The Summer of Serendipity

by Ali McNamara

Genres: General Fiction; Women's Fiction; Romance

Synopsis

You'll find a warm welcome in the latest audiobook from Ali McNamara, best-selling author of The Little Flower Shop by the Sea and From Notting Hill with Love, Actually.

One summer, property seeker Serendipity Parker finds herself on the beautiful west coast of Ireland, hunting for a home for a wealthy Irish client. But when she finds the perfect house in the small town of Ballykiltara, there's a problem: nobody seems to know who owns it. The Welcome House is a local legend. Its front door is always open for those in need of shelter, and there's always a plentiful supply of food in the cupboards for the hungry or poor.

While Ren desperately tries to find the owner to see if she can negotiate a sale, she begins to delve deeper into the history and legends that surround the old house and the town. But for a woman who has always been focussed on her work, she's remarkably distracted by Finn, the attractive manager of the local hotel. But will she ever discover the real truth behind the mysterious Welcome House? Or will the house cast its magical spell over Ren and help her to find true happiness?

Release date: February 27, 2018

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 368

Sample

 

 

 

Dear Readers,

Another book! And my second to be set on the west coast of Ireland.

I’ve had an idea for a book about a property seeker for some time, but until I went on a research trip to the Lakes of Killarney in County Kerry, and was totally inspired by both the scenery and the people I met there, it had never totally come together as a full story.

Many of the places and tales in this book are inspired by real places and genuine Irish legends, (there’s a full list below if you’re interested to know more about any of them.)

Lots of you have asked me so many times to write more about the Island of Tara, so you can find out what happened to Darcy, Dermot and the others from Breakfast at Darcy’s. So I hope this new book, although not a sequel, will give you a taste of what’s been going on since we were last there. And if you’ve not already read Breakfast at Darcy’s perhaps it will persuade you to give it a try!

But before I go I need to thank a few people without whom the stories and ideas that swirl around in my mind would never make it into a book for you lovely readers to enjoy!

My wonderful agent, Hannah Ferguson, and everyone at the Hardman & Swainson literary agency.

My fab editor, Maddie West, and the whole team at Sphere and Little, Brown.

My brilliant family: my husband, Jim, and children, Rosie and Tom.

And of course my dogs, Oscar and Sherlock, who give me so much inspiration for all my canine characters!

Also thank you to CLIC Sargent auction winner, Kim Fenwick, for bidding to be in this book and providing me with such a wonderful name for Kiki!

Thanks to all these places for the inspiration:

•  The fictional town of Ballykiltara is inspired by the very touristy, but very friendly town of Killarney in the west of Ireland. You can walk around the Killarney National Park and see stags and deer – just like Ren does. Or visit the lakes and take a mystical boat trip . . .

•  The Stag Hotel was very much based on the Killarney Park Hotel; a beautiful place to stay with wonderful staff.

•  Rafferty Castle, Sheehy Abbey and Rafferty Island were inspired by Ross Castle by Lough Leane (The lake of learning is a real place!) and Innisfallen Island with its seventh-century monastery. A magical place if ever I’ve been to one!

I got the idea for the Annals of Tara and the Book of Tara from the real Annals of Innisfallen and the Book of Kells. You can see the Book of Kells in Trinity Library, Dublin.

I couldn’t have written about Mac’s riding stables and the horses there unless I’d taken a visit to the Killarney riding stables. My invigorating pony trek was one the highlights of my visit.

And the white stag? Look it up on the internet, it makes for interesting reading . . .

Until the next time,Ali xx



‘La, lala, la, la, la, la, laa!’ my passenger sings happily as we drive in our hire car from the airport to our destination. ‘Come on, Ren, join in, we’re on our holibobs, ain’t we? A bit of Kylie never hurt anyone. Well maybe Jason Donovan, but that’s another story.’

I glance quickly across at her before putting the little Fiat into fourth gear. I’ve only driven it a few miles, and already I know it’s going to give me trouble. Why didn’t I invest in a better car, instead of trying to do things on the cheap, as always? But I don’t know how long we’re going to be here, and I don’t want to go over the budget we’ve been given. The hotel we’re heading towards is expensive enough as it is.

‘I keep telling you, this is not a holiday, this is a business trip.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Kiki says, waving her hand dismissively at me. ‘Whatever. I know we have stuff to do while we’re here. But we’ve never been to Ireland, have we? It’s new, it’s exciting!’

I continue to concentrate on the road in front of me. Even though it’s showing on our satnav as a main road, it’s bumpy and bendy and I’m driving a strange car I haven’t had time to get used to, in a country I don’t know. I need to focus, not get into a discussion with my assistant about the merits of treating our trip in a professional manner.

Not that it would make the slightest difference. Kiki is her own woman – yes, that’s a good way to describe her. To the casual observer – and a lot of people do observe her, especially men – she comes across as petite, pretty and perhaps a bit kooky, but her blonde bubbly exterior houses a razor-sharp mind. Kiki’s organisational skills have made her indispensable to me and my hectic schedule.

‘How far until we get to the hotel?’ I ask her as we stop at some traffic lights and wait for an elderly woman to cross.

Kiki glances at the satnav. ‘It says ten minutes.’

‘Good. I could do with a rest.’

Our journey from Stansted Airport in Essex to Kerry Airport in the west of Ireland wasn’t without incident. We’d been slightly delayed getting through security, after Kiki got stopped because the airport scanning machine beeped as she walked through it. The delay wasn’t caused by the search so much as Kiki’s insistence on flirting with a male security officer the whole time his female colleague was frisking her. While she slipped back into her dainty ballerina pumps, fluttering her eyelashes and practically arranging a first date with the security officer, I was getting all hot and bothered trying to shove my size eight feet back into my clumpy boots.

‘There’s a time and a place,’ I’d muttered to her afterwards as we made our way through to the airport shops.

‘For . . . ?’ she’d enquired, pressing her button nose up against the window of Ted Baker.

‘For flirting. And airport security is not it!’

‘Oh, Ren, you’re hilarious sometimes. The guy was cute.’

‘The guy was married. Didn’t you see his ring?’

To her credit, Kiki had looked genuinely horrified. ‘Ooh no, I didn’t, I was too busy looking into his gorgeous blue eyes.’ Then she gave a shrug, adding, ‘Ah well, you win some, you lose some!’ before skipping happily into a Sunglasses Hut to begin trying on frames.

Kiki removes her new sunglasses and squints at the satnav. ‘You need to go left in about a mile,’ she says, looking back at the road.

‘Yeah, I saw the sign,’ I reply, ‘which is more than you’ll be doing, if you don’t wear your specs.’

Though she can’t see a thing without them, Kiki never wears her prescription glasses except in the office, where I’m the only one who’ll see her. She prefers to sport designer sunglasses, like her latest purchase, which she insists on wearing even though the Irish skies above us are cloudy and grey.

We turn down a narrow road bordered with evergreen hedges on either side, and continue on our way.

‘The hotel looked pretty cool on the Internet,’ Kiki says, looking out of her window. ‘I hope you like it.’

‘I’m sure I will. You rarely let me down when it comes to hotels.’

Kiki’s a whizz when it comes to booking hotels. Whatever budget we’re given, she always comes up trumps – whether it be a Premier Inn that’s had great reviews, or a sumptuous five-star hotel with all the facilities you could wish for, Kiki invariably finds the perfect place for us.

‘It has wonderful reviews on Trip Advisor, people couldn’t fault it, and that almost never happens.’

‘Sounds good. I’m looking forward to seeing it.’

‘We’re booked in for five nights, but the receptionist I spoke to said they would be able to extend it if we needed to. She said to let her know if we thought we might want to stay for longer. How long do you think we’ll need?’

I shrug as we pass by a field full of sheep grazing on the lush grass. ‘You know as well as I do that we might find what we’re looking for on the first day we’re here, or it could take a week or more if it’s complicated.’

‘Hmm . . . ’ Kiki sits back in her seat and folds her arms. ‘I know you like to get things done and dusted as quickly as possible, but I wouldn’t mind staying for a bit longer. I’ve never been to Ireland and it would be good to see some of it while we’re here.’

‘I’m sure we’ll see plenty. It almost never happens that we stumble upon the right place immediately. That’s why people pay us to search for them.’

‘Yes, but I know you, Ren – you excel at this. You’ll probably find the house before we even get to the hotel!’

I turn and smile at her. Kiki may be young, but she really is the best assistant I’ve ever had. What’s more, we’ve become good friends in the year I’ve known her.

‘Look,’ I say kindly, ‘even if I do find something straight away, how about we stay on a few extra nights so you can see the area? You deserve a break.’

Kiki fist-pumps the air. ‘Get in there!’ she exclaims. ‘Look,’ she says, suddenly peering out of the front window, ‘we’ve arrived!’

We drive past a sign that says:

BALLYKILTARACÉAD MÍLE FÅILTE

‘What does that mean?’ Kiki asks. ‘Seed mill fail-tee?’

‘No idea, it must be Gaelic.’

‘I’ll ask when we get to the hotel,’ she says, keenly observing our new surroundings as we pass through the town. ‘This is so cool. Look at all the Irish pubs selling Guinness.’

‘I expect they sell more than that,’ I say, smiling. ‘Have you ever had Guinness, Kiki? It’s foul-tasting stuff.’

‘Nope, but I’m going to try it while I’m here.’

‘Good luck with that. Now where is this hotel?’

Our satnav has helpfully taken us into the centre of the small town of Ballykiltara, but is refusing to find our hotel. Eventually, I pull over and Kiki hurries out to ask one of the locals the way. Except it proves difficult to find anyone local on the street, so she ends up accosting a pair of American tourists, who luckily for us are staying at our hotel and are able to give us directions.

It’s a relief when we pull up on a long gravel drive in front of a large, sprawling country house hotel and immediately a young man rushes out to greet us.

‘Welcome to The Stag,’ he says in a broad Irish accent as I wind down the window. ‘Can I help you with your bags?’

‘Yes, that would be lovely,’ I say, smiling at him.

‘Now, let me take your keys – I’ll park your car and bring your bags in to you in a few moments.’

I’m impressed. The hotel looked pleasant enough from the outside, but for some reason I hadn’t expected this sort of service, usually only found at five-star establishments.

‘Thank you . . . ’ I glance at his name badge, ‘ . . . Eddie,’ I say, climbing out of the car and handing him the keys.

‘Just head up there to reception,’ he says, pointing up some steps, ‘and Orla will be pleased to assist you.’

‘Thank you.’ Kiki and I grab our handbags from the back seat, and leaving our car in Eddie’s capable hands, head up the cream stone steps to reception.

‘I like Eddie,’ Kiki giggles as we reach the large glass door at the top and it opens automatically for us. ‘He’s a cutie.’

I roll my eyes at her and then smile warmly at the receptionist watching us enter through the doors.

‘Welcome to The Stag Hotel,’ Orla says in a soft Irish accent. ‘Do you have reservations?’

‘Yes,’ Kiki says, taking over her organisational role. ‘In the name of Parker – Serendipity Parker.’

‘What a wonderful name,’ Orla says as she scans the screen in front of her.

‘Thank you, but I prefer Ren,’ I tell her, glancing at Kiki. I’d told her many a time to book things with my shortened name. But Kiki thought Serendipity was a wonderful name, and delighted in using it when she could. ‘It’s easier.’

‘Sure,’ Orla says, glancing up at me with the look of one who has seen many an unusual name in her time. ‘Now, we have you down for one deluxe twin room for five nights, with the possibility of extending your stay. Is that correct?’

‘Yes, that’s perfect.’

When Kiki had first come to work for me we’d always booked separate rooms on our business trips. But we found we always ended up spending all our time in one room – discussing – or, as Kiki liked to call it, gossiping about – the day’s events. So in the end we decided to use the money we saved by booking one room to go for an upgrade instead.

‘Grand. If I can take a swipe of a credit card?’ Orla asks.

Kiki pulls our company card from her purse.

Orla glances at it before putting it into the machine. ‘Is your stay for business or pleasure?’ she asks without it seeming an intrusive question.

‘Pleasure,’ I say at the same time as Kiki says, ‘Business.’

‘Bit of both,’ I hurriedly say when Orla looks intrigued.

‘A good mix.’ She smiles as she hands me two key cards wrapped in a small paper wallet. ‘Your room is on the third floor – number seventy-eight. Now, would you like someone to show you up there?’

‘Thank you, but we’ll be fine.’

‘Eddie will be up presently with your bags, and if there’s anything further I can assist you with, don’t hesitate to contact me.’ She points towards the lobby. ‘The lift is through there, on the right.’

‘Thanks,’ I say, thinking to myself what lovely staff this hotel has. Kiki has done exceedingly well this time.

We head through a chic yet cosy lobby with plush red velvet sofas set in front of a big cheery, log-burning fire that’s lit, even though this is early May. I can imagine guests snuggled round the fire in the winter months, drinking brandy and talking about the day’s events.

The small lift comes almost immediately, and we step inside.

‘You insisted to me this was a business trip when we were in the car,’ Kiki complains as soon as the lift doors shut. ‘And there’s you saying we’re here for pleasure!’

‘It is business. But we don’t want everyone knowing why we’re here, do we? You know how it is: people in these types of communities tend to close ranks and become very tight-lipped if they think strangers are going to try and take something that’s theirs.’

‘But we’re not trying to take something. We’re trying to find something – a house for our client, Mr Dempsey.’

‘Yes, but not every house I find is for sale, is it? Sometimes, the current owner has to be persuaded to sell.’

‘Usually with money,’ Kiki sighs as we exit the lift and look for our room. ‘I love this job, you know that, Ren,’ she whispers as we walk along the stylishly decorated corridor. ‘Best thing I’ve ever done. But it saddens me that everything is always about money in the end. Where are people’s morals, their disciples?’

I try not to laugh. Kiki was being her usual earnest self; it was one of the things I liked about her. But she was also prone to muddling her words, and would often ask the daftest of questions, that made sense to Kiki, but seemed hilarious to the rest of us.

‘You mean their principles,’ I correct her gently as we arrive at our room. I pause before entering. ‘As it happens, I agree with you. I wish people would follow their heart instead of looking to make a quick profit. But, sadly, money talks, and that money not only pays our wages, it will help us find Mr Dempsey the perfect house with the perfect Irish views.’

Kiki nods as I run one of the key cards through the scanner. Then as we open the door we both gasp at the exquisite room laid out before us.

‘Well, if this is money talking, then I’m all for it on this occasion!’ Kiki announces before launching herself across the room on to one of the sumptuous double beds.

And as I look around the spotless room at the ornate gilt-framed mirrors and luxurious coordinating gilt and purple décor, I have to agree with her: this is a special room. But, not for the first time since we’ve arrived here, a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach tells me the room’s not the only thing that’s going to be special about this trip.



As soon as we’ve unpacked, we head out into the town of Ballykiltara for some basic supplies like water, and the Diet Pepsi Kiki can’t live without. As we walk through the centre of town we pass many pubs, some with traditional names like Molly Malone’s and Fitzgerald’s, and some slightly odder, like The Raven’s Knowledge. The one thing they all have in common is signboards advertising live Irish music and traditional pints of Guinness. The shopfronts between the many pubs are occupied by gift shops selling any item you could ever possibly want with a shamrock, a sheep or sometimes both embellished upon them. At last, hidden away amongst all this, we find a small food store selling basic necessities.

‘This place is soo cute!’ Kiki declares as we head back towards the hotel, having decided that on our first night in a strange town a meal in the hotel bar will be our best bet. ‘I love it!’

‘You love every new place we visit,’ I tell her, enjoying Kiki’s characteristic display of enthusiasm.

‘I know, but this place feels special, doesn’t it? It’s enchanted – or even magical!’

I look around me as we enter the hotel grounds. ‘Yes, I suppose it does have a certain charm. But I think magical is a bit strong.’

‘Oh, puddings!’ Kiki declares. ‘I won’t stand for your dourness today, Ren Parker. I like Ballykissangel, and I won’t hear you say otherwise!’

‘Ballykiltara,’ I correct her. ‘Ballykissangel was a TV programme set in Ireland, about an English priest.’

Kiki thinks about this, ‘Oh yes, you’re right – that guy from DCI Banks was in it, wasn’t he? He was in that one set in Africa too.’

‘That was called Wild at Heart, and the actor’s name is Stephen Tomkinson.’

‘He’s the chappie! We should get you on a pub quiz team, Ren, you’re brilliant at common knowledge.’

‘General knowledge.’

‘Yes, that too.’

‘Good evening, ladies.’ Eddie pops up from behind a bush with some garden shears clutched in his hands.

‘Hello, Eddie!’ Kiki sings, waving at him. ‘Isn’t it a beautiful evening!’

Eddie looks up at the now darkening skies. ‘It is indeed, if you like to get wet. There will be rain within the hour if I’m not mistaken.’

Kiki looks up. ‘Oh, really? What a shame.’

‘No, miss, we like it round here – overnight, at least, so it doesn’t affect the tourists like. We’re not called the Emerald Isle for nothing.’

‘Oh, I thought you were called that because lots of emeralds had been found here over the years.’

Eddie looks at Kiki to see if she’s joking, but quickly realises she’s not.

‘Excuse my learned friend here,’ I say, leading Kiki in the direction of reception. ‘She’s the one who’s a bit green.’ I wink at Eddie, and he nods knowingly back.

‘Why is it called the Emerald Isle then?’ Kiki whispers furiously as we enter the hotel.

‘Because of all the grass,’ I whisper back, smiling sweetly at a new receptionist – a man this time – who’s standing at the desk watching us with interest.

‘Drugs?’ Kiki asks, a horrified expression crossing her face.

‘No, you fool. Grass, the sort that grows in the ground!’

Kiki looks relieved. ‘Well, that makes sense,’ she says matter-of-factly, immediately dismissing her faux pas. ‘Now, shall I take these things up to our room while you get us a table in the bar? I’ll try that Guinness, since you’re buying.’

I watch her for a moment as she heads towards the lift.

I look at the receptionist again, and notice for the first time he’s not wearing a uniform like the other staff I’ve seen about the hotel so far. Instead he wears black jeans and a casual red checked shirt as he stands behind the desk, an amused expression on his face.

‘You’re eating in our bar tonight?’ he asks professionally, instead of the actual question he likely wanted an answer to: Who is your crazy friend?

‘Yes please, if that’s OK?’

‘Sure, go on in. We’re not too busy this evening. Midweek tends to be pretty quiet; we get much busier over the weekend.’

I pause for a moment, fascinated by his accent. It definitely has an Irish ring to it, but it’s different to Orla and Eddie’s, or even the lady that served us in the shop just now. It’s . . . Oh, I can’t think what it is at the moment, but I will.

‘We have a fancier restaurant too, if that’s the type of thing you’re after?’ he continues. I look for his name tag – all the other staff seem to wear one, but this guy doesn’t. The only thing covering his well-developed chest is his shirt. I realise I’m gazing a little too long at it and I look up swiftly. ‘But between you and I,’ he leans in towards me as if he’s sharing a secret, ‘you’ll get more craic in the bar.’

‘Sure . . . ’ I murmur, captivated momentarily by his bright green eyes that twinkle like emeralds under the bright reception lights. ‘I mean, yes, thank you, we want a bit of crack.’

An impish grin breaks out across his face; it’s a perfect match for his mischievous eyes.

Oh Lord! I hurriedly try and recover my composure. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean— I know what you meant when you said craic – a good time, right? We definitely want a good time.’

‘Don’t we all?’ he winks, but he’s more cheeky Irish chappie than leery lech when he does.

I give in and smile. ‘I’m making a bit of an idiot of myself, aren’t I?’ I hold out my hand formally. ‘Ren Parker.’

He takes my hand over the desk with a firm grip, and shakes it solidly. I’m secretly pleased. I make it my policy never to trust anyone with a weak, limp handshake.

‘Pleased to meet you, Ren. Finn Cassidy, at your service. I’m the manager of the hotel.’

‘Ah, I wondered why you weren’t in the same uniform as the others.’

He grins. ‘They keep trying – but I just keep resisting. Can’t be flapping around like a trussed up penguin now, can I?’

I smile as another man arrives behind the desk, looking very penguin-like in a black three-piece suit with a crisp white shirt.

‘Donal,’ Finn announces, ‘meet our new guest, Ren Parker.’

‘Welcome to The Stag,’ Donal says, giving the tiniest of bows. ‘I’m guest services manager here, so anything you need or want during your stay, I’m the man to see.’

‘Thank you, Donal. I’ll be sure to do that.’

‘Now, where are you eating tonight?’ Donal enquires. ‘I can recommend some wonderful restaurants in the town.’

‘Oh, we’re eating here tonight. In the bar,’ I explain.

‘Ah well, that’s a good choice too. I don’t know if Finn told you, but we have a beautiful restaurant in addition to our bar. It looks out over the hills, and one of the lakes. It’s a gorgeous view, so it is.’

‘He did, thank you. But your bar will be fine. My friend wants to try her first pint of Guinness tonight – I doubt that will fit too well in your restaurant.’

‘Ah, a pint of the black stuff, another good choice.’ Donal folds his hands in front of him and rests them on his stomach approvingly. ‘And will you be joining her?’

I screw up my face. ‘Sadly no, it’s not one of my favourite drinks.’

‘Have you ever had it in Ireland before?’ Finn asks. ‘There’s a huge difference in the taste here. I don’t know why, when it’s exported all around the world. But you can’t beat a pint on home soil.’

‘No, I haven’t, this is my first time in Ireland.’

Orla joins us at reception. She smiles at me.

‘Thanks for covering, Finn,’ she says. ‘Sarah’s kicking off in the kitchen – something about the wrong meat being delivered.

She nearly swung for Eddie with a meat cleaver. I think you’d better go and sort it out.’

Finn sighs, and gives me an apologetic smile. ‘The joys of being in charge!’ he says ruefully. ‘Head through to the bar, Ren,’ he gestures towards the entrance. ‘I’ll come and pour you that Guinness in a moment, if you’re game?’

I nod, grateful to be allowed to escape. I’m heading through the foyer in the direction of the bar when Kiki steps out of the lift.

‘Aren’t you even in there yet?’ she asks, falling into step beside me. I notice she’s changed her shoes from the trainers she went out in earlier to a pair of purple suede pixie boots. ‘I thought you’d have got the first round in by now. What’s been keeping you?’

I glance back towards the desk in time to see Finn striding towards a door marked Private.

‘Oh, nothing much,’ I reply as we enter the cosy bar with another log fire burning merrily away at one end. ‘Nothing much at all . . . ’



Finn is right – Guinness is better in Ireland.

As promised, when he’s dealt with the crisis in the kitchen, he arrives behind the bar, and I see him actively seek me out as he scans the room. He smiles when his eyes rest upon me, and he holds up an empty pint-glass with the Guinness logo etched across the top.

I shrug and hold up my own almost empty wine glass.

‘Who is that?’ Kiki demands as she watches our silent exchange. ‘He’s a bit of all right!’

‘That’s Finn, he’s the hotel manager,’ I reply, ignoring her innuendo.

‘Nice . . . but why isn’t he wearing a uniform like the others?’

‘I’m not sure. I think he likes to be his own man.’

‘He sure is . . . ’ Kiki murmurs dreamily. ‘Oh look, he’s coming over.’

Finn crosses the bar to greet us. ‘Just letting your pints of Guinness settle,’ he says.

‘Ooh, about time,’ Kiki replies before I can speak. ‘Ren says it’s like drinking cat pee, but I can’t wait to try it.’

Finn looks with amusement at Kiki while I squirm.

‘I did not say that,’ I tell him, feeling my cheeks redden. ‘I don’t care for it, that’s all. I believe it might be an acquired taste.’

‘Talking of acquired tastes,’ Kiki says, leaping to her feet and holding her hand out to Finn. ‘I’m Kiki. Kiki Fisher.’

‘Welcome to The Stag Hotel, Kiki Fisher,’ Finn says, taking her hand. ‘I hope you’re enjoying your stay so far?’

‘It’s ace, Fi. . .