deal.’
‘And Paul will be glad of another hand on deck.’
‘Brad fixes tours. I don’t think he’s a sailor.’
‘Actually, he’s done lots of sailing. He told me his dad has a yacht.’
Cassie shrugged. ‘Well, he didn’t tell me. Man of mystery.’
Margot looked abashed. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind? Maybe I should have checked with you.’
‘God, no! Why should you? I’m glad he’s coming along. It’ll be great.’
As Margot sent a text to Paul, Cassie called Kate to sweep the floor – though, actually, there was hardly any need to. Brad hadn’t needed a haircut. She could have sworn he’d made the appointment because he’d intended to ask her for a date. So what was going on? Was he playing some complex game? Or had her instinct simply been wrong?
Lunch in the hotel’s staff canteen was one of the perks of the job, but this morning, because the weather was fine, Cassie had brought two wholemeal scones and some cheese to eat on the beach. She was booked in to work a full day, which was why Margot had arranged the sunset boat trip, so now she took an early lunch break and strolled down to the pier. A steep flight of stone steps and a scramble over rocks brought her to shingle, and she crunched over broken shells and stones till she came to the sand. Though the sun was shining, the sand looked damp, so she retraced her steps, took off her jacket, and spread it on the stones. She was wearing a heavy sweater in anticipation of the evening, and the brisk wind from the ocean was invigorating rather than cold. Unwrapping the scones, she sandwiched each with a lump of red cheddar and, taking an apple from her bag, settled down to enjoy her solitary lunch.
A fishing boat was moored in the harbour and, above it, the air was thronged with scavenging seabirds. For a while Cassie watched them circle and dive, disappearing behind the pier and swooping back up with entrails in their beaks. The catch now being gutted on the boat would feature on the hotel’s menu that night. Many of the smaller hotels and restaurants used frozen fish brought in by the trawlers, but in the Spa Hotel ‘catch of the day’ meant just that. Cassie knew Brad had his room there courtesy of the management, but now, for the first time, she wondered about his family. If his dad kept a yacht somewhere in California, maybe his clothes, his muscles, and his self-confidence spoke of privilege, just as her own silk sweaters and the rest of her edgy, urban wardrobe did. She’d supported herself since graduating from high school, but her sense of being a citizen of the world came from the hardly acknowledged fact that, if things went wrong, she could always scuttle home.
Gazing out at the foam-topped waves, she realised she’d come back to the question of where her roots were. Certainly not in the family home in Toronto, from which she knew her mom and dad were planning to downsize soon. She’d moved on from that. But increasingly in the last few weeks she’d wondered if home might be Finfarran. And, although Jack Shanahan had never crossed the Atlantic, it seemed that he felt the same visceral tug. Friday’s conversation hadn’t been a total disaster, or at least it hadn’t ended after she’d made that second gaffe. By reverting to the subject of Mullafrack, they’d re-established common ground. Jack had loved her description of the ruin on the hillside. ‘It sounds awesome. Like Stephen King’s Dark Tower books.’
‘I thought The Lord of the Rings.’
In fact it was Brad, not she, who’d brought up Tolkien, but Cassie had had the sense not to mention him again. Having nothing to offer but a kids’ book she hadn’t finished, she hadn’t mentioned Elidor either. But apparently Stephen King’s Dark Tower series had been influenced by Tolkien so she’d sat back and listened while Jack talked. Charmed by his enthusiasm, Cassie realised that everything she encountered in Finfarran seemed to be linked to other things in ways she’d never had any reason to think about. She could never have imagined she’d find herself part of a library book club. Or that she’d meet a guy in Ballyfin who’d remind her of just how much she loved her footloose, adventurous life. Or that she’d sit propped up on a bed in Pat’s guest room describing the glory of Finfarran’s landscape to a guy she’d met