The Summer of Serendipity: The magical feel good perfect holiday read Read online

  Ali McNamara attributes her overactive imagination to one thing – being an only child. Time spent dreaming up adventures when she was young has left her with a head constantly bursting with stories waiting to be told. When stories she wrote for fun on Ronan Keating’s website became so popular they were sold as a fundraising project for his cancer awareness charity, Ali realised that not only was writing something she enjoyed doing, but something others enjoyed reading too. Ali lives in Cambridgeshire with her family and two Labradors. When she isn’t writing, she likes to travel, read and people-watch, more often than not accompanied by a good cup of coffee. Her dogs and a love of exercise keep her sane!

  To find out more about Ali visit her website at

  www.alimcnamara.co.uk

  or follow her on Twitter: @AliMcNamara

  Praise for From Notting Hill With Love . . . Actually:

  ‘Perfectly plotted, gorgeously romantic, has some great gags and leaves you with that lovely gooey feeling

  you get at the end of a good Hollywood rom com’ Lucy-Anne Holmes, author of The (Im)Perfect Girlfriend

  Also by Ali McNamara

  From Notting Hill with Love . . . Actually

  Breakfast at Darcy’s

  From Notting Hill to New York . . . Actually

  Step Back in Time

  From Notting Hill with Four Weddings . . . Actually

  The Little Flower Shop by the Sea

  Letters from Lighthouse Cottage

  The Summer of Serendipity

  Ali McNamara

  SPHERE

  First published in Great Britain in 2017 by Sphere

  Copyright © Ali McNamara 2017

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book

  is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 978-0-7515-6621-5

  Sphere

  An imprint of

  Little, Brown Book Group

  Carmelite House

  50 Victoria Embankment

  London EC4Y 0DZ

  An Hachette UK Company

  www.hachette.co.uk

  www.littlebrown.co.uk

  Dear Readers,

  Another book! And my second to be set on the west coast of Ireland.

  I’ve had an idea for a book about a property seeker for some time, but until I went on a research trip to the Lakes of Killarney in County Kerry, and was totally inspired by both the scenery and the people I met there, it had never totally come together as a full story.

  Many of the places and tales in this book are inspired by real places and genuine Irish legends, (there’s a full list below if you’re interested to know more about any of them.)

  Lots of you have asked me so many times to write more about the Island of Tara, so you can find out what happened to Darcy, Dermot and the others from Breakfast at Darcy’s. So I hope this new book, although not a sequel, will give you a taste of what’s been going on since we were last there. And if you’ve not already read Breakfast at Darcy’s perhaps it will persuade you to give it a try!

  But before I go I need to thank a few people without whom the stories and ideas that swirl around in my mind would never make it into a book for you lovely readers to enjoy!

  My wonderful agent, Hannah Ferguson, and everyone at the Hardman & Swainson literary agency.

  My fab editor, Maddie West, and the whole team at Sphere and Little, Brown.

  My brilliant family: my husband, Jim, and children, Rosie and Tom.

  And of course my dogs, Oscar and Sherlock, who give me so much inspiration for all my canine characters!

  Also thank you to CLIC Sargent auction winner, Kim Fenwick, for bidding to be in this book and providing me with such a wonderful name for Kiki!

  Thanks to all these places for the inspiration:

  • The fictional town of Ballykiltara is inspired by the very touristy, but very friendly town of Killarney in the west of Ireland. You can walk around the Killarney National Park and see stags and deer – just like Ren does. Or visit the lakes and take a mystical boat trip . . .

  • The Stag Hotel was very much based on the Killarney Park Hotel; a beautiful place to stay with wonderful staff.

  • Rafferty Castle, Sheehy Abbey and Rafferty Island were inspired by Ross Castle by Lough Leane (The lake of learning is a real place!) and Innisfallen Island with its seventh-century monastery. A magical place if ever I’ve been to one!

  I got the idea for the Annals of Tara and the Book of Tara from the real Annals of Innisfallen and the Book of Kells. You can see the Book of Kells in Trinity Library, Dublin.

  I couldn’t have written about Mac’s riding stables and the horses there unless I’d taken a visit to the Killarney riding stables. My invigorating pony trek was one the highlights of my visit.

  And the white stag? Look it up on the internet, it makes for interesting reading . . .

  Until the next time,

  Ali xx

  ‘Until one has loved an animal, a part of one’s soul remains unawakened’

  —ANATOLE FRANCE

  Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Forty-One

  Forty-Two

  One

  ‘La, lala, la, la, la, la, laa!’ my passenger sings happily as we drive in our hire car from the airport to our destination. ‘Come on, Ren, join in, we’re on our holibobs, ain’t we? A bit of Kylie never hurt anyone. Well maybe Jason Donovan, but that’s another story.’

  I glance quickly across at her before putting the little Fiat into fourth gear. I’ve only driven it a few miles, and already I know it’s going to give me trouble. Why didn’t I invest in a better car, instead of trying to do things on the cheap, as always? But I don’t know how long we’re going to be here, and I don’t want to go over the budget we’ve been given. The hotel we’re heading towards is expensive enough as it is.

  ‘I keep telling you, this is not a holiday, this is a business trip.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ Kiki says, waving her hand dismiss
ively at me. ‘Whatever. I know we have stuff to do while we’re here. But we’ve never been to Ireland, have we? It’s new, it’s exciting!’

  I continue to concentrate on the road in front of me. Even though it’s showing on our satnav as a main road, it’s bumpy and bendy and I’m driving a strange car I haven’t had time to get used to, in a country I don’t know. I need to focus, not get into a discussion with my assistant about the merits of treating our trip in a professional manner.

  Not that it would make the slightest difference. Kiki is her own woman – yes, that’s a good way to describe her. To the casual observer – and a lot of people do observe her, especially men – she comes across as petite, pretty and perhaps a bit kooky, but her blonde bubbly exterior houses a razor-sharp mind. Kiki’s organisational skills have made her indispensable to me and my hectic schedule.

  ‘How far until we get to the hotel?’ I ask her as we stop at some traffic lights and wait for an elderly woman to cross.

  Kiki glances at the satnav. ‘It says ten minutes.’

  ‘Good. I could do with a rest.’

  Our journey from Stansted Airport in Essex to Kerry Airport in the west of Ireland wasn’t without incident. We’d been slightly delayed getting through security, after Kiki got stopped because the airport scanning machine beeped as she walked through it. The delay wasn’t caused by the search so much as Kiki’s insistence on flirting with a male security officer the whole time his female colleague was frisking her. While she slipped back into her dainty ballerina pumps, fluttering her eyelashes and practically arranging a first date with the security officer, I was getting all hot and bothered trying to shove my size eight feet back into my clumpy boots.

  ‘There’s a time and a place,’ I’d muttered to her afterwards as we made our way through to the airport shops.

  ‘For . . . ?’ she’d enquired, pressing her button nose up against the window of Ted Baker.

  ‘For flirting. And airport security is not it!’

  ‘Oh, Ren, you’re hilarious sometimes. The guy was cute.’

  ‘The guy was married. Didn’t you see his ring?’

  To her credit, Kiki had looked genuinely horrified. ‘Ooh no, I didn’t, I was too busy looking into his gorgeous blue eyes.’ Then she gave a shrug, adding, ‘Ah well, you win some, you lose some!’ before skipping happily into a Sunglasses Hut to begin trying on frames.

  Kiki removes her new sunglasses and squints at the satnav. ‘You need to go left in about a mile,’ she says, looking back at the road.

  ‘Yeah, I saw the sign,’ I reply, ‘which is more than you’ll be doing, if you don’t wear your specs.’

  Though she can’t see a thing without them, Kiki never wears her prescription glasses except in the office, where I’m the only one who’ll see her. She prefers to sport designer sunglasses, like her latest purchase, which she insists on wearing even though the Irish skies above us are cloudy and grey.

  We turn down a narrow road bordered with evergreen hedges on either side, and continue on our way.

  ‘The hotel looked pretty cool on the Internet,’ Kiki says, looking out of her window. ‘I hope you like it.’

  ‘I’m sure I will. You rarely let me down when it comes to hotels.’

  Kiki’s a whizz when it comes to booking hotels. Whatever budget we’re given, she always comes up trumps – whether it be a Premier Inn that’s had great reviews, or a sumptuous five-star hotel with all the facilities you could wish for, Kiki invariably finds the perfect place for us.

  ‘It has wonderful reviews on Trip Advisor, people couldn’t fault it, and that almost never happens.’

  ‘Sounds good. I’m looking forward to seeing it.’

  ‘We’re booked in for five nights, but the receptionist I spoke to said they would be able to extend it if we needed to. She said to let her know if we thought we might want to stay for longer. How long do you think we’ll need?’

  I shrug as we pass by a field full of sheep grazing on the lush grass. ‘You know as well as I do that we might find what we’re looking for on the first day we’re here, or it could take a week or more if it’s complicated.’

  ‘Hmm . . . ’ Kiki sits back in her seat and folds her arms. ‘I know you like to get things done and dusted as quickly as possible, but I wouldn’t mind staying for a bit longer. I’ve never been to Ireland and it would be good to see some of it while we’re here.’

  ‘I’m sure we’ll see plenty. It almost never happens that we stumble upon the right place immediately. That’s why people pay us to search for them.’

  ‘Yes, but I know you, Ren – you excel at this. You’ll probably find the house before we even get to the hotel!’

  I turn and smile at her. Kiki may be young, but she really is the best assistant I’ve ever had. What’s more, we’ve become good friends in the year I’ve known her.

  ‘Look,’ I say kindly, ‘even if I do find something straight away, how about we stay on a few extra nights so you can see the area? You deserve a break.’

  Kiki fist-pumps the air. ‘Get in there!’ she exclaims. ‘Look,’ she says, suddenly peering out of the front window, ‘we’ve arrived!’

  We drive past a sign that says:

  BALLYKILTARA

  CÉAD MÍLE FÅILTE

  ‘What does that mean?’ Kiki asks. ‘Seed mill fail-tee?’

  ‘No idea, it must be Gaelic.’

  ‘I’ll ask when we get to the hotel,’ she says, keenly observing our new surroundings as we pass through the town. ‘This is so cool. Look at all the Irish pubs selling Guinness.’

  ‘I expect they sell more than that,’ I say, smiling. ‘Have you ever had Guinness, Kiki? It’s foul-tasting stuff.’

  ‘Nope, but I’m going to try it while I’m here.’

  ‘Good luck with that. Now where is this hotel?’

  Our satnav has helpfully taken us into the centre of the small town of Ballykiltara, but is refusing to find our hotel. Eventually, I pull over and Kiki hurries out to ask one of the locals the way. Except it proves difficult to find anyone local on the street, so she ends up accosting a pair of American tourists, who luckily for us are staying at our hotel and are able to give us directions.

  It’s a relief when we pull up on a long gravel drive in front of a large, sprawling country house hotel and immediately a young man rushes out to greet us.

  ‘Welcome to The Stag,’ he says in a broad Irish accent as I wind down the window. ‘Can I help you with your bags?’

  ‘Yes, that would be lovely,’ I say, smiling at him.

  ‘Now, let me take your keys – I’ll park your car and bring your bags in to you in a few moments.’

  I’m impressed. The hotel looked pleasant enough from the outside, but for some reason I hadn’t expected this sort of service, usually only found at five-star establishments.

  ‘Thank you . . . ’ I glance at his name badge, ‘ . . . Eddie,’ I say, climbing out of the car and handing him the keys.

  ‘Just head up there to reception,’ he says, pointing up some steps, ‘and Orla will be pleased to assist you.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Kiki and I grab our handbags from the back seat, and leaving our car in Eddie’s capable hands, head up the cream stone steps to reception.

  ‘I like Eddie,’ Kiki giggles as we reach the large glass door at the top and it opens automatically for us. ‘He’s a cutie.’

  I roll my eyes at her and then smile warmly at the receptionist watching us enter through the doors.

  ‘Welcome to The Stag Hotel,’ Orla says in a soft Irish accent. ‘Do you have reservations?’

  ‘Yes,’ Kiki says, taking over her organisational role. ‘In the name of Parker – Serendipity Parker.’

  ‘What a wonderful name,’ Orla says as she scans the screen in front of her.

  ‘Thank you, but I prefer Ren,’ I tell her, glancing at Kiki. I’d told her many a time to book things with my shortened name. But Kiki thought Serendipity was a wonderful name, and delighted in using it
when she could. ‘It’s easier.’

  ‘Sure,’ Orla says, glancing up at me with the look of one who has seen many an unusual name in her time. ‘Now, we have you down for one deluxe twin room for five nights, with the possibility of extending your stay. Is that correct?’

  ‘Yes, that’s perfect.’

  When Kiki had first come to work for me we’d always booked separate rooms on our business trips. But we found we always ended up spending all our time in one room – discussing – or, as Kiki liked to call it, gossiping about – the day’s events. So in the end we decided to use the money we saved by booking one room to go for an upgrade instead.

  ‘Grand. If I can take a swipe of a credit card?’ Orla asks.

  Kiki pulls our company card from her purse.

  Orla glances at it before putting it into the machine. ‘Is your stay for business or pleasure?’ she asks without it seeming an intrusive question.

  ‘Pleasure,’ I say at the same time as Kiki says, ‘Business.’

  ‘Bit of both,’ I hurriedly say when Orla looks intrigued.

  ‘A good mix.’ She smiles as she hands me two key cards wrapped in a small paper wallet. ‘Your room is on the third floor – number seventy-eight. Now, would you like someone to show you up there?’

  ‘Thank you, but we’ll be fine.’

  ‘Eddie will be up presently with your bags, and if there’s anything further I can assist you with, don’t hesitate to contact me.’ She points towards the lobby. ‘The lift is through there, on the right.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I say, thinking to myself what lovely staff this hotel has. Kiki has done exceedingly well this time.

  We head through a chic yet cosy lobby with plush red velvet sofas set in front of a big cheery, log-burning fire that’s lit, even though this is early May. I can imagine guests snuggled round the fire in the winter months, drinking brandy and talking about the day’s events.

  The small lift comes almost immediately, and we step inside.

  ‘You insisted to me this was a business trip when we were in the car,’ Kiki complains as soon as the lift doors shut. ‘And there’s you saying we’re here for pleasure!’