‘Thanks, but we’ll head over to the café!’ Fergal pulled open the door for Harriet with alacrity.
‘If I’d known you were working I’d never have come in,’ Harriet was dismayed by the embarrassment she appeared to have caused him. ‘Is the bar a family business?’
‘Dooleys belongs to my uncle. After my father died we moved in with him. But I’d give anything to train horses full time.’ Fergal pulled out a chair for her occupation in the cosy café across the street. ‘But helping Ma run the bar is my bread and butter.’
Harriet unbuttoned her fleece jacket. ‘I want to keep you informed about what’s happening at the yard.’ She gave him a brief rundown on what he needed to know. ‘From here on in Rafael Flynn will be my partner.’
‘I’m thinking it’ll be a challenge for him to share anything, for he’s always the big boss. But he was born knowing more about horseflesh than some learn in a lifetime. He picks winners time and time again,’ Fergal volunteered with honest admiration. ‘Do you reckon he’ll want me out of the stables?’
‘That’s what I don’t know as yet.’ Distracted by the sound of a car braking hard on the street outside, Harriet glanced out of the window.
Across the street a big black Range Rover had come to a halt. Her attention sharpened as Rafael Flynn sprang out in an apparent attempt to intercept the girl hurrying with her head down in the opposite direction. His lean, strong face was hard as granite as he blocked her path.
‘My goodness, that’s Una!’ Harriet exclaimed in astonishment. ‘What on earth is he doing?’
When the teenager visibly broke down into tears of distress, Fergal looked miserably uncomfortable and averted his eyes. ‘Well, her half-brother was certain to find out eventually that she wasn’t safe in school, like he thought,’ he sighed. ‘She’s been running round trying to avoid him. I felt guilty for not telling him. A few other people did too, but you don’t like to get her in trouble.’
On the brink of racing outside to intercede on Una’s behalf, Harriet froze halfway out of her chair. ‘Her…half-brother? Una is Rafael Flynn’s half-sister?’
‘Sorry, I should’ve realised you wouldn’t know. But it’s an open secret round here because it was such a scandal when it happened. Her mother and his father—well…’ Fergal frowned. ‘Rafael’s father didn’t take responsibility, but when he found out about her Rafael did. Fair play to him, he’s done his best for Una, but she fights him every step of the way.’
‘She said her brother was scarier than scary,’ Harriet groaned, watching the teenager slink into Rafael’s car with the defeated aspect of a prisoner being taken into custody. ‘I wish she’d confided in me.’
‘He’s only trying to keep her in school and out of trouble.’
‘Does she live with her mother during the holidays?’
‘With her married sister. But Philomena is too laid back to keep Una on a tight leash.’
Harriet called in to the newspaper shop to buy her favourite horse magazine. The owner chatted to her with the easy friendliness and unapologetic curiosity that was so characteristic of Ballyflynn. Although Harriet was worried about Una, she attempted to put what she had seen out of her mind. After all, Fergal had made it clear that Rafael had the teenager’s best interests at heart, and it was not her place to interfere. But all she could think about was what a disaster Rafael and Una could easily be as siblings—for both of them were equally proud and stubborn and strong willed.
Just before she got back into the pick-up she noticed a display of handcrafted jewellery in the window of the exclusive gift shop and art gallery at the top of the street. A pair of flamboyant beaded drop earrings caught her eye; it would be Nicola’s birthday in a couple of weeks. The shop was packed, though, and she decided she didn’t have the time to queue. Before she could get back into her car, Fergal’s mother came out to invite her over to supper on Sunday evening. Harriet was surprised, but accepted with a smile and rushed off. In a couple of hours she had her meeting with Rafael Flynn, and she wanted the yard to be spick and span for his visit.
At five minutes to two that afternoon Harriet was flat on the floor of her bedroom, trying to get the zip up on her favourite jeans. It was at the precise moment when success was within a half-inch of achievement that she heard a large vehicle pull up outside. In dismay, she released her breath, and the zip slid straight down again. While she was struggling to regain lost ground, a knock sounded on the front door. With an anguished moan, she tore off the jeans in a feverish surge of activity. As she had neglected to close the curtains, she scurried on her knees over to the chest of drawers to yank out a pair of mercifully stretchy riding breeches. Shimmying frantically into them, she scrambled upright, saw the glossy black Range Rover parked outside, and raced for the front door.
‘Sorry—was I too punctual?’ Rafael asked, wicked dark eyes glittering over her decidedly tousled appearance.
He looked effortlessly, classily stupendous, in a brown waxed jacket, breeches and leather riding boots. With the greatest difficulty Harriet fought the urge to smooth a tidying hand through her tumbled copper hair. ‘No, I’ve been cleaning out the tack room,’ she told him with studied casualness, reasoning that that was what she had been doing before she’d realised that she was running late and hurried indoors to wash and change. ‘I lost track of the time. What would you like to look at first?’
‘Been there, done that…Unless you’ve made sweeping changes?’ A questioning ebony brow inclined. ‘No, I didn’t think so.’
Momentarily thrown by what she suspected had been an opening designed to deflate any pretensions she might have, Harriet decided to take the hint and get straight down to business. ‘OK. Let’s move on,’ she suggested, pulling shut the door behind her to prevent Peanut and Samson galloping out and destroying her business credibility.
‘Item one on our agenda,’ Rafael drawled before she even got the chance to speak again, ‘has to be this cottage. I want it restored.’
‘I understand that, but—’
‘Naturally I would cover all costs.’
Her pale smooth brow furrowed, her surprise patent. ‘But this is where I live—’
‘I now own half of it,’ Rafael pointed out smoothly. ‘At this point I’ll settle for having the exterior restored. I’ll bring in an architectural historian to do an appraisal, but I should imagine that one of the first steps will be re-thatching the roof.’
As the cottage was an historic building, his concern was reasonable, Harriet conceded reluctantly. Nor did she feel that she could raise an objection when he was offering to foot the bill. Yet by making so immediate a claim to his right to repair the very roof over her head he was striking right at the heart of her security. The reminder that he owned half her home could only be unwelcome.
‘I’m making a logical request,’ Rafael remarked.
‘In theory I have no objection, as long as I don’t find changes being imposed without my agreement. You have to respect the fact that this is my home. I’d also have to run this by a solicitor, to check that you couldn’t later claim to have a right to a bigger share of the property because you covered the restoration costs.’