Dolly smiled sweetly at him. ‘That’s very kind of you, and we’ll certainly bear that in mind. But the problem is, we’ve only just started and it’s a good job. It’s guaranteed work for the whole season – maybe longer – and the money’s not bad. We don’t want to cause trouble and he is the manager. We’re just hoping that the novelty wears off, or he finds someone else to lech over.’

Grisha had wandered over to Dixie who had yet to speak. She stroked his head gently and confessed in a completely unexpected and rather menacing contralto, ‘If he touches me again, I’ll grab his gooseberries and twist them ’til he shouts.’

Chapter 13

Chapter 13

1973

Grisha was in full flight along the pebbled beach – an elegant, blond-furred streak of ecstatic exuberance finally released from the confines of the dukkering booth. Imelda followed him at a more relaxed pace. It had been a busy day and she had been called upon to relate some difficult truths to several of her clients. Her cards were the story and she was teller. She never altered the plot to make it more pleasing or amended the characters to render them more appealing. But honesty and its aftermath were sometimes hard to bear, and what she did was who she was – a vocation from which there was no vacation. The warm, fresh air and sound of the waves foaming across the pebbles were both soothing and cleansing to her weary and cluttered mind. The gulls swooped overhead and fidgeted in feathered rows along the blue metal railings of the promenade above. In the distance, a figure stood on the shoreline – a lone sentinel staring out to sea. His stillness marked him out from the other people wandering along the beach. He seemed oblivious to everything and everyone except the infinite expanse of water and sky before him. As Grisha approached him, his pace slowed to a trot and he halted several yards away from the man and stood, statue-like, with his long nose in the air, sampling the breeze like a sommelier savouring a particularly fine Barolo. As if sensing the dog’s presence, the man turned around and Imelda saw his face. Cillian Byrne.

For a split second she was tempted to turn and walk away, whistling Grisha to follow her. She wasn’t ready to see him. Emotions that she had yet to fully understand, let alone command were still unfettered and too near the surface for her to be comfortable in his presence. He unsettled and excited her. He appealed to the wild side of her nature that, for the most part, she attempted to suppress for fear of where it might lead her. By Saturday, she would be fine. Prepared. Today was only Thursday. When he raised his hand in greeting it was too late to escape. But she was glad.

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