Hot Property (Irish romantic comedy) (19 page)

“Of course it is.” Megan thought of Paudie up in the mountains, checking his flock. So happy. So at one with animals and hills and fields. Was that going to disappear? The wild, mountainy man aspect of him she liked so much? “That’s so much part of you, Paudie. Without it, you’d be—”

“What?”

“Emasculated,” she whispered.

His gaze met hers. He put his hand on her knee and moved closer. “Yes. That’s exactly how I feel. I knew you’d understand, Megs. You always do.”

She put her hand over his. “Yes. Of course. You’re my best friend. I’ve missed you, you know. But I didn’t want to intrude—” She stopped when he moved closer still. What was that look in his eyes? Friendship? No, more than that. Much more.

When he leaned over and took her in his arms, she knew what was going to happen next. What she had been waiting for ever since he stepped into the room. “Oh, Paudie,” she whispered, but was silenced by his mouth on hers in a kiss hotter than the fire flickering in the grate.

His tongue pushed gently into her eager mouth. She responded with fervour and hunger, wanting more, pressing her body against his, her skin burning. His hands slipped from her shoulders to her breasts. Forgetting Dan, Bunny, the organic farming and all the other harassments, she moaned softly as his fingers played with her nipples through the thin fabric of her shirt. His warm lips moved down her neck to the little hollow where she liked to be kissed. How did he know? As he pressed her closer, she could feel he was aroused. A dart of fear shot into her muddled brain.

She broke away. “Please… No… I can’t.”

“Why not?” he whispered into her neck.

“Bunny. You and she are—”

“So over,” he muttered. “What about you and Nolan, then?”

“That’s over too,” she mumbled into his chest.

“I heard he’s moving to Dublin.”

“Good riddance.”

“Yeah.” He started to unbutton her shirt. “Forget them. Forget everything.”

“Okay,” she murmured, feeling all her reservations and fears floating away through the half-open window into the black, still night. His rough, calloused hands were gentle on her skin, his lips soft and velvety. He smelled of soap and something earthy and pungent which mingled into a heady mix she couldn’t resist.

“Oh, yes, right there,” she mumbled, as he instinctively found all her erogenous zones.

Before she could gather her wits, he had taken her shirt off and zipped open her jeans. A few seconds later, they were both naked, their clothes in a pile on the floor. How did he do it? she wondered. How could he strip her so easily and so expertly, touching her most sensitive spots as he went, flicking her nipples with his tongue, then cupping both her breasts in his hands before his slid them down her stomach to her groin, where his fingers did a little dance that excited her beyond control.

He pulled back and looked at her, his eyes scanning her body. “You’re beautiful.”

She blushed. Suddenly shy, she tried to shield herself with the blanket, but he pulled it away. “Don’t be shy. I’ve seen you naked before.”

She froze. “You have? When?”

“The morning after Diana’s party. I saw you swimming. It was five o’clock in the morning, and the sun was just rising.”

“You spied on me?”

Paudie laughed. “No. I’m not a peeping Tom. I was walking on the beach. Couldn’t sleep. There was a bit of an argument, and then I needed to clear my head. So I took Denis and went for a stroll. I go down to the beach sometimes when I need to think. Or say a prayer. It’s better than any church. God’s creation instead of a building. And there you were, coming out of the waves like Venus. Naked. Wearing the old necklace. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so beautiful.”

“Oh God. I saw Denis afterwards but thought nothing of it. I guessed he was out hunting rabbits or something. It was such a bright, beautiful morning and very warm.”

He ran his hands over her hips, grasped her waist and kissed her chest. “I couldn’t get you out of my mind since then.” He lowered himself onto her body.

She closed her eyes as she felt his flat, hairy chest on hers and his erection push between her legs. She grasped his buttocks and arched herself against him. Unlike Dan, he was very well endowed, and she flinched for a moment, wondering how he would fit. But when he slid inside, he filled a void in both her body and heart. They fit together perfectly. It was amazing, she thought as they moved in sublime rhythm, so amazing she thought it was a dream.

But it was real. They came at the same time, something that had never happened to her before. His eyes looked into to hers as the combined force of their climax exploded with stars and comets.

They breathed out in unison and smiled benignly, looking into each other’s eyes. They didn’t speak, didn’t say the clichéd ‘wow’ or ‘this was amazing’, but exchanged a glance that said what words could not express.

Megan closed her eyes and drifted off. As if in a dream, she felt Paudie moving away and cover her with a blanket. She heard him tiptoe out of the room, but she was so tired she couldn’t move or think. She knew he was leaving. She wanted to protest, call him back, tell him to stay but found she couldn’t. She let sleep overtake her. What had happened was too much to take in, too much to worry about. Maybe it was a dream in some kind of twilight zone she had accidentally wandered into?
Paudie
, she thought,
who are you?
What do you want with me?

~ ~ ~

A sound yanked her out of the black hole of sleep she had fallen into. Dazed, she looked around, momentarily confused about where she was or what time it was. The light was still on, and the dying embers of the fire glowed in the grate. There was that sound again. Her phone.

Megan stretched out her arm and fished the phone from the table. She glanced at the caller ID. Beata. She pressed the button. “Hello?”

“Megan?” Beata said in a near sob. “Sorry to disturb you so late. But…”

“What’s the matter?

“It’s Boris,” Beata wept. “He’s—” She stopped. “I can’t bear to talk about it. Please, Megan, will you come here?”

Chapter 19

Megan slowly gathered her wits. Beata’s call had startled her out of the dreamlike state she had been in since Paudie left. She pulled the blanket up to her chin and thought about what had happened earlier. Looking around the room, she somehow expected it to be different, as if a fairy-tale creature had paid a brief visit and then disappeared in a puff of smoke. Then she remembered. She closed her eyes and let the tears come.
Paudie,
she thought.
What was that? Just a brief interlude? We had this amazing sex and then you just left. I never thought you’d do this to me.

The pain was quickly replaced by the searing heat of anger. He was just like all of them. Took what he wanted and then left.
But I’m not going to let it destroy me. Not this time. He can just go to hell. They can all go to hell
, she thought.
All the fucking men on this planet.

Stiff and sore, she got off the couch and walked slowly up the stairs to the bathroom. She stood in a hot shower for a long time, scrubbing herself clean, trying to wash away the pain and the shame she felt at having been used yet again.

Her phone rang again as she dried herself. She ran downstairs.
Paudie
, she thought, her heart lifting,
calling to say he loves me. That he’s sorry he had to leave like that…

But the missed call number was Beata’s, followed by a text message saying “please come as soon as you can.”

~ ~ ~

Megan drove to The Blue Door with a feeling of impending doom. What was going on? Had Boris been found injured, or worse—dead? She stopped the car in a shower of gravel, flung the door open and raced into the kitchen, where she found Beata at the table, looking at a small object in front of her.

She looked up as Megan arrived. “Oh, Megan!”

Breathless, Megan stared at Beata’s red eyes. “What’s the matter? What’s happened?”

Beata started to cry. “It’s Boris. She pointed at the thing before her. “He came with this…”

Megan’s eyes focused on a small, blue velvet box. She reached out, opened it and gasped. “Oh my GOD! This is some rock!”

Beata nodded. “I know,” she wept. “He came here tonight. Just barged into the kitchen while I was having supper. And then he—” She sobbed uncontrollably.

“What? He—what? Come on, tell me!”

“He… he… got on his knees and asked me to… to… marry him.” Beata buried her face in her hands and kept weeping.

Dumbfounded, Megan stared at Beata. “And why is this such a tragedy? A man comes into the kitchen and presents you with this incredible diamond ring and asks you to marry him? Wouldn’t that be any girl’s dream?”

Beata lifted her tear streaked face. “It would if he wasn’t a fucking—Russian!”

Her knees weak, Megan sank down on a chair beside Beata. “What’s so wrong with that?”

“I’m Polish, Megan. Do you know what the Russians did to us? Invaded our country. Forced us into submission. Then we had to learn their language. They were unbelievably cruel. The Soviet regime was brutal. My dad had to leave the country because of his political activities. Many of my relatives—oh, I don’t even want to think about it.”

“But that was a long time ago, surely? I mean, Boris is too young to have—” Megan stopped. “Isn’t it foolish to let history prevent you from loving someone? To let what happened years ago stop you from being happy?”

Beata sniffed. “I don’t think you understand. We fought so long for independence in Poland. We’ve been invaded by so many all through history. And now, when we’re finally a free, proud people, here I go falling in love with the enemy. It’s difficult for you to understand that, I suppose.”

“Hey,” Megan said. “I’m Irish. We were invaded too, you know. Occupied for centuries. Our land taken. My ancestors were forced to learn English and forbidden to speak Irish or even have their own church.”

Beata sighed. “Yeah, but that was even longer ago.”

“A hundred years or so. That’s not very long in history.”

Beata glared at Megan. “Sure. But how would you feel about marrying an Englishman?”

“If I loved him, I wouldn’t hesitate. And my family would be fine with that, even though my great grandfather and his brothers fought in the Civil War. Some of them had to run away to America. But we get on now. The British and Irish have no problem with each other anymore. The hatchet has truly been buried. It’s all
history
, Beata” Megan drew breath. She was suddenly so tired she wanted to lie down on the floor and go to sleep.

Beata pondered for a moment. “Yes, but still…” She sighed deeply.

“How could he afford such a rock, by the way?” Megan asked, eyeing the ring. “It looks like a full carat of the best quality diamond. Must have cost at least six thousand euros.”

“He worked all summer at the surfing school. Then he took off and got a job in a supermarket in Killarney, working overtime. He’s been saving up for two years, he says. Ever since the first time we met.”

“That’s so sweet. Even you must admit that. But you haven’t told me what happened. He proposed and then what?”

Beata sighed. “I wasn’t very nice, I’m afraid. I shouted at him. Something rude—I don’t remember exactly what. I was so shocked by what he did. And I’ve been mad at him ever since he just disappeared without a word. So he ran out and slammed the door. I bet he’s in Mulligans right now getting drunk.”

“What are you going to do?”

Beata shrugged. “Don’t know. I wish things could be the same as before.”

“Things never stay the same.” Megan looked sternly at Beata. “Listen, you have a very rare thing here. A man willing to commit. A man who worked hard for years to give you a beautiful engagement ring. I know and you know that deep down you love him with all your heart. So he’s Russian? So bloody what? You both live in Ireland and, I presume, want to stay here. You’ll end up feeling more Irish than anyone.” Feeling dizzy, Megan drew breath.

Beata stared at her. She opened her mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a loud knock on the back door and a voice, “Beata, there’s been an accident out at Mulligans.”

Beata shot off her chair and tore the door open to reveal a breathless young man, his eyes wild.

“What happened?” she shouted.

“It’s Boris. He got into a bit of an argument outside the pub. There was some kind of scuffle, and then he fell backwards and hit his head on the pavement,” the young man said. “He didn’t get up, so we called an ambulance. He’s on his way to hospital in Tralee. Looks bad, the paramedics said.”

~ ~ ~

The Accident and Emergency ward at Tralee hospital was buzzing. Nurses and paramedics ran around trying to keep up with the demand on the ward. A large number of people with various injuries thronged the waiting room and corridors. Several trollies with seriously injured and ill patients waited outside the cubicles, where doctors in scrubs assessed and treated as many as they could in the shortest possible time.

Beata and Megan looked wildly around, trying to find Boris.

“We have to ask someone,” Megan said. “If he arrived here in an ambulance, they must have registered him or something.”

Beata squeezed Megan’s arm. Her face was pale with a greenish tinge and her eyes bleak. “If he’s dead, he’ll be in the morgue.”

“Don’t be morbid. Come on, we’ll ask that nurse at the reception desk.” Megan pulled Beata along with her and pushed her way to the desk. “Hello,” she said to the nurse who was shuffling papers around and talking on the phone at the same time. “We’re looking for a man who must have arrived here in an ambulance about half an hour ago with head injuries.”

The nurse held up a hand and kept talking into the phone. Megan waited. Beata shivered and whimpered.

The nurse hung up her phone and looked at them. “Name?”

“Megan O’Farrell.”

“No,” the nurse snapped, “the name of the patient.”

“Boris,” Beata said.

The nurse lifted an eyebrow. “And the last name?”

“Demidenko,” Beata said.

The nurse shuffled some more papers until she found what she was looking for. “Here’s the list of the latest admittances.” She scanned the list. “Murphy, O’Mara…Hmm. Oh, yes, here we are… Demidenko, Boris. Admitted about half an hour ago.” She looked at them. “Are you family?”

“N… I mean yes. I’m his… partner,” Beata said. “He has no real family in this country.”

“Okay.” The nurse consulted her piece of paper. “He hasn’t been admitted to a ward yet, so he must be in one of the cubicles. He’ll be there until we find a bed for him.”

“Is he very bad?” Megan asked.

The nurse shrugged. “I can’t tell you that. You’ll have to ask a doctor. If you can find one,” she added as Megan and Beata hurried away.

Beata and Megan went back to the cubicles trying to find Boris. But there was no sign of him.

“Where is he?” Beata sobbed. “Do you think he’s dead and they’ve put him in the morgue? Oh, Megan this is all my fault. If I hadn’t been so stupid this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Please, Beata, shut up. We’ll find him.” Megan flicked open a curtain only to find a woman with both her hands bandaged and a man looking helpless beside her. “Sorry,” she said and closed the curtain.

They continued along the line of cubicles, opening curtains, apologising to injured people and their families. Two bad burns, one heart attack and three hip fractures later, they still hadn’t found Boris. Beata finally looked so distressed Megan had to get her a chair and a cup of tea.

“He’s dead, I tell you,” Beata sobbed. “We have to go to the morgue.”

“Please, Beata, stop saying that. Maybe he’s been admitted to a ward? You can see for yourself how disorganised this place is. Nobody seems to know where anyone is.” She held a cardboard mug of tepid tea to Beata’s lips. “Come on, drink this. It’ll help you feel better. I put plenty of sugar in it.”

Beata took a few sips. “It’s horrible. I need a cigarette.”

“You stopped smoking two weeks ago.”

“I know, but now I really need a fag.”

“Beata!” a voice said.

They looked up. Megan’s jaw dropped.

Beata gasped. “Boris!”

Megan couldn’t believe it. There he was, looking pale and wan with a bandage stuck to the back of his head, holding on to the wall for support.

Beata shot up from her chair. “Boris, sweetheart, please sit down. What are you doing walking around with such an injury?”

He smiled weakly and touched the bandage. “Yes. I got hurt. Hit my head hard.” He sank down on the chair. “But doctor say not too bad. Must rest and good in few days. Got paper for medicine, and then I go back here for check-up in one week.”

“I can’t believe they let you go,” Megan said. “A blow to the head can be very dangerous.”

Boris sat down on the chair Beata had vacated. “Russian head much harder than Irish head.”

Beata put her hand on his shoulder. “We’ll take you home. You need to get to bed.”

“Don’t we all,” Megan said, as a wall of fatigue hit her so hard she nearly sank to the floor.

“Let’s get going, then,” Beata ordered, her usual vim and vigour back in her voice. “Megan, take his arm, and I’ll take the other one.”

A little unsteady, Boris stood up and put one arm around Beata’s shoulder and the other one around Megan. “This way I like. Two pretty girls by my side.” He looked down at Beata. “But what was that you called me?”

“I’m sorry I said those things,” Beata sobbed. “Called you a fucking Russian bastard and… Oh God, I’m such a bitch.”

“Yes, you are” Boris said. “But I don’t mean those things. You always call me that. But just now, you say… you call me—”

Beata looked confused. “What?” Then she blushed. “Oh, that. I said ‘sweetheart’.”

“That’s the one. You never call me that word before.”

“I know. I never felt like it.” Beata looked adoringly at Boris. “But now I do, you fucking Russian bastard.”

Boris beamed. “I love you, Beata, my very own Polish bitch.”

~ ~ ~

The happy conclusion of Boris’ adventure ended back at The Blue Door with tea and a plateful of chocolate chip cookies. But the sight of Beata sitting on Boris’ knee, kissing him between bites of cookie and slurps of tea, made Megan feel like an intruder. She excused herself and drove back to her house, bleary-eyed. It was now three in the morning. Too exhausted to get upstairs to bed, she simply crawled under the blanket on the couch.

Beata’s happiness had made her own misery even more unbearable.
Everyone’s happy except me
, she thought, tears spilling into her ears as she lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling. She closed her burning eyes, exhaustion finally taking over. She half noticed the breeze from the open window ruffling newspapers and blowing bits of papers onto the floor but was too tired to do anything about it. Sleep finally won over heartache, and she drifted off to sleep.

~ ~ ~

Megan threw herself into work. It was the only way to cope with the turmoil in her mind, and the memory of the night with Paudie. She had called him the following morning but only got his voicemail, so she left a message. He didn’t reply. She sent him a text message asking him to call her back. He didn’t. His silence was puzzling and hurtful but she couldn’t bring herself to call him again.