The Music of Love

by Kate McCabe

Genres: General Fiction; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

Kirsty O'Neill has always known her own mind. At thirty-one years old, she is already running her own successful fashion business, and has decided that the handsome Robbie Hennessy is the man she'll build her future with. So when her widowed mother announces that she's bringing home a complete stranger from her holiday in Marbella - a young pianist named Antonio - Kirsty has strong feelings. Suspicious of his intent, she decides to waste no time in ridding him from her mother's life. As Kirsty's relationship with Robbie begins to falter, and it looks as though future plans may not come to be after all, she watches on in horror as Antonio's career begins to take off. Will he ever leave Ireland, and her mother, behind? What is he doing here, anyway? And why oh why, with her life in complete disharmony, does his music sound so alluring?

Release date: February 5, 2015

Publisher: Hachette Ireland

Print pages: 336

Sample

Kirsty O’Neill was under pressure. She had managed only five hours’ sleep and had been up since seven: she’d had to prepare a presentation for an important client of her busy fashion business. Now it was eleven o’clock, and they were due to meet at one at the Gondola, a pretty little restaurant in Malahide. She had better get a move on, she thought. She glanced up from her desk and saw that clouds were darkening the sky.

She had chosen the Gondola because of its charming location, perched right on the edge of the marina looking out to sea. The last time she had been there, everyone was in jolly mood. She remembered the laughter, the clinking of wine glasses and the sun sparkling off the shining hulls of the yachts. Now it looked as if they would be staring at rain running down the window panes. It wasn’t quite the scene she had envisaged.

Kirsty’s company was called Allure Fashions and the client was Cecily Moncrieffe, the owner of a string of boutiques specialising in high-end ladies’ clothes. Soon after starting her business, Kirsty had persuaded Cecily to take some sample dresses from one of her designers. They had sold well, and the two women had built up a good relationship. Now Cecily was one of Kirsty’s main customers.

But their meeting wasn’t the only thing weighing on Kirsty’s mind that morning. The previous evening she’d had a row with her boyfriend, Robbie Hennessy. He had turned up late for their dinner date, offering some threadbare excuse about a last-minute problem at the office. Then they had gone on to a nightclub where he had proceeded to get drunk and make a fool of himself. Just after midnight Kirsty could take no more. She had left him, still gyrating, while a noisy crowd clapped and shouted encouragement. So far, he hadn’t had the decency to call and apologise. She suspected he was still in bed, nursing a hangover. But it was typical of Robbie’s selfishness that he couldn’t even pick up the phone to say he was sorry.

Kirsty was being forced to face an unpalatable truth. The relationship was in trouble. Robbie was turning out to be one more boyfriend who didn’t match up to her high standards. It was the story of her life. She had lost track of the men she had gone out with, believing they would be her soulmate only to discover they had feet of clay. It was a pity: Robbie had many fine qualities and most of her friends thought him a good catch. He was twenty-nine, six feet two, fair-haired, and very entertaining company. He had a smart apartment in the Dublin docklands and held down a good sales job with a social media company called ClickOn. And he was an excellent lover, the best Kirsty had ever encountered.

She had met him nine months earlier at a party hosted by her friend, Angie Dunlop. They had been drawn to each other at once, and Kirsty had spent a pleasant evening in Robbie’s company as he entertained her with hilarious stories about his work colleagues and clients and made sure her glass was always filled. When he had suggested they meet again, she had readily agreed and soon they were seeing each other several times a week. Before long, people were referring to them as an item. It was months before Kirsty realised that the whole thing had been a set-up: Angie had pushed her into Robbie’s arms because she was the only one of her friends who was still unattached.

It hadn’t taken her long to discover that the man of her dreams had an irresponsible streak. She had stopped counting the times when he had promised to do something important and forgotten about it. He had even forgotten her birthday. That particular blunder had put a serious strain on their relationship, which was only patched up after numerous pleading phone calls and the delivery of several large bouquets. The truth was that, despite his good looks and charming ways, Robbie was still an immature schoolboy who hadn’t come to terms with adult life.

She would have ditched him permanently but for one thing: she was afraid of losing him. She was thirty-one and very conscious that her biological clock was furiously ticking away. Most of her friends were married or in serious relationships. Several had started families. Kirsty longed to settle down and have her own children. But she was rapidly coming to the conclusion that, if it was ever going to happen, it wouldn’t be with Robbie.

She put him out of her mind while she concentrated on her meeting with Cecily. She worked furiously till midday, finished the presentation, then dived into the shower. Kirsty had inherited her mother’s good looks. She was slim, with shoulder-length black hair, and stood five feet eight inches tall. She knew that Cecily would be dolled up to the nines, hair immaculately styled, nails polished, skin gleaming with health and vitality. She must be fifty-five if she was a day, but she looked far younger.

Appearing in public was always an occasion for Kirsty to advertise her clothes. It took her ten minutes to choose what to wear. This was a business meeting so she needed something formal but not too severe. She settled for a close-fitting blue dress, by Penny Muldoon, a twenty-four-year-old, not long out of college and one of her aspiring young designers. Then she pulled on a pair of tights, brushed out her hair, applied her make-up and looped a simple gold chain around her neck. Satisfied with her appearance, she stuck the presentation in her briefcase, with her sketches and samples, checked her car keys, opened her umbrella and stepped out into the now pouring rain.

* * *

It took twenty minutes to drive the short distance from her apartment in Howth to the seaside town of Malahide. By the time she arrived, the rain was easing off and the sky was brightening. Thank God for small mercies, she thought. Perhaps we’ll get some sunshine after all.

She found a vacant space in the restaurant car park, switched off the engine and stepped out, taking care to avoid the large puddles that littered the tarmac. She glanced at her watch. It was ten to one. Perfect! It would never do to keep Cecily waiting. As she hurried towards the entrance, her phone began to ring. Damn, she thought. This’ll be Robbie at last, with another feeble apology. Well, on this occasion, she would cut him dead. Maybe that would let him know just how upset she was.

She managed to extricate the phone from her bag and clutched it to her ear. But it wasn’t Robbie. Instead, she heard a woman’s voice: ‘Hello, darling.’

‘Mum!’ Kirsty said in surprise. Just a week ago, she had packed her widowed mother off for a holiday in Marbella. ‘What’s the weather like today? Sun still shining?’

‘All the time.’

‘That’s brilliant. I hope you’re making the most of it.’

‘Well, that’s why I’m calling, dear. I’m coming home.’

‘What?’ Kirsty gasped. ‘But you’ve barely arrived.’

‘I know, but I’ve met this lovely man. And I want you all to meet him too.’

Her mother, Helen, was a major concern to Kirsty. She was a vivacious sixty-four-year-old, who had been a much sought-after beauty in her day. Until quite recently she had been immersed in the activities of her local community in Howth. Her social calendar had been crammed for months ahead, with dinner parties, outings and meetings of the various clubs she belonged to, and the charities she supported: the Peninsula Musical Society, the Heritage Society, the Church Bring and Buy committee, the book club. The list went on. There wasn’t an organisation that didn’t have Helen O’Neill as a member. She had the energy of a woman half her age and seemed to juggle her many engagements with efficiency and poise, never disturbing a hair on her perfectly groomed head. What was more, she enjoyed every minute. Friends would marvel at her stamina and wonder how she managed to involve herself in so many interests and still find time for her family.

But whenever anyone commented on this, Helen would simply shrug her delicate shoulders. For her, there was no great mystery. It wasn’t a chore to sit on a committee and plan a fundraising drive. It was fun and gave her hours of pleasure. Her organisational skills were second to none: she had spent years running her husband James’s law office before she’d surprised everyone by marrying her boss while she was still in her mid-twenties.

They had settled into Avalon, a period house on Howth Summit with spectacular views across Dublin Bay. Helen took to her new role with zest and immediately set about refurbishing each of the five bedrooms, plus the large drawing and dining rooms. She hired the best designers and chose all the furniture and fabrics herself. For good measure, she remodelled the kitchen and bathrooms. James let her get on with it, happy to concentrate on his law practice and leave the house to his wife.

When it had been completed, she had turned her attention to the gardens, which had become wild and overgrown. She employed a team of gardeners, who worked to her plans. Within six weeks, the gardens had been licked into shape. The lawns gleamed like smooth green baize. The trees had been trimmed back and stripped of dead branches while the borders were a blaze of brightly coloured flowers and shrubs. Now Avalon was ready to receive guests at the fabulous dinner parties that soon became legendary in the area.

But Helen still hadn’t finished. In quick succession, she bore James three children: Deirdre, then Mark and finally Kirsty. When they went to school, she became involved in the local activities that were soon taking up most of her free time. Kirsty’s memory of her childhood was of a happy time, filled with parties, picnics and holidays while her mother oversaw everything with effortless grace.

This happy state of affairs might have continued indefinitely but for a tragedy that had occurred six months earlier. One evening, just before Christmas, James came home from work complaining of abdominal pain. He was a fit man who used to boast that he had never been sick in his life. Helen insisted he go straight to bed and made him a light supper of scrambled eggs and toast.

The following morning, after a sleepless night, the pain was worse and she was forced to call in their local GP, Peter Humphries, a family friend. He examined James, gave him some medication to relieve the discomfort and arranged for a consultant to see him immediately.

The consultant had carried out some tests and admitted James to hospital, where he was diagnosed with stomach cancer. Despite the best efforts of specialists and surgeons, he was dead within four weeks at the age of sixty-five.

Kirsty and her siblings were distraught. The speed of events had taken everyone by surprise, including Peter Humphries, who admitted that he had never before witnessed a case like it. Helen was devastated. She seemed to disintegrate before their very eyes. Gone was the energetic dynamo who could take care of half a dozen things before lunchtime. In her place was a frightened woman who seemed unable to cope with the calamity that had overtaken her and rapidly fell to pieces.

As soon as the funeral was over, she recoiled from human contact. She cancelled all her engagements and took to her bed, where she refused to speak to anyone, including her long-time friend Anne O’Malley. By now, Deirdre was married with a young family and Mark was living on the other side of the bay in Blackrock so Kirsty had to look after her mother. She locked up her apartment at Howth harbour and went to live with her at Avalon.

Here, she tried to juggle the demands of her growing fashion business while simultaneously dealing with the administrative problems thrown up by her father’s sudden death. Thankfully, she was able to rely on the support of his legal colleagues. Most of her time was taken up with caring for Helen and attempting to nurse her back to health.

It was a slow process and there were occasions when Kirsty despaired of her mother ever regaining her old spirit and vitality. But, gradually, she coaxed her out of bed and into the drawing room, where she would sit for hours gazing out at the garden while tears of grief rolled down her cheeks. It was weeks before Helen was persuaded to accept phone calls and even longer before she finally consented to see Anne O’Malley.

Anne became a regular visitor. She would call in the morning and stay till mid-afternoon, which allowed Kirsty time to catch up with her work. The two women would sit together for hours while Anne brought Helen up to date with local gossip. Kirsty began to see a definite improvement.

By now it was May and spring had arrived. Peter Humphries had suggested that Kirsty should engage the services of a grief counsellor, who recommended a change of scenery. Kirsty took Anne into her confidence and between them they set about persuading her mother to take a short holiday. Kirsty scoured the internet for possible venues, and soon found something she thought might be suitable – a small upmarket holiday complex in Marbella on the Spanish Costa del Sol called Puebla Maria.

It looked ideal. It was a gated complex with twenty-four-hour security. The amenities included a five-star restaurant, two bars, private gardens, a gymnasium and sauna. The publicity photographs pictured guests sipping drinks beside the large swimming pool. When Kirsty showed her mother what she had found, Helen told her to book a two-week stay for Anne and herself.

It was with enormous relief that Kirsty drove them to the airport and saw them safely through security towards the plane that would fly them to Marbella and the sun. Now she could move back into her own apartment and give her full attention to her business and her troubled relationship with Robbie. Each day, Helen rang to keep her informed of developments, and every time Kirsty heard her voice, she sounded happy.

She began to hope that her mother was over the worst, that the black cloud of grief had finally lifted and she was regaining the bubbly energy that had been her hallmark. She had never, in her wildest dreams, imagined that she would receive the news she had just heard. Her mother had met some man and was bringing him back to Dublin.

Kirsty felt breathless with shock. Her parents had been devoted to each other, and Helen had never expressed even the mildest interest in another man. How had this happened? Had she gone mad? Had the sun and the wine addled her brain? And why hadn’t Anne been keeping an eye on her?

‘A man?’ Kirsty managed to say, trying desperately to hide her alarm.

‘Yes, dear. His name is Antonio. Oh, he’s the most remarkable person. I can’t wait for you to meet him, such charm and such good manners. And he’s got such a unique talent. You’ll be totally impressed.’

‘And you’re bringing him back to Howth?’

‘Yes!’

This was getting worse. Where was she planning to put him? Not in Avalon, surely. She’d have every nosy gossip in the neighbourhood talking about her. Had she taken leave of her senses? Kirsty was about to ask what age Antonio was but thought better of it. She’d find out soon enough. And if her mother was determined to bring him home, it might be best not to argue. She was recovering from an emotional breakdown, after all. Better handle her gently.

Kirsty did her best to sound calm. ‘When are you coming back?’

‘Tomorrow. Our flight gets into Dublin at half one.’

‘I’ll meet you at the airport.’

‘There’s no need. We’ll get a taxi.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Absolutely. We’ll be home around two thirty.’

‘Well, I’m really looking forward to seeing you. And meeting Antonio, of course,’ she added quickly.

‘And we’re looking forward to seeing you, too. I’m going to miss the warmth of Spain but it’ll be nice to get back.’

They said goodbye and Kirsty cancelled the call. Her mother’s announcement couldn’t have come at a worse time – just as she was about to have a crucial business meeting with Cecily Moncrieffe. She had no choice but to put aside Helen’s startling news and return to it later. Right now, she had to pull herself together and concentrate on Cecily.

She hurried into the restaurant and was promptly shown to a table by the window as she had requested. The sun was now breaking through and the clouds were disappearing. It was going to be a nice day after all, just as she had hoped.

She popped into the Ladies to tidy her hair and touch up her lipstick. It was now almost one o’clock and Cecily was always punctual. Back at the table, she tried to think of the business but the shock conversation with her mother was still reverberating in her brain and she had to struggle to gather her thoughts.

She glanced up when someone entered the restaurant and was greeted by the elegant figure of her guest in the doorway. Cecily was wearing cream linen trousers with an eye-catching coral silk T-shirt. She was perfectly coiffed and made-up, not a hair out of place. The manager glided over to her and guided her to Kirsty’s table.

‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost,’ Cecily said, as soon as she sat down. ‘Have you had bad news?’

‘Nothing like that.’

‘You can’t fool me! You’ve had a row with your boyfriend, haven’t you? I’ve been there so take my advice and put your foot down. Let him know who’s in charge. Somebody has to be the boss in a relationship and it’s always better when it’s the woman.’

‘You’re so perceptive,’ Kirsty said. If Cecily Moncrieffe wanted to believe her pallor was due to a row with Robbie, that was fine. Much easier than telling her the truth.

Cecily looked out of the window across the marina and the sun sparkling on the sea. ‘This is a beautiful little place, such a bright, cheery atmosphere. How did you discover it?’

‘A little bird told me.’

‘What’s the food like?’

‘Excellent. I think you’ll enjoy it. I picked it especially for you, Cecily.’

‘Well, let’s find out. Where’s the waiter?’

He was by their side in an instant, took their order and returned at once with a fine bottle of Pinot Blanc and a jug of water. Cecily took a sip of the wine and gave a contented sigh. She leaned back in her chair. ‘That’s certainly getting us off to a good start. Now, down to business. The last creations you gave me sold very well and my clients are looking for more. What have you got to show me this time?’

Kirsty took the presentation from her bag and passed it across the table. ‘I’ve got some really chic designs here. I think you’re going to like them.’

Their lunch ended at three o’clock. Cecily had doubled her previous order and, as her customers were the wealthy and famous, Kirsty’s designers would attract a lot of publicity, which, in turn, would generate further orders from other retailers. Both women were delighted with the outcome.

But Cecily was a tough negotiator and it had been nerve-racking. Kirsty had held back some evening gowns, which had been the subject of a recent photoshoot for the Daily Tribune fashion pages. They had been worn by an up-and-coming model called Ellie O’Mara and had looked fantastic. The fashion editor, Rachel Maguire, had promised to publish them soon, and when she did, Kirsty expected a flurry of excitement, which would push up the price of the gowns. That was why she hadn’t shown them to Cecily. It was a gamble but she was confident she could pull it off.

On a high, Kirsty settled into her silver Aston Martin sports car to drive back to Howth – and her mother’s shock announcement rushed back into her mind. Helen had met some man and was bringing him home. Kirsty was still struggling with the news and wished she had asked more questions. But she had been caught off-guard and hadn’t had time.

The idea that her mother would take up with a man so soon after her father’s death had never crossed Kirsty’s mind. Now all sorts of doubts began to creep in. What if Antonio was a confidence trickster who took advantage of older women? She had read about them in the papers. Those predators were sleek and charming and very plausible. And Helen was vulnerable. She was recovering from an emotional breakdown. Kirsty’s chest constricted with anxiety. She had to talk to Deirdre and Mark, find out what they thought of it.

By the time she reached her apartment, the anxiety had turned to panic. She sat down at the kitchen table and took out her phone. She started with Deirdre. She had given up her job when her children came along and was usually at home in the afternoon. Her sister answered on the second ring.

‘Hi,’ Kirsty began. ‘Have you got time to talk?’

‘It’ll have to be quick,’ her sister replied. ‘I’ve got to pick up the kids from school shortly. With children, it’s all go, go, go. Of course, you don’t have to worry about that.’

The remark stung, but Kirsty decided to ignore it and press on. ‘The reason I’m ringing is that I got a call from Mum this morning. She’s coming back from Spain.’

‘When?’

‘Tomorrow afternoon at two thirty.’

‘What? Wasn’t she supposed to stay for a fortnight?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh, my God, don’t tell me she didn’t like it?’

‘No, that’s not it at all. She did like it. But you’ll never guess what happened – she’s met some man.’

She heard her sister choke. ‘No way!’

‘It’s true,’ Kirsty went on. ‘She’s bringing him back with her.’

‘Please tell me you’re making this up,’ Deirdre said.

‘I wish I was.’

‘I don’t believe it. So it’s true what they say about Spanish holidays, all that sun, sand and sangria. Oh, this is hilarious. How old is this hombre?’

‘She didn’t say.’

‘She certainly didn’t waste any time. Well, full marks to her, still pulling men at her age.’

Kirsty’s heart sank. She wasn’t going to get much support from Deirdre.

‘You don’t sound very concerned,’ she retorted indignantly. ‘Mum could be in danger.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘I’m serious. We know absolutely nothing about this person. How do we know he’s not one of those creeps who prey on lonely women? The Costa is full of them. I’d hate to have Mum taken advantage of in her vulnerable state.’

‘Oh, c’mon,’ Deirdre said. ‘Give her some credit. Mum’s not stupid. Maybe he flattered her, made her feel good. What’s the harm in that? Every woman likes to get a bit of attention from time to time. It’s exactly what she needs to restore her self-confidence.’

‘So you’re not worried?’

‘Why should I be? This might be just the tonic she needs to get over Dad’s death. A fling with a man will probably do her a power of good. What’s his name?’

‘Antonio.’

‘I’ll wait till I meet him to make up my mind. And I’d advise you to do the same.’

Deirdre brought. . .