The Secret Hours

by Santa Montefiore

  ‘I don’t think Logan will. I think he’ll pretend I never told him and bury his head in the sand. No one knows but us. I haven’t told Wyatt. I didn’t want to let Logan down. It’s his secret to tell if ever he wants to share it.’ I wince inwardly at the lie, because of course I’ve told Rose. But Uncle Bertie doesn’t need to know that.

  ‘I’m touched that your mother should want to build a home for single mothers. That’s the Tussy I know. The girl who defied her governess and sneaked into town to give to the poor. She and her aunt Poppy were great philanthropists.’

  ‘She took up many causes in America too,’ I tell him proudly. ‘She always had compassion for those in need.’

  ‘I gather it will be called the Arethusa Deverill Home for Single Mothers.’

  ‘Yes, but she would have preferred it to be called the Logan Home.’

  ‘Arethusa Deverill is appropriate too.’ He gently pats my hand. ‘And how good of you to bring her ashes home.’

  ‘It’s where she wants to be,’ I say and watch the sheen on his eyes intensify with emotion.

  ‘Tonight we shall decide when and where to do it. I think a little ceremony on the hill above the castle would be appropriate. What do you think?’

  I feel moved. My own eyes begin to shine. ‘That is what she wanted,’ I reply.

  ‘Let’s bring the rest of the family into the conversation, shall we? I dare say they will all want to be involved.’ And indeed they do. It is decided that we will scatter her ashes the day after tomorrow, and that we will inform the people of Ballinakelly so that anyone who knew her when she was a girl can come and pay their respects.

  A couple of days later we assemble on the hill above Castle Deverill with the priest, a thin old man with a stoop who looks like a bulrush. To the right we can see the ocean, to our left bright green fields, and ahead, in a blaze of sunlight, glows the castle. It stands dutifully like an ancient coastguard keeping watch over the flotilla of clouds that sail rapidly inland on an easterly wind. In my hands I hold the urn that contains Mom’s ashes. Wyatt is beside me, hands on hips, gazing at the castle. It looks even more impressive from up here. I remember seeing it for the first time from this hill, with Cormac. I remember how it loomed out of the mist and snatched my breath. Now it is snatching Wyatt’s.

  Uncle Bertie and Aunt Maud hold hands. Their affection for each other is touching. The way he looks at her for reassurance, the way she gives it with an indulgent smile that softens the sharp edges of her face. JP and Alana stand together and JP has his arm around her, sheltering her from the wind. How handsome he is with his straight shoulders and thick auburn hair. I can see Kitty in his profile and in the strength of his jaw. Then there is Elspeth who is sweet and plain and her stiff husband Peter, and Robert, who puts his hands in his pockets and says nothing, the three of them are like lesser stars to Kitty’s brilliance. Kitty goes to stand beside her father, she knows how much this moment means to him, and she gives him a gentle, compassionate smile.

  Some of the older servants are here. Those who knew Arethusa when she was young. Eily Barry is too old and unwell to make it, but there is a small group of her contempories who stand a little apart. I catch their eyes and they look away nervously. But once I have averted my gaze, I can feel them turning back again. They are curious about this foreign Deverill who has brought her mother home.

  We are about to begin when we see a group of men and women in black making their way slowly towards us. There are about eight of them, walking in a huddle along the path that snakes through the long grasses. Uncle Bertie squints, but it is not until they are almost upon us that he recognizes them. He lets go of Maud’s hand and walks over to me. Then he lowers his voice and says, ‘That’s Dermot McLoughlin and family.’

  I’m astonished. I watch them approach with curiosity. An old man with a stick, an elderly woman in a black mantilla leaning on a younger man for support and five others, both middle-aged and young. I recognize Dermot immediately. I always thought that Logan looked like Mother, but now Dermot’s features surface in his face and I can see that he is also like his father. He has his height, the shape of his head and his colouring. Dermot is a handsome man, even in his eighties, and I realize now that my brother’s good looks are his.

  ‘You are very welcome,’ says Uncle Bertie in a manner that shows he has spent all his life being polite and gracious, like a king to his subjects.

  Dermot and I find each other and our eyes lock. His eyes are Logan’s. I do not look away. He stares at me quite deliberately, but he will not find Arethusa in my face. Then I realize that he is not looking for Arethusa; he is looking for himself.

  It is then that I know he knows. He knows about the pregnancy and he thinks his child might be me.

  The priest asks everyone to gather round. I drop my eyes to the ground where yellow and pink flowers flourish in the long grass. We form a semicircle. The priest announces that he’s going to say only a few words, and then says many. When he is finished Uncle Bertie opens a book he has brought with him and reads a poem. While he is reading I can feel Dermot’s eyes upon me. They are hot and enquiring.

  Let Fate do her worst, there are relics of joy,

  Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy,

  Which come in the night-time of sorrow and care,

  And bring back the features that joy used to wear.

  Long, long be my heart with such memories fill’d,

  Like the vase in which roses have once been distill’d.

  You may break, you may ruin the vase if you will,

  But the scent of the roses will hang ’round it still.

  I wonder what Dermot thought of Arethusa’s running away to America. Did he mourn her? Did he feel betrayed and cast aside? What impact did her leaving have upon his life? He later married and had children, half-brothers and sisters of my own brother who stand with him now, and I wish that Logan were here to meet them. I wish he could embrace our mother’s past and accept his own. I’m not sure, however, that I could. Then I wonder how Dermot knows. Perhaps he has always known, as Eily knew. Or maybe Eily isn’t so good at keeping secrets, after all.

  Uncle Bertie reaches for the urn and I hand it to him. He opens it and turns away from the wind. Then he shakes it and the ashes are released. They are carried on the gale and his words go with them:

  Do not stand at my grave and weep;

  I am not there. I do not sleep.

  I am a thousand winds that blow.

  I am the diamond glints on snow.

  I am the sunlight on ripened grain,

  I am the gentle autumn rain.

  When you awaken in the morning’s hush,

  I am the swift uplifting rush

  Of quiet birds in circled flight.

  I am the soft stars that shine at night.

  Do not stand at my grave and cry;

  I am not there, I did not die.

  It is only when I feel Wyatt’s hand taking mine that I realize I am quietly crying. At last my mother is set free, in the place where she grew up. In the place where she left the larger part of her heart. If Kitty is right and she lives on in spirit, I hope she is happy that I have carried out her wishes. She did want forgiveness after all, and she was ready to forgive as well.

  Wyatt’s hand feels awkward and contrived and a little embarrassing. He hasn’t taken my hand in years, I don’t feel it belongs there. I wish he wasn’t being so sweet. It would make me feel less guilty if he were being thoughtless or unkind. It would make it easier for me to justify the feelings I have for Cormac.

  We remain standing as the last of the ashes fall softly into the earth. I glance at Kitty. Her lips are curled into a knowing smile. It is small, barely perceivable, but it is a smile that conveys her unwavering, undoubting belief in the eternal nature of the soul. She, like our grandmother Adeline, does not believe in death. I wish I shared their conviction. I want to believe my mother is here, watching over me, and that one day, when it is my turn to go
, I will join her on the other side of the veil.

  The priest finishes the service with the Celtic blessing. ‘May the road rise up to meet you. May the wind be always at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face, the rains fall soft upon your fields and until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of His hand.’

  I let go of Wyatt’s hand so that I can thank the priest and Uncle Bertie for such a lovely service. Uncle Bertie’s eyes are moist. ‘She is home,’ he says and I feel the warm flood of tears well in my eyes all over again. It is then that I see Dermot McLoughlin walking slowly towards us. He is a blur and I blink to clear my vision. He shakes Uncle Bertie’s hand, but neither says a word. He turns and settles his dark, misty eyes onto mine. I can tell he is struggling to find the right words. He is shaking his head and his face is flushing with emotion. He sandwiches my hand in his and I struggle to find any words at all. ‘Your mother was very special to me,’ he says at last.

  ‘I know,’ I reply. ‘She wrote very affectionately about you in her diary.’

  He raises his eyebrows and nods in pleasant surprise. He is looking at me intensely and I sense he is searching for traces of himself in my features. I want to tell him that it is not I but Logan who was born nine months after their last meeting. But I can’t. I can’t betray my brother.

  I realize that he is still holding my hand between his two rough ones. I don’t know whether he is holding on to me because I am a part of the woman he loved, or because he thinks I am a part of them both. Uncle Bertie has not left my side. I am grateful for his support. At length Kitty joins us and diverts Dermot’s attention by asking him smoothly about his children and grandchildren. The tension is defused. He releases my hand and shifts his gaze to his family, who are waiting for him so that they can leave. I doubt they have any affection for Arethusa Deverill.

  I watch Dermot make his way slowly down the path in the bosom of his family, a fragile old man who was once my mother’s vigorous young lover. He gets smaller and smaller until he is out of sight. I would have liked to talk to him about his past. I’d like to have told him about Logan. I sense a thirst in him that only the truth can quench, but I am not the person to divulge it. It saddens me to watch him go because I feel I have left so much unsaid that should be spoken.

  I turn away and join my family. JP has an excited look upon his face. It is the face of someone who can barely contain good news. ‘What’s going on?’ I ask suspiciously.

  Uncle Bertie takes my hands. ‘Faye, JP and I are concocting a plan.’

  I frown. They look like a pair of excited schoolboys. ‘What sort of plan?’

  ‘How would you feel if the Arethusa Deverill Home for Single Mothers was built on Deverill land?’

  ‘Really? You have land you can spare?’

  JP nods. ‘Just on the edge of Ballinakelly. We’ve been looking to develop it. We’d like to honour your mother’s wish and build her home there.’

  ‘It’s also a way for us, as a family, to give something back to the community,’ Uncle Bertie adds. ‘Tussy was always concerned about those in need. I don’t believe we did as much as we could. This would enable us to make up for our ineptitude.’

  I am so happy that they are supporting me. I had no idea how I was even going to begin to set up her home, but with my uncle and JP by my side I know I can pull it off. ‘I’m overwhelmed,’ I exclaim. ‘Really, I can’t thank you enough. Mom would be so happy.’

  I catch Wyatt’s eye and he smiles approvingly. He’s the sort of person who thinks it is only men who are capable of getting things done. I know he is also smiling with relief that I am not going to embark on this project alone. Perhaps he is thinking that, if the family are involved, I won’t have to come back.

  But I will come back, to lay the foundation stone. I wouldn’t miss that for the world. I smile at Wyatt, but beneath my smile is sorrow, because once I loved him and now I don’t. Whatever magic we had is gone. I turn my eyes to the ocean. America is very far away. There is a strong reluctance in me to leave. My feet are firmly planted on Irish soil and I don’t want to lift them. I want to stay. Wyatt takes my hand again. ‘Come,’ he says. ‘You’ve done your duty. She’s been laid to rest. Life can go back to normal.’

  But can it? For Logan, it never will, and for me? I don’t want it to.

  Chapter 36

  Kitty persuades Robert to take us to Ma Murphy’s for supper. Robert is reluctant to go. He seems just as out of place in Ballinakelly as Wyatt does. But after a long discussion and Kitty’s gentle coaxing, he relents. If it wasn’t for Wyatt I know he wouldn’t come, but because he has an ally, he breaks his habit of staying at home and joins us.

  I have not spoken to Cormac since I left him two days ago. I am grateful to Kitty for giving us that precious time together, but I was left longing for more, resenting my husband for coming to Ireland with me and agonizing over what to do about it. I have been with Wyatt for thirty-seven years. For the greater part of my life. I am conditioned to our dynamic, used to our routines and accustomed to the person I am when I’m with him, even if I don’t like that person very much; it is my life. The only life I know. We share our home, our past and our children and grandchildren. I love Cormac. I want to be with him. But I am afraid. The people-pleaser in me worries about what everyone would think were I to leave my husband. It is very hard to change the habits of a lifetime. It is very hard to change the person that I am; it is just hard.

  Cormac is at Ma Murphy’s when we arrive. He is the first person I see, as if he has sat there on purpose, in the direct line of my vision. He is on a stool at the bar, sharing a joke with the barmaid. He turns, beer glass in hand, and looks at me gravely as I enter with Wyatt, Kitty and Robert. He is not alone. The whole room goes quiet. It must be the first time that Robert has been here. I don’t think they are all staring at me and they are certainly familiar with Kitty. It is Robert. Or perhaps it is Wyatt. Or is it us? Is my affair with Cormac a badly kept secret? I think of Dermot McLoughlin and wonder whether the people of Ballinakelly are just bad at keeping secrets.

  We sit at a table in the corner, Kitty and I with our backs to the wall. Wyatt and Robert are probably happy not to be able to see the locals who are staring at them as if they are Martians. The barmaid tears herself away from Cormac and comes to take our order for drinks. The menu for supper is written on a blackboard on the wall. I pretend to read it, but I read Cormac’s face instead. It says one word: Stay.

  We order food, Robert chooses a bottle of white wine. Wyatt asks for a whiskey and Robert recommends Jameson’s, which is a good Irish brand. I try not to look at Cormac. I try to listen to the conversation at the table. Only Kitty knows how hard it is. She has been where I am now and, I’m beginning to realize, she enjoys a bit of drama. She is willing me to succeed where she failed.

  I am managing to keep my emotions under control when Cormac picks up his accordion. Without any introduction he begins to play. Ma Murphy’s goes quiet and everyone stops what they’re doing to listen. They are used to Cormac’s plaintive voice and the tears it induces. I feel my face flush and my eyes sting as he begins to sing.

  When my love and I parted the wind blew cold

  When my love and I parted, our love untold

  How my heart kept crying love come with me

  But I turned my face from her and faced the sea

  When my love and I parted we shed no tears

  Though we knew before us lay weary years

  For a bird was singing upon a tree

  And a gleam of sunlight lay on the sea

  Parting is bitter and weeping vain

  And all true lovers will meet again

  And no fate can sever my love and me

  For her heart is the river and mine the sea

  I get the feeling that everyone in Ma Murphy’s, besides Wyatt and perhaps Robert, knows this song is for me.

  Then Kitty whispers in my ear. ‘ “For his heart is the river and mine the sea”, that’s the ori
ginal lyric.’ I frown. I don’t understand what she means. She smiles. ‘He’s changed it so he can sing it for you.’ Now I’m certain they all know and my blush deepens. Stay. That’s all I can hear, repeated in my head over the sound of the music. Stay.

  The next few days pass in mounting anguish. We go to Mass, we visit the sights and all the while Wyatt is with me, but Cormac is in my head and in my heart and I am torn between duty, the vows I made before God, and love.

  I send a telegram to Logan to let him know that Mom’s ashes have been scattered. I don’t suppose he cares very much, but I want him to be in the loop. He is her son, after all. Although he is probably wishing he wasn’t right now.

  I don’t discuss Cormac with Kitty. I know her mind, but only I can make up mine.

  The final morning of our stay she asks me to ride with her. We set off into the hills and she asks whether I want to see Cormac one last time. She can give us another hour, she says. I tell her I don’t. I’m hurting enough. I cannot bear the agony of parting. I cannot bear the agony of an hour saying goodbye. I cannot bear to hear him say that word: Stay.

  Wyatt notices how unhappy I am and tries to make me feel better. He suggests asking the Learmonts for dinner as soon as we get back. Jenny Learmont is a good friend of mine and Roddy Learmont is a golfing buddy of Wyatt’s. But my heart sinks at the thought of returning to the same old routine, the same old people, the same old me. My life in Boston seems shallow now and without joy. I feel I have awoken from a sleep and realized that the life I have been living is only a dream and now that I am fully conscious that dream can no longer satisfy me. And no fate can sever my love and me/For his heart is the river and mine the sea. How will I go on without him?

  As I pack I tell myself that I’ll come back. That I have to come back on account of the home we’re going to build in my mother’s name. But can a love affair last when there are long gaps between meeting and a distance so great I need to spend a whole night on a plane to get here? Is it possible to sustain it under such circumstances? And all the while that voice in my head which brings tears to my eyes and a tightness in my chest: Stay.