The Irish Lover Read Online Free Page A

of love and companionship that her grandparents, and
apparently her parents, had. That made it hard not to fantasize
about a date with Michael, a future with a man like Michael so
she’d never be alone again.
    “I’ll hold you to that. Have a lovely
afternoon, and Michael, tell your mother I have everything arranged
for her St. Vincent de Paul meeting next week.”
    “I will. Mary?” Michael held out his
arm.
    With her arm threaded through his they made
their way out to his car—a black Jaguar. “Nice ride.”
    Michael winced. “Bought in better times—I wish
I’d been a bit more practical.”
    He held open her door and Mary slid in. “What
do you do?” she asked as he got in to the driver’s seat.
    “I was a mortgage broker. In the height of the
Celtic Tiger that meant I was living very well indeed.”
    “Hence the car.”
    He nodded. “Then, when things started to go bad
I was offered a golden handshake—a nice financial package if I left
early. Only a few months later my coworkers were being laid off
without any severance pay. I was lucky.”
    “I heard the recession hit very hard
here.”
    “Very hard, indeed. Ireland has been through
hard times before, and they’ve come again.”
    “So what do you do now? I heard you live in
Dublin.”
    “Asking about me were you?” Michael’s eyes—a
pretty pale green—sparkled as he smiled at her.
    “No, I mean, I didn’t ask. Sorcha just told
me.”
    “I’m only teasing you, pretty Mary.” They were
driving along the road she’d come in on—the one that curved along
the walls of the glen. Now he turned off, descending once more into
the valley. “I work for the Citizen’s Advice Bureau. The truth of
it is that I was part of the problem, dealing in mortgages that
were rotten. We though that we could do no wrong, that the good
times would never end. So now I help people understand their rights
and options.”
    “That’s noble of you.”
    “Hardly. It’s the least a body can do to help
clean up the mess.” Michael was quiet for a moment, and Mary could
see the effort he was making to come out the dark mood her question
had put him in. “Please God, we’ll see an end to these hard times
soon.”
    Not sure what to say, Mary looked out the
window as they made their way down a winding road flanked by
fields. Soon the fields gave way to the first buildings.
    “Is this Cailtytown?”
    “It is. I’ll give you a bit of a tour before we
stop.”
    The streets were narrow, not made for cars, and
more than once they had to pull to the side, wheels on the
footpath, to allow another car to pass.
    “This here is the town center.”
    There was a small square, with grass sectioned
off by paths, flowers in huge stone urns, and a pedestal in the
center with a life-size statue of man mounted on it.
    “Who is the statue of?” Mary ducked to look out
the window at the figure.
    “No one knows for sure, as the original plaque
is long gone. It’s either the first lord of Glenncailty, or the man
who killed him.”
    “Killed him?”
    “Yes.”
    “There must be a story there.”
    “There’s a story to everything in this part of
the world. Here, we’ll take a bit of a walk so you can see
things.”
    Michael parallel parked in one of the few
parking spaces around the square. When Mary got out, he met her and
offered his arm. The shops around the square were small, but each
one was well kept with brightly painted window trim and wood signs
proclaiming what they were hanging from the front of the two- and
three-story stone buildings.
    “The Lord of Glenncailty was an Englishman,
given the title and our lands in order to subjugate the Irish. Many
lords never set foot in Ireland, instead sending others to collect
taxes and sit as judge and jury, but the Lord of Glenncailty came
and built the manor house that you’re staying in.”
    “The castle?”
    “It’s no proper castle—you’d need to go to Trim
for that—but it was certainly built for