A Secret in Clover Cove: a heart-warming romance set on the beautiful west coast of Ireland

by Maggie Finn

  ‘Wouldn’t have missed this for the world,’ gushed Janice. ‘So typical of Simon to choose such a chic location to reappear. And still so handsome.’

  She looked across at him with undisguised longing.

  ‘Always keeps us on our toes, doesn’t he?’

  ‘He certainly does.’

  ‘And I understand you live out here too?’

  ‘Yes, not far away in a place called Clover Cove.’

  Janice tilted her head sympathetically, as if Tessa had just admitted to a terminal disease.

  ‘How lovely. Waking up with such dramatic views! I’m so jealous,’ she said in a tone that suggested she’d rather saw off her own foot than leave the Upper East Side for more than a few days.

  ‘And such an inspiration for the collection,’ added Janice. ‘Genius! Just genius. A triumph again.’

  Tessa turned up the smile just a notch, but inside she was screaming.

  Janice leant in, lowering her voice to a stage whisper.

  ‘Marshall has taken three. I have just the places for them. You really must try to persuade Simon to come over and see them when they’re hung.’

  Simon didn’t ever visit galleries and had always avoided any dwellings that might feature his works. Then again, who knew how he would feel tomorrow?

  ‘I’ll try,’ said Tessa, ‘But you know how he is about privacy.’

  ‘Oh I know, but wouldn’t it be marvelous? Simon really is such an… artist.’

  ‘Yes, he is,’ said Tessa.

  As Janice excused herself to talk to a critic from The New Yorker, Tessa looked over to where Simon was standing, holding court, telling some no-doubt ribald story, surrounded by laughing people. It was good to see him so happy, but still she wished she’d had the guts to insist she couldn’t keep on painting for him. People like Marshall could easily afford the money and in reality, he probably didn’t care about the actual art – they were buying and selling canvases in the same way they traded gold and yen on the stock market. But that didn’t stop it being a lie.

  And Tessa was tired of it. So, so very tired.

  ‘Seems to be going well.’

  She turned. A good-looking man holding a wine glass. Danny.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Oh, I came with my new friend.’

  He pointed to a squat man talking to Ted Gervis. ‘Pat Keen, editor of The New York Globe. His wife’s a big fan of yours.’

  Tessa looked at him sharply.

  ‘A fan of mine?’

  He beckoned to her. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘Let me show you.’

  Reluctantly, Tessa followed Danny over to the largest of the canvasses, a painting of blue waves crashing into a green and grey headland. It was the one Ted had insisted she bring over on the morning of the show.

  ‘So?’ she said, fighting the sinking feeling in her stomach. ‘What am I looking at?’

  ‘I saw this painting in your studio the day we met,’ said Danny simply.

  ‘Yes, what of it?’ she said. ‘My father always sends his collection to me before an exhibition, he trusts my judgement on the order to hang them.’

  Danny nodded, as if that was the answer he’d been expecting.

  ‘So why did I see you painting this one?’ he said. ‘Through the blinds, they weren’t quite closed. I think your cat had nudged them open.’

  ‘You were spying on me?’

  ‘I was looking for Kate, remember? I couldn’t help it if I happened to be witness to a crime.’

  ‘A crime?’ She tried for a laugh, but it came out as a croak. ‘What crime?’

  Danny leant closer, his voice almost a whisper.

  ‘You’ve been painting Simon Drake’s works for years, haven’t you?’

  Don’t react, don’t react, she told herself, trying her best to keep that rictus grin fixed to her face as she pulled Danny to the side of the gallery. ‘You have no proof of this,’ she hissed.

  Danny smiled and sipped his wine.

  ‘Well that’s as good as a confession,’ he said.

  ‘What? No…’

  ‘Really?’ said Danny. ‘Because if I was wrong about all this, you would just have laughed and said, “that’s the most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard.” And you certainly wouldn’t have challenged me to prove it.’

  Tessa shook her head.

  ‘This is just ridiculous!’

  ‘That’s what I thought at the start,’ said Danny. ‘Then I began to look at the paintings. I mean, they’re very good. Brilliant, actually. But the brushwork is very different.’

  ‘Oh now you’re an art historian as well as a snoop?’

  He looked at her evenly.

  ‘So deny it.’

  ‘I do deny it. My father had an accident. He holds the brush differently.’

  Danny laughed.

  ‘I’ll say he holds it differently. In fact he holds it in a different hand entirely.’

  ‘So what are you…’ Her eyes opened wider. ‘You’re not… you haven’t…’

  She clutched at Danny’s arm. ‘You didn’t tell that guy from The New York Globe about this, did you?’

  His face changed. Guilt, conflict.

  ‘Oh my God, you did,’ Tessa gasped, her knees feeling weak.

  ‘All I told him was…’

  But Tessa didn’t hear the rest because just then there was the ‘pink-pink-pink’ of spoon against glass. The party goers hushed as Simon climbed onto a low stage, putting him head and shoulders above the crowd.

  ‘Good evening, friends.’

  There was a cheer.

  ‘It’s good to be back.’

  A big laugh.

  ‘Yes, yes, sorry it’s taken so long, but you know, I like to get things right.’

  Another cheer.

  ‘Alright settle down, my head is big enough as it is. Seriously though, I am touched that so many of you have come so far to help me celebrate this collection of paintings. This show means more to me than any for a long, long time. One, because I think it’s the best.’

  More laughter.

  ‘But also because – and perhaps the two are bound up together – because the subject matter is so close to my heart.’

  Tessa looked across at Danny, but he was gazing up at her father, seemingly engrossed in what the artist was saying.

  ‘As many of you know,’ Simon continued, ‘There was a time when the sun dimmed for me. I was like Icarus falling to earth and at my lowest, I came here to Ireland, to Kiln County, to lick my wounds. And the land, the sea, the light, the people,’ he graciously indicated his audience. ‘They – you – healed me, gave me purpose. And so when I moved here, I took that feeling inside.’ He tapped his chest. ‘In here. And now…’

  He swept a hand across the walls of the gallery.

  ‘Now I hope I have taken a little of that joy I felt when I sat on the cliffs near Sleagh Castle and watched the sun sink into the sea. I set out to write a love letter to my adopted home. I hope I did it justice.’

  There was a huge wave of applause and shouts of ‘yes!’ and ‘hear, hear’.

  Simon gestured for quiet again.

  ‘Well, I’m glad you’re all happy with these paintings, because I have a secret I need to share with you.’

  He paused dramatically and Tessa froze, her own heart missing one beat, two…

  ‘This,’ said Simon, ‘Will be my last exhibition.’

  Gasps rang around the room. Tessa just gaped at him. What?

  ‘I’m retiring,’ he continued. ‘Hanging up the old paintbrush for good.’

  All at once, the spell broke and there was uproar, shouts of ‘Simon, no!’ and ‘Don’t do this!’

  He patted the air, appealing for quiet.

  ‘That’s very sweet, but there is method in my madness.’

  He turned and indicated Tessa. All eyes turned to look at her and suddenly, Tessa realized she couldn’t breathe.

  ‘This,’ said Simon, ‘Is my wonderful daughter Tessa. She
is talented and beautiful. And she has been my rock over these past years, giving up so much to look after me in my time of need.’

  There were sighs and ‘ahh’s from the audience.

  ‘But she is an amazing artist in her own right and I’m rather afraid I have been holding her back. So I shall be handing the baton to my daughter. She is the future, and as of this moment, I am the past.’

  He paused, then laughed.

  ‘Well, not quite the past. Obviously for those of you who have had the good taste to invest in a Simon Drake, I imagine their value will keep rising.’

  This brought a big laugh and Simon turned to wink at Marshall VanStiel.

  ‘So, not entirely bad news, eh Marshall?’

  ‘But why, Simon?’ called a voice from the crowd.

  ‘Because, well…’ He looked directly at Tessa. ‘I was talking to a young man earlier – a writer, would you believe? As you all know, I don’t usually speak to the press, but he’s a friend of my daughter.’

  Tessa looked at Danny, but Danny was still gazing at the stage.

  ‘Anyway, he drew my attention to this.’ He held up a book. It was Tessa’s wrinkled copy of Simon Drake: For The Love of Colour.

  Simon leafed through the pages, showing prints of his earlier works.

  ‘This young man pointed out the similarities between these paintings and my ’98 show in London. And you know what? I seriously hope he’s right. This is my best work. So I’m going out on a high.’

  The crowd broke into more applause.

  ‘But this young man also reminded me of the importance of this,’ continued Simon, turning to the back page of the book. ‘It’s a picture of Tessa and I together, painting. And there’s your “why.” I want more of that.’

  Tessa felt every eye on her. Do not cry, do not cry.

  ‘So from now on, roles are being reversed. I will be learning from her. I think it’s about time.’

  Roaring applause filled the room, a hubbub of voices as collectors and well-wishers gathered around Simon and now many of them were also coming over to Tessa, pressing business cards into her hand. The fixed smile on her face began to feel like a real one.

  When she was finally able to slip away from her new admirers, Tessa sought out Danny. He was standing by that same canvas he’d shown her what felt like a lifetime ago.

  ‘What did you do, Danny?’ she asked.

  Danny shrugged.

  ‘I went to see Simon and we… talked.’

  ‘You threatened him?’

  ‘No, actually what he said up there was true: I simply pointed out the similarities – and differences – between his previous work and his more recent paintings. Then I asked him what he wanted for his only daughter.’

  Tessa swallowed.

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He said he wanted everyone to know just how much you had helped him down the years. And he said it was time the truth came out.’

  ‘He really said that?’

  She looked over at Simon, laughing in a group by the bar. Had he been prepared to throw it all away? Would he really have confessed to their arrangement?

  ‘I said to forget the past. The best way to thank you would be for the great Simon Drake to repay the favor and support his daughter. Tell the world about your talent.’

  ‘But I didn’t want him to retire. I wanted him to keep painting.’

  Danny held up his hands. ‘The retirement wasn’t my idea, I assure you. But I suspect it will be an Elton John-style retirement. Once Simon realizes how much he misses the limelight, he’ll be back. Or maybe you could let him do a couple for you.’

  ‘Danny!’ she hissed. ‘It’s not funny.’

  ‘No, I suppose not.’

  She looked at him for a moment.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said simply.

  ‘And what do you want now, Danny?’

  She was expecting him to say, ‘an exclusive interview,’ but instead he gave a lop-sided smile.

  ‘A job, maybe?’

  ‘But you’re here with Patrick Keen, aren’t you? I thought you were going to America.’

  ‘I told them I couldn’t do it.’

  ‘But what about your dream? What about your career?’

  ‘Someone very wise once told me that if you’re not doing the thing that makes you happiest, then you’re not really living. And I’ve decided to follow that advice. Of course, I may need to pop down and borrow a cup of sugar every now and then. Or a couple of Euros.’

  Tessa frowned.

  ‘But I don’t understand; you’ve left the Examiner too?’

  ‘Gone freelance. This Great Irish Novel isn’t going to write itself, so I’m going to concentrate on that. But I haven’t completely severed all ties with journalism – I’m now an editor-at-large, which is a fancy way of saying ‘writes a feature every now and then’.’

  ‘But how? I thought your editor said it was a “take it or leave it” situation?’

  He smiled.

  ‘That was before I offered him my first piece, a world exclusive on Simon Drake.’

  The smile faded from her face.

  ‘Simon… Drake?’ she said, her hands going to her mouth. ‘Danny, what did you tell them?’

  Her father walked over and placed a hand on her shoulder.

  ‘He told them I was coming out of my self-imposed press exile,’ said Simon. ‘In fact, he told them it was your idea.’

  Tessa looked from one to the other, utterly confused.

  ‘This young man came to see me and, well, gave me a talking to. Made me realize I have been leaning on you like – what was it?’

  ‘A selfish eejit.’

  ‘Quite right. I’ll leave you two alone.’

  ‘But I don’t understand. Your career was just taking off.’

  ‘Seems I’ve developed a conscience just in time.’ He sighed. ‘I don’t agree that Bishop Ray is a cute old man who never did anyone any harm, but, well you were right.’

  ‘I was right?’ said Tessa with a smirk.

  ‘Yes, you were right that we all make mistakes, nobody’s perfect, all those clichés. Plus if anything bad happened to the bishop my mother would blame me.’

  Tessa’s face fell.

  ‘Oh Danny, I should tell you that I saw your mum up on the cliff path…’

  ‘…And you told her I was going to write about Bishop Ray.’ He nodded. ‘I know. She tracked me down.’

  Tessa’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘I’m so, so sorry. What did she say?’

  ‘She said that regarding Ray, I was an adult and I was free to do what I wanted. But that I should go and apologize to you.’

  ‘To me?’

  ‘Go and apologize to that English girl who loves you’, was what she said.

  ‘…who loves you?’

  ‘That was what she said.’

  She blinked back tears.

  ‘Was that why you did all this?’

  ‘No, Tessa. I did all this because of you.’

  She looked at him, waiting for the punchline, the back-handed compliment, but he looked serious.

  ‘Without you, I would have never been brave enough to say no to that job offer in New York. With the swish apartment overlooking Central Park and the chauffeur-driven limo and the expense account… hang on, what have I done?’

  ‘What have you done?’

  ‘You tell me.’

  ‘I think you’ve done the right thing.’

  She stepped closer, bringing her lips against his. ‘And I think you’ve earned this.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Danny watched from a distance as Tessa spoke to her father. It looked from across the road that they were having ‘a moment’ as they said in the glossy magazines. They embraced, then Simon waved across at Danny and turned back to the party.

  ‘I think he likes you,’ said Tessa, walking over.

  ‘Don’t know why. I did kind of blackmail him.’

  ‘Actually, I hadn’t thought of that. Ma
ybe I wanted to carry on being Simon Drake.’

  He leant over to kiss her.

  ‘I prefer you as Tessa Drake.’

  They walked slowly down towards the harbor. It was dark now and they sat on the sea wall, looking out at the boats.

  ‘You know, I feel really odd,’ said Tessa. ‘Like a prisoner who’s been let out; I don’t know what to do first.’

  ‘I think “celebrate” is the usual etiquette.’ Danny pulled a bottle of champagne from his bag. ‘Freshly liberated from the launch, but it’s in a good cause.’

  He poured fizz into paper cups and handed Tessa one.

  ‘See those lights out at sea?’ said Danny, waving his cup towards the twinkling water. ‘Each one of those lights is a ship and at night, that’s all anyone can see of an eighteen-ton trawler: one light. It must be like floating in space.’

  ‘Let me guess,’ said Tessa. ‘You wrote a story about it?’

  Danny laughed.

  ‘No, actually. As a kid I was obsessed with boats, I think it was something to do with wanting to get away from Clover Cove.’

  Tessa looked down into her cup.

  ‘And now I’ve stopped you.’

  He turned towards her.

  ‘No, Tessa. I chose to turn down the job in New York because I realized I wanted something else.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I wanted you, Tess.’

  ‘But why? I’m a liar and a cheat.’

  ‘Sure, you’re a liar,’ smiled Danny, ‘But you’re also loyal and kind and you were prepared to give up your whole life to help your father. And you make me a better person.’

  That, for once, was the truth. Danny had realized that yes, Tessa was talented and beautiful, but she wasn’t afraid to challenge him, to push him in the right direction. And more importantly, she made him want to do the right thing. When his mother had found him loitering in the street outside the gallery, she hadn’t harangued him about Bishop Ray, in fact she hadn’t mentioned it at all, not at first. ‘Go and find that girl,’ she had said. ‘Make it right. Whatever she’s done, you’ll work it out. Don’t let her get away.’