. He has some good connections.'

'Connections with what?'

'Not what but who. Or should that be whom? Anyway, he could be a useful contact. I'm saying no more.'

Charley sighed. Josh surrounded himself with people he thought might be 'useful', but she'd never seen evidence of them proving to be of any use, unless you counted the paparazzi he courted in his ongoing need to appear in the celebrity magazines. As the production assistant beckoned to them, she stood up. 'They're ready for the next scene.'

Josh followed her out of the tent. 'Ah-ha, my favourite. The one where I get to kiss you.'

She grinned at him over her shoulder. 'Don't get too excited. You have three seconds before I push you away.'

'And my stupid character lets you go. Now, if this was some Victorian drama, I'd pick you up like this—'

He spun her around, lifted her up, and flung her over his shoulder.

'Josh, stop it!' She laughed as she beat her hands on his back and kicked her knees against his chest.

'No, no, my lady,' he growled in melodramatic tones. 'I will not let you go, not until you surrender to me.'

The crew cheered and shouted ribald comments as he carried her down the sloping lawn.

Charley's laughter came to an abrupt stop when she caught sight of a figure on the hotel terrace. She screwed up her eyes. Surely it couldn't be—?

A second later, she knew it was. Her mass of curly auburn hair was now grey and much shorter than she'd worn it when she was young, but her oval face was the same, and she stood tall and erect in a dark green trouser suit.

'Josh, put me down,' she breathed. ' _Please_ put me down. There's someone on the terrace—'

Josh swung around and unceremoniously dumped her on her feet again. 'Oh, my God. Aunt Alice.'

Charley stared at him. ' _Aunt_ Alice? Alice Vernon's your _aunt_?'

'Great-aunt, actually. She's my grandmother's oldest sister. I knew she lived here in Ireland, but I couldn't remember where.'

'So, what now?'

Josh blew out his breath. 'Now I'm in for the bollocking of the century, if she's heard what happened in Clifden. But I can't ignore her, can I?' He turned to the director, who was standing nearby. 'Peter, we have a visitor.'

Peter Stones followed Josh's deliberate head tilt and narrowed his eyes. 'Who is it?' His frown was replaced by wide-eyed shock. 'It's not—? Ye gods, it _is_.'

Before Charley or Josh could reply, Peter was striding up toward the distinguished doyenne of stage and screen.

'I have a feeling he's not going to get the reception he's hoping for,' Josh said wryly. 'Come on, let's go and face the dragon lady.'

He caught hold of her hand, but Charley pulled back. 'Josh, no. She has no idea who I am.'

'All the more reason for me to introduce you. You might distract her from my misdeeds, if that's why she's here.'

'She's smiling at Peter, so perhaps she hasn't heard what happened in Clifden.'

'Fingers crossed, darling.'

Her nerves tightened as they mounted the half-dozen stone steps to the terrace. If Josh was going to be on the receiving end of a reprimand, she didn't want to be anywhere in the vicinity, but it was too late to turn back. Alice Vernon's smile vanished when she saw them.

Josh stepped forward. 'Aunt Alice! How wonderful to see you.'

'Good morning, Joshua.' Alice's cold tone contrasted with her nephew's cheerful greeting, and Charley's heart sank.

She stood back while Josh kissed his aunt on each cheek. Then he turned to her. 'Aunt Alice, let me introduce—'

'No introduction needed. Charlotte Mason, isn't it?'

'Yes.' Charley was stunned that the actress recognised her and even knew her stage name. 'Miss Vernon, it's such an honour—'

'I don't have time for pleasantries, not after what I've heard about your disgraceful behaviour in Clifden.'

'Charley wasn't—'

'Don't interrupt, Joshua.' Alice's green eyes flashed as dangerously as Charley had seen them do on the screen. 'In my day, actors on location did everything they could _not_ to upset the local people, so you can imagine my shock when a reporter from the _Courier_ rang to ask my opinion of the hooligan actors who caused the problems on Saturday evening. And then, as if that wasn't enough, I discover my own nephew was involved.'

'Great-nephew,' Josh chimed in.

'Stop being facetious. It doesn't help matters. Your director has kindly agreed to excuse you for half an hour so we'll go to the hotel lounge. Come along.'

Josh gave Charley a small shrug as he started to follow his aunt.

A couple of seconds later, Alice stopped and half-turned to her. 'Miss Mason, I have admired your work, and I must say I am extremely disappointed in your involvement in this infantile behaviour. I do wish you would exert a more steadying influence on your boyfriend.'

'But I—he—'

It was no use. Alice was already heading toward the open door with Josh trailing behind her.

Charley's jaw dropped. She hadn't even been given a chance to defend herself. Her anger welled, but it was accompanied by a jumble of other feelings – elation because Alice had recognised her and even expressed her admiration, but disappointment, too. It would have been a dream come true to talk with Alice Vernon about the many roles she'd played during her long career.

Peter caught up with her as she started back down the sloping lawn. 'Don't take it to heart, Charley. I'm sure Josh will let her know you weren't involved.'

'If he can get a word in edgeways.'

'Yes, the old dear was somewhat livid, wasn't she? But perhaps a good talking-to from his great-aunt will knock some sense into Josh. He's a damn good actor, but if he continues to behave like an adolescent, he could ruin all his chances for the future.'

Charley nodded, putting aside her own chagrin for the moment. 'He needs to settle down, doesn't he?'

'You could be good for him, you know.'

'Me? Oh, for heavens' sake, surely you don't believe everything you read in the tabloids and gossip magazines? Just because Josh and I have appeared together at charity events doesn't mean we're dating. I know we get along well, but there's nothing more between us.'

'I'm still saying you could be what he needs. Think about it.'

Charley stared open-mouthed as he strode on ahead of her and called out to the crew, 'Take thirty, everyone.'

Was he hinting that she and Josh should—? No, that was ridiculous. She dismissed the idea, went into the tent, and filled a styrene cup with coffee. The disasters of the past twenty-four hours slammed through her mind. First Luke Sullivan, now Alice Vernon. She might have known returning to Ireland was ill-omened.

Josh came back about twenty minutes later, and she jumped up. 'How did it go?'

He shrugged. 'I hung my head in shame and let her harangue me, but she eventually mellowed and told me what a good actor I am.'

'You _are_ a good actor, but sometimes you need to curtail your off-screen activities.'

'Are you channelling my great-aunt now? That's what she said. Oh, and I did tell her you weren't with us in Clifden.'

'What did she say?'

'She was glad at least one of my friends has more sense than I have, and sends you her apology.'

Even that wasn't enough to dispel Charley's regret over the whole episode. She'd probably never have another chance to meet Alice Vernon.

Download the rest of IRISH INTRIGUE here:

http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Martin_Paula/irish-intrigue.htm

ABOUT PAULA MARTIN

Paula Martin lives near Manchester in North West England and has two daughters and two grandsons.

She had some early publishing success with four romance novels and several short stories, but then had a break from writing while she brought up a young family and also pursued her career as a history teacher for twenty-five years.

She returned to writing fiction after retiring from teaching, and is thrilled to have found publishing success again with her contemporary romances.

Apart from writing, she enjoys visiting new places and has travelled extensively in Britain and Ireland, mainland Europe, the Middle East, USA and Canada. Her other interests include musical theatre and tracing her family history.

Find Paula online —

Website - http://paulamartinromances.webs.com

Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/paulamartinromances

Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/RomancesbyPaulaMartin

Blog - http://paulamartinpotpourri.blogspot.co.uk

Blog - http://heroineswithhearts.blogspot.co.uk

Tirgearr Publishing - http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Martin_Paula

BOOKS BY PAULA MARTIN

MIST NA MARA SERIES

IRISH INHERITANCE, #1

Released: November 2017

English actress, Jenna Sutton, and American artist, Guy Sinclair, are thrown together when they find they've jointly inherited a house on the west coast of Ireland. Neither knows their connection to their unknown benefactress, but set about unravelling the intriguing tale of a 19th century love affair. Despite their personal reasons for not wanting romantic involvements, Jenna and Guy feel their growing attraction.

When local property agent, Eve Callaghan, appears to have her own agenda, friction builds over Jenna and Guy's decision about the house and its contents.

Will their Irish inheritance bring them together - or drive them apart?

IRISH INTRIGUE, #2

Released: November 2017

Actress Charley Hunter is forced back to Ireland to complete her filming of a TV drama series. She still hasn't come to terms with losing her husband there two years ago, so the last thing she expects is her instant attraction for the local veterinarian.

After Luke Sullivan's divorce, he vowed to concentrate on his two young children and his busy veterinary practice. Falling for Charley certainly wasn't in his plans.

While trying to find their way together, Luke is suddenly faced with a series of unexplained crises at his clinic, as well as his ex-wife filing for custody. And has Charley put his children in danger? Has she betrayed him? Can they reconcile their differences and find love?

IRISH SECRETS, #3

Released: November 2017

While working at Mist Na Mara Arts Centre, Kara Stewart embarks on a search for her mother's birth parents; she'd been adopted in the 1960s by an American couple. Kara soon realises the task is not as simple as she'd anticipated when she's meet with a wall of secrecy surrounding Irish baby adoptions.

Ryan Brady is hiding the secret of his real identity, but when he offers to help Kara trace her Irish family, his attraction to her is undeniable.

As the mystery unravels, secrets drive a wedge, not only between Kara and her mother, but also between Kara and Ryan.

Can Kara and Ryan find a way to heal the rifts created by all these secrets and find love?

IRISH DECEPTIONS, #4

Released: November 2017

After a devastating car accident which halts her career as a professional dancer, Ellie Vaughan relocates to beautiful Connemara in the west of Ireland, where she finds a new life teaching at the Mist Na Mara Arts Centre.

When she's teamed up with Irish actor, Dan Nicholas, to work on a musical at the local school, they're instantly attracted to each other. Their mutual attraction grows, until Ellie discovers Dan has deceived her. He, in turn, is angered by what he believes is her lack of honesty.

Deceptions mount as Ellie's former dance partner and Dan's ex-girlfriend add to the complications, and a thirteen-year-old schoolboy is hiding his own secret.

Can Ellie and Dan find a way to overcome all the obstacles that threaten their future together?

