The Distant Shores
Page 35
He turned his eyes to the castle. ‘Do you remember those days long ago?’ he said.
She smiled wistfully. ‘Oh, I do, Neil. I remember them with fondness that I had them and sadness that they are gone. They were good old times, weren’t they?’
‘You used to bring me a bit of cake and a basin of tea and we’d eat it together in the maze garden.’
Mrs B laughed. ‘You remember that too?’
‘You were a missy, Bessie.’
‘I was not, was I?’
‘Oh, you were. You were always up to some old antics.’
‘I don’t think I was.’
He smiled down at her. ‘God, ’tis good to see you again, Bessie. You mustn’t go hiding yourself away.’
‘I won’t now,’ she replied, the affection in his smile causing her to wonder why she hadn’t been a little braver in seeking the company of old friends.
‘Do you fancy taking a walk with me around the gardens? I’d like to see them again. It would be nice to see them with you.’
‘That would be grand altogether.’ She put her teacup down on the table. ‘Shall we start with the vegetable garden? Those greenhouses were full of cannabis in Lady Deverill’s day, Adeline Deverill, that is.’
He laughed. ‘The way things are now, she would either be a millionaire or in Limerick Jail. But don’t think she was the only one who made tea with it.’ He glanced at her slyly. ‘It was still growing in those greenhouses in Celia Deverill’s day.’
‘You didn’t! Neil O’Rourke, shame on you! Was it you who gave it to poor young Eily Sullivan, the junior maid?’ she exclaimed. ‘She shared a bedroom with me and one night she woke me, roaring that in place of the statue of the Blessed Virgin, she saw a tom cat!’
‘Oh, I did. Guilty as charged, your honour.’
‘You’re a fine blackguard!’ she chuckled as she linked his arm.
‘How things have changed, Bessie, but not for us. It used to take the master six hours to go from Ballinakelly to Dublin. Now they are going all the way to Ameriky in the same amount of time. ’Tis hard to make sense of it all.’
* * *
On the other side of the lawn, sitting on a bench beneath an arch of roses, were JP and Alana. ‘Are you sorry it’s a hotel?’ Alana asked.
JP swept his eyes over his family home. The place that had caused him so much grief. ‘No,’ he replied firmly. ‘It brought me nothing but unhappiness.’
‘According to Margot’s book, it didn’t bring many of your family happiness either.’
‘No, it didn’t. That was an interesting observation of hers, I thought. She’s right, we were all too preoccupied with our status as one of the country’s most important Anglo-Irish families, living in this splendid castle, given to us by King Charles II. The fact is, Barton Deverill was the only Deverill who was entitled to feel that way. He earned it. The rest of us just inherited it without lifting a finger. We lived off Barton’s prestige. For hundreds of years, the Deverills put the castle above the needs of the people living inside it. That was their mistake. That was my mistake.’ He smiled at her fondly. ‘I’m happy now, Alana. I’m really happy. I don’t have to worry about paying the bills, managing the estate, keeping the tenants happy and finding the money to keep it all afloat.’
‘And you’re going to give after-dinner talks with Margot,’ she added with a grin. ‘You could say that the castle is now keeping you afloat.’
He chuckled. ‘You could indeed. We’re even talking about doing a book together, she and I. A glossy, coffee-table book about the castle itself. There are plenty of photographs we can include and I can supply anecdotes.’
‘That’s a great idea,’ she enthused.
‘We really should change the motto.’
‘To what?’
‘A Deverill’s family is his kingdom.’
She took his hand and smiled at him affectionately. ‘I agree. Blood is thicker than water, after all.’
‘It is indeed,’ he agreed, returning her smile with a twinkle in his eye. ‘And more important than stone.’
* * *
‘Walk with me,’ Colm suggested, putting out his hand.
Margot took it and retrieved her walking stick with the other hand. She got up from the chair where she’d been sitting signing books. She’d signed so many, her wrist ached. They set off at a gentle pace along the herbaceous border where purple and lilac delphiniums stood tall and bright among hydrangeas and peonies. They strolled hand in hand, away from the party where Mrs de Lisle presided over journalists she’d flown over from London and influential guests whom she’d personally invited to stay in the hotel. Colm and Margot were pleased to get away. To be just the two of them. It was exhausting talking to people, even though everyone was very complimentary about the book. They paused a moment to look at the castle. Margot’s eyes drifted up to the tower. The fire seemed like another life somehow. ‘You were a real hero, Colm,’ she said quietly.
‘I wasn’t a hero,’ he replied. ‘I did what any man would do for the woman he loves.’
She smiled at him with tenderness. ‘That’s sweetly put.’
‘I have a way with words,’ he replied flippantly.
‘You know, I don’t think I ever thanked you.’
‘You didn’t,’ he said.
‘Didn’t I really?’
‘No, you just took my heroism for granted.’
She laughed. ‘Well, I’m thanking you now.’
‘You owe me one,’ he said.
‘I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay you for saving my life, Colm.’
‘You won’t.’ He grinned. ‘But you’re going to spend the rest of your life trying.’
Her smile faltered.
He turned to face her. ‘I want you to spend the rest of your life with me,’ he said seriously.
‘Are you asking what I think you’re asking?’
‘Yes, I’m asking you to marry me, Margot. And before you go all funny on me, I want to add that, once we’re married, we could travel round the world, or go and live somewhere else, I don’t know, France or Spain or Italy. You can choose, anywhere you like. I know you don’t like to stay in the same place for long. The world is your oyster. You just let me know where you want to hang your hat.’
Margot narrowed her eyes. ‘I want to be here,’ she replied with a satisfied sigh. ‘With you.’
Colm beamed a smile. ‘Really? Here? In boring old Ballinakelly?’
He put his arm around her and she nestled into him. ‘Home is where love is, Colm,’ she said. ‘I never realized that before. I’ve spent years running away from attachment, from commitment, from anyone who might have wanted more than I was willing to give. Now I’ve found you, I want to be well and truly tied down. Colm Deverill, I’d like to hang my hat in your hall.’
‘That’s grand,’ he said.
‘So, it’s a yes. I will marry you, Colm.’
He bent down and kissed her. A long, sensual kiss that sent a ripple of pleasure over her skin. ‘If marriage is like this, I think I’m going to like it.’
‘It’s just like this,’ he said with a chuckle and kissed her again.
Kitty
I watch Colm and Margot wander back across the lawn to join the party. The sun is bright and in the shimmering rays of light I see that I am not alone. Dorothy is here too. ‘I never told Margot how much I enjoyed her book,’ she says, smiling wistfully. ‘I enjoyed it immensely, you know. I hope she read my scribbles of praise in the margins.’
‘It’s frustrating not being able to communicate, isn’t it,’ I reply. ‘There are so many things we want to tell them. That there is no such thing as death. That the soul lives on. That love connects us for ever. That we are never far away, but watching their lives from Spirit. And what a beautiful place Spirit is, isn’t it! I’d like to tell them that.’
‘I’d like to tell them that, too,’ says Dorothy.
‘There are ways.’
‘Of course,’ Dorothy r
eplies, remembering the little robin her daughter sent. ‘I suppose you would know how to do that, wouldn’t you, Kitty?’
‘Oh, yes,’ I tell her. ‘I’m an old hand at that.’
‘Would you mind?’
‘Come, I have just the thing.’
* * *
It is the end of the afternoon. The last of the guests have left. Colm and Margot remain on the lawn with a couple of girls from the hotel, putting the books back into boxes. Margot picks up one of the books and looks at it proudly. ‘I wish Dorothy were here,’ she says to Colm. ‘I’d love her to know that I dedicated the book to her. She’d have been thrilled with that. I’d love her to know that it’s had really good reviews as well, and that JP and Emer think I’ve done a good job. She took such an interest in it, writing her thoughts in the margin in her spidery hand. More than anything I’d like to tell her that I’m engaged. I’d like to tell her that I’m going to stay here in Ballinakelly. That I’m happy. Oh Colm. There are so many things I’d like to tell her.’
And then a little robin flies over and lands on the grass in front of her. She sees it and smiles in wonder. ‘Look! It’s a robin!’ she whispers so as not to frighten it away. Then her expression changes and she gasps. ‘You don’t think…?’ The robin hops across the ground towards her, then flaps its wings and jumps onto the book. Margot holds her breath. She daren’t make a sound. The robin remains very still. It looks at her for a long moment. Margot gazes back until her eyes fill with tears and she can only see a red blur. ‘Thank you, Dorothy,’ she says and the robin tilts its head to one side as if to say, Really, those tears aren’t for me, are they, dear? And then flies away.
Acknowledgements
With this book I bring an end to the Deverill series. Well, that’s what I said after number four, so I won’t make any promises I can’t keep. There’s a slim chance I might delve into the Deverills’ distant past and write about their ancestors in the eighteenth or nineteenth centuries. After all, there’s still so much of their history yet to be created. But for now, here it is, the final part.
Once again, I called upon my dear friend and co-conspirator, Tim Kelly, to help me develop my Irish characters. I owe him a huge debt of gratitude for all his help and advice. I really couldn’t have embarked on this series without him.
My interest in the esoteric has led me to some wonderful people who I would like to thank here. Simon and Lisa Jacobs, Susan Dabbs, Robin Lown and Avril Price. There is more to this world than what we see with the physical eye and I’m having such a great time learning about it.
I also want to thank my agent, Sheila Crowley, and my editor, Suzanne Baboneau, who are the two most important people in my working life. I don’t think I’d have a writing career at all if it wasn’t for them. It’s not just about the deals and the sales figures, it’s about nurturing, mentoring, advising and supporting, and those two magnificent women do all of that and more. Thank you.
I’m also grateful to my film agent, Luke Speed, and to all those at Curtis Brown who work on my behalf: Alice Lutyens, Sophia MacAskill, Katie McGowan, Callum Mollison, Emily Harris and Sabhbh Curran. A huge thank you to Ian Chapman, my boss at Simon & Schuster, and his brilliant team who work so diligently and sensitively on my manuscripts: Sara-Jade Virtue, Gill Richardson, Dominic Brendon, Polly Osborn, Rich Vlietstra and Alice Rodgers.
My love and thanks to my husband Simon Sebag-Montefiore, our children Lily and Sasha, my parents Charles and Patty Palmer-Tomkinson, James, Sos, Honor, India, Wilf and Sam Palmer-Tomkinson and my aunt Naomi Dawson who keep me sane and make me happy.
More from the Author
Flappy Entertains
Here and Now
The Secret Hours
The Temptation of Gracie
The Last Secret of the Deverills
The Gypsy Madonna
About the Author
Author photo © Laura Aziz
Born in England in 1970, Santa Montefiore grew up in Hampshire. She is married to writer Simon Sebag Montefiore. They live with their two children, Lily and Sasha, in London.
Visit her at www.santamontefiore.co.uk and sign up for her newsletter.
www.SimonandSchuster.co.uk/Authors/Santa-Montefiore
Also by Santa Montefiore
Meet Me Under the Ombu Tree
The Butterfly Box
The Forget-Me-Not Sonata
The Swallow and the Hummingbird
The Last Voyage of the Valentina
The Gypsy Madonna
Sea of Lost Love
The French Gardener
The Italian Matchmaker
The Affair
The House by the Sea
The Summer House
Secrets of the Lighthouse
A Mother’s Love
The Beekeeper’s Daughter
The Temptation of Gracie
Here and Now
Flappy Entertains
The Deverill Chronicles
Songs of Love and War
Daughters of Castle Deverill
The Last Secret of the Deverills
The Secret Hours
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First published in Great Britain by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd, 2021
Copyright © Santa Montefiore, 2021
The right of Santa Montefiore to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Hardback ISBN: 978-1-4711-9703-1
Trade Paperback ISBN: 978-1-4711-9704-8
eBook ISBN: 978-1-4711-9705-5
Audio ISBN: 978-1-4711-9819-9
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by S&S Art Dept.
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