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Authors: Ruth Hamilton
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fault. They adored each other.’
‘I didn’t mean—’
‘Don’t worry, Mr Mulligan. I know that you did not intend any harm. It’s just that Eliza, Margot and I are all Mother has. We must look after her and protect her.’
He allowed a slight smile of encouragement to occupy his features for a split second. ‘I shall put my cards on the table, as we—’
‘Perhaps that metaphor is misplaced,’ she said wryly. ‘Since playing-cards were the cause of our changing fortunes.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Not at all.’ She watched him. He seemed so ill-at-ease, so unused to the vagaries of everyday life. Yet he was intelligent – that much was plain. Perhaps the rumour that he
had been raised in a remote part of Ireland was based in truth, then. He was clearly not fond of company, would rather have been alone. The books would be in the library, she decided obliquely. She
remembered Father reading stories aloud in there—
‘Miss Burton-Massey?’
‘Sorry, I was miles away.’
‘Miles away is often the best place to be,’ he answered.
Emboldened by his slightly friendlier tone, she asked, ‘What is your real job?’
‘I teach,’ he replied, after a tiny pause.
‘In Ireland?’
‘Yes.’ He fiddled with a paperclip. ‘Of course, I had to come over to sort out my father’s affairs. It was only after his death that I heard about this house and all that
property in Bolton. As far as I was concerned, he was still living hand to mouth and . . . well . . . drinking when he could get the price of whiskey or beer. I had no idea.’
It was her turn to smile encouragingly.
‘I wish your mother would just take the place away from me. I don’t want it, you see. But I’m not prepared to let it stand empty and wither away to nothing. I tried the
partnership idea, but she scotched that straight away. So, unless you, or you and your sisters, will help me, I am at something of a loss.’
Amy knew that whatever she chose to do, the decision would not be easy. But she also realized that she wanted work, responsibility, a niche in the world. ‘There’s a lot of thinking
to be done,’ she told him. ‘I shall be plain. We have very little money. We are living on interest only, as Mother dare not touch her capital. Therefore, Margot, Eliza and I must each
make a living.’
‘And your mother dislikes me, wants nothing to do with me.’
‘She dislikes what happened between my father and yours.’
He shook his head very slowly. ‘No, Miss . . . Amy. I am not easy with strangers. I don’t seem to have the knack of communicating easily. Few people take to me.’
‘Yet you teach? Surely communication is important in that sphere?’
‘I am good with children.’
‘Ah.’ Perhaps he needed to be older than his companions, needed to be bigger, stronger and in charge. Yet in this man, there was a deep seam of something or other. Was it certainty?
Was it arrogance? He was definitely beautiful. Not merely handsome, but carved to perfection, every line correct, every feature balanced and well proportioned. Amy wriggled in her chair. Assessing
a man’s physical attributes was not a comfortable occupation.
‘Would you like something to drink?’ he asked. ‘Tea, coffee?’
She declined. ‘I think you underestimate yourself, James.’ She tried the name for size, saw that he did not mind, did not flinch. ‘I have the feeling that you could make an
excellent businessman.’
He raised a shoulder. ‘I have to go home. Two years is all I have allowed to sort out the Grange.’
Amy decided to wade right into deep water. ‘Sell it, then,’ she challenged. ‘If you don’t want it, get rid of it.’
James Mulligan rose and walked to the window. ‘Have you any idea of the damage an alcoholic gambler can do in a matter of months?’
‘Well,’ she answered thoughtfully, ‘my own father drank a great amount after returning from the war.’
‘Then there was the gambling,’ he added. ‘My father .
‘I didn’t mean—’
‘Don’t worry, Mr Mulligan. I know that you did not intend any harm. It’s just that Eliza, Margot and I are all Mother has. We must look after her and protect her.’
He allowed a slight smile of encouragement to occupy his features for a split second. ‘I shall put my cards on the table, as we—’
‘Perhaps that metaphor is misplaced,’ she said wryly. ‘Since playing-cards were the cause of our changing fortunes.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Not at all.’ She watched him. He seemed so ill-at-ease, so unused to the vagaries of everyday life. Yet he was intelligent – that much was plain. Perhaps the rumour that he
had been raised in a remote part of Ireland was based in truth, then. He was clearly not fond of company, would rather have been alone. The books would be in the library, she decided obliquely. She
remembered Father reading stories aloud in there—
‘Miss Burton-Massey?’
‘Sorry, I was miles away.’
‘Miles away is often the best place to be,’ he answered.
Emboldened by his slightly friendlier tone, she asked, ‘What is your real job?’
‘I teach,’ he replied, after a tiny pause.
‘In Ireland?’
‘Yes.’ He fiddled with a paperclip. ‘Of course, I had to come over to sort out my father’s affairs. It was only after his death that I heard about this house and all that
property in Bolton. As far as I was concerned, he was still living hand to mouth and . . . well . . . drinking when he could get the price of whiskey or beer. I had no idea.’
It was her turn to smile encouragingly.
‘I wish your mother would just take the place away from me. I don’t want it, you see. But I’m not prepared to let it stand empty and wither away to nothing. I tried the
partnership idea, but she scotched that straight away. So, unless you, or you and your sisters, will help me, I am at something of a loss.’
Amy knew that whatever she chose to do, the decision would not be easy. But she also realized that she wanted work, responsibility, a niche in the world. ‘There’s a lot of thinking
to be done,’ she told him. ‘I shall be plain. We have very little money. We are living on interest only, as Mother dare not touch her capital. Therefore, Margot, Eliza and I must each
make a living.’
‘And your mother dislikes me, wants nothing to do with me.’
‘She dislikes what happened between my father and yours.’
He shook his head very slowly. ‘No, Miss . . . Amy. I am not easy with strangers. I don’t seem to have the knack of communicating easily. Few people take to me.’
‘Yet you teach? Surely communication is important in that sphere?’
‘I am good with children.’
‘Ah.’ Perhaps he needed to be older than his companions, needed to be bigger, stronger and in charge. Yet in this man, there was a deep seam of something or other. Was it certainty?
Was it arrogance? He was definitely beautiful. Not merely handsome, but carved to perfection, every line correct, every feature balanced and well proportioned. Amy wriggled in her chair. Assessing
a man’s physical attributes was not a comfortable occupation.
‘Would you like something to drink?’ he asked. ‘Tea, coffee?’
She declined. ‘I think you underestimate yourself, James.’ She tried the name for size, saw that he did not mind, did not flinch. ‘I have the feeling that you could make an
excellent businessman.’
He raised a shoulder. ‘I have to go home. Two years is all I have allowed to sort out the Grange.’
Amy decided to wade right into deep water. ‘Sell it, then,’ she challenged. ‘If you don’t want it, get rid of it.’
James Mulligan rose and walked to the window. ‘Have you any idea of the damage an alcoholic gambler can do in a matter of months?’
‘Well,’ she answered thoughtfully, ‘my own father drank a great amount after returning from the war.’
‘Then there was the gambling,’ he added. ‘My father .
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