He turns to Sean, and I pick up his strong Irish accent. ‘Let this fella take my cab – it’s outside. Call me another one and let him go home and sleep it off.’ He gestures to the back door, where a taxi had been called for him. The drunk man who had been shouting moves away in defeat, his body deflated and head hung low. Big Sean then helps the other man to a secluded corner of the room and sets out a hearty helping of stew and piping-hot coffee to help him sober up.
I blow out my cheeks, exhaling a breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding. Fights, brawls, disputes and arguments were all too common here, but today something different happened: there wasn’t a knock-out punch thrown or drop of blood spilled, not even as much as a bottle broken. This handsome stranger managed to stop the fight from happening before they’d properly got going.
Maybe The Fox and Hound has changed after all.
The man returns to his stool by the bar, a wall of muscle shrinking back as he passes. The mood lightens instantly – cheerful banter and laughter fills the air again, but this time without any sense of unease. Big Sean claps an open hand on his back, leaning forward to whisper in his ear before pointing to my booth with a jut of his chin.
The man nods sharply, picks up a briefcase and strides in my direction.
‘James O’Connor at your service,’ he says with a mock bow before pulling up the stool opposite me and setting down his briefcase on the table.
This is James O’Connor? The lawyer? I open my mouth to say something, anything, but my mind stalls as a million queries jam my brain, keeping me from finding the right words. I take in his strong jawline, the stretch of his T-shirt across his chest. He looks like he could be in his early thirties, but there’s something in the way he holds himself that makes me think he’s older. I squirm in the seat, trying to keep my foot from bouncing on the ground. Every atom of my body feels ready to jump. I bunch my hair behind my ears and hastily rub my clammy palms on my thighs.
‘Nice to meet you, Mr O’Connor.’ I try to sound confident, but my voice comes out shaky.
‘Please, call me James.’ He flashes a charming smile, and I can’t help but feel a flutter in my stomach.
‘All right, James,’ I manage to croak out. I clear my throat and try to exude an air of nonchalance, even though my heart is thumping hard in my chest. ‘I apologise for being a bit taken aback – Sean mentioned a lawyer wanting to see me, but I had a different idea of what one would look like. Maybe I’ve just been in the city too long…’
The truth is, whatever I expected – it wasn’t James O’Connor. I’ve never seen anyone like him, one moment splitting up a pub fight, the next ready to talk law and order.
He chuckles softly. ‘Are you suggesting I don’t look like a lawyer?’
Um, that’s putting it mildly; this guy is a world away from the typical stiff and upright lawyers I’m used to. He could be mistaken for a combination of Chris Hemsworth and Colin Farrell! His hair is jet black, while his eyes gleam electric blue. His presence is strong yet his voice smooth and easy. My faceheats up in embarrassment. ‘Oh, sorry, I’m just completely baffled right now.’
I need to get a grip before I make a complete fool of myself. Today has been A LOT.
‘No need to apologise – totally understandable. To be honest, my dad has said the same thing about me. But nowhere near as diplomatically.’ He laughs and holds out his hand. He has a wide smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes. His teeth are white and even, framed by a full mouth with pouty lips. He is tall and broad-shouldered, and his handshake is firm and warm. I hold his gaze, my cheeks burning with disbelief. If you had told me this morning that I’d be standing here, face to face, eye to eye, with this completely gorgeous person from my mother’s hometown, I’d have never believed it. I’d have brushed it off as nothing more than a far-fetched dream. But here we are, connected in an unexpected way, on this unexpected day and I’m filled with a strange sense of something. Something I can’t put my finger on, but it’s something I like.
‘So, what can I do for you?’ I ask, settling back into my seat and feeling a sense of composure now the introductions are done.
‘Actually, it’s what I can do for you,’ he replies, his tone smooth and assured. ‘Daisy, you and I are going to have a very interesting conversation. But first, let’s get us some more drinks. We’re going to need them.’
CHAPTER 8
THE NEWS
‘Inheritance? Are you joking?’ I blurt out, staring at James O’Connor with wide eyes.
He chuckles and shakes his head, turning serious. ‘Would I joke about something as important as this, Daisy?’ he asks, raising an eyebrow in amusement.
‘Ah, well… maybe? Sorry, I just don’t know what to think. It sounds surreal, I suppose. Or like a prank or an elaborate hoax…’ I offer weakly, my mind still reeling from the news.
James laughs again, a hearty sound that fills the room and eases some of the tension coiling in my chest. ‘Believe me, none of the above. I’m here as your professional legal advisor and representative. Rest assured I’m trained and experienced in all the legal processes involved, and everything you see in front of you is one hundred per cent verifiable’ he explains, his blue eyes twinkling. ‘This is very real, Daisy. Mick Kennedy left The Lake House to your mother in his will.’ He clicks open his briefcase and slides out a file. ‘You can read it all for yourself, in black and white. Last will and testament ofMick Kennedy.’ He taps on the middle lines of the covering page. ‘Says it right here that he’s left your mother, Rose Clarke, his entire estate.’
‘Uh-huh.’ I exhale, trying to wrap my head around the situation as I browse through the documents in front of me. ‘But who is Mick Kennedy and why did he leave anything to my mum?’
‘Good question. I can answer half of it,’ James says with a tilt of his head. ‘Mick Kennedy was the owner and occupier of The Lake House Estate, Innisfree, as was his family before him. The estate includes ten acres of woodland, a boatshed, barn and surrounding fields.’ He hands me an extensive file with blurred images, a list of possessions and stacks of plastic-pocket notes. ‘I’m sorry to say that Mick died tragically ten months ago. Perhaps if he knew he was dying or that his life would be cut short so suddenly, he’d have shed some light on his final wishes, but at only fifty-five years old, Isuspect he felt there was plenty of life to be lived yet and plenty of time to enlighten the rest of us about the rationale of his will.’
James gives a slight nod. ‘So the short answer is, I don’t know why he left it to your mother. Because, sadly, it seems that Mick did not know that your mother had passed away. He must have believed her to be still alive and in a position to accept.’ He dips his chin and tries to meet my eyes. ‘It’s a lot to take in, Daisy – if you need to pause for a moment to go through it all, just say so.’
I shake my head and take a long sip of my whiskey. He doesthe same.
‘No, it’s okay – carry on,’ I say.
James taps the stuffed Manila envelope on the table before him. ‘Right… so Mick passed away and left all that for your mum, but as to why, well, Rose had no familial ties to Mick, not even distantly. We know she came from just outside Innisfree originally, but cut off contact with family and then the rest of the community at eighteen when she moved to London. We thought you might know. Perhaps your mother talked about Mick atsome point over the years? Do you know if they had any kind of relationship?’
I shake my head – my mum never talked about her past in Ireland or anyone from it. And I had never heard of Mick Kennedy. But the link to Innisfree is solid. That much I do know.
