What Happened That Night: The page-turning holiday read by the No. 1 bestselling author Read online

  Copyright © 2017 Sheila O’Flanagan

  Extract from The Hideaway © 2018 Sheila O’Flanagan

  The right of Sheila O’Flanagan to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First published in Great Britain in 2017

  by HEADLINE REVIEW

  An imprint of HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

  First published as an Ebook in 2017

  by HEADLINE REVIEW

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library

  eISBN: 978 1 4722 3536 7

  Hand-lettering © Carol Kemp

  Cover images by Shutterstock: house © Olga Gavrilova; window © Irina N; shadow © Santonrines; flower box © Glenn W. Walker

  HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

  An Hachette UK Company

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  50 Victoria Embankment

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  www.hachette.co.uk

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  About the Author

  Praise

  Also by Sheila O’Flanagan

  About the Book

  Dedication

  Bey: Now

  Prologue

  Lola: Then

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  The Agreement: Four years later

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  The Theft: Nine years later

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  The Raid: Ten years later

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Haute Joaillerie: Four years later

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Bijou: Two years later

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  The Ice Dragon: Now

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Acknowledgements

  A Q&A with Sheila O’Flanagan

  Read the opening section of Sheila O’Flanagan’s new novel, THE HIDEAWAY

  Discover more novels from Sheila O’Flanagan

  About the Author

  Sheila O’Flanagan is the author of many bestselling novels, including The Missing Wife , My Mother’s Secret , If You Were Me , All For You (winner of the Irish Independent Popular Fiction Book of the Year Award) and Bad Behaviour , as well as the bestselling short story collections Destinations , Connections and A Season to Remember .

  Sheila has always loved telling stories, and after working in banking and finance for a number of years, she decided it was time to fulfil a dream and give writing her own book a go. So she sat down, stuck ‘Chapter One’ at the top of a page, and got started. Sheila is now the author of more than twenty bestselling titles. She lives in Dublin with her husband.

  www.sheilaoflanagan.com

  @sheilaoflanagan

  /sheilabooks

  Praise for Sheila’s irresistible novels

  ‘An exciting love story with a deliciously romantic denouement’ Sunday Express

  ‘Smart and twisty’ ***** Heat

  ‘Romantic and charming’ Candis

  ‘This GONE GIRL-esque novel will have you gripped until the very end’ **** Look

  ‘I read the book in one sitting as it was so enjoyable, full of romance and kept you riveted until the last page. A must’ Woman’s Way

  ‘This is a real must-read’ Closer

  ‘Will keep you guessing right up until the end’ Bella

  ‘One of our best storytellers’ Irish Mail on Sunday

  ‘A big, touching book sure to delight O’Flanagan fans’ Daily Mail

  ‘A thought-provoking read’ New!

  ‘A captivating novel of family ties and romance’ Sun

  By Sheila O’Flanagan and available from Headline

  Suddenly Single

  Far From Over

  My Favourite Goodbye

  He’s Got To Go

  Isobel’s Wedding

  Caroline’s Sister

  Too Good To Be True

  Dreaming Of A Stranger

  Destinations

  Anyone But Him

  How Will I Know?

  Connections

  Yours, Faithfully

  Bad Behaviour

  Someone Special

  The Perfect Man

  Stand By Me

  A Season To Remember

  All For You

  Better Together

  Things We Never Say

  If You Were Me

  My Mother’s Secret

  The Missing Wife

  What Happened That Night

  About the Book

  Then

  When Lola Fitzpatrick catches the eye of Philip Warren, she’s new to Dublin and loving it. He’s used to getting what he wants . . . and she can’t resist him. Until one night he forces her to make an impossible choice.

  If she’d known then what she knows now , everything might have been different.

  Now

  Lola’s daughter Bey has inherited her mother’s impulsive streak and it takes her down dangerous paths.

  Then one night she too finds herself in front of a man she loves, with impossible choices of her own to make.

  For both women, what happened that night changes everything. For better. For worse. For ever.

  In memory of Carole Blake (1946–2016), lover of books, shoes and big jewellery, who took me on as a client and changed my life for ever.

  Bey

  Now

  From her position behind the stage of the reception room, Bey Fitzpatrick could see but not be seen. She was hidden from view by the silk banners that had been erected earlier that day, while the careful placing of the lights around the room meant that she was standing in a pool of shadow. As the hum of conversation increased, her attention was fixed on the women in their colourful dresses and sparkling jewellery. Like vibrant birds of paradise, they laughed and chattered as they accepted canapés and glasses of champagne from silver trays borne by expert servers. Bey had a sudden recollection that it was the male birds of paradise who possessed the colourful plumage, not the females. But tonight the women shone and glittered while the men played second fiddle in their tuxedos and white shirts.

  The background music was lost in the hubbub of voices and bursts of excited laughter. The guests were eagerly an
ticipating the launch of the exclusive Ice Dragon jewellery collection, which would be unveiled later in the evening. It included three unique necklaces made from white gold and set with diamonds as well as either rubies, sapphires or emeralds. Each necklace cost a six-figure sum. And each one, Bey knew, was truly exceptional, a piece that anyone would treasure.

  She felt a flutter of anxiety as she scanned the crowd. She recognised some faces from the gossip pages of magazines or newspapers. There were a number of TV personalities. A famous singer. A prominent politician. And lots of business people. Every person in the room had been invited because they had already bought top-of-the-range jewellery from Warren’s, the jewellery store. Not all of them could afford an Ice Dragon necklace, but each guest was flattered to have received an invitation to the launch. The atmosphere was filled with happy anticipation.

  It’s a make-believe world. The memory of his words echoed in her ears. We only ever see people when they’re rich and happy.

  He’d laughed, and so had she.

  It had been a lifetime ago.

  When things were different.

  When she hadn’t known half the things she knew now.

  She shivered even though the room was warm. She was standing near the mullioned window and she could suddenly feel the chill of the night air through the clear glass. She glanced outside and caught her breath. Huge snowflakes were falling lazily from the heavy sky, turning the garden outside the ancient listed building into a carpet of white. The flakes landed on the window in a lattice of interlocking crystals that glittered as brightly as the diamonds inside the room.

  There was a spider’s web at the corner of the window pane, silvery white beneath the feather-light snow. She felt her mind shift into another time and place as she remembered a different night of snow and ice twenty years earlier, and a different spider’s web. She remembered how she’d stared at it, willing it to stay unbroken, telling herself that she wouldn’t be caught if it remained intact. She was suddenly there again, terrified to move, hoping that the mist of her breath wouldn’t give her away, or that the beating of her heart couldn’t be heard in the stillness of the night.

  She felt the hand on her shoulder and she almost screamed out loud.

  Then the lights went out.

  Lola

  Then

  Chapter 1

  Diamond: a transparent, extremely hard, precious stone

  Lola Fitzpatrick always had a choice to make on Friday afternoons: to stay for the weekend in the flat she shared with three other girls in Dublin, or to spend the days at the family farm instead. Left to her own devices, the choice was simple. Dublin was far more exciting and vibrant than a weekend at the farm could ever be, and at least one of her flatmates was sure to be around and ready to socialise. On the other hand, Cloghdrom was home. But returning there was like taking a step back in time. Socialising was limited to drinks in one of the local pubs (excluding McCloskey’s, which was only ever frequented by elderly farmers), or enduring what was still called a ‘hop’ at the GAA clubhouse – scratched records played beneath a disco ball by Baz Hogan, who fancied himself as a DJ. From Lola’s point of view, Cloghdrom hadn’t even made it out of the 1950s, let alone reached the 80s; the general assumption of the inhabitants was that their sons would inherit the farm while their daughters would marry other farmers.

  ‘It’s like Pride and Prejudice without the gorgeousness of Pemberley,’ she complained to her older sister Gretta. ‘The men get the assets and we wait to be married off.’

  Gretta laughed at her mutinous tones and told her that marrying a local lad wasn’t the worst thing that could happen. She had to say that, Lola would reply; hadn’t she been engaged to Mossy McCloskey (eldest son of the pub owner) practically since the day she’d left school? Which was fine for Gretta, who loved being part of the community and who never wanted to leave. Fine, too, for their older brother Milo, who was already married and working on the farm. But not fine for her, the youngest daughter, whose ambitions were very different, despite the fact that she could break a man’s heart with a single glance from her vivid blue eyes and a toss of her luxurious dark hair.

  Getting the job at the Passport Office in Dublin and moving into a flat with three other girls had been the start of a life that didn’t depend on the weather and milk quotas and the happiness of the herd. It was a life where her opinion mattered, and having a drink with someone of the opposite sex didn’t have everyone talking about their upcoming nuptials five minutes later. She hated having to interrupt it to go back to the old one, no matter that she did sometimes miss her family and the constant aroma of her mother’s home-made bread wafting around the kitchen.

  She was thinking about Eilis’s home-made bread as she walked down Grafton Street during her lunch hour that warm Friday afternoon. She knew there was very little food in the flat – shopping was done on a need-to-get basis, and most times the girls raided the kitty and nipped out to the Spar around the corner for essentials. Lola herself had eaten out every night that week, although that was giving it a gloss it didn’t deserve, she acknowledged; most times she’d just gone for pizza after a few drinks with the people from work. But she liked making plans at the last minute and having the kind of options that living in a city offered, even if she was pretty much broke after every weekend.

  If nothing else, going home would save her a few bob and she could afford the dress she’d seen in Dunnes earlier, she mused as she strolled along Duke Lane. Though not being able to afford a dress in an inexpensive chain store said a lot about her current financial state. She knew she needed to cut back a little. She knew she was living beyond her means. But it was hard not to when her salary was basic and opportunities for fun were constantly knocking on her door. It would be different when she got promoted. She’d have money to spare then. Meantime, she was keeping her fingers crossed that her application for the next grade up in the Civil Service would be successful. Despite her love of late nights, she was a conscientious worker, and she felt she deserved her promotion. She’d been a clerical officer in the Passport Office for nearly four years. It was about time she started moving up the career ladder.

  She stopped suddenly, her thoughts interrupted as her attention was caught by the sparkling diamonds in the window of Warren’s the Jewellers. Warren’s was an iconic store in Dublin and Lola knew a little of its history. It had been founded in the 1950s by Richard Warren, a watchmaker who realised that Dubliners wanted more than just utilitarian timepieces. He’d expanded to include jewellery that wasn’t generally available in the city at the time, and established a reputation for good quality at reasonable prices. Over the years, and after his marriage to a Northern Irish beauty named Adele Pendleton, the store had gone increasingly upmarket, until it relocated from its original premises near O’Connell Street to the current shop off Dublin’s most exclusive shopping street. Although Warren’s carried a variety of jewellery, it was most famous for the Adele collections, each named for a flower as well as for the founder’s wife.

  Lola gazed at the glitter of the all-diamond Snowdrops and wondered if she’d ever be able to afford anything as remotely beautiful as an Adele piece. Even in Cloghdrom they’d heard of Warren’s – Betty Munroe, the wife of the creamery owner, had an entire Adele Rose set, which she wore to the farm festival every year. ‘The money’s in processing, not producing,’ Lola had heard her father mutter to her mother during the last festival she’d gone to. ‘I can’t afford to buy anything like that for you.’

  His words had stuck in Lola’s mind and had influenced her decision to move to Dublin. She wanted to be the woman who owned beautiful jewellery, not the woman who stared at it from afar. And she wanted to be the woman who could buy it for herself, not someone who had to rely on a boyfriend or husband to give it to her. Every so often she would deliberately walk past Warren’s so that she could look in the window and remind herself why she was here. To make money. To be a success. To prove that a woman didn’t have to be marri
ed to have a good life. To be herself.

  ‘Why don’t you try it on?’

  She jumped as she heard the voice behind her. A man had approached the shop from the other end of the lane and was now standing at the recessed doorway. He was tall, tanned and fair haired, and his electric-blue eyes were filled with humour.

  ‘It would be lovely,’ she said, ‘but a waste of time. There isn’t a hope in hell I could ever afford it.’

  ‘No charge for trying, though,’ he said.

  ‘I doubt the owners would be happy with people loading themselves up with their jewellery just for the fun of it.’

  ‘I’m sure the owners would be delighted to see one of their creations on someone as beautiful as you.’

  Lola looked at him in surprise. No man had ever complimented her in quite that way before. The nearest a man in Cloghdrom had come to acknowledging her looks was to tell her she was a bit of all right. As for Dublin, most of the so-called compliments she’d received in the last few years centred around wondering if she was as good in bed as she looked out of it.

  ‘Honestly,’ he said. ‘That set would look stunning on you.’

  ‘It’d be false pretences.’ She gave him a rueful smile. ‘I’m so broke right now, a bread roll is the absolute limit of my budget.’

  He laughed. ‘The bread roll situation is one thing, certainly. Maybe we can deal with that separately. But the problem with fine jewellery is that often the most beautiful women can’t afford it. So it’s hanging around the crêpey necks of older women who can. And not that they don’t look great, but they couldn’t hold a candle to you.’

  ‘All the same,’ she said, still taken aback by his confident appraisal of her looks, ‘I won’t go in.’

  ‘Pity. I would’ve liked to have seen it on you. I’m sure my dad would too.’

  She looked at him in confusion.

  ‘I’m Philip Warren,’ he said.

  She looked at the name above the shop before turning back to him.

  ‘You own it?’ she gasped.

  ‘Not personally,’ he clarified. ‘It’s our family business, but it’ll be mine one day.’