The Property of a Lady - Elizabeth Adler [101]
“Almost there,” O’Hara said, grinning as he drove up a newly graveled lane and stopped in front of a square, red-roofed house with a wooden porch. “It’s bigger than it looks,” he said proudly. “Inside is three bedrooms and outside is three acres. Them numbers sounded good enough for me, so I bought it. And besides, I bought all the rest of the land around here. Fifty acres of Smallwood, New Jersey, now belongs to yours truly.”
He turned to Missie, his eyes hot with desire. “And it belongs to my wife, if you’ll only say yes, Missie. I want to share it all with you, this house, the land … everything.”
Her eyes opened wide with alarm and he held up his hand. “Before you say anything, let me just show you.” He walked up the steps to the wooden porch, turning so he could show her his new estate. “As far as you can see, Missie,” he told her proudly, “and beyond. That’s my land.”
She stared at the smooth, grassy slopes dotted with clumps of trees and the herd of black and white cattle in the distance, looking like toy farm animals. She closed her eyes, breathing the fresh country air, listening to the birds calling, and feeling the late autumn sun still warm on her face. She might have been back home in Oxfordshire. “It’s beautiful, O’Hara,” she whispered, “just beautiful.”
“Come inside,” he urged. “Leave the child to sleep. Let me show you around.”
The front door had a curved fanlight with a stained-glass panel and the spacious hall ran all the way through to another glass-paneled door at the back, with a view of the garden. There was a square sitting room with a big fireplace and a separate dining room; there were polished wooden floors and diamond-shaped window panes, and a proper kitchen with a proper sink with hot and cold water and a proper stove; there was even electric light. A nice wide flight of stairs led to an upper hallway with three bedrooms, as well as a real bathroom with what O’Hara told her was the latest cast-iron enameled tub and a toilet.
“But it’s a proper house,” Missie cried, rushing excitedly from room to room. “It’s lovely, O’Hara, it’s really lovely—only—” She stopped, looking at him, puzzled. “Only how are you going to run the saloon and live here? It’s so far away.”
“That’s what I wanted to tell you,” he said, taking her by the shoulders and gazing into her eyes. “Missie, I’m closing the alehouse in a couple of weeks. The Prohibition Act will soon kill the trade and I’m getting out before the rest of them realize it. I’ve laid my plans, Missie, and this house is part of them. And so are you. I can run my new business from here. It’s close enough to the railroad and the port at Newark.”
Missie’s heart sank. If O’Hara closed the saloon she was out of a job. She felt faint suddenly and leaned against the veranda rail, staring at the pretty, bucolic scene below. “What new business?” she asked dully.
O’Hara grinned. “Oh, property, building, a little ‘distribution’ shall we say. It’s real private up here, no one would know my business.” He winked at her and then frowned; all the light had gone from her face and she looked about to faint.
“Missie, are you all right?” he demanded, gripping her shoulders protectively. “What’s up, me girl? Have I shocked you then, with all me talk of new businesses? It’ll be nothing really illegal, Missie, just skirting round the edges of the law a bit, selling moonshine—we’ve been doing it in Ireland for centuries. Why, I promise you it’s nothing. And then I plan to use the money to build houses. There’ll be lots of young couples anxious to move out of the cities into a place of their own in the country. Pleasant, cheap housing, that’s what I plan to give ‘em. You’ll see,” he promised, “once I provide it, they’ll come flocking. And don’t worry about the other part, Missie, my partners are in charge of that.”
“Your partners?”
“Giorgio and Enrico Oriconne, the guys who