Kathleen moved forward and took Clara in her arms. ‘How lovely to see you, darling.’ She stepped back and gave her an appraising glance. ‘Goodness, how you’ve grown … and so pretty.’ She looked her up and down. ‘I adore that skirt and red jumper.’
‘Thank you, Aunt Kathleen,’ Clara said in a voice that seemed more polished than before. Although Kathleen’s children spoke well, there was a definite Irish lilt to their accents. Clara’s clipped English voice, with her beautifully pronounced vowels, could have come straight from the Queen’s own mouth. ‘Mummy bought them for me in London. I wasn’t sure. If you like them, well, they must be all right.’ She gave a satisfied sigh. ‘It’s so wonderful to be here. Thank you so much, Aunt Kathleen, for having me.’
To Clara they were always Aunt Kathleen and Uncle James.
‘Darling … you don’t have to thank me,’ Kathleen said, putting an arm around her. ‘We love having you here.’
As they headed back down the steep road in the Austin to Rathgarven, Clara said, ‘There’s something magical about these mountains. I always think the waterfalls and rocks look as though they’re in a painting.’
Kathleen nodded. ‘Yes. I remember when I first drove this road. I thought it was almost ethereal with the mist hovering over those peaks.’
‘And Kerry’s the only place I’ve seen so many purple foxgloves.’
A little further on, when they came to Ladies View overlooking the huge expanse of the Killarney Valley, Clara giggled. ‘I still think it’s funny that it’s called that.’
‘Well, do you know why?’ Kathleen asked.
‘Because Queen Victoria’s ladies in waiting liked it so much,’ Lillie piped up. She turned to Clara. ‘Anyway, tell me about school. Is the food as awful as ours is at the convent?’
‘It’s ghastly. What about yours, Ronan?’
‘It’s not too bad. But nothing like Maisie’s.’
‘I can’t wait to see her. Paddy, too. And what about Marcus and Freddie? I bet they’ve grown.’
Since Clara was eight years old she had been a boarder at Jessica’s old school, St Margaret’s in Bushy in the south of England. Kathleen had been horrified when she heard Clara was to go to boarding school at such a tender age, and wondered how Jessica managed to foot the bill. But she then decided it was probably far better that Clara had the stability of St Margaret’s rather than being in India with Jessica as she darted from one romance to the other. Jessica had told Kathleen recently that Clara and Jessica’s present husband, Phillip Danville, didn’t get on.
Never having met Phillip Danville, Kathleen was unable to say whether Clara’s dislike was warranted. Still, having known Jessica for as long as she had and knowing her taste in men, she was inclined to think that Clara’s opinion might be correct. Kathleen had always been extremely fond of Clara. In some ways she regarded her as another daughter, and that was one of the reasons she was so keen to keep the friendship with Jessica alive. There were parts of Clara that were like Jessica, such as her love of life and carefree manner. But Kathleen suspected she had a much more sensible head on her shoulders than Jessica ever had. Even when they were children playing by the Hooghly River in Calcutta, Jessica was always coaxing Kathleen to misbehave. Whether it was to run away from their ayah or hide behind the bushes and jump out and frighten the life out of one of the unsuspecting houseboys. And as they grew up, she was forever telling Kathleen to get ‘with it’.
‘Honestly, my sweet,’ Jessica would say, puffing on her cigarette in its long ivory holder, ‘you really are such a bore sometimes. There must be an impulsive, romantic streak somewhere inside that sublime head of yours. You’ve got to open the window and let it fly out and play.’
Yet, Kathleen had often thought since, when I did let that streak fly out, look what happened.
Kathleen wondered if Clara got the sensible bits of her make-up from her father. But who Clara’s father was remained a secret Jessica had never disclosed. All Kathleen knew was that Clara wasn’t the daughter of either of Jessica’s husbands. When Jessica had found out she was pregnant, she had dragged Kathleen to the far end of the verandah at the Tollygunge Club to tell her the news and swear her to secrecy.
‘Whose baby is it?’ Kathleen had asked, aghast.
‘God alone knows.’ Jessica looked down the verandah to where their group of friends were laughing and drinking cocktails, finally settling her gaze on the rather dull, extremely wealthy and ruddy-faced Guy Preston, who had a cigar in one hand and a glass of whisky in the other. Kathleen had noticed how he gazed at Jessica adoringly. ‘But,’ Jessica had whispered behind her pretty hand, ‘don’t you think Guy will make a great father?’
So on a bright, sunny morning, with Kathleen as bridesmaid in a daffodil-yellow dress, Jessica married Guy Preston in Calcutta’s St Paul’s Cathedral. Even though it was wartime, there was a lavish reception afterwards in the glorious gardens of the Tollygunge Club. Beside the lagoon, turbaned waiters handed the guests gimlets in glasses that sparkled like the huge diamond on Jessica’s finger, before lunch was served on the wide verandah shaded by blinds of woven bamboo. As Jessica got a dreadful case of dysentery and then malaria not long after, it was considered that these two illnesses caused Clara’s early birth. To the day that he died, Guy Preston (who, unhappily for Jessica, lost most of his money investing in a friend’s jute plantation) believed he was Clara’s father. And Clara believed it, too. It was only Kathleen who knew Jessica’s secret. And even she only knew half of it.
‘Here we are,’ Kathleen said, pulling up in the driveway at Rathgarven as Marcus and Freddie rushed out to meet Clara. ‘Dinner will be at seven-thirty. In the meantime, why don’t you take Clara upstairs and settle her in, Lillie? Our darling Maisie’s made your favourite chocolate mousse for pudding, Clara.’
‘Yummy, yum!’ Clara said, patting her stomach and sliding out of the car with the others. ‘At school I often dream of that pudding.’
‘Well, you go on up with Lillie and we’ll meet later in the conservatory. Alice will be there. She’s so looking forward to seeing you.’ Kathleen checked her watch. ‘When you’re settled in maybe you can all go for a walk around the cove. Work up an appetite.’
After they’d gone upstairs Kathleen went to the library and took out some notepaper and began to write to the Indian Embassy. Even when the loan did come through from the bank it would be good to have some extra money coming in to help with the repayments. Although the embassy didn’t pay much, Kathleen enjoyed the work. If she could build it up more it would give her great satisfaction. She also thought she would try to do more with her photography. Surely some other publications, like Horse and Hound, must pay for good photographs. When she finished writing the letter she put it in an envelope and took it out to the hall table to post in Sneem tomorrow. Hopefully she would get an answer before too long.
* * *
Clara stayed at Rathgarven for two weeks. During that time she went riding with Lillie and sailing in the Daphne with Marcus and Ronan, or sometimes just with Ronan. At other times Ronan, Lillie and Clara went salmon fishing, with Lillie and Clara chatting nineteen to the dozen.
‘Honestly, you two,’ Ronan would laugh. ‘How do you expect me to catch a fish if you keep scaring them away with all that talk?’
She spent ages with Freddie playing with Mandrake, showing him how to tie a string in a hole in his shell to stop him wandering when they were out walking, reading him stories and laughing with him over comic books. Marcus showed her how to use a bow and arrow. But the person she spent the most time with was Ronan. When Lillie was helping Maisie in the kitchen, he would take Clara out fishing on her own. Like Lillie she would take a book and sit there for hours on end. Even if Lillie wasn’t tied up they’d do things together, like rowing over to the island or going for long walks through the woods.
One wet and cold morning with the wind howling through the trees, Lillie found them both in the library looking very cosy. When she walked in,
it was as though she had disturbed them. Clara was wearing a pink twin-set, which Lillie hadn’t seen before, and she had her hair in a high ponytail with a red ribbon tied around it. She and Ronan were playing Scrabble with their heads bent over the board. Lillie sat with them for a while, but they seemed so companionable together she decided to leave them be. She couldn’t help feeling a stab of jealousy. Ever since Clara had come to stay, Ronan had seemed wrapped up in her world. Even though he’d only had a few lessons from Uncle Finn, he seemed to be able to play a number of tunes on the harp by ear. One afternoon Lillie stopped outside the library door and heard Clara singing as he played. That night after dinner he played ‘Molly Malone’ for the family by the fire in the drawing room and Clara sang the words beautifully. Looking at them together Lillie felt another stab of jealousy, for she wasn’t in the slightest bit musical and it was a bond that Ronan and Clara shared.
‘I think I’m at my very happiest when I’m at Rathgarven,’ Clara said one night as they were getting ready for bed. ‘You’re so lucky, Lillie, to live here all the time.’
Lillie wondered what Clara would think if she knew how her beloved Uncle James had gambled away so much money the family might be in danger of losing Rathgarven.
‘Yes, I know I am,’ she said.
As Clara stood at the window in her gorgeous silk nightie with the soft moonlight washing over her face, Lillie felt downright dowdy in her checked flannelette pyjamas. She wished her hair was blonde like Clara’s, rather than her own boring dark brown, and that her eyes were a startling blue, instead of the gloomy colour of a school slate. And that she was tall and slim like Clara was, rather than feeling small and dumpy. Even though envy was a sin that could get her a whole decade of the rosary in the confessional box, she couldn’t help herself. She plonked down on the bed and flicked through a copy of Honey magazine, which had an article about a new group called the Beatles. Sheelagh had given Lillie the magazine, which a friend had brought back from England. Probably a nail in Sheelagh’s coffin as far as Lillie’s father was concerned — James was sure to think magazines like that were a waste of paper and corrupted the mind.
‘You ever heard of that group?’ she asked Clara, showing her the page.
Clara looked at the photo. ‘Sure have. Everyone at school’s talking about them. I like Paul the best.’
‘You can have it to read,’ Lillie said. ‘I’ve got a book.’
‘You sure?’
‘Yeah. Go ahead.’
‘Wow,’ Clara exclaimed a few minutes later, thumbing through the magazine. She held up a page with a picture of the Ronettes. ‘What fabulous beehive hair.’
Talking of beehives made Lillie think of Sheelagh, who often did her hair that way. Last night Lillie had spent ages on the phone to her, gossiping about the dance. Lillie was still annoyed with her parents for not letting her go. And she was even more annoyed when Sheelagh told her that Seamus Flaherty had been there. And he had asked Sheelagh for a dance.
‘He’s a good sort,’ she’d giggled down the phone. ‘Real cute.’
‘Did he ask where I was?’
‘No. Why should he?’
‘Because … I told you. He asked me on the bus if I was going.’
‘Bet he was being friendly. He’s too old for you anyway. I bet he thinks I’m more his age.’
As Lillie held the phone to her ear she hated Sheelagh nearly as much as she hated her parents.
Even now, with Clara lying on the next bed, she hadn’t forgiven any of them. And she was also annoyed with Seamus Flaherty. The least he could have done was ask about her.
‘I’m going to sleep now,’ she said to Clara, deciding not to read her book after all. ‘Turn the light off when you’ve finished reading.’
‘Sure.’
Lillie nestled down between the sheets. As she lay there she felt tears threaten. If only I was as old as Clara I would have been allowed to go to that dance. And I would have danced with Seamus Flaherty. What’s more, if she was older maybe Ronan would take her seriously, rather than spending all his time with Clara, which was really starting to give Lillie the pip. In a way she couldn’t wait for her to go so she could have her brother to herself again.
* * *
At the end of the two weeks when they all drove her to Killarney station, Clara was almost crying as she kissed each of them goodbye.
‘I don’t want to go,’ she said miserably. ‘I’ll miss you all so much. That dreadful school in England’s too awful to think about.’ She looked pleadingly at Kathleen. ‘Couldn’t I stay here with you? I promise I’d be no trouble.’
‘If only you could, my darling,’ Kathleen said. ‘But remember, there’ll always be a room at Rathgarven waiting for you. During the holidays, that is.’
Lillie watched Marcus and Freddie give Clara a huge hug. Now Lillie did the same, and realised that despite being jealous of the time Ronan spent with her, she would miss Clara after all. Finally Ronan moved forward and gave her a kiss on the cheek. As he stood back they held each other’s eyes for a long moment before turning away in embarrassment when they saw the rest of the family looking. There’s something going on between them, Lillie thought. This was confirmed when Ronan was the quietest Lillie had ever known him on the drive home.
‘You okay?’ she asked as he sat next to her in the back.
‘Yeah. Why?’
‘Nothing. You seem quiet, that’s all. Are you carsick? This winding road sure makes me feel queasy.’
‘Lillie, people don’t have to talk all of the time.’
‘But it’s so dull if people don’t talk,’ Freddie piped up from the front.
‘Ronan misses Clara, Ronan misses Clara,’ Marcus chanted.
‘Oh be quiet, Marcus,’ Ronan fumed, looking out of the window. ‘How would you know anything?’
‘Now, now,’ Kathleen said. ‘We’ll all miss Clara, but there’s no need to fight about it.’
* * *
Lillie and Ronan resumed their pattern of taking the rowboat out and fishing together. One cold misty morning Lillie pulled her line in and tried to untangle a knot.
She looked up at her brother. ‘Do you think Clara’s pretty?’
Ronan fiddled with the rod he was holding and prepared to cast. ‘Yes. Why? Don’t you?’
‘She really likes you. You can see it in the way she looks at you. Do you like her?’
‘Lillie!’
‘Well, do you like her?’
‘Of course I like her. It’s as if she’s one of us. More or less.’
‘No … I mean do you really like her? Wanting to kiss her? That sort of liking.’
The colour rose in his cheeks. ‘Hand me that rod of yours and I’ll undo the knot. You’ve worked yourself into a real twist there.’ He laughed. ‘Not just with your line.’
And that’s as much information as Lillie got out of Ronan about Clara. Even so, she suspected she’d hit the nail on the head.
Ronan and Clara had kissed and that’s why he had gone beetroot.
CHAPTER
5
When Kathleen picked up the mail at the post office in Sneem she was excited to see she had an answer from the Indian Embassy offering her more translations. The man who usually did the majority of the translations had had a heart attack and was taking sick leave. There wouldn’t be a huge amount more work; however, there could be a steady trickle. Enough to at least help with the housekeeping. She parked her car under the beech tree at Rathgarven and hurried through the pelting rain to find James and tell him. As it was too wet to work outside, he was doing bookwork in his study. When she opened the door and saw him at his desk, she got a dreadful fright at how grey he looked. It was as if he had aged twenty years since she had last seen him and she wondered for a second if he, too, hadn’t had a heart attack.
‘James, what is it? Is it your mother? Is she ill? Or one of the children?’
‘No,’ James said, trying a small smile. ‘None of that. Sit down and I’ll t
ell you what’s happened.’
Perching on the upholstered chair by the side of the desk, Kathleen looked at him anxiously.
‘The bank has refused our loan,’ he said. ‘Declan rang. The poor man was devastated.’
Kathleen felt an icy shiver run down her spine. The elation she’d felt when she read the letter from the embassy disappeared in a flash and a feeling of total desperation took its place.
‘Oh my God! No,’ she cried. ‘How could they? You seemed so sure. I thought it was just a formality.’
‘There was always a doubt. I didn’t want to tell you.’
Kathleen got up and began to pace. Outside, the rain was lashing the gravel driveway and the trees twisted and turned in the strong wind. In the cove, the waves beat heavily against the shore. Kathleen knew what this meant. There was no escaping it: they would lose Rathgarven.
She turned to face her shattered husband. ‘You should have told me there was a doubt.’
‘I kept putting it off, hoping I was wrong.’
‘Do you think Donoghue got to them? He wants Rathgarven come hell or high water. I bet he has every bank in Ireland in his back pocket. Half of the bank managers probably owe him money — he’s supposed to be one of the biggest bookies in Ireland. And you of all people know how us Irish like to gamble.’
This was a mean barb, but Kathleen couldn’t stop herself.
James came over to her and placed his arms tenderly around her. ‘I’m so sorry, my darling,’ he said, kissing the top of her head. ‘So terribly sorry.’
Kathleen smiled thinly. ‘I know you are.’ She gave a huge sigh. ‘Oh, James, what in heaven’s name will we do?’
James took a deep breath and Kathleen felt his body shudder as he tried to control his emotions. ‘We’ve no other option than to settle the debt we owe. I’ve been sitting here thinking it through. We could try to sell, but it would take time in this market. The same with the cattle, which are bringing practically nothing. If we don’t do something soon Donoghue will declare us bankrupt.’
‘He can’t.’
The Homestead on the River Page 5