Outside the bus station was a battered car with O’Kelly’s Kabs written crookedly along its side. I got into the passenger seat while Sam fetched the remaining cases and put them in the boot.
‘I’m awaiting delivery of a Fort Cortina,’ he said proudly. ‘’Tis a pity you couldn’t have come next week. But never mind, you’ll be wanting to get on. Would you like me to step on it or do you fancy the scenic route?’
‘Step on it, if you wouldn’t mind, Sam.’
‘You see Larkie’s taken over Dooley’s?’ As we drove past it Sam pointed to a shop front forgotten for so long but now almost shocking in its familiarity. O’Kelly & Dooley was written above the plate-glass windows. ‘The man’s so idle he rarely puts in an appearance these days.’ There was an arrangement of tin cans in a large basket. I thought (but perhaps I imagined it) the name of Fauchon leaped out at me as we drove past.
‘I’ll put a bit of boot behind it so you can see the castle before it gets dark,’ said Sam. I appreciated what seemed a miraculous piece of mind-reading. ‘You know, Miss Bobbie,’ he added as we left Kilmuree and drove between craggy mountains that glistened after a recent shower like chased silver, ‘there’s many that knocks it but still, speaking as a man that’s as familiar with the United States of America as with the back of me hand, I never did see a finer stretch of country than this.’
‘I agree with you, Sam.’
‘You do? That’s good to hear.’
At the turn that was the beginning of the drive I saw the sign Constance and I had had installed fourteen months before. It said ‘Curraghcourt 1 mile’.
This time I bit my thumb hard to convince myself I was not dreaming.
The ruts in the track had been filled with stones. We climbed the hill. Sam had stopped talking for which I was grateful. I wanted to take in every detail: the rusting wire of the fences, the sagging gates, the heaps of boulders, the sandy courses that marked rivers of recent rain. The woods greeted us, cool and dark. I recognized the shapes of trunks, the twists of individual branches. We came to where the track skirted the walled garden. I thought of asking Sam to let me out so I could go in and walk round it, examine the rows of vegetables, the espaliered fruit trees, the statue of St Fiacre, the compost heap. But that would have been cowardly. At the top of the hill we left the trees and began to roll downwards, the tyres skidding where the new layer of stones was thickest … and there was the house.
‘Stop a minute, Sam, if you wouldn’t mind.’
He obligingly pulled up.
Whenever Curraghcourt had forced itself into my mind during the last year it was this view of it I saw most often. Its four round towers, pierced by lancet windows, stood proud of the woods that crowded the east and west fronts. From this angle the eighteenth-century façade which had been built round the ancient core was largely concealed by trees and the gatehouse. One saw only the battlements and the ten great chimney-stacks from which drifts of lilac smoke vanished into the white sky. I wound down the window and breathed in the scent of bog myrtle. There seemed to be an extra ingredient in the air that refreshed me. My blood was careering through my veins, invigorated, as though my mind and body had been for a long time in a state of apathy.
‘A fine place.’ Sam spoke softly as though to himself. ‘Something to be proud of. You won’t find anything like it in New Jersey even if the shops do stay open all night.’
‘Let’s go on now.’
There was a new sign which separated coaches from cars by means of arrows. Another directed visitors to the Model Railway. ‘Adults, 50 pence; Children, Free’. In the field to the left of the drive a girl with brown hair was taking a pony over a series of striped jumps. I recognized Flavia on the Cockatoo. She was too far away to hear me call.
‘Here we are.’ Sam drew up outside the gatehouse.
My courage almost failed at that point. My legs seemed disinclined to obey me. Sam opened the car door and put a steadying hand under my elbow.
‘I’ll bring them,’ he said as I made an effort to pick up the smallest of the suitcases.
We crossed the drawbridge. The moat still smelled slightly of rotting vegetation but the rubbish had been cleared away. The holes in the planks had been newly patched with lead.
The ticket table stood untenanted beneath the archway which was cold and gloomy as usual. As it was Sunday there were no visitors. The front courtyard, north-facing and never particularly sunny, seemed brilliantly lit by contrast. I had forgotten the ringing sound one’s shoes made on the undulating cobbles. Someone had planted little bushes in the borders that edged the courtyard. Roses and paeonies. They would be unlikely to do well in such thin soil. I remembered my scheme of a box and herb parterre for which there had never been enough money.
The great pedimented door was before me, newly painted a good dark green. It was ajar as always. I climbed the five steps, put my hand on the knob, passed through it. Now I was terrified this might be a dream. The hall smelt as it always did of turf smoke. I shut my eyes, opened my mouth and drew it deep into my throat.
Sam coughed discreetly. I must have been standing with closed eyes and parted lips for some time for he had brought in all my luggage. I searched in my bag for my purse.
‘Did you leave your wits in England to think I’d take money from you at a time like this? It’s been a treat, Miss Bobbie.’ He wrung my hand. ‘Larkie’ll be tickled to death to hear you’re back. I’ll be seeing you.’
After Sam had gone I leaned against the door jamb and took in the details of the hall. In front of me, at the far end, were the stairs with the gallery above. There was the sedan chair and the suit of armour. The longcase clock still ran slow. A shaft of light from the window above the gallery made a path across the floor. I walked along it looking from side to side. To my left was the great fireplace with its stone chimneypiece. I remembered Lughnasa. And then St Stephen’s Day. I went to stand beside the fireplace. I put my hand on the lintel and prodded the smoking turves with the toe of my shoe.
Constance came through the archway that led down to the kitchen quarters. She was carrying a vase in one hand and flowers in the other. Because she was concentrating on not spilling the water she did not see me. She went to the side table. I watched her putting the flowers into the vase: red tulips, bronze wallflowers and forget-me-nots. Her hair was shorter now, and she wore a blue cardigan and a flowered skirt that stopped at the knee. On her feet were neat court shoes.
‘Oh, damn!’ she muttered as water splashed on to the mahogany. She rubbed it away with her sleeve.
Maria and Osgar ran in. They saw me at once and rushed, barking, towards me, their nails scrabbling on the boards. Halfway across the room Maria changed her bark to a high-pitched whine. She flung herself at my knees, her body shaking with excitement. Osgar approached more cautiously, then ran back to fetch the ragged piece of fur he had dropped in order to bark.
‘What’s the matter with you, you silly creatures?’ Constance turned from her flowers. She gasped and her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh! It can’t be—Surely not—!’ Hurling aside the flowers she ran towards me. ‘Bobbie! Darling!’
I threw my arms around her. ‘Oh Con! It’s so good to see you!’
‘I’d given up all hope of ever … Oh, this is too wonderful! I’m going to make a fool of myself. I can’t help it, the shock.’ She stood back and took my hands. ‘Let me look at you. It’s been such a long time. More than a year!’ She examined my face, then wiped her eyes with her sleeve. ‘Not changed at all! Oh, be quiet, Maria! I can’t hear myself think!’
‘I’m so sorry for not writing, for not coming to your wedding. Do forgive me!’
‘Oh, I’m so happy I just can’t take it in. I thought you’d forgotten all about us!’ She embraced me again. ‘I’m not imagining it. It is you. This is glorious!’
‘It is. But I’d understand if you were angry.’ I put my arm round her waist. ‘It wasn’t because I’d forgotten. It was because … it was difficult.’
Constance smiled and shook her head. ‘I never was angry a bit. Disappointed, I admit. But you’re here now. You’ve come back to see us. We won’t even think about the past. I was so sad that we’d lost touch, but of course I understood. You’ve been having such a good time in London, so busy with your new job and your friends—’
‘Constance.’ I stopped her. ‘That’s not true. No one matters more to me than the friends I have here.’
‘That’s like you to say so! Oh, how glad I am you came! Can you stay a little while with us?’ Her eyes took in the four large suitcases.
‘If you’ll have me.’
‘Will we?’ she laughed. ‘I’ll get the best room ready. You can have Maud’s—Oh!’ Constance’s smile faltered. ‘Of course, you don’t know. I hardly know how to tell you. Violet – oh, it was very bad, the poor children—Reliving the past, you see – only this time I’d hoped—It was foolish of me but I thought she’d changed. We mustn’t think too badly—It’s almost like an illness with her. Bobbie, Violet’s gone.’
‘I know. Maud wrote to tell me.’
‘Maud? Wrote to you?’ Constance looked her amazement. ‘But whatever for?’
‘She thought I’d be interested.’
‘That’s very strange, that she should have thought of telling you! But, there! Maud’s an original. And you had so much to do with Violet getting better. That must be why. Poor little Flavia! The child’s heartbroken. Cried every minute of the day her mother left. But I hope she’ll get used to the idea in time. And she’s going to spend the summer holidays with Violet and Maud and that horrible man. Ah, well, I suppose one shouldn’t judge. I don’t think, between ourselves, Liddy minded as much as she ought. And Flurry – you know how he is. When we broke it to him he went straight out and laid several yards of railway track with Sam. He doesn’t seem to notice his mother’s gone. I suppose he’s grown up not needing her. Poor Violet! I can’t feel she’ll be happy for long with Anthony. And Maud’s so furious with her! But why am I talking of sad things when you’ve only just this minute come? I must run and find Eugene. He’ll be thrilled to see you!’
‘Yes, but Constance’ – my mouth was so dry I could hardly speak – ‘is Finn here?’
‘Finn? Oh yes. He comes every weekend now. He’s in the garden, trying to mend the fountain. It’s blocked with leaves again. It’s such a pernickety thing, you wouldn’t believe. As a matter of fact I’m waiting until he’s given up to telephone Thady O’Kelly. Did you want to say hello to him?’ Constance put her arm through mine and together we walked across the hall into the drawing room. ‘I’m sure he’ll be very pleased to see you. You know how he is. He doesn’t fuss much over people. But he had a fondness for you, Bobbie, though he’d never have shown it. Men are so odd about letting you see what they feel. I’m afraid he’s much better tempered now that Violet’s gone, but I don’t want you to think badly of him. He did try, you know. But there I go again, dwelling on past things that are best forgotten.’ She patted my arm and looked at me with affectionate eyes. ‘Finn asked me once if I’d heard from you. And then, when I was halfway through telling him, he said, “Don’t tell me any more. It’s another world. I prefer to remember her as she was when she was here.” I thought that was quite emotional, coming from Finn. Shall we walk down and see him?’ She put her hand on the handle of the French windows.
‘Con. Darling. Would you mind very much if, just this once, I went on my own?’
‘You’d like to see Finn alone?’ Constance looked surprised. ‘Of course, if that’s what you want.’ She continued to stare at me. ‘Bobbie, you look so white. There’s nothing wrong, is there?’
‘I don’t know.’ I bit my lip to prevent it trembling. ‘I must go and see.’
‘Well, how mysterious …’ Constance’s large grey eyes held mine, bewildered. I saw that ideas were forming in her mind, superseding one another, contending for place until finally they were supplanted by a look of absolute astonishment. ‘Bobbie! You don’t mean – you can’t mean – you and Finn?’ She seized my hands and clasped them between her own. ‘Oh, what a fool I’ve been! A fool! Was there ever anyone so blind? Oh, my darling girl! And all this time … Now I see why he’s been so sad. I knew he didn’t love Violet: the marriage was hopeless right from the start; but I wanted so much – for the children’s sake – and there he was, shut up in the library when he ought to have been … What am I saying? Bobbie.’ Constance gripped my hands until they hurt. ‘I understand it all now. That’s why you stayed away! You didn’t want to stand in the way of it. That was good of you, that was like you! Now I’m going to cry again but don’t take any notice of that. Oh, my poor brother! And he never said a word! Go quickly now. Go!’ She pushed me through the French windows.
I stepped into the garden. The cloud that had been across the sun moved slowly away and the yew trees cast deep shadows over the gravel path. I walked between the miroirs d’eaux. The scintillating light dazzled my eyes. Birds flew low over the water, snatching at insects. A lark ascending poured out its song. I paused on the top step at the end of the first terrace and looked down.
The round bowl of the fountain had been drained, leaving a sediment of mud and leaves. Finn had his back to me. He was bending over the jet, doing something with a spanner. I looked hungrily at him, at the shape of his head, the way his dark hair grew down the back of his neck. He wore the same disreputable clothes. I recognized the holey blue jersey, the threadbare corduroys. He was there before my eyes. Real. Flesh and blood. I clenched my fist until my nails dug into the palm to reassure myself that it was really him. I watched him for a long time, relishing the angle of his shoulders, the breadth of his back, the occasional glimpse of his hands. A plane passed overhead, miles up. He straightened to look at it, shielding his eyes from the glare, his back to the steps. Then he swore savagely and hurled the spanner into the bushes.
‘If I were you,’ I said, ‘I should give it a good hard kick.’
He started; froze; remained motionless, his back still turned towards me. There followed what seemed a long silence. Then he said, ‘I don’t dare turn round.’ Oh, how I loved the sound of his voice! ‘I’m afraid the sidh may be playing a trick on me.’
‘Not that you believe in them.’
‘I wouldn’t mind saying I did if I could go on with the deception.’
‘Say it then.’
‘I believe in them, in all of them: roanes, grogans and gruagach, pookas, firbolgs and’ – he turned and looked up at me – ‘cluricaunes.’ He closed his eyes briefly and then looked again. ‘Still there. If you’re a good fairy, come down. Come down anyway. I daren’t approach in case you disappear.’
I walked down the steps and stopped by the edge of the fountain. We looked at each other. His face, so infinitely dear to me, was the feast my famished heart had yearned for without ceasing since I had seen him walking away at Dún Laoghaire. I had to steel myself to look into his eyes and blink away the tears that rushed into mine. It was like looking at the sun. I saw a question there.
‘I heard you were going to America,’ he said eventually. ‘Is this—Have you come to say goodbye?’
‘Maud wrote to me. About Violet. I got the letter yesterday. I came at once.’ I stepped into the bowl.
His eyes softened. ‘Then you’ve come because … Are things still the same with you?’
‘Still the same.’
‘My love!’ he said in a low voice. He took hold of my arms to draw me to him. ‘My love! My love!’
Around us the birdsong faded, the leaves ceased to rustle, the earth seemed to fall away beneath our feet and the clouds to rush upwards and outwards. The air beat like a giant wing in sympathy with our great longing. The sound of hoofs on gravel broke the stillness and Flavia on the Cockatoo came skidding into the circle of hornbeams.
‘Bobbie! Sam said it was you but I didn’t believe him! Timsy! Hold the Cockatoo, please!’
Timsy, looking hardly embarrassed at all, rose fro
m the bushes and stepped grinning into the hornbeam circle to take the mare’s bridle. ‘’Tis a grand day, Miss Bobbie, that’s brought you back to light us with your loveliness like a moonbeam pinned against the velvet sky with stars!’
‘Oh, Bobbie! I have missed you!’ Flavia threw her arms round me. She was at least three inches taller and looked more like Finn than ever. ‘Why’ve you stayed away so long?’ Before I could answer she said, ‘I’ve got some new jumps. Daddy gave them to me for my birthday. Do you want to come and see?’
Finn put his hand on her shoulder. ‘Just a minute, darling.’ I saw he had to make an effort to command himself and I felt sick with love. ‘Bobbie’s only just arrived after a long journey. She’ll have plenty of time to look at them later. Let’s go up to the house.’
Flavia took my hand. ‘Are you staying?’
‘Yes.’
‘For a long time?’
Over her head my eyes met Finn’s. ‘Yes.’
‘Good-ee!’ Flavia put her other hand into her father’s and the three of us walked up to the top terrace and along the avenue between the canals. ‘Will you do the cooking? Mrs O’Kelly’s all right but her food’s awful.’
‘I shall have to be tactful,’ I said.
‘Oh yes. I’ll try and think of something. Perhaps we could say that you can’t eat Irish food without getting sick.’
Finn laughed. ‘If that’s your idea of tact, I don’t advise a career in diplomacy.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of anything so boring! I’m going to be a writer. Bobbie, I’ve begun my novel. I’ve got to page one hundred already but I haven’t been able to get David Copperfield into the story yet. There’s so much to say about Agnes’s dog. He’s a really beautiful Newfoundland and my own invention …’
As Flavia talked Finn and I looked at each other and I saw what was in his mind as clearly as though he had spoken the thought aloud.
‘Oh, Lord! A reception committee,’ he said as we approached the drawing-room windows.
Moonshine Page 81
