Page 56 of The Secret Bookshop in Ireland

‘And I like old people,’ Ciara said. ‘Because they have so much to say.’

‘We do,’ Nuala agreed. ‘And now I’m going to drink my tea and try some of the nice things on that tray.’ She sipped her tea and reached out for a scone that had been liberally laced with cream and jam.

While Nuala nibbled at her scone, Ciara looked around the room at the other guests enjoying the food and cups of tea. She saw that her mother was deep in conversation with a group of people and realised that Maureen was busy networking. Then her gaze drifted to the framed landscapes on the walls, the stained parquet floor, the period fireplace and the tall windows overlooking a somewhat scruffy garden where roses were just starting to bloom. ‘This must have been such a beautiful room once,’ she remarked.

‘A long time ago,’ Nuala agreed.

‘Olivia seems very nice. So kind of her to invite us.’

‘She throws these parties in the spring and summer because she’s lonely,’ Nuala said. ‘The house is a wreck, though. Don’t know why she keeps it. Possibly because nobody would buy it.’

‘It needs a lot of work,’ Ciara agreed. ‘Too much for anyone to want to take on, I can imagine.’

‘That’s for sure,’ Nuala agreed. ‘Rising damp, mould and a leaky roof, and that’s only the start. Once you got into it, the repairs would run into millions, I imagine. It was once quite a lovely place to visit.’

‘I’d say it was,’ Ciara said, trying to imagine what it would have been like a hundred years ago.

‘We didn’t come here at all in the old days,’ Nuala remarked. ‘Protestants and Catholics didn’t mix or even talk much to each other. It’s different now, thank goodness. We’re all friends these days.’

‘That’s a good thing,’ Ciara agreed.

‘Oh yes. But now you must mingle and spread the word about the bookshop,’ Nuala urged. ‘This is an opportunity not to be missed. Don’t mind me, I’m happy to sit here and look around. I might even have a little snooze,’ she added with a wink and a smile.

Charmed by the old lady’s amazing spirit, Ciara patted her hand and said goodbye before she got up and started to walk around the room, introducing herself to some of the women gathered around the buffet.

‘I’m Ciara Doyle,’ she said. ‘I think you’ve met my mother?’

‘Yes,’ one of the women said. ‘And she told us you’re going to open the bookshop and gave us flyers to hand around. We’re happy to hear the bookshop is going to be open again. But isn’t that going to be too much of a challenge in this remote place?’

‘Well, we’re going to have a go and see what happens,’ Ciara said.

‘Not much, I’m sure,’ another woman said, putting a flyer into her handbag. ‘But why not? If you can get the fancy folk down in Enniskerry to come, you’ll have a good chance.’

‘You might get one of them influencers to mention it on their Insta page, or whatever it’s called,’ a man standing nearby suggested.

‘Fat chance of that happening,’ the first woman said with a snort.

Frustrated, Ciara looked around for Maureen, but she seemed to have disappeared. Then someone clinked a forkagainst a teacup and everyone fell quiet, looking at Paul Murray, who was demanding attention.

‘I’m not going to sing,’ he started. ‘That piano over there hasn’t been tuned since the dawn of creation. I am, however, going to announce something very important. And that is the imminent reopening of the old bookshop we used to call the Book Nook. It is now going to be called the Brian Boru Bookshop. A very noble name, I have to admit.’

There was a communal murmur at the mention of the shop. ‘Good luck with that,’ someone called. ‘Very brave of them, though.’

‘Isn’t it?’ Paul beamed. ‘We are all so happy. It’s going to be similar to what it was when good old Martha Fitzgerald ran it, only better and more modern. There is going to be a cosy reading corner and tea and coffee will be served, along with buns and cakes from the bakery in Enniskerry.’

‘What?’ Maureen, standing in the door that led to the garden, stared at Paul Murray. ‘That’s not… I mean, who told you we were going to do all of that?’

‘Oh,’ Paul said. ‘I just thought that would be so perfect. Not just a bookshop, but a little café and reading corner. Can’t you just see it in front of you? And,’ he breezed on, ‘the timing is ideal. I will be launching my memoir,My Life in Song, at the same time. So how about a book launch in the shop to inaugurate it in style?’

Maureen frowned, looking cross. ‘Well, we’ll see about that. I had no plans whatsoever to host a book launch. We will open the shop in three weeks on the date written on the flyers. But the café part has to wait until we can get it organised.’

‘Oh, that’s not a problem,’ Paul said, still grinning. ‘We’ll just serve champagne at my launch. I think this a fantastic way to inaugurate the shop. Just think about it, Maureen. We can getthe press and all other media to come along. Great publicity for your business, you know.’

‘I’ll think about it,’ Maureen said. ‘I’ll let you know what we decide a little later on.’

‘Excellent,’ Paul said, rubbing his hands together. ‘And now let’s have more tea and scones, if there are any left. Then I can take you on a tour of the garden, Maureen.’

‘I’ve just been there,’ Maureen said. ‘And now I’m going to say goodbye and thank Olivia for inviting us to this nice tea party before we go home. I’ll leave the flyers in the hall and maybe you could give them to your friends, family and neighbours; that would be a huge help.’