Authors: Rose Connelly
When Mira blushed guiltily, he laughed and slapped her on the back
. B
efore
she could fall forward from the force of it he grabbed her arm and pulled her inside,
shutting the door
behind them
.
He
steered her toward the book-
lined study and pushed her into one of the leather armchairs that sat in front of a mellow brick fireplace.
“Sit here,” he commanded, “and I’ll go and see that we have a spot of tea.”
Fifteen minutes later Patrick came back into the room carrying a tray with a tea pot and cups on it as well as two blueberry scones
that looked store bought
.
He carefully sat the tray down on a low coffee table and took the seat across from Mira.
He waited for her to prepare her tea and take a healthy mouthful before he spoke.
“Why did you no tell me about
your
troubles at work,” he said.
“I had
to hear
about
it on the Television
.
It was all over the national news a few days ago.
”
Mira gasped and almost choked on her tea.
She sat the cup down and coughed a few times to clear her airway
s
.
“The national news,
”
she moaned, already thinking about the consequences
.
“
I can’t believe there wasn’t anything more interesting to talk about.
I mean,
J&J
Architectural
Company
wasn’t
even
a
really big company.
”
S
he leaned back and closed her eyes
.
“I really am ruined
now
.
No one will hire me.”
“Ah, now, you’re just being melodramatic.”
R
each
ing
over
, he
laid a big hand on her
knee
. “
Y
ou did
the
right
thing
and
the people on the news thought so
as well
.
Well, most of them,” he qualified.
“They even brought some environmentalist types on to discuss it
.” He leaned back against his chair.
“
You stopped
that beautiful
piece of land from being destroyed
and
halted
a criminal while you were at it.
I’m sure that earned
you a lot
of support.
Maybe one of those pe
ople can help you.”
“Unfortunately,
” she replied fatalistically.
“I doubt most of those
people
are in the market for an out-of-work architectural designer
.
They’re
more likely to need a lab assistant
.
Anyway, s
iding with the environmentalists
isn’t the issue
and
neither was stopping the land deal.
The fact that I testified against my employer will really cause a problem.”
He looked slightly mystified.
“I’m no sure I understand. Y
ou did the right thing. Your
boss
falsified paperwork to get that permit.”
It would be nice to be that innocent,
Mira thought, but she
knew that wasn’t how the business world worked. A whistleblower, no matter what their reasoning, would always have a hard time finding a job
.
Their
loyalty would be questioned. She
frowned
.
“If you keep your fac
e like that you’ll get wrinkles,” Pat warned.
He sat his half-
eaten scone down and stood up.
“
Where are your bags?
” he asked
.
“
We’ll get you settled in the guest room and I’ll take you out to dinner
. Y
ou can forget all about things for a
wee bit
.”
“You don’t need to do all that. I didn’t want to impose so I thought I’d stay
at a hotel.
I’m already checked in.”
In truth, she knew Pat and she didn’t want to spend the next few days being grilled about
the court case or, more likely, her romance life or lack of it.
“
Then you’ll just have to go and get yo
ur bags
won’t you
?
You’ll
be staying here,” he stubbornly insisted.
“
What would your parents think if I made you stay at a hotel? Besides,
a pleasure it would be to have the
company.
I’m too much by myself these days.
” He
walked over to a side table and picked up the phone
.
“I’ll
be
call
ing
a cab for you, but I want you back in an hour.
Wear
something nice
and I’ll take you somewhere fancy
.”
She sighed
and stood up, giving
in gracefully
.
There was no point in arguing.
**********************************************
************
She wore the
Armani
as it was
one of
the last piece
s
of designer clothing that she had left
.
Most of it
, unfortunately, had been sold to help pay for her lawyer and
supply
the
money her creditors had demanded when they heard of her new employment status
.
This dress, however, she couldn’t bear to give up. It
was dark blue,
strapless
, and fitted to her figure like it had been made for her.
The lines showcased her lithe curves
and
the hemline that flirted just above her knees brought attention to her
toned
legs without looking indecent.
Paired with sleek black heels that killed her feet, the outfit was
guaranteed to knock men to their knees
.
True, t
hat wasn’t her purpose tonight, but it w
as gratifying to know she looked good despite everything.
Plus, she rationalized, i
t was incredibly sweet of Uncle Pat to take her out to dinner
and she wouldn’t want to embarrass him
.
After once last glance in the mirror and a quick brush of her hair she headed downstairs
to meet Pat.
As the taxi
drove
along
I-90 and
out of Boston, Mira
turned her attention from the blacktop speeding by and
glanced
at Pat. “You look really nice,” she
commented,
glancing at his
gray
,
pinstriped suit, snowy whit
e shirt and red tie,
“
but
I didn’t know
that
there were any decent restaurants this far out of Boston.
Where exactly are we going?”
“
We, my girl, are headed t
o a little place that I discovered a few years ago. The owner is
a Scot and a decent man for all that he’s no Irish
.
I’ll have you know that t
hey serve the best steak pie this side of the pond.”
“If you say so, but I’ve always thought steak pie was more of a pub food.
That
doesn’
t really seem
like the kind of environment that requires dressy attire.”
“
Not generally, no.” He grinned.
“But good food brings all types of people and
you
had a need to feel good about yourself. I promise you won’t
be
fe
e
l
ing
out of place
.”
Twenty minutes later they pulled i
n front of what looked to be an
English
gentlemen’s
hunting lodge. Even with the addition of a paved parking lot it
seemed
like a place
slightly out of time
and place
. She
almost
expected to hear the sound of carriage wheels
as they clattered over cobble stones
.
When they walked in the door t
he
re was no uniformed d
oorman standing at a podium
.
Instead, there was a tall, husky man in black pants and a dark blue shirt.
He greeted Patrick like an old friend
, slapping him on the back and immediately launching into conversation.
His accent, strong but slightly different from Pat’s, wove through his words, lending a rumbling depth to them.
While the men were occupied
Mira took a look around.
A long bar covered one wall with
h
alf
the stools
occupied by people dressed in
a variety of clothes
.
She began to feel
slightly
out of place in her finery until
she spotted a few women attired in
cocktail dresses
sipping what looked to be wine.
The bar itself, she realized
,
may have looked aged, but it
was made of deep, rich mahogany
that
gleamed with care.
The booths and tables that were scattered around the large
room
were made
of
the same dark wood
.
Their
seats covered with buttery leather cushions in a deep wine.