In honour of St Patrick’s Day, my eight sentences today are the start of my current ‘work in progress’, provisionally titled ‘Irish Inheritance.’
“A house in Ireland?” Jenna stared over the mahogany desk at the lawyer. “Someone I’ve never heard of has left me a house in Ireland?”
The grey-haired man raised his head, and looked at her over his rimless spectacles. “A half share of the house, Ms. Sutton, along with a half share of what, at current exchange rates, amounts to approximately fifty thousand pounds.”
Jenna shook her head and swiped some strands of her hair back behind her ear. Any minute now someone was going to leap out from under the desk and cry ‘April Fool’. Except this was May, not April, and surely it was unethical for Mr. Haslam, of Hargreaves, Haslam, and Hesketh, to play practical jokes on anyone.
And here is the beautiful part of Ireland which is the setting for the story – Connemara on the west coast.
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