Free Beneath an Irish Sky (Choc Lit) by Isabella Connor

usually a safe one. Jack poured them both more water, giving her time if she needed it to prepare an answer.
    ‘Actually, it’s a bit of a sad story. Maybe best save it for another day. I don’t want to drag the afternoon down.’
    ‘I’d like to hear it,’ Jack said gently. ‘If you feel up to it.’
    Emer nodded, took a sip of her drink, and began the story. ‘I met Michael at university. We were both studying psychology. It was like we’d known each other forever. We were going to get engaged when we graduated …’
    ‘Were?’ prompted Jack.
    ‘We buried him instead. Such a waste. Party on the beach in Kerry, too much to drink – went and got himself drowned, the poor eejit.’
    ‘Emer, I’m so sorry.’
    ‘Me too,’ she murmured, looking out at the rain. ‘A light definitely went out for me with his passing.’
    Jack knew exactly what she meant. He’d felt that way after losing Caroline, and then Annie. The world made no sense and nothing mattered any more. When he next spoke, it was as one survivor to another. ‘How did you get through it?’
    ‘Threw myself into my work,’ admitted Emer, triggering another jolt of recognition. The success of Stewart Enterprises had become almost an obsession for Jack back then. ‘Seems like I spent every waking hour studying,’ she continued. ‘Classic displacement behaviour – bury the grief in order to survive. My friends and family were so worried. They persuaded me to see a counsellor. I wasn’t the easiest of patients but something kept me going back, and it worked. I pulled through.’
    ‘So that’s why you chose a career in counselling?’
    ‘I actually started my PhD researching stress in emergency personnel, but the more time I spent in hospitals, the more I was drawn to the patients. I switched my PhD focus, then did an internship in trauma counselling.’
    Brains, beauty
and
compassion. One powerful combination.
    ‘Have I got food on my face?’ Emer asked, brushing at her chin.
    He’d been staring. ‘No, you’re just perfect,’ he said, and meant it.
    She smiled and grabbed her glass, holding it to her cheek. ‘So, what’s your line of business?’
    Jack didn’t really want to talk about himself but he’d humour her. ‘It’s a family business. Stewart Enterprises. Leisure and property development. My father built it up from nothing. He started on a shoestring, saved hard, made some lucky investments, expanded, and earned his first million by the age of twenty-five.’
    ‘A real rags-to-riches story.’
    It did sound impressive. Jack had grown up in awe of his father. The man who could do anything. And a knighthood at sixty-five to boot. He doubted he’d ever be able to top that.
    ‘And what about your mother? Did she work?’
    His mother. Lady Grace. Not many people in Baronsmere could claim such an impeccable ancestry. ‘No, she never worked. All she wanted was to make a good marriage,’ he said. ‘She was the daughter of a respected Cheshire family, but the family fortune dipped during the Depression. She had the right connections, my father had serious money, so they got married.’
    ‘Sounds like they were made for each other,’ said Emer.
    ‘Hardly,’ muttered Jack, but he didn’t want to get into all of that. His parents already seemed to control so much of his life. He wanted to be free of them today.
    There was an awkward silence after his comment and Jack tried to think how to get the conversation going again on an even keel.
    Emer did it for him. The dessert trolley was wheeled past and she pointed. ‘Look at those profiteroles. Let’s have some for dessert. Pure decadence but I think we deserve it, don’t you?’
    The possibility of being able to wipe a smudge of chocolate from the corner of Emer’s mouth cheered Jack immensely.
    ‘So did you kiss him?’ Maeve’s chopsticks were poised over the takeaway carton of king prawn mushrooms.
    ‘Maeve!’ Emer produced her best scandalised expression. ‘I