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A Sense of Destiny

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A Sense of Destiny

Pearce Monaghan, the dynamic charismatic minister in Ireland's newest political party is enjoying popular support by the electorate, who see him as a future leader. Yet his world starts to unravel when he purchases land for a job program from the seductive and beautiful Avis, an American horse trainer with a castle in Kildare. His political rivals spread rumors of profiteering, conflict of interest and murder. Against this backdrop of Irish political life, Rosie Leahy, a journalist, and Connell McDaid, an aide to the minister, join forces to restore the image of Pearce and the political party. Their love affair unfolds as they dig deep to uncover the mysteries behind the crimes.


    Format: ePUB
    Kopierschutz: none
    Seitenzahl: 200
    Sprache: Englisch
    ISBN: 9781614683865
    Verlag: BookBaby
    Größe: 519kBytes
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A Sense of Destiny

ONE It was a day of triumph for the Chief and a sort of hallelujah for the Party to flaunt its achievements and gloat over their successes. It was Pearce Monahan's idea to have the rally in Cavan, Ireland where Mary Joseph had won the by-election. It was a highly emotional night, maybe the best ever. The skeptics, cynics and begrudgers seemed to have been skimmed away. It ended up being a free-for-all in the ballroom of the hotel, with speeches and exuberant music. The crowd was a mix of all ages, from both town and country. They flowed around the room, responding to the atmosphere, and jostled a little to get closer to the Taoiseach (Ireland's Prime Minister) and Minister Monahan. These two stood side by side in front of a banner that stretched across the stage: The National Democratic Party. Ireland's Force in the 21st Century. The Taoiseach spoke briefly as he was not the best orator. He left it to Pearce Monahan to put his special touch on the speeches with his particular style. Tall, with a quick smile, curly black hair sprinkled with grey, and a lot of charm, some mused he might be a reincarnation of those early Irish politicians who had inspired the populace. It had been a long time since there had been someone like this to take part in the leadership of the country. The audience listened with hope and enthusiasm. "Ten years ago they spoke of the National Democratic Party (NDP), new and struggling as we were then. 'How far can this party go? It's nothing but a passing fancy.' How wrong they were." He let them whoop and clap for that one. Looking around the room, he remained still for a moment more, savoring the adulation. The crowd went quiet again. "Now, a word to those who underestimated us...this party is a power to be reckoned with. Our policies will take our country forward. We can do it together." Then he saw her regarding him from below. Without missing a beat in his delivery, he ranged over her exotic face and taunting half-smile. The rest of the crowd faded out in the midst of the cheers. Avis Johnson-Carter drove her black BMW up to the restaurant, La Serre, at a minute past one, finding a parking spot close to the door as a delivery van pulled out. She popped down the visor and looked at her reflection in the mirror then ran a slender brush over her shiny black hair. The eyes that looked back at her with their slightly slanted tilt were alert and watchful as she scanned the parking area. Being alert was second nature to her. Pearce Monahan came bounding out from beneath the awning to meet her as she exited the car. Heads swiveled and conversation lagged as they were led to a table. Friendly and handsome with a large smile that invited greetings, Monahan, the Minister for Economic Development, was easily recognized. He had learned early on it was better to move along slowly in these circumstances than to try and rush to your table. Avis walking with him enjoyed the adulation. Was it for him or for her? After years of being careful and not attracting attention, suddenly in this restaurant she reveled in it. Maybe it was careless but who would know her here from her past life in America? Eating out in downtown Dublin restaurants is a bit like theater, everyone avidly interested in the rest of the patrons. La Serre cultivated the air of serious eating combined with business meetings, as though table hopping and gossiping about the other patrons didn't happen here. A waiter hurried by with a plate of veal, the smell of herbs, wine and rich sauce wafting on the air. Avis slid into her seat and slipped off her jacket, her creamy shirt glowed against her olive skin. As people at neighboring tables watched covertly, they consulted the menu. "A glass of bubbly to toast today?" said Pearce with a

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