Page 10 of An Angel's Share
What a fucking mess.
She should have told me even if she wasn’t sure. The club has protocols in place for this type of situation. It wouldn’t be the first time this has happened. But from the shock on her face when she spotted me, I know she never would have contacted the club for my details. Or for them to contact me to facilitate a meeting or an exchange of information. She clearly never would have, I know that.
The realisation sinks in. She had no intention of ever finding me. Moved continents. I would have been none the wiser. I assumed she was from California, and she let me believe that throughout the night. Fair enough she had an Irish lilt, but also sounded like she’d spent a lot of time in America. And to be honest, was I really bothered? No. It was all about pleasure, all about taking what we both needed or wanted. Leaving with a great memory.
Yeah, keep telling yourself that.
She’s been on my mind over the past few months. Hints and whispers of memory. More than normal, more than anyone ever in the past.
My mind moves to my brothers-in-law. I would have been like Kellen and Xander—in the dark for eighteen fucking years.
Maybe it’s Karma. I supported Evie—actively hid her and her son James—even when I knew they looked for her, searching for her year after year. But I can rationalise we were under a misapprehension. We thought Kellen knew and didn’t care. I thought I was doing the right thing hiding them, protecting them until James was an adult.
I exit the library and smile as Mae O’Clery staggers towards me. Clearly enjoyed her night to the full.
“Can I help you, Mae? Get you a drink? Tea, coffee?” I grin mischievously at her and add, “Whiskey?”
“Now you’re talking, Greystone,” she slurs out, her eyes squinting at me.
I hold onto her elbow as I gently steer her back into the library, where I know there is a decanter on the sideboard. Time to start probing. And the best strategy? Whiskey, and a bit of flattery.
The old floorboards creak and groan as you step on them, the rugs worn and silk-like under your feet. The old mahogany bookshelves are floor to ceiling, with only the windows not holding books of some sort. The warm lighting of the lamps give the room a cosy glow. That and the rose wallpaper. I always felt like the summer started in here.
Mae flops into one of the very worn old settees that are scattered haphazardly around the room. I know she likes me. The last time I was here she liked to moan about me, I heard her. But I know it was mostly bluster. She doesn’t like to think she’s giving anyone a free pass.
I made sure to show an interest in her. Asked her about herself, what she wanted, what she wanted for her family. No one else seemed to. Everyone else was obsessed with the whiskey business. If she dressed up as a bottle ofO’Clerysshe might have had more luck in someone noticing her. I felt sorry for her.
The drink stand sits on a ledge at the side of some books so old, protective mesh has been inserted to stop fingers ruining them further. Lights aim at the more important works, and it all adds to the warmth and calm of the room. The sound of whiskey hitting the glass soothes Mae further, and I hand her a drink. The skies are dark outside the large double doors. Mae looks very drunk, and hardly any prompting or lying is necessary as she starts to spill herguts. A slight flirtation, flattery hitting her weak spots. Empathy with her situation. Her hopes and dreams for her family. She sings like a canary, leaking her daughter's secrets into the old library, like ink from a well, disappointment pouring from every word.
I deposit her back to her rooms swaying and smiling. Feeling better after getting a few things off her chest. I don’t think she has many confidants. Maggie, but that’s it.
She pats my arm as she pushes open the door to her living quarters. My smile remains light and breezy, friendly, when I’m fucking steaming inside. My chest is tight with anger.
That lying, conniving, calculated piece of work. A sperm donor. She told her mother she had a fucking sperm donor in the states. Liam is a patsy. A gold-digging well-paid patsy who agreed to marry her. He’s taking responsibility for the baby so her mother can look her Dublin friends in the face. Cling to the international bestseller. The love that flowed across a continent.
It all fits so perfectly, the story they concocted. It’s as if she actually planned it. If Mammy Dearest hadn’t been so pissed, and pissed off, it may not have slipped out at all.
The LIE: He (a university friend of Patrick) and she (an established, intelligent woman) were in New York, they fell in love whilst working together, created a child, he came home, she followed. So they could bring up the baby in Ireland. One big happy family. A fabulous love story to be told in Dublin’s finest restaurants. The Figgs-Hamiltons—a good old-fashioned London family.
I’ll have a look at the Figgs-Hamiltons later. Why would he be here, in the wilds of Ireland. Why are any of them here? Surely London boys stay and become London men. Unless they’re broke. Unless the deal is too good to be true.
Mammy’s hoping for a quick second pregnancy to keep her daughter at home and away from the business. Mae is not a lover of the family firm. Feels she’s lost her husband to it. His best years given to whiskey, and therefore hers. He agreed to it, she did not. She loves her daughter, wants her to have a family life, not a working life. A life full of worry and always trying to live up to ‘the Whiskey Wizard’ Dervla O’Clery—Seamus, Dermot, and Marshall's mother.
Well I don’t give a shit about a working life, an O’Clery family life. All I’m interested in is that baby.
My family always laughs at my supercomputer brain. It processes information faster than most. Decisions made in the blink of an eye. Normally they’re hard and cold business decisions. Always calculated, always successful. But this one is full of fire and emotion. Family means everything to me.
Fair enough I’ve never thought about being a dad. It was the last thing on my list. I’ve been spoiled having my nephews so close. In my view, I’d already raised two boys to men—James and Bucky.
My sister has given me total access to her children, and what a privilege that is. One I have never taken for granted. Now I’ve got another two boys with her twins, and a gorgeous little girl. The most beautiful child I’ve ever seen. You can already see the beauty of her inside and out. My needs for family are fulfilled by my sister and her children. Anything else I’ve sought elsewhere.
I’d given up looking for ‘the one.’ Maybe I was looking in the wrong places. My family had certainly run with that one for a long time. Or maybe I was waiting. Maybe all the experience I’d gained over the past decades of an extensive family life was leading up to this. Decisions I can now make in a split second to alter the whole course of my life.
Well, I’m all in. There’s no way Liam Figgs-Hamiltonand Dr Aoife O’Clery are stealing my baby from me. Absconding with my future because of some bullshit society parameters. So that other society mothers can ooh and ahh over the romance of it all. So that the O’Clerys can all feel better about themselves living a bullshit lie. Not a fucking cat in hell’s chance.
5
Aoife
