Breakfast at Darcy's (42 page)

‘I need cash, there are … people I need to pay back. So that’s where Eamon came in. I’d suspected for a while he might have
something valuable hidden up in that cottage of his. When I found out exactly what it was I came up with a plan. I just had
to wait for a suitable time to get in there. You running off like you did tonight, with the whole island distracted looking
for you, was just the chance I needed.’

I stare at Conor, unable to believe what I’m hearing.

‘B … but you couldn’t possibly have removed all this stuff,’ I wave my hands at the wooden boxes, ‘without anyone seeing you.
And what about Eamon? How come he didn’t wake up?’

‘I actually waited until everyone was tucked up in their beds. At least, I thought everyone was.’ He glares over at Dermot
again.

‘But what about Eamon?’ I repeat. ‘I know he’s elderly, but he’s not deaf.’

‘That’s the thing,’ Conor says, a puzzled look crossing his face. ‘Eamon wasn’t there when I broke into his cottage.’

‘So where was he?’

Conor shrugs. ‘I don’t know. Maybe out for a walk?’

‘In the middle of the night?’ I exclaim.

‘Funnily enough, Darcy, it wasn’t the first thing on my mind at the time.’

‘No,’ I say sarcastically, ‘I suppose it wouldn’t be.’ I still can’t believe I am actually having this conversation with Conor.
The man I’d just spent the last six months of my life with.
Conor
, even his name should have warned me of what was to come. ‘But wait a minute,’ I exclaim as something suddenly occurs to
me. ‘You said you were going to con me out of my inheritance at the end of my year here, but you couldn’t have known when
you came to Tara that I was going to inherit any money. No one knew Molly’s plan, only Niall and Dermot.’

‘And a certain bartender you told your life story to in London one evening, when you’d been chucked out of your friend’s party.
They’re a great place to meet wealthy, good-looking women – bars.’

I think about what he’s saying. ‘Oh, my God, that was
you
!’ I exclaim, remembering Samantha’s party in the wine bar. ‘But I was so drunk that night.’

‘I know,’ Conor smiles, ‘but you were very talkative.’

My mind is racing almost as fast as my heart now. ‘I told Megan I thought I knew you from somewhere when I first met you,
just like she did.’

Conor nods. ‘I suppose I must be a better actor than they
ever realised on that Yankee soap opera. It’s part of what I do. But here, I was virtually playing myself.’ He shrugs and
looks out at the landscape. I search the sea-blue eyes that I once described as clear and inviting. They now seem nothing
but treacherous. Megan had been right. ‘But there was one drawback to my whole plan, Darcy, apart from you falling in love
with this damn island.’

I look up at him in bewilderment.

‘Me falling in love with you.’

My bewilderment turns to astonishment.

‘It’s true,’ he says, gazing at me with those big blue eyes. ‘You, Darcy McCall, are something a bit special, so you are.’
He glances up at Dermot still standing on the hill a little way away from us. ‘Come away with me, Darcy,’ he whispers, running
his hand gently down my cheek. ‘We can still make away with the boat before Bob the Builder gets to us. The stuff on board
is worth a fortune; we can live like kings for years on this. Forget about Tara; you can have designer clothes and shopping
sprees every day, if you like. What’s that in comparison to a draughty old island and some faded memories?’

I look back at the deck of the boat covered in the boxes full of Eamon’s things, and then I look at Conor’s expectant face,
waiting for my reply. Finally I turn to Dermot, waiting patiently on the hillside.

‘Dermot, I think you’d better get back down here,’ I call. ‘Golden Balls is being shown the red card. Please escort him from
the island.’

Dermot immediately jumps down into the boat and begins unloading the boxes that contain Eamon’s things, while Conor simply
watches stony-faced, occasionally trying to catch my
eye. But I’m having none of it, and stand resolutely on the harbour with Woody and Louis by my side.

The last I see of the two of them is the boat finally departing from the harbour, unusually with Dermot at the helm. While
I’d been waiting I’d wondered whether I should contact the Garda across on the mainland; after all, Conor was stealing from
Eamon. But I didn’t want to make this any worse or upsetting than it already was. Eamon and the others would be devastated
when they found out than Conor had been fooling us all with his act; they didn’t need police officers asking them hundreds
of questions.

His act
. I could hardly believe I’d fallen for it. He’d seemed so convincing, so genuine. How could I have been so gullible? The
final straw had been all that waffle he’d tried to fob me off with just now, about falling in love with me. Even to the very
end he’d been trying to spin me his blarney.

Maybe I had been right about love, before I’d come here to Tara. You
were
better off without relationships. They were nothing but trouble, and they always finished badly in the end.

I look down at the boxes on the harbour. It’s already daylight, and it won’t be long before Eamon wakes up and notices his
things are missing. But Conor had said Eamon hadn’t been in his cottage when he’d taken all this stuff. Where on earth could
he be at this time of the morning? I decide to take Woody and Louis to investigate, and to explain to Eamon just what has
been going on.

But as the dogs and I head up the path towards Eamon’s cottage, I stop and pause for a moment to look out over the bay at
all the dolphins swimming about in the sea below. ‘Guys, just
look at them all!’ I exclaim to the dogs, as they sniff about on the grass next to me. ‘I’ve never seen so many down there
before.’

But these dolphins look different. When I’ve seen them down in the bay before they’ve always been diving and playing in the
water. These ones just swim mutedly round and round in circles. They seem very calm. Too calm, almost …

We carry on along the path, and when we finally arrive at Eamon’s cottage we find no signs of life. The front door is left
banging open in the wind.
Damn you, Conor
, I think as a feeling of revulsion spreads right through me.
How
could
you do that to Eamon?

I gently pull the door closed and wonder which way Eamon might have headed off in. He’s obviously gone on one of his early-morning
walks. But even for Eamon, this is particularly early. ‘Let’s go this way,’ I instruct the dogs, heading towards the coastal
path I know is one of Eamon’s favourites.

As we approach the edge of the cliff I can see a large cluster of rocks facing out to sea, and leaning up against one of the
rocks is Eamon’s walking stick.

Two legs protrude from in front of one of the big rocks, as though someone’s sitting with their back against it, soaking up
the sunshine and enjoying the view out to sea.

At last
, I think, heading around to the other side of the rock. And there he is; Eamon, sitting, looking as relaxed and happy as
I think I’ve ever seen him, with the early-morning sun pouring down on his face. He has his eyes closed, so I assume maybe
he’s nodded off in the sun.

‘Eamon,’ I whisper, crouching down next to him. ‘Eamon, it’s me, Darcy.’

He doesn’t appear to hear me, so I speak a bit louder.

‘Eamon, wake up, you’ve nodded off in the sun.’

I reach out to touch his arm, but I snatch my hand back immediately when I find his skin isn’t warm to the touch like it should
be but cold, very, very cold.

‘No!’ I cry, leaping to my feet.
This can’t be happening, it can’t. Not after everything.
I shake my head.
No, this still must be that awful dream from before.
I even pinch myself hard on the arm in the hope I’ll wake up. But I don’t.

‘Eamon,’ I say again in a small voice, looking down at him. ‘Please, you can’t leave us now. We need you here on Tara. I need
you.’

But Eamon doesn’t respond.

Woody and Louis wander around the other side of the rock. They take one look at Eamon and immediately lie down next to him,
their tails drooping and their heads bowed.

I kneel down next to Eamon myself and take hold of his hand, holding it in between my own. ‘Oh, Eamon,’ I sob, tears beginning
to run down my face and onto his tweed jacket. ‘You were my only link with Molly. My last bit of family. And now you’re gone.’

‘Am I really the right person to be doing this?’ Dermot asks as we’re about to let ourselves into Eamon’s cottage. ‘I feel
really uncomfortable about it.’

‘I’m hardly over the moon to be going through Eamon’s belongings either, but we need to find out if he had any relatives before
the funeral next week, and this is the only way.’

After the traumatic events of that fateful morning, Eamon’s body had been carried back from the cliff edge and laid out to
rest in a plain coffin that Dermot and Paddy had immediately built after hearing the news. The next day we then had to witness
the sad sight of watching the coffin being sailed away from Tara in a boat back to the mainland, where it was to remain in
a funeral home until Eamon’s service next week at a church in the town.

Everyone is devastated.

‘For someone who lived apart from the rest of us, Eamon
really seems to have had a profound effect on everyone,’ Niall comments to me.

‘He didn’t say much,’ I say, thinking about him. ‘But what he did say really meant something.’

We debate whether the best thing for Megan is to return with Eileen for the time being. But Megan insists she wants to stay.
In the middle of everyone’s grief and sorrow comes the complicated task of explaining Conor’s sudden absence from the island.
I end up telling everyone that his wanderlust has kicked in again, and that he has needed to move on. Most of the islanders
seem to accept this.

But not Roxi.

‘Something isn’t adding up, Darce,’ she says when I try and fob her off with the usual reasoning behind his disappearance.
‘The guy was nuts about you.’

‘No, he wasn’t,’ I sigh, knowing I should have just come clean with her to begin with. ‘He was nuts about my money – or at
least, the thought of it.’

I explain the whole sorry tale to Roxi.

‘And you let him get away with it!’ she explodes as I finish. ‘I’d have taken his golden balls and raised them up above Tara
on a flagpole if he’d done that to me … and to poor Eamon.’ She crosses herself and wipes away a tear; Roxi has taken Eamon’s
death very badly. Then she takes a deep breath. ‘What a sleazebag.’

I nod sadly. ‘Yep, a sleazebag indeed. But I didn’t want to cause more upset by making a fuss. We’d have had all that to cope
with as well as a funeral to organise.’

‘I suppose.’ Roxi shrugs. ‘Oh,
Darce
.’ She throws her arms around my neck and almost strangles me with the ferocity of
her hug. ‘I’m sorry it went so wrong. Even I thought this was a good ’un.’

‘Thanks,’ I say, loosening myself from her grip slightly. ‘I think I’m giving up on men altogether from now on.’

‘No!’ Roxi admonishes, waggling her finger in my face. ‘Don’t you ever say that. I swear to you, Darcy, you
will
find your Mr Right one day.’

‘You’ve been saying that for years, Roxi. I really think I’m past caring now.’

Roxi narrows her eyes in a determined fashion. ‘Hmm, we’ll see about
that
.’

With everyone up to speed on Conor, and the task of organising the funeral under way, it’s left up to Dermot and me to find
out whether Eamon has any other family we need to contact about his death. I’ve never known Eamon mention anyone, but that
doesn’t mean he doesn’t have any. We decide the only way to find out is to visit his cottage. We’ve also left it until now
to return all the boxes of things Conor tried to steal from Eamon. No one has quite felt like returning to his house in the
last couple of days, so as we stand outside the little cottage now, we’re surrounded by wooden packing cases and crates of
antiques.

‘Perhaps you should have asked Niall to accompany you,’ Dermot suggests as I turn the handle and open up the door to Eamon’s
cottage.

‘Niall is busy organising some paperwork for the funeral.’

‘What paperwork? I thought you were doing most of it.’

I wasn’t too sure either what Niall was doing, but he’s said he’s got things to organise, so I’ve left him to it.

‘I’m not sure, and anyway, you make a better removals man.’

‘Thanks,’ Dermot says with a lopsided smile, lifting one of the larger crates off the ground as though it’s a beach ball.

‘Wow! Just
look
at all this stuff!’ I exclaim as I walk though into one of the little rooms.

‘What is it?’ Dermot asks, following me. ‘Blimey, if Conor had tried to take all this he’d have sunk the boat.’

The tiny room is lined from ceiling to floor on two walls with shelves containing vases, pots, goblets, plates and many other
ancient-looking objects, and on the other wall are swords and shields. There are empty places where Conor has removed some
of the items, and a shiver runs through me.

‘What’s up?’ Dermot asks, seeing me. ‘Are you cold?

‘No,’ I hug myself. ‘I just can’t bear the thought of him in here stealing from Eamon while Eamon … ’ I turn my face away
and go over to the window. I stare out of it and try not to think about Eamon all alone by that rock.

Dermot joins me, and I feel his arm around my shoulders.

‘It’s OK, I feel just the same. It was pretty hard for me not to deck him that night at the harbour. Or when I took him back
across to the mainland. And that was before I even knew about Eamon.’

I look up at him. ‘I can imagine. So why didn’t you, then?’

‘Because I knew that’s not what
you
wanted.’

Why does everything always feel like it’s going to be all right when Dermot’s this close? Why do I always feel so safe when
his arms are around me …?