‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr Dukelow. I’m really not sure why you would lie.’
‘We have a witness who saw you and Mr Dukelow on more than one occasion,’ the inspector continued.
‘A witness? Who?’ demanded the Countess.
‘One of the maids.’
‘Nonsense. She must have been dreaming. You know that castle is riddled with ghosts.’
This did not impress the inspector. ‘You are aware, Countess, that Miss Hart is in a critical condition in hospital and Mrs Walbridge perished.’
The Countess blanched. She put a hand to her mouth. ‘That is terrible. Truly terrible. But I had nothing to do with it.’ She turned to her husband and narrowed her eyes. Where had the Count been when the castle burned down? she thought. She stiffened her jaw and held her husband with a steely gaze. ‘Darling, tell the inspector where I was on the night the castle burned.’
Leopoldo looked at his wife. The woman he loathed with every fibre of his being. Now was his chance to be rid of her for ever. ‘I’m afraid I cannot lie,’ he said, pressing a fist to his breast and looking crestfallen. ‘You were not with me, my love. At least, not for the greater part of the night. I’m afraid I must tell the truth. As God is my witness, I must.’
‘Liar! Leopoldo, how could you?’ She turned to Inspector Coyle, her cheeks smarting as if slapped. ‘You should ask the Count where he was the night the castle burned down. I was in bed, as innocent as a lamb, and he was out. Terrence, I didn’t do it! I would never do such a thing. I admit I did not want the book to be published. It did not do justice to my husband and his family, but I would never have taken such drastic measures to prevent it.’ She looked at her husband in bewilderment. ‘Why did you do it, Leopoldo? Your family home… I don’t understand.’
‘Countess Amelie di Marcantonio, you are under arrest on suspicion of arson and manslaughter. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’
The Countess put her hand to her eyes and swooned. As her legs gave way beneath her it was Mr Dukelow who reached out to catch her. Leopoldo watched with a certain satisfaction as the hotel manager lifted her into his arms, confirming that his suspicions had been right. They had indeed been having an affair. ‘I didn’t do it, Terrence,’ she mumbled. ‘It wasn’t me. It really wasn’t me.’ Then she glared at her husband and hissed at him like a snake. ‘I won’t let you get away with this!’
* * *
Margot cried when she saw the state she was in. How could Colm love her when she looked like this? She ran her good hand through the short tufts of hair and over her swollen face, and sobbed at the ugliness of her reflection in the mirror one of the nurses had given her. Colm came to visit, as he did daily, but this time she turned away. ‘Don’t come in!’ she exclaimed.
‘Why not?’ he asked, coming in anyway.
‘I’m disgusting.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I have no hair,’ she gasped. ‘My face is a horror. I’m ugly.’
‘You’re talking nonsense, Margot. You’re beautiful.’
‘That’s a lie. How can you say that when I look like this? I’m monstrous. You don’t have to be here. You have no obligation. You’re off the hook. Really, I understand. I wouldn’t want to be with me, either.’
He sat down and took her hand. She tried to take it away, but he held on to it tightly. ‘Margot, you nearly died,’ he said seriously. ‘So, you’ve got a boy haircut and you’re all bandaged up, but your hair will grow back and, with physiotherapy, you’ll learn to walk again. Do you think I love you for your physical beauty alone? I love you for you, Margot.’ Her shoulders began to shake as she broke down again. ‘I love the way your eyes flash when you’re cross. I love your short upper lip and the way your smile turns sweet when you’re unsure. You’ve managed to fool yourself that you’re not lonely wandering the world on your own and yet sometimes when I watch you and you don’t know you’re being watched, your entire being is a picture of loneliness. But you know what, we’re good together, you and I. Indeed, I like who I am when I’m with you, and I like who you are when you’re with me. I don’t want to be with anyone else and I don’t think you do either.’
‘I should have died,’ she replied miserably. ‘What a mess I’m in. How will I ever recover?’
‘But you didn’t die, did you. You’re alive and that’s a gift.’
‘Not for me it isn’t.’ She felt defeated in the face of the challenges ahead. How would her broken body heal? What if she remained ugly for ever? ‘My life will never be the same. It’s over, basically, isn’t it?’
‘It’s not like you to be so defeatist.’
‘I’ve never been in this situation before,’ she snapped.
There was never going to be a good moment to tell Margot about Dorothy Walbridge, but Colm thought the sad news might focus her mind on her luck rather than on her misfortune. ‘Margot, I’m afraid Dorothy didn’t make it.’
Margot stared at him. ‘What? Dorothy… died?’
He nodded gravely. ‘She perished in the fire.’
‘Oh God, no!’ Now her tears were no longer for herself but for the woman who had been more of a mother to her than her own mother had ever been.
Colm held her hand more tightly. He would have liked to embrace her, but she was too fragile for that. ‘The tower where your rooms were was totally destroyed, as was a vast chunk of the castle beneath it, where Dorothy’s room was. She didn’t stand a chance. You did the right thing in jumping. Had you remained up there in your tower, you would have died too. I know it’s hard, Margot, but at least you still have your life.’
‘Poor Dorothy!’ she cried. ‘She didn’t deserve that. God, I hope she didn’t suffer. I hope she died quickly. I can’t believe it. I can’t believe she’s gone.’ Margot took a staggered breath and began to sob again. Colm stroked her hand until her grief had passed through her.
‘Has she been buried yet?’ she asked at length.
‘Yes, she was flown back to England and buried in her home village.’
‘When I’m better, I want to go there and say goodbye.’
‘Of course. As soon as you’re better, we’ll go together.’
Margot looked at Colm, her eyes shiny and uncertain. ‘Are you really sure you still want to be with me?’
‘I’ve never doubted that I love you, Margot. Not for a moment. This is only going to make me love you more.’
‘Why? How could it?’
‘Because love isn’t just about the good times. In fact it’s more about the bad times. That’s what love is, being there to pick each other up when we’re down.’
‘I don’t deserve you, Colm.’ She smiled at him through her tears.
‘Then let me teach you to love yourself, then you’ll realize your value and that you deserve the very best.’ He grinned mischievously.
She managed a small chuckle. ‘Are you telling me that you’re the very best?’
‘I am, Margot. You deserve nothing less than me.’
She laughed then felt a pang of guilt. ‘Dorothy wouldn’t want us to be sad, would she?’
‘No, she’d want you to laugh.’
‘I suppose my manuscript was destroyed too?’ She sighed. In the light of Dorothy’s death, the loss of her book did not seem too great a tragedy. Just a big disappointment. ‘I’ll never know what she thought of it,’ she added sadly.
‘But look at the good that came out of it. If it wasn’t for your book, we’d never have met. I’d never have reconciled with my father, Dad would never have got well, and my mother would never have reconciled with him, either.’
‘They’ve made up?’
‘It’s early days, but they’re friends again, which is astonishing. All because you saved him.’
‘That’s nice,’ Margot said, grateful that something positive had come
out of it. ‘And I’d never have met Dorothy,’ she added, her eyes welling again with tears. ‘I really loved her, you know.’
‘I know you did,’ Colm replied, and he leaned over and gently pressed his lips to her temple. ‘You need to get well for her, now, Margot.’
Margot nodded. ‘I will, Colm, I’ll get well for the both of you.’
Chapter 22
After six weeks in hospital Margot accepted visitors. JP was the first. He came with Mrs B, armed with a porter cake in a tin. ‘I light a candle for you every day in front of the statue of St Finbar, Miss Hart,’ Mrs B told her, placing a soft hand on her arm. ‘God help us, I have me poor old knees worn down with praying and thanking Jesus and His Blessed Mother for saving your life and not taking you in the fire like he took poor Mrs Walbridge. But she’s with her little girl in Heaven now and it’s a happy day for her. But it wasn’t your time, thanks be to God. As me poor mother always said if you’re meant to be shot, you won’t be hanged. I know you don’t have much value on it, but I brought a bottle of Lourdes water for you. What harm can it do?’
JP pulled up a chair and sat at her bedside and told her how the castle was going to be rebuilt. ‘Mrs de Lisle is insistent that business continues as usual. She’s given interviews in all the papers and shone a flashlight onto the history of my family and the fire of 1921. I think it will be advantageous for the hotel. People love a good story.’ Margot thought of her manuscript and suffered a painful stab of loss. But then she remembered Dorothy and reminded herself that she was lucky to be alive, just like Colm said.
The next visitor was Seamus O’Donovan. He came with a bouquet of flowers and a brown paper bag of oranges. ‘Who did you think you were – superwoman?’ he said with a grin, sitting down.
Margot laughed. ‘I won’t be launching myself out of any windows for a while, I can assure you,’ she replied, happy to see him.
He looked at her seriously. ‘You’ve been the talk of the town. You gave us all a fright, you know.’
‘I gave myself a bit of a fright, too.’
‘Well, I’m glad you didn’t die. I know you and Colm are together now, so, I’m not going to lay claim to you, but I’ll say one thing, for what it’s worth, you got to me, Margot, and no one’s got there since.’
‘Oh Seamus, that’s so sweet,’ she replied, touched. Then her eyes filled with regret. ‘I’m sorry for the way I treated you. You didn’t deserve that.’
‘Water under the bridge,’ he replied, his smile turning bashful.
‘For what it’s worth, we had fun, didn’t we?’
‘We certainly did.’
She put her hand on his. ‘You’re a good friend to come and visit me. Thank you.’
‘Indeed, I’d like to be your friend,’ he said. ‘Fancy an orange?’
After that there was a steady flow of visitors to Margot’s bedside. She was surprised at the amount of locals, some of whom she’d only met once, who brought her fruit and flowers or simply kind words and encouragement. Mrs de Lisle wanted to know when she’d be up for giving talks again. ‘You must rewrite the book,’ she insisted firmly. ‘It’s as simple as that. You’ve got all this time in bed, what better way to spend it? You’ve done the research already, so it won’t be too difficult. It might even be better the second time round.’ Margot humoured her with empty words of promise, but in her heart she knew she could never rewrite it.
* * *
After three months in hospital, Margot was finally discharged. While she had been shut in, summer had passed outside her window. Now the leaves were beginning to turn and an autumn chill was blowing in over the sea, bringing with it a wistful sense of melancholy. She was glad to be out in the fresh air and not stuck in a hospital ward. She looked about her with fresh eyes, appreciative of the smallest, most insignificant things, as if she were seeing the world through the eyes of a child, with wonder and curiosity. Everything looked so beautiful.
JP had insisted she move into the Hunting Lodge until she was able to look after herself, for Colm had to work. Mrs B was ready with the teapot and porter cake and a temporary bedroom had been set up for her downstairs. JP was eager to repay Margot for putting him back together again; she had healed him, now it was his turn to heal her.
Up at the castle, the hotel had reopened, although the western tower and surrounding walls were still under scaffolding. There was a new manager called Mr Cavendish who had been poached from Claridge’s in London and he was very keen for JP to resume his after-dinner talks. It was just a shame, he said, that Miss Hart’s book had been lost in the fire. It would have been wonderful to have had the history of the Deverill family in the library for guests to read, and for the author to speak with Lord Deverill in a double-act. He couldn’t think of a single other hotel in the entire world that could boast such a compelling duo.
The newspapers had been full of the story of the fire and the fact that the Countess di Marcantonio had been arrested on suspicion of causing it. However, some said the Count himself had committed the crime and then blamed his wife, who had apparently been having an affair with the manager of the hotel. A housemaid, who had subsequently been sacked, had sold her story to a newspaper. She claimed that she had seen someone sneak in through the old servants’ entrance at the back of the castle on the night of the fire, but was unable to tell whether it had been male or female. It was all very seedy and JP wasn’t sure what to believe. But the fire had taught him one very valuable lesson. Home is where love is, and he didn’t want to be anywhere else but in the Hunting Lodge, where his son came to visit, and his daughters too when they came to Ireland, and, increasingly, Alana. He discovered, to his joy, that Colm had been right: the opposite of love was not hate but indifference. The spark that had caused their anger and pain was, in its core, love. With a little nurturing it had begun to grow.
* * *
Margot sat in the garden of the Hunting Lodge, savouring the sound of birds and the warm feeling of sunshine on her face, and thought of Dorothy. She hadn’t known her very long, but her affection for her new friend had been deep and indelible. She missed her constantly. While the wounds slowly healed on the outside, those on the inside were taking longer to repair. She suffered nightmares about the fire, of jumping from the window, and of losing her work. She knew it wasn’t right to bemoan her lot when Dorothy had lost her life, but it pained her to think of all that research and toil disappearing in the flames. It was proving hard to overcome the trauma.
She was surprised when one balmy evening at the end of September Emer O’Leary came to visit. She hadn’t visited her in hospital nor popped into the Hunting Lodge. In any case, they sat on the terrace, drinking tea and talking about Margot’s recovery. Then they talked about Dorothy. ‘I miss her terribly,’ said Emer sadly and her eyes shone. ‘It was such a shock. A terrible shock. I’d just lost Jack and then, in a matter of weeks, Dorothy went too. I confess, I have not been in a good place. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to come and see you.’
‘Dorothy was a very special person,’ said Margot, sharing Emer’s sorrow.
‘She was your greatest champion, you know. When I doubted you, she stood up for you.’ She lowered her eyes. ‘I’m ashamed of that now. I should have known better.’
‘It’s okay. You were only protecting your family.’
‘I should have trusted her, and Colm, who tried to convince me to give you a chance. I don’t know why I reacted with such suspicion. It was only a history book, after all. What harm could it do, really?’
‘Well, it’s gone now. I won’t rewrite it.’ Margot sighed with resignation and shrugged. ‘Perhaps it wasn’t meant to be published. Maybe Fate saw to it that it would never see the light of day.’
‘That’s very philosophical of you,’ said Emer.
‘It’s the only way to be. One has to accept things that can’t be changed. Isn’t that right?’
‘It is in theory. But it’s hard to do in practice.’
‘I’m doing my
best.’
‘You’re doing very well, Margot.’
‘I’d like to know what Dorothy thought of it. She was the only person who read it. I gave her the manuscript a week or so before the fire and she was going to give me her opinion. Now I’ll never know. The strange thing is, her opinion really mattered to me.’
‘You have to look for the positives. If you hadn’t come to the hotel you’d never have met her, or Colm. He loves you very much, Margot, and, as you probably realize now, he’s not an easy man to please in that department.’
Margot laughed and her eyes lit up. ‘He’s been wonderful. He couldn’t have been more attentive. When I lost the will to get better, he had enough drive for the two of us. If it wasn’t for him I think I would have given up.’
‘And you’ve been good for him, too, Margot. Don’t overlook that. I’m happy to admit when I’m wrong, and I admit it now. I’m sorry I ever doubted you. You and Colm are good for one another. I’m happy you found each other.’
Margot knew that she was right. Colm had shown her, through many small acts of kindness, that she mattered to him. If her father had taught her to doubt her value, Colm had shown her just how much she was worth.
‘I’m not sure Alana is too happy about us being together,’ she ventured. Alana, although not unfriendly, seemed unable to look her in the eye. ‘She’s his mother so perhaps she doesn’t think I’m good enough for him.’
‘Oh, that’s not true,’ said Emer quickly. ‘I can’t imagine why she’d think you’re not good enough for him. He’s hardly a prince, is he?’ She laughed her gentle, sympathetic laugh. ‘I think she might find it hard to accept that he now has a woman in his life. He’s always been a bit of a loner in that respect. She’d always wanted him to settle down – mothers all want their sons to find nice girls to look after them – but now he’s found someone, maybe she’s taking time to accept it.’
The Distant Shores Page 33