“Something in the air, if you ask me.” Annie started to clear the dinner dishes. “Everyone seems a bit on edge.” She put a restraining hand on Kate’s arm. “No, you leave those, Katie. Go have a little chat with Hugh.”
“I SUSPECT RORY KNOWS more about Elizabeth’s disappearance than he’s letting on,” Hugh told Kate later that evening. “He has a bit of a problem with the bottle. Drinks to the point where he doesn’t remember much at all the next day.”
Kate said nothing. Everybody else had disappeared to different parts of the house. A calculated move by Annie, she suspected, to leave her alone with Hugh. They were sitting out on the back steps where she’d gone to escape the overheated house and sort out her thoughts. Hugh had followed. Smoke from his cigarette drifted up into the night.
Irritated, Kate flapped at the air. She didn’t want to deal with Hugh’s company, his cigarette smoke or, no fault of Hugh’s, the niggling question about Niall and Elizabeth. Why hadn’t she just asked him?
“The thing is, Rory was with Elizabeth on Monday, a friend of mine saw them together in Galway, and I saw her later in his car up on the cliffs. My guess is they’d had more than a few drinks together and then something happened. Of course, he has no recollection of what it was.”
Kate pulled up the collar of her parka. The cold had started to seep through and her nose felt numb. “Something happened? You don’t mean he did something to her?”
“No, no.” Fitzpatrick waved the suggestion away. “Rory hasn’t got it in him for anything like that. No, I’m speculating that she left, for some reason or another, and has either just neglected to call, or…”
“Or?”
“She met up with someone who had more sinister motives.” He ground out the cigarette with his heel. “Maguire comes to mind, of course,” he said after a moment. “She was apparently supposed to meet him.”
Simmering irritation ignited into anger. “Excuse me for saying so, Hugh, but you’re hardly an objective party here.” And you are? the cynic inquired. Kate pushed on, “I don’t know exactly what happened between the two of you, but maybe it’s time to move on.”
“Annie thinks we’re a good couple,” he said. “She told me that. She’d like to see the two of us together.”
She looked at him. “What exactly does that have to do with what I just said.”
“Maybe you’re what I need to move on with my life,” he said. “Someone to replace Moruadh.” He caught her hand. “I’m very attracted to you, Kate. Give me a chance, would you?”
“Hugh.” She pulled her hand away. “This is embarrassing. I’m really not—”
“You have a boyfriend in California?”
“Kind of.” She wanted to spare his feelings. “Not only that, but I’ll be gone in a few days, so there’s not much point in—”
Suddenly his arm was around her shoulders in an awkward embrace, and his mouth was grinding into hers. She tasted smoke and beer. “For God’s sake—” She broke away, pulled herself up off the steps and glared at him. “What was all that about?”
“It’s Maguire, isn’t it?” He remained seated on the steps, looking up at her. “I don’t stand a chance, do I?”
THAT NIGHT, she dreamed Niall tried to kill her. They were making love, the sound of water all around them. His body over hers, her legs locked around him, her hips moving under him. Faster and faster they moved in a growing frenzy until she cried out. Suddenly she was staring into his eyes, and his hands were locked around her throat as he sent her tumbling down in the roaring abyss of ocean and rocks, and then Annie was there saying, “I told you not to trust him.”
She woke the next morning to the sound of the phone ringing somewhere in the house. Moments later, Annie knocked on her door.
“Mr. Maguire for you.” Annie handed her the phone, her face stiff with disapproval. “If you’ll keep it short, I’d appreciate it. I’m expecting my brother to call with news about Elizabeth. They’ve got someone out looking for her.”
Kate rubbed sleep from her eyes, fluffed up her pillow-flattened hair as though Niall could actually see her. “Want me to have him call back?”
“No, no, that’s all right.” Annie turned to leave. “I’ll have your breakfast waiting when you’re through,” she said, and closed the door behind her.
“I had the distinct feeling Annie was not at all pleased to hear from me,” Niall said.
“I know.” Kate sank back into the pillows, the phone cradled between her ear and shoulder, memories of the nightmare erased by Niall’s voice. And in the morning light, last night’s agonizing over his possible involvement with Elizabeth seemed over-wrought. Probably how rumors got started, she thought. An innocuous incident fanned into flame by a fevered imagination. All she had to do was ask him. Which she would soon.
“Annie is convinced Hugh and I are destined for each other,” she said. “Hugh’s thinking is along similar lines.” She decided not to mention the attempted kiss. “You’re kind of messing things up.”
“Am I?”
“Yeah.” She could picture his face as he spoke. That hint of a smile. God, she had it bad. Ask him about Elizabeth, the cynic urged.
“Should I back out?” he asked.
Her stomach knotted ever so slightly. “Would you do it that easily?”
“Not without a duel to the death.”
“I’m not interested in Hugh,” she said. “If you’re concerned.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time he and I’ve been in competition over a woman. While I was off at university, pining away for Moruadh, she was back here taking moonlight walks along the beach with Hugh.”
Uh-oh. Kate shifted the receiver to her other ear. Time to don her reporter’s hat. Hadn’t Hugh accused Niall of stealing Moruadh away from him? She’d have to check her notes. Right now, Moruadh’s long-ago relationship with Niall didn’t interest her nearly as much as her own brand-new one with him. The cynic spoke up. New what, exactly? Not relationship, surely.
“Hello?” Niall said. “Did you nod off?”
“Nope.” She sat up in bed. “Wide-awake.”
“I wondered if you’d like to go to Kerry with me. I have a photo shoot there this afternoon. I’ll need to stay overnight. There’s a very quaint B&B.” A pause. “Of course, we’d have separate rooms.”
“Oh, of course.” The smile returned, stretched from ear to ear. Would she like to go to Kerry with him? Stay in a quaint hotel? Make love all night. Nah, didn’t sound like much fun. Reality check. There were interviews she couldn’t cancel. She knew that, even before she reached for her appointment book to confirm. “I don’t think I can. Today I’m interviewing a professor who tutored Moruadh and tomorrow I’m having lunch in Galway.”
“Trenellen,” he said. “That’s the professor’s name. He gave Moruadh piano lessons. Actually, he tried to work with me, too, but he gave up in disgust. I’m absolutely tone-deaf. Where are you going for lunch?”
“Drummond House. Do you know it?”
“It’s on Quay Street. Nice place. Built by a marquis during the potato famine. Sensitive man that one, kept himself busy trekking in chandeliers while the peasants were leaving the country in droves.”
Kate smiled and sank back against the pillow again.
“I’ll be back tomorrow evening,” he said. “Would you be free then? Bouillabaise? Bedchamber? Anything?”
“All of it,” she said.
“Right, then,” he said. “See you tomorrow. Oh, and Kate, Trenellen’s a little dotty. Just don’t get him talking about the elf king.”
“Elf king?”
“You’ll see.”
Still smiling, Kate hung up the phone. And remembered she hadn’t asked him about Elizabeth.
CHAPTER TEN
IT DIDN’T TAKE Kate long to see that Niall’s assessment of Trenellen was correct. Though charming and courtly, the old man was definitely dotty. His head, smooth, except for a fringe of white hair, sloped steeply like a hard-boiled egg, and
his eyes were a pale, guileless blue. During the brief periods of lucidity that shimmered through his rambling discourse like sunshine through the clouds, there were small but revealing glimpses into the young Moruadh’s life. Her gift—in the Celtic tradition of storytelling—had been apparent at an early age, he said.
“Have you heard the word seanachai?” he inquired. Then, without waiting for Kate’s reply, went on to explain. “It was the old men mostly who would go from house to house telling the stories. And these were passed down from one generation to the next, you see. That was how Moruadh started, making up her little stories that eventually she set to music.”
Kate made some notes, asked a few more questions and was ready to ask about Moruadh’s childhood disposition, although she didn’t have high hopes of an informative response, when the housekeeper appeared with a tea tray. The professor watched as she set the tray down on a small table by the fireplace and quietly left. Smiling, he pushed the teapot toward Kate, then delicately lifted the edge of one of the sandwiches.
“Ah sure, and I hope it’s not potted prawn.” His head trembled slightly. “She knows I can’t stand that.” He took a tentative nibble and seemed to find it to his liking.
Kate eyed the plate of tiny sandwiches and the small, neatly sliced, chocolate cake and estimated that, left to her own devices, she could polish it all off in five minutes flat. Already, she was beginning to regret turning down Annie’s breakfast although it probably had been a good idea. That morning, for the first time in her life, she’d had difficulty zipping her jeans. And tomorrow, in the bedchamber, Niall would see her naked.
She forced her thoughts back to the professor and nibbled politely. As he ate, he discussed the complicated domestic relationship between the sun goddess and the elf king Midir who had apparently been cuckolded by the eastern horse king of Tara.
The elf king. She bit back a smile, remembering Niall’s warning. God, the man kept invading her thoughts. Again, she dragged her attention back to the professor. How soon could she bring the session to a halt without offending him? Not long, as it turned out. In the middle of a riveting account of the sea god Etar’s marriage to the virgin Aine, Trenellen fell asleep.
Just when the tale was getting good, too. Another minute or so and they’d have consummated the act. Kate closed her notebook and stood, not sure whether to rouse him or quietly leave. As she tried to decide, the housekeeper appeared in the doorway.
“He seems to have nodded off,” Kate said. “I think I have all I need, though, so I’ll just go. If you could thank him for me.”
“Writing about Moruadh, are you?” The housekeeper bent to pick up the tray. “I worked as a maid for the Maguires for nearly twenty years. Old Maguire was a right terror.” She shook her head. “If there’s anything I can tell you…”
“Do you have a few minutes right now?”
“I do. If you don’t mind my getting on with things while I talk.”
With her hip, she pushed open the door, and Kate followed her down a narrow hallway into a large kitchen, cheery with yellow gingham curtains. She sat down at a small table and opened her notebook. Off in one corner, a green parakeet in a cage carried on a noisy exchange with its reflection.
“I’ve got to get a move on with his supper,” the housekeeper said. “As soon as he wakes, he’ll be wanting food.” She looked over her shoulder at Kate. “When they’re that age, food is the one thing in life that matters. Very finicky he can be about it, too.”
Kate smiled sympathetically.
“Sure, the old man was the same way, too. Niall’s father,” the housekeeper added. “Nothing he wouldn’t complain about. Gave young Niall a hard time of it, he did.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, of course, he never had any room for the boy to start with.” She opened a pantry door and took a string bag of vegetables from the shelf. “Likes a few parsnips with his roast chicken, he does.” She emptied the bag into the sink. “Would you like another cup of tea, miss?”
“Oh, no, thank you.” Kate flipped through her notebook for a blank page. “You were talking about the old man, Niall’s father.”
“Ah right. Well, as I said he was hard on the boy. Expected far too much of him, it always seemed to me. Ferocious temper he had on him, too,” she said, scraping the parsnips as she talked. “I can well remember his voice roaring out from the library, tearing into the child for one thing or another, threatening to send him off to the orphanage.”
“The orphanage?”
“Aye, well, it hadn’t been an orphanage for some years, it was just a spooky old place that people still spoke of as the orphanage. It’s been a number of things over the years, but about ten years back, Annie and Patrick Ryan bought it and turned it into a guest house. The Pot o’ Gold, it’s called these days.”
“No kidding?” Kate scribbled a reminder to ask Annie about it. “I’m staying there.”
“Ah well, it’s a lovely place today, Annie Ryan’s done wonders there. Back then, though, it’d strike terror in the heart of a child to walk past. The old man knew that. He would rant and rave, and young Niall would get a look on his face—hard to describe, really—as though his head was somewhere else entirely. I think the boy was a disappointment to Maguire. His nose always stuck in a book. Very drawn into himself. It irritated the old man that he couldn’t get a rise out of him.”
Kate watched her chop parsnip into small pieces. Niall had described his habit of mentally disappearing. Apparently, something he’d learned to do at an early age. Probably explained how he could live in a small village like Cragg’s Head and be practically oblivious to all the gossip about him. Struck by a thought, Kate chewed the end of her pen. If you constructed an invisible wall to shut out the things you didn’t want to deal with, could you remove it at will when you wanted to feel something? Like love. Caught up in the question, she realized the housekeeper had asked something.
“Sorry?”
“I said have you met Mr. Maguire?”
She felt her face go red. “Yes, I have actually.”
The housekeeper glanced over at her. “Always very protective of Moruadh, he was,” she said. “Lucky for the child. too, or she’d have no doubt gone to her coffin at an earlier age than she did. Very willful and spirited. A right little mischief-maker, that one. Her and the Fitzpatrick boy. I can’t tell you the things those two would get up to. Young Niall would usually end up taking the blame. Moruadh could twist him around her little finger.”
Kate wrote “manipulative” in her notebook. She had the weird feeling she was snooping, rather than gathering information for an article. Moruadh had become a scheming temptress who had callously broken Niall’s heart. Journalistic objectivity was a distant memory.
As she was leaving, the professor made another appearance. He held a sheaf of papers in his hand and appeared revived by his nap.
“I have here some early examples of Moruadh’s work.” Bright blue eyes looked directly at Kate. “Would you like to see them?”
“I’d love to.” She took the sheets of yellowed paper he held out to her.
“Read it aloud,” he said.
She glanced at him, then down at the sheet in her hands.
“You don’t see me through your far-off lens.
I’m a pebble washed up on your shore.
Random, scattered here or there.
Directionless, but can that be?
The salmon in the vast gray sea, swims home because
It was meant to be.”
After she’d finished, Kate looked up at the professor. His fringe of white hair, backlit by the lamp, floated like a halo around his head. His smile was beatific. Angelic, Kate thought, looking at him. And then, as though he’d whispered in her ear, she heard Niall’s voice that night at the castle. “I have a sense that somehow it was meant to happen.”
AN OVERDOSE OF CELTIC mystery. Kate diagnosed her condition as she trudged down the lane from the professor’s house. If you w
ant to believe this destiny stuff, she told herself, you can find signs to support it. If you wanted to, you could find meaning in a laundry list.
Cold rain swept down, puddled the sides of the road with mucky brown water. She unfurled her umbrella, cursing her decision to walk to the professor’s instead of taking the car. Although the sun had been shining when she left Annie’s, she should have known better. Little in Ireland—especially the weather—was entirely predictable.
As she walked past muddy fields and isolated cottages, she tried not to imagine steamy scenes with Niall tomorrow night. Tried to focus instead on what she’d learned about Moruadh so far. Bits and pieces of a puzzle, but not really a complete picture. The bizarre coffin scene Rory McBride had described, details Niall had let slip that suggested a certain preoccupation with death.
She dodged a puddle. It was impossible to speculate on Moruadh’s state of mind the day she died without bringing Niall into the picture. Equally impossible to believe that he was responsible for his wife’s death. Suicide remained a possibility, but even that was now questionable. What woman would want to leave Niall by taking her own life? He could have dumped her of course, and brokenhearted, she’d jumped to her death. And tell the world, I died for love.
Or it was an accident. The wind-driven rain battering her umbrella, Kate walked on. At the edge of a field, she passed a small gray cottage. Scabrous cars and empty beer bottles littered the threadbare grass. A handwritten wooden sign read: Pleaze Do Not Run Over Childrun or Horses.
A sheet of newspaper fluttered across her line of vision and landed near a cluster of battered mobile homes. Voices and raucous laughter floated to her from across the field. Drawing closer, she saw three men clustered around a smoky campfire, seemingly oblivious to the weather. Nearby, two donkeys were tethered outside a painted wooden caravan, their long, coarse coats ruffled by the wind. A Travelers’ camp, she guessed.
“Will y’gimme fifty pence, miss?” one man called out. “T’send me three sons to Trinity College?” Another burst of laughter broke from the crowd.
The Man on the Cliff Page 15