Saving Christmas in the Little Irish Village (The Little Irish Village #5)

Chapter 15

15

‘Hannah, have I offended you somehow?’ Tom asked, taking his glasses off and rubbing them on the sweater that matched his grey-eyed gaze. He was sitting at the kitchen table with the full Irish breakfast Hannah had just set down ungraciously in front of him. ‘You didn’t have to cook, by the way. Although it looks wonderful, I would have been happy with a bowl of Shredded Wheat, and I could have fetched that myself if it was a lie-in you needed.’

It was a good job Mam wasn’t here because Hannah knew she’d eat the face off her if she’d been privy to her clattering about the kitchen frying up bacon, eggs, sausage, black pudding and tomato. Beans and toast were the finishing touches to the heaving plate. Let it not be said she’d let a guest go hungry on her watch. However, as she’d closed cupboards and the fridge with more gusto than necessary, banged the frying pan down on the element and rattled about in the cutlery drawer, she’d wondered whether sitting through Mass might not have been preferable to cooking this morning, given her conflicted emotions.

It certainly would have been a preferable option for Tom, and for a nanosecond, she felt bad given he was paying to stay here, and you’d have had to have a hide like a rhinoceros not to have picked up on her mood. She’d barely slept a wink after the story Nan had told her, waking up with a woolly head, and it was easier to be angry with Tom than to be mad at herself for liking him despite his commercial intentions for Emerald Bay. However, this was her opportunity to find out who was behind the Greenhouse development.

So, pulling a chair out opposite him, Hannah sat down and poured herself a brew, aware Tom had picked up his knife and fork but had yet to tuck in as he continued to eye her warily.

‘Not you personally,’ she said as she poured the milk. This was true. Tom had a Boy Scout genuineness to him, and he smelled nice, which was a plus because in the circles Hannah moved, plenty smelled more lentilly than fresh like the sea. ‘But what you represent here in Emerald Bay completely offends me.’ So much for subterfuge and cosying up to find the answers she needed.

‘OK, now you’ve lost me. What do you mean by what I represent?’

‘Corporate greed,’ Hannah said rather piously over her teacup.

Tom coughed, signalling disbelief. ‘Er, I didn’t expect that at ten past ten on a Sunday morning.’

‘I expect you didn’t, and I’m sorry, but you did ask.’

‘That’s true, I did, but I’m an architectural project manager, not a business tycoon. And to be fair, Hannah, which I don’t think you are being, you don’t know me well enough to pass judgment like so.’ Then he looked at the food before him. ‘This will set me up for the day, by the way. Thanks a million.’

Hannah watched in disbelief as he tucked in. His relaxed, calm manner was infuriating. Her anger flared again, and she quickly retorted, ‘I know enough. For instance, I know you’ve been commissioned to design and oversee an eyesore on the outskirts of my home village that others and I oppose.’

‘Ah, now I see. The Greenhouse is one of your causes.’

‘Don’t say it like that.’

‘Like what.’

‘How you just said it.’

‘Sorry.’ Tom shrugged. ‘But let me get this straight. In your opinion, my being here makes me the poster boy for corporate greed?’

Was that a twinkle in his eye? Hannah fumed, aware they were getting off course. ‘Well, it doesn’t make you one of Santa’s little helpers, does it?’

Tom wasn’t the least ruffled as he began sawing into his sausage like a forestry worker felling trees. ‘Personally, I don’t see the correlation myself. Or maybe you just enjoy taking the moral high ground.’

That was a zinger. She’d bet he’d been a proper swot at school. He’d probably been head of the debating team. Well, he’d not win this round. ‘If I take the moral high ground, as you put it, it’s because someone has to when it comes to Emerald Bay’s land. So let me lay it out clearly for you, Tom Flynn. This Greenhouse of yours isn’t a boon for the bay as you seem to think. It’s a blight.’ She’d impressed herself with her alliterative response, but Tom looked at her as though she’d spoken gibberish.

‘How’s that then? You haven’t seen my design. It’s sympathetic to the landscape, and the Christmas trees will be grown sustainably. So, if you think about it like that, I am one of Santa’s little helpers.’

Hannah didn’t crack a smile, and her voice rose a notch. Jaysus, he had an answer for everything. ‘I’m not just talking visually. That land you want to build and plant on is part of Emerald Bay. It belongs to the village, not the government, and should be left as it is. I used to play there as a child with my sisters, and future generations should have that opportunity, too.’

‘What century do you think this is? Nothing stands still, and villages like Emerald Bay need economic growth. The young people leave because there’s nothing to keep them here. I mean, look at yourself. Where do you live?’

Hannah desperately sought a comeback, but it wasn’t easy given he’d made a valid point. She wanted to tell him what the cottage and its surrounding land meant to her nan, but it wasn’t her place to do so. Instead, she found herself blustering like a blowhard politician. ‘The so-called jobs you think the Greenhouse will create for locals are a double-edged sword because for the handful of people the garden centre and farm employ, you’ll kill nearly all the local businesses on Main Street. Not to mention the environmental concerns – that’s blanket bog land, which needs to be protected.’ She flopped back hard in her seat, her face heating up how it always did when she spoke about things she felt strongly about.

Tom was silent, appearing to mull over what she’d said as he bit the corner of a triangle of toast. She picked up her tea, sipped it and tried to keep her emotions in check – not one of her strong points. Hannah’s shaking hand saw her put the cup back in its saucer. She was pleased Tom, who was making an infuriatingly slow job of his meal, didn’t appear to notice her calm facade was an act.

Finally, he swallowed and spoke up. ‘The way I see it is this. The land was worked in the past. The Christmas tree farm will see that soil utilised again. If it was environmentally harmful, the project wouldn’t have even got this far.’

‘And how far is that?’

‘The Department of Agriculture is in talks with my benefactor about the project, and it’s looking positive that it will get the go-ahead before Christmas because, unlike yourself, they can see the benefit to Emerald Bay.’

‘But this benefactor of yours isn’t someone connected to the land here. They’ve no right to come in and destroy part of our heritage, to damage our community and especially not bang on Christmas time!’

‘So what you’re actually saying is you see me as the man who’s going to spoil Christmas?’

‘Don’t you dare laugh at me, Tom Flynn.’

‘I’m not. It’s just I’ve never seen myself in that light before, and to be fair, you don’t know my client has no connection to Emerald Bay,’ Tom finished quietly.

That brought her up short. What did that mean? She watched his expression shutter as he dipped the remaining toast into his egg. Who exactly was behind the Greenhouse?

Before she could ask her burning question, the question Dylan had tasked her with getting to the bottom of, Tom looked up from his plate.

‘I think what you’re really saying, Hannah, is you don’t like change.’

‘No! That’s not it at all.’ Argh, he made her want to stamp her foot. ‘I’m as adaptable as the next person.’ That wasn’t true, but she wasn’t letting on. So she brought the conversation back to where she wanted it and got straight to the point. ‘Who’s behind the Greenhouse Tom?’

‘That, I’m afraid, is confidential.’

It was the first glimmer of unease Hannah had seen. He’d said too much already, she guessed. Well, he could flipping well say more. ‘If everything’s kosher, why does this person want to hide their identity?’

‘There’s nothing underhanded going on. My client has asked to remain anonymous for now, and I have to respect that.’

‘But I don’t.’ Hannah had had enough. She pushed her chair back from the table, needing to distance herself from Tom before she grabbed him around the shoulders and gave him a jolly good shake.

‘This is really hitting the spot, thanks,’ he said, twinkling up at her.

Hannah bit her bottom lip, her grip on the back of the chair white knuckled. He was worse than infuriating. He was, he was…

She was saved from having to come up with a suitable descriptive word by the connecting door to the Shamrock opening. A waft of stale ale floated through after her dad.

‘I was just after doing a spot of cleaning up after last night’s hoolie. A full Irish, is it, lad?’ Liam asked Tom, almost salivating.

‘Very nice it is, too.’

‘Glad to hear it. You make the most of all that bacon and sausage because before you know it, you’ll be my age and having the poached egg with the cholesterol-lowering spread on your toast,’ Liam lamented.

His big-hearted beam faltered on seeing Hannah. ‘And what’s got up your nose this morning then?’

‘Nothing,’ Hannah muttered through gritted teeth.

‘Has my daughter been behaving herself, Tom?’

‘I’ve no complaints. She did me proud with this.’ He gestured to his plate. ‘I won’t need anything to eat for the rest of the day.’ Tom’s smile didn’t give so much of a hint of the conversation that had played out over the breakfast table.

Beyond infuriating Tom might be, but at least he wasn’t a tell-tale tit, Hannah thought, flouncing from the kitchen.