Page 94 of Atticus Arnott's Great Adventure
Conor sat alone in his office, nursing his second whisky of the afternoon. He’d drunk a glass of champagne with his staff before sending them home, and there was an air of excitement amongst everyone as their Christmas holiday stretched out for two glorious weeks.
They couldn’t wait to leave the offices of Murphy’s Auctioneers to begin the celebrations. Conor was a generous employer at Christmas, providing fully paid holiday on top of their annual leave. This year, confident that a massive injection of commission was coming his way from the sales of the new properties being built on Cillian McCarthy’s land, Conor had even added a bonus to their December pay packets.
But Conor wasn’t feeling the tidings of comfort and joy that others were experiencing. Gripping his whisky glass, he moved to the window to stare out. A light flurry of snow was beginning to fall, and Christmas lights cast a colourfulglow over the darkening streets of Kindale, where last-minute shoppers darted in and out of stores.
It was Christmas Eve, usually the time of year Conor enjoyed most.
He knocked back his drink and went into the bathroom. Turning on the tap, he splashed cold water over his eyes, then leaning heavily on the sink, stared at his reflection in the mirror. The face that stared back looked haunted, with an almost desperate look in his eyes. Dark circles suggested a sleepless night, and day-old stubble covered his jawline, giving him an unkempt appearance.
Conor Murphy, the dapper, successful auctioneer about town, had been dumped by his lover, Lucinda. She’d ended things abruptly, and her actions had left him reeling.
The thrill he’d sought outside his marriage – a flirtatious escape from the mundane at home – had vanished. Just as he was expecting an early Christmas gift in the form of Lucinda’s acceptance of his marriage proposal and her agreement to merge their businesses, the rug had been well and truly pulled out from under his feet. He would never experience the pleasure of life at Creek House, nor would he benefit from the financial bonus that their combined businesses would bring.
At breakfast, with a diamond ring languishing in his pocket, he’d smiled as Lucinda suggested a Bucks Fizz.This was the moment! She was going to say yes!
‘Darling,’ Lucinda drawled as she picked up a crystal glass and brought it to her lips. ‘I think that it’s time you went back to your family.’
Conor thought that he’d misheard. But her next wordsstripped him of the illusion he’d so carefully constructed. Lucinda’s icy eyes and her declaration that she wanted nothing more to do with him were like a punch in the gut, rendering him senseless.
‘I’ve met someone else, much younger than you,’ she said. ‘He’s French, rich, virile, and the most handsome of men.’ Lucinda smiled. ‘Let’s face it, things were getting a little tired and stale between us, with you dividing your time between me and your hordes of children.’
‘But what about the business?’ Conor’s mouth was slack as he stared at Lucinda. ‘You said we would align our interests and take the whole of Ireland’s property market by storm.’
‘Did I?’ Lucinda stared at her polished nails. ‘I must have forgotten.’
‘Lucinda, you can’t possibly mean what you are saying…’ Conor stumbled on his words. He moved forward, his arms outstretched. ‘We have something special; with our love and combined talent, there’s nothing we can’t achieve.’
Conor stared at his empty glass and replayed the scene in his head. He’d grovelled to Lucinda, and his face burnt with shame. Now he felt he didn’t know her at all.
When she picked up her car keys, Lucinda left the kitchen before pausing by the door to retort, ‘Post the house keys through the letterbox or leave them with Roisin on your way out.’
Conor had been tempted to pick up the bottle of champagne and fling it at the wall, but it was only the sight of Roisin leaning on a floor mop as she stood grinningon one side of the kitchen that stopped him. He hadn’t just fallen from grace; he’d tripped, stumbled, and rolled down the whole flight of stairs, and Roisin would relish in spreading the news.
The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on Conor as he reached for his coat and turned off the office lights. He’d thought he could juggle two lives, keeping Mary dangling while waiting for Lucinda to give him the green light. Now, his life felt precarious, and the thrill of the affair was gone.
Conor’s tread on the stairs was heavy, and as he set the alarm and locked the front door, he realised what a complete and utter idiot he’d been. Why hadn’t he seen through Lucinda? Was he so blinded to money, property, and wealth that he was oblivious to her playing him for a fool? He now realised that it was how she got her kicks as she moved from one man to another, destroying them in her wake.
But as Conor climbed into his car and the engine roared to life, he felt a sudden rush of relief that the life he’d so carelessly jeopardised was still waiting for him.
Thank God that Mary, his precious wife, had hung on.
It was Christmas Eve, and his children would be waiting for their daddy to come home. He would open champagne and tell Mary how much he loved her and what a fool he’d been. They would have a proper family Christmas like old times, and all his stupidity would be forgotten.
‘Oh, Mary, what an arse I am,’ Conor said as he tore away from the car park and headed home. ‘My gorgeous, talented Mary, the mother of my kids, how patient you’vebeen,’ Conor mumbled, and as the sight of Belvedere House came into view, he almost cried out with relief. The building was festooned with Christmas decorations and looked as warm and enticing as any home in Ireland.
Mary’s Range Rover was parked in its usual place on the drive, and Conor pulled up beside it. Hurrying from his car, he hurtled across the gravel, almost tripping over one of Finn’s stray footballs, and wrenched the front door open. The Christmas tree that stood in the hallway sparkled with lights and dainty glass baubles. As Conor’s eyes travelled down, he was delighted to see the piles of carefully wrapped parcels beneath.
‘Mary, Love!’ he called out. ‘Maeve, Caitlin, Finn, Declan – Daddy’s home!’
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The party at Erik’s pitch was in full swing, and as the light faded, the disco ball above the dance floor spun slowly, catching the last of the sun and scattering rays over campers gyrating below. By the barbecue, Ruby took charge and, with a beer in her hand, tossed steaks, burgers, and sausages onto a flaming grill. Wearing a Christmas bandana, Ness sat beside her, the old dog patiently waiting for any offerings that might come her way.
A buffet was laid out under an awning, with the tables draped in red and gold cloth, all laden with Spanish cuisine catered from Solma Vacaciones’s kitchens.
‘This is “cochinillo”,’ Erik said to his guests. ‘It’s suckling pig, and it’s delicious.’ He munched on a slice of the tender meat with its crisp, golden skin.
Platters of thinly sliced Iberian ham were artfully arranged beside an assortment of Spanish cheeses, including Manchego, Mahón, and Cabrales. Large pans ofpaella, filled to the brim with saffron rice, tender chicken, and savoury chorizo, wafted a delicious aroma of garlic and spices into the warm evening air.
