Maura arrived back at Sullivan’s shortly after two. When she walked in, all the patrons turned to stare at her—all three of them, not counting Old Billy, who was more part of the building than a customer. It seemed she hadn’t missed much. On the other hand, the regular patrons had probably never seen her in anything but jeans, so they were thrilled to have something new to talk about.

Jimmy looked up from his conversation with one man in the corner, then looked away, signaling his lack of interest. Mick cocked his head at her. “So?”

Maura shucked off her jacket and stalked behind the bar. “So, not much. It’s a nice place. Great dining room—big, with lots of white tablecloths. Acres and acres of trees and stuff.”

Rose came out from the kitchen at the back. “I thought I heard yeh, Maura. How was it?”

“We didn’t have time for the grand tour of the designer gardens, and I only saw the first floor of the main building. There are apparently other buildings scattered around in case you want to be really, really private. There’s a lake, but I didn’t see it. Mainly we had lunch.”

Rose perched on a stool in front of the bar. “How was the food?”

“Very good, from what I could tell. I have no idea what it was. If we end up working together, maybe you and I can go have lunch there together. Anyway, Helen told me they grow a lot of their own stuff out back somewhere, and they source the rest locally, which I guess is trendy.”

“Ah, Maura, you really should get out more!” Rose chided her. “Local food is popular because it tastes better and it’s good for yeh. None of that artificial stuff in it. Maybe sometime I’ll do a blind tasting for yeh, and yeh’ll find out what a difference it can make.” Rose let out a longing sigh. “I hear they’re doin’ afternoon teas.”

“And I’m sure they’re lovely,” Maura said tartly, “but that’s not our style.”

“What did the woman want with yeh?” Mick asked.

“Mostly to impress me, this time around, and I think she still feels they were kind of rude on their first visit. Or maybe she was just curious about the pub . . . and me.”

“And Sullivan’s? Where’s that fit?” Mick pressed.

Maura turned to face him. “Why do you care so much, Mick? I mean, things are going well, especially now that we’ve added the music. Why do you think this bunch of business guys can do anything for us? And why should we be interested?”

“Maura, yeh’re still new to this business,” Mick began.

Maura didn’t want a lecture. “Yeah, I know that. So?”

“Yeh’ve brought in a lot of folk since yeh took over. But part of that was curiosity—who were yeh and what were yeh doin’ here? And then the music—plenty around here remember the old days under Mick Sullivan and stopped in to see what was goin’ on. But that doesn’t mean they’re comin’ back, now that they’ve checked us out. And I don’t know if yeh’ve noticed, but even Skib has stepped up its game—the Eldon’s redone itself, the West Cork Inn has a good chef, and that café at the Arts Center pulls in a good crowd at midday. Mebbe Sullivan’s and its kind are beginnin’ to feel old-fashioned. Or more like out of step. Yeh’ve got competition, and if yeh lose customers, the business could go under.”

Maura stared at him for a moment, wondering where that outburst had come from. Wondering why he had been thinking about it at all and for how long. “Gee, thanks for cheering me up. You’ll be happy to know that I didn’t say no to anything Helen said. This was just round one, right? But there’s no offer on the table yet. And I still draw the line at fancying up the place.”

Mick raised his hands in surrender. “It’s yer place, Maura. I’m just after givin’ you my opinion.”

“And I appreciate it, Mick. But there’s nothing to decide about yet. Can’t we just take a day or two and think about it? Think about what we want from this place? Maybe have a meeting with all of us together and share ideas?” When nobody protested, Maura went on, “How about Sunday? We don’t open ’til after noon that day, so there’d be more time.”

“Done. Hear that, Jimmy?” Mick called out.

“Yeah, yeah, ten o’clock, Sunday,” he muttered just loudly enough to be heard.

Jimmy’s lack of enthusiasm was clear, and Maura wondered, not for the first time, how long he’d stick around at Sullivan’s. Or how long any of her staff would. Jimmy was probably getting married soon, and his intended, Judith, who was clearly a strong-willed woman, probably had plans for him on her dairy farm. Rose should’ve been out somewhere getting herself an education, or at least some useful training, not just serving up pints in a small village.

And Mick? Mick was still an unknown quantity to her, even after working with him for a year. What was he doing here? He had some experience outside of Leap, so why was he content to stay in this little hole in the wall? Couldn’t he be doing more with his life? So far he’d hidden behind the excuse that he was taking care of his granny Bridget, but he could still do that with a better job, couldn’t he?

If she was a pessimist, Maura could say that most of her staff had no particular loyalty to the pub or her and could walk away at any time. They were here only because they didn’t have the energy to go somewhere else. How on earth would she manage to hire anyone new? She had little to offer anyone, just long hours and low pay. Great—now she was depressing herself.

Shortly after three, Maura looked up to see Gillian come in. Late in her pregnancy, Gillian had a tendency to waddle, a gait very unlike her usual confident stride. Gillian had always dressed well, looking like the Dublin artist that she was, at least part of the time, but none of her city clothes would fit anymore. At least she looked comfortable in a long flowing skirt with a loose tunic top over it, both in bright colors.

“Hey, Gillian. Make yourself comfortable.”

“As if I could.” Gillian sighed and headed for the seat by the fire hastily vacated by one of the regulars. “Could you do me an herbal tea, please?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Rose told her, grabbing up a mug. “Yeh’ll want to be tellin’ her about yer fancy lunch, I’m guessing.”

“Thanks, Rose.” Maura collected a chair as she made her way toward Gillian. “What’s up?”

“Since the O’Briens left, Harry and I have been trying to do everything at once.” She gestured at her pregnant belly. “You can guess how much use I am these days.”

“You couldn’t get them to stay on a bit longer?”

Gillian shook her head. “They stayed on only until Harry figured out what kind of financial settlement he could make for them after all their years of service to Eveline. It was probably smaller than they hoped. But I think the real sticking point was that Florence had never had a child and she was terrified that I might pop this one out on a moment’s notice. So they packed up and went to Bandon to live with her sister.”

“And Harry?”

“He’s talking to the computer boys in Skibbereen about that new tech center.”

“The what?”

“The new hub.” When Maura still looked blankly at her, Gillian sighed. “I’m talking about the place behind Fields where they’ve got business space with digital connections. You know Harry’s going to try to give it a go working from home, but he needs a place to meet with clients and a way to videoconference now and then. That kind of thing.”

“So this place has all of that?”

“It does, or so they say. That’s why he’s talking to them now.”

Maura made a mental note to check out the place sometime—maybe she could learn something about computers there if she ever had any free time. “And he left you all by your lonesome?”

“No, Harry dropped me off here before heading to Skib. He figured you’d entertain me. I can’t fit behind the wheel of my car anymore.”

“At least it won’t be forever. And of course you’re welcome here any time.”

“It won’t be the same when I’m out at Ballinlough,” Gillian said a bit wistfully.

“It’s not far. Mick goes out there all the time to see Bridget, and I live there, remember? And you’ll have plenty of time to paint. Any luck finding a childminder?”

Gillian shook her head. “We really haven’t had time to look, what with closing on the house and studio and trying to get them ready to live in, doing the inventory on Mycroft House for the National Trust, and Harry trying to get a business going. And we don’t want to start paying someone until the child actually appears.”

“When’s that going to be?”

“Whenever he or she decides. When I last saw the midwife, she thought maybe two or three more weeks. First children often arrive late.”

“And you’re still going to the hospital to have the baby, right?”

“That’s what the midwife recommends. Harry’s going to hold my hand and look the other direction and hope he doesn’t throw up. The whole thing’s ridiculous, isn’t it?”

“Pushing out a baby? Well, it seems to work since the human race has survived this long. You’ll do fine.”

“So what’s this lunch Rose was talking about?” Gillian tried to find a more comfortable position in the battered armchair, which creaked under her weight.

“Oh, right, you missed the start of that,” Maura said and proceeded to outline the phone call, the arrival of the Crann Mor gang the day before, and her lunch with Helen. As she wrapped up her summary, she said, “I really don’t know what to think.”

“Do they want a decision soon?” Gillian asked.

“There’s nothing to decide yet, just a vague idea.”

“And you’re resisting it,” Gillian guessed shrewdly.

“That’s what Billy asked too. Is it that obvious? Yeah, it kind of feels like a bad idea to me, or at least a bad fit.”

“Check with Harry if ever you get to any outline of a deal, and he can look at the numbers. What is it that troubles you about what you’re hearing?”

“That I, or the pub, don’t belong with these people.” Maura sighed. “I don’t seem to get out much, not to see other pubs or hear what kind of music they’re doing, and certainly not to visit fancy hotels. I mean, I could see that the hotel is really, really nice, but I don’t feel like I belong there. And wouldn’t the guests feel the same way coming here, only in reverse?”

“You don’t have to be anything you aren’t, you know. Do you need the money?”

“We’re getting by. But I don’t know if that’s enough, and Mick says we’re cutting it close. Remember, I never ran a business in my life, and now I’m supposed to be negotiating with a multinational consortium? It’s crazy.”

“Ah, enjoy the ride, me dear,” Old Billy chimed in. He’d been dozing on the other side of the fireplace, but now he seemed ready to jump in to the conversation. “If it comes to nothin’, yeh’ve lost nothin.”

“I guess. Do you think it’s a good idea, Billy? You’ve probably got the longest memory of this place as anyone.”

“That’s fair to say. I knew Mick Sullivan from the cradle, near enough. I was a young man when he took on this place. I remember when he brought the music in, fer that was his real love, and I remember when he started to let it fade away. He never went bust, else yeh wouldn’t be sittin’ here now. But he never got rich. What is it yeh’re wantin’ from the place, Maura Donovan?”

“That’s the problem, Billy—I don’t know. And I don’t want to feel rushed into deciding. Either it’s a terrific idea to cut a deal with these people, or it’ll trash what we’ve got now. I just don’t know which will happen.”

“Hear them out, Maura. Yeh don’t have to decide right away. This is Ireland—things take time here. Those folk need to learn that themselves. They may know the hotel business, but things don’t always go like clockwork here, no matter how well yeh plan.”

“Maybe they should hire you to sit by the fire in their giant, shiny lobby and hand out wisdom to the guests. Would you like a sign? ‘Sage advice from our very own old codger’?”

“And they’d pay me fer it?” Billy asked with a twinkle in his eye. “Whaddaya think I’m worth?”

“Billy, you’re priceless. And we need you here.”

“And I’ll be happy if yeh pay me in pints.”

“If that’s a hint, I’ll take care of it. You can entertain Gillian here.”

“The pleasure’s mine,” Billy said, beaming.