‘Like an idiot she’s swallowed all the lies JP has told her,’ she continued, ignoring Mr Dukelow’s lame excuses. ‘I should have known that would happen. And she’s sleeping with his son. Well, she’s got all the information she needed, no doubt. As soon as she’s done, she’ll be off back to England without a backwards glance, I should think. I was a fool to believe that she would write a truthful account. There’s no truth in this. Leopoldo is but a footnote! A footnote! How dare she!’
Mr Dukelow didn’t quite understand what all the fuss was about. Why should Miss Hart write about Leopoldo when he only lived in the castle for fourteen years? He wasn’t really relevant to the Deverill family history. Mr Dukelow wondered whether the Countess wasn’t a little unhinged. Years of resentment had surely blown the situation out of all proportion. Now she no longer had a role to play in the hotel’s entertainment and had read the almost-finished manuscript, would she require him to sneak her back into the castle? If she didn’t, would she still want to see him?
‘I have seen everything I need to see,’ she said, a calmness descending on her now, like the hush after a storm.
‘You’d better make sure the paper is stacked as neatly as you found it,’ Mr Dukelow warned.
She tapped her manicured fingers against the pile to ease the paper into a tidy wad. ‘There, it is done,’ she said. ‘She will never know.’
Mr Dukelow led her down the stairs and out into the night. Stars twinkled and the crescent moon hung like a sickle above them. They hurried down the garden path and into the trees, leaving the estate by way of a gate in the castle wall. Mr Dukelow had parked his car in a lay-by. They climbed in and he drove her back to her house in Dublin. It was a long drive, but he was happy to do it. Happy to spend a little more time with her. Anxious that this might be the last time.
‘When will I see you again,’ he asked as he drew up outside her building.
She turned to him and smiled sweetly. ‘I don’t think I will ever come to the castle again.’
‘We can meet elsewhere. Wherever you want. Just say the word and I’ll be there.’
‘You’re very sweet,’ she said, lightly touching his cheek. ‘But I think the time has come for us to say goodbye too.’ She laughed through her nose, a bitter, mirthless laugh. ‘Don’t look so sad, Terrence. It was fun. Sneaking around like a pair of thieves. It felt like we were living inside a novel, didn’t it? A romantic novel. Two lovers, skulking about the shadows, snatching stolen moments together. But that kind of thing cannot endure. Surely you know that. It’s a fantasy and fantasies only work for a short time because reality will always come in and ruin them.’
‘We can skulk around Dublin,’ he suggested hopefully, although he sensed hope was futile.
She opened the door. ‘No, we can’t,’ she replied. ‘It’s over. Goodbye, Terrence.’
He watched her unlock the door to the building and slip inside. He remained, staring at it for some time, hoping that she might change her mind and come out. But she didn’t. The street was empty and quiet. The Countess was gone. He made his way back to Ballinakelly with a heavy heart, his mind working on ways to get her back. Surely there was something he could offer her?
* * *
The day after Jack’s funeral, Margot found Dorothy having breakfast in the dining room. She was dressed in an ivory silk blouse and cardigan with a pair of sensible lace-up brown shoes on her feet. ‘I’m going into town,’ she told Margot. ‘I thought I’d walk. Nice to take the air. It’s a lovely day, isn’t it? Just lovely.’
Margot sat down and placed a brown parcel on the table.
‘Is that what I think it is?’ said Dorothy excitedly.
‘My book,’ Margot replied. ‘The first draft.’
‘Goodness, you are quick.’
‘It’s not hard once you’ve got all your research in front of you.’
‘You’re a clever girl. That’s what you are.’ Dorothy picked it up. ‘It’s heavy.’
‘You don’t have to read it all. Just the last hundred pages.’
‘I will read it all. Every word.’
‘I’m open to advice. Like I said, I don’t want to offend JP or his family.’
‘I’m sure you’ve been very tactful.’
‘I hope so,’ Margot replied.
‘I’ll start reading it at once.’
‘Well, after your walk.’
‘Yes, after my walk. Thank you, Margot for trusting me. Do you need it back?’
‘Only when you’ve finished it. I don’t want it falling into the wrong hands.’
‘It’s not your only copy, is it?’
‘No. Róisín made me another on the hotel photocopier.’
Dorothy sighed. ‘To think Jack is gone. The world feels incomplete now. Off-kilter. I can’t imagine how Emer is feeling. I’ll pay her a visit this afternoon. As soon as Alana and the girls leave, I’ll move in and keep her company for a while. It’s hard being a widow. But one does get used to it in the end.’
* * *
Margot drove to a secluded beach and went for a walk. She needed to think. The book was written. Sure, she needed to polish it, but the narrative was down on the page. She’d wait until she’d heard Dorothy’s opinion before sending it to her editor. It was a fine balance between maintaining integrity as a historian and loyalty as a friend. She hoped she’d satisfied both history and the Deverills. It would have been easier had she not grown close to JP and Colm. But she had. The last thing she wanted was to upset them.
She strode up the sand. Grey-bellied clouds scudded across the sky, the wind was blustery but warm, the air sweet with the scent of brine and peat. Ireland really was a beautiful country, she thought, but did she want to stay here? Soon her contract would end with the hotel and she’d be free to go wherever she chose. She’d spent the last decade wandering the globe, the idea of remaining in one place made her feel decidedly uneasy. Yet, she was growing to love Colm. Sure, she’d been in love with him for some time, but that was different to really loving someone. ‘In love’ is the heady, sexual attraction of two people drawn to each other because they like what they see. Loving is what happens when you fall out of being ‘in love’ – the moment you realize you love the person faults and all, inside and out, in good times and bad times. The moment you realize you can’t be without them. Was she there with Colm? Could she stand being without him? She put her hands in her jacket pockets and marched on. She didn’t know.
Kitty
I am alone. I am all alone and it is lonely in the In-between.
Mrs Carbery has moved on and, although I didn’t seek her company much, it was reassuring to know that she was here. Of course, I am aware of other earthbound spirits shuffling around the castle’s corridors, but they are unaware of me. Those who are stuck often don’t realize that they are dead. They exist in a strange, dream-like state – until someone comes to rescue them. Who is going to rescue me?
It used to be fun haunting the hotel, but I am tired of it now. It used to be entertaining watching the living going about their daily lives, but now it bores me. It used to be a thrill to travel by thought, but that too leaves me disenchanted. But what can I do? I am truly stuck. Stuck by my own volition. Even the castle, which held me earthbound because of my obsessive love, is losing its grip on my heart. And Jack has gone. Perhaps it wasn’t the castle that kept me here, but Jack; perhaps it was Jack all along.
After all, the castle is just bricks and mortar.
I am drawn to the Fairy Ring. A week has gone by since Jack was buried. He should have been scattered here, with me, but he was interred in the ground. But what does it matter? His body is of no use to him or anyone else now. It is only me and my romantic heart that likes the idea of our mortal remains being set free on the same wind, in the place that we had once made our own.
But it is not only our place. It is Colm and Margot’s too, and, by the look of Alana now pacing the grass, waiting for JP, it is theirs as well. Or rather, it used to be. S
he waits for him nervously and impatiently and, as she stares out to sea, her gaze is pulled into the far distant horizon. The place where all our truths can be found. The more she stares into that mysterious mist, the more she understands herself and her longings. And it comes to her, her truth, in a flash of awareness that causes her breath to catch in her chest.
She turns and JP is there, walking towards her in his tweed jacket and hat. His long strides confident. His face handsome. She is not used to seeing him like this.
She lifts her chin and pulls back her shoulders and the softness in her face hardens again. She does not want to expose herself.
‘Thank you for meeting me here,’ she says.
He greets her with a cautious smile. He is curious. He wonders why she has invited him to this particular place.
‘Do you remember the times we used to come up here?’ she says, turning her eyes to the sea once more. ‘It was our special place. It hasn’t changed. But we have.’
‘It’s been like this for thousands of years,’ he replies. ‘Think of the things these stones have witnessed.’
‘What I wouldn’t give to be able to talk to them.’
He grins. ‘You can talk to them as much as you like.’
‘You know what I mean, silly.’ She smiles in spite of herself. JP used to have the ability to make her laugh like no one else.
‘How are you bearing up?’ he asks.
She shrugs. ‘So-so. It hasn’t really sunk in yet. I still expect my father to be there, around the house. It feels strange without him.’ She gazes at JP and puzzlement furrows her forehead. ‘You look good. You’ve sorted yourself out. I have to admit, I never thought you would. What did it?’
‘I hit rock bottom. There was only one way to go and that was up. The other way was not an option.’
She frowns. ‘But who helped you?’
‘Colm and Margot.’
She stiffens. ‘I thought so.’ She laughs bitterly. ‘There had to be a woman behind such a dramatic transformation. I want to say that she’s young enough to be your daughter, but it’s none of my business.’
‘She’s in a relationship with Colm,’ he tells her.
Now Alana feels foolish. She blinks at him in bewilderment, like a mole emerging into the light. ‘She and Colm are dating?’
‘I think it’s gone well beyond the dating stage.’
‘But I thought you—’
‘I don’t know why.’
‘Well, I assumed you couldn’t look this good without, well, without a woman inspiring you to get better.’
‘You’re not wrong. A woman did inspire me to get better, but not the one you think.’
Her disappointment is palpable. ‘Oh, so, I am right. Well, I thought as much. Good for you, JP. I’m happy for you. I am,’ she says unhappily. ‘I suppose we should both have moved on by now.’ She can barely look at him. ‘Who is she?’ she asks.
‘You,’ he replies.
Alana is confused. She does not want to believe what she is hearing. ‘Sorry? Me? I don’t understand.’
‘Of course you don’t. Can we walk? I think we’ll both find it easier to talk if we walk. And we don’t want those stones knowing our business, now, do we?’
I watch them stroll along the clifftop. The waves swell and foam below them and gulls squawk as they swoop and dive in search of prey. ‘We never really talked, you and I. We both nursed our hurts on our own islands, resenting one another. And, as we drifted further apart, the will to communicate grew weaker, until we stopped talking altogether. Margot encouraged me to talk about my feelings. To go back into that dark place and let the light in, was what she said. Once the light was in, I realized the terrible mistakes I’d made and I owned up to them. I shouldn’t have sought comfort in Rosie. I shouldn’t have resented you for wanting another child. I should have been more supportive when you lost the baby. Alana, there are lots of things I shouldn’t have done. But most of all, I shouldn’t have let you go. We should have found a way to communicate.’
Alana’s eyes are welling with tears. Her chest is so tight she can hardly breathe. She puts a hand there and inhales with difficulty. ‘I’m sorry I drove you into Rosie’s arms, JP. I have things I need to take responsibility for as well. It’s not easy, is it, owning up to things? But Dad’s death has made me think and I don’t want to leave for America without talking to you frankly. It wasn’t all your fault. It was mine too. I pushed you away after losing the baby. I was so furious with you for not wanting another child that when I lost it I blamed you for somehow jinxing it – and for getting what you wanted. I should never have tricked you. We already had three children. I should have been grateful for what I had and not craved for more.’
‘We were happy before we moved into the castle, weren’t we?’ he says wistfully.
‘I never realized what a burden that inheritance was for you. What a burden the castle became. You should have told me. I could have supported you.’
He frowns at her. ‘Have you been talking to Colm?’ he asks.
‘No,’ she replies quickly, but she looks shifty. ‘I’ve just spent this week thinking.’
‘I don’t want the castle back,’ he says. ‘Kitty will curse me for saying it, no doubt, but I’m glad that it’s a hotel. I like living in the Hunting Lodge. I’m happy there. I’m free of the burden of having to run the castle, having to pay for it. The good old days of the ascendancy are long gone. No one lives like that nowadays. It was fine for my grandparents, but Margot has a theory—’
‘That the castle has only ever brought its inhabitants sorrow and tragedy.’
‘You have been talking to Colm!’ he exclaims.
‘There might be some truth in that,’ she continues without answering his question. ‘Maybe it was cursed. After all, Barton Deverill built it on land stolen from someone else. That’s bad energy, isn’t it? What goes around, comes around. I’m glad you lost it. I only wish it hadn’t hurt you so much.’
‘I’m over it now.’
‘Good.’
‘But there’s something missing. You’re missing.’ JP stops walking and looks down at her, his face full of affection. ‘I still love you, Alana. I don’t think I ever stopped. I’m not asking you to love me back, only that we’re friends. It would be a wonderful thing, for all the family, if we could be friends.’
She takes his hand. ‘I think we could become more than friends,’ she says, a tentative smile on her lips. ‘But we need to take it slowly.’
‘Of course.’
She does not let go of his hand. They walk on. The atmosphere is lighter, clearer. The sun is bouncing off the water in spangles of light.
‘When are you returning to America?’ he asks.
‘I’m not.’
‘Oh? I thought—’
‘I was, but now I’m not.’
‘Good.’
She smiles at him. She hasn’t smiled like this in a long time. ‘This is home, after all, isn’t it.’
And I feel a sorrow in my soul for this land was once my home too, but now it is not. I know where my true home is and yet I have no way of reaching it. For how long will I remain cut off from the light?
Chapter 20
Margot lay in her bed in the tower and stared up at the ceiling. A sliver of moonlight sliced through the darkness, picking out the beams above her and bathing the room in a pale, watery light. She couldn’t sleep. Her mind was restless. She’d left Colm’s bed for her own, needing to be alone to try to make sense of the growing feeling of claustrophobia that had started as a twinge in her solar plexus, but was now building into a cramp. Why did she have it, this fear of settling down? She trusted Colm. She had never been able to trust her father, but she knew Colm was a totally different animal to him. If this fear stemmed from trust issues she’d had with the first man she’d loved, then her father had a lot to answer for.
She wanted to commit, she really did. But when she thought of staying in Ballinakelly, her whole body bristled with av
ersion. For years she’d been a nomad, travelling from city to city, following her work. She wasn’t afraid of being alone, she was used to it, and loneliness, when it crept upon her, had been dispelled by people she had picked up on her way through. Friends, lovers – strangers she’d talked to in bars or met through her research. She could argue, of course, that these people weren’t real friends. They wouldn’t be there for her if she needed them. Not like Colm. So why did she have this horrible cramping sensation in her stomach when she envisaged life in Ballinakelly? Why couldn’t she be like other women? Fall in love, marry, settle down and raise a family? How could wandering the world aimlessly on her own hold more attraction than that?
Frustrated, she went to the bathroom and rummaged around in her washbag for sleeping pills. She didn’t usually need them, but tonight she just wanted to knock herself out. The book was done. The pressure was off. She should be feeling satisfied, but she wasn’t: she was feeling restless and confused.
The sleeping pills took effect quickly. Darkness obscured the light as damp clouds covered the moon. The wind began to howl and the sound of rain pattering against the windowpanes accompanied her as she grew drowsy. There was a shuffling sound, but Margot didn’t believe in ghosts. She drifted into a deep sleep.
* * *
She was awoken by the smell of smoke and the feeling of being unbearably hot. Groggy from the pills, she opened her eyes slowly. At first she thought she was dreaming, but when she started to choke she realized, with a stab of panic, that she wasn’t. It was real. The castle was on fire.
Being an old tower, it went up like a box of matches. The crackling sound of burning wood brought her sharply to her senses. Margot jumped out of bed and gazed about her in horror. Her first thought was for the manuscript. She hadn’t worked this hard all these months for it to be consumed by fire. She tried to get into the sitting room, but was forced back by the heat. She couldn’t see her typewriter, notes or manuscript for the smoke, but the sight of the raging flames told her that it was too late; all her work was gone.
The Distant Shores Page 31