It’s hard to get huge numbers these days without the presence of a fashion-setting blogger or trendy celebrity. Exotic canapés and mulled wine help, though.
‘Didn’t you see the news? There’s a rain warning in place,’ Megan interjects. I might not have many friends, but the few I do always have my back.
James attempts to squash his burly six-foot-five frame into Miriam’s Mini Cooper, wincing at the cramped space.
‘Wait!’ Miriam barks and I flinch. ‘I need my cameras from the boot.’
James steps out, sighs with relief and opens the tiny compact boot. As he retrieves Miriam’s equipment, one of the younger porters slips into the driver’s seat and offers James a thumbs-up.
The estate might not be the most financially viable, but the staff are the best. Many have been with my family for years. Most have become more like friends than employees.
It’s a blessing and a curse, because if I don’t pull something spectacular out of the bag, people I care deeply for might not have jobs this time next year. And it’ll be all my fault.
Waitresses in crisp black-and-white uniforms circulate offering delicious canapés, champagne and mulled wine from gleaming silver trays. The poor girls have been polishing them like mad all week, warned of the importance of maintaining a convincing display of luxury.
Miriam takes a champagne flute, knocks back its contents in three mouthfuls, then scans the premises, hopefully for where she might capture the best photos.
‘It’s probably better to leave her to it.’ Megan grips my elbow, steering me in the other direction. ‘We don’t want to look desperate.’
She halts a passing waitress, takes two champagne flutes from her tray and presses one firmly into my hand.
‘You know how much is riding on the Christmas turnover. I need bookings to go through the roof. I need to be hosting Christmas parties every single night of the week if we have a hope in hell of staying open next year.’
Megan smooths her auburn spiral curls from her face and takes a sip from her own crystal flute. ‘Don’t panic until the meeting with the accountant on Monday. It might not be as bad as you think.’
It already is. I’ve just been burying my head in the sand.
The bookings simply haven’t materialised this year, or last for that matter. Yet due to the poor insulation and utterly unpredictable Irish weather, the entire estate still needs to be heated year round, ever ready, just in case.
Ever the optimist, I’ve a habit of over-ordering produce for the kitchen. Most of which ends up being donated to Dublin’s homeless shelters. It’s far from ideal but it warms my heart to know it doesn’t go to waste.
But the extent of my problems isn’t something I wish to share with anyone, not even my best friend and most valued member of staff. Megan has her own responsibilities, caring for her sick mother, and overseeing the running of her family’s farm until her brother is discharged from the army next year, as well as working full-time for me.
‘Sasha, Sasha!’ Victoria, my youngest sister bursts from between the castle’s humongous wrought-iron doors. She leaps down the steps two at a time.
‘Careful, child! You’ll break your neck on those stairs!’ I warn as she bounds over like an excited Labrador, her long hazel hair trailing in her wake. Placing my arm round her shoulder, I attempt to shelter her bare skin from the chill.
‘Child? I’ll be eighteen next year!’ Horror taints her tone.
‘Where’s your jacket? It’s freezing out here.’ It’s official – at the age of twenty-eight – I’ve turned into my mother.
Many women my age are hanging round elegant wine bars, sipping post-work drinks after a long and gruelling day at the office.
Me? I’m nagging my sister to do her homework, floss her teeth and stay away from irrefutably attractive, but utterly unreliable boys. She’s a late developer, but one can’t be too careful. I wish my mother had instilled that wise gem of advice into me.
Ten years after Ryan’s instant and shocking departure, my heart still aches when he springs to mind. I try not to think about him, but despite my best efforts it’s pretty fucking difficult when his voice regularly booms out over the radio and his exquisite face hijacks my television.
In these instances, I remind myself the asshole upped and left without a backwards glance when I needed him the most, and kill the noise source as quickly as my size-five feet will carry me. Unfortunately, it isn’t fast enough to avoid the searing pain which still stupidly penetrates my heart.
The very same night I tragically lost my parents in a car accident, I lost my boyfriend too. He didn’t get taken from me though. He chose to leave. It hurt every bit as much, possibly even more.
I returned from the hospital with my sister to find Ryan’s cabin empty. He’d vanished along with his father and brother.
Never to be seen or heard from again, until seven years ago when an American record label signed him and he became an international superstar practically overnight.
Every time he pops up somewhere it rips my heart into a million shreds. I’ve banned radios in the castle kitchens, but only Megan and Conor, our gorgeous and talented head chef, know why.
‘Sasha, you’re not listening to me!’ Victoria tugs at the front of my dress. She’s almost as tall as me now, almost the same age I was when I inherited her and this estate.
