“Talking about mothers, though. I’ve a favor to ask.”
“Go on.”
He began assembling the dessert. He spread the creamy cheese and custard mixture atop the ladyfingers in the dish. He smoothed on the vanilla cream, sprinkled on the cocoa, and did the same again, adding another layer. He scattered the shaved, dark chocolate in an artful pattern. “Here, will you slide this into the fridge?”
“Is that the favor?”
“No.” He took his time before talking on. “I wonder if you might leave some space between yourself and my mother. Just while this all blows over with His Lordship, you see.” He checked to see if I was with him. I felt like I’d been slapped. Concentrating on my poker face, I nodded encouragement. “Since my Da passed, my mother’s kept herself content with the land here, and of course, the church. She’s a routine. All this with Tony might just serve to confuse her. There’s something about you that’s…confusing. Ah, shite. That came out the wrong way. You’re a nice girl. In fact,” he looked me in the eye, “I’d say you’re a very nice girl. It’s just that you’re different. If I can’t make heads nor tails of you,” he laughed, and twiddled his espresso cup around on its tiny saucer, “what chance does Mam have? She’s better off carrying on the way she has been.”
I put my cup down. “I see what you’re saying.” I nodded agreeably. “I’m a bad influence.”
“Hold on, now, that’s not what I meant. At least, that’s too strong a phrase. It’s just that you’re very different to what she’s used to. She’s led a fairly sheltered life. Are you following me?”
“Yes,” I said, my voice sounding hollow in my ears. “I hear what you’re saying. You want me to stay away from Maeve.”
He looked relieved. “You’re ace.” He smiled. “Listen, why don’t you leave the clearing up to me? I promised you a cooking lesson, not a housekeeping lesson.” He hummed a pleasant tune in his toffee-rich voice as he carried the cups to the sink. A letdown registered in my body. He was happy this was over with. He’d fulfilled his duty and protected his mother from my vicious ways.
“Great!” I said, straining my lips into a smile. “I was hoping to go hang out in the back of Uncle Jack’s anyway. A couple of the boys have promised to buy me drinks.”
“Like who?” He asked, rinsing the cups at the sink. He didn’t turn around.
“Oh, you know,” I lied. “Different ones.”
“You mean like George from the stables?”
“Maybe. I’m just going to go use the ladies’ before I head out.”
“Help yourself.”
I climbed the stairs and headed to the same bathroom I’d used before. I took the soap out of my pocket and washed my hands with it. This time, I threw the paper in the wastebasket and set the soap in the dish. I didn’t care if Tom’s parade of women found the place in pristine condition or not.
In the hallway downstairs, I stepped into my wellies. Tom had dimmed all the lights and lit a fire in the sitting room. There was soft music playing in the background. The scene could not have been more romantic. He clearly knew what he was doing. I peeked around the corner as he lit a pillar candle on the coffee table. The soft light shone on his face, illuminating his dark golden hair like the corona of an angel from a painting in an Italian cathedral. He looked perfect. He wanted things to be perfect. He was that kind of man.
But I wasn’t that kind of girl.
I slipped out the door and pushed it shut quietly.
Back in my cell, I stripped down to my camisole and tap pants. It was far warmer than I would have imagined. I didn’t think I could face the jolly drinking crowd at the worker’s pub. Pulling out my journal, I settled on the bed.
Dear Maggie, I think my time at Castle Stone is coming to a close. There’s no point in my playing Irish farm hand anymore. I’ve got more than half the recipes I need. I’ll bet if I ask Mary and Brigid for help, they can help me get the rest, fast. I might be done here.
Up until now, I’ve just kind of been coasting and taking things as they came. Everything was working out fine. Today, I feel itchy. And oh! I have to call Hank and explain where the hell I am. I left two vague messages on his voicemail. Who knows if he sees Brenda or not? She might have spilled the beans. If I don’t lock this deal down, Hank’s going to think I’m an idiot. The way I feel tonight, I’d say he wouldn’t be wrong. Did you say those sisters are in our place until the end of summer? I’ll bet you can’t wait for summer to kick in. One of the American guests here told me winter’s marching right into spring in New York. Still, I think I’d rather suffer the cold chill of a wet Manhattan night than Tom O’Grady’s brush-off.
I wasn’t going to go into it, but he made me feel like a pile of crap tonight. He promised me this cooking lesson, see? And I kind of thought… Ugh, I can’t write these words down and look at them. OK, here goes. You are my best friend. I kind of thought that he was looking for a chance to be alone with me. I’m so embarrassed. He was in my room the other night (don’t get excited) and I convinced myself that he thought about kissing me. God, I’m an idiot. I was seeing what I wanted to see, because our little lesson couldn’t have been a chillier transaction. And the worst part is this: the whole thing was a dinner for this couple that are wildly in love, who have this miracle baby, and are rolling in marital bliss. And Tom really respects the woman. I got the sense that he liked that she was pure, or whatever. But then, THEN! I overheard him talking and I think the whole thing was originally a set-up for him to wine/dine/slam-bam-thank-you-ma’am some tramp who stood him up. He told me to clam up about his little love nest, too. All I can say is that I hope he changes his own sheets and doesn’t make the poor housekeepers do it!
As if that’s not bad enough, he basically told me to break up with his mother! Apparently, I’m a bad influence and she’s a senile old lady who can’t protect herself from me or the filthy ways of The Right Honorable Anthony Stone, Earl of Wexford. As if Tony would do a thing to harm a hair on her head. You’d think Tom would want his mother to find love again. To hell with Irish traditions, or the Catholic Widow’s Handbook, or whatever. I just know Tony likes her, in that way. I know I’ve watched a few too many Emma Thompson movies, but don’t the quiet ones deserve love, too? God I hope so. I’m sorry, Mags, I know this is so stupid, but I want someone to light a fire and lay a table for me. Hank would tell me I’m thinking like a girl, and life isn’t a movie, but I’d bet money on Tony and Maeve (if I had any!). I don’t know what else to say. I’m just going to do as many shifts in the kitchen as I can and get this stinking book done so I can leave as soon as possible.
Hmm. That’s weird. Seeing the word “leave” written on the page is making me feel kind of sad. I don’t know…maybe after I go home and get the book done, I’ll come back. Not HERE of course, but to Ireland. I feel like I’ve read about vacations where you can live and work on a farm. Is that crazy? Probably. I’m pretty sleepy, I’ll write again tomorrow when I can make more sense. Love, Shay xx
Clank. I raised my head and looked around sleepily. The sun had set and the only light in the room was coming from the cracked door of my little water closet. Kunk. Something was smashing into the window and wall outside my room. I leaped up and fled into the bathroom, closing the door behind me. Thunk, tinkle, tinkle! Oh dear lord, someone broke my window. Should I scream? Oprah and Ellen and all those other daytime talk-show hosts always said blow a whistle or scream. I don’t have a whistle! I took my toothbrush and banged it frantically against the tap, watching the door for help. It barely made a noise. I tried to scream, but my throat was closed.
“Shayla!” a man screamed in a whispery voice. “Shayla, it’s me, Des.”
I cracked the bathroom door, listening hard.
“Shayla,” he outright screamed. I ran to the window and opened it. Squinting, I made out Des’s figure in the shrubs around the side of the building.
“Shut up!” I hissed. “Stay there. I’ll be right out.” I pulled my bathrobe off the h
ook on the door, and wrapped it around myself as I ran down the women’s hall toward the entrance. He was there before I was and he pushed in.
“Shayla, I’m so glad to see you.” He pulled me to him and growled in the back of his throat. “Oh, Shayla,” he said. “Shayla.”
“Would you shut up?” He smelled like a beermat the day after a party. “Let go of me.”
“Shayla, don’t treat me that way. You’ll break my heart,” he wailed.
I wriggled away from him and shoved him down the hallway. “Get in there,” I said, when we got to my door. I pushed him into my desk chair with a hard landing. “And stop calling me Shayla. I’m Sheila here, get it?”
“You’re in a strop! Feisty, I like this side of you,” he said, standing up and swaying toward me. He caught me around the shoulders, and knocked me off my center of gravity. We fell onto the bed, and cracked my brow bone on the hard, metal frame.
“Fucking fuck!” I whispered.
“You are filthy, I love it” Des said, trying to kiss me. He was too drunk to realize he’d hurt me. With my hand to my eye, I slid out from under his weight and found my feet.
“What in the hell are you doing here? You’re drunk.”
“Ossified, I’ll admit it. But I missed you, Shayla. I thought maybe you’d have a pint with me, talk about old times.” He struggled to pronounce each word.
“Let me guess. Ashleigh sent you packing because she found out you’re a cheating dog?”
“Ah, Shayla, let’s not talk about her when we’ve so much catching up to do.” He grabbed for the belt of my bathrobe and pulled it like a ripcord.
“Sheila?” A man’s voice. There was a knocking at my door. “All right in there?”
“Who’s Sheila?” Des demanded.
“Shut up!” I mouthed at Des. I rushed to the door, and opened it. Tom O’Grady stared openmouthed. My robe was flapping open, and hanging off of one shoulder. Beneath my thin white camisole my nipples stood at full attention and below I had on short, ruffled tap pants, cut up to my crotch. Another gift from Maggie, who, you have to hand it to her, knows a thing or two about this stuff. I wrapped myself up and held my robe closed with my hand. Tom strained his neck to look into the room behind me. Shit. Given Des’s philosophy on cheating, you’d think he’d be smart enough to hide in the bathroom.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend, Shay…?” Des began but I cut him off, screaming, “Seamus!” I laughed like a carnival clown. “No, Des, this isn’t Seamus, this is my boss.” I grabbed the tie to my robe from Des’s hands and firmly tied it around my waist. “Please be QUIET while I step out into the hall with…my boss.” I wedged my body through the door, backing Tom up as I went. Safely outside, I closed it, holding onto the doorknob lest Des get any big ideas about joining us.
“What can I do for you?”
“I brought you your cardigan. Here,” he said, holding it out to me. “I thought about leaving it with one of the others, but I saw that your window was broken. Thought you might need checking on.” He frowned. “What happened to your eye?”
“Oh, just…walked into the door.” The minute I said it, I wanted to take it back. Between that and the broken window, he’d think Des had hit me. “I’m fine, really.”
“Shayla?” I heard Des call.
“Who’s Shayla?” Tom asked. His fists were clenched and he was looking past me, as if he could see through the door. I had to get him out of there. Des was drunk enough to spill the beans about who I was and why I was there.
“No one, he has a weird accent, that’s all. His mom’s Irish, but his dad is from…uh…Iceland.”
“Did he break the window?”
“No! No, that was a finch.” He looked skeptical. “Or a larch, lark! Some bird, some Irish bird, flew right into it. Crazy! I’ll tell maintenance in the morning. So, thanks for the sweater and for all the fun today. I’d love to do it again.” I was trying to wrap things up because I could feel the doorknob twisting in my hand. Des was trying to come out and join us.
“After the Irish goodbye you gave me, I thought maybe I’d upset you.”
“Irish goodbye?”
“You did a runner.” He rubbed his stubbled jaw. “I must’ve upset you.”
“What?” I was keenly aware of Des fiddling with the doorknob. He’d obviously locked himself in and it was a matter of time before he got out. “Nothing you say could upset me.” I was holding the knob firm. “I mean, what difference does it make? Like me, don’t like me, I’m just the kitchen help.”
His face went dark. “Right. Guess I was overthinking it. Didn’t want to offend.”
“Not possible!” At this point, Des and I were actively wrestling with the door.
“Good to hear,” Tom said, heading for the exit door. “What I say should hold no store with you outside of the kitchen. You’re a big girl, after all.”
Des’s arm popped out the crack in the door and snaked around my belly. Tom winced.
“Enjoy your evening,” he said, letting the door slam behind him.
Chapter Seventeen
If you don’t know the way, walk slowly.
I stretched out my aching neck and bent over as Des wound down his car window. Sleeping on a thin blanket on the hard floor of my cell hadn’t been a picnic. I was as sore as I was sleepy.
“Sorry about being an arsehole, Shayla.” A few birds twittered in the early morning breeze. It was still early enough to be cool out. I pulled my sweater tighter around my shoulders. Des had insisted that I didn’t need to walk him out, but I wasn’t doing it to be cordial. I wanted to make sure he drove off the grounds and away from Castle Stone. As welcome as the night we’d had together in Wexford had been at the time, it had served its purpose. Temptation hadn’t turned my head one bit. Of course, knowing what I do now, I would never betray Ashleigh. But there was more to it than that. There was no denying that I had a craving for sex. It was spring. There wasn’t a creature in Ireland, including me, that didn’t feel the buzz in the air. Des just wasn’t on the menu. It was like wanting spicy tomato pizza and being offered a dish of vanilla ice cream. Ice cream’s good, but it won’t do the trick.
“Water under the bridge. Are you sure you’re sober enough to drive?” He looked worse for the wear. As much as I didn’t want him here ratting me out, I wanted him to be safe.
“Fine. Slept it off last night. I’ll stop on the way out of the village for a strong cuppa to set me straight.” He reached out and looped his arm around my neck. He pulled me in for a kiss. I turned my head in the nick of time and got a wet one on the cheek.
“Goodbye, Des.” I stood up, massaging my cramping neck. Two spots down in the car park, Tom was lifting a wooden crate of carrots from his boot. I caught his eye, but he looked away. Balancing the crate on his knee, he slammed the boot shut and strode off toward the kitchen. After waving Des off, I stood in the dewy chill for a minute or two, giving Tom a head start.
I took a shortcut through the field on my way to the chicken coop, grateful that Mary had switched my duties from the kitchen to the yards. Behind me, I heard a horse trotting, then slowing to a walk. I turned to see Tony in the seat.
“Sheila,” he called. “Good morning.” He steered Pansy, one of the gentler horses, toward me. I reached up to stroke her velvety nose. “Won’t you join me for breakfast? I’ve been up since before dawn and I don’t know what to do with myself.”
“Sorry, Tony, I’m on my way to do chores.”
“Damndest thing, I’ve been falling asleep in front of the telly in my room after dinner.” He looked out across the horizon. “After such early bedtimes, I’m up with the sparrow.”
“Why not join the guests in the drawing room? Weren’t there dance lessons last night in the ballroom?”
He shrugged. “I’ve no taste for strangers.” We both turned our heads as a black and white streak appeared out of the periphery and made its way toward us. Stopping on a dime, Nap circled the Earl, the horse and m
e, panting eagerly.
“Shoo! Go home where you belong, you daft canine.”
Nap sat down, still as a statue, with his eye on Tony.
“I mean what I say. Go on!” Nap didn’t move a muscle. “Why must I be expected to behave properly when no soul nor beast around me does the same? If not breakfast, Sheila, how about dinner tonight?”
“I wish I could. I’m heading to Dublin after lunch for a business thing.”
“Ah, are you looking for a job? Have you made a connection from your work experience?”
I bit my lip. “No, it’s not like that. It’s actually Castle Stone business.”
“Tom didn’t mention anything to me.”
I realized I’d put my foot in it. Backpedaling, I said, “When I say business, I don’t really mean business. More pleasure. Tom and I are going to see a little of the city,” I riffed, “have a bite to eat. It’s nothing. We’ll be back in the morning.”
“You’re stopping there overnight? With Tom?”
“In separate rooms.”
“Of course,” he said. “Tom wouldn’t stand for the appearance of impropriety, would he? If you’ll excuse us, Pansy has a date with a bag of oats. Enjoy your day.” He guided his horse back to the path and Nap followed along at a distance, dropping to the ground and freezing every time Tony looked back.
Later, with my wire baskets filled with eggs, I started out toward the kitchen. I looked up and saw Maeve O’Grady headed in my direction, with Mary at her side. We exchanged greetings and talked about the weather, as you do every day in Ireland. After a chat regarding the health and temperament of a few of the favorite hens, I excused myself.
“I’m headed up to the castle,” Mary said, “let me carry them eggs for you. No sense wasting a trip.”
“Great, I’ll just see if they need anything at the stables,” I said, eager to part ways with Maeve before Tom came out and spanked me for talking to her.
“Nonsense,” Maeve said. “We’re at full capacity up at the castle. An army of guests are doing lessons and trail rides this morning. There’s not a horse in the barn. Come with me and have a bite to eat and a cup of tea.”
Summer at Castle Stone Page 22