The House On Willow Street

by Cathy Kelly

  Sherry laughed at this. “You are so funny, Rhona,” she said. “You’re adorable.”

  Rhona beamed and waggled a finger on her right hand on which sat a beautiful cabochon diamond. “I know,” she said. “Rico thinks so too. Isn’t this lovely? It was our third anniversary last week—our third. I said to him, ‘Isn’t that tin or cotton or something?’ And he said, “No, honey, for you it’s gotta be diamonds!’”

  Sherry thought of all this as she looked at Cashel Reilly. He really was the whole package. Tall, lean, muscular, none of that belly fat that some businessmen got from endless airplane journeys knocking back whiskies to help them relax, and endless rich dinners in fancy restaurants. Cashel was lean and sexy. She liked the dark hair flecked with gray and the dark eyes that were smiling at her now. She could imagine the fierce passion in them. Yes, she liked him very much, thank you.

  21

  Mara loved Christmas morning, loved the crisp coolness, the sense of celebration. She lay in her bed and listened to the sounds of the cottage, the sounds she’d got used to. It was a windy morning and cold, even indoors she could feel the coldness, and yet she was snug in her bed in the little bedroom with its pretty blue floral wallpaper. In a jug by her bed was a posy of Christmas roses; Danae had put them there the night before, along with some sprigs of holly. There were a few with the berries on.

  “I love them with the berries,” Mara had said wistfully.

  “I do too,” said Danae, “but the birds need them more than we do.”

  “Oh, of course,” said Mara, realizing she’d been thoughtless. Feeding the birds was not something she’d ever done before, but here with Danae, making special bird cake from old cooking fat, seeds and nuts was part of everyday living. Danae cared for every creature who came near her, from her beloved hens to her darling Lady and every robin in between. She’d come back from her walks with Lady and tell Mara about the wildlife she’d seen. So much so that Mara started getting up extra early to go with her and experience for herself the scent of wet grass in the morning, admire the beauty of the ivy clustering over the old abbey, touch the gnarled boughs of the old willows and magnolia trees in the grounds of Avalon House and stare down at the beauty that was Avalon Bay.

  “It really is amazing here,” she’d said to Danae as they stood watching the sunrise together one morning.

  “I know,” Danae agreed, “it’s peaceful and beautiful. This high up, I feel as if we’re almost a part of nature and yet close to people too.”

  There had been a time when Mara had wondered whether part of the charm of this beautiful house high above Avalon was its distance from people. But Danae had changed of late, and today, Christmas, was proof of that. There was so much to be done today!

  Every bit as excited as she used to be when she was a child waiting for Santa Claus, Mara bounded out of bed, ran into the shower room and turned the heater on. The central heating was timed to come on early, but probably not yet, and Mara was anxious to get up and have her shower, dress in her Christmas best and then serve Danae tea in bed and watch her open her present.

  Mara was particularly excited about the present. She’d spent so long wondering what to get for Danae, who was probably the least material person she knew. It had been Rafe who’d come up with the idea.

  “There’s a guy I know, lives about fifty miles from here, and he makes animal sculptures out of wood. They’re works of art,” he said, “really beautiful and each one’s unique. What about something like that?”

  “Oh, what a wonderful idea,” Mara had exclaimed and kissed him. He was very easy to kiss, was Rafe. She was never careful with him, not the way she had been with Jack. With Jack she’d never acted without first trying to gauge what was the right thing to do, whether he was in the mood to be kissed or touched, or if he’d shrug off her embrace, irritated by it. With Rafe, she could spontaneously throw her arms around him and hug him and he’d hug right back, delighted. It wasn’t that he was a less complex character than Jack—far from it. Rafe Berlin was very complex, but he was straightforward and honest in his love for her.

  They’d driven down together in Rafe’s truck to see the wood sculpture.

  “I’m not taking you on the back of a bike yet,” he said. “I don’t think you’re ready for it.”

  “What do you mean? I love excitement, I love thrills,” Mara had said crossly.

  “Yeah, well, I need to be sure,” said Rafe, “because you’re too precious for me to risk you on the back of a bike until I’m certain.”

  So far they’d only been on short journeys around the village with Rafe going at what seemed like ten miles an hour.

  “You all right, you all right?” he kept yelling over his shoulder.

  “I’m fine,” Mara had screamed through the visor of her helmet. “I’m not some little old lady, you know.”

  “Oh, I know,” he’d growled, his voice lower.

  Tom, the sculptor, had turned out to be a tall, intense man in his sixties with a shock of white hair and brown skin from many hours spent outdoors. When it was sunny, he preferred to move his lathe and tools to the yard at the back of his studio and work in the open air.

  “It’s only right to take the wood outside,” he said gravely.

  He used a variety of woods: ash, willow, blackthorn, and beautiful driftwood he found on the beaches. He was a silent man, yet calming to be around. He reminded Mara of her aunt. Danae had a similar quiet serenity about her nowadays.

  There was a carving of a wolf on a rock and Mara knew instantly that was the one.

  “My aunt would love that,” she said. “Her dog, Lady, is very wolflike. I don’t know what breed she is, but she looks exactly like this. Danae loves nature, she goes for long walks in the woods where she lives, and Lady is always by her side,” Mara went on. There was something about Tom that made her think he wouldn’t let his pieces go to anyone.

  “Tell her she can bring it back if it doesn’t move her, doesn’t touch her,” he said slowly. “I hate to think of an animal I’ve made sitting in a place where it’s not loved.”

  “She’ll love it,” Mara assured him. “I guarantee, she’ll love it.”

  She ran her hands down the silky smooth body of the wolf, marveling at the dexterity of the work that had breathed life into this magical creature. “I think she’d love to see your studio, actually,” Mara added.

  “Anytime,” he’d said. “Anytime.”

  Having finished her shower, Mara went down to the kitchen and let Lady out into the garden to do her business. Having stoked up the range with fresh wood, she boiled the kettle, made a strong coffee for herself and a tea for Danae. Then she turned the radio on and found a station playing soft Christmas music. The kitchen and the small living room looked so beautiful it brought a lump to her throat.

  They’d spent ages putting up the decorations. Danae hadn’t liked the idea of a Christmas tree: “I hate plants that are killed for our amusement,” she’d said. “No, I want a live one, then it can go into the garden when Christmas is over.” So their Christmas tree was a small one in a planter box. It stood in a corner of the living room, festooned with beautiful red and white decorations and tiny baubles that Mara had had great fun buying in Avalon. There was holly and ivy decorating the top of each window, candles everywhere.

  And yet there was so much to be done. The food had to be prepared and the table laid so everything would be perfect when their guests started to arrive. Time to get Danae up.

  Mara, holding the tea and coffee on a tray, knocked gently on Danae’s door.

  “I’m awake,” her aunt said. “I heard you moving about and I was thinking I might stretch my creaking bones and come out and join you.”

  “Well, you don’t have to stretch your creaking bones yet awhile,” said Mara. “I’ve brought you tea in bed.”

  “Thank you,” Danae said, opening the door for her. “I’m getting to love this tea-in-bed thing.”

  “You deserve it. Now here’s your
present,” said Mara, picking it up from outside the bedroom door, bringing it in and placing it carefully on Danae’s bed. “Hold on a minute, I’ve got to nip downstairs and let Lady in.”

  The dog bounded up the stairs and leaped onto Danae’s bed and made herself comfortable. Danae ripped open the paper.

  Mara looked on anxiously, hoped she’d like the wolf carving. She must. She stopped watching the ripping and instead concentrated on Danae’s lovely face, its warmth and its gentleness. There had been nobody to bring her tea in bed until Mara came along—how terribly sad and what a waste, Mara thought. Danae should have someone in her life, someone she loved, who slept in this bed beside her and took care of her. Perhaps it wasn’t too late. Perhaps she’d find someone who deserved her.

  “Oh, it’s beautiful,” Danae breathed, finally extricating the sculpture from its wrapping. Eyes wide, she ran her fingers over every inch of it, gently exploring. “I love it. Thank you, Mara, thank you.” And Mara found herself thinking again that it had probably been years since anyone had brought her aunt a Christmas present in bed on Christmas morning.

  Mr. Dineen was the first guest to arrive. Mara opened the front door and he stared at her, blinking myopically behind thick glasses.

  “You must be Mr. Dineen,” said Mara warmly.

  “Oh, yes, er, call me Denis,” he stammered. “And you are . . . ?”

  “Mara—Danae’s niece. Please, come in, make yourself at home.”

  She led him into the beautifully decorated room and took his coat from him. In return, he handed her a huge gift bag that appeared to be stuffed to the brim with goodies.

  “I didn’t know what to bring,” he said. “I haven’t, well, that is to say . . . Doris would have always taken care of the gift side of things and I didn’t know what to bring or what your aunt would like because Mrs. Rahill and I don’t really—”

  “Danae,” interrupted Mara. “Do call her Danae.”

  She sat him down in a comfortable chair and said, “You are so kind, Denis, you’ve brought a veritable feast.”

  There was a bottle of wine that even Mara, who knew little about fine wine, recognized as being something murderously expensive. There were handmade chocolates, French cheese crackers and a big scented candle.

  “For the center of the table, I thought,” said Denis nervously. “But I see you don’t need that, it all looks so beautiful.”

  And it was. Danae had turned the large dining table into something resembling a bower of nature with garlands of ivy and holly, tiny sprigs of dried lavender and her Christmas roses in a selection of decorative bowls around the table.

  “A candle is exactly what we need to put in the middle,” Mara said gravely. “Now, what can I get you to drink? Do you drink? Would you like to start with a cup of tea? Some water, some wine?”

  “Oh, tea would be lovely,” Denis said.

  Next up were Father Liam and Father Olumbuko.

  Father Liam looked slightly frenzied from having to do two Masses, one in the church in Avalon and another in the parish fifteen miles up the road. But Father Olumbuko, who had taken midnight Mass and another Mass that morning in a different parish, was a picture of serenity.

  “I brought this,” he said, handing Mara a big bowl covered in tinfoil. “It’s a vegetable dish cooked the way my mother used to. It’s okra, my favorite vegetable,” he said. “I thought it would be nice to bring a bit of home with me.”

  “That’s wonderful,” said Mara admiringly.

  “I was going to bring wine,” fussed Father Liam, “but I didn’t know if I should. I don’t think Danae drinks, does she?”

  “No,” said Mara, “she does not.”

  “Oh good,” said Father Liam, as happy as if he’d scored a try in the rugby World Cup. He produced a carrier bag. “Elderberry cordial, my own, two bottles.”

  “Fabulous!” said Mara, taking the two slightly cloudy and very dodgy-looking bottles out of the bag. Last year’s elderberry cordial, she thought, and put them away. “You are absolute angels.”

  “Is there anything I can do?” said Father Olumbuko.

  “Not at all, Father, you go and sit down.”

  “Please, call me Edgar,” he said to Mara. “I like to help in the kitchen.”

  Father Liam had already beetled off and was sitting down beside Denis.

  At that moment Danae came in from settling the hens. The wind had decided it was a day for frenzied gales, so she’d locked her darlings in their henhouse, after scattering some special feed for Christmas Day in their indoor feeder.

  “Edgar, Father Liam, Denis, how wonderful to see you all,” she said, and she hugged them all. “What a lovely day we’re going to have!” And the marvelous thing was, she absolutely believed that. She’d never thrown a Christmas party before, but today was going to be glorious. With Mara by her side, she could do anything.

  “Edgar was offering to help in the kitchen,” said Mara.

  “Oh, Edgar, there’s nothing like a man’s touch in the kitchen,” said Danae. “Come on in here, let’s get you fitted up with an apron and see what you can do.”

  Belle dropped in for a very quick Christmas drink. She was wearing her Christmas hotel-owner uniform of a black velvet skirt suit with a fur trim around the collar and a vast diamond spider brooch on one bosom.

  “I’m trying to figure out if those two things are real,” Danae whispered to her. “The fur and the brooch.”

  “The fur,” said Belle, “is fake. But the diamonds are real.”

  “Oh my!” said Danae, laughing.

  “Yes,” said Belle, “darling Harold was very generous.”

  She hugged Danae and Mara, and shook hands with the other guests.

  “How are things down in the hotel?” asked Father Liam, who was terrified of Belle and desperately trying not to show it. She was so very capable and looked at him as if she could run Avalon parish and all the outlying parishes with no bother at all. For this very reason, Father Liam often thought it a pity that women weren’t admitted into the priesthood. Someone like Belle could do it all with one hand tied behind her back, whereas Father Liam had to rely rather too much on his beta-blocker tablets.

  “Oh, you know, down at the hotel it’s the usual,” said Belle, sitting down, “wild chaos and total panic. It’s better for me to leave them for a while, otherwise I’d end up killing the staff. A tea would be lovely, Mara darling. I’d better not have a drink until later—I have to keep my wits about me. As I was saying, Father Liam, it’s all going swimmingly, really. We’re fully booked and they’ll be moving on to lunch soon—if Chef gets over his panic attack—and I really have to be back in time for that. Then it’s on to the games. Mind you, after last year’s charades, I’m not sure I’m into games. There was mutiny when The Unbearable Lightness of Being came up twice.”

  “We’re going to be having games here later,” said Danae. “Tess Power is coming up with her children, and you have to have games when there’s children.”

  “Well,” said Mara, “I don’t know if you can officially describe Zach Power as a child, given that he’s seventeen. Besides, I’m putting Zach in charge of the music.”

  “Ooh well, I’ll have to come up for that,” said Belle delightedly. “It all gets a bit mad in the hotel in the evening. People can get quite sozzled and start sobbing about their problems. And for some reason they come to me looking for help. I think I’ll take a break from it this year and come up here instead—then I can tell you all my problems!” She beamed at Father Liam and Denis, who both looked horrified at the prospect.

  Danae stifled a grin. Belle really was one of a kind.

  When Tess arrived, Mara and Danae insisted she sit down right away and not do a thing in the kitchen. Tess looked pale and tired, as if she hadn’t been sleeping. The bones were a little too obvious in her beautiful face. Her mother-in-law, Helen, was nearly as pale; she sat down on the couch and dithered about what to drink, before saying that a small gin and tonic would be
nice, if they had such a thing.

  “Make it a big one,” whispered Belle. “She looks a bit shell-shocked by the recent turn of events. A nice whack of gin will help her forget it all. Not that drink is the answer to all evils, but Helen’s not the sort to turn to the bottle. I’ve known her for years. She’s more of a one-sherry-a-week type—and believe me, working in the hotel trade, I know the difference.”

  Mara instructed Zach to put on some cheery Christmas tunes, and with Denis’s help she began to open up the Monopoly board on the coffee table. Kitty looked sad as she saw it being set up.

  “It won’t be the same,” she said. “Daddy’s with Claire and we’re not going to see him until this evening.”

  “But he came over this morning, didn’t he?” said Mara cheerfully, knowing the plans that had been laid painstakingly the week before.

  “He did, but he didn’t bring Claire with him. Do you think Claire doesn’t like us?” Kitty said.

  Zach took her hand: “Now then, Kittykins, we’ve talked about it before. Claire needs her mum and dad this Christmas, like Mum told you. But next year, think of the fun we’ll have with the baby.”

  “Babies love Christmas,” agreed Mara. “You’ll have to get the baby a Santa suit.”

  “I suggested a reindeer suit,” said Tess, thrilled that other people were joining in. She’d been having this discussion with Kitty all day and was beginning to despair.

  “What about Silkie,” said Mara, gesturing to the fire where Silkie was stretched out luxuriously, nose to nose with Lady. “She needs a reindeer suit too! In fact, I want one as well!”

  “Me too,” said Father Edgar.

  Kitty looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Priests have to wear special clothes,” she said. “They can’t wear reindeer costumes.”