The Stone House Read Online Free Page B

pounded in the background.
    â€˜Hi, Fiona. It’s your Aunt Kate, is your mum there?’
    â€˜She’s out.’
    â€˜Oh, is your dad there?’
    â€˜He’s out too,’ she said slowly. ‘They’re together.’
    â€˜Did your mum get the message I left earlier about Granny?’
    â€˜I don’t know.’
    Kate could almost hear the uninterest and confusion in the teenage voice.
    â€˜Listen, did she check her messages?’
    She fell silent. It was no use.
    â€˜Fiona, I need to speak to your mum, urgently. Where is she? I need the number.’
    She knew that Patrick would insist on privacy and not being disturbed, mobiles switched off, but that her sister was the type of mother who always left the number of where she was going pinned up somewhere in case her children needed her.
    Her bet paid off. Minutes later she had the number. Dinner party or not, she didn’t give a damn. She was phoning Moya and telling her to get herself home as soon as possible.

Chapter Three
    THE HOUSE IN Ovington Gardens was warm, hot even, for the Mitchells always seemed to have the thermostat of their heating turned up and the boiler at full blast. A huge fire burned in the magnificent Adams fireplace and Moya Redmond thanked heaven that she was wearing a Synan O’Mahoney scooped-neck black-frilled top and figure-hugging black skirt, a classic with a little bit of oomph that she’d picked up the last time she’d visited Dublin. If she’d worn wool she’d have expired.
    Patrick looked handsome as ever but a bit warm about the gills and she hoped by the time they sat down to eat that the men would be able to relieve themselves of their jackets. Why, even the champagne was warm!
    Moya knew almost everybody at the dinner party so she should be able to relax and enjoy the night.
    â€˜Moya, don’t tell me you’re hiding yourself!’ joked Hilary Mitchell their hostess, her plump face red with excitement.
    She was fond of the older woman and hugged her warmly.
    â€˜I was wondering where you were.’
    â€˜I was just in the kitchen checking on things.’
    They smiled, both knowing that checking on things meant checking on Poppy and Rachel Belling, the caterers. The girls ran a polished operation from a small shop on the corner of Granville Street, and with word-of-mouth recommendations now needed to be booked almost a month in advance.
    â€˜Everything is in hand and we should be ready to sit down and eat in about twenty minutes or so.’
    Moya smiled. Ken Mitchell was a stickler for not eating too late, claiming it caused ulcers, and usually liked to entertain at home rather than in expensive restaurants.
    â€˜Have another glass of champagne,’ insisted their host, topping up her glass. ‘You look beautiful tonight, my dear, as always.’
    He was a nice man but she wondered if he ever said such nice things to his wife. Patrick had worked with him in the busy accountancy firm for the past ten years, ever since they’d moved from Ireland.
    â€˜Thank you, Ken. You’re looking pretty good yourself,’ she joked.
    He was a short, stocky man with a thatch of almost white hair and in a few weeks’ time he would be sixty-five. He had announced his intention to retire from heavy practice work and vacate the position of head partner but would remain on as director.
    â€˜Hilary tells me that you are going to South Africa in a few months,’ said Moya.
    â€˜Well we haven’t seen Vanessa and her brood for almost two years so we reckon it’s high time we madethe trip to Cape Town. It’s hard for her to get away now with the four kids.’
    â€˜Hilary’s very excited about it.’
    â€˜To tell the truth so am I. We’ll play a bit of golf, and Vanessa’s organizing a safari trip for us to one of the big game parks. I haven’t looked forward to anything so much for years. Retirement might be the best