‘Aisling, the days of going cap in hand to see the bank manager are long gone. Sure, they’re desperate for our business,’ he’d said. Quinn had plans of them putting a down payment on a house. Not for them to live in – he was going to move into O’Mara’s with her and Moira after they were married – but as a rental property. ‘Property prices are high, but rental property is in high demand. It’s as good a time as any for us to get our feet on the property ladder,’ he’d said. He’d gone so far as to get the calculator out and bang out figures based on his and her savings and had been confident that after the wedding, ‘and the honeymoon,’ she’d added, they could start looking around to get an idea of what was on the market.
His nose was red from the chill air, Aisling saw as he drew nearer. The reason he’d been standing about outside his restaurant instead of waiting inside in the toasty warmth was because she’d told him she had to be back at O’Mara’s for two o’clock as she had a Canadian tour party arriving. She liked to be on hand to meet their guests arriving, priding herself on the personal touch when it came to her role managing the family’s guesthouse. She also knew her fiancé well enough to know if she arranged to meet him inside his bistro, he’d find something last minute that he had to do, that couldn’t possibly wait. For his part he knew his intended well enough not to argue, not when she seemed to be walking a tight rope of nervous energy as their wedding drew nearer.
He reached her and wrapped her in a hello hug followed by a kiss and Aisling inhaled the familiar scent of cooking that clung to him along with the aftershave she’d bought him for his birthday. It was a warm and spicy scent that did peculiar things to her, things that were not suitable to be thinking about when one had a threesome with the bank manager planned.
‘All set?’ Quinn asked, releasing her and offering her his arm.
‘All set,’ she said, linking her arm through his and putting her best foot forward.
THE QUEUE, GIVEN PEOPLE were on their lunch breaks, was to the door and Aisling was glad they had an appointment. She hated queuing; it seemed like such a complete waste of time, especially with her impending nuptials which meant she had one hundred and one other things she could be doing at any given time along with all her ordinary day to day tasks. They were led through to a tiny waiting room and told by a bored looking woman that Mr Cleary shouldn’t be long.’
No tea or coffee was on offer then, Aisling thought, glancing around before sitting down.
Quinn perched next to her muttering, ‘It’s a power play thing. ‘He’s letting us know his time’s more precious than ours.’ He was working his hands, and Aisling realised he was anxious. She took hold of them and gave them a reassuring squeeze before looking about for a magazine to flick through. You never knew your luck, there might be a Bridal Today lurking or the like. There were none, only a rack of pamphlets pertaining to banking with smiley, happy people who were all saving hard on the glossy covers.
A lonely water cooler gurgled away like a hungry tummy in the corner of the closet-like space. They were a tight old lot these bankers, she thought, trying to picture Mr Cleary. ‘I bet yer man in there,’ she said, pointing to the closed door with its gold nameplate, ‘is small and yappy like a Jack Russell.’
Her comment made Quinn smile. It was then she remembered the brochure she’d tucked in her bag. Now was as good a time to mention what she had a feeling was going to be a hard sell. It was time to talk honeymoon and given she’d worked in resort management for years, she had her heart set on something completely out of the box to the sunshine playgrounds she’d spent so much time in. She retrieved the brochure and passed it over to him asking, ‘What do you think of this then?’
Quinn stared at it, frowning, before stating the obvious. ‘It’s a hotel made of ice.’
‘I know that,’ Aisling laughed. ‘It’s the Ice Hotel, you eejit. You know the one that’s carved every year from blocks of the stuff up the top of Sweden. It’s been on the tele.’
‘Why?’
‘Why what?’
‘Why do they do it?’
‘Because it’s beautiful and it’s unique, that’s why. Every single thing right down to the glasses used in the hotel bar is carved from ice. Imagine it, Quinn.’ Her smile was dreamy as she pictured the winter wonderland of Narnia. She’d lost herself in there many times as a child when she’d hidden away at the back of her wardrobe trying to find a secret doorway.
‘Okay, it’s erm, very creative but why are you showing me this?’ Quinn had a feeling he knew where this conversation was headed.
‘I think we should have our honeymoon there. That’s why.’
He’d guessed right and shivered at the very thought of it. ‘Won’t it be a tad chilly though?’
‘Well, you don’t get around in your swimming trunks. You have to have the proper winter gear but sure, look,’ she took the brochure from him and flicked through to a picture of a couple looking deliriously happy as they snuggled
