Secrets Between Sisters: The perfect heart-warming holiday read of 2018. Kate Thompson

Bolger looked at Finn with ill-concealed distaste, then turned back to Isabella.

      ‘Can we get a donkey, Mummy?’ breezed Isabella, fastening her sandals. ‘We could keep it down here and Finn could look after it for me when we’re in town. Finn says donkey races are great craic. He says he could organise them and we could charge people money to come and watch and take bets on which donkey’s going to win. I had a go on Dorcas, and even though I fell off, Finn says I have quite a good seat and—’

      ‘Oh, do stop your chattering, Isabella, and concentrate on what you’re doing,’ snapped Felicity. ‘We’re going to be late for this reception.’

      Isabella gave her mother a mutinous look. ‘I don’t want to go to a stupid reception,’ she said. ‘I’d rather stay here and ride Dorcas.’

      There was an ominous silence. Then James cleared his throat, Adair whistled a bar of some random tune, and Felicity drew in a small, shuddery sigh.

      ‘All right, then!’ she said in a tremulous voice. ‘Stay here and ride Dorcas, if that’s what you want. I can’t bring you to the reception, anyway, looking the way you do. You can travel back with Daddy in James’s Jeep. I’m going on by myself. Give me the keys to the Merc, please, Adair.’

      ‘Felicity—’

      ‘Give me the keys.’

      Reaching into the pocket of his Barbour, Adair drew out a set of car keys and handed them over.

      Then, with a barely audible: ‘Thank you. Have fun …’ Felicity flicked back her frosted hair and fled without another word.

      Another silence fell, and then Adair Bolger said, ‘Go after her, darling.’

      ‘But, Daddy—’

      ‘Go on. I’ll join you in an hour.’

      ‘But—’

      ‘Please, sweet-cheeks. This reception means a lot to Mummy. It’ll be her first big social event in Coolnamara.’

      Isabella gazed after her mother, who was stumbling along the shore, looking wretched and unloved. Then she looked back at Finn, who had resumed his scrutiny of the rock pool.

      ‘Oh, all right,’ she said. She quickly finished fastening her sandals, then jumped off the slipway. ‘Mummy, Mummy!’ she called. ‘Hang on! I’m coming!’

      Felicity paused, drooped, then made a helpless gesture with her hands. ‘But your clothes…’

      ‘She can change in the hotel,’ replied Adair, quickly. ‘Run, Isabella.’

      Isabella ran. Halfway up the beach, she turned, and waved at Finn. ‘Next time I see her, she could be ready for racing!’ she called, before continuing on after her mother. ‘Mummy – wait up! Finn’s going to allow me to ride Pinkie when she’s old enough. Maybe I could get jodhpurs and proper riding boots? And a hard hat.’

      ‘Don’t be stupid, Isabella. You’re talking about riding a donkey, not a thoroughbred pony’

      ‘But it could be fun! Remember that film where…’

      Isabella’s voice grew reedier and reedier, and then mother and daughter disappeared along the path that led to Coral Cottage.

      ‘I think you said your name was Río?’ enquired lames, turning to Río with a polite smile. ‘Río… um …?’

      Río knew the architect was fishing for her surname, but she was damned if she’d volunteer it. ‘It’s short for Ríonach,’ she told him.

      ‘That’s an unusual name.’

      ‘It’s Irish; it means “queenly”.’

      ‘How fascinating. Well, nice to meet you, Río,’ said James.

      ‘Likewise,’ said Adair. Now that Río saw him up close, he didn’t look like a male model at all, she realised. There was something about him that was a bit rough around the edges, despite the country gent casuals. ‘Do you live locally?’ he asked her politely.

      ‘Yes,’ said Río. ‘I’ve lived in Lissamore all my life.’

      ‘In the village? Or – um…?’

      ‘In the village. But here is my favourite place. It’s so unspoiled. Did you know that it’s a designated area of outstanding natural beauty?’

      Adair and James exchanged neutral looks. ‘Is that so?’ said Adair.

      ‘You mean you weren’t aware of that when you made the decision to bulldoze Coral Cottage and build your Legoland mansion?’ Río gave him a disingenuous smile. ‘That’s a shame. You might want to take things a bit more slowly, Mr Bolger. People in the country don’t like it when things happen too fast.’

      ‘I’d hardly describe the planning procedure as “fast”,’ said James, with a supercilious smirk. ‘Each application is subject to rigorous examination by the relevant department and—’

      ‘Don’t patronise me, and don’t push your luck,’ returned Río. ‘You might just about squeeze permission to stable a donkey here. But I’ve never heard of planning permission being granted for a yoga pavilion in Lissamore. And as for mooring a pleasure craft…’ Raising her chin, she gave them a challenging look. ‘Let’s just say you could find yourselves with a fight on your hands. Slán, lads.’

      With a toss of her head, Río strode away from them, back in the direction she’d come. The climb up the cliff path was a stiff one, and by the time she got to the top she was breathless with exertion and anger. Looking down, she saw that the beach was deserted now but for Finn, poised above his rock pool. Fishing in her backpack for her phone, she dragged a couple of deep breaths into her lungs before jabbing the keypad. What she was about to do was going to take some nerve. She was going to phone her sister.

      Río had read some aphorism somewhere, about sisters being bonded by childhood memories and grown-up dreams. She and her sister, Dervla, shared plenty of childhood memories, but she hadn’t a clue what Dervla’s grown-up dreams might be. The Kinsella sisters hadn’t spoken in any meaningful way for over a decade, and the reason for this was quite simple. They had learned to loathe one other.

      ‘Dervla?’ said Río, when the number picked up. ‘Why didn’t you tell me that Coral Cottage was on the market?’

      ‘Because it never was on the market,’ came the cool response. ‘It was sold privately’

      ‘Did you handle the sale?’

      ‘I may have had something to do with it, yes.’

      ‘How could you, Dervla? You know it’s always had my name on it.’

      ‘Oh, Río – give me a break! It never had your name on it. It never will have your name on it. I thought you’d given up on that dream years ago. Oh, excuse me one moment, will you? I have a call coming in.’

      ‘On-hold’ music jangled down the line, and Río repressed an urge to fling the bogging phone off the cliff. Then she took another deep breath, bit down hard on her bottom lip, and decided instead to use this ‘Greensleeves’ interlude to count to ten, the way she’d learned to do any time she had dealings with Dervla.

      As she counted, she compared herself to stout Cortez in the poem, except she was viewing the Atlantic, not the Pacific, and this view was her birthright. To the west, the bay gleamed lapis lazuli, its islets blazing emerald in the low-slung sun. Below her, a low, fluting call and the glissando of wings announced the arrival of curlews on the foreshore. An early season Cabbage White fluttered past – insubstantial as tissue paper – and a honeybee buzzed over the bright cotton of her skirt, thinking, perhaps, that Río might be a flower. And then, beyond the headland, came the riotous, discordant guffaw of the donkey.

      ‘Is that a friend of yours I hear?’

      Dervla