The Secret Hours

by Santa Montefiore

  The sky is mottled with cotton clouds. Every now and then the sun shines through and pours its radiance on the lush green hills and grey-slate roofs of Ballinakelly. The women smile and nod at Kitty and the men doff their caps. There is deference for this family who have presided over them for three hundred years. Yet, Kitty is not a woman who requires people to look up to her. She considers herself no different. And yet she is different. She has a magnificence that sets her apart irrespective of her family name.

  We very quickly find Jack and Emer O’Leary. They are with Alana and her children. Emer greets me with her gentle warmth and I feel we have a silent understanding, being both American from Irish descent (the tribal instinct in human beings is very strong), and she was once an outsider too. She is very kind to me and takes trouble explaining the order of the day. Of course, there are such processions in my own country, but I have never been to one. I’m looking around, at the hundreds of people preparing to process, the girls in white dresses, the women in black mantillas, those who were Children of Mary in blue cloaks and the nuns from the convent in black and white, and I search the faces for Cormac’s. I know he is here and my heart accelerates at the thought of seeing him.

  Jack O’Leary and Kitty talk together in the tight, selfconscious way they did that night at Ma Murphy’s when Cormac sang. While I am listening to Emer I can sense the tension between them. I ask Emer more questions and point at things to divert her gaze away from her husband. I do it automatically, as if I am conspiring with Kitty by default. I know nothing about her history with Jack, or indeed, whether she has a history at all. But I sense that this tangible thing between them is something that Emer should not see.

  The people arrange themselves into groups. They all seem to know where they have to stand and in what order the groups must be. The priest positions himself beneath a canopy, holding the host in a gold monstrance. He is surrounded by other men of the clergy and stewards carrying banners and I feel they are about to begin. We go to the back, where the public are congregating, and it is there that I see Cormac. He catches my eye and winks.

  We step in together and walk side by side as the Procession begins to move slowly through the town. He greets everyone, with a nod or a smile, and I realize that Cormac’s geniality is infectious. He’s one of those rare human beings that light up from within and people are drawn to him. He makes them feel good. He makes me feel good too.

  ‘I want you to stay,’ he says suddenly. He looks down at me and his face is solemn. Those lapis eyes aren’t twinkling now. They’re gazing at me tenderly; and they are vulnerable.

  I don’t know what to say. We are in the middle of a crowd. There is noise and movement all around us. Yet, we are strangely still. ‘I want to stay,’ I reply, but the word ‘want’ confirms the fact that I can’t.

  I also want to take his hand. I want to wrap my arms around him and hold him close and tell him I love him. But I am married. I have a husband, children, a home, a long way from here, and I will have to return. In four days’ time I will have to leave. The certainty suddenly hits me and I feel like I’ve walked into a brick wall. There’s a terrible finality about it that steals my breath. A certainty that sucks the blood from my face and debilitates me. I cannot walk on.

  We stop and let the town move past us like a river around two rocks.

  Then we are alone, just the two of us, with the singing fading as the Procession continues on up the street.

  ‘I want you to stay, Faye, and I’ve never said that to anyone before apart from my wife.’ He shakes his head dolefully and raises his eyes to the sky, as if he’s revealing too much of himself and doesn’t want me to see. ‘I don’t think I can let you go.’

  His voice cracks.

  I can feel the sting of oncoming tears and hold my eyes open to curtail them. ‘I don’t want you to let me go,’ I reply.

  ‘Then stay.’ He looks at me now. Directly. ‘Stay.’

  I turn to see Kitty striding towards us. Her face is anxious. ‘Why do you choose now to ask me?’ I say, frustrated that we will now have to part and the situation is not resolved. ‘This isn’t the place.’

  ‘I couldn’t help myself,’ he replies. ‘I looked at you. I thought of you leaving. I had to speak my mind.’

  Kitty reaches us. Her eyes dart from me to Cormac and back again. ‘Are you all right, Faye?’ she asks.

  ‘I felt a little dizzy,’ I reply, but she knows. Of course she knows. She can read the situation clearly, as if it were written.

  ‘Come, let’s go home.’

  ‘No, I don’t want to go home. Let’s walk slowly. I’m sure I’ll feel better in a moment.’

  Cormac puts his hands in his pockets. ‘I’ll leave you both,’ he says. I sense him giving Kitty a long stare and wonder what it is telling her.

  I watch him stride up the street. Then I drop my shoulders and give Kitty a long stare of my own.

  ‘You’ve fallen in love, haven’t you,’ she says and it’s not a question. It’s simply a statement of fact.

  ‘I have,’ I reply and I allow the tears to come.

  ‘Oh, Faye!’ she sighs. ‘I saw it happening. I knew it would come to this.’

  ‘He wants me to stay,’ I tell her.

  ‘Of course he does. He’s in love with you too. And he’s not a man who takes love lightly, either.’

  ‘But I’m married.’

  ‘Yes.’ The tone of her voice is doubtful. She knows my marriage is not a happy one.

  ‘I will return with Mom’s ashes,’ I tell her, my spirits lifting a little. ‘I will come back to lay her to rest and I’ll see Cormac again.’

  ‘You will. But you will not be alone. You’ll bring your brother with you, won’t you?’

  ‘If he agrees to come,’ I say.

  She pulls a face. ‘It will be hard to see Cormac if you come with your brother.’

  She is right. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ I say in desperation. ‘I have my children to think about. I’m married and I’m a mother. Believe me, I’ve agonized over this. But I have no choice. I’m not the sort of woman who can build her happiness on the unhappiness of everyone else. I’m not an island. I have four people to think about. How can my happiness be more important than theirs?’ I close my eyes, anticipating the fallout. ‘What would my children think if I told them I wasn’t coming home?’

  Kitty stops walking and settles her grey eyes onto mine. They are soft and compassionate, but they are also the eyes of a woman who has the courage I lack. ‘Look, Faye. I was once where you are now,’ she says and I sense the door to her past finally opening. ‘I had the opportunity to run off with the man I loved and start a new life in America. I was married. I loved my husband, but I loved this man more.’

  ‘Jack,’ I say slowly, not taking my eyes off hers. ‘Jack O’Leary.’

  She smiles sadly and nods. ‘I loved Jack more, Faye. I loved him with all my soul. I always have. Since we were children. But I didn’t go with him. I chose to stay here with Robert. I broke Jack’s heart and with it, I broke my own. It was probably the biggest mistake of my life. He went, met Emer and married her. I will always love him, but I will never have him. You, Faye, have the chance to do what I couldn’t do. One could say it’s selfish, but for how long do you have to put the wants of others above your own? Life is short. Don’t you deserve a little happiness for yourself?’

  ‘I have never thought about leaving Wyatt,’ I say truthfully. ‘When Cormac and I . . .’ I hesitate. I don’t want it to sound sordid. ‘I haven’t thought further than the moment. It was never meant to be something that lasted beyond these two weeks.’

  ‘But now you can’t live without him.’

  ‘I don’t think I can.’

  ‘It’s your choice, Faye. How do you want to live the rest of your life?’

  She leaves me with that thought and we quicken our pace to catch up with the Procession. I find Cormac. It’s easy to spot him for he is a head taller than everyone else. I smile
, and in it I hide the terrible dilemma that only I can resolve. He smiles apologetically. ‘All right?’ he asks.

  ‘Fine,’ I reply.

  The priest is giving a sermon. I stand beside Cormac. Slowly and subtly so I won’t draw attention, I put my hand next to his and touch his little finger with my own. It is a small movement, but big in significance. It tells him that I love him and that love will always find a way.

  As the priest rattles on, I think about Wyatt. I realize that, as my time in Ireland runs out, I have to think of home. I have to think of where I want my home to be. If I stay here, I don’t think I will break Wyatt’s heart. Perhaps I’m clutching at straws. I don’t want to hurt him. If he doesn’t love me, I can’t hurt him, right? But who am I to measure his love? Who am I to say whether or not I will break his heart? I do know, however, that I will damage his pride. That’s a certainty. Wyatt cares very much what people think. I also have my children to consider. They are grown-up now, but they will mind terribly if I leave their father. I think of my own father and how appalled he’d be. But then I remember Logan and the secret he and my parents kept. The secret that cemented their marriage and went with them to their graves. Perhaps my father wouldn’t have been so appalled after all. As for my mother, I know now that she would tell me to follow my heart.

  As the day ends the women return to their houses to prepare their families’ tea and the men head to the pubs for a bottle of stout. Kitty knows I am not coming back to the White House with her but going to leave with Cormac. She puts a hand on my arm. ‘Think hard, Faye,’ she says quietly. Then her gaze is diverted by Jack, who is walking down the pavement with his family, his back to us, his arm around his wife’s waist as he guides her through the crowd, and Kitty’s shoulders drop. ‘Don’t live in regret like me, Faye,’ she says and her face is so pained my heart goes out to her. ‘Life gives but few chances, you must take care to seize them when they come. They don’t often come round again.’

  Cormac and I drive to his house where Kite is waiting patiently to be taken for a walk. The light is fading, the wind picking up and the ocean serene beneath a flamingo-pink sky. We head to the beach. The setting sun has turned the sand to orange and the waves glitter and sparkle with a thousand jumping stars. Inspired by beauty and love I feel my chest grow tight with melancholy. Cormac takes my hand. His is big and rough and warm. Mine feels comfortable there, as if in his palm my hand has found home.

  We walk without speaking. Kite runs in and out of the water. It feels natural to be walking together with his dog and I think of my family back at home and then of the parallel life I’m living here, like I’m somebody else entirely. I don’t feel like Faye Langton anymore. I don’t feel like Faye Clayton either. Perhaps I don’t even feel like a Deverill. I just feel like Faye. Cormac’s Faye. I know that is the person I want to be. The person Cormac sees every time he looks at me.

  My eyes fill with tears. He perceives my sorrow and stops to embrace me. We stand there, holding on to one another while the seagulls circle above us and the wind blows through the long grasses and heather, as they always will regardless of the two of us and the choices we will make, and I press my head to his chest and long for a sense of permanence.

  He kisses my temple then holds my face in his hands and looks at me tenderly. ‘In four days’ time you’ll go back to America. Back to your husband and your children. Back to your brother and your mother’s ashes. You’ll have time to think about what you want to do. Then you’ll come back to lay your mother to rest and make your choice. I want you to stay because I love you. I want you to stay because you love me. What we have is special, Faye, and rare. Few ever find it. Most settle for something less and life isn’t all that bad. But we’ve found something more and life could be grand, really grand.’ He kisses my lips, his hands still warm upon my cheeks. ‘I don’t want you to think about it now. I want to enjoy these final days with you, because if they are, indeed, the last, I want to commit them to memory so I have something to chew on in my old age, like a dog with the remains of a juicy bone.’ I laugh and the tears spill. He wipes them away with his thumbs. ‘You’re a juicy bone, Faye.’ He smiles and his eyes shine too. ‘The juiciest I think I’ve ever had.’

  Chapter 33

  I don’t say goodbye to Cormac. The day of my departure we make love, take Kite for a walk and have lunch in a pub. We do all the things we usually do, pretending that I am not leaving, that we have days and days stretching out ahead of us. Then he drops me off at the White House and I walk inside without looking back. I don’t want my last memory of him to be, through tears, him sitting at the wheel of the Jeep.

  In the evening Kitty drives me to the airport and I embrace her fiercely. In Kitty I have found a sister and I don’t want to leave her either. ‘We’re always here,’ she says. ‘When you come back with your mother’s ashes, there’ll be a Faye-shaped space waiting for you to step right back into.’

  I board the plane, put my head back against the head rest and close my eyes. How different I am from the woman who arrived two weeks ago. How much has happened in such a short time to change me so profoundly. The only thing holding me together is the knowledge that I will be returning soon with Mother’s ashes. I will see Cormac then. I don’t need to make any decisions right now. I sigh wearily, as if I am carrying a weight too heavy for my small build.

  I will see Cormac again, I keep telling myself, over and over again. I will see Cormac again.

  Yet, there are a few hurdles to jump before then. I must tell Logan about his birth. I must tell him about Mother’s past. I must speak to Temperance and I must decide what I am going to do about my future. Can I find the courage to do something for myself?

  The plane lands at Boston Airport and I disembark. I do not expect to see Wyatt in arrivals, but he is there and he is looking unusually pleased to see me. I feel as if I’ve just emerged from my parallel world and am Faye Langton once again, stepping back into my old life.

  Wyatt smiles. He has missed me, I can tell. Forgotten is his disapproval at my leaving and travelling to Ireland on my own. Forgotten is his resentment at my uncharacteristic determination to have my way. ‘You look well,’ he says, taking me in as if I look new. He is handsome, debonair, smooth, and my heart aches for Cormac’s rugged face and weathered Irish charm. ‘Ireland has done you good,’ he adds, as if he’s now getting back a better version of his wife, one who won’t be demanding to leave again. One who simply won’t demand. ‘I want to hear all about it.’

  He kisses my cheek and it feels alien against my skin, which is so used to the scratchy feeling of Cormac’s beard. He takes my bag and we walk through the airport to the car park. He keeps staring at me and grinning like a boy. ‘What is it?’ I ask. I’m not used to his playfulness. He hasn’t been playful for thirty years.

  ‘You look different,’ he says. ‘Ireland’s taken years off you. You look well, Faye. Really well.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I’m flattered. Wyatt hasn’t noticed me in such a long time. I feel guilty accepting his compliment, guilty for enjoying it, as if I’m betraying Cormac in taking pleasure from Wyatt.

  We climb into the car and head home. After asking about the children, I tell him about the Deverills and he listens intently. Wyatt usually listens to me with half an ear, the other half is on his golf or his work, but now he listens with both and takes it all in. ‘To think you’re an English aristocrat,’ he exclaims, impressed. ‘Who’d have thought your mother was the granddaughter of Lord Deverill of Ballinakelly.’ I know he is going to boast to his friends at the golf club and I cringe because his shallowness diminishes him. I start to tell him about Mother. I intended to tell Logan first, but I find myself fulfilling my duty as a wife. Isn’t it right that I confide in Wyatt first? Ask his opinion? It’s what I’ve always done, after all. How quickly I slip into my old skin. Like Aesop’s Saggy Baggy Elephant, it feels unpleasant, as if it is full of small stones.

  As I suspected Wyatt is appalled that my mother
had a relationship with a black man. He gasps in horror and screws up his face with disgust. ‘Well, I’ll be damned!’ he exclaims, banging the steering wheel. ‘Talk about skeletons in cupboards. That’s one mighty big skeleton! I don’t think you should share that information with anyone besides Logan,’ he says, and I know he’s not suggesting I don’t tell anyone besides Logan, he’s telling me not to, because Wyatt is controlling and he’s used to controlling me. He doesn’t want anything to tarnish the family’s reputation. I am uncomfortable with his prejudice. I am about to tell him that I suspect Temperance is Jonas Madison’s daughter, but I stop myself. I want to protect Tempie from his contempt.

  ‘She really loved him, Wyatt,’ I say in my mother’s defence. ‘She didn’t see his colour.’

  ‘I suppose you should be grateful she didn’t run off with him.’ When I don’t reply immediately he looks at me in panic.

  ‘She didn’t, did she?’

  I’m furious with Wyatt for his lack of compassion. His lack of heart. So, I shut down. I simply switch off the transmit button and withhold the rest of the story. It gives me a surprising sense of empowerment. I will not share any more. He will not know about the pregnancy, or Dermot McLoughlin, or the gamble Mom took in agreeing to marry Ted Clayton, not knowing whether her baby would come out black or white. He won’t know that Logan is really Dermot McLoughlin’s son. He’ll never know. I will only tell Logan.

  ‘So, what happened? Did she run off with him?’ he demands, eager for yet fearful of more scandalous details.

  ‘No, she didn’t,’ I say in a flat voice. ‘She fell out with her parents and came to America to start a new life.’

  ‘What happened to the black guy?’