‘We have lots of older travellers staying. Olivia, why not give it a week’s trial? Run it past Deirdre legally. Tell Celine there are rats in her room. Bed bugs. That you need to fumigate her entire floor. Or tell her I came begging. That I’m hoping to attract an older demographic. Well-heeled, well-travelled, sophisticated but also budget-conscious men and women. I need a trial guest. A discerning elderly guinea pig. Now I say it, that’s exactly what I do want.’

‘She’ll insist on room service.’

‘She can have it. In our case it’s called Deliveroo. All she eats is burgers anyway. There’s a good chipper down the road. I’ll fetch it myself. It’d be cheaper than the prices here, anyway.’

‘Are you serious about this?’

‘Deadly serious,’ he said.

It just might work, she realised. Even temporarily. ‘Thank you, Alex. Thank you very much.’

‘You don’t want to ask me about the gin I’ve taken? The wine? The paintings?’

‘Is there any point?’

‘Not really.’

‘Are you taking care of the paintings?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then our meeting is concluded. And frankly, the way I’m feeling, if you manage to lure Celine into your hostel long enough to give me even a short break, you can drain our liquor store dry.’

‘Are you serious?’

‘Deadly serious,’ she echoed.

‘So we’ll give it a try?’ he said.

‘We’ll give it a try,’ Olivia replied.

He stood up. He was smiling. ‘It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Olivia.’

‘And you, Alex.’

It truly had been. As she’d walked up the stairs to face Celine, she’d almost had a spring in her step.

Chapter Thirty-five

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

In Trim, Emmet was having difficulty concentrating on his usual morning bar tasks. He’d barely slept the previous two nights. He checked his watch again. Not even eight a.m. yet. Another hour before it was time to go to his mother’s house. Not only to see her. To see Eliza again too.

He made himself a coffee and sat at one of the tables in the empty pub, trying to put his thoughts into some kind of order. He’d been trying, and failing, ever since the conversation he’d had with Dervla when they got home after the pub quiz.

They’d lain in bed talking until the early hours, as they often did. This time only about Eliza, of course. As Dervla said, it wasn’t every day a random Australian woman turned up asking if you were her father.

‘Let’s meet Eliza for a coffee before she heads back to Scotland,’ he’d said to Dervla. ‘I was no help on the father front, but she might like to hear more stories about Jeannie.’