Page 36 of The Apple Cider Orchard

‘Ah stay for a cuppa, Jack,’ Eva ordered, already pouring without waiting for an answer. She set down the fresh mug of tea in front of him, purposefully lingering as she arranged it just so, her lips curved in a smile. ‘Sit yourself down there.’

He cleared his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. ‘I should really get back to—’

‘The orchard, yeah, yeah, we know.’ Eva thrust the steaming cup at him anyway. ‘Ten more minutes won’t kill you. And it’s Saturday.’ Her tone was light but brooked no argument, the same voice she’d likely used on him since they were children.

Molly sensed a trap closing, though she couldn’t deny that Eva, having now ensured Jack knew that Molly wasn’t the enemy, was very deftly smoothing the path for her to properly broach him about access to the oak tree.

The café had grown busier now, people trickling in for late coffees and treats, so Jack had no choice but to take the stool beside hers at the counter.

‘So,’ Eva declared then, as if a sudden thought had just occurred to her. ‘Maybe what Goldenridge needs to fight off all these corporate feckers once and for all, is to fight back.’ She looked at Jack, eyes bright with growing enthusiasm.

‘What do you mean?’ he asked.

But Eva simply turned to Molly and topped up her mug. ‘You know more about this stuff than the rest of us combined …’ The proprietor leaned forward, lowering her voice conspiratorially though her words remained perfectly audible. ‘Think about it – authentic local cider, ancient apple varieties that corporate giants have abandoned, all made by hand using methods unchanged for generations. Under threat from the big bad corporation. Sure, the story practically writes itself.’ Eva gestured back toward Jack. ‘Plus, it doesn’t hurt that the cider-maker himself looks like he stepped out of one of those Hot Farmer calendars, does it?’

Jack choked on his tea, a flush creeping up his neck. ‘Eva, for God’s sake.’

Molly bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling at his discomfort, though her own cheeks felt suspiciously warm. ‘I’m sure Jack doesn’t need anyone interfering …’

‘Interfering?’ Eva exclaimed, loud enough that several nearby customers turned to look. ‘It’s not interfering to help show the world what Goldenridge is truly about, make sure it gets the recognition it deserves. You should see the awards Jack’s won – only they’re all sitting in a box in the press because he can’t be bothered to display them.’

A local appeared alongside them at the counter as if out of nowhere, abandoning any pretense of not eavesdropping. Molly recognized her as one of the committee women Eva had pointed out the other day.

‘I’m always saying that Goldenridge really should be doing more to attract the tour buses from Dublin. They all go to bloody Bulmers instead.’

Eva beamed at the unexpected support. ‘Exactly, Josie. And here we have a secret weapon, a high-flying marketer from New York to raise our profile.’

‘New York?’ The older woman’s eyebrows shot up with newfound respect. ‘Isn’t that the ticket. What about one of those big billboards like in the films?’

Before Molly could answer, a familiar voice joined the conversation. ‘Well now, I had no idea we had such talent in our midst. It’s always the quiet ones.’ Brid from the hotel had just come in, a wicker shopping basket over one arm, her elegant figure again perfectly tailored in a rich purple dress, despite the casual setting. Her shrewd eyes took in Molly with fresh interest. ‘Very good of you to agree to help us out.’

‘I haven’t actually agreed to anything,’ she spluttered, glancing at Jack who looked as trapped as she felt.

‘But you could?’ Brid pressed, her tone suggesting refusal wasn’t an option.

‘Well, yes, technically,’ Molly admitted. ‘That’s part of what I do, but—’

‘Oh, that’s brilliant!’ A short-haired woman she recognized as the bookshop owner also appeared as if out of nowhere, carrying a cardboard box. ‘Brid and I have just come away from a committee meeting and we were desperate for fresh ideas for next year’s tourist season instead of more miserable flyers.’ She set down her box with a thump. ‘We’ve been trying for years to put Golden Valley on the map. Cork and Kerry get all the tourism while we’re just as picturesque here in Tipp – friendlier too. And Goldenridge is the jewel in our crown.’

Jack, who had been watching this snowball of enthusiasm with growing alarm, finally found his voice. ‘Hold on now, Maeve. Everyone’s running away with themselves here.’ He turned to Molly, his expression a complex mixture of embarrassment and curiosity. ‘She’s here on holiday remember. I’m sure she has better things to be doing.’

‘It … wouldn’t be a problem, really,’ she heard herself saying, professional instincts kicking in despite her better judgment. ‘I’d be happy to help. Even a simple online campaign showcasing the heritage offerings could be effective.’ She hesitated, seeing Jack’s face tighten. ‘If you wanted to be involved, of course.’ But by the look on his face, Molly could tell that he was intrigued by the prospect all the same.

Plus she really did need to get him on side.

‘“If you wanted …”’ Eva mimicked with a laugh. ‘Jack, when was the last time a high-flying marketing expert offered advice? A gift horse if I ever saw one, and you’re examining its dental work like it’s going to bite you.’

‘Exactly,’ Brid agreed, her bracelets jangling as she gestured emphatically.

Jack ran a hand through his hair, further disheveling it in a way that Molly found inexplicably charming. ‘It’s not that I don’t appreciate the offer,’ he said, his voice strained. ‘But Goldenridge isn’t about flashy online promotion and what-have-you. It’s about heritage and …’

‘Tradition, yeah, yeah, we know,’ Eva repeated drolly.

‘But who says those things can’t coexist with modern marketing?’ Molly challenged. ‘The best promotion doesn’t change what a business is – it merely amplifies what already makes it special.’

A murmur of agreement rippled through the group.

‘I can see it already,’ Eva said, warming to the theme. ‘Beautiful shots of the orchard amidst the autumn leaves.’ She gestured her arms dramatically in the air. ‘Short clips explaining the pressing process. Maybe even a series highlighting the history behind each variety.’ She turned to Jack, her expression suddenly more serious. ‘The kind of thing that might even make the likes of Crest Beverages appreciate that you can’t just swallow up what makes Goldenridge special.’