“’Tis, but back in the day, they called it ‘The Insult Room.’ If you were invited here to a function, and these were your assigned sleeping quarters, you’d have done well to check your copy book for blots.” Tom picked up the phone and called down for ice, a bottle of whiskey and ‘some snacks.’ I couldn’t wait to see what would be sent up. After my long stint in the dorm with warm UHT boxes of milk and the odd packet of crackers, I had to admit I welcomed the service Tom commanded.
“Come here and kiss me.” Obediently, I tilted my head up to meet Tom’s lips. “I haven’t tasted whiskey since, well, for a while.”
“You mean since Tabitha?” I decided to call a spade a spade. I looked forward to when all secrets would be stripped away. I took his hand and led him to the bed.
“Yeah, that’s what I mean. After I found out about the baby and all, I was only too happy to come back here. People made me out to be a hero for helping Tony, but I wanted a change. As I said, drink became my companion for a time there.” I knit my brows. “Don’t worry, though. As I said, there’s a world of difference between drinking to celebrate and drinking to forget. I didn’t miss it when I was teetotal. Now, I view it like I would sweets. Makes life nicer, but I could do without it.” We sat quietly, Tom twisting the rings on my right hand. A small emerald-cut diamond in a white-gold setting, flanked by a thin, plain band. My mom’s wedding set.
“Her real name wasn’t Tabitha. It was Susan. She changed it to sound more glamorous when she started getting breaks in show business. I only found out when we were at the bank to sign papers for the house.”
I felt sick. “I need to tell you the truth, Tom.” After we’d made love the first time, I vowed I’d put my skates on and finish the book fast. Then, I could drop the whole thing in his lap to accept or reject. Keeping secrets cost me too much. “My mother is from Rhinebeck, upstate. I’m from New York City.”
He let go of my hand. “So then, all that talk with Burton wasn’t a pack of lies?”
I shook my head.
“So you told him the truth. Why’d you lie to me?”
“I thought you wouldn’t like me otherwise.” I gulped air in through shallow breaths. If this went well, I’d do my best to tell the truth about everything. Just as soon as I could.
He cupped my face in his strong palm. “I like you plenty.” He pressed his lips to mine and kissed me gently. “Now tell me the truth about something. Do you like me?”
I looked into his clear blue eyes. I trembled. “Truth?”
“Truth.”
I considered letting my mouth form the words. I love you, I imagined saying. I couldn’t speak. He took my face in both of his hands and looked at me hard. I flinched, fearing a lecture on how girls never leave well enough alone, or how having sex didn’t make us a couple. I’d heard it all before, from a variety of men.
“I like you, too.”
“That works out well, then,” he whispered instead, grazing his stubbled cheek against mine. A feeling of well-being overcame me, and warmth pumped through my blood. Peaceful didn’t describe my state, though. Yearning made me edgy. Every cell in my body was on high alert and each of my five senses functioned at full tilt. Despite the niggling fear at the top of my spine, I felt alive.
When room service knocked, I didn’t want to part lips with Tom for fear of breaking the spell. He rose to open the door and I moved to hide in the closet.
“Leave it,” Tom said. “I’m not bothered if people know.”
I sat down on the edge of the bed and watched my boyfriend arrange our midnight feast. When the boy left, Tom handed me a tumbler of whiskey and ice. Everything felt warm; the smoky, woody liquor, the early summer air, Tom’s breath and skin. I’d been cold for so long. He laid me back in his big soft bed and slowly and gently stripped me bare. I welcomed the weight of him. Later, as he moved inside me, he breathed, “I love you, I love you.” It was so nice to be warm.
I woke up with a start, wondering where I was. 5:40, the clock read. Tom lay on his side, his bare back rising and falling with his sleeping breath. I wrapped the sheet around myself and eased out of bed to pour myself a glass of water. As I drank, I gazed out the window in the pointy corner of the room. It was dusky out, with only the slightest hint that the sun would be rising soon. A couple walked arm in arm along the main path, one of the pair leaning on a cane. Only when they stopped beneath one of the gaslights did I make out that it was Tony and Maeve.
Quietly, I pulled my journal from my bag. I sat at the room’s antique desk and flicked on the little lamp. I held very still to see if Tom would continue sleeping. His breaths were deep and steady.
Dear Maggie,
I’m in love. And it’s not just me, he likes me, too. At least he told me that. I wish I could call you right now. I can’t even email you because I’m in his room. Tom’s room. Isn’t Tom the sexiest, most beautiful name you’ve ever heard in your life?
Mags, what if I scrapped this book? You could tell Brenda I’m not doing it, and I could just stay. Then I’d never have to tell Tom why I came here in the first place. I could just let him go on believing that I came here to learn food safety and animal husbandry. Would that work?
You’ve always given it to me straight, Mags, from telling me I was a crap actor when I was taking those improv classes to telling me to watch my back because Lizbeth didn’t like me (you were right) to telling me that sitting around waiting for Hank’s approval was keeping me infantilized (sorry we got in that big fight about that one. I’m so glad I didn’t move out in the end). I wish you were here in person. You’d see it all clearly.
In my dreams, you’d say, “He’s perfect, Shay. This is why you’ve never had a deep relationship. You had to wait for Tom.” Then, you’d tell me, “Your mom would have approved.”
I put down my pen. Tears swam in my eyes and I couldn’t see to write. I pictured Hank walking me down the aisle, Tom waiting at the end, expectant and smiling. I scanned the room for Mom, but she wasn’t there. Of course she wasn’t there. But Maeve was. In my fantasy, she wore a periwinkle and lavender flower-print dress and a hat adorned with tasteful feathers. Tony stood at her side. She smiled at me, waving, encouraging me to move forward, to keep walking. I felt my lips curl into a smile, and I let out a laugh. Clamping my lips together, I checked to see if I had awakened Tom. He stirred, but settled down.
In my dreams, you’d say, “Shayla Sheridan, that is the hottest piece of tail I’ve ever seen you with, so don’t let him get away.” Seriously, Mags, if you could see this man’s body, you would get down on your knees and thank God for the miracle. You know those ridges of muscle some men get right around their hip bones when they’re young, athletic, and fit? That!
OK, sorry to cut this short but the sun’s coming up soon and I have a hot naked man here in bed. Sorry to be rude, but what’s a best friend for if not to understand? I swear I’ll try to call you soon. I’ve pretty much stopped trying to make my cell phone work, but now I might be able to borrow my boyfriend’s! (Just to be clear: I have a boyfriend!)
More soon… Love Shay xx
I crawled back in to bed, turned Tom on his back and straddled him. For half a second I worried he’d wake up and tell me to find my socks and move on. Could someone so handsome, famous, talented, and self-assured really want someone like me? I had to wheedle to get a book deal, and it wasn’t even solid. I’d gotten fired from my job, and they’d only ever hired me in the first place because of Hank’s name. I looked down into Tom’s beautiful face. My heart pounded. Deep down, I knew I wasn’t lovable. On some level I thought it was my fault that my mother had died. If I were enough, maybe I could have convinced her to stay here on earth. My own father didn’t cherish me. I needed to get out of here.
Without opening his eyes, Tom grabbed my wrist and pulled me down on top of him. “Where do you think you’re off to? Lay down here, you. Now I have you, I’m not letting you go.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
You’ve got
to do your own growing, no matter how tall your father was.
The week had flown by since the first time I saw Tom’s room. I buzzed from lack of sleep. He and I were both back to work, only mine had largely shifted from the kitchen to front of house in The Grange Hall. I didn’t want to cash in on favors, but I asked Mary if she wouldn’t mind moving me. She did it cheerfully. It appeared my playing cupid had paid off, so she didn’t even bother asking me why. I was happy not to have to confess that the first day back in the kitchen after all the sex I’d been having with Tom, I’d cut myself, bled into a pot of potatoes and ruined a large batch of scones because I couldn’t count cups of flour.
Guests commented to the maître d’ about me. She’s so sunny and cheerful, they said. We love her American accent. She solved every problem we had cheerfully and made us feel like a guest in her home.
People from HPC would not have recognized me. It made me uncomfortable to think of how sour I’d been working at that office. I was really happy. I wanted everyone else to be happy, too. For once, I didn’t take it personally when this lady didn’t want to sit in a draft, or that gentleman needed more ice in his drink. It didn’t mean that those people felt they deserved more than everyone else. They just wanted what they wanted. Since I had what I wanted, it cost me nothing to help others get theirs.
Coming off the lunch shift, I made my way to the front desk. I really had to call Maggie.
“Sheila!” Tony called out. He sat reading a magazine, wearing his dressing gown, as ever. “Come over here and keep an old man company.” Catherine kept a keen eye on us as she typed, phone pinned against her shoulder. Damn. I had hoped she wouldn’t be on today.
“Why are you in the lobby all alone?” I asked.
“I got bored in my room. There are only so many hours one can nap, and there’s nothing worth watching on telly.”
“Where’s Maeve?”
“She mentioned that Tom was calling in for a visit. I thought it might make things easier for her if I left them to it.”
“Let me talk to him.”
“Tom’s stubborn as a mule. You’re likely to get your head bitten off. Or worse yet, sacked.”
“I don’t think that will happen. Excuse me, Tony, I have to make a phone call.”
“Carry on, my dear,” he said, pulling himself to his feet and reaching for his cane. “I’m off to find a cup of tea and something sweet to have with it. I fancy a mince pie,” he continued to talk as he walked away from me, “It’s been donkey’s years since I’ve had a ready supply of mince pies about. I own a bloody castle, one might think if the lord of the manor fancies a mince pie, he might be able to procure one, but if I can’t go to Maeve’s…” he trailed off.
“Catherine, I need to make a phone call.”
She screwed her face into a look of extreme concentration. “Hmm, officially it’s against policy to dial overseas unless the call is of a business nature. Unless your call is local?”
“No, I need to call the States. Come on, Catherine, everyone does it. I’ll keep it short.”
“I suppose if someone asked, we could claim it was an emergency. We could say you had to call your doctor to get some lotion for that extreme dryness on your face.” She scanned my complexion and tut-tutted.
“Can I just go back into the office and dial?”
“Ooh, sorry. No can do. That’s a privacy violation. You aren’t authorized. Guests’ confidential files aren’t for the public eye.” She pushed the desk phone toward me.
“Fine.” I dialed Maggie at work. Creepy Matty picked up her phone, so I disguised my voice, throwing a little bit of an Irish accent onto it. Catherine perked up. I could tell she was listening for all she was worth.
“Maggie, there’s some Ukrainian woman on the phone for you.” Matty didn’t bother pushing down the hold button.
“Hello, Maggie Doyle.”
“Mags!” I cried, keeping one eye on Catherine. She was at the far end of the desk, organizing a drawer. “It’s Sheila.”
“Is it now, Sheila? What have you done with my best friend Shayla?”
“I swallowed her whole,” I said, laughing. “I have so much to tell you. For one, I’m nearly done with…the thingy.”
“Do you mean the book? Are you serious? Never mind the proposal, you just finished the actual book?”
“Almost. I’ve been into Ballykelty a bunch of times to meet with the artist. You should see the hand drawings. How could any editor not love them? I’m still doing conversions. When you do these measurements, you can’t just go grams to cups, you know. They weigh most ingredients, but depending on what it is…say butter versus sugar, you have to reason it out. It’s complicated. But that’s not the hardest part. What’s tripped me up was the tone. I needed to know who Tom O’Grady really is.” I turned my back, and cupped my hand over the phone, “and Mags, now I know inside and out.”
“You dirty bird! Anything for the story, is that what Hank taught you? Oh, by the way, why haven’t you called him? He’s called my cell a bunch of times, and left a message here. I can’t keep putting him off.”
I got a sinking feeling. “I know. I will. I just don’t know what to tell him, you know? I mean, what if I want to stay here?”
“What do you mean, stay there? Don’t you need to come back here and meet with Brenda about the book? How else are you going to lock down Ray Diablo?”
“Mags, what if I didn’t finish it? What if I dropped it?”
“The book?”
“Yeah.” There was silence down the phone. “Mags?”
“Think about it, Shay. If you drop this book, you’ll burn your last bridge. You’ll kill your career.”
“It’s just, if I drop it now, I feel like I can untangle this mess more easily. I’ve had to tell so many lies. And it might make Tom mad, you know, when he finds out why I really came here.”
Maggie sighed. “I don’t know what to tell you. You’re more worried about making some guy mad than you are about your writing career? Are you going to marry him and become a housewife?” Maggie may have Eric and a plan for four kids, but that plan included a nanny. Maggie’s ambition wouldn’t be swept under the rug.
“Nobody’s talking about getting married,” I said. Catherine pulled a feather duster from the drawer and made her way toward my corner of the counter.
“Just be careful, Shay. You may think you’re in love, but giving up your life in the city, your career, all the groundwork you’ve laid. What if he’s not worth it?
“He’s worth it. Plus, I don’t know, I just got tired of fighting for my little square of the sidewalk. I like going to work in the morning knowing that at bedtime the day’s problems won’t follow me to the next day. It’s just easier here.”
“That’s because the post office doubles as the vacuum repair shop and they roll the sidewalks up at dusk. It’s great to be there on a vacation, but think hard, Shay. If you lose all your contacts in New York, you may find yourself crawling back and starting from the ground up someday.”
“I hear what you’re saying,” I told her. I knew she didn’t understand. Hank wouldn’t either. I’d have to make this decision on my own. “Tell Hank I’ll call him, OK?”
“I will, and listen Shay, you can have it all, you know. The man, the career, the Manhattan apartment. You don’t have to settle.”
“I have to go, Mags. I love you.”
“I love you more. Call me soon and let me know what your plan is.”
“Bye.”
I heard Catherine giggle and turned around to see her checking in none other than Chris Burton at the desk. I froze like a deer in headlights. He spotted me before I could skulk out the back way.
“As I live and breathe!”
“You know Sheila, Mr. Burton?” Catherine cooed.
“I’d say we ‘know’ each other, wouldn’t you, Shayla? Sorry I never called. Things got mad at the office, I’m sure you understand.”
Was this clown blowing me off? Indignity ros
e up in my chest. Last time I checked, I’d left him untouched and unwanted, half-naked on a hotel bed.
“I understand perfectly, Mr. Burton.” Keep your cool, Shayla. The only thing that matters is getting Tom the distribution contract. “Chef O’Grady didn’t tell me you were due in for a meeting.” Catherine was watching us talk like she was a spectator at Wimbledon.
“I’m not here to meet with old Tom O’Grady. I’ve business to discuss with a chap from GlobeCo. I’m only here for one night. I’m afraid it’ll have to be a quickie,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.
“Do you mean Brian Lynch?” I asked.
Chris knit his brows. “You’re not in bed with Lynch, are you? It’s only that I’m viewing my business with him and my business with Castle Stone as two distinct entities.”
“All’s fair in love and war,” I said, in what I hoped was an enigmatic way. After all, I was supposed to be the Chief Cultural Liaison and Marketing Director for North America. I felt like I should know something about what’s going on. Meanwhile, it was in my best interest to distance myself from Catherine. Chris had already called me Shayla once.
“I’d ask you to dinner, but I’m having it with your man Brian Lynch. Maybe a nightcap after? If you’re free?”
“I’ll have to check my book and get back to you.” At this point, I’d wriggled from behind the desk and was halfway across the lobby floor.
“How can I get in touch with you?” he asked.
“I’ll find you,” I said, slipping out the side exit.
I headed straight for my dorm room. I changed from my hostessing outfit into a t-shirt and yoga pants and sat down at my desk. I put my head down and dug into the book. I wasn’t sure what I’d do with it once it was finished, but I had to do something to move myself forward.
I got to work incorporating all of the notes I’d hastily scribbled standing at Maeve’s side the times I’d watched her cook. I forced myself to work through the math and investigate recipe after recipe for comparisons and hints regarding conversions. I wrote headnote after headnote explaining to an American audience what Demerara sugar and treacle and dulse are, and what one can use in their places if they cannot be found. If I could manage to get through the scientific parts, all the chemistry and facts, I’d get a reward. I could tweak all of the essays about the land, the ingredients, the traditions. I finally felt confident that I could write in the voice of someone who felt passion for Ireland and Ireland’s food. I could write in Tom’s voice.
Summer at Castle Stone Page 29