The Distant Shores

by Santa Montefiore

  Caught up in the moment, neither thought of the many reasons why they shouldn’t.

  Chapter 12

  It was only in the morning that Colm and Margot thought about the reasons why they shouldn’t have kissed.

  Margot had driven back to the hotel shortly after, braving the storm in spite of Colm trying to persuade her to stay. All the way back she had smiled to herself and held on to the feeling of his lips on hers, savouring the memory of it, making it last. However, when dawn trickled weakly through the gap in the curtains of her tower bedroom, bringing with it a sharp sense of reality, she realized that she shouldn’t have let him. How could she possibly write the book if she was intimate with one of the protagonists? It would look like she was taking advantage of him to get the inside story. And if he were to give her the inside story, would she be able to write it? She slept with men to whom she knew she wouldn’t get attached. That was what suited her best. But Colm Deverill was not that sort of man. Margot could feel it in her gut. If she allowed him in, he’d be there to stay.

  Better not to let him in, she thought as she got up and dressed. She hoped he had come to the same conclusion. After all, from his family’s point of view, she was the enemy. And it was a foolish man who slept with the enemy. She’d be moving on in a few months. She didn’t want anything to keep her from leaving.

  Margot ate breakfast in the dining room, at a small table on her own, and read the Irish Times. The IRA had launched a mortar attack on the Royal Ulster Constabulary base in Newry in Northern Ireland, killing nine officers and injuring nearly forty others. She wondered whether the Irish Question was ever going to be resolved. But she had problems of her own to think about. She closed the paper, drained her cup of coffee and looked at her watch. It was time to go to the Hunting Lodge and face JP and Colm.

  * * *

  Colm knew he should not have kissed Margot. As he lay in bed, watching the bedroom slowly emerge into the light, he realized that, although he knew he should not have, he had very much wanted to. He didn’t regret it. Not for a moment. He lay on his back and stretched as fragments from the evening before surfaced in his mind, giving him pleasure all over again. He had wanted to take her to bed, but she had slipped out into the stormy night and disappeared into the darkness. He held on to the images now solidifying in his imagination. Their skin had had that rare chemistry, when two people have a powerful sexual connection, like a chord played in perfect harmony. He wondered if she had felt it too. She had left him in the hall, aching with desire and yet, in spite of the traumatic events of the evening, happy. He knew how his mother would feel were she to find out. He imagined, too, how his father would feel were he to know. If Mrs B was to be believed, JP was a little infatuated with Margot himself. But Colm pushed those obstacles to his happiness out of his line of thought. He didn’t have to dwell on them now. He imagined bringing Margot to his bed and making love to her. He closed his eyes and savoured the fantasy. He was a grown man in his late twenties; it really didn’t matter what his parents thought.

  At length he dressed and went downstairs for breakfast. Mrs B was not surprised to see him. She had noticed his car still parked in the forecourt when she had opened her curtains that morning. She assumed he’d stayed over so he could keep an eye on his father. Lord Deverill was still sleeping. Mrs B had peeped around his bedroom door on her way downstairs and he was breathing gently, the agony of the night before lost in peaceful slumber.

  ‘What’ll you have for breakfast, Master Colm,’ she asked when he came into the kitchen.

  He smiled broadly. Mrs B hadn’t seen him smile like that in a very long time and her suspicions were raised. ‘I like the music, Mrs B,’ he said, referring to the radio.

  The old housekeeper smiled back, feeling better about the night before on account of Master Colm’s heightened energy, which was infectious. ‘It’s grand, isn’t it? It puts a spring in my step.’

  ‘It’s putting a spring in mine.’ Colm laughed and Mrs B laughed with him. How attractive he was when he laughed, she thought. ‘I’ll have eggs and toast, Mrs B. Thanks.’

  ‘Will Miss Hart be coming in today?’ She watched Colm carefully.

  ‘She’s going to help sort out Dad. Like you said, she’s probably the only one who can.’

  ‘I think the two of you together will be a powerful pairing, Master Colm.’ She picked out a couple of eggs from the basket on the sideboard and poured a little oil into a pan. ‘I pray to God that he allows you to help him.’

  ‘I think we need more than prayers, Mrs B,’ Colm replied, looking doubtful.

  He ate his breakfast. Mrs B had bought the newspapers as she did every morning, stopping at the church to light votive candles for her loved ones on the way to the shop. However, he couldn’t concentrate on the words. His mind was on Margot and the challenge they were going to face together. He listened out for her car, suddenly nervous about seeing her again. He wondered how she felt this morning and hoped she didn’t regret it.

  Mrs B cleared away his plate. ‘I’ve lit the fire in the library,’ she said. ‘He’ll be down in a minute, I suspect. Knowing him, he’ll have forgotten everything about last night.’

  ‘Margot and I will gently remind him,’ Colm replied, putting his napkin on the table.

  The sound of a motor alerted them both to Margot’s arrival.

  ‘I’ll go,’ said Mrs B, leaving the room.

  Colm took a deep breath and followed her out. ‘Show her into the library, Mrs B, and bring us some tea, would you?’

  * * *

  Margot drew up in front of the Hunting Lodge. The wind was still high, but the rain clouds had moved on in the early hours of the morning, leaving widening patches of blue sky. She got out of the car and noticed twigs and sodden leaves strewn all over the gravel as well as a tree that had come down over the river. Mrs B opened the door. Margot hurried in out of the cold. ‘Good morning, Mrs B,’ she said, rubbing her hands together. ‘Is he up?’

  ‘Which one?’ Mrs B asked.

  ‘Lord Deverill.’

  ‘Not yet. Master Colm is in the library, waiting for you.’

  ‘Great. Thanks. I’ll go and find him.’

  Margot walked down the hall, anxious about what she was going to say to him. She should never have kissed him. It had been rash. An ‘in the moment’ thing, which is so often regretted.

  Colm was standing at the window when she entered, looking out over the lawn much like his father had been when she had first met him all those weeks ago. He smiled at the sight of her. A smile of joy tempered by hope, which was both endearing and charming. In fact, it was so attractive that it caught her off guard. Suddenly, her regret was less certain. ‘Hi,’ she said.

  ‘Hi,’ he replied. They looked at each other, searching for affirmation.

  Margot didn’t know what to say. She had been so sure that she had made a mistake, but now, seeing him there, handsome and cheerful, she doubted herself. She had never doubted herself before. She had always known exactly what she wanted, and more precisely, what she didn’t want.

  Colm wanted to kiss her again to dispel the awkwardness, but suddenly his father was in the doorway behind Margot, looking as if the night before had been just another evening spent by the fire with a book and a glass of whiskey, and he had to turn his attention away from Margot. ‘Hello, you two,’ said JP in surprise. Besides a ruddy complexion and glazed, rheumy eyes, he didn’t look too worse for wear, considering the devastation he had caused to the library as well as to himself.

  Colm and Margot looked at him in astonishment. Neither had expected to see him so hearty. They glanced at each other. The kiss would have to wait. ‘Good morning, JP,’ said Margot.

  ‘Would you like breakfast?’ He spoke to both Margot and Colm. ‘Mrs B can whip up anything you like, within reason.’

  ‘I’ve just eaten,’ Colm replied. ‘But we’ll have a cup of tea, or coffee, won’t we, Margot, to keep you company.’

  ‘Sure. I could re
ally do with some coffee,’ she replied.

  JP shuffled into the corridor towards the dining room. ‘There was a terrible storm last night,’ he said, as if they didn’t know. ‘I looked out of the window just now and saw that a tree has come down over the river. Luckily, not a precious one. Just an old ash. Probably on its way out anyway. Those ash are having a hard time fighting disease. We’re losing them all over the country. I’ll get the boys to chop it up for firewood.’

  Margot followed him. She felt Colm’s presence behind her and knew that he was thinking the same as she was. How were they going to broach the subject of his alcoholism when he had no recollection of what happened the night before?

  JP took his usual place at the head of the table. Margot and Colm sat either side of him. Mrs B gave a little shrug when she saw him. She knew it would be this way. It had always been this way. Selective amnesia was what she called it. She brought in JP’s breakfast, accompanied by a pot of tea. Margot and Colm made conversation, keeping it light, drinking their coffee as if it were simply a normal morning. JP didn’t ask what Colm was doing there at this time of day. If he knew his son had slept over, he didn’t let on. Margot supposed that if he acknowledged the unusual sequence of events, he would have to acknowledge what he’d got up to last night, and she knew he’d avoid that at all cost. Just like her father used to do. As they talked about the weather and Margot’s research, she and Colm did their best not to catch eyes lest JP sense their collusion and grow suspicious.

  ‘So,’ said JP with a sigh, putting his napkin on the table and picking up his cigarette packet and releasing one. ‘What’s on the agenda for today, Margot?’ He lit the cigarette, blowing smoke across the table.

  Margot smiled sweetly and Colm realized that she was going to drop the bomb, right now, at the table. He stiffened. ‘Today, JP, is the first day of your sobriety,’ she declared.

  It took a moment for her words to register. ‘Sorry, Margot, what did you say?’

  ‘You’re going to give up drinking, JP. Colm and I are going to help you.’ She put a hand on his. He stared down at it, uncertain whether to remove it or leave it there. Colm dared not speak. He knew that there was a danger of his father exploding into a rage if he joined in.

  JP frowned, teetering on the edge between indignation and calm. A moment passed that seemed like minutes and then he forced a smile. ‘I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Margot. But it’s very funny. You’re very funny.’ He withdrew his hand. ‘Now, I suspect that Mrs B has already lit the fire in the games room.’

  Colm braced himself and plunged in. ‘Dad, she’s not being funny. Do you remember anything about last night?’

  JP’s face hardened. He turned to his son. ‘Last night?’

  ‘Do you remember what happened?’

  Now there was fear in his eyes. ‘Nothing happened. I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he snapped. ‘What are you saying, Colm?’

  ‘You got drunk, threw everything you could reach onto the library floor and passed out.’

  He was about to deny it. The anger rose into his chest, boiling and spitting with offence. How could his own son accuse him of such a thing? Yet, slowly the memory materialized out of the fog like an ugly creature, or perhaps it had always been there, only he’d chosen not to see it. His face dropped with shame. What was the point in refuting it, when he knew very well that it was true? ‘And you put me to bed, I suppose. That’s why you’re here at breakfast,’ he said in a quiet voice.

  ‘Margot was here too,’ Colm added.

  JP looked at Margot, horrified. ‘I’m sorry you had to see me like that.’

  The wounded look in his eyes caused her heart to flood with compassion. ‘It’s okay, JP,’ she reassured him gently. ‘I grew up with an alcoholic father. I’ve seen it all before. I’m beyond shocking.’

  ‘Look, that’s never happened before. I was upset,’ he began, turning back to Colm. ‘Your mother came round. We both said some terrible things. I reached for the bottle. It’s normal.’ He chuckled, dismissing it as a rare and minor occurrence. ‘I know I drink too much. I smoke too much too.’ He looked at the cigarette between his fingers and shrugged. ‘No one is perfect.’

  ‘You’re an alcoholic, JP,’ said Margot. ‘And if you don’t get well, you’re going to die.’

  JP patted her hand. ‘Let’s not be over-dramatic.’

  ‘She’s right, Dad. You know she’s right.’

  ‘It won’t happen again. I’m sorry I worried you.’

  ‘You did worry us,’ said Colm.

  JP’s looked at his son in surprise. ‘You were worried, Colm?’

  ‘Of course I was worried. You’re my dad.’

  JP searched for words, but failed to find them.

  ‘When I saw you on the floor, I thought you were dead,’ Margot added. ‘You gave me a real shock.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I’ll drink less in future.’ He pushed out his chair, signalling the end of the conversation.

  ‘No, you’re not going to drink at all,’ said Colm firmly. He stood up. ‘There’s not a drop of alcohol left in the house.’

  JP’s face reddened. ‘You’ve cleared out my house?’ he exclaimed. ‘Are you out of your bloody mind, Colm?’

  ‘It wasn’t just Colm, JP. It was me too,’ said Margot. ‘We did it together. Because we want you to get well.’

  ‘This is unacceptable!’ he said, raising his voice. He didn’t look at Margot. He was unable to direct his anger at her. ‘Who do you think you are coming in like thieves and stealing my property? You can’t just take what you want without asking.’

  ‘Dad, you have to face up to the fact that you have a problem. We’re not the enemy. We’re here to help you.’

  JP’s nostrils flared. He looked from one to the other like a bull backed into the corner by a couple of matadors. ‘I want you to leave,’ he said. ‘I want you both to leave, this minute.’ If ever he needed a drink, it was now. He felt panic rising into his chest.

  ‘We’re not leaving, JP,’ said Margot gently. ‘Let’s go into the library and talk about this calmly. It’s nice and warm in there.’

  JP didn’t argue. He stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray beside his place. With his shoulders hunched and his hands in his pockets, he wandered slowly down the cold corridor to the library where Mrs B had lit a hearty fire. He sank into his armchair. He knew there was no whiskey in the room but his eyes searched for it all the same. Colm took the other armchair and Margot the sofa. JP fumbled for another cigarette and lit it. ‘So, I’m all ears. Say what you want to say. I know I’ll not be rid of you until you do.’

  ‘Until you acknowledge that your drinking is out of control, JP, you’re not going to get better. We can’t help you unless you want to help yourself.’

  ‘I don’t need help, Margot,’ he retorted crossly.

  ‘Shall I enlighten you on how bad it was last night?’ said Colm. ‘That we found you covered in vomit and—’

  JP put his hand up, glanced at Margot then back at Colm. ‘All right, all right. I get your point. I was not a pretty sight,’ he snapped. ‘Good Lord, am I to have no dignity?’

  ‘You lost your dignity last night. It’s not the first time, Dad. You’re not the same man you used to be.’

  ‘We all age, Colm. It’ll happen to you, too, then you can see how you like it!’

  ‘It’s got nothing to do with age and everything to do with alcohol.’

  Margot leaned forward. ‘You remember you told me that you lamented the loss of the man you once were?’ she said, her voice soft and full of kindness. He grunted, wary of agreeing to anything. ‘He’s still there, JP, inside you. He’s still handsome, charming, witty and clever. You can be him again, if you want to. But you have to want to, because no one else can do it for you. My father never wanted to get better. For him, he chose to die young with alcohol rather than to grow old without it. It was his choice. I was fourteen when he died. I lost the man I loved more than anyone else
in the world. But really, I had lost him years before when he ceased to put me first. No one was more important to him than his gin. Not even me, his child. I could have been drowning and he would have rather reached for the bottle than put out a hand to save me.’ Margot wiped away a tear with her fingers. JP was staring at her, his face crumpled with compassion. ‘The thing is, JP, I don’t think you’re anything like as far gone as my father was. You wouldn’t reach for the bottle if Colm was drowning. You’ve ridden out with me and taken pleasure from the light bouncing off the water and the little flowers growing in the grass. You’ve begun to work in the garden, planting things and waiting eagerly for them to grow. Daddy took no interest in nature. He took no pleasure in beauty, because he no longer saw beyond his next drink. But you’re not like that. You can give it all up today and, with our support, find the old JP again. Your old friend, the one everybody loved.’

  JP’s lips twitched with self-pity. ‘Do you really think I can get him back, the old JP, I mean? Is it possible?’ When he looked at them both his eyes were no longer blazing with fury but shiny with regret.

  ‘You can, Dad, because, as Margot says, he’s still there.’

  ‘Very well,’ he replied, his voice buoyant with intention. ‘I’ll start today. My first day of sobriety.’ He gave Margot a small, contrite smile. ‘One step at a time, eh?’

  ‘One step at a time,’ she repeated.

  She stood up.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Colm asked.

  ‘I’m going to take a walk around the garden. You two are going to talk.’ They both looked at her in confusion. Colm shuffled uncomfortably in his chair. ‘You, JP, are going to tell Colm why your marriage broke down and why you sold the castle. You, Colm, are not going to interrupt, or get heated, but you’re going to listen with compassion and understanding, because at the root of JP’s story is the reason why he started to drink. You’re going to be honest with each other, knowing neither of you will be judged. I would stay, but it’s not appropriate. You need to be able to talk to each other in private, knowing that whatever is said will remain within these four walls.’