Cormac comes and stands beside me and we both look out onto the encroaching wood. ‘We won’t live for ever,’ he says without looking at me. ‘Our lives are but a blink on the eye of time. That’s why we have to seize the day.’ He glances at me and grins. ‘I’m not just a Jack of all trades, but master of clichés as well.’
I laugh. ‘Why is a cliché a cliché?’
‘Because it’s been overused.’
‘Sure, but it’s been overused because it’s so absolutely accurate.’
‘Then I’ll give you another one,’ he says and he’s not grinning anymore. He looks at me with a serious expression that stills the air, and lowers his voice. ‘I really like you, Faye.’
I look into his eyes, those eyes that seem to see right through me, and I let them suck me in. I don’t resist. I stare into them and allow them to consume me, like the forest is consuming the ruin. ‘I like you too, Cormac,’ I reply.
His face softens, as if a warm, amber light has settled upon it. He puts a rough hand to my face and curls a stray piece of hair around my ear. That’s a cliché too, but isn’t love just one big cliché, after all? Then he bends his neck and kisses me. His lips are soft and warm, his unshaven chin prickly. I haven’t been kissed by anyone in so very long. I can’t recall the last time Wyatt kissed me, and before that, well, it’s a lifetime ago; I can’t remember the kisses of my youth. I’m fifty-eight years old and I feel as if I’m being kissed for the very first time. I barely dare breathe in case I ruin the moment. It is so sweet and so tender, I want to hold on to it. I want to feel like this for ever. I close my eyes and I have no age, no name, no wedding ring; I’m just a woman being kissed by a man and slowly falling in love.
He puts his arms around me and holds me close, and I put my hands against his cheeks and kiss him back.
How powerful a thing is a kiss? It dissolves barriers like sugar in water. With that kiss we are one. There is no longer awkwardness between us, no tension, no guessing or hoping or dissembling. We have acknowledged our desire and it is no longer in question. With that kiss I have also rediscovered a part of myself that was lost many moons ago. It is as if that part has been awakened and I find, to my delight and surprise, that it is as fresh and new as it always was.
Cormac unclips my hair and scrunches it in his fingers as it falls about my shoulders. ‘You’re a beautiful woman, Faye,’ he says and there is a tenderness in his eyes that causes something to catch in my chest. I don’t know how to respond. It’s a long time since anyone told me I was beautiful. I’ve been a mother and a wife, a sister, a daughter and a friend, but I have not been a beautiful woman. I am too old to blush, but I feel my cheeks burning all the same. He kisses my smile and strokes my chin with his thumb. ‘I’ve been wanting to kiss you,’ he adds, arching an eyebrow.
‘I’ve been wanting you to kiss me too,’ I reply.
‘I wasn’t sure . . .’
I don’t want my husband’s name to tarnish the moment, so I add hastily, ‘I’m glad you did.’
‘It was this morning, when you and Kitty paid me a visit. Something changed in you. Something gave.’ He looks at me intensely. ‘It’s still there, in your eyes.’
I frown. ‘What is it?’
‘A boldness.’
‘A boldness?’ I repeat.
‘It wasn’t there before.’
I laugh, incredulous. ‘I wonder what it is.’
‘It’s the Deverill in you,’ he says, grinning crookedly. ‘That’s what it is. And I think it’s there to stay.’ He becomes serious again. ‘This is who you are, Faye.’
I think of Wyatt and Logan, my father and my mother, and I lift my chin in defiance. ‘I feel different when I’m with you, Cormac,’ I say. ‘And I like this different me that you bring out.’
Indeed, it feels good to be bold. It feels good to be beautiful. In all the years I’ve been a submissive Clayton and an obedient Langton, I never realized that inside I had the power to be a bold Deverill too. It has only taken me six days to find it.
Now we wander around the ruins hand in hand. Kite senses our happiness and bounds about gleefully, while tactfully keeping her distance. The sun connives with the clouds to enhance the romance of our morning and shines down brightly, warming the earth and filling the air with the fertile scents of spring. I hear the twittering of birds like I have never heard them before. I feel the breeze on my skin, taste the brine on my tongue and see the vibrant green of spring’s rebirth as if that kiss has sharpened my senses and awakened me to a new world. Or perhaps I am determinedly placing myself in the present moment because everything outside of it is now cast in doubt.
We are like teenagers. We steal kisses behind walls, we tease and cajole. We sit on the grass and watch rabbits graze and butterflies spread their wings in the sunshine. Then we lie on our backs and make shapes out of clouds. He sees a ship and I see a shoe, and we laugh at our childishness, while at the same time acknowledging that joy comes from the simple things, so we kiss again because there is nothing simpler than a kiss.
When we grow hungry we drive to a pub for lunch. The village Cormac takes me to is small and quaint, built into the curve of a cove, embraced by hills. The houses are white with grey-tiled roofs, a church’s spire needles the sky, sailing boats bob on the water and window boxes are ablaze with flowers. Gulls wheel on the breeze and cows graze in the distant fields, and as if all that beauty isn’t enough, the sun drenches the land with its dazzling radiance. I let Kite out and she immediately finds other dogs to play with. Cormac, confident that she can take care of herself, puts his hands in his pockets and walks towards the pub. There is a garden outside with tables and a few small groups of people eating lunch. We choose a table a discreet distance away. ‘What’ll you have and I’ll go and bring it out?’ he asks.
‘I’d love a lime and soda,’ I say and pick up the menu to browse. He saunters off towards the open door and I extract my eyes from the menu to watch him. He’s a burly man with a slight stoop and his gait is nonchalant, as if he has all the time in the world, and I think how very different he is to the man I married. Where Wyatt is slim and athletic and very concerned about remaining so, Cormac doesn’t care. I find his lack of vanity very attractive, very male. As I wait for him to return I consider the last few hours. I don’t feel guilty at all; not yet. I feel excited.
Cormac returns with a lime and soda for me and a Guinness for himself. ‘This is such a lovely place,’ I tell him. My heart fills with gratitude that my mother led me here, to this enchanted place, and in so doing inspired me to find myself. How ironic it is that she left the Deverill part of her here, only for me to come and find it.
He grins. ‘I knew you’d like it. I’ve got lots of plans for you.’
‘Really?’
‘Well, if this is day six of your stay, you have eight days left and I imagine you’ll be wanting to fill them, won’t you?’
I nod. ‘I will, yes.’
‘So, I’ve planned your itinerary.’
I laugh. ‘You haven’t really.’
‘Well, I haven’t written it down.’ He taps his temple. ‘But it’s all in here. By the time you leave, you’re going to have seen the very best Ireland has to offer.’
I look at him fondly. ‘I already have,’ I say.
We eat and talk and gaze at each other across the table, oblivious of the people who come and go around us. Kite lies under the table to sleep in the shade. Cormac asks me about my growing up and as I tell him he listens. He really listens. I’m not used to this kind of attention and I feel myself flowering beneath his focus. As I recount stories from my past he interrupts me, probing for more detail, questioning my motives, sympathizing with the choices I was sometimes forced to make because of convention, because of tradition but mostly because of my own lack of assertion.
‘I feel strong when I’m with you,’ I tell him.
‘That’s because I bring out the strength in you. Have you noticed how each person in your life brings o
ut something different? A friend might make you feel diminished, another might empower you. You’re not one-dimensional, Faye. You’re multi-dimensional. Bad choices leave you with the people who make you feel inadequate, good choices leave you with those who make you feel good.’
‘You make me feel good. I felt good from the moment I met you.’
He takes my hand across the table. ‘You make me feel good, too.’
I ask him about his wife. I feel I can ask him anything. He does not hesitate and he certainly doesn’t look uncomfortable. I sense he wants to remember her. He tells me how they met when they were young and he smiles wistfully as he recalls the happy times. Then his face darkens as he tells me that they were unable to have children. ‘We never found out which of us was infertile,’ he says with a shrug. ‘We didn’t want to. We just accepted that it would never happen. When she died it was my greatest sadness; she left nothing of herself behind.’ His eyes reveal his sorrow. It is deep and searing. I’m not jealous, I just feel desperately sorry for him. I want to make it better. I squeeze his hand. ‘It’s a long time ago now,’ he says.
‘And you never remarried?’ I ask.
He shakes his head and I read in his silence that perhaps no one can ever fill her shoes.
After lunch we walk on the beach. The wind has picked up and purple-bellied clouds are scudding across the sky. The light is peachy, the sun mature as it wanes. We hold hands. It feels natural, as if we have known each other for a long time, not just six days. Cormac has lots to say. He is not a reticent man. He is deep in both thought and emotion, which is why he sings so beautifully, I think. He puts his soul into his music and his soul is a cavernous well of experience. And I, usually the listener in all my relationships, have much to say as well. Probably because Cormac wants to hear. He makes me feel interesting and intelligent. The only other person to ever make me feel either of those things is Temperance.
We pace the beach, up and down, while Kite runs in and out of the waves. We sit on the sand as the sun touches the horizon and the water is turned to copper. He kisses me again. And again. Then it is twilight and we must leave and this perfect day is ending.
‘I want to spend every day with you,’ he says, and ‘before you leave’ remains unspoken. I don’t want to think about leaving either.
‘You are my guide, so you must,’ I reply with a smile, but behind my smile the thought of parting makes me melancholy.
‘Indeed I am,’ he says.
‘I have no one to answer to here,’ I add.
‘You don’t, but Ballinakelly is a small town, so it’s best we be discreet. You never know . . .’
‘I think Kitty will turn a blind eye.’
‘You can be sure of that,’ he says firmly. ‘Kitty is a worldly woman. You’ll get no finger-wagging from her.’
‘You sound very certain.’
‘I am,’ he says and we walk back to the Jeep. ‘But that husband of hers is another matter entirely. He’s as morally upright as a priest.’
Kite jumps in the back and we climb into the front. Cormac starts the engine. I look out of the window at the darkening sky, and I think of Kitty and Jack O’Leary and the pieces of the puzzle begin to come together. I’d like to ask Cormac. I thought I could ask him anything. I don’t think I can ask him that.
Chapter 21
London
The Past
Arethusa closed one eye and peeped through the slit between the door and its frame, just beneath the hinge. Her heart was racing now. She didn’t know whether she was nervous about performing in front of the Duchess’s friends, or about Jonas, who was there, supervising the recital as well as performing with his brother.
Margherita and Lady Alexandra stood in front of the marble fireplace, trying not to fidget. Margherita was wearing the most exquisite yellow dress by Worth, which accentuated her small waist and drew the eye to her milky-white shoulders and décolletage and the yellow diamond necklace that sparkled there. Lady Alexandra, not to be outdone by the girl who was more than likely to be her sister-in-law, was also wearing a gown by Worth, in the prettiest shade of dusty pink. Her diamonds were most certainly older than Margherita’s, having been passed down the generations and worn by at least three duchesses, but the stones were noticeably smaller. The Duchess, on seeing Margherita’s, had commented privately to her daughter that it wasn’t suitable for a girl so young to wear stones so big, and besides, one didn’t want to out-sparkle the eyes. But Arethusa, who cared little for jewellery, thought the Duchess was secretly very pleased, because the Stubbs jewellery would soon be gathered into the Sutcliffe family collection (and the wealth that came with it would no doubt pay for the maintenance of the family estates as well as Peregrine’s shooting and hunting parties). Arethusa was not competitive with other women. She was secure enough in her own skin to feel she did not need the aid of the finest gowns and most expensive gems to enhance her. She only wanted to impress Jonas, and she knew, from having spent the last few weeks in his company during their banjo lessons, that he didn’t care for lavish gowns either. He liked her for herself, his eyes had told her as much. However, Augusta had made sure that Arethusa shone as brightly as the other two. Her tailor had made up a stunning gown in the deepest purple and black, which gave her an enviable hourglass figure – perhaps a little too sensual in a girl so young, but it was impossible for Arethusa to look demure. She had a knowing in her eyes and a coquettishness in the way she used them, which were entirely unconscious. And the subtle padding of the bustle and the cheeky sweeping of her train only drew attention to the playful way she walked, which Augusta referred to as a bounce, but which was really more of a sashay. She stood behind the door and watched the guests through the open double doors of the ballroom at the other end of the landing. They had all arrived and were now taking their seats.
‘Peregrine and Rupert are like a pair of thieves planning a robbery,’ said Arethusa with a laugh. ‘Really, they’re standing by the door, obviously not wanting to be dutiful at all.’
Margherita became more agitated, as much as she could in such a tight corset. ‘Perhaps they are lingering by the door because they want to see into here,’ she said hopefully. ‘Are they looking in our direction?’
‘No,’ said Arethusa bluntly, then added more gently, ‘but I think you’re right, they’re hovering by the door to wish us luck as we walk in.’ She did not believe that, but Margherita was so infatuated with Lord Penrith that it didn’t seem fair to dampen her spirits, not before she was about to play the banjo for him.
Lady Alexandra, who blushed every time Rupert’s name was mentioned and came out in a blotchy rash all over her neck and chest, was now scarlet in the face and as agitated as Margherita. ‘Your brother has never heard me sing,’ she said and Arethusa would have liked to tell her that he would not be in the least impressed by her fragile little voice, but again, she did not wish to be unkind.
‘He’ll be mightily impressed, I should think,’ she lied. ‘I’m glad you’re singing and not me. I would empty the room after a single note.’ Lady Alexandra smiled happily, delighted by the thought of Rupert being impressed and Arethusa singing badly. She lifted her chin and inhaled through her delicate nostrils, her sense of superiority curling her thin lips into a small smile.
It wasn’t long before Jonas and his brother George entered the room. Arethusa stepped out from behind the door and grinned at Jonas, who smiled with equal encouragement on all three girls. ‘Are you ready, ladies?’ he asked. ‘Your audience awaits and we’re going to give them a great evening.’
‘I’m so nervous,’ cried Margherita. ‘This is the first time I’ve performed in front of an audience.’
‘Mama insists I play the piano for people all the time,’ said Lady Alexandra grandly. ‘But I admit I’m nervous about playing the banjo.’
George put up his hands. ‘Ladies, you do not need to be nervous. You’ve practised and now you’re perfect. Go out and conquer! Show them what you can do and be proud
. Remember, no one else can play the banjo but you and the Prince of Wales!’ George, who was more exuberant and comical than his brother, put them at ease by making them laugh, while Jonas gave them advice as any good teacher would.
‘Just remember to breathe,’ he said earnestly. He glanced at Arethusa, but only for a second. It was as if she burned his eyes. ‘Now, pick up your banjos and let’s wait on the landing for Her Grace to introduce us. I think they’ll be ready now.’
The girls followed the Madison brothers out of the room and stood in a tight trio by the large double doors, banjos in one hand, fans in the other – Arethusa had looped the velvet strap of her black-beaded evening bag over her wrist and carried that as well. She could feel the body heat from the audience and smell the ladies’ perfume in the thick, stuffy air. An expectant hush came over the room. Rupert and Peregrine stood together by the door and gave the girls encouraging looks. The girls waited anxiously as the Duchess took to the stage to welcome the Madison brothers once again to her home and to introduce three unlikely young performers. A murmur rippled over the guests as they all wondered who these young performers could be.
Arethusa caught Jonas’s eye and held it. As hot as she was, this time he did not look away as if scalded but gazed at her with longing, as if realizing suddenly that tonight was the last time they would see each other, that tomorrow there would be no more lessons, that after this it would be over. Arethusa was not preoccupied with anything outside the present moment. She was here, with him, and she was about to show him how much she had practised and how effortlessly she had learned. Had George Madison been her teacher, she would have been just as inept as her two companions.
The Secret Hours Page 26
