Love Like This. Sophie Love
realized then that Orin was already ready to leave the B&B. He was wearing boots that reached halfway up his calves as if in anticipation of puddles. Or mud. Either way, Keira wasn’t in the mood for perambulating.
“You don’t have to do that,” she said. “I have SatNav in the car so I won’t get lost.”
Orin pointed at her coffee. “That’s not why I’m doing it.”
The cynical part of Keira’s mind wondered whether Orin had deliberately inebriated her in order to ensure she couldn’t refuse his offer of a walk. But she knew that was crazy thinking. Orin was just a gentle old man, proud of his town. He wanted to show it off to the cynical New Yorker he’d been lumped with.
“Come on,” Orin continued. “You’re here to get a real taste of Ireland! To live like a local! You won’t really know what our lives are like if you don’t walk a mile in our shoes!”
He yanked on her arm playfully, encouraging her to join him. His enthusiasm was quickly turning to cajoling and Keira realized there was literally no way of turning him down. Orin was going to make her walk to the meeting with him no matter what she said! There was no refusing.
Giving in, she downed the last of her boozy coffee, feeling the effects as soon as she stood. Then she and Orin left the dark B&B and emerged into the bright early morning sunshine. Even though the sky was a muted gray, Keira squinted against its harsh glare.
“Lead the way,” she said to Orin, as she glanced down the only path, a winding country road that snaked its way down the hillside. There were occasional buildings dotted on either side but it was mainly surrounded by lush green fields filled with sheep.
“It’s a two-mile walk to the town hall if we stick to the road,” Orin said. “But if we cut across the fields it’s half that distance. Of course, the farmer has every right to shoot us since we’d be trespassing but everyone around here knows everyone else so we’ll be fine.”
Keira gulped. “Let’s take the scenic route, huh?” she said.
“If you want,” Orin said nonchalantly, clearly not even picking up on her alarm.
They began strolling down the street. Despite the early hour, everyone they passed seemed so happy and friendly. When they reached the main street (if it could be called such) there was even a small troupe of musicians playing fiddles and accordions, singing old folk songs. People danced and sang along. Keira couldn’t really believe what she was seeing. How could a place be so collectively happy? Maybe she’d been wrong to make such harsh, snap judgments.
“Here we go,” Orin said as they arrived at their destination.
Like all the buildings in Lisdoonvarna this one was brightly painted, a burnt orange color in this case, adding to the rainbow streets. A sign above the door proclaimed: Home of the Matchmaker. The door itself was covered in images of cupid.
Keira raised an eyebrow at the tacky decor, then followed Orin inside. An elderly gentleman rose from his desk and came toward her.
“William Barry,” he said, extending a hand. “You’re the American reporter.”
Keira shook his hand. “I’m a travel writer, not a reporter.”
“So this piece isn’t going in the New York Times?” William asked, frowning.
Keira glanced appealingly at Orin. Had William been under the impression she worked for some huge organization? What if Heather had bent the truth a little as she’d organized this event, knowing that Josh would have been willing to lie and sweet talk his way to his goal?
Suddenly, Orin burst out laughing. Keira looked back at William. He was creased over with laughter as well.
“You should have seen the look on your face!” he exclaimed, his face turning bright red.
Keira wasn’t quite able to see the funny side. There was too much at stake for her with her first real assignment that teasing was not exactly welcome.
“Take a seat, take a seat,” William said as his laughter began subsiding.
Keira did, drawing up one of the wooden chairs and sitting at the desk. Orin sat beside her. Just as William sat down, a woman with fiery red hair entered holding a tray with a teapot, mugs, and a milk jug on it.
“This is my secretary, Maeve,” William said as the woman put the tray down. “Thanks, dear.”
She disappeared out of the room, leaving William to pour the cups of tea. It didn’t matter that Keira wasn’t much of a tea drinker, she felt unable to decline, and so she took the mug of steaming tea without protest.
William folded his hands across the table. “I must say we’re ever so excited to have you here, Keira. With the way the world is changing and all these Internet dating sites, it’s becoming harder and harder to get customers. I’m hoping your piece ignites some renewed interest.”
Keira covered her guilty expression with her tea mug. She felt bad knowing that she was going to write such a cutting piece. William and Orin seemed like sweet, genuine people, and they’d treated her with such hospitality. But she had her assignment, had her instructions. She told herself that bashing a silly festival from halfway around the globe in a magazine that didn’t even get imported to Ireland would hardly cause their business to fold.
“Do you know the history of the festival?” William continued.
“I did some research before I came,” Keira said, nodding.
But as William launched into his monologue about the festival, she shut her mouth. Clearly she was going to be given the aural history whether she liked it or not.
“It was my father’s business. His father’s before that. In fact, the Barrys have been matchmakers for as long as anyone can remember. Way back then it was about matching the nobles who were visiting for the water with a beautiful young local girl. Irish girls are considered very prolific child bearers, you see, which was a matchmaker’s main selling point.”
Keira could hardly stop the look of disgust on her face. William didn’t notice, however, and continued with his story.
“It would usually take place just after the harvest, when the girls were at their plumpest and their bosoms fullest. A good matchmaker would make sure the girls were married and whisked away before winter fell, since the chances were they’d get pneumonia and die over the winter.”
Keira pressed her lips together to stifle a giggle. She couldn’t tell how much of what William said was tongue in cheek but she had a slight inkling that he was deadly serious. Though she’d done her research, hearing the way William phrased it really was amusing.
“Then of course times changed. Different sorts came to the town. Wars depleted the male stock. The threat of famine made people desperate to marry young, and marry anyone. It was a hard time for the matchmaker. When I took over the business from my pa I was mainly paid by farm apprentices to match them with one of my local girls.” He patted a book. “So I kept a list of them.”
“Is that legal?” Keira said, finally breaking her stunned silence. “It sounds a bit stalkerish to me.”
“Nonsense!” William laughed. “The girls loved it. They all want to get married. Even if it is to a farm hand with no brain cells to his name and terrible hygiene habits.”
Keira just shook her head. Her article was writing itself!
Just then, the door opened. Keira was expecting to see the flame-haired Maeve again, but when she looked over her shoulder it was Shane she saw entering the building. She suddenly felt tingly all over and sat up, stiff-backed, in her chair.
“Morning,” Shane said, taking a seat in the corner.
William continued. “Now here is my book of matches.” He handed her a huge, hardback leather tome. “Well, one of them. I’ve been doing this for so many years now I’ve got quite the collection.”
Keira began to thumb through the book, reading all the names of happy couples. Some included photos,