Made With Love

Chapter 16

With Bridie hard at work directing the upswing at the factory, I tie up my hair, smooth on a nude lipstick, and waltz into the village to see a man about a factory. Cathal’s office sits on the second story of Meade’s, a pharmacy and hairdressers. The walls of the anteroom are slacked a brutish red and the slight woman behind the desk is kitted out in black—black silk blouse, black slacks, black glasses. Do I have the right place?

‘This is Mr. Heaney’s office?’ I ask, and the girl looks over her specs at me.

‘It is of course,’ she says.

‘Is he in?’

‘Would you have an appointment?’ She taps the desktop with the backend of her pen.

‘I don’t, no.’

She squinches her nose at me. ‘One moment,’ she says and tiptoes to the office door. She knocks very softly, then opens the door a crack.

‘God’s sake, Zara, I said no interruptions!’ Cathal yells.

‘There’s someone to see you.’

‘WHO?’

Zara turns to me.

‘Julie Quinn,’ I tell her.

‘Julie Quinn,’ she says through the door jamb.

‘Well, show her in,’ Cathal says under his breath.

Zara steps aside and ushers me into the small, draughty office. It’s done up in a fusty safari motif, skins and heads leering from the shadowed corners. Cathal pretends to be studying the rash of paperwork on his desk.

‘Julie, didn’t hear you come in. Just going over a few suits.’ He flashes me a catfish smile.

‘Any of them about St. Enda’s?’ I ask.

‘What? No,’ Cathal says, rising. ‘But everything’s grand. I was just about to call you. The registrar’s opened your file, and in a couple weeks the factory will be in your name. Oh, and the notary’s set to be released from the hospital tomorrow. He’ll be back to Inishmore Thursday and available at your first convenience. A few more forms, and you can offload the factory as you like.’

I sit down on the edge of a red leather wingback. ‘What if I don’t want to offload it?’

Cathal sits back down and makes a big show of lounging into his oversized exec’s chair. ‘Well. Since you’ve already committed to selling—you signed the contract—you’d have to give Mrs. O’Mahony her money back.’

‘Ten thousand euro?’

‘Actually, double. Indemnity,’ he shrugs. ‘Are you thinking of staying?’ he purrs.

A stuffed bison stares at the back of Cathal’s head. Its face is squashed on one side as if it’d been kicked.

‘Is that real?’

‘Fake. I’m no vet,’ he says through his nose, ‘but I’m all for animal rights.’ I shoot up and back toward the door. What am I doing here?

‘I’ve got to go,’ I blurt.

‘Do you want me to put in for a recession of sale?’

‘No. No. Don’t do anything. Forget I said anything.’ He pouts at me from his chair. ‘I’ll be in touch,’ I say and slip out.

As soon as I’m on the street, my phone rings.

Please don’t be Kate!

It’s a local number. ‘Hello?’