Page 54 of The Secret Bookshop in Ireland

When they entered the drawing room, furnished with antiques that had seen better days, they were met by a group of around thirty people who all stopped their conversations and turned around to stare at the newcomers.

‘Mrs Maureen Doyle and her daughter, Ciara,’ Olivia announced in a loud voice, as if she was starring in an episode ofDownton Abbey.

Some of the guests smiled and came forward to say hello, while others turned back to their fellow guests and resumed talking.

Mr and Mrs Lincoln greeted them enthusiastically and then introduced them to some of their neighbours, one of whom turned out to be Paul Murray, the man who had been so rude to Maureen when he called into the bookshop. But today he was all smiles and charm, shaking Maureen and Ciara’s hands in turn.

‘Hello,’ he said. ‘We meet again. Welcome to the vicarage. Isn’t it a handsome house?’

‘Lovely,’ Maureen said and moved away to shake hands with a grey-haired woman who looked to be about the same age.

‘How do you do?’ the woman said. ‘I’m Siobhan Murphy. I live a few houses down from you, in the pink house with the messy garden.’

‘Oh, not that messy,’ Maureen protested. ‘It just needs a little tidying up after the winter.’

‘You’re very kind,’ Siobhan Murphy said and took Maureen by the arm. ‘But come and meet some of the locals.’

They disappeared into the crowd while Ciara was left trying to chat with Paul Murray.

‘Your mother seems unwilling to talk to me,’ he said.

‘You were a bit rude when you called in,’ Ciara remarked. ‘She finds that hard to deal with.’

‘She didn’t find it hard to snap back,’ Paul Murray retorted. ‘I kind of liked it, though,’ he said, his blue eyes twinkling. ‘A woman with spirit is always attractive. I know I was a little brusque, so I’ll go and apologise in a minute.’

‘I’m sure she’ll forgive you,’ Ciara said. ‘She also likes a good repartee.’

‘Then we’ll have great fun if we become friends,’ Paul said. ‘But that’s in the future. Right now, I’d like to introduce you to someone who’s been dying to meet you.’

‘Who?’ Ciara asked as Paul took her by the elbow and propelled her to the far side of the drawing room.

‘See that lady on the sofa?’ Paul asked. ‘That’s Nuala O’Dwyer. The last living member of the covenant. She’s a hundred and four but as sharp as a tack.’

‘The covenant?’ Ciara asked as they stopped in front of the tiny woman with white hair who nearly disappeared among the cushions on the large chintz sofa that sagged in the middle.

‘Just my little joke,’ Paul said. ‘None of those ladies would harm a fly.’

‘What ladies?’ Ciara asked, confused.

‘Martha and her friends.’ Paul turned to the little old lady. ‘Nuala,’ he said in a loud voice. ‘This young lady is Martha’s heir, Ciara Doyle. Ciara, meet Mrs Nuala O’Dwyer.’

‘Hello,’ Ciara said and took the woman’s pale, cool hand. ‘So nice to meet you.’

‘Is it?’ Nuala said, staring at Ciara with her pale blue eyes. ‘How do you know?’

Ciara smiled. ‘Well, of course I don’t, but that’s what you’re supposed to say.’

‘Why?’ Nuala asked. Then she patted the space beside her. ‘Sit down on this side. I’m totally deaf on the other side.’

Ciara did as she was told and sat down beside the old woman, who still had a glint in her eyes as if she was enjoying the exchange. ‘There,’ she said when she had settled amongst the cushions. ‘I’m ready to hear what you have to say to me.’

‘About what?’ Nuala asked. ‘The weather?’

‘No,’ Ciara replied. ‘About Martha Fitzgerald and what you two used to talk about.’

Nuala smiled. ‘I thought you would want to hear that. But it’s a very long story. If you get me a cup of tea and one of those fancy sandwiches, I’ll be willing to share some of the secrets. I’m the only one left, you see.’

‘Only one left of what?’ Ciara asked, struggling to get up from the softness of the sofa, trying not to sneeze as the smell of mould hit her nostrils.