An Irish Contract

By Tee Smith

Molly Mae had been a feisty old woman. She knew what she wanted and was prepared to get it. Even in death.

When Isla was called back to her Irish homeland for the reading of the will, she could never have imagined what her grandmother had in mind.

She would be forced to share her inheritance with her ex-husband, or lose it all. 

It was hardly a fair request. 

There is no doubt in her mind that she will fight to keep O'Reilly House. 

But at what cost? 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tee Smith
• Release date: Mar 21, 2019
• ISBN: 9780648467939

Book preview

1

It had been a million years. Well, at least it felt that way. Standing here now, looking up at the old house, feeling that crisp breeze as it licked her cheeks, all the memories came flooding back.

The terraced gardens had been left to ramble, the weeds were growing over, the moss rocks now appearing more moss than rock. An ache caught in her chest at she thought of poor old Gran no longer able to tend her precious hollyhocks. She knew she should have returned earlier. Now it was too late. Poor old Molly Mae, whiled away in this big old lonely house all alone with her broken heart. Not that there was much else that could be done. Gran was a stubborn old woman; once she’d made up her mind about something, that was the way it was. She wouldn’t hear of allowing Isla to return to Ireland to take care of her. She had made no secret that she thought Isla should return to Tramore but not in the form of a nurse-maid. Gran would rather pay a stranger to take care of her than burden what she saw as a menial task on her beloved granddaughter.

Molly Mae had been born into money. Born with a silver spoon in her mouth some would say. The only child of a rich oil merchant and a model mother. She kept her amazing looks and equally amazing humility with her, right up until the end. It had broken her heart when her daughter married an Australian man, and they had immigrated to Australia. Even so, she barely mentioned it because that was the way with Molly. Ner shoulder some poor soul with yer burdens m’dear, she would say.

Closing her eyes, Isla could still hear the sound of her voice. Her thick Irish tone. I ner have an accent, Isla girl. You’ve just been living in Kangaroo-land too long.

Taking the sweeping stone steps one by one to the grand old home she wondered if the spare key was still kept in its place. Tracing her palm over the rough stone facade near the door, she found the one which she knew protruded, only ever so slightly. It may have been many years, but some things never changed. Allowing her fingers to graze the smooth edge, she dug her nails in, waiting for the weight of the stone to give. She felt like a child reaching for a lucky-dip prize, hoping she would win the jackpot. Just as her fingers closed around the familiar cold, hard metal, a throat cleared at her back.

Startled she stumbled back, her foot slipped beneath her, and suddenly she was tumbling through the air. As if time were standing still, she anticipated the pain she knew was to come when her butt hit the hard slate below.

Steady there, came a deep masculine voice as strong hands scooped around her, bringing her back to rights.

Looking up she found the eyes of her saviour smiling down at her. Pretty grey eyes.

Thank you, ahh? she floundered, having no idea who this man was. Quickly realising he still held tight to her forearm, she hastily freed herself before extending her hand to shake. Isla Finnegan, and you are? she probed, feeling somewhat peeved that he had not already made an effort to introduce himself.

Fraser Fosbury, attorney, he finally replied, his grey eyes dancing across her face and settling on her lips.

Isla shifted from one foot to the other, suddenly feeling awkward under his gaze.

Attorney? she asked for clarification, unsure as to why she needed it. After all, she knew why she was here. Perhaps she had expected someone far older to be Gran’s lawyer. This guy looked to be in his late thirties, not much older than herself.

The call had come late at night to tell her, her beloved grandmother had passed away peacefully in her sleep. She found that hard to believe; Molly Mae had never done anything peacefully in her entire life. Not even her last will and testament apparently. The woman who called had instructed that she be present at O’Reilly house for the reading. Those were the only instructions she would pass along, other than advising that she would be handsomely reimbursed for her trouble. There was little doubt in her mind that Gran would provide for her in her will, and if she were honest with herself, she wasn’t all too surprised that she had made provisions to bring her back to the old country. One way or another, Molly Mae always liked to have the final word.

Shall we? Fraser asked gesturing toward the door.

With the realisation she still held the key tight in her grip, she held it up, showing him her new-found treasure. The crinkle creasing his brow indicated his confusion, as he shook his thoughts from his head and took a step closer to the grandiose entrance way and produced a key of his own.

Of course, he would have a key. Why wouldn’t he? Plunging the precious metal piece back into her pocket she moved toward the doorway. Stopping to admire the way the sun caught in the ageing led-light. Gently she traced a finger over the pebbled glass. Memories of her childhood flooded her mind. Why had she not taken more time to appreciate the finer things about her gran’s amazing home? Most people were awed by the massive arching doorframe or the palatial staircase, complete with gold-plated iron balustrades that led to the second floor. But the small things that she knew about this place were more important to her. O’Reilly house was more than a grand old piece of architecture to her, it was home. Her favourite place had been the alcove under the stairs where as a young girl, she had hidden to read. She wondered if Gran ever found the stash of romance novels she had borrowed from her library and hidden under the bench seat her father had installed.

Lost in her memories, when she heard Fraser speak, she didn’t absorb his words. It was only the familiar sound of tyres crunching on the gravel driveway that jolted her back to the present.

Oh, good, he’s here now, he mumbled, and she assumed he, must be whoever it was, Fraser had been talking about during her little excursion to the past.

Turning on her heel to address her partnering benefactor, she was stopped dead in her tracks, a sinking feeling settling in her stomach. For all her romanticizing her childhood memories, the vision before her was not so welcome.

The years had changed him, he had filled out a little. His features had become more manly. He was still devastatingly handsome, with his chiselled jaw and high cheekbones. His hair, still tinged in that all too familiar Irish red, was neatly groomed.