JP sat down and put his napkin on his knee. ‘I don’t think I’d want the castle back, even if I could have it,’ he said pensively. ‘There’s something about the lack of responsibility and freedom that appeals to me now as I get older. I like it here, in this house, Mrs B. It suits me.’ He smiled at her as she placed a slice of soda bread in front of him. ‘Thank you for looking after me all these years, Mrs B. I do appreciate you, you know.’
‘Thank you, m’lord,’ she said quietly, pink staining her cheeks. She picked up the dish of leek and potato soup from the sideboard and brought it over. ‘Has it never occurred to you that you’ve looked after me too,’ she added. ‘I’m one of the luckiest women ever born to have been a part of your family.’
The smile in JP’s eyes deepened with tenderness. ‘You could say, we’ve rescued each other,’ he said, and she nodded.
‘God works in mysterious ways,’ she replied, watching him ladle the soup into his bowl. ‘There’s always a plan only, most of the time, we don’t see it. As me poor auld mother used to say, every auld stocking finds an auld shoe. I’m beginning to see it clearly now.’
‘So am I,’ he agreed.
‘Get on with yourself now, m’lord, and go out tonight and enjoy yourself. You’ve earned it.’
* * *
With that intention, JP stood in front of one hundred guests in the castle’s dining room and introduced himself as Jack Patrick Deverill, the eighth Lord Deverill of Ballinakelly, the one who lost the castle his great ancestor, Barton, built in 1662. ‘The King stole land that belonged to the O’Leary family and gave it to the Deverills. Nearly three hundred years later, I married Alana O’Leary and moved into the castle, thus restoring it, in a small way, to the O’Leary family. I like to feel that, with that union, something of that terrible wrong was put right. Perhaps it was karma that caused us to lose our home, who knows? But,’ he said, sweeping his blue gaze over the room, ‘there is something very satisfactory about seeing you good people now sharing in the history and magic of Castle Deverill.’ The audience was enraptured and JP rose on a wave of goodwill and delivered a fascinating and humorous speech. Margot watched him with pride, this broken man she had helped put back together. She caught Colm’s eye and saw the pride glowing in his face too. When she had arrived in January she could never have predicted that her life would come to this.
At the end of the talk there were questions. Nothing that JP and Margot couldn’t handle.
Then the Countess, who had been sitting on the table at the far end of the room, keeping an uncharacteristically low profile, put up her hand. JP recognized her at once and bristled.
‘Lord Deverill,’ she said. ‘You imply that you lost the castle because of karma. The land was stolen so, in the end, as payment for that crime, it was taken from you. There is a certain justice in that, to be sure. However, my husband, Count Leopoldo di Marcantonio, would say that the castle should have been left to him, as the only son of your mother Bridie and Count Cesare di Marcantonio. Do you not see that you lost the castle because of that more recent wrong? Do you feel regret, or any sense of injustice on my husband’s behalf?’
JP lifted his chin. ‘Thank you, Countess, for coming tonight. It is a pleasure to see you here at Castle Deverill. To answer your question, I do sympathize with your husband’s predicament. He expected to inherit the castle, yet it was left to me. We cannot undo what has been done in the past, we can only let it go. I have learned, through many hours of soul-searching, that contentment comes from letting go of old hurts. The castle is now a beautiful hotel. I celebrate it. To do otherwise would be detrimental to my health and peace of mind. I suggest that you and your husband do the same. Nothing will come of resentment but unhappiness.’
The Countess’s face blanched as the audience erupted into a wild applause.
Margot watched her warily, surrounded as she was by a dark miasma which set her apart from everyone else in the room. Something cramped in her stomach. A feeling of unease that, as she graciously received the praise and congratulations from those seated at her table, did not go away.
Kitty
I stand by Jack’s bed. He is sick and fading fast. Alana has flown over from the States with her daughters, Aisling and Cara, and her siblings, Liam and Aileen, have come from Connemara and Co. Wexford to be with their father in his last moments. Colm arrives. They gather with Emer in Jack’s bedroom, around his bed, as Jack lies still with his eyes closed, his cheeks sunken, waiting for death. If you ask me, he looks dead already, but his chest gently rises and falls in defiance. ‘I’ll not go until I’m ready,’ I hear him whisper soundlessly. He always was a stubborn man.
As night falls, he puts out his left hand. Emer takes it. His eyes open and they are full of peace and acceptance. They are the eyes of a soul already halfway to Heaven. ‘Forgive me, my darling Emer, for all the wrongs I have done you,’ he says.
Emer’s eyes sparkle. ‘There is nothing to forgive, my dear,’ she replies softly, pressing her lips to the diaphanous, speckled skin on the back of his hand. ‘We forgave each other long ago, did we not?’
‘Alana.’ He turns his head slowly and finds her, hovering on the other side of the bed. He gives her his right hand. ‘Make peace with JP,’ he says. His voice is a whisper now.
Alana blinks and the tears are released. She nods. It is no time to deny a man his dying wish.
He has a word to say to each of his children and they receive it with gratitude and reverence; Jack is already closer to God than they are.
He turns to Colm. ‘You’ve been a good grandson, Colm,’ he says. He manages a small smile. Then he mumbles something so quietly that Colm has to lean in to hear. He has to put his ear to his grandfather’s lips so that the words can be heard. But that is exactly what Jack wants, for Colm to get so close so that no one else but him can hear what he has to say. ‘Don’t let her get away,’ Jack whispers.
I am overcome with emotion; on his deathbed, Jack is thinking of me.
It is not long before he takes his last breath. With his family by his bed he silently slips away. There is no death rattle, no struggle, nothing but peace. I see his mother in Spirit. A being of light and love. She puts out her hand and he takes it. He rises up, leaving the body he no longer needs lying like an old coat on the bed, and together they depart. He does not see me.
It is then that I am gripped by an urgent and passionate longing: I want to go home.
I want to go home now.
But there is no one to take me.
Chapter 19
JP was sorry when he heard the news about Jack. Colm drove over in the morning to tell him. He’d been up all night, keeping vigil at his grandfather’s bedside, as was tradition. The wake would last the day. Friends would come to pay their respects, drink Guinness and eat snacks in darkened rooms aglow with candlelight. Jack’s dog lay by his side, refusing to move.
JP embraced his son and held him for an extended time. He knew how close he had been to his grandfather. ‘Let’s go for a stroll around the garden,’ he suggested. ‘The fresh air will do you good.’ The two men set off across the lawn.
It was a beautiful morning. Birdsong filled the air, the breeze was silky and warm, the sun radiant as if it hadn’t noticed Jack O’Leary had died. ‘Dad, I need to tell you something,’ Colm said, putting his hands in his pockets.
‘All right, go on,’ JP replied.
‘It’s about Margot.’
JP looked alarmed. ‘What about Margot?’
Colm hesitated. ‘I’m in love with her,’ he said at last, then winced, expecting his father’s face to betray his hurt.
‘So am I,’ he laughed. ‘I think everyone’s a little in love with Margot Hart.’
‘You misunderstand me. She’s in love with me too. We’re in a relationship.’
JP stopped and looked at his son with different eyes. ‘Really? Since when?’
‘We wanted to tell you, but we didn’t want to upset your recovery.’
> ‘Now, why would telling me good news like that upset my recovery?’
‘Well, I thought you might be a little in love with her yourself. Like you just said—’
‘My dear boy, I don’t mean I love her like that.’ JP laughed at the absurdity of the idea. ‘I’m old enough to be her father!’
‘I know that, which is why—’
‘I’m tremendously fond of Margot,’ JP interrupted. ‘We’re friends. Good friends. If it hadn’t been for her I don’t think I’d have had the courage or the will to get better. She saved me and I’ll always be grateful to her for that. But I’m not in love with her. Not at all.’ He patted his son’s back and they walked on. ‘I’m glad you’ve found each other, Colm. She’s a good girl. I must admit, I never suspected a thing. You’ve been very good at hiding it.’
Colm was relieved. ‘It hasn’t been easy.’
‘I don’t suppose you’re going to tell your mother.’
‘That’s the other thing I want to speak to you about. I want you to go and talk to Mum. I don’t mean have a row, I mean talk to her nicely. She’s really cut up about Grandad.’
‘Colm, I’m the last person she wants to see.’
‘I don’t agree. What’s the opposite of love?’
‘Hate.’
‘No, it isn’t. Indifference is the opposite of love. Not caring at all. You both must care for each other a little bit if you still have enough energy to hate.’
‘Hate is a very strong word, Colm. I’ve never hated your mother.’
‘Then talk to her, Dad. For me. For the three of us.’
* * *
Dorothy was in a terrible state when she arrived in Ballinakelly. She had come as fast as she could, dropping everything and getting the earliest flight to Shannon Airport. Jack was dead. Jack O’Leary, the man she had admired above all others, was gone. It was unthinkable. Of course, she had never let on that she had secretly loved him. Emer was her friend and besides, Jack had never encouraged her, not for a moment. He had probably never known how she felt. After all, she hadn’t shown it, or shared it, with anyone. It had been her secret and she had guarded it closely.
Even at eighty-eight he’d held her heart captive. Fancy that! An old man still having the power to make an old woman in her eighties grow hot under the collar. But that was Jack O’Leary. He’d always had a twinkle in his eye and the sort of charisma that doesn’t dim with age, but shines on regardless. And, of course, she had known him when he was a young man, full of fight. How dashing he’d been. How full of magnetism and vigour; now he was gone.
Dorothy thought about death often these days. The years ahead of her were far fewer than those behind her. Was there really a life after? she wondered. She had faith, having been brought up as a church-going Protestant, but she doubted now, as the end drew close. She doubted out of fear. It almost sounded too good to be true, and experience had taught her that things which were too good to be true often were; it was a fact. Dan Chambers’ events remained vivid in her memory and yet, she doubted that too. Had her daughter really come through? Had Dan pulled a name out of his mind and simply got lucky? Lillie wasn’t an uncommon name, after all. It had seemed very real at the time, but now she wondered whether she’d believed because she so wanted to believe. Had her longing clouded her judgement?
Where was Jack now? Where was his consciousness? It was strange to think that he knew the answer. Of course, he wouldn’t even be aware of the question if he no longer existed. That thought chilled her the most.
After a brief stop at the hotel Dorothy took a taxi to the wake at Emer and Jack’s house. People had crammed into the small space, there was no room to sit down. Emer embraced her fiercely, grateful that she had come. ‘I won’t know what to do with myself now that Jack’s gone,’ she said hoarsely. ‘I’ll be like a dandelion on the wind.’
‘I’ll stay with you for as long as you want,’ Dorothy reassured her.
Emer’s eyes filled with tears. ‘You mean that, Dorothy?’
‘Of course I do. I’ll stay at the hotel until Alana and the girls have gone and then I’ll move in and keep you company for a while. Now Jack’s gone, I’ll stay as long as I like.’
Emer laughed sadly. ‘Oh, you are funny, Dorothy. But I can tell you now that you were right, Jack really didn’t like people staying.’
‘I knew it!’
‘He wasn’t a sociable man. Most of the time it was the just the two of us. I liked it that way.’
Emer was distracted suddenly. She turned her eyes to the door. To her surprise, JP was standing there, unsure whether or not he’d be welcomed in. He was in a tweed jacket, holding his hat in his hands, an anxious expression on his face. ‘Would you look who’s turned up?’ said Emer to her friend.
‘There’s nothing like death to bring out the best in people,’ Dorothy replied, surprised to see him there too.
‘I’d better go and welcome him. After all, it’s kind of him to come.’
‘And brave,’ Dorothy added.
Emer smiled cautiously when she greeted JP. He had hurt her daughter, after all, and she was still sad about that. But she was a gracious woman who did not like confrontation or hard feelings and it was impossible for her not to be polite. ‘Thank you for coming, JP,’ she said, amazed to see him looking so bright-eyed and clear-skinned. It was like he was a younger, fitter version of himself. Closer to the dashing, insouciant man Alana had fallen in love with and married all those years ago. He expressed his condolences in a few, carefully chosen words and Emer received them with gratitude. ‘Why don’t you go on in and pay your respects.’ She did not imagine her daughter would want to see him and hoped he’d be in and out before she realized he was there.
The mourners spoke in hushed tones in the room where Jack’s body was laid out beneath a white sheet. It was dark, but for the candles that glowed golden on the bedside table and dresser. Jack looked peaceful, as if he were sleeping. JP felt sad that he hadn’t made his peace with him. After the divorce the two families had stopped speaking to each other. JP was sure that Jack would have blamed him for Alana leaving Ireland. In a way, Jack had lost her too. Life was complicated. It was hard to accept, this froideur, when one looked back to the early days of their marriage, when they’d been happy and without a care.
He felt a hand on his arm. He turned to see Alana standing beside him. She gave him a tearful smile. ‘Thank you, JP. It means a lot to me that you came.’
He acknowledged her words with a nod. They looked down at Jack with tenderness, struggling to accept that he was no longer present. It was as if he might open his eyes at any moment and wake up.
They moved into the corridor. ‘Would you like to stay for a drink?’ she asked.
‘No, thank you. I think I’ll be getting back. I just wanted to say goodbye. He was a good man, your father. Wise, brave, strong. We were friends once.’ He hesitated, then cut himself off with a bland, meaningless sentiment. ‘He deserves a good rest.’ He sensed he was starting off down a thorny road of nostalgia and regret and now wasn’t the time or the place for it.
‘He does indeed,’ Alana agreed and watched him leave. There must be a woman, she thought with a twinge of jealousy. He wouldn’t look as good as he did, or have sobered up so quickly, if it wasn’t for a woman. She wondered who she was, this person who had inspired him to pull himself together. Surely not Margot Hart?
The funeral took place the following day in the Catholic Church of All Saints in Ballinakelly and Jack was laid to rest in the graveyard, where generations of O’Learys had been buried before him. The entire town came out to pay their respects for he had been a much-loved, albeit elusive, member of the community.
Colm was heartbroken. He loved his grandfather and now he was gone. It was visceral, this feeling of loss, as if he’d been filleted like a fish. Then he remembered something Mrs B had once told him: Grief is just love with nowhere to go.
* * *
That night, while Margot slept in Colm’s
arms, the Countess once again followed Mr Dukelow into the castle via the back door, their way illuminated by torchlight. Again they climbed the old servants’ staircase, up into the western tower where Margot’s room lay in darkness and silence. The Countess pulled back the hood of her cloak and moved straight to the desk. Her hands grabbed the manuscript and turned it over. She lifted the top page and saw, to her delight, that Margot had very nearly finished the book. Mr Dukelow shone the torch on the words so that she could read them.
Her eyes feverishly scanned the lines searching for Leopoldo’s name. Impatiently, she turned over the page and grabbed another one. One after the other she skimmed them, but there was very little besides the occasional mention of her husband. ‘There must be some mistake,’ she muttered. She started again, this time more slowly.
‘Put the pages down and let’s read them together,’ Mr Dukelow suggested calmly.
‘She has barely mentioned Leopoldo,’ she snapped. ‘This is preposterous and she calls herself a historian!’ She laughed bitterly. ‘But she’s written about Cesare’s murder. Of course she’s written about that. She’s written that he was running off with his wife’s money and a young girl he’d seduced from town. Outrageous!’ she exclaimed. ‘I have a good mind to burn the lot!’
‘That wouldn’t be a good idea,’ said Mr Dukelow. ‘Come, let’s get out of here.’
The Countess’s nostrils flared with anger. ‘I took the time and trouble to come and see her and to help her with her research. And this is the way she repays me! I shouldn’t have wasted my time.’
‘This is a book about the Deverills, Countess. Perhaps she doesn’t want to digress.’
The Distant Shores Page 30