not sure I’m qualified,’ she said.
‘You’re supremely qualified,’ he told her.
‘All the same . . .’
‘You’re a ray of light in a dull, dull business,’ he said. ‘We’d love to have you on board.’
Then he mentioned the salary, which was double what she was earning at Hagan’s, and she knew her decision was already made.
It was the job she’d been born for.
By the end of the year, she’d arranged a second exhibition, this time of photographs of Irish cities. The photos were a mixture of black-and-white and colour, and although some were of iconic features, like Christ Church Cathedral or Galway’s Spanish Arch, others simply reflected a slice of city life. Deira’s personal favourite was a photograph of a woman coming out of a café, a takeaway cup in one hand, a sandwich in the other, her hair blowing in the wind.
Both the art and photographic exhibitions had been given good write-ups in the press, and Deira herself had even been interviewed with the caption ‘The Young Woman Who’s Bringing Business and Heritage Together’. Gillian had sent her a congratulatory text when the feature had been published, and Deira had saved it, because Gill’s praise of her younger sister was seldom and therefore doubly important.
At the Christmas party that year, Gavin told her that the company was more than delighted with the good work she was doing and the excellent publicity it had brought them. ‘We’re all about making a difference,’ he said, ‘and you’ve shown us how.’
Deira was too experienced in the way of business by now to believe every word he was saying. But she liked to think that she really had made a difference, and said so.
‘You totally have,’ Gavin assured her. ‘You’ve made a difference to the company and you’ve made a difference to me too.’
‘How have I made a difference to you?’ Deira took a sip from her glass of wine. Solas had provided a free bar for its employees, and she was aware that she had, perhaps, taken advantage of it a little more than she’d meant to. But what the hell, it was Christmas.
‘You’ve made me think differently,’ replied Gavin. ‘About how I approach my work. My life, too.’
‘Your life?’
‘Having you around with your positive attitude to everything has changed me,’ he said. ‘I used to look for reasons why things couldn’t work. Now I look for reasons to make them work.’
She laughed. ‘I’m glad you think I’m a positive person.’
‘I think you’re a lovely person,’ said Gavin.
It was the free alcohol talking, Deira knew that. And it was the free alcohol that made her lean her head against his shoulder and tell him that he was a lovely person too, and that the day he’d come into Hagan’s had changed her life completely and she was thankful to him for that.
‘We’re thankful for each other.’ He put his arm around her and hugged her.
‘Hey, lovebirds!’ Derek Coogan from Internal Audit joined them. ‘Don’t worry. What happens at the party stays at the party.’
Deira sat up straight. ‘Nothing’s happening at the party,’ she said. ‘We were having a moment.’
‘Says who!’ Derek, who’d also clearly enjoyed the free bar, started to laugh.
Deira got up and walked away. It was late, and she reckoned this would be a good time to leave. She collected her coat and walked outside the hotel where the party was taking place.
The rain was thundering down.
‘I’ve ordered a taxi.’ Gavin was standing behind her. ‘Want to share?’
She turned in surprise.
‘No party is worth staying at if you’re going,’ he said as a car rolled to a stop in front of them.
She wasn’t sure how good an idea this was. But the taxi was waiting and she didn’t know how long it would take to get another one. So she climbed in.
He’d kissed her before they even reached the main road.
Chapter 6
Celtic Sea: 51.5499°N 7.9756°W
The waiter, returning with the coffee she’d ordered, brought Deira back to the present. Opposite her, Grace had left her book on the table while she selected a dessert from the buffet. Deira could see that she was about halfway through it, although it was clear that it had been read many times before. She wondered if it was Grace’s go-to book, the one she read when she needed comfort. If so, Grace’s tastes were far more literary than her own. Deira’s go-to book wasn’t any of the great classics she’d studied at college, but a romantic thriller that had belonged to her mother, and which she’d