by Anne Barwell
"There is very little that goes on that Mrs. O'Neil doesn't know about," Heidi said, smiling, pouring the older woman another cup of tea. She refilled her own coffee and settled back in her chair, both of them watching Tomas intently.
He cleared his throat, ignoring the fact that he was the center of attention. For a moment he debated forgetting this whole thing and slinking back into the shadows where it was easier to hide. No, he told himself firmly, this was information he needed, and Mrs. O'Neil was the person to talk to. "I'd like to find out more about Alice Finlay," he said. "She was a local artist, and her family used to own this inn."
"I know who she is." Mrs. O'Neil frowned and sipped her tea. Blackthorn snuggled into her lap, still purring but more quietly, her eyes never leaving Tomas. "Why do you want to know about her?"
For a moment Tomas wondered whether to tell or not. Several days beforehand he would have decided against it instantly, but for some reason that didn't seem the right thing to do now. But he also did not want to tell the whole story. Or rather, more importantly, he did not want to share the fact that Cathal existed until he knew more.
"I'm researching the area for the novel I'm working on, and her name keeps coming up." Putting down his coffee cup, he pulled out his notepad from his shirt pocket, and his pen. "I'm also looking for a book, and I suspect she's connected to the author somehow." If what he'd observed of the gossip grapevine in this village already was accurate, it was alive and well, and he'd asked Phoebe about the book at the local library within earshot of several people.
Mrs. O'Neil snorted. "You'd be doing better than to worry about her, Mr. Kemp. Artists and writers, they're all the same." She tsk-tsked. "Like attracts like, I always say, although of course my dear husband never agreed with me. It was one of the very few things we never agreed on, God rest his soul."
Tomas filed that comment away in the compartment of his brain reserved for the unexpected. From the little he'd seen and heard about Mrs. O'Neil, he was surprised her late husband had had the nerve to disagree with her about anything. "Thanks for the compliment," he remarked dryly.
"Tomas is a very good writer," Heidi said proudly. "I've read all his books. You can borrow one to read if you'd like. I own copies." She topped up Tomas's coffee even though he'd never asked. The thought crossed his mind that she might ask for him to sign her copies, and he dismissed it quickly. No, Heidi had more sense than that, and she was much more down to earth than some of those women he'd met on the last book tour he'd been forced to take. He shuddered at the memory. It had been an experience he never wanted to repeat.
"That's nice, dear," Mrs. O'Neil replied, "but I prefer not to waste my time on such endeavors. It's not as though he's written anything worth adding to my own library." She suddenly gave Tomas a smile. He fought the urge to bolt as visions of a shark eying up prey entered his mind. "Detective stories, young man. Those I do enjoy. They're useful." Her head nodded slowly, her hand reaching for a scone. Blackthorn's eyes watched her hand, ever hopeful, returning her glare to rest on Tomas when Mrs. O'Neil ate the scone herself. "I always said this village would make a wonderful backdrop for a decent murder mystery, didn't I, Heidi?"
Heidi nodded, her eyes lighting up. "This inn would be the perfect place too. A body found under the old tree out there in a storm, of course...." She trailed off.
"Right." Tomas pretended to write down what they'd said. What was it with everyone trying to suggest ideas for his book? He already knew what he was writing about and certainly didn't need their help. A faint blush tinged his face as he remembered the last scene he'd written and how Cathal had helped him with it.
The two women exchanged a knowing look. "So what's the heroine's name and how does he meet her?" Heidi asked. "I was right, wasn't I? About the body under the tree?"
"There's no body under any tree," Tomas snapped. "Nor is there a heroine. I'm not writing a murder mystery."
"Manners, manners," chastised Mrs. O'Neil. "There's no accounting for taste, but of course that doesn't mean there might not be a heroine or a murder later." She winked at Heidi, and Tomas counted slowly to twenty, reminding himself that being rude would not be a bright idea at the moment. "Besides, every good book has a heroine for the hero to fall in love with. It's the very nature of these things."
Twenty obviously was not a high enough number to aim for, Tomas decided, and besides, he'd never done well with that method of controlling his temper. He didn't lose it often, but Mrs. O'Neil seemed to know exactly which of his buttons to push. There was no heroine because the hero was going to fall in love with another man. He opened his mouth to give that retort and then closed it again, grabbing hold of his sanity just in the nick of time.
"A writer doesn't reveal too many details until he's finished at least the first draft," he said instead, ignoring the little inner voice which appeared to have returned from its all-too-brief absence. He didn't care what that voice said; that comment was not as lame as it sounded.
"Or until he knows what is going to happen." Mrs. O'Neil sounded completely serious, but Tomas didn't trust her. "Now, if you are going to set your novel here, you need to get your facts straight. After all, there is nothing worse than shoddy research." She gave him a look that suggested he better not be contemplating the idea. "It shows."
"I research all my stories thoroughly," Tomas informed her, a little stiffly. The nerve of the woman!
"That's one thing I liked so much about your books." Heidi nodded her agreement. "Apart from the characters, that is; I really liked Roger and Alan." Her voice grew wistful. "I don't suppose you're going to write another story so I can find out what happened to them?"
"No." Tomas shook his head. "Their story is done." He hesitated, remembering that Cathal had thought they'd had a connection. "What did you want to happen to them?"
"They settled down with a nice girl each and lived happily ever after," Mrs. O'Neil put in helpfully. "As I said before, it's the nature of these things."
"No." Both Heidi and Tomas spoke and turned to glare at Mrs. O'Neil as one. Tomas felt himself turn bright red, hoping like hell neither of them would call him on it.
"They settled down together and lived happily ever after," Heidi said firmly. "Sometimes the nature of things goes differently."
Tomas stared at her. "If you want, that's what happened," he said quickly, relieved and at the same time trying to wrap his head around what Heidi had said. How bloody obvious was it they'd meant to be together? First Cathal, and now her. Hell, he hadn't even noticed it until he'd got to that point in the book where the muses had wanted the kiss and he'd fought them on it and eventually won.
"You've been hanging around Mr. Campbell too long, Heidi," Mrs. O'Neil snorted. "He's a nice boy, don't get me wrong, and I'm sure he'll find someone eventually, but it doesn't mean that's what is going to happen here." She turned her attention to Tomas. "Does it, dear?"
"Whatever Heidi wants is what happened." Tomas met her gaze stubbornly. Blackthorn meowed, jumped down off Mrs. O'Neil's lap, and rubbed against his ankles. Tomas absently stroked her tail.
Heidi grinned from ear to ear; he'd obviously made her day. Mrs. O'Neil didn't look quite as impressed, but screw it, if Heidi and Cathal both thought Alan and Roger should have been together, Tomas wasn't going to argue the point with either of them. He'd denied himself that truth once; he wasn't about to do it again.
"Make another pot of tea, Heidi, dear, and wipe that smug look off your face." It appeared this was the closest Mrs. O'Neil came to admitting defeat. "Mr. Kemp wanted some information about Alice Finlay, if I recall, and we're wasting his time and ours talking about novels that aren't going to be written when we should be focusing on those which are." She narrowed her eyes, giving Blackthorn a disapproving look at the way in which she'd switched allegiance.
"After I've refilled Tomas's coffee," Heidi replied, already leaning over the table to do so.
This was definitely a good time to shift the
focus away from himself and onto Alice. Tomas wasn't about to look any gift horse from Mrs. O'Neil in the mouth, or enter into any more arguments with her. "Thanks," he told Heidi, ignoring the warm furball that had settled on top of his foot, preventing him from making a run for it even though that thought was looking rather attractive. There was one thing he'd learnt very early in life. It did not pay to get in the middle of a conversation between two strong-minded women.
A fresh pot of tea on the table, and Heidi sat down again, her chair a little closer to Tomas's than it had been. "I've already told Tomas what I know about Alice," she said to Mrs. O'Neil, "but it's not much. Just that her family owned this place and that her husband died in the war before their baby was born."
Mrs. O'Neil nodded slowly; she definitely knew more. "Rumor has it," she said, topping up her tea and taking an appreciative sip, "that they weren't married. Terrible scandal it was. No one knew where he'd come from. Some place east, I believe, but of course, he could have come from Timbuktu and there was no way of proving it."
"Not married?" Tomas's pen stopped mid-stroke. "But the let--" He caught himself just in time. "What makes you think they weren't?"
"Marriage license, young man." Mrs. O'Neil looked over her cup of tea, very disapprovingly. "There wasn't one. As I said, he came out of nowhere and probably went back to wherever he'd come from. He got the poor girl in the family way and then deserted her. I suspect that's why she took his name, pretended there'd been a wedding and that he'd died in the war. It would have been far less scandal than the truth."
"Maybe it was the truth," Tomas pointed out. "They could have got married overseas; she came home first and then he joined her. It's not unknown."
"She would have had to have left first for that to happen." Mrs. O'Neil glared at him for daring to disagree with her theories. "Alice was a real homebody. She never left the village in the whole time she lived here, at least physically. Her mind was all over the place after she had the child. She told stories of faraway places she said her husband told her about." She sighed. "She was an artist, you see; it addled her brain just as it has with poor Mikey. He's just as bad with stories about seeing things that aren't there."
"Just like writing has addled mine." Tomas couldn't help but add the comment. Her attitude was beginning to annoy him, and Mikey seemed completely normal to him even if he was the brat from hell. "Just because you don't know what actually happened doesn't mean it didn't." Perhaps this was a mistake and the letters contained the answers he wanted.
"Go look in the church records if you don't believe me." Mrs. O'Neil helped herself to a scone, munching it slowly. "It's got all the records of births, deaths, and marriages in the area that have occurred since it was built."
"They could have got married somewhere else, just not in this parish." Heidi glanced between them, suggesting an alternative. "If she'd eloped and gone somewhere for a couple of days, no one would have even noticed. It happens all the time."
"This isn't one of your romance novels, Heidi, dear." Mrs. O'Neil finished her scone and drained her tea. "I've checked. Mr. Kemp isn't the only one in this room who knows how to research. There are no marriage records anywhere in Britain for an Alice Finlay and a Christian Edmonds. Why, he doesn't even have a birth--"
Edmonds? Tomas froze, the coffee in his cup sloshing with the abrupt halt in motion. "Her married name was Edmonds?"
Mrs. O'Neil and Heidi turned to look at him. "I thought you'd done your research, Mr. Kemp," Mrs. O'Neil stated, more than a little smugly. "According to the fairytale Alice would like us to believe, she became Mrs. Alice Edmonds in 1918 by marrying a man who never existed."
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Chapter Twelve
To hell with the fact he hadn't originally planned to meet with Cathal until that afternoon. As soon as he could do so without arousing further suspicion, Tomas excused himself from Heidi and Mrs. O'Neil, his mind going nineteen to the dozen with possible implications of the bombshell that had been dropped on him.
It would have been so much simpler if Tomas believed in coincidence, but he didn't. He could live with the fact that Cathal's friend Alice had the same name as the artist who had owned the inn, and maybe, if he stretched his imagination, that she and her husband shared the first names of the main characters in this damn book. For which there was a sequel; there was no way he was giving up on that thought now.
But that her married name was also the same as Cathal's Alice. Who just happened to be involved with his cousin. That was pushing it.
Even if Alice and Christian had been married, and lived here, over eighty years ago. Or not married, if Mrs. O'Neil was to be believed.
Fuck. None of this made any sense.
His bag swung over one shoulder and a Thermos of coffee supplied by Heidi in his hand, Tomas stalked out of the inn and across the field toward the tree. If Cathal wasn't there yet, so be it. He'd wait. Not that he was expecting any answers; Cathal had already shown that he wasn't the type to give any, at least any that made any sense, but Tomas was determined to talk to him about this anyway. So far, he was the connection, and as such should be given the opportunity to explain, or at the very least offer some kind of theory as to what the hell was going on.
Blackthorn scampered ahead of him. The bloody cat had literally stalked him since morning tea, not taking her eyes off him the whole time, apart from the odd glare at Mrs. O'Neil as the older woman had kept talking. St. Aiden's church was high on his list of places to visit. No matter what Mrs. O'Neil had said, Tomas intended to still carry out his own research.
Mrs. O'Neil was not the fountain of all knowledge, no matter what illusions she wanted to live under. She could be wrong. And besides, what did it matter if Alice and Christian had not been married? The important thing was how they felt about each other and that the child had been conceived within a loving relationship.
For a moment, Tomas's step faltered, and he looked up at the sky, shading his eyes from the sun as he took several deep breaths to calm himself. Would he feel that way about anyone, he wondered, to the extent that he wanted to settle down into something more permanent? Hell, he'd never kissed anyone before Cathal. Warmth flooded through him at the memory. Relationships were not built on a single kiss, he reminded himself. He liked Cathal, but he wasn't prepared to go any farther with someone he didn't trust, and that quality wasn't high on his list of Cathal's attributes with all these unanswered questions.
All Cathal had to do was offer an explanation as to why he couldn't possibly have had anything to do with someone who had been dead for over fifty years. God, his sanity had definitely left the building. What was he thinking? This whole scenario was impossible. Perhaps Cathal's Alice was a relative; yes, that had to be it. Cathal only appeared to be in his mid-twenties. There was no way he could have known someone that long ago.
"Tomas!" A familiar figure began walking toward him; a smile lit up Cathal's face as he drew closer. How long had he been there, waiting?
Guilt followed on the heels of Tomas's confusion and anger. He tried to plaster a smile on his lips to return Cathal's, and failed. Pretending as far as emotions were concerned had never been a strong point. While he could play disinterested, cool, calm, and collected without much trouble, the opposite had never come easy to him. It was too much like lying.
"Something's wrong, isn't it?" Cathal's expression dropped almost immediately, a frown replacing the smile. "What's happened?" He searched Tomas's eyes as though looking for an answer. "Do you need to talk about it?"
"Yes." Logic said this all had to be a mistake. Seeing Cathal again, Tomas knew he'd been an idiot in reacting this way. A name in common meant nothing. This was crazy. He couldn't allow the lines between fantasy and reality to blur like this again. "Can we sit?"
"All right." Cathal slipped his hand into Tomas's, and Tomas took it without thinking. They'd kissed. It was only natural that Cathal would want to hold hands. Tomas squeezed Cathal's h
and, determined to hang onto him, at least until after they'd had this discussion. After that, if Cathal wanted to leave, after learning just how crazy and unreasonable Tomas could be, so be it.
Instead of leading him to the tree as Tomas expected, Cathal walked farther into the grassy field, sitting down in the middle of it, and pulling Tomas down to join him. "There's no shelter here," Tomas said. "Don't you want to sit under the tree instead like we usually do?" If they stayed here, they could be easily seen from the inn.
"No." Cathal's tone was soft but firm. "I want to do something different. Besides, we're only talking, right?"
"Right." Talking and possibly yelling. With each passing moment, this was becoming more and more of a mistake. Tomas wondered where the hell his head had been.
"So, do you want to tell me what happened?" Cathal seemed genuinely concerned; his reaction suggested very strongly that he cared. This was stupid. Of course he did. He'd told Tomas that he wanted to see if they could be more than friends. That in itself suggested that he did.
Perhaps, instead of getting straight to the point, Tomas could ask a question which would mean he wouldn't have to make a complete idiot of himself. He cleared his throat, still not letting go of Cathal's hand, ignoring the warmth from the skin-to-skin contact and how right it felt. "Remember how I brought the scones with the coffee last time?"
Cathal nodded but didn't say anything, his gaze still firmly fixed on Tomas.
"You told me you used to steal your friend Alice's baking and that she and your cousin were together." Tomas swallowed. If Cathal didn't give the right answer, there would be no need to go farther. Tomas could just explain about what he'd found out without having to admit what an idiot he'd been. Two plus two did not always equal four. In this case Tomas rather hoped they didn't.