‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said easily. ‘I was getting too hot anyway.’ He pulled the soaking shirt over his head, exposing a tanned torso with just the right amount of dark chest hair to make her think: Sexy!
Students were in various states of undress because of the sultry heat, so being shirtless wasn’t a big deal, she thought with relief, trying not to gaze at her victim’s impressive pecs while he wrung out his shirt and slung it over his shoulder.
‘You are such a clutterbuck, Hilary.’ Colette materialized behind her and gave a light-hearted giggle. She rolled her eyes heavenwards and held out her dainty hand to the hunk in front of them. ‘Hi, I’m Colette O’Mahony, and this’ – she made a little moue – ‘is Hilary Kinsella who has two left feet as you’ve just found out.’
‘Well, hi there, ladies. Niall Hammond is my moniker and I guess we should have a round of fresh drinks to get us back on track.’ He waved politely at a waitress and she nodded and headed in their direction. ‘Guinness for you, Hilary? Did you have anything in it?’
‘Um . . . it was a Black Velvet,’ Hilary managed, mortified, and raging with Colette for saying she had two left feet. Her friend could be so artless sometimes.
‘Brandy and ginger,’ Colette purred gaily, fluttering her eyelashes at him.
Hilary saw Niall’s eyes widen slightly. Typical of Colette to go for an expensive short when someone else was paying.
‘Er . . . mine’s with cider, not champagne,’ she added hastily in case he thought they were way OTT.
Niall winked at her and gave the order and added, ‘A pint of Harp for me, please. So, ladies, are you students here?’ he asked, smiling down at Colette. Hilary’s heart sank. It was always the way. Once men saw blonde, petite, dainty, effervescent Colette, she was forgotten about.
‘Hilary is. She’s doing a boring bookkeeping course; I’m just here for the craic! I’m studying Fine Arts in London. I’m home for the weekend.’
‘Interesting! Fine Arts. How did that come about?’ Niall leaned against a pillar, thumbs hooking into his jeans, and Hilary thought how typical of her luck to encounter a hunky guy when Colette was home from London on one of her rare jaunts across the Irish Sea. Since she had moved to London to live with her father’s widowed sister, her friend rarely came home, and wasn’t great at keeping in touch either. She was having a ball going to polo matches, and weekend parties in the country, and drinking in glamorous pubs in Kensington and Knightsbridge and shopping in Harvey Nicks and Harrods.
‘My parents wanted me to study law. They’re both barristers,’ Colette added, always keen to slip that bit of information into any conversation. ‘I couldn’t bear the idea,’ she trilled, throwing back her head so that her blonde hair fell in a tumbling mane over her shoulders, and giving a gay laugh. ‘My dad’s sister has a big flat in Holland Park, and her husband died and they have no children so I went to stay with her for a while and she knew someone in Dickon and Austen’s Fine Art and I worked there and did my degree and that’s where I’ve fetched up.’
Fetched up, thought Hilary irritably. Colette was becoming more English than the English themselves.
‘And yourself?’ Niall’s heavy-lidded brown eyes were focused on Hilary. But there was a twinkle in them that she liked and she found herself responding with an answering smile.
‘I work in my dad’s lighting and electrical business—’
‘She’s a shop manager,’ interjected Colette brightly. ‘Oh look, here’s our drinks.’
‘Let me pay,’ Hilary urged. ‘After all I’ve ruined your shirt.’
‘Another time,’ Niall said firmly, taking his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans and extracting a twenty.
‘And what do you do apart from playing the bodhrán fabulously?’ Colette arched a perfectly manicured, wing-tipped eyebrow at him, before taking a ladylike sip of her brandy and ginger.
‘I work in Aer Rianta International, in travel retail. And in my spare time I play gigs with these hoodlums.’ He indicated his three band buddies in the background.
‘Really? An interesting job, I’d say?’ Colette was impressed. ‘Do you travel much?’
‘I do indeed.’
‘I love to travel,’ Colette commented gaily.
‘What’s your band called?’ Hilary interjected, knowing that unless she steered her off track, Colette would launch into a description of her travels and Hilary would end up feeling like a real gooseberry. She was beginning to feel like one already!
‘We’re called Solas, which I’m sure you know is the Gaelic for “light”. Somewhat of a synchronicity, Hilary, wouldn’t you think? Both of us work with light!’
‘Umm.’ Hilary was caught mid-gulp of her Black Velvet and was afraid she had a creamy moustache. ‘I guess so.’
‘Well, I should get back and play another set, or Solas won’t get paid tonight. It was nice meeting you both.’
‘Are you playing anywhere else over the weekend?’ Colette asked casually.
‘We are. Are you into trad? I wouldn’t have thought that would be your scene,’ Niall remarked.
‘Oh I LOVE it,’ Colette fibbed. ‘I adore The Dubliners and . . . er . . . um . . . eh . . .The Clancy Brothers.’
‘And yourself, Hilary?’ Niall turned to look at her.
‘I like trad.’ She nodded. ‘I like the liveliness of it, the buzz of a good session.’
‘And who do you like?’ he probed.
‘I like The Bothy Band, Planxty, De Dannan, and The Chieftains are amazing.’ She shrugged.
‘A woman after my own heart. They’re all unbelievable musicians, aren’t they?’ he said enthusiastically.
‘The best,’ Hilary agreed.
‘So where are you playing tomorrow?’ Colette persisted, annoyed that she hadn’t thought of naming any of those bands, although she only vaguely knew of them. She was more into The Rolling Stones and The Eagles.
‘O’Donohue’s. Why, are you going to come?’
‘Well, who knows?’ Colette flashed her baby blues at
