‘I know who you are now. No wonder you were so pleased with yourself.’
‘I’m not so pleased with myself now. When you knew my name I just assumed…’
‘I told you, the barman called you Conor. To be honest, you’re not going to like this, but I’ve never even heard of you.’
‘To be honest, I do quite like that. You slept withme. Not Conor Byrne.’
‘I’m pretty sure I slept with Conor Byrne.’
‘So why did you run out on me?’
She creased her face. ‘Did you have to ask that, right now?’
‘Hmm, sorry. So what’s happened? You looked terrified when you came running up the hill. I saw you from the window upstairs.’
‘Your neighbour.’ She sighed, still not quite believing it had turned so nasty. She’d heard of farmers shooting dogs that attacked their sheep but pointing a shotgun and prodding someone with it seemed excessive.
‘Moss Murphy. What’s he been doing now? He’s a mad aul coot but harmless.’
‘Harmless! He threatened me with a shotgun because I was trespassing.’
‘Trespassing? Where were you?’
‘On the path down to the sea but I climbed a fence. I knew I shouldn’t – stupid really – but the path went straight through and I couldn’t see any reason not to.’
‘It’s all our land. You weren’t trespassing. Murphy gets his knickers in a twist because the farm here has done so well. He’s a curmudgeon. Way back he put that rickety old fence up as a protest about something. To be honest, Niamh had just been born and was a bit poorly in the hospital. It was the last thing on all our minds and we just let it go. Humoured the daft eejit. He’s always complaining about something and doing his best to cause trouble. Last week it was a new shed we put up that upset him. He wanted to know if we’d got a hold of planning permission. Wanted to measure the height to make sure it was within the regulations. I tell you, he’s a mad old bird.’
‘He didn’t look daft to me, or old,’ said Hannah hotly, anger suddenly dousing her fear. ‘He was really menacing.’
Conor frowned. ‘What did he look like?’
‘About thirty or forty, dark hair. Quite stocky and big dark eyebrows. Small piggy eyes.’
‘That’s not Moss Murphy. Ah, I bet it’s that nephew of his. I heard he was a hothead. Throwing his weight around down the pub. Sorry for that. I’ll go see Murphy in the morning and have a word with him. Are you feeling better now?’
Hannah nodded although there was still a definite tremor to her limbs. ‘Oh God, what time is it?’
‘Six-thirty.’
She rose to her feet. ‘I’m supposed to be going up to the house for dinner.’
‘That’s probably a good idea. Help you forget about what’s happened.’ He stood up and took a step back and she felt both the physical and metaphorical distance fall between them. ‘I’ll just finish that tap and get out of your hair. Sorry to intrude. I saw you go out for a walk and thought you’d be longer and the tap quicker. Enjoy your stay here.’
She gave him a wan smile, realising that he’d been trying to avoid her and was giving her a clear message that he wouldn’t be seeking her out anytime soon.
It was a shame that the Conor she’d been out to dinner with in Dublin was no longer present and that the Hannah she’d been that night had vanished too. Although, even if he had been in the market for one, she wasn’t the sort to have a holiday fling… or not usually.
Chapter Eight
Hannah approached the hen house with a fair amount of trepidation. She knew nothing about chickens and couldn’t decide whether to be relieved or nervous to find Adrienne waiting for her with a serene smile.
A noisy dinner with the other cookery school students had taken her mind off the unpleasantness of her run-in with shotgun man, although the adrenaline hangover had given her one doozy of a headache. Thankfully this had gone with a good night’s sleep.
‘Morning.’
‘Hello, lovely girl. How are you this morning? I’m so upset for you. How are you feeling?’
‘You heard then?’
