Hot Property (Irish romantic comedy) (5 page)

“Yes. The house my great-uncle left me in his will.”

Beata looked around. “Good location. That beach is great for surfing. Lovely mountain views, and straight up that road you have some good hiking trails. But the house needs a lot of work, if you’re planning to live there.”

Megan shrugged. “I know. But I don’t want to think about that now.”

 
“You’re right. None of my earwax anyway. Come on, let’s go. Grab that stick over there and get behind the little fuckers. I’ll go to the side to stop them getting in through the hedges. Let’s go.” She let out an ear-splitting holler. The calves jumped to attention. “Woo, woo, woo!” she shouted, waving her arms. “Come on, you bastards, get going up the road.”

Megan waved her stick, pushing the calves ahead. The wellies chafed her ankles, making her wobble. The calves scattered all over the road, and she had trouble keeping them together. But Beata managed to get them in line.

They walked slowly up the lane lined with wildflowers and fuchsia. The sun sank lower behind the mountains. Birdsong, the buzzing of bees and the soft bellowing of the calves made a pleasant, mellow symphony. Megan waved her stick, occasionally calling to the calves and began to enjoy the summer’s evening adventure.

She waved away a fly. “So, why do you hate Paudie so much?”

“He’s a two-faced bastard.”

“What did he do?”

Beata whacked at a bush. “Oh, nothing much. We had this thing going, you know?”

“Yeah?”

Beata looked into the distance. “I had just arrived here. I was lonely. Not used to… men. Paudie was so cute. So flirty. I thought he was only interested in me but of course, he’s like that with all women.”

“Not with me,” Megan remarked “He was anything but flirty earlier today.”

“That’s unusual.” Beata tapped at the back of a calf with her stick. “Go on, move!” She slowed down again. “Well anyway, I fell in love with him, I suppose. I never met someone like that. A small village in Poland isn’t crawling with handsome hunks, you know.”

“No, I can imagine.” Beata’s downcast expression made Megan feel a sudden sympathy. “I’m sure you were homesick too. That can make you fall for the wrong men, I’m sure.”

“Homesick? For a village in the middle of nowhere? Where there’s no work and everyone is dirt-poor? No way. But I missed my family, of course.”

“I’m sure you did.”

“Then I met Paudie. I looked into his baby-blue eyes and fell for him big time. We were in bed the very first night we met. I don’t think we actually said much, except ‘hello, how are you?’ Just jumped into bed. Didn’t get out of it for two days. I was exhausted. God, that man knows how to fuck!”

Megan squirmed. “Uh, really?”

Beata giggled. “Sorry. That was a little too much information, wasn’t it?”

“Just a tad. But I know what you mean. Some men are like that. They get under your skin. Addictive or something.”

Beata glanced sideways at Megan. “You’ve been there too?”

Megan nodded. “Yeah. Bad marriage. He left me for a younger model. You know. Skinny. Shiny hair. Gorgeous face. The usual.”

“Shit. I’m sorry. How long were you married?”

“Eight years. It was good, I thought. I loved him. Thought he loved me. We had great sex. No idea what that bimbo could offer that I couldn’t. And now she’s pregnant. Something he didn’t manage with me. But never mind about that. Go on with your story.”

“No, I want to hear more about you,” Beata said. “Not the bad marriage but what you did as a living and how you came to inherit the house.”

Megan slowed her pace. “I was what you call a stylist. Which means you help people dress the right way. But to me, that wasn’t all there was too it.”

Beata looked at her with interest. “Really? I thought stylists were the kind of people who got celebrities to look glam on the red carpet.”

Megan laughed. “Yes, that’s if you live in Hollywood. But I worked with normal people. Sometimes I had newly elected politicians as my clients. Or high-powered executives. Or the wives of executives, who needed to look their best in the public eye. Often women with low self-esteem and not much confidence. You’ve no idea what a little polish and the right outfit can do to give them a lift.”

“I’m sure it does. Must be difficult to handle really ugly people with no style. I could never do that.”

“Not always easy,” Megan agreed. “But everyone has something attractive about them, so you point out the good bits and then carefully tell them how to hide the bad bits.”

Beata stopped. “So, what about me? What would you say if I asked you to improve my look?”

Megan forgot about the calves and studied Beata. “Um…you have a great figure and good skin.” She hesitated. She was going to say that sticking your head in a bucket of bleach was not the right way to go blonde and that all the black eye make-up made her look more than cheap, but the look in those pale blue eyes was too intimidating.

“But? I hear a ‘but’ there.”

“Well, maybe orange isn’t the best colour on someone with such pale skin? Something softer might bring out your blue eyes. But I wouldn’t touch anything else,” Megan added. “Except perhaps adding a bit of blusher or something. But that’s a minor thing.”

“Hmm.” Beata didn’t look satisfied. “That’s not the whole story is it? I’m sure there’s a whole lot more wrong with me, but you’re too chicken to tell me.”

“No,” Megan protested. “Not at all. Of course, if we got into the nit-picking stage, I might point out other things. But on the whole, the thing about you is that you have a great personality. You make me laugh. And you look like the kind of person I’d want to know better. That’s not about hair or clothes, it’s about aura. And you have a nice one.”

Beata put her arm through Megan’s. “You have a very nice aura, too.”

Megan started walking again. “So what about you and Paudie? What happened?

 
Beata shrugged. “Not much to tell. We had a few months together. I moved into his house. But then we started to fight, and one day he just threw me out.”

Megan stopped and stared at Beata. “He threw you out? What a bastard.”

“Yeah. So now you know why I want to get back at him.”

“Yes, and so do I.” Megan waved her stick again and increased her pace, pushing the calves ahead of her up the road.

Everything was going smoothly, until one of the calves crashed through a hedge into a field.

“Shit!” Beata shouted. “Go after him, Megan. I have to keep these ones on the road.”

Megan squeezed through the hedge, the brambles scratching her arms, into the field, trying to get around the gambolling calf. He kicked out. She ducked and fell into a fresh cowpat.

Beata screamed with laughter. “Get up, quick, he’s getting away!”

Megan scrambled to her feet and ran after the calf, waving her stick. She managed to get behind him, turn him around and finally back onto the road.

Beata couldn’t stop laughing. Gasping for breath, she herded the calves on. “I’m sorry but you looked so funny. It was like something from Father Ted.”

Megan pushed her hair out of her eyes. “Yeah, right. Ha, ha.”

Beata calmed down. “I’m sorry about your clothes. But the skirt can be washed and the top… well, we can pick the cow shit out of the sequins and wash it by hand.”

Megan pulled the top away from her body. “I’ll never wear it again. God, it stinks.”

“You could always take it off.”

“And go around naked? A great first impression that’d make.”

“Sorry. Of course. Look, here we are. Paudie’s place.”

Megan stopped. The house was long and low, painted white with a slate roof. A concrete courtyard in front with a tractor parked outside the door. Geraniums in a wooden tub added a dash of colour to the otherwise drab entrance. A big, black dog of indistinguishable breed lifted his head from his paws and let out a soft ‘woof’.

“Nice house,” Megan remarked.

“Yes, it’s okay.” Beata looked around. “Now, where can we put these calves? Where would it be most annoying?”

“In the hay barn?” Megan suggested. “Then they’d eat hay that’s intended for next winter.”

“Hmm, yes. That could work. Or—” Beata walked to a gate. “Aha! Cows. Let’s put them in there. That must be the mummies. He must have just weaned the babies, judging by the bellowing and mooing.”

They swiftly ushered the calves into the field, where they galloped off to join the cows coming toward them.

The dog barked. The door flew open and Paudie rushed out. “What’s going on? Who opened the gate and let those calves in?”

The cattle’s bellowing and the dog’s barking mingled into an ear-splitting cacophony. Megan put her hands over her ears.

“Shut up!” Beata shouted. “Down, Denis!” The dog whimpered and slunk away.

When all was quiet, Paudie drew breath. “Would you mind telling me what’s going on here?”

“We brought your calves back,” Megan said. “They seemed to be lost.”

“Yeah,” Beata said. “They missed their mummies.”

Paudie stared at them. “What? Would you mind saying that again?”

Megan drew breath. “You had the nerve to put those calves in my garden when my back was turned. A neighbour called to tell me they had broken loose and were on the road. He thought they were mine.”

“So, yeah, we thought we’d help you out a little,” Beata said. “Get those calves back where they came from.”

Paudie looked at the field, where the calves were trying to feed from the cows. “There’s a slight problem with that, though.”

 
Megan glared at him. “And what would that be?”

“Those are not my calves.”

Beata’s jaw dropped. “What? Not your—”

Paudie shook his head. “Nope. I put mine in the yard behind the barn. It’s not ideal, but as I had nowhere else to put them while I wait for the field I sprayed to be safe, I had to park them somewhere.”

“Shit,” Beata said.

Megan pushed back her hair. “But whose are they?”

Paudie looked at her as if he had just noticed she was there. “I didn’t recognise you at first. Megan, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

He studied her with an amused expression. “You look lovely tonight. Going on somewhere, are we?”

Megan pulled at her top. “I had to chase the calves through a hedge, and then I fell into a—”

He sniffed. “Yes, I can tell.”

“What are we going to do?” Beata said.

Paudie shrugged. “I’m going to go back in to finish my tea. I suggest you get the calves out of there and back down the road. I think they must belong to the Connolly-Smiths on the main road. They’ll be rather miffed about this.” He started to walk back to the house. “Tell Jack I said hello.”

“Shit.” Beata looked at Megan. “Oh, please, don’t cry.”
                           

Megan blinked away tears. “Sorry. I’m just so tired and fed up.”

“This is all my fault,” Beata moaned. “I’m so sorry.”

“You were just trying to help.”

Paudie stopped by the door. He looked back at them and sighed. “Okay, come in, girls. We’ll sort it out. And I’ll give you a clean tee-shirt if you want to get out of that mucky one, Megan.”

“No,” Beata said. “I’m not going inside that house ever again.”

Paudie opened the door. “Suit yourselves.”

Megan hovered between solidarity to Beata and a clean tee-shirt. She took a deep breath. “Hang on. I’m coming.”

Paudie held the door open as she approached. “After you, your ladyship.”

 
“Abandon all hope, ye who enter here,” Beata muttered darkly from the gate.

Chapter 5

A sharp contrast to the drab exterior, the inside of Paudie’s house revealed astonishing sophistication and artistic flair. Waiting for him to get her the promised tee-shirt from the bedroom, Megan looked around the living room.

The traditional farmhouse layout had been altered to knock two rooms together into one bright, inviting space. Colourful rugs lay on the wooden floor, a big chintz sofa with cushions and a mohair throw stood by the window. Two leather armchairs flanked the stove. A large pine sideboard at the far wall, where ceramic bowls and framed photos caught the sunshine pouring in through sash windows.

Pictures, posters and paintings hung in haphazard disarray on whitewashed walls, each one beautiful and intriguing with a common theme: nature.

Lost in a big poster depicting a mountain range with Breathtaking views, Megan jumped when Paudie came into the room.

He tossed a tee-shirt at her. “Here. Put this on. You can put the other one in a plastic bag.”

Megan held up the tee-shirt. “I ‘heart’ Boston?”

“Yeah. Someone gave it to me when I left.”

“You were in Boston?”

“Yes. Spent five years there. Worked in an Irish pub, then did a course. Ended up in Vermont, teaching. Great place.”

“And you ‘hearted’ it?”

He laughed. “Yes,
kinda
.”

“So why did you come back?”

He shrugged. “Long story. Do you want to change in the bathroom? It’s through there on the other side of the hall.”

“Thanks.”

In the bathroom, Megan laughed at the muddy boots on the floor, the grimy towels and faint ring around the bathtub. Someone didn’t have his priorities right.

She carefully stripped off the smelly top and threw it on the floor. The tee-shirt, both big and wide, slipped down to her hips. It was a relief to wear something smelling of soap instead of cow shit. She kicked the soiled top under the sink. Sighing, she turned to the mirror and tried to smooth her tangled hair. Having rubbed the smudges off her face with the corner of a reasonably clean facecloth, she was satisfied she had done her best and returned to the living room. Finding it deserted, she walked through an open door into the kitchen, where she discovered Paudie making tea at the stove.

Unlike the living room, the kitchen was cluttered and untidy. But with the smell of newly baked bread and the warmth of the big stove, it was cosy and inviting. The
checked
curtains, scarred pine table and tiled floor added to a lived-in feel. A dresser crammed with mugs, plates and stacks of newspapers filled an entire wall. A farmer’s calendar, postcards and snapshots were pinned to a noticeboard.

Paudie offered her a mug. “Tea?”

 
“Thanks.” Megan took the mug. She removed a pile of sweaters and shirts from a chair and sat down.

Paudie joined her. “Tee-shirt okay?”

“Yes, thanks. It’s too big but lovely and clean.”

He got up. “I’ll get you the dirty one.”

Megan put a hand on his arm. “No, it’s okay. You can throw it in the bin. I don’t think I’ll ever want to wear it again.”

“All right.” He pushed a plate across the table. “Pizza. Cold now, but still okay. You want a piece?”

Megan picked up a wedge. “Oh, thanks. I haven’t eaten since lunchtime. I’m starving.”

He helped himself too and they munched in silence.

Megan wiped her mouth. “Thanks. I needed that.”

“Okay. Listen, I called the Connolly-Smiths. They’re sending up the lads with a trailer to get the calves. Once we have that sorted, I can drive you back to your house.”

“What about Beata?”

He shrugged. “She left. Saw her walk down the road.”

“Oh. But… I came in her van, so if she drove off, I’ll have to walk back to Castlegregory. I’m staying at The Blue Door, you see.”

“I’ll drive you over.” He pushed a bread basket at her. “Here. Some fresh soda bread.”

“You baked it?”

“Ha, ha, no. I get it in Lidl in Tralee. Then I warm it in the oven. There is a limit to my talents.”

Remembering Beata’s words about his talents, Megan blushed. She took another slice of pizza and nibbled on it. Paudie slurped his tea. A grey cat padded in through the half-open door and slunk around their legs, meowing. Paudie poured some milk on a saucer and put it on the floor. The cat lapped it up, then sat back and started to clean itself.

There was an awkward silence, as Megan tried to think of something to say. “What you said earlier… about Uncle Pat and him leaving the house to me…”

“What did I say?”

“You said ‘the crafty bastard’ and laughed your head off.”

Paudie nodded. “Yeah, that made me laugh. Thought that was very funny. Everyone wondered who’d get the farm and the bit of land. They were all bending over backwards to please him the last few years. But the old fox never let on. So he made a will, did he?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’ll be…” Paudie chuckled. “The Quinns will choke on their porridge when they find out.”

“Who are the Quinns?” Megan demanded. “And why will they choke?”

“Molly’s family. They thought they’d get the house and the bit of land. Always going around saying Pat had promised them. Ha. He fooled them until the very end. And Dan Nolan knew this all along, I bet. Never said a word.”

“Why would he?”

“Indeed,” Paudie said. “Why would he? Probably had great fun knowing about it and watching the Quinns suck up to Pat. Anyway, none of my business. Glad he willed it to you and not those ugly mugs.” He looked at her thoughtfully. “What are you going to do with it?”

Megan found she didn’t want to talk about her plans to Paudie. “I don’t know yet.”

As if sensing her discomfort, he changed the subject. “So, you’re a friend of Beata?”

“No, we only just met today. She invited me to go to the pub and then, when I heard about the calves, she offered to help.”

“Some help. Great opportunity for her to cause me trouble.”

“Yes. I didn’t realise that’s what she was up to. But it had something to do with your relationship a while back. None of my business, I know but she said—”

Paudie put his mug down with a bang. “You know the saying about ‘what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas’?”

“Yes?”

“Same thing applies here. I’m not going to ask you about your sex life, so you stay out of mine, okay?”

Megan blushed. “I wasn’t going to—”

He glared at her. “Like hell you weren’t. Women are all the same. Poking into everybody’s love life and trying to analyse everything. Then they think they have all the answers, and before you know it, they’ve moved in and are tidying up your sock drawer and making you eat healthy food.”

Megan blinked. “Where did that come from? We’ve only just met. Why would I be the slightest bit interested in you?”

His eyes softened. “Sorry. I’m a little bit touchy about that subject. Look, you and I should get on. We’re related after all.”

“We are?”

He nodded. “Yes. Only by marriage. Your Aunt Molly was my grandfather’s sister.”

Megan laughed. “That’s amazing. Then you’re related to a man I met in the pub tonight. Tom Quinn.”

“Tom? Yeah, my mother’s cousin. But we’re not too fond of each other, and that’s putting it mildly. He’s one of those Quinns I told you about.”

“I didn’t take to him. He was quite nasty, but I think he was drunk.”

Paudie nodded. “Very likely. He’ll be as mad as hell he didn’t get the house. He and his brother were smooching old Pat the last year or so. But he was clever enough to take what they offered and then do what he wanted all along—give the farm to Sean’s daughter. The two of them must be livid. I’d stay away from them if I were you.”

“Don’t worry. I intend to.”

 
He held out his hand. “Friends, then ‘cousin’?”

“Of course.” She took his rough, calloused hand. “Not quite cousins, so yes, friends. Sounds good to me.”

He put his other hand over hers. “Friendship is better than love. Lasts longer.”

“Absolutely.” She looked into his bright blue eyes. “I’m off men at the moment, anyway.”

He let go of her hand. “That makes two of us.”

She giggled. “You’re off men, too?”

“I’m off everybody, girl. I’ve had a rough year.”

 
“Me too.”

 
“You have?”

“Yeah. Bad marriage. Divorce. That sort of thing.”

“That’s tough.” He touched her shoulder. “If you want someone to talk to, I’ll listen.”

“I think I’ll leave that one in Vegas too, for the moment.”

 
“Of course.”

A rumble outside cut into the silence. Paudie got up. “I’ll go and help the lads get the calves. Then I’ll drive you over to the B and B.”

Megan rose. “I’ll tidy up the cups.”

He winked. “Thanks. But leave my sock drawer alone, will you?”

~ ~ ~

Three battered vans loaded with surfboards stood outside The Blue Door when Paudie’s jeep pulled up in the drive.

“Beata must have some new guests,” Megan said.

Paudie leaned over and opened the door for her. “Surfers. They’re here for the competition tomorrow.”

“I see.” Megan got out of the car. “Thanks for the lift and the tee-shirt. I’ll bring it back later.”

“No problem. See you soon, love.” Paudie slammed the door and drove off.

The hall was piled with bags and wetsuits. Three men enjoyed a cup of tea in front of the fire in the sitting room. Megan nearly crashed into Beata coming out of the kitchen with a loaded tray.

“Oh, there you are. Still alive then? No obvious cuts and bruises I see.”

Megan laughed. “No, he was perfectly civilised. Drove me home.”

“He must be feeling sick or something.” Beata pushed the tray at Megan. “Could you bring this in? I have to make some more sandwiches.”

Megan took the tray. “Okay. Who are they? Did you know they were coming?”

Beata sighed. “Yes, I did, but I forgot it was this weekend. And Boris is still in the pub, so I’m all alone. He’ll stagger home sometime after midnight, I’m sure, and vomit on the cat and fall asleep in the kitchen. So I really need a little help here.”

“Of course. I’ll bring this in, and then I’ll go and change my clothes. What else is there to do?”

“Just making ten beds and putting clean towels in the bathrooms,” Beata groaned.

“Okay. I’ll help you with that.”

“Thanks. You’re a star.”

Megan carried the tray into the living room. “More tea?” she said.

One of the men got up. “I’ll help you with that.” Deeply tanned, his hair was bleached nearly white by sun and salt.

“Thanks.” Megan gave him the tray. “Was that an Aussie accent I heard?”

“You sure did. He put the tray on the coffee table. I’m from Sydney.” He pointed at his friends. “This is Jean-Luc from Biarritz and Dave from New Jersey.”

“Hi,” Megan said. “Hope you have a good day tomorrow.”

“Should do,” Dave said. “Great waves are forecast. Lots of surfers from all over the world, so the place will be hopping.”

“I’ll go and watch tomorrow,” Megan promised. “Good luck.”

The men smiled and nodded. Megan went upstairs and started to make up beds.

Beata joined her a little later. “Thanks for helping out.”

Megan flicked a sheet open over the bed. “No problem. You’ll have a busy weekend. Are you sure you don’t need my room?”

Beata stuffed a pillow into a pillowcase. “No, yours is a small double. They want twin beds so they can share, and they need the bigger rooms. But I’m afraid I’m all booked out after the weekend. The summer will be very busy, right into August. But you were just staying until Sunday night anyway, weren’t you?”

Megan sank down on the bed. “I was but… now that I’m here and have been to the house again, I’m beginning to feel I should stay around for a bit longer. I haven’t much to go back to, really. I lost my job and have to move in with my mother.”

Beata joined her on the bed. “Why don’t you stay then? I could use some help, so if you’d like to earn a little bit of money, it might suit you, too.”

Megan pondered this for a moment. “What sort of things would you want me to do?”

“Boris and I do the breakfasts, so that’s okay. Then we have to make beds, clean rooms, do the shopping. You could help with that. Maybe be here in the afternoon when guests arrive to say welcome and give them a cup of tea. Organise the online bookings. I can pay you two hundred euros a week during the high season, as we have so many guests.”

“Yes… well… that sounds fine. I wouldn’t mind that at all. But—”

“Yes?”

“I have no place to stay.”

“Yes, you do. You have a house only ten minutes’ drive from here.”

“But it’s a wreck,” Megan protested.