A Letter From America

by Geraldine O'Neill

  As they walked along the corridor, Fiona wondered what Michael’s mother looked like and what type of person she was – and whether they would like each other if they ever met. From what he had told her, she had a feeling she would.

  Then, she fleetingly wondered what Mam would think of him. She honestly didn’t know. She would definitely think him a bit too casually dressed, and she wouldn’t be too gone on his long hair. But, Fiona thought, she would certainly like his good manners and the fact he was an architect would probably help her see past the denims and hair.

  But, Fiona did not dare to speculate on what her mother would think, if she knew she was in a hotel with a man she hardly knew.

  “Okay,” he said, coming to a halt outside room number sixteen, “this is mine, and you’re next door at number eighteen.”

  She waited, but he didn’t move. “Aren’t you going to let me have a look inside your room?” she asked, smiling up at him.

  He raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

  She looked to the right along the corridor and then to the left. There was no one else around. “Go on,” she said. “I’ll risk it.”

  He unlocked the door and let her in past him to look. It was an average-sized room with a double bed with a blue-striped bed cover and matching curtains.

  “Okay,” she said, “let’s go and look at mine.” She had half expected him to come in behind her and kiss her again, and she felt slightly disappointed that he hadn’t.

  They went to the next room, and she unlocked the door. She went in a few steps then she turned back and smiled at him. “I think it’s okay if you bring my case in.”

  “As long as you don’t forget you invited me,” he said light-heartedly.

  “Oh!” she said, wandering into the middle of the room. “It’s absolutely gorgeous – and big. Really beautiful.” She turned around, looking at the peaches-and-cream bedspread and curtains, and the feminine cream floral wallpaper. The wardrobe and dressing-table were dark wood with spindly, delicate legs.

  “I’m glad you like it,” he said, putting her case down on the stand by the door. “They had rooms of different sizes, so I asked to have a look at a few of them, and I took a guess that this one would be your taste.”

  “I love it,” she said, “and I’m going to feel really spoiled here.” She turned around to face him and his eyes met hers. Then, all the light banter suddenly faded and they both just stood there looking at each other.

  “I missed you,” he said, “I couldn’t stop thinking about you from the minute I left Tullamore.”

  “And I missed you,” she said, “from the minute you left.”

  She did not know who moved first, but suddenly they were in each other’s arms and he was kissing her face and her hair and then he took her face in both his hands, and gently kissed her lips. The kisses grew harder and deeper and as it went on she felt as though a part of her was leaving herself and, somehow, falling into him.

  Eventually, Michael eased away from her, slightly breathless.

  As his arms moved to release her, she had to move to steady herself, and then she started to sort her tousled hair back into place.

  He cleared his throat. “We need to call down to reception and let them know what time we want dinner.” He looked at his watch. “It’s six o’clock now – what do you think?”

  Something in his eyes drew her back to him, and she found herself wrapping her arms around his neck, stroking his hair and drawing his head down so his lips were on hers again. They kissed for longer this time and this time their bodies came closer, and she shivered when she felt his hands moving up and down her back through the soft cotton of her blouse.

  And then, without even realising she was doing it, her hands moved down his back and then she gathered the soft denim shirt in one hand and the other moved upwards to stroke his bare skin. They moved closer to each other and Fiona gave a little gasp as his hands found her hips and he pulled her closer still, until she could feel the hard ridge in the front of his jeans pressing into her. Her insides gave a little jump as she realised what it was.

  She knew she should retreat now, not encourage him any further, but instead she wondered then how it would feel if the layers of clothes separating them were gone, and they could hold and touch each other. The thought made her suddenly quiver and when he felt it he stopped and held her tightly to him.

  “Are you okay?” he whispered, kissing the side of her head.

  She could not speak, so she just nodded and buried her face in his chest.

  “Shall I go downstairs and let them know about dinner, and leave you to get settled here?” he asked. He hands moved down along her hair, but he now seemed a little different, slightly distant from her, and she instinctively knew he was afraid of things moving too quickly – going too far.

  He was taking responsibility for them both, which was decent and good, and doing all the right things she had wanted him to do. She had wanted them to be sensible and careful. And yet – there was another part of her that was becoming stronger – that did not want him to stop any of the things he had been doing – the kissing and the touching.

  A part of her that wanted him to go on and on, until they reached something or somewhere she was not even sure existed.

  She stood leaning against him for a few more minutes, feeling his heart beating beneath the denim and the warmth of his tanned skin. Breathing in the faint, clean scent of him.

  And as he shifted and loosened his hold on her, she wanted to tell him not to leave this lovely hotel room, which he had chosen with care, in case it broke the spell of whatever was now between them.

  Instead, she looked at him and said, “I suppose we should get moving.”

  He moved towards the door, smoothing down his shirt, his jeans, his hair. Making himself look presentable for the woman in the glasses at the desk downstairs. “What time?” he asked.

  She shrugged. Food was the last thing on her mind just now “Seven?” she said. “Is that too early? Half past seven?”

  “I’ll see what she says.” He put his hand on the door, and then he looked back at her. “Do you think,” he said, “that it’s possible for people to fall in love in such a short time?

  Fiona looked at him. “I think it might well be possible.”

  They were sitting in the dining room later when Fiona remembered the conversation from before. “Okay,” she said, smiling at him. “You were going to tell me something about us not being auctioneers or millionaires – so what are we?”

  “This is according to the lady on the desk.” He started to laugh. “Let me think...I can’t remember the exact words...it was something like – we are the ‘typical Americans who come looking up old family properties – like John Wayne in The Quiet Man’.”

  “What?” she said. “Have you actually seen the film?”

  “Of course,” he said. “I told you my mother’s family are Irish. Everybody in America who is Irish has seen The Quiet Man.”

  “So you’re Seán Thornton then?”

  He nodded. “And you must be Mary Kate.”

  They both started to shake with quiet laughter.

  “She didn’t even see the insult in it,” Michael said. “She said it with a big, friendly smile.”

  “She probably thinks you’re a millionaire.”

  “I wish I was, but unfortunately there is a limit on it.” He reached over and put his hand on hers. “We’ll go out to the cottage tomorrow and have a look and you can tell me what you think.”

  Later, as they sat across from each other at small table in the lounge, she looked over at him. “Did you sort out your plane ticket back to America yet?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Things with the cottage are going slower than I thought – the solicitor is still having trouble locating the deeds. I rang the airport and, if I pay a bit extra, I can have it extended for another week or two.” He caught her eye, and she saw the serious look on his face – which told her he had thought this out c
arefully. “It’s not just the cottage – I thought it would give us some more time as well, to work things out.”

  She looked back at him, holding his gaze for a while without speaking. She turned things over in her mind, thought about what this meant for them both. “I’m glad,” she said, “because what you said upstairs earlier about wondering if a week is long enough to know about your feelings … well, this gives us time to be sure.”

  “You’ve got it,” he said.

  “Can I ask you something? It’s about money. All this must be costing you a fortune.” She gestured around the lovely big room – the flowing curtains edged with tassels, the marble fireplace, the antique tables and carefully selected pieces of furniture. “Not to mention changing your plane ticket. I don’t want you going bankrupt because of me.”

  He shook his head. “As I said earlier about the cottage, money isn’t unlimited, but it’s not a huge problem. I more or less work for myself, and if I’m prepared to work between Boston and New York I can pick up work easily.” He smiled. “And I do have savings and –” he leaned forward, talking low, “I received a legacy from my grandfather a few years back. He left me the house I live in, in Boston, and another small one between me and Greg. We rent it out, so we have a monthly income from that as well, so I suppose I’m pretty okay.” He grinned. “I’m not exactly a Yank with millions, but I guess I’m lucky enough compared to others. It gives me choices.”

  “That’s great,” she said. “I was worrying that it might be a problem.” She halted. “But you must let me pay something towards this weekend. I can afford it. I don’t have the same money as you, but I have more than enough to get by for holidays and things.”

  “Okay,” he said, “you can buy us dinner tomorrow night. How does that sound?”

  “It’s a start,” she said, smiling back at him.

  An older German couple came to the next table with a map, and after a few minutes they asked, in fairly good English, if Fiona or Michael could tell them the best route to Cork. They got chatting and the man told them that he worked for one of the wine companies in the Rhineland. Michael was really interested, saying it was one of the places he had read about and that he hoped in the future to do a tour of Europe – especially, France, Spain, Italy and Germany. He also wanted to visit Czechoslovakia, as he had heard about the beautiful old buildings in Prague.

  “If you like old architecture, you must come to the Rhineland,” the man said, “and see our famous castles – some of them go back to the twelfth century. They are the romantic castles that are described in...” He put his head to his hand, thinking.

  “Fairy tales!” his wife said, smiling.

  “I’ve seen pictures of them,” Michael said, voice full of enthusiasm. “They are beautiful delicate works of art.”

  Fiona listened as they talked, and she pictured the life she might have with him if this romance of theirs worked out. He would want to travel to places she had hardly thought of, and he would want to keep learning about things. It was all she had hoped for when she imagined meeting someone out in New York. In fact, she thought, it was much better.

  Another month would make a big difference as well. If they spent a lot of that time together, they would get to know each other quicker than most ordinary couples. Surely, she reasoned – another month would tell them whether or not this was going to work?

  They already knew a lot about each other – he had spent days with her, hanging around the shop and bar. He had got on well with Patrick and Mrs Mooney. His family were Irish Catholic. She didn’t know if he went to church regularly or not – she hadn’t thought of it – but that wouldn’t be a problem. She knew, without having to ask, that he would do whatever she wanted while he was in Ireland that would make things easier for her.

  He was not only unbelievably attractive and clever – he was also kind and thoughtful. He had taken nothing for granted; he had booked and paid for two rooms so she would not feel under pressure. And he had understood about small-town curiosity in Ireland, and had made sure everything was discreet to protect her reputation – both in Tullamore and now here in Clifden.

  They would have this time together until Monday. After he had sorted out the business of the cottage, he could come back up to Tullamore and stay in one of the rooms above the bar for the next few weeks. Bridget would be home at the end of the month for the summer, and he could meet her. She could take him up to Dublin to meet Angela. Her mother hopefully would get better too, and she would bring him back to the house to meet her properly.

  She would explain how it was between them with Mam – omitting this weekend in Clifden, of course – and say they were going to take things slowly, keep in touch. She would say that Michael would be coming back again if the cottage worked out. Mam would be most impressed when she explained more about his work and the houses he owned back in Boston.

  She could see it all unfolding in front of her now – how it just might all work out.

  The German man went to the bar and came back smiling broadly, with a waiter behind him carrying a tray with four glasses of Riesling wine. They sat together and they told Michael and Fiona about all the places they had visited in Ireland, and about a recent trip to Paris.

  Afterwards, Michael ordered four Irish coffees, which the Germans had never heard of, and they sat talking and drinking for the next couple of hours. Michael told them about the cottage and they were very interested in it, and the man asked him about the price of property in Ireland generally.

  It was heading to midnight when Michael looked across at her and gestured with his eyes that maybe it was time they headed upstairs. When she nodded, he finished his drink and then stood up.

  “We’ll wish you nice people a goodnight now,” he said, shaking hands with them both. “And hopefully we’ll see you tomorrow and hear more stories of your travels.”

  They walked upstairs together, his arm around her shoulders, and along the corridor to her room.

  He kissed her lightly on the lips and said, “It’s late now, and we’re up in the morning to go out to the cottage, so I’ll say goodnight.” He moved back to look into her eyes. “I’ve had the most wonderful night with you, and I’m so happy we’re going to have longer.”

  She put her arms around his neck and drew him closer to her again. “The night isn’t over yet,” she said quietly. She kissed him, and then she took the room key from her handbag. She unlocked the door, then – without checking whether anyone else was around – she took his hand and brought him in behind her.

  She locked the door and drew him into the middle of the room. Then she turned back to face him. “I want you to stay with me here tonight. I want us to sleep in the same bed.”

  His eyes searched hers. “Are you sure?” he said. “I wasn’t expecting this...I don’t want you to feel you have to.”

  “I don’t feel I have to do anything,” she said. “I’m asking you to stay, because it’s what I want. I feel as certain about this as I’ve felt about anything important in my life.” She touched his cheek. “Whatever happens to us in the future, tonight is going to be one of the most beautiful memories I will ever have. And, I know you staying with me is going to make it even more beautiful.”

  “Are you sure?” he repeated.

  “I’m not going to say I’m not nervous,” her gaze shifting downwards now, “because it’s my first time being with a man...”

  There was a small pause and then he said, “Well, I’m deeply honoured that you’ve chosen me. You have no idea how much that means to me.”

  She instinctively knew that he had more experience, had probably slept with the girl he had mentioned – Kim. And maybe others. But she didn’t want him to have to explain. He was a little older and had led a different life. What mattered now was what they had between them.

  “I just know that if you go back to your own room now,” she whispered, “I will only lie awake here all night, on my own, regretting that I wasn’t brave enough to do this –
and I don’t want to feel that regret. I would much rather feel the happiness I feel with you instead.”

  He pulled her close to him and kissed her again. “I’ll do everything I can to make sure you never have any regrets about us.” He touched her cheek. “I love you, Fiona, and I would never do anything to hurt you.”

  She hugged him tightly, and then she took his hand again, and led him towards the bed.

  Chapter 33

  Angela travelled down on the train to Tullamore on Friday evening as arranged. Patrick was waiting at the station to drive her the short distance home.

  “I could have walked,” she said, “instead of putting you out.”

  “I know,” he said, smiling at her. “But I knew you were bound to have a bag or a case, and I thought it would save you carrying it.”

  “Ah, you know me too well, Patrick,” she laughed, handing him the heavy weekend case and the bulging bag she had over her shoulder, secretly relieved she wouldn’t have to carry them.

  “It’s a lovely sunny evening,” he remarked, “and the weather forecast is giving it good for the whole weekend.”

  As they drove along, he told her that Fiona had already left in her grey mini for Clifden a few hours earlier. “The break will do her good,” he said, “and it will be nice for her to see her friends. It’s supposed to be sunny down in Connemara as well.”

  Angela agreed, realising that Fiona had given the impression she was meeting girlfriends for the weekend to him, as well as Mam. It was just as well, she thought, to say the same thing to everyone. It was no one else’s business.

  When she arrived in the house, her mother was downstairs in the kitchen with Mary Ellen Mooney waiting for her. It had been a good few weeks since she had been home, and she thought her mother looked slightly better than the previous visit, but she was still in her dressing-gown and Angela was taken aback at how much older her greying hair made her look.