‘Cable ties?’
‘They’re useful; you never know when you might need one.’
‘When you’re a serial killer possibly. And what’s that?’
‘A candle.’ She pulled a face. ‘In case of power cuts and things. Overkill?’
‘Possibly, but I like that you’re prepared for anything.’
‘I like to call it organised,’ she said, zipping up her fleece and letting loose a big sigh. Now that she was sure she’d got everything she needed she could relax. How lovely to be spending the day outdoors and even better that the weather had decided to be on their side. It was a warm, bright morning and although it was probably heresy round these parts to say it, she was looking forward to a whole day away from the kitchen. A week of cooking with eggs, which seemed to be a delicate balance between science and natural flare, had left her wrung out and she wasn’t sure she ever wanted to see another egg yolk again. She’d had more than her share of disasters, although she was quite pleased she wasn’t on her own. Even Meredith’s soufflé had collapsed and Alan’s sabayon had curdled. Fliss had put her first euro in the jar, although Fliss being Fliss had managed to make the f-word sound posh.
‘Where are we going?’
‘To Dingle. Dingle Bay. It’s quite sheltered there and there’s… well I think I’ll leave it as a surprise.’
‘I’m not sure I like surprises.’ In fact, Hannah didn’t like surprises at all, but saying it out loud always made her sound like a bit of a killjoy. Surprises snuck up on you, you couldn’t prepare for them, and you didn’t know how to school your face to deal with them.
‘Live a little.’ He nudged her with his elbow, setting light to a funny little spark in the bottom of her belly.
Ignoring the fluttery, butterfly wing sensation, she climbed into his big four-wheel drive, determined to enjoy the day. As they set off, rumbling down the track to the main road, she sank into the seat, glad that there was no one around to see them leave. She had a feeling that there’d be a few comments, especially as the two of them were sharing the cottage, and she felt sure she’d blush wildly because they had no idea what she and Conor had got up to the first time they met.
The road wound along the coast and Hannah gazed out of the window, watching the sea that appeared here and there, white surf frothing on the dark, rocky crags below until they turned inland, crossing through wide valleys fringed with rolling hills that were dotted with sheep grazing with contended placidity. Conor drove at a steady speed as they passed the odd car here and there. The pace of life was so much slower than she was used to and she found herself imagining what it would be like to live here. Driving, as she’d already discovered, was a pleasure, instead of the stressful stop-start of the rush hour in Manchester and the manic aggression on the motorways as everyone tried to get home of an evening. It had become an inescapable fact of life and until now she’d never considered that you didn’t have to put up with it.
‘Do you ever get traffic jams here?’ she asked.
‘Yes, when Pádraig O’Brien’s sheep get out on the road. And the summer can be murder, all the coaches touring the Ring of Kerry – they block the roads entirely. There’s an unwritten rule that they drive the route clockwise so you don’t have the coaches trying to pass each other on the boreens. Although some of those drivers drive like fecking eejits.’
‘Boreens?’
‘You know, the smaller roads.’
‘Not heard that one before and can you explain? What is the Ring of Kerry?’
‘It’s a circular drive, a hundred and eleven miles, that takes in some grand sights like Killorglin, Gap of Dunloe, Kenmare, Skellig Michael, and Ross Castle.’
Hannah sighed, enjoying listening to his rolling accent. ‘They all sound wonderful.’
‘Well, I’m biased but I do think you see some of the best Ireland has to offer. Maybe I’ll take you to see a few parts. In Irish it’sMórchuaird Chiarraí.’
An unexpected shiver ran across her skin at the deep register of his voice. The words sounded like a caress and his accompanying smile held a touch of seduction, as if he knew exactly how they’d affected her. Cross that he could read her so well and uncomfortable that he knew it, she said, ‘That sounds like it’s from Tolkien, a place in Middle Earth or something.’
‘Some of us call it the Kingdom of Kerry. There’s no place finer.’ He glanced across at her. ‘I didn’t have you for aLord of the Ringsfan.’
‘I read all the books as a teenager and of course I’ve seen the films.’ She shot him a quick grin, feeling like she was back on steadier ground. ‘Big Aragorn fan, although that might have something to do with Viggo Mortensen.’
‘I’m more of an Eowyn fan myself. Can’t beat a Shieldmaiden of Rohan.’
‘Not Liv Tyler?’
‘No, a bit too ethereal for me. I like a woman who goes into battle. There are lots of warrior goddesses in Irish folklore: Badb, who took the form of a crow, Morrígan, the phantom queen, and their sister, Macha.’
‘I thought Irish folklore had fairies rather than goddesses.’
‘Not fairies originally. Irish mythology includes the Tuatha Dé Danann, supernatural beings who originally lived in the Otherworld but freely interacted with humans. They were eventually driven underground, and the survivors, the Sidhe, or fairies, now live in the mounds that you see all over Ireland. You have to take care that you don’t anger or insult them. They guard their abodes fiercely.’
‘Really?’ She raised sceptical eyebrows, amused by the seriousness of his expression.
‘Oh yes. There are certain places, fairy rings, mounds, particular trees or woods that you trespass upon at your peril.’
