“I’ve never had water straight from a well, especially not a holy well.” Pearl took the bucket and drank.
“Not too much now,” Mia warned. “It might not be that clean, don’t want you going back with an upset stomach.”
“It can’t harm me if it’s holy water, now can it?” Pearl reasoned, drinking heartily.
“Who said it was a holy well?” Mia asked.
Pearl gestured their surroundings. “Go figure,” she said and they laughed.
Mia checked her watch, the sun was high.
“Better head back, you told Ross a couple of hours if Pearl was okay on the water. We left ages ago.”
Taking the bucket, Archie placed it back on the ledge where Mia had found it. Pearl took his hand as they slid out from behind the bush and onto the track.
“We can come back can’t we, Uncle Archie?” Pearl asked, as they walked towards the sea. “I’ve loads of ideas for my project.”
“Of course. Now we know how to get in, I’ll remember lots of things to show you, we’ll find artefacts and relics all over the place.”
“Did we go there much when I was a kid?” Mia asked, running to catch up. She could only remember Sister Agnes’s history class and the row when Fenella discovered she had been to the island, demanding all future trips were cleared beforehand.
They were in the kitchen, Mia was under the table, playing with the tarot cards. Leela had stood her ground, saying the trips were part of her education.
“I need to know what those nuns are teaching my child, anything off curricular needs my specific permission from now on.” Fenella had insisted.
“Sometimes it’s hard to know where you are.” Leela was snippy.
“You could find me if you wanted to.”
“So you can stop her doing things and make her stand out even more than she already does,” Leela had snapped back.
Mia cringed at the memory. Fenella and Leela rarely argued but when they did it was only ever about her and usually involved her mother trying to influence her life, without really being there at all.
“Not when you were little,” Archie replied, linking Mia’s arm. “But yes, at one time we came here a lot.”
“Were you nearly ten like me?” Pearl queried, hoping she had discovered the island at the same time as her newly adopted uncle.
“About the same age as the students we met earlier.”
“Bonfires and midnight barbecues, I know what must have gone on.” Mia joked.
“Not at all.” Archie pretended to be serious. “We came to recitals. The students’ Gregorian chant was sublime, never heard a choir like it. Depending on the wind, it would drift across the bay, you could hear it in Galty, like a mystical heavenly host.” Archie had either had too much sun or not enough medication.
Mia watched Pearl taking in every word, Archie was fascinating company, especially if you were young and impressionable with an overactive imagination … she should know.
THE PIRATE
Archie was trying to fight the deep, dark depression that had been seeping into his psyche ever since they left the island. Not only did he have to face the frenzied anguish of Pearl’s furious nanny, storming along the shore as they arrived but he was crestfallen Bernice and Fenella had left. He felt abandoned.
The ritual of his bath had not soothed him, so instead of seeking company he buried himself in the library. Looking at the awards adorning the walls, the poster of the film he had starred in to spectacularly win the Oscar, he was overcome with remorse.
“Good-looking bastard, you were,” he told his image. Then gazing into his brandy balloon, “Lonely old bastard, now.”
Mia had slipped into the room. She stood watching him, head bent, the evening sun lighting the mix of copper and silver in his hair, his usually smiling mouth turned down.
“Who’re you talking to?” she asked.
“That sad eejit.” He nodded at his portrait. The picture looked far from sad.
It was fusty in the library. Mia opened the French windows onto the terrace, a light breeze drifted in, fragrant with roses and the scent of the sea. There was nowhere as lovely as Galty with the weather as perfect as this.
She poured drinks, passing Archie his glass; he looked drawn beneath his tan. “We’d a great day.”
“Isn’t she lovely?” Mia was unsure whether he meant Pearl or the boat. “Now,” Archie pulled himself upright, “Before we’re called into dinner, some business.”
His voice was weak. Mia leaned in to listen. Archie’s ‘business’ was usually a series of lectures telling her to misbehave, go a bit wild and even, if only now and then, throw caution to the wind. Considering his limited time frame, she expected the works.
“This young man you want to marry, what’s the holdup? Is he already married?” Archie took a sip of his drink.
Mia shook her head, recalling she had not even checked whether Rupert had a partner when they were first introduced. Her love life had been non-existent for so long and he so totally charming, that from the very moment they had kissed, they had tried to devour every inch of each other at every opportunity. She blushed.
Archie gave a cough, pulling Mia back out of Rupert’s arms.
“Finance then? You don’t have enough money?”
“Hmm,” Mia replied. “Although, I don’t want anything grand or over the top.”
“Why don’t you want anything grand? A wedding should be grand, special, mean everything to you, to you both.”
Mia smiled; if she were honest, she would like something special, something that set the day apart, made it about what she wanted for a change.
“Then we will not let a small and rather vulgar detail like finance prevent you from having the wedding of your dreams.”
“But I …” Mia tried to protest.
Archie raised his hand. “Nonsense, every girl dreams of a fairy-tale wedding in a castle, to a handsome, shining knight. I shall be your fairy godfather, wave a magic wand and all you’ve ever wished for will be yours. The wedding, the castle, the prince.”
“But, Archie ...”
“No buts. How old are you now? Time you had someone special in your life, made plans, had your own family. You’ve been hanging around with this crowd of decrepit old yokes for far too long. It shall be done.”
He closed his eyes.
“I was wondering,” he murmured. “Would you ever come home?” He turned to look at her, sharp eyes drilling into her for an honest answer.
She looked away, across the lawn to the sea. “I’ve always said no, but now, I’m not so sure.” Her gaze followed two gulls swirling in the smooth, blue sky. “London feels like home too, so many of the theatres are where I grew up.”
In the early days Fenella had taken her daughter everywhere, no nanny or au pair for little Maeve. Fenella had battled to keep her child. Back then, even in England, a single mother was frowned upon. In rural Ireland far worse – a scandal – the girl had committed a mortal sin, disgracing the whole family and if Fenella had ever named her child’s father, the shame and derision would have been unbearable and they all would have been ostracised, forever.
Archie remembered those bad old days only too well. Thank goodness London’s thespian community was more accepting of the beautiful actress and her fatherless child. Fenella and her baby had stayed away from Rosshaven Harbour for a long time and with good reason.
“And now?” Archie pressed, Mia had still not told him what he wanted to hear.
“If I were married and well, you know …” She did not want to put her dreams into words … not yet.
“Be a great place to bring up a family.” Archie placed his hands in his lap. “Which is why I’m leaving you the house.” He leaned forward making sure she heard him, understood his words.
“What?!” Mia was flummoxed. “What about Bernice? Leela? Fenella?”
“They’re all catered for one way or another. But the house needs you ‒ young blood, vigour, enthusiasm ‒ the n
ext generation.” He gave a smile but his eyes were serious. “This is confidential, just between you and me, until well, the inevitable …”
“But …” Mia felt sick.
Archie clapped his hands together. “No buts.” He could see she was shocked. “I know it’s the right thing to do, my angel, the right thing for you and the house.”
Mia was just about to tell Archie she was very grateful for the offer of help with the wedding but leaving her Galty House was too much, too much to take in and far too much responsibility, when Leela poked her head in; Ross Power was waiting in the hall.
“Show him in,” insisted Archie, indicating that Mia fix more drinks. “There’s enough supper, isn’t there?”
“Of course,” Leela replied, affronted. Archie was hardly eating anything these days, anyway.
Mia hoped the visitor would not stay; she was pleased to have Archie to herself at last and needed to speak to him properly, insist he did not leave her Galty, she did not want it, could not cope with it, but Ross Power seemed oblivious he might be intruding.
“Sorry it’s late, I’m just back from Dublin but Pearl stayed up to tell me she’ll never be afraid of the water again and I just had to thank you, it means a lot.”
Archie rallied. “Not at all, dear boy. Now, supper’s ready will you join us?”
“If that’s okay with you?” The visitor turned to Mia. “I’m guessing you two don’t get to see each other much, if I’m intruding just say the word, I can come and bother this guy any old time.”
“Fine by me,” she shrugged, avoiding the American’s eyes. She would never make anyone feel unwelcome at Galty House.
Ross had a hearty appetite, which pleased Leela greatly, and his conversation was far more entertaining than Mia had expected. He was making Archie laugh about some of the antics up at the hotel, explaining his policy of recruiting local people to work in the five-star establishment was not without its challenges.
“When I asked for the à la carte menu to be in both languages, I expected English and French,” Ross explained.
“What did you get?” asked Archie.
“Why English and Gaelic, of course!” He laughed, using soda bread to mop up Leela’s delicious onion sauce. Mia found herself watching him, he reminded of her someone.
“How did you resolve that?” Archie imagined a serious run-in with the local branch of An Cumann Gaelach if he had dispensed with the Irish translation.
“Just made the menus bigger and included all three!” Ross replied, laughing again.
A pirate, Mia thought, as mirth caused dark hair to fall across his eyes. Just needs an earring. It was a trick she used, choosing a character and imagining them in full costume. She could deal with all sorts of personalities that way, it put them in their place, gave her more confidence. Yes, making him a pirate suited, for now.
Leela was serving coffee when Mia decided to take her leave. Archie had drifted off again and their guest had refused a nightcap, time to go. Mia leaned over and kissed Archie. He opened his eyes.
“I’m taking the first train tomorrow, you stay in bed,” she instructed.
“Have you business in Dublin too?” Ross asked.
“Plane to catch, time to return to reality.” She stood. He stood too. He towered over her. She made him a pirate again.
“Pearl will be disappointed, worse she’ll be devastated you’ve gone.”
“Tell her I’ll come back, when I can.”
Ross put a finger to his lips, Archie had closed his eyes again.
Leela was at the door. “I’ll get him to bed once I’ve cleared away. Off you go now.” She shooed them away, leaving them in the half-dark of the hall.
“I meant what I said. Pearl’s been through a tough time, you and Archie have helped her turn a corner.”
“She’s a great kid.”
“Big responsibility. Then there’s the hotel and everything.” He stared into the darkness.
Mia opened the door, a gust of wind burst in whipping up her hair, slashing strands across her face. He caught the curls in his fingers, smoothing the tendrils back. She froze. Did she imagine it or did he cup her chin lightly, lifting her face towards his. She drew in a breath, catching the scent of him, sea, salt, heat, wine. She swallowed.
The porch light made his black eyes glint, he was standing very close, blocking the wind.
“Promise you’ll stay in touch,” he whispered. “It would mean a lot.”
“I will.” She felt a chill at the base of her spine. He looked straight into her eyes, questioning yet confident, his musky scent tingling her nostrils; she stopped breathing. She tried to drag her gaze away, find her voice, the right words. “I’m engaged, you know.”
“Congratulations,” he said softly, his lips so close to her mouth, she knew if he just drew her to him, she would let him kiss her, hard. A pirate’s kiss. She closed her eyes, anticipating … Ross had turned on his heel to stride off into the dark.
Mia closed the door quickly, despite the coolness of the night, she felt hot. What was she even thinking? She was missing Rupert, of course, her hormones were all over the place. She glanced up at the portraits, the entire gallery gave her a knowing look.
Mia did not sleep well, her usual mermaid nightmares twisted into dreams of black-eyed pirates and when she woke it took a while to drag herself out of bed, even though she had a plane to catch. Stumbling drowsily into the kitchen, she noticed Leela had left everything as it was, the only difference being there was a large, turquoise box at the far end of the table. She jolted at the sight of it. Giving it a shake, she listened for the tell-tale rustle inside, then spotting the note, ‘Something borrowed.’
It was the dress. Lol must have sneaked it into the car. She lifted the lid and spying a fragment of fabric knew it was there; unworn, pristine, perfect.
There was an envelope on top of the tissue, she opened it, a print out of two airline tickets were folded inside. First class, no restrictions, London to Florence. She could feel her heart beating hard as she read.
‘Here’s to your fairy-tale wedding, my angel. I believe you have your gown! Be happy, forever.’
It was signed with a flamboyant A followed by a huge X.
She started to laugh.
A car horn sounded. Taking the box, Mia picked up her bag and trotted down the steps, relieved the driver was unknown to her, no conversation required.
“The station please.” She carefully placed the box beside her.
“Want a pick up?” the driver asked.
“Sorry?”
“Coming back, want to be picked up?”
“No thanks.”
Maybe Archie was right, maybe it was time to do her own thing, start a new life; for better or worse. And Rupert was ‘the one’ she was sure of it.
She stared ahead as they drove away, a habit developed over the years, never looking back, never saying goodbye. Leaving was no big deal, she would be back any time. But deep down something always nagged.
Who knew when she would be back, ever be back; this happened every time she left Galty House too.
CALLED TO THE BAR
“Would you send in Miss Fitzgerald, please?” The cultured Dublin accent came over the intercom.
Bernice followed the receptionist through the mahogany door into his office. He came out from behind the elegant desk which had sat before the window overlooking St Stephen’s Green for over a century. The door closed with a satisfying clunk and she flew into his arms, as fragile as a bird in his embrace.
He pressed her hair with a kiss as she clung to him. She was trying not to cry, but the tears came anyway. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a spotless handkerchief and dabbed her face.
“Come and sit,” the gentle voice again. “There’s fresh tea, scones from Bewley’s, I sent out for them specially.” Bernice wanted to weep again, his little kindnesses always touched her, whenever she was with him she felt the cold slab of contrast between her life now and what coul
d have been.
She dried her eyes, looking out across the busy road to the park, trees bright in the sunshine, the monolithic sculpture of the Irish patriot Wolf Tone at the entrance, shining and solid. How she loved Dublin, a fascinating contrast, sometimes slightly pompous, set in its ways yet always vibrant, fresh and surprising. Like him. She sat, the couch angled to look out of the window and back into the room easily.
He poured tea, the china dwarfed in his tanned countryman hands; his sparkling white shirt, gold cufflinks. She looked around the office, framed certificates on walls, the painting of his grandfather over the fireplace, his father’s portrait near the door. Everything oozed solid, traditional, reliability and indeed, he was totally, utterly trustworthy. Except for one tiny, hardly noticeable flaw, this was completely the case.
“Now, tell me all.” Humphrey Beaumont, barrister-at-law sat back, a slight crease to his brow though his eyes glittered, alight at the pleasure of seeing her, Miss Bernice Fitzgerald, the love of his life.
The Beaumonts and the Fitzgeralds went way back, each generation harbouring at least one tale of unrequited love between the two families, Humphrey however, was not quite ready to give up hope yet.
Relieved beyond measure Bernice told him everything, the sudden deterioration of Archie’s health, Fenella’s visit, Mia’s coming and going, Archie’s new and ridiculously expensive boat and then, the earth-shattering revelation that he had already made a will, signed, sealed, done.
“And is it not to your liking?” Humphrey asked. She had not touched her tea.
“How would I know?” she declared. “He’s told me none of it! He didn’t even go to Eamon.”
“Eamon?”
“Eamon Degan, our cousin, you know the solicitor.”
“Perhaps Archie felt his affairs were more complex, beyond Eamon’s experience?” He was cajoling.
“Not at all.” Bernice was angry. “He just doesn’t want us to know what he’s up to.”
“Well, it is his prerogative.”
“What is?” she asked, crossly.
That Summer at the Seahorse Hotel Page 16