she found that she missed home. ‘It was different for you, Trish,’
Cleo pointed out. ‘You needed to get out.’ Trish’s family were known for their volcanic arguments and door slamming. ‘But I don’t want to leave,’ Cleo said sadly. ‘I know if only I can make them see we’re in trouble, that they’l do something, won’t they?’
‘OK, you have the family conference and tel them they’re doing it al wrong and let’s see what happens,’ Trish said.
‘And don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
As she walked to the bus, Cleo mul ed it al over in her mind. She knew that staying in Carrickwel to revitalise her family business was unlikely to work for al the reasons Trish had mentioned: her father wouldn’t listen to her, and her brothers probably hoped it would fail anyway. Neither Jason nor Barney had shown the slightest inclination to work as hoteliers. Jason worked in the travel business while Barney was a sales manager
in a local car dealership. If the hotel and its land were sold, they could make a lot of money.
Cleo loved her brothers but the age difference between them meant she’d been excluded from their games as a child, and even now there was always a squabble between them when they met.
The bus was waiting, and Cleo got on board. As the bus doors shuddered to a close, she took her scarf off and wriggled lower into her seat to enjoy the ride.
‘Cleo Malin, as I live and breathe. How are you?’
Mrs Irene Hanley, a friend of her mother’s, deposited two huge bags of shopping onto the seat beside Cleo. ‘Can I sit with you? I hate the journey home - drive you mad, wouldn’t it, with boredom?’ Without waiting for an answer, Mrs Hanley had removed her coat, rearranged her shopping on the floor so it fel onto Cleo’s feet, and launched herself into the seat. Built along the same lines as the robust women of Tonga, Mrs Hanley took up al her own seat and a fair percentage of Cleo’s too.
Cleo was pushed nearer the window but al chance of staring happily out of it, in a world of her own, was now gone. Mrs
Hanley was set for chat. First, she produced a box of chocolates from her shopping.
Cleo could feel hunger rising in her like a tidal wave as Mrs Hanley opened the box and dithered happily over her selection before choosing a succulent white chocolate and passing the whole box to Cleo.
‘Have a chocolate - ah, go on,’ she added, as Cleo shook her head. ‘One won’t hurt.’
Cursing herself for being so weak, Cleo took one.
Chocolate caramel with a nut in the middle. She could feel the chocolate sensors in her body going on ful alert. We’re back in business, boys!
‘Maybe I’l have another one,’ she said.
Mrs Hanley’s family, al girls and al with the same statuesque physiques, were apparently either married or nearly married to wildly eligible men.
‘Now Loretta, her fel ow, Lord, he’s fabulous, cal s me his second mummy, wel , he’s taking her to Lanzarote for Valentine’s Day. ‘Loretta, I said, Loretta, hold on to that man, I said.’ Loretta, she was twenty-two last year?’ asked Cleo suddenly, remembering Loretta from the vast Hanley clan. Loretta had worked briefly in the Wil ow as a chambermaid one summer and now ran the Carrickwel office of one of the bus tour companies.
‘My baby.’ Mrs Hanley got al misty and only a dark chocolate nougat could make her feel better.
Cleo sighed and took a cappuccino cream. Since the shortlived thing with Laurent, there was no sign of a man in her life
- except Nat, who didn’t count - never mind one with either the wit or the overdraft to take her to Lanzarote. How did Loretta do it?
Perhaps being less bolshie was the trick. Cleo knew she was tough with men, but you couldn’t change that, could you? A firm hand was what was needed, whether it was throwing drunks out of the hotel at closing time or tel ing men that one date did not entitle them to stare glassily at her cleavage. ‘Nearly there already. Lord,
Cleo pointed out. ‘You needed to get out.’ Trish’s family were known for their volcanic arguments and door slamming. ‘But I don’t want to leave,’ Cleo said sadly. ‘I know if only I can make them see we’re in trouble, that they’l do something, won’t they?’
‘OK, you have the family conference and tel them they’re doing it al wrong and let’s see what happens,’ Trish said.
‘And don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
As she walked to the bus, Cleo mul ed it al over in her mind. She knew that staying in Carrickwel to revitalise her family business was unlikely to work for al the reasons Trish had mentioned: her father wouldn’t listen to her, and her brothers probably hoped it would fail anyway. Neither Jason nor Barney had shown the slightest inclination to work as hoteliers. Jason worked in the travel business while Barney was a sales manager
in a local car dealership. If the hotel and its land were sold, they could make a lot of money.
Cleo loved her brothers but the age difference between them meant she’d been excluded from their games as a child, and even now there was always a squabble between them when they met.
The bus was waiting, and Cleo got on board. As the bus doors shuddered to a close, she took her scarf off and wriggled lower into her seat to enjoy the ride.
‘Cleo Malin, as I live and breathe. How are you?’
Mrs Irene Hanley, a friend of her mother’s, deposited two huge bags of shopping onto the seat beside Cleo. ‘Can I sit with you? I hate the journey home - drive you mad, wouldn’t it, with boredom?’ Without waiting for an answer, Mrs Hanley had removed her coat, rearranged her shopping on the floor so it fel onto Cleo’s feet, and launched herself into the seat. Built along the same lines as the robust women of Tonga, Mrs Hanley took up al her own seat and a fair percentage of Cleo’s too.
Cleo was pushed nearer the window but al chance of staring happily out of it, in a world of her own, was now gone. Mrs
Hanley was set for chat. First, she produced a box of chocolates from her shopping.
Cleo could feel hunger rising in her like a tidal wave as Mrs Hanley opened the box and dithered happily over her selection before choosing a succulent white chocolate and passing the whole box to Cleo.
‘Have a chocolate - ah, go on,’ she added, as Cleo shook her head. ‘One won’t hurt.’
Cursing herself for being so weak, Cleo took one.
Chocolate caramel with a nut in the middle. She could feel the chocolate sensors in her body going on ful alert. We’re back in business, boys!
‘Maybe I’l have another one,’ she said.
Mrs Hanley’s family, al girls and al with the same statuesque physiques, were apparently either married or nearly married to wildly eligible men.
‘Now Loretta, her fel ow, Lord, he’s fabulous, cal s me his second mummy, wel , he’s taking her to Lanzarote for Valentine’s Day. ‘Loretta, I said, Loretta, hold on to that man, I said.’ Loretta, she was twenty-two last year?’ asked Cleo suddenly, remembering Loretta from the vast Hanley clan. Loretta had worked briefly in the Wil ow as a chambermaid one summer and now ran the Carrickwel office of one of the bus tour companies.
‘My baby.’ Mrs Hanley got al misty and only a dark chocolate nougat could make her feel better.
Cleo sighed and took a cappuccino cream. Since the shortlived thing with Laurent, there was no sign of a man in her life
- except Nat, who didn’t count - never mind one with either the wit or the overdraft to take her to Lanzarote. How did Loretta do it?
Perhaps being less bolshie was the trick. Cleo knew she was tough with men, but you couldn’t change that, could you? A firm hand was what was needed, whether it was throwing drunks out of the hotel at closing time or tel ing men that one date did not entitle them to stare glassily at her cleavage. ‘Nearly there already. Lord,
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