Through A Magnolia Filter. Nan Dixon

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СКАЧАТЬ just want his cameras.” Liam dashed his signature on the line.

      He didn’t want to stay in Kilkee any longer than required. “I’ll go up there now.”

      “I’ll notify Mrs. Needles.” Ian loaded Liam down with a box of papers and folders. “The Fitzgeralds’ copies are in this envelope. I’ve had copies made for you, too. There’s also a copy of Seamus’s will.”

      Ian held the door and walked Liam to his car. “Let me know if you need anything.”

      “Sure.” Not if he could help it. He wanted to be free of this place. And he definitely didn’t want to head to the manor. But he turned the car up the cliff road.

      The house overlooking Kilkee Bay hadn’t changed. The blue-gray stone manor had dark, tiny inset windows framed with tan limestone. The faded red door wasn’t inviting. The roof was a sorrowful gray slate. Seamus had boasted all the stone had come from FitzGerald quarries.

      Liam’s chest tightened as he parked in the drive. The loneliness of his childhood weighed down his shoulders.

      The house could have been quaint or even elegant. It was neither. It was his worst horror. A place where he’d grieved his parents and no one had cared.

      The flagstone drive, also from the quarries, muffled the strike of his shoes. He stopped in the courtyard, glaring at the house.

      The door pulled open with a dull pop.

      “Come in, come in.” Mrs. Needles waved him inside. “I’m sorry for your loss, Master Liam.”

      “It’s just Liam.” No one had called him Master Liam since boarding school. “Thank you for your sympathy, but you worked for my godfather. You know we weren’t close.”

      “Oh, how proud he was whenever one of your books came out.” She eased off his leather jacket and hung it on the tree before he could protest. “Mr. FitzGerald bragged on how he’d taught you everything you knew about photography.”

      “He followed my career?” Liam blurted out.

      “Oh, he did. Loved to boast about you down at the pub.” She patted his arm. “He wasn’t as keen on the documentaries, but he watched them all the same.”

      This didn’t make any sense. When he hadn’t stayed in Kilkee, he and Seamus rarely talked.

      “Seamus did love photography,” Liam said. The only thing he’d loved. And his godfather had made him slave long hours in the darkroom.

      “He was proud of you. Come on back to the kitchen.” She tugged on his elbow. “I’ve just brewed a pot of tea.”

      “I hadn’t planned on staying. I’m only here for the cameras.”

      She ignored his reluctance, leading him down the dim, narrow hall. The lemon polish on the shining wood didn’t mask the musty smell of the old house.

      “I’ve everything packed in a box and a few of your school things Mr. FitzGerald saved.” Her eyes twinkled. “You must have been a terror in school. There’s a number of notes from headmasters.”

      She pushed open the kitchen door. Bright yellow curtains graced the windows.

      “I can’t believe Seamus sprang for something new in this mausoleum,” he spat out.

      She winked. “My mince pies got me those curtains.”

      A peat fire burned on the grate, the pungent scent warming the room. Mrs. Needles poured two mugs as he settled in a chair in front of the hearth. Then she piled a plate with raspberry tarts and shortbread cookies.

      This wasn’t the house he remembered. For once he felt...welcomed.

      He took a bite of a crisp cookie. Buttery sugar melted in his mouth. Then he popped a tart in his mouth, the crust flaky and the jam sweet. “These are tops. If you’d been housekeeper when I was a child, I don’t think I’d have gotten in so much trouble at school.”

      “If I’d been housekeeper, you would have behaved. I raised three boys from lads to men. I’m a grandmother three times.”

      He let her ramble on about her children and sipped his strong black tea, feeling strangely at ease in a house he hated.

      She walked into the breakfast room and came back with a box. “Are you sure you don’t want to look around the place? Identify things you’d like packed up? Maybe stay the night?”

      “Thanks, no. I’m at the inn.” But for once, he was tempted to linger.

      She pointed at the empty plate. “How about another cup of tea and a few more biscuits?”

      “I’d like that.”

      * * *

      “ONCE MORE WITH FEELING,” Dolley called, reducing the f-stop on her camera.

      Damian, the bar owner, rolled his eyes, but picked up a martini glass and pretended to hand the bright blue drink to Dolley’s coworker, Anne. On the dark wood bar sat two more cocktails, one electric pink and the other neon green.

      Dolley made sure Anne, Damian, the drinks and the wall of gleaming bottles behind the bar were in focus. She snapped away. “Smile.”

      Anne’s and Damian’s smiles were forced.

      “Come on, think of something fun,” she suggested. “Like vacations or...sex.”

      They both grinned. Exactly what she wanted. She captured a few more photos and then pulled the camera away. “Perfect.”

      “Finally.” Damian dropped his elbows to the counter and heaved a sigh. “I’ve got thirsty customers to serve.”

      Dolley caught a few more shots of Damian as he worked. He was so darn cute. And married. Oh, well. “You’ll have more customers once I update your website.”

      She hoped the last pictures of Damian turned out. His dimpled grin would pull in tons of female customers.

      “I can’t wait to see it.” Damian put the martinis he’d made for the photos on a tray, adding a clear martini. “Here. For your trouble.”

      Anne grinned. “Thanks.”

      Dolley grabbed her jacket. “I’ll send the website link in a couple of days.”

      She and Anne took the tray out to the patio. It was a perfect October night in Savannah.

      “I’m jealous you get to design websites and take pictures for them.” Anne sipped the bright blue drink. “Oh, this is delicious.”

      “You could, too.”

      “Have you seen my client list? Georgia Gravel Company. Chatham Reclamation.” Anne shook her head. “I’ll let them take their own pictures, thank you.”

      “You have no sense of adventure. You could climb the gravel piles, wade through garbage.”

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