Jo said. ‘I’d have been gobsmacked too.’ And then she stared at the plate he was putting down in front of her. ‘Double wow. This is amazing.’
‘Pretty impressive for a peasant.’ He sat down with his own plate in front of him and she stared at the vast helping he’d given himself.
‘Haven’t you already eaten?’
‘Hours ago.’ At least one. ‘And I was lambing at dawn.’
‘So you really are a farmer.’
‘Mostly dairy but I run a few sheep on the side. But I’ll try and eat with a fork, just this once.’ He grinned at her and then tackled his plate. ‘So how about you? Has your grandfather been firing insulting directions at you too?’
‘No.’
Her tone said, Don’t go there, so he didn’t. He concentrated on bacon.
It was excellent bacon. He thought briefly about cooking some more but decided it had to be up to Jo. Three servings was probably a bit much.
Jo seemed to focus on her food too. They ate in silence and he was content with that. Still he had that impression of nervousness. It didn’t make sense but he wasn’t a man to push where he wasn’t wanted.
‘Most of what I know of this family comes from one letter,’ Jo said at last, and he nodded again and kept addressing his plate. He sensed information was hard to get from this woman. Looking up and seeming expectant didn’t seem the way to get it.
‘It was when I was ten,’ she said at last. ‘Addressed to my foster parents.’
‘Your foster parents?’
‘Tom and Monica Hastings. They were lovely. They wanted to adopt me. It had happened before, with other foster parents, but they never shared the letters.’
‘I see.’ Although he didn’t. And then he thought, Why not say it like it is? ‘You understand I’m from the peasant side of this family,’ he told her. ‘I haven’t heard anything from your lot before your grandfather’s visit, and that didn’t fill me in on detail. So I don’t know your history. I’d assumed I’d just be inheriting the title, and that only because I’m the next male in line, no matter how distant. Inheriting half this pile has left me stunned. It seems like it should all be yours, and yet here you are, saying you’ve been in foster homes...’
‘Since birth.’ Her tone was carefully neutral. ‘Okay, maybe I do know a bit more than you, but not much. I was born in Sydney. My mother walked out of the hospital and left me there, giving my grandfather’s name as the only person to contact. According to the Social Welfare notes that I’ve now seen—did you know you can get your file as an adult?—my grandfather was appalled at my very existence. His instructions were to have me adopted, get rid of me, but when my mother was finally tracked down she sent a curt letter back saying I wasn’t for adoption; I was a Conaill, I was to stay a Conaill and my grandfather could lump it.’
‘Your grandfather could lump it?’
‘Yeah,’ she said and rose and carried her plate to the sink. She ran hot water and started washing and he stood beside her and started wiping. It was an age-old domestic task and why it helped, he didn’t know, but the action itself seemed to settle her.
‘It seemed Fiona was a wild child,’ she told him at last. ‘She and my grandfather fought, and she seemed to do everything she could to shock him. If I’d been a boy I’m guessing she would have had him adopted. My grandfather might have valued a boy so having him adopted away from the family might have hurt him more than having an illegitimate grandchild. But I was just a girl so all she could do to shock him was keep me as a Conaill and grind it into his face whenever she could. So Social Welfare was left with him as first point of contact and I went from foster home to foster home. Because I’d been in foster care for ever, though, there was always the possibility of adoption. But every time any of my foster parents tried to keep me, they’d contact my grandfather and eventually he’d talk to Fiona—and she would refuse. It seemed she wanted to keep me in my grandfather’s face.’
‘So it was all about what was between Fiona and her father. Nothing about you.’
‘It seems I was the tool to hurt him.’ She shrugged and handed him the scrubbed frying pan. ‘Nothing else. Why he’s left me anything... I don’t understand.’
‘I suspect he ran out of options,’ Finn told her. He kept his attention on the pan, not on her. ‘I was the despised poor relation who stood to inherit the title whether he willed it to me or not. You were the despised illegitimate granddaughter. I imagine it was leave everything to us or leave it to a cats’ home—and there’s no sign that he was fond of cats.’ He gazed around the kitten-adorned walls. ‘Except in here, but I doubt the kitchen was his domain.’
‘I guess.’ She let the water run away and watched it swirl into the plughole. ‘Isn’t it supposed to swirl the other way?’
‘What?’
‘I’m in a different hemisphere. Doesn’t the water go round in opposite directions?’
‘What direction does it go round in Australia?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘You’ve never looked?’
‘It’s not the sort of thing you notice.’
‘We could check it out on the Internet.’
‘We could,’ she conceded. ‘Or we could go to bed.’ And then she paused and flushed. ‘I mean...’ She stopped and bit her lip. ‘I didn’t...’
‘You know, despite the fact that your mother was a wild child, I’m absolutely sure you didn’t just proposition me,’ he said gently and handed her the dishcloth to wipe her hands. ‘You’re tired, I’m tired and tomorrow we have a meeting with the lawyer and a castle to put on the market. That is, unless you’d like to keep it.’
She stared at him. ‘Are you kidding? What would I do with a castle?’
‘Exactly,’ he said and took the dishcloth back from her and hung it up, then took her shoulders in his hands and twisted her and propelled her gently from the room. ‘So tomorrow’s for being sensible and we might as well start now. Bedtime, Jo Conaill. Don’t dream of bogs.’
‘I wouldn’t dare,’ she told him. ‘I’ve been stuck in some pretty scary places in my time but the bog’s the worst. Thank you for pulling me out.’
‘It was my pleasure,’ he told her. ‘And Jo...’
‘Yes?’ He’d let her go. She was out of the door but glancing back at him.
‘I’m glad I’ve inherited with you. If we have to be dissolute, unwanted relatives, it’s good that it’s two of us, don’t you think?’
‘I guess.’ She frowned. ‘I mean...we could have done this on our own.’
‘But it wouldn’t have been as much fun,’ he told her. ‘Tomorrow promises to be amazing. How many times in your life do you inherit a castle, Jo Conaill?’ Then, as she didn’t answer, he chuckled. ‘Exactly.
