She has found her way home.
Chapter 18
As summer approached, Colm and Margot’s hold on their secret relationship relaxed and they grew complacent. They rode out into the hills after work, lay against the stones in the Fairy Ring and sat on the beach, sheltered from the wind by rocks, enjoying sundowners brought with them in flasks. They made these places their own, without realizing that countless other lovers in the past had already claimed them.
JP no longer needed constant supervision. He was happy, and busy – in the garden, on horseback and, as it transpired, in talks with Mr Dukelow about the possibility of giving after-dinner talks about his past to the hotel guests. Contrary to what Margot had thought, this idea did not faze him in the least, and the money was certainly a temptation. Mrs de Lisle would pay handsomely for a Deverill – far more handsomely than she was paying for the Countess!
It had been weeks since Margot had ventured into O’Donovan’s. She hadn’t seen Seamus and, she assumed, Seamus had no idea about her burgeoning relationship with Colm. Usually, she left men in her wake and never looked back. But as she was still here in Ballinakelly, that wasn’t possible. She hoped that Seamus was the sort of man who didn’t look back either.
The pub was full on this Saturday night. A band was playing. The atmosphere was exuberant. She and Colm found a small table in the corner and Colm went to the bar to buy drinks. He had a word with Seamus, who glanced over at Margot. She gave him a smile. He smiled back and Margot immediately read the confusion in it. She knew what he was thinking. He was no fool. She could see his mind working it out. He then turned back to Colm and began to pour the drinks. The two of them chatted away, seemingly nonchalant, but Colm’s face suddenly darkened and he shot a look at Margot. Margot felt her skin prickle with uneasiness. She wondered what Seamus had said to him, but she didn’t have to wonder for long, because Colm returned to the table, put down the drinks and sat on the chair opposite. ‘So when were you going to tell me you’d been to bed with Seamus O’Donovan?’ he asked quietly.
Margot’s instinct was self-defence. ‘I wasn’t. It’s not relevant, is it?’
Colm put his glass of stout to his lips and knitted his eyebrows. ‘Oh, so you weren’t going to tell me, is that right?’
‘I didn’t need to, did I?’
‘I’d rather have heard it from you than from Seamus.’
Margot shrugged. ‘It was at the beginning of January, Colm. That’s four months ago now. I slept with him the odd time. It meant nothing.’ She sighed. ‘Not very gentlemanly of him to tell you.’
Colm looked at her with concern. ‘Is this what you do, Margot? Sleep with people and then discard them?’
‘It’s what most men do, if I’m not wrong. Why should women be any different? Sure, I’ve enjoyed brief encounters, haven’t you?’ She knew he wouldn’t like that – most men didn’t – but she wasn’t going to hide who she was.
He wasn’t sure how to answer her. He knew her argument was sound – she had every right to sleep with as many men as she liked, but it made his stomach clench to think of it. ‘Seamus is none too pleased about it,’ he said, trying to focus on this particular lover and not on others she might have had.
‘We enjoyed a brief fling and it was fun. But it was never going to be anything more than that.’
He frowned again. ‘Is that what I am, Margot? A brief fling?’
‘You know you mean more to me than that, Colm.’
‘For all I know, you’ll leave when you finish the book and I won’t see you for dust.’
She reached out and touched his hand. ‘I want to be with you. You know that.’
He glanced to his left and right, then took her hand and squeezed it. ‘I’d like to go public,’ he said. ‘This skulking around is doing my head in.’
‘So would I.’
‘Then let’s do it.’
‘Do we need to worry about your father?’
Colm sighed. ‘I don’t know. I don’t want to cause a relapse.’
Margot rolled her eyes. ‘He likes me, but he doesn’t love me, Colm. That’s Mrs B reading into things. I make him laugh and we’re good friends, but I assure you he’s not interested in me like that.’
‘Have you not seen the way he looks at you?’
‘With fondness.’
‘No, let’s keep it quiet for the time being,’ he suggested, letting go of her hand.
‘Seamus knows,’ she said, seeing Seamus glance their way. ‘He’s watching us.’
‘That’s because you weren’t very kind, Margot,’ Colm replied reprovingly. ‘You should have told him.’
‘About us?’
‘No, that you didn’t want to sleep with him anymore.’
‘I don’t do that,’ she said dismissively. ‘It’s awkward.’
‘When you decide you don’t want to sleep with me anymore, I’d appreciate the heads-up.’
‘Colm, that’s ridiculous!’
‘Is it?’
‘Yes.’ She grinned. ‘I think I’m always going to want to sleep with you.’
At last he smiled too. ‘You think?’
She nodded. ‘Come on. Let’s go back to yours so I can show you just how sure I am about that.’
* * *
It was well past three in the morning when Mr Dukelow led the Countess into the castle via the old servants’ entrance at the back. This entrance was never used these days and he had to brush away the ivy that concealed it. The night was black and deep. There was no moon, only the small light from the torch he carried to show the way. The two of them sneaked down the corridor and up the old servants’ staircase. This part of the hotel had not been decorated in the sumptuous style of the public areas. There were linoleum floors, white walls and naked light bulbs hanging from the ceiling, a thick layer of dust and heaps of crisp brown leaves that had once blown in and been left to wither. It was also cold. But this did not deter them. They did not speak, but crept like thieves, quietly and in silence, deeper into the castle until they reached the bottom of the staircase leading to the little suite of rooms at the top of the western tower.
Here they hesitated a moment. ‘Are you sure she’s not up there?’ the Countess whispered.
‘Absolutely sure. Like I told you, she’s at Colm Deverill’s house.’
The Countess curled her lip in disgust. ‘She’s sleeping with him, is she?’
‘She is,’ Mr Dukelow confirmed. ‘She thinks no one knows.’
The Countess smiled, her thin lips disappearing into a line. ‘How very satisfying.’
They were careful to tread softly. When he reached the top, Mr Dukelow lifted the latch and gently pushed open the door. It was pitch black inside. He shone the torch around the sitting room. The curtains had not been drawn, which was a clear indication that the occupant was not in residence. He stepped inside with confidence, followed by the Countess, who lifted the hood of her cloak and sighed. Mr Dukelow strode into the bedroom and shone his torch onto the bed. It had not been touched since the morning when housekeeping had made it. The beam of light revealed what they were looking for. The pile of A4 paper neatly stacked on the desk beside the typewriter.
The Countess fell upon it with a gasp. She turned the pile of paper over and lifted the final sheet. She beckoned him closer. ‘Shine your light here,’ she demanded. He did as he was told. Her eyes scanned the lines greedily.
‘What does it say?’ he asked.
She tutted in frustration. ‘She is writing about silly old Hubert and Adeline. Well, we will have to come back in a few weeks’ time when she has written more.’
* * *
Mrs B wasn’t the same woman she had been when she had sat in the ballroom, handbag on her knee, a muddle of anticipation, hope and dread. She was lighter and, most surprisingly of all, jolly. That was a word one would never have used to describe Bessie Brogan. But jolly she was. Jolly, cheerful and full of joy.
Lord Deverill had noticed immediately. When Mrs B had re
turned to the Lodge that evening, her eyes wet and dreamy and her heart brimming with emotion, he had sat her down in the library and listened attentively. Mrs B had cried all over again during the retelling of it, but after that she hadn’t once reached for her tissues; not once.
She continued to light the votive candles in her bedroom and repeat the prayer, as she did every night, but now she closed her eyes and felt her dear brother beside her. She knew he was there. He had said so, hadn’t he? He was right beside her and would be, until her time ran out and she too was called home.
Mrs B danced to the music on her radio. She tapped her feet, swayed her hips and moved her shoulders as she cooked and prepared meals and when she washed up. She hummed too. She listened to ballads as well and sang along with gusto. Her heart was full and she needed to express it. Music allowed her to do this, without inhibition because, now Master Colm had returned to his own home, no one ever came into the kitchen.
The Hunting Lodge had emerged out of the shadows into the light, just as the land had been lifted out of the hard cold and damp of winter into spring. The place felt warm, not just because it was early summer, but because it was happy. Mrs B knew that was what it was. The house was happy and she and Lord Deverill were happy in it.
* * *
One evening at the beginning of June, Margot, Colm and JP were sitting outside on the terrace, enjoying drinks before dinner. The air was balmy and warm, the amber light soft as the sun slowly sank behind the horse chestnut trees. It was a perfect summer’s evening, the kind of evening one would look back on with nostalgia when the cold autumn winds came in October to chase the summer away. The garden was at its best, the plants still young and tender, the shrubs trimmed and the Himalayan roses in full flower, climbing rabidly to the very top of the sycamore tree. There was a feeling of optimism, a sense of things changing for the better. Mrs B watched the three of them laughing and chatting as the pigeons cooed from the rooftop and the sky turned pink. She had just brought out another jug of lemonade, when JP announced that he had some news to share.
‘By the look on your face, I’d say it’s good news,’ said Colm.
‘I hope it’s good news,’ JP replied, putting his glass on the table beside the bench. ‘At least, I hope you’ll think it’s good news. I have a job.’
‘You’re going to be a speaker at the castle,’ Margot declared. ‘I think that’s brilliant!’
‘Yes, I’ve been talking to Mrs de Lisle. She’s very keen and she’s going to pay me very well. Exceedingly well, I should say.’
‘I think that’s a grand idea,’ said Colm.
JP looked at Margot. ‘But there’s more. I have an idea, you see.’
‘And what’s that?’ said Margot.
‘How about you and I put on an act together? You tell some stories of past Deverills and what they got up to and I talk about what it was like living in the castle. Together, we’d make an entertaining duo, I think. What do you say?’
Colm glanced at Margot. Margot had anticipated this. She thought about it for a moment. What was there to lose? JP was right. They would make a brilliant pair, complementing each other with a combination of history and personal experience – it was just the sort of pairing Mrs de Lisle would love.
‘Did you suggest it?’ Margot asked.
‘Not yet. I wanted to ask you first.’
‘I think it would be fun to do something together. Why don’t I have a chat with Mr Dukelow and see what he says.’
Mrs B felt a twinge of concern. Lord Deverill still didn’t know that his son and Margot were in a relationship. She knew how fond he was of her, a fondness that would only grow deeper if they started working together, she suspected, and she worried that when he learned the truth he’d be hurt. Sure, he was old enough to be her father, but that never stopped the heart feeling what it felt. There was no controlling that. She wondered when the two young people were going to come out of hiding. They couldn’t keep their relationship secret for ever, could they?
* * *
Mr Dukelow visibly trembled with excitement when Margot suggested that she and Lord Deverill do some after-dinner talks together. He immediately telephoned Mrs de Lisle.
‘I have a brilliant idea,’ he began. When he told Mrs de Lisle about it, she was ecstatic.
‘You see, that is why I employ people like you, Mr Dukelow,’ she gushed. ‘You know exactly what we’re doing here. It’s a very strong idea. I like it a lot. I always thought the Countess was a bit of a fraud, although the tourists bought it. Still, you can tell her that we don’t require her services any longer. We have the real McCoy. A Deverill is what we need. What we’ve always needed, and you, Mr Dukelow, have pulled it off. Margot and Lord Deverill will be a sell-out. I’ll get the marketing team on to it right away.’
Mr Dukelow was not happy about having to let down the Countess. She was not going to be at all happy about it. ‘Are you sure we shouldn’t keep the Countess on for the tea parties? They’re very popular, you know.’
‘I never liked her, Mr Dukelow. But she was good for business. She’s no longer good for business, so, just do as I say, understood?’
‘Of course, Mrs de Lisle.’ He clenched his jaw to restrain himself. He’d have liked to fight harder for the Countess, but Mrs de Lisle was a woman who did not like to be contradicted. ‘We’ll have to pay Miss Hart something,’ he added.
‘Of course we will. We’ll pay her well. After all, she delivered us Dan Chambers and what a success he turned out to be! She’s dynamite, and wait until the book comes out. It’ll send people flocking to the hotel. To think they’ll get to shake hands with Lord Deverill himself. Dynamite. That’s what it is.’ Mrs de Lisle sighed with satisfaction. ‘I always knew the castle would be the jewel in my crown.’
* * *
Mr Dukelow waited until the Countess had given her final tea party before he told her the bad news. She stared at him in horror. ‘I don’t understand,’ she replied. ‘You are firing me?’ Her white face stared at him in disbelief.
‘I’m afraid Mrs de Lisle no longer feels it’s—’
‘Angela de Lisle! She cannot treat me like this. It’s disgusting! It was she who begged me to give her guests a taste of aristocracy and history in the first place. I don’t believe it. It can’t be true.’
‘I’m afraid it is, Countess. I spoke to her this morning.’
She smoothed down her skirt and folded her arms. ‘I have never in my life been treated with such disrespect. Wait until my husband, the Count, finds out about this. He will be furious. There is no telling what he might do!’
‘I did fight for you, I promise. But she wouldn’t change her mind.’
‘Is she forgetting who I am? My husband grew up in this castle. It should, by right, be mine. I should be hosting private dinner parties and lunch parties and garden parties and…’ She took a breath, overcome suddenly with emotion. ‘It should be me firing Angela de Lisle, not the other way round.’ She glared at Mr Dukelow. ‘I am the closest person to the history of this place that she will find. If I am not going to give the hotel guests a taste of history, then who is?’ She smiled triumphantly.
Mr Dukelow rubbed his chin. Well, she would find out about it in the end anyway. ‘Lord Deverill,’ he replied.
‘Lord Deverill? That old drunk!’ She laughed scornfully. ‘Now I’ve heard everything.’
‘Actually, he’s sober now,’ he told her, watching her face fall and gaining no satisfaction from it. ‘He’s going to give talks with Margot Hart.’
The Countess didn’t know what to say. ‘Well, don’t come crying to me when it all goes horribly wrong. I won’t be back!’ She pouted her lips and sighed like a petulant child.
‘I’m sorry, Countess. I really am. If I had my way, you’d be hosting dinner every night.’
‘You couldn’t afford me,’ she hissed. Then, remembering suddenly that she still needed Mr Dukelow for the other small matter of Margot Hart’s book, she ran a crimson nail down his
cheek. ‘I shouldn’t blame you, Terrence,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I know this must have been very hard for you too.’
Relieved that she wasn’t going to storm out of his life, Mr Dukelow dropped his shoulders and took her hand. ‘You know how much I adore you, Countess.’ He planted a kiss on her pale skin. ‘If there’s anything I can do to make it up to you…’
She smiled. ‘There is,’ she replied without hesitation, ‘one small matter still unresolved.’
* * *
Margot and JP came up with a format for their talk whereby she would introduce the family with the story of Barton Deverill and the building of the castle, plus the odd amusing anecdote about subsequent descendants, then she would step back and give JP the floor. He would tell guests about his grandparents Hubert and Adeline Deverill and how he came to inherit the castle from his mother, Bridie, Countess di Marcantonio, who had started out as a maid. It was a great story.
The first event was scheduled for the end of June. In the run-up, they practised on the terrace, refining their speeches until they were able to deliver them confidently and without hesitation. Margot was used to public speaking but JP was a novice. However, the preparation paid off, for the dress rehearsal in front of Colm and Mrs B went without a hitch. They even answered the most impertinent questions Colm and Mrs B could think of without a moment’s pause.
However, it is one thing to give a talk to friends and family, but quite another to be in front of a room full of strangers.
* * *
When the day arrived JP was understandably nervous. He kept busy in the garden, trying not to glance at his watch, as time ticked along in its usual fashion, bringing him closer to the event that he was now beginning to dread. ‘What do you think, Mrs. B? Have I been a little rash in agreeing to do this?’ he asked when he came in for lunch.
‘Get away with yourself, m’lord. In the whole of Cork, there isn’t a man, woman or child knows the castle like you do. You’ll never see the day that you will get the castle back. For good or ill, those days are gone for ever. But it doesn’t mean you can’t have a bit of fun lording it around in there once in a while. For the honour of God, m’lord, what harm can it do?’
The Distant Shores Page 29