Irish Intrigue

By Paula Martin

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?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tirgearr Publishing
• Release date: Nov 13, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370150625

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 has recently 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. She has travelled extensively in Britain and Ireland, mainland Europe, the Middle East, America and Canada. Her other interests include musical theatre and tracing her family history.

Book preview

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