As the men concentrated on getting the top windows clear, Michael drove up to Eve’s place. Tentatively, he knocked on the door.
“Eve, we are going ahead opening up Ludlow Hall for the American. I thought you should know.” He was nervous, leaning against her door, fidgeting with his car keys.
“At least the new woman is not knocking the old place down . . . yet,” she said.
“Will I tell her where to find you?”
“Did you say she is staying with Hetty?”
“I recommended Hetty’s place to her.”
“Well then, she probably knows more about me than I do myself. She will know where to find me. No doubt Kathryn Rodgers will also tell all in the Ludlow Ladies’ Society emails.”
He laughed lightly, bursting with admiration for this woman who, even now, could sum up Hetty and Kathryn so well. He stood by the door, but she did not invite him in. He was not insulted; he knew Eve too well for that.
“How does the old place look?”
“Like you never left it. The sun is out, though, catching all the dirt on the glass. She will have some job turning the place around.”
“I don’t think I will go down the town today, there will be too much talk.”
“Hetty will make sure of that. If you want, I can run you down to Ludlow now for a quick look.”
Her heart tugged, but she straightened up.
“There will be plenty of time for that. I have to finish altering a skirt for a woman in Arklow, that will keep me busy.”
He turned away and she stood at the door to see him off, waiting until he was out of sight before moving back inside.
She knew Michael had called so she would be ready, in case anyone else came knocking with the news.
Michael was her first friend in Rosdaniel. Arnold and he had been friends since they were young boys: the boy from the village and the boy from Ludlow Hall. Michael never tried to keep up with Arnold, ploughing his own furrow. Maybe that was why they got along.
It was to Michael that Arnold went when he was deep in the financial quagmire, with no hope of repaying the bank loan. Michael gave him five thousand euros, there and then. Arnold had not the heart to tell him it would not even cover the monthly repayment.
“When you owe millions, thousands are mere coppers,” he told Eve when he got home, and she had admonished him for not being more grateful. Straight away, she took the brown paper bag containing the money, leaving Arnold sitting staring out the window from his library chair.
She walked up to Michael’s shop and handed back the bag.
“Take it, Michael, it is better in your hands than the greedy bank’s. They are bringing us to court; five thousand or even one hundred thousand is not going to stop that. This is a lot of money, God knows, to any decent God-fearing person, but to a bank and the grasping bastards who work for it, it is just small change.”
“I was only trying to help.”
He told her to wait until Richie could take over at the front counter. She did, patting him on the back to thank him, before disappearing into the back, where Michael dipped a tea bag in a mug for her.
“The money was very much appreciated, Michael, but where we are now, we are beyond help.” Her voice was shaky. He saw the wet of tears in her eyes, but she did not let herself sob.
“What happens next?”
“We go to the High Court and fight them and we will be in every newspaper in the country, that is what happens next. How do I ever forgive Arnold for this? I swear he only told me the extent of the trouble we are in about two weeks ago, I thought I had signed up for a €10,000 loan, to get the roof repaired, turns out it was almost €2 million. I don’t know what he was thinking. He was an old fool with grand plans for development on a few acres at the far end of the estate, a man who never picked up a shovel a day in his life.”
She hushed quickly, putting her hand up to her mouth to stop herself saying more of what she thought of her husband.
“I am here for you, Eve, for you both, you know that.”
She left soon after, to go home and tell her husband what she had done.
When, almost a year later, she found Arnold hanging in the barn, just days after the High Court granted judgement against him for almost €2 million, it was to Michael Conway she turned first.
Afraid, she had fled the barn, past the old water trough, the horses, the bucket of scraps she, earlier in the day, had asked Arnold to throw for the hens. She rushed through the kitchen, where the kettle had boiled, the two mugs empty on the table.
Picking up the phone, she dialled Michael Conway’s number. When he answered the phone, he sounded so carefree she thought of cutting him off, so as not to spoil his afternoon for him, but instead she uttered:
“You had better come. Arnold has killed himself.”
She spoke quietly and he did not ask any questions. Back in the kitchen, she sat, her arms folded across her chest, waiting for Michael to arrive, the house silent, the air still.
Numb, she thought she should dial 999, but how would she tell them? She sat down, picking at the tablecloth, digging a hole in it. The crows broke into the eerie quiet, cawing out the news of Arnold’s death. Slapping her hands over her ears to block the harshness, she did not hear the car when it pulled up. Michael, shouting out her name, ran into the kitchen, his face red, his eyes bulging.
She stared at him, but she could not say anything, only point in the direction of the barn. Shouting at her to ring an ambulance, he bolted across the yard. Hearing the urgency in his voice, she dialled 999 and her strength dissipated, the tears flowing so fast she could hardly give the address.
A loud, pain-filled baying filled the back yard, making Eve buckle in torment. When she ran to the barn, she saw Michael, tears coursing down his cheeks, holding Arnold’s legs.
The ambulance raced up the avenue, the sirens blaring and flashing. Michael had to be pulled away from Arnold and ordered to look after Eve. Shaking, he took her away into the drawing room, pushing her gently into a velvet armchair by the fire before he pulled over the curtains. He sat beside her in the half dark of the room, the heavy stillness walling them in.
When Eve spoke, her voice was a hoarse whisper.
“What am I going to do now, Michael?”
“I don’t know, but you will get through it.”
Michael, who had lost his wife early in their marriage, knew what it was like to be the one left grieving.
“Do you think he suffered for long?”
He reached over and took her hand. “Best not to dwell too much on it.”
She jumped up and he could see the black shape of her go to the window. One by one, she flung back the curtains.
“What am I supposed to do, sit in the dark because of what he did?”
“Out of respect, Eve, out of respect for the dead.”
She swung around, her eyes clouded with fury. “What do you want me to do, Michael, shut myself away in the dark because of what he did? Respect does not come into it. If he had had respect, he would never have hanged himself but would have stood by me when they come to take our home.”
Michael jumped up and made to put his hand on her arm. “Stop, Eve, before you say too much. It will only eat you up later.” He tapped her shoulder like he was knocking at a door, and she responded, putting her hand in his and letting him guide her back to the armchair.
“I don’t know if I can face the future on my own, Michael. What is to become of me?”
“You are not on your own. I am here,” he said, turning to the door as a Garda knocked, politely asking if he could have a word.
When he came back in, the Garda behind him, Michael was wringing his hands.
“Garda Moran wants to ask a few questions, before they take Arnold’s body away. Was there a note, something like that?”
She sat up, looking directly at the young Garda.
“If there was a note, a warning of some sorts, I would not have had to go through the pain of findin
g him on my own.” The tears were coursing down her face, saturating the gathered silk on the collar of her good blouse.
Garda Moran, wary of her grief, quickly ran through what would happen next, before nodding to Michael and quietly leaving the drawing room.
“You can’t stay here, come back to mine,” Michael said, but she shook her head.
“I never have and I won’t start today, feeding titbits to the gossips around here,” she said.
“Eve.”
She turned around fiercely. “This is my home. I am not giving it up now, not after the stupid man took his own life.”
Michael knew better than to argue with her and quietly withdrew.
The memories made it hard for Eve to concentrate and, after an hour, she threw up the blue gabardine skirt she was altering. Her head thumping, she wanted to move away from the thoughts swirling about in her brain, so she sat down with her jewellery box. There were a lot of fine pieces thrown together, some wrapped around each other, but it was a small charm tucked away in a tiny velvet bag she was interested in. Letting the charm drop into the palm of her hand, she smiled to think of the day Michael gave it to her. She had only been in Ludlow Hall a few months and Michael, just back from a trip to London, shyly handed her the little box.
“I saw this charm and I thought it would be nice for your charm bracelet. I hope you don’t mind.”
She thought it beautiful, a gold wishbone set with a pearl. She loved it even more when he told her why he bought it.
“I was thinking of all your dreams for Ludlow; the wishbone says may your wishes come true.”
She knew then she had a friend in Michael, a friend who never asked her why she had not put the wishbone on the charm bracelet her husband had bought her only weeks before.
Neither did Michael ask if Arnold ever knew of the wishbone charm she cherished so much that she kept it apart, not including it among the garish charms Arnold insisted on bringing home every time he visited the United States.
Putting the charm back in the box, she decided to go to bed. Eve lay in the dark, listening. Rosdaniel was quiet, except for the dog three doors down, who barked continuously, guarding his patch. Arnold thought his debts would die with him and she would be left at Ludlow. The stupid man: how was he to know a court would decide otherwise, that she would be left a widow with the bank breathing down her neck for the millions still owing. If Michael had not stood by her, stood beside her in the Four Courts as a judge decided what was to become of Ludlow Hall, she would never have got through. Clenching her eyes shut, she pushed thoughts of Arnold and Ludlow Hall out of her mind. Instead, she counted backwards from one hundred, hoping sleep would soon take over.
6
Connie got up early, but did not go to Ludlow Hall. She sat inside the window of the attic bedroom, not able to see past the thick condensation clogging on the glass. Her phone was full of frantic texts from Amy, pleading with her to come home. What home did she have any more? There was no place in the States. And here, Ludlow was a big old house full of someone else’s history.
Loss streaked through her, making her bend over, the pain clouding her, seeping into her brain, consuming every part of her.
She reached for her phone and texted her sister.
I am fine. Please give me time.
As rapid as a bullet from the chamber, her sister fired back a text.
Won’t you even tell me where exactly you are?
I just need space. I am fine.
Amy, she knew, would overreact if she spoke too much the truth.
Would she tell her that even getting up each morning was difficult, that each day seemed interminable? That her loss was dragging her down at the heels, too huge to quantify? If this was the price of love, then she wanted not to have loved. It was grief tearing, pulling at her heart. She did not deserve it, but since when did only bad things happen to bad people? Two years had passed, the lost years when she could barely function, the years subsumed in a black fog.
Hearing a toilet flush and the whirr of a shower, she knew Hetty was up and about. Quickly, she snatched her jeans and jumper, pulling them on. She stepped into her shoes and grabbed her handbag.
Connie was halfway down the stairs when Hetty, wrapped in a purple fleece dressing gown, stepped out onto the landing.
“I am just about to do a nice full Irish breakfast for you.”
“I have to go out, I won’t be having breakfast. Thank you.”
“But you can’t start the day on nothing.”
Hetty Gorman dithered, worried that her guest did not want to eat in her house. Connie, sensing her disquiet, took the last three steps of the stairs before turning to look at Hetty.
“I am sorry, Mrs Gorman, it must be the excitement or something, but I am not feeling too well. I just need to get some fresh air.”
Hetty bristled, worrying if she should not have turned up the heat in the middle of the night.
“You know where I am if you feel hungry once the cold air has done its bit.”
Connie made for the door, smiling at the older woman, whose brow was furrowed, her eyes full of disappointment.
“I think I shall be at Ludlow, until much later.”
She drove to Ludlow Hall, parking under the expanse of an oak tree and halfway down the front driveway, so nobody could see her.
This house was all she had now, this place where nobody knew her, a comfort blanket against the good intentions of those who knew too much.
She strolled up the driveway, past the rhododendron, its leaves blotted with water from the heavy rain of the night before, past the old posts that had once held heavy iron gates across the avenue, and past the long swathes of paddock overgrown and uncut in three years, the high grass pounded down by the rain, making a thick cake of moss.
Skirting the corner, the dilapidated house, its best days long gone, made her gasp. The hoarding was down, and the windows looked like dull, shadowy forms of what they once were, reflecting an empty, lonely house. It was huge, a magnificent monstrosity in a small town. The building looked uncared for, as if it had been abandoned for more than four years.
Excitement bubbled up in her that she might be able to turn her life around here, but as quickly a hesitation sneaked through her, making her feel afraid. Spotting a bench in a clearing at the side of the avenue, she sat down, hidden among the trees.
A stone bird table, blotches of silver-grey moss in a garish pattern all over, stood tall in a maze of bindweed. The bowl was clogged with damp leaves, dark water edging to a scum.
Had Ed planned to move them here? She did not know. Molly would have loved this spot, sitting quietly, waiting for the birds to drop down to take nuts, grain and bread. For a fleeting moment, she felt the warmth of memories, soaring, then remembering the truth, crashing down, her heart bursting with pain.
Slumping over, all she could do was curl up in a ball on the seat and wait, like she had many times before, for the despondency to pass.
A robin flew down from the rhododendron branch to the bird table, perching on the rim, flicking at a fly trapped in the dank water. Cocking his head to one side, he watched Connie, scrunched small on the seat, before bobbing over her and flying away. A thrush hopped out of the undergrowth, snipping at the earth, but ducked back when Connie stirred.
She sat up, peeping through the foliage, straggles of daffodils wafting on the light breeze ruffling the land in front of the house. The birdsong lifted high in the sky, flooding her with memories of that day.
The same crisp air, the flowers dipping their heads as she walked past them to the car that morning. Connie, her hair still damp, pulled her jacket around her, the cool nip in the air making her shiver. Mr Singh, out early, waved to her and she smiled.
Connie threw her kit bag on the passenger’s seat and got into the car, her steel travel cup steaming on the dashboard beside her, a tiny sticky-note drawing Molly had made the night before half falling off, curling at the corners in the heat.
; “Love you Mommy,” scrawled in two different coloured markers, two pink glittery hearts stuck at one corner.
She must remember to drop into the mall and get some more glitter glue and puffy stickers to surprise her later. When she kissed her goodbye, Molly had not stirred, and when she had stuffed Cuddly Cat under the warm glow of the duvet, Molly hooked her arm contentedly around its neck, pushing deeper into her pink pillow. She heard Ed shifting around upstairs, but she continued out the door, calling goodbye softly as she went.
Connie had the car in reverse and was eyeing the mirrors to get out of the driveway when she realised she had forgotten her dance schedule for the day. Unwilling to go through the rigmarole of tiptoeing through the house, she shrugged her shoulders. She had most of the dance classes highlighted on her phone.
She drove around the long way, wanting to see the sunlight salsa across the sea, a chorus of gold surfing across the water. At one point she stopped the car and wound down the window, pulling in the fresh air, making her cheeks bristle with the chill of the bright morning. Hearing the sound of the water dragging the pebbles, she closed her eyes, letting herself drift into a half snooze.
When she got to the centre for her first lesson of the day, only three of her ten students were there. “So dancing in the morning is losing its lustre,” she joked.
“Traffic is backed up, some accident,” one man said as he entered the room, slightly out of breath.
“Let’s warm up,” she said, not noticing two men in suits with the building administrator loitering in the doorway.
The administrator nervously pointed at her. The dance students hung back. Sensing a shuffling behind her, she turned around. Startled, one of the men let his head flop down, pushing one of his hands in his pocket. The other man took a step forward.
“Connie Carter?”
The tone of his voice was urgent. Cold seeped up through the soles of her feet. She noticed that none of her students were warming up. One of them clicked the music off. The taller of the two men asked if they could go somewhere private. She nodded and led the way, her joints aching, her walk rigid, her brain flashing out danger signals.
The Ludlow Ladies Society Page 5