The Beauty of Broken Things

by Victoria Connelly

  ‘But she wouldn’t need to, would she?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She or Bill or Ernest would only have to tell one other person and then they would tell another and it would be round the whole of Lorford before you knew it.’

  ‘Yes. I see your point.’

  Orla sneaked a peak out of the window again. ‘Luke – there are even more people now – look!’

  He glanced out of the window again and saw that the group had swelled to half a dozen.

  ‘What do you want to do?’ he asked.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Shall we let them in?’

  Orla swallowed hard. ‘In . . . the castle?’

  ‘They’re just neighbours, and they’re genuinely curious. They don’t mean any harm. Word’s obviously got around and I really think they’re fascinated by what we’ve got here.’

  Orla looked down from the window at the little crowd of strangers who were expecting to gain entry into her home.

  ‘Look – you don’t need to be involved in this if you don’t want to,’ Luke said, obviously sensing her deep unease. ‘I can show them in. They can access the basement without coming through the main rooms and you won’t need to see them at all. What do you say?’

  She looked at his face – at the bright eyes filled with such life and enthusiasm to share this wonderful thing they’d found with others. The old Orla would have shouted and screamed at Luke for the mere suggestion of such a thing. She’d have probably told him to pack his things and leave, too. But the new Orla – the Orla who was beginning to integrate with her community and reach out to people, who had sat in her gardener’s cottage for the space of an entire evening and had told her story, who’d photographed her neighbours at the village show and who’d visited another stranger’s house – that new Orla was conflicted. She did have something rather special here, she thought, and did she have the right to hide it away from the village? She might own the castle, but ownership of such a place came with a responsibility and she was beginning to realise that now.

  ‘Orla? What do you think?’ Luke prompted.

  She took a deep breath. ‘Not too many at once.’

  Luke’s grin stretched from ear to ear. ‘You’re a star!’

  Orla watched as Luke left the castle and ran towards the gate, opening it up, to the delighted surprise of those who’d been waiting there. She wondered whether she should join Luke. It would be polite to welcome these visitors. After all, the castle was a home rather than a tourist attraction. But she felt crippled by insecurity. It was one thing for her to venture out into the world and enter other people’s homes, but it was quite a different thing to welcome strangers into her own home. So she stayed where she was and left Luke to it, making sure the main door into the great hall was closed and that One Ear remained with her at all times.

  The interest in the Wild Man continued as word spread around the village and a steady trickle of visitors arrived at the castle gate each day, including quite a few members from the village’s historical society. They’d heard about the Wild Man and were curious to see it and, judging by their responses, they weren’t disappointed. Luke gave them the time and space they wanted to take photographs and ask him questions, which he did his best to answer, and then he led them back up the steps and out into the sunshine.

  Luke couldn’t help but be mildly amused by it all, but he could tell that Orla was feeling uneasy about the attention. He’d been hoping she’d join them, but she wouldn’t, which he thought was a shame because he knew how much she loved her home. She could get so much out of sharing that love with others, but these things took time, he reasoned. She’d made so much progress already and he couldn’t expect even more miracles. Not yet, at least.

  ‘I don’t like having all these people here,’ she told him.

  ‘I know you don’t. But it won’t last for ever,’ he promised. ‘It’s just something new. Well, old. Really old, actually. But interest will wane.’

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ she told him. ‘I don’t like living in the spotlight.’

  ‘Don’t worry – it’ll all blow over.’

  Only it didn’t. It got worse.

  Luke wasn’t sure what had made him turn the television on one evening, but he was glad that he had because there was a reporter standing in the middle of the square in Lorford doing a piece to camera. The next shot was of a lone fishing boat down by the quay, and that was when Luke turned the sound up.

  ‘Legend has it that the creature was hauled out and dragged to the castle, where it was locked in the dungeon.’

  There was a cut to Lorford Castle.

  Luke cursed. Orla would not be happy about her home being all over the local news. Luke watched on as a shaky piece of amateur footage of their Wild Man was shown, probably taken on a phone under his very watch by someone he’d let into the castle.

  ‘And here’s the carving,’ the voiceover said. ‘Thought to be a contemporary representation of the legendary Wild Man.’

  There were some other shots around the village and then another piece to camera inside the church.

  ‘The castle is now owned by former model, Orla Kendrick, and isn’t open to the public.’

  Luke cursed again. Why on earth did they need to mention who owned the castle? Orla would be furious if she found out.

  The reporter went on, ‘But you can see something very similar at the church.’ There was a close-up of one of the wodewoses carved into the font.

  ‘Luke?’ Orla called through from the kitchen. ‘Dinner’s ready.’

  Luke grabbed the remote control and switched the TV off before Orla had a chance to see it. What she didn’t know couldn’t harm her, could it?

  Chapter 18

  The day after the news story aired, Luke realised that he’d been wrong. The interest in the Wild Man of Lorford wasn’t going to go away. At least, not immediately. The news story he’d seen had made the situation worse and it was only a matter of time before Orla found out about it.

  Sure enough, as he was working on a section of wall in the great chamber, Orla entered the room.

  ‘There are more people by the gate.’

  ‘Really?’ Luke tried to sound surprised.

  ‘I don’t understand why people are so interested in him,’ she said, speaking of the Wild Man as if he were her own personal friend and it was up to her to protect him.

  ‘I guess he’s just caught the public imagination,’ Luke said. ‘I don’t know. Maybe it’s a slow news week.’ He blanched at his reference to the news and hoped she hadn’t picked up on it.

  ‘But these aren’t all villagers, are they? Surely everyone from the village has seen him by now.’

  Luke had his back to her and continued to work, hoping the situation might resolve itself.

  ‘Luke!’ she cried. ‘I don’t want all these people – all these strangers – here!’

  He turned around and immediately felt guilty when he saw her ashen face.

  ‘I’ll go down and tell them to leave. Don’t worry about it.’

  ‘What do you mean, don’t worry about it? Of course I’m worried about it! I chose to live a private life here and that doesn’t include half of the world showing up at my gate and demanding to be let inside.’

  Luke could hear the distress in her voice and hoped that all this unwanted attention wasn’t going to stress her too much. He’d hate to see her upset by it all.

  ‘Okay, okay! Leave it to me,’ he told her.

  Opening the castle door, Luke saw the flowers. It was a small but beautiful bouquet, tied with a ribbon, just left there on the steps of the castle. He looked around, puzzled, wondering who could have left them there. Leaving them for a moment, he made his way to the gate, where at least a dozen people crowded.

  ‘When’s the castle open?’ asked a middle-aged man with a large camera swinging around his neck.

  ‘I’m afraid the castle isn’t open to the public,’ Luke told him.
>
  ‘But we’ve come to see the Wild Man,’ a woman said.

  ‘The castle’s a private home,’ Luke explained.

  ‘How can a building like this not be open to the public?’ the man with the camera went on. ‘It’s a disgrace!’

  ‘Something like this is of historic value to the nation,’ the woman added.

  ‘The church is worth a visit,’ Luke said, doing his best to remain calm. ‘There are some fine carvings on the font – very similar to the Wild Man here.’

  The man with the camera tutted. ‘Not the same. Not the same at all.’

  There were some disgruntled murmurings of agreement and Luke looked into the small crowd of angry faces, imagining how ugly things could turn if there were even more of them there. It still seemed odd to him that a little carved figure could cause so much interest.

  ‘I’m sorry to disappoint,’ he told them and, slowly, they began to move away. Except one man. ‘Can I help you?’

  The man came forward. He was in his mid-thirties, Luke guessed, and was wearing a baseball cap and a pair of dark sunglasses so that most of his face was obscured. He didn’t look like the sort who would spring to mind when thinking of medieval carvings, but Luke supposed you could never tell.

  ‘Is Orla at home?’ he asked.

  Luke very nearly answered on automatic pilot because of the man’s use of her first name, which seemed so familiar, but something stopped him in time.

  ‘Who’s asking?’ Luke said.

  ‘A friend.’

  ‘And your name?’

  The man stared blankly at him. Or, at least, as blankly as only a pair of dark glasses can stare.

  ‘I’ll come back,’ he said, turning quickly and shuffling off.

  Luke remained at the gate, watching the man, who had thrust his hands into the pockets of his jeans and headed into the centre of the village.

  I’ll come back.

  Luke didn’t know why, but those words rattled him and he wished he’d responded to them now. They’d almost seemed threatening. For a moment, he thought about going after the man and telling him that he really shouldn’t bother wasting his time coming back, but Luke felt awkward and so left it.

  Returning indoors with the bouquet of flowers in his hand, he found Orla in the china room, choosing a cup and saucer to photograph.

  ‘Have they gone?’

  ‘Every last one of them,’ he told her.

  ‘Good.’

  He nodded, wondering whether he should mention the man in the sunglasses to her and deciding against it.

  ‘I found these,’ he said, handing the bouquet to her.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘On the steps by the front door.’

  Orla turned the flowers over. ‘Was there a note with them? A card?’

  ‘No, nothing that I could see.’ Luke saw, at once, the fear in Orla’s face. ‘I’m sure they’re meant kindly – whoever left them. Maybe they’re for the Wild Man.’ He laughed, but Orla obviously didn’t find his joke amusing.

  ‘I don’t want them.’

  ‘You don’t?’

  ‘Take them away, please.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll get rid of them.’ Luke didn’t argue, hearing the anxiety in her voice. ‘Orla?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’ll – erm – I’ll be in the great chamber if you need me, okay? I’m going to do a spot of work in there.’

  She nodded, and he left her.

  Luke was uneasy for the rest of the day and spent a fair amount of it pacing back and forth in front of the windows which looked out towards the gate, dreading seeing the man in the sunglasses again. He found it hard to concentrate on his work with the threat of the man’s return hanging over him. Then he’d get annoyed with himself because the gates were closed, the doors of the castle were locked and One Ear was most definitely in residence. So why was he feeling so uneasy? It was probably all unfounded and the man in the glasses had been trying his luck to meet the once-famous model, having heard about her on the television. It was a news story which would live only for a few days at most, and then it would be forgotten. He felt completely sure of that. Well, almost completely. But, just an hour later, he saw another small crowd outside the gates of the castle and standing there at the back was the man in the cap and glasses. Luke considered what to do. If he went down again, he’d most likely give the crowd false hope. Either that or really annoy them. They would probably lose interest soon enough and give up and go.

  But you didn’t, a little voice reminded him. You stayed until she let you in.

  Luke sighed, watching from the window for a while, willing them all to go away. He wondered if Orla had felt the same way when he’d arrived and parked outside her gates. He still felt bad about that, but it had all worked out and he knew he’d done the right thing in trying to see her.

  ‘Back to work,’ he told himself. He was probably worrying about nothing. This whole TV thing had knocked him a little, but Orla was still unaware of it, and that was the main thing.

  It was when they were having dinner that Luke began to wonder if he should tell her or not.

  ‘I was in the garden earlier and there were still people at the gate,’ Orla told him. ‘They couldn’t see me, but I could see them. I don’t like it, Luke. I wish they’d all go away.’

  ‘They will.’

  ‘When?

  Luke watched the tortured frown on Orla’s face deepen and he could stand it no longer.

  ‘There’s something I didn’t tell you,’ he began hesitantly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The castle – the Wild Man – it featured on the local news and they mentioned your name as the owner.’

  Orla’s face drained of all colour. ‘How did they find out?’

  ‘I guess it got mentioned somewhere. Social media? Maybe someone tweeted a photo of the Wild Man and it got picked up by the TV station. I’m not sure how all those websites work these days, but it looks like our Wild Man’s gone viral.’

  Orla’s whole body seemed to tighten and, when she spoke, it was slowly and deliberately, each word filled with fear and rage.

  ‘I thought I was safe here.’

  ‘You are,’ Luke assured her.

  ‘I don’t feel very safe!’

  ‘There’s nothing to worry about.’

  ‘I don’t like being watched, Luke. I don’t like being looked at and I don’t like random people leaving random bunches of flowers on my doorstep.’

  ‘I know.’

  They continued to eat in uneasy silence. Luke wondered whether it would be wise to mention the man in the sunglasses. On the one hand, he might just scare her but, on the other, at least she would know and he wouldn’t feel terrible about hiding anything else from her.

  ‘There’s been a man hanging around,’ he suddenly blurted, taking them both by surprise.

  Orla’s knife and fork clattered to her plate as she looked up.

  ‘What man?’

  ‘Just a man. He was in his early thirties, I think. Wore a baseball cap and dark glasses. I didn’t think much of it, but he asked for you by name.’

  ‘He knows me?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Luke said honestly. ‘I’m not convinced he did. Your name was mentioned on TV so he might have picked it up from there.’

  Orla stared down at her plate, unable to eat any more.

  ‘What if it’s Brandon?’ she whispered.

  Luke swallowed hard. The thought that the man in the dark glasses might be Orla’s stalker had crossed his mind too, although he’d done his best to shut the thought out. After all, wasn’t he in London? And the story had appeared on the local news, so how would he have seen it? Luke sighed. There were no end of ways he could have seen it, of course. Once information was out in the public domain, it had a way of finding the wrong people.

  ‘It’s most likely just some random guy,’ Luke said at last.

  ‘But what if it isn’t? What if it’s him? What if he’s found me?’ She scraped
her chair back on the flagstone floor and it screeched alarmingly.

  ‘Orla – you mustn’t get all worked up. Whoever he is, he’s probably long gone by now.’

  But Orla wasn’t listening to him. She’d left the room.

  Luke followed.

  ‘Orla – talk to me.’

  ‘I’m tired.’

  He let her leave, glancing at One Ear as he trotted after his mistress, leaving him alone for the rest of the evening.

  Orla couldn’t settle that evening and she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep. She felt horribly restless, with the same uncertainty flooding her system as the time after the acid attack. And a part of her couldn’t help blaming Luke for what was happening because it was him who’d uncovered the Wild Man and shone a spotlight on her home. But she really shouldn’t blame him. It wasn’t fair. Besides, she adored the strange stone creature he’d discovered. It was a precious link back to the past and an important part of the castle’s story.

  She thought about ringing her mother. For all her faults, Bernadette was the one person on the planet who had been there for Orla when she’d been at her most vulnerable. She’d seen the whole horror of what had happened to Orla unfolding and had helped her to pick up the fragile pieces of herself and guide her towards her recovery. A recovery Orla felt still wasn’t complete, and she couldn’t help feeling it was under threat again with these crowds of strangers at her gate. At her door.

  She thought about the flowers again. Luke had got rid of them, but Orla could still feel their malignant presence. If they’d been from a true friend then surely there’d have been a card or note with them. Flowers were something Brandon used to send her. At first, single roses would be posted to her in padded envelopes or left for her where she was working. Then the bouquets started arriving. But he always left notes with them. But maybe he wasn’t doing that now because he knew she’d recognise his handwriting. Maybe he was being careful because of the restraining order. If he didn’t sign anything, she had no proof they were from him.

  Or maybe you’re being paranoid, she told herself. Maybe the flowers were some kind of tribute to the Wild Man, or maybe they’d been delivered to the castle by mistake. There were any number of explanations that didn’t involve former stalkers, weren’t there? It’s just that Orla couldn’t think of very many of them.