The Secret Hours

by Santa Montefiore

  ‘And why give money to a place she hated?’

  ‘Who says she hated it?’

  ‘If she’d loved it so much she would have gone back.’

  ‘She is going back. I’m taking her.’

  ‘Why wait until you’re dead?’ That horrid word again. Dead. Wyatt says it with such irreverence. It’s as if he’s forgetting he’s speaking about my mother.

  ‘Logan doesn’t want to come with me,’ I tell him.

  ‘That’s no surprise. He doesn’t want her to be buried in Ireland, period. At least one of you has some sense.’

  ‘Wyatt, it means a lot to me that I do as she asked and take her remains home.’ His insensitivity is grating. I can’t believe he was this insensitive before I went to Ireland. How did I put up with it? Was I so conditioned that I didn’t notice?

  He picks up his wine glass and swigs it. Then he looks at me over the rim and holds my gaze. ‘All right, if it means so much to you. Go to Ireland.’

  ‘Thank you.’ The relief is overwhelming. I feel awash with gratitude.

  Then Wyatt snatches it back. ‘If Logan isn’t going to go with you,’ he says. ‘I’ll go.’

  I try not to show my shock. Cormac crashes into my head on a wave of panic. How will I see him if my husband is with me? I don’t want Wyatt in Ireland! I don’t want him to have anything to do with the Deverills. If he comes with me I will not be able to be myself. ‘That’s a great idea,’ I croak and he grins broadly, pleased because he thinks he has made me happy. He arrogantly mistakes my flushing face for pleasure. He doesn’t realize he is stealing my joy. I feel sick. Ballinakelly is the only place that belongs exclusively to me. If Wyatt comes it will no longer be mine.

  There is nothing I can do. Wyatt takes over as he always does. He chooses the dates. He telephones Robert Trench and asks if we can stay with them. He buys the flights and arranges the car to drive us to the airport. I should be excited but I’m not. I’m dreading the whole trip. I’m dreading the agony of seeing Cormac and not being able to hold him. I don’t know whether I’ll have the strength to hide the way I feel.

  I telephone Kitty while Wyatt is at the office. Being a long distance and very expensive call, I make it brief. I tell her about the home for single mothers and she says she will discuss it with her father and JP. She is delighted by the idea and wants to be involved. ‘You can’t very well organize it on your own,’ she says.

  ‘How is Cormac?’ I ask. There is no time to be subtle, to beat about the bush. I want to talk about him. I want to know that our connection is unbroken. My throat tightens. Hearing Kitty’s voice brings him home to me and I am struck with an urgent and desperate longing. There is a lengthy silence, then Kitty replies. She doesn’t beat about the bush either. Her voice is serious. She’s been here before. She doesn’t want me to make the mistake that she made.

  ‘You have a choice, Faye,’ she says and the line crackles. She sounds very far away suddenly. ‘When you come back, you have to decide whether you’re going to leave or whether you’re going to stay. You only get one chance. Don’t throw it away.’

  My eyes blur. My heart contracts into a small and timid thing. Cormac is like a tiny pinprick of light glimmering through the darkness, beckoning me to come. I put down the receiver and remain in the chair, numb with indecision. I look out of the window of our Boston apartment, hoping to find an answer there. My eyes settle on the brownstone buildings across the street; they are so close I can see two people in their sitting room, arguing. The noise of traffic is intrusive. It is constant and unrelenting. The wail of a siren pierces the air and I think of the silent hills of Ballinakelly and the soft rain that makes them so green, and the ache in my soul snatches my breath and leaves me feeling desolate and alone and so very, very dissatisfied.

  Wyatt is excited about travelling to Ireland. He thinks he is doing me an enormous favour by coming with me. He thinks he’s being supportive and generous with his time. He wants praise and gratitude and I have to muster all my strength to give them without exposing my resentment. I telephone Logan with the details of our trip in case he changes his mind, but I know he won’t. It might take him the rest of his life to come to terms with the truth about his parentage, or he might never accept it. That is a choice only he can make. We both have choices and neither is easy.

  The weekend before we leave Rose comes to stay with her husband and children. Frank, her husband, is the son-in-law I dreamed of. He runs the marketing team for a big global retailer and is charming, attentive to Rose and the kids, and kind. They fit together like a pot and its lid. The three children are under ten, all of them well-behaved and polite. How typical of Rose to bring up her young family with patience and love, allowing them to be themselves, not trying to push them into being mini versions of their parents, like so many parents do. On the Sunday morning Frank takes the kids out for an ice cream and Rose and I are given the time to walk around the park and talk.

  ‘You’ve been very distracted all weekend,’ she says as we wander along the path in the sunshine. ‘What’s going on, Mom?’

  ‘Well, I am a little distracted,’ I confess. ‘Logan doesn’t want to come and lay Grandma to rest, which is upsetting.’

  ‘Why won’t he go?’

  I suddenly feel the urge to confide in my daughter. I haven’t told a soul about Dermot McLoughlin, but I’ve wanted to share Ireland with Rose right from the moment I arrived. ‘Let’s go and sit down,’ I suggest. She gives me a look. She knows I’m going to confide in her and she’s ready to listen.

  We take a bench in the shade and sit side by side. ‘What I’m going to tell you now must remain between us,’ I tell her seriously. She nods. I know Rose can keep a secret (unlike her sister who likes to be the first to know everything and the first to share it). ‘Your grandmother left Ireland because she was pregnant.’ Rose stares at me in astonishment. ‘She met your grandfather on the crossing to America and when he asked her to marry him, she told him that she was carrying another man’s child. Your grandfather was a brave and daring man, for he wasn’t put off but married her all the same and brought the child up as his own. That child is Uncle Logan.’

  There is a long silence as Rose gazes at me with her eyes wide and her mouth agape. She cannot believe what I have just told her. I realize that’s why Mom wanted me to read her diary. She wanted me to read her story slowly, with time to digest it. I have just dropped it into Rose’s lap with no scene setting and she is duly horrified.

  I put a hand on hers. ‘Let me tell you from the beginning.’ Rose listens without saying a word as I tell her Arethusa’s story. I include Jonas because I don’t ever want her to think I lied to her. I tell her the whole story, unabridged, and her eyes grow wider and her cheeks flush a little and yet, I don’t see any trace of disgust in her eyes. I see only compassion and understanding. When I finish I breathe a heavy sigh. ‘That’s the truth, so now you know.’

  ‘Oh Mom, what a story! Poor Grandma, to have lost her home and the man she loved. And you, to discover that your brother is only your half-brother and that your mother was disowned by her family.’ She shakes her head and frowns. ‘And Uncle Logan. No wonder he doesn’t want to go to Ireland. He must be furious with Grandma. And hurt. He must be so hurt.’ She puts a hand on her chest. ‘How will he ever get over it?’

  ‘Only time will help him do that,’ I say. ‘Maybe he’ll never get over it.’

  Rose looks at me steadily. ‘You know, I knew something was wrong the moment I heard your voice on the phone. You sounded so different. I said to Frank, “Something has happened over there and I don’t know what it is, but I hope she’ll tell me.” And you have.’

  ‘I know I can trust you, and to be honest, I had to tell someone. I was good to burst, holding it all in.’

  ‘Haven’t you told Daddy?’

  ‘No, I don’t think Daddy would understand.’

  Rose nods. She knows her father. ‘Better keep it between us then.’

  ‘T
hat’s what I think.’

  She smiles. ‘Thank you, Mom, for trusting me.’ She puts her arms around me and I hold her tightly. I hold her tightly because I love her so much and I’m so afraid of hurting her. Cormac is on my mind and in my heart and ticking like a bomb about to go off and hurt not just Rose, but everyone I love.

  Wyatt and I fly to Ireland. I feel anxious because I know Ireland won’t be the same with Wyatt in it. He will taint it; my secret treasure will become his and I don’t want him to have it.

  I hope Kitty has warned Cormac that my husband is coming with me. I bite my nails as I watch Boston shrink in the little round window of the plane and I wish that Wyatt was shrinking with it, but he is beside me, reading the newspaper, ignorant of the turmoil he has generated inside me. Ignorant of the weighing scales I’m using to decide my future, which are, at the moment, falling very heavily in Cormac’s favour. The more I resent my husband, the more he wants me. If he had wanted me like this over the last twenty years, I would never have fallen in love with Cormac. There would never have been a void for him to fill. But now he has filled it, it is no longer a void. Cormac has made me complete. Wyatt is in the way.

  I do not sleep on the plane. I read my book but don’t turn the page. So much has happened in the last month that I have an awful lot to think about. I wish I could still my mind, but I can’t, no matter how hard I try. I wonder if my mother is watching me. I hope that she is. I close my eyes and allow the tears to trickle down the edges of my face. I’m a little girl again, missing my mother. Wyatt sleeps beside me, oblivious.

  At last the velvet green fields of Ireland come into view. I press my nose to the glass and gaze out with elation. In spite of Wyatt sitting beside me, sharing my view, commenting on how small the city looks, I am mesmerized by the soothing sight of this land which has inveigled its way so unexpectedly into my heart. It feels like home. I yield to the comforting sense of belonging and some of my anxiety evaporates.

  To my surprise Kitty herself is in the arrivals hall. I run to her in delight and we embrace. I don’t need to tell her how I feel, she understands. She squeezes me and I soak up her empathy. I want to cry with relief, because she is silently sharing my burden and making it lighter.

  I have forgotten how similar Kitty and I look, so it takes me by surprise when Wyatt stares at her in amazement and comments on it. ‘Wow!’ he exclaims. ‘You two could be sisters.’ He looks from her to me and back again.

  ‘Faye is like a sister to me,’ says Kitty and she shakes his hand and smiles warmly. She settles her grey eyes onto him and I know that she is sizing him up and taking him in and knowing exactly what sort of man he is before he has shown anything of himself. I wonder whether he’s what she expected him to be.

  After a brief chat we head out to the car park. It is a blustery summer’s day. Fat white clouds amble across the sky like sheep, shepherded by a gusty, impatient wind. Wyatt sits in the front seat and I in the middle of the back seat, so the three of us can talk. I see the country anew through Wyatt’s eyes. He makes the same comments I made to Cormac when I arrived. Oh Cormac! We’re under the same sky, our feet are on the same soil, we’re breathing the same air. I’m injected with excitement, although I don’t know how I’m going to manage to see him with Wyatt at my side. I don’t think Robert plays golf.

  I did not expect Robert and Wyatt to get along. Robert is quiet, pensive and literary. He writes books, he reads books and he doesn’t seem to do much else. His stiff leg prohibits him from doing anything physical. Wyatt, on the other hand, is arrogant, loud and athletic. He loves all games that involve a ball. He watches them and he plays them and I don’t think he has ever read a book. Yet, to my surprise the two men discuss politics. Wyatt is very interested in politics. He used to talk with my father late into the night over a Bourbon on the rocks. They used to sit on the veranda with Logan and I’d hear their voices from my bedroom window upstairs. Robert, it transpires, follows American politics and is very well-informed. I wonder why he never discussed them with me? Did he assume that, being a woman, my opinion was not worth hearing?

  Kitty is my ally and my co-conspirator. We leave the men at the lunch table and go for a ride. Wyatt wants to come too. He likes the idea of riding, but Kitty puts him off. Robert watches her warily, as if he knows she is deliberately creating a diversion. Wyatt suspects nothing. We leave the house and head off to the stables where the groom has already saddled up our horses. Then we set off into the hills. Wyatt remains in the house with Robert and in leaving him behind I feel an exhilarating sense of liberty. My hair flies out behind me, the wind blows against my face and the speed of the horse galloping over the long grasses fills me with excitement. I know where we are going and I know Cormac is expecting me.

  I am overwhelmed with gratitude towards Kitty. As Cormac’s whitewashed cottage comes into view I realize that she is helping me because she failed to help herself when she had the chance. She is living vicariously through me. My pleasure is her pleasure. My pain is hers as well. She knows which way the scales should fall. If I were her, I would run into Cormac’s arms and never let him go.

  We trot up to the front door. Cormac is standing in the sunshine, waiting for me. His smile is tentative, his hands are on his hips, his hair curls beneath his cap. His face is darkened by his beard. He takes the reins and I dismount. We don’t speak. I wind my arms around his neck and press my lips to his. I forget that Wyatt is at the White House. In Cormac’s embrace I forget that I am married at all. Kitty takes my horse. ‘I’ll be back in an hour,’ she says.

  Cormac looks down at me and his eyes brim with longing. ‘Stay,’ he says. I press my forehead against his and close my eyes. I put my hands to his face and run my thumbs across his cheeks. He covers my hands with his. ‘Stay.’

  Chapter 35

  That afternoon Kitty and Robert accompany us to the castle. Wyatt is impressed by the size and grandeur of it. He sweeps his eyes over the magnificent stone walls and the fairy-tale towers and turrets that pierce the sky, and he cannot believe how my mother was able to walk away from it for ever. How she was able to turn her back on her past when it was so prestigious. I do not enlighten him. He only knows that she fell in love with Jonas Madison. He doesn’t need to know that there was a baby and that that baby was Logan.

  We are met by JP and Alana and the six of us have tea on the terrace in the sunshine. Wyatt is welcomed warmly but I watch him with mounting unease. He doesn’t fit in here at Castle Deverill. It’s not something anyone else would notice. It’s a feeling that is mine alone. Wyatt looks smaller here, like a lion without his mane or a tiger without his teeth. Ireland diminishes him and yet it empowers me. I belong here, and with my sense of belonging comes a new vigour. It is as if the Deverill in me has been awoken after decades of sleep and is looking at Wyatt with new, more worldly eyes.

  After tea we wander around the gardens. JP walks ahead with Wyatt and tells him the family history, how the castle was built, burned down and rebuilt by Kitty’s cousin Celia. Wyatt is transfixed. He relishes the fact that it’s my history too. I have grown in his eyes because I come from this magnificent castle and have a three-hundred-year history and an aristocratic lineage. Yet, he is diminished in mine, because he cares. We wander through the vegetable gardens where the magnificent greenhouses float like glass galleons on a sea of green, where Arethusa met Jonas for the last time and gave herself to him in the hope that she would never forget. JP leads us through the garden that he planted in memory of his late mother. There is a pretty wooden bench set beneath an arch of pale pink roses. It is a wistful, tranquil place, among the bees and butterflies, but all Wyatt wants to know is how she ascended from the daughter of the castle’s cook to the wealthy Countess di Marcantonio, and I wonder whether he has always been so unsentimental, or whether I am noticing now because my eyes have been opened and my heart has been touched. He is a materialistic man only interested in the value of things; I wonder what my value has been.

  T
hat evening we have dinner at the castle. Uncle Bertie and Aunt Maud are there along with Kitty’s sister Elspeth and her husband Peter. It is a small family gathering. I talk quietly with Uncle Bertie while Aunt Maud sits on the sofa with Wyatt and asks him about himself, which delights him for Aunt Maud is still a beautiful woman and he brightens in the mesmeric glare of her attention. Uncle Bertie takes me into a far corner. We sit on chairs placed next to each other. ‘I want to thank you for letting me read Tussy’s diary,’ he says. ‘It saddened me very much.’

  ‘It saddened me too,’ I agree. ‘Because in leaving her home and family Mom lost so much.’

  ‘That was her choice, Faye,’ he says. ‘She could have come back at any time. We would have received her with open arms. No, my dear, what saddened me was the effect her departure and consequent exile must have had on my parents. They never spoke of her, but I never thought to ask. I’m saddened by the secrets. It doesn’t surprise me that Rupert knew all about it. Tussy and he were very close. I was a little older. But family is about sharing, the good times and the bad. It’s about pulling together when things go wrong and sticking together and seeing them through. I know that now. My own life has taught me about the importance of family. You only get one. How little I knew Tussy. That saddens me too, because through her diary I have come to know her better. Thank you, Faye, for letting me share it. You can’t imagine what it means to know the truth. I will no longer ask myself the question for now I know the answer.’ He looks at me and his eyes are full of concern. ‘Tell me, how has your brother taken it?’

  I shake my head. ‘He doesn’t want to know.’

  ‘I don’t blame him. It’s very tough accepting that something which has seemed solid and certain all his life is in fact a lie. I’m sure he is both angry and wounded.’

  ‘It’s a terrible shock.’

  ‘I’ve had a few shocks of my own in my life, but one does get over them, in the end.’