“What are they doing?” Jill asked. “They don’t seem very organized for a band.”
“It’s an Irish session.” James smiled at Jill. “A group of musicians who just show up to play music. It’s different every night.”
There were all kinds of instruments – two fiddles, a flute, a tin whistle, a mandolin, and a bodrhán – a type of small Irish drum according to James. In addition to the musicians holding instruments, there were two other people sitting in the group. The group was made up of people of a wide range of ages, both men and women.
Jill had never heard of sessions. As she watched them, it became apparent that they were about to play. She leaned forward in anticipation and was rewarded with a lively reel that started everyone in the pub clapping. Jill looked over at James who was watching the musicians with a big grin crossing his face.
Neither Jill nor James said anything after the first song, as the musicians launched right into another song. This time, however, it was a sweet slow song. The fiddles played slowly and solemnly and the flute fluttered through the melody.
A voice began to rise above the music. It was a woman’s voice, not too high, but sweet and strong. Jill looked for the source of the sweet vocal and finally spied a woman about her age sitting behind the musicians. She was a nice looking woman, in a peasant top and skirt, with riding boots. Her hair was not quite red, more dark than red, and it was haphazardly braided down her back. The woman threw her head back as she soulfully sang the ballad.
Jill was captivated. The woman’s voice touched her to her bones and set off a longing like she’d never felt before. This singing, this free and heartfelt song, called to her like a long lost friend.
Soon the song was finished and another one started. This was more of a party song and nearly everyone in the pub joined in. Jill wished she knew the words so that she could sing along.
The musicians broke into a slow melody. Jill cocked her head; it sounded so familiar to her. Within a few seconds, she realized it was a Beatles song, The Long and Winding Road. Jill knew the words to that song and after a few seconds when everyone else joined in, she began to sing, too. Quietly at first, a little embarrassed. Then she saw James gazing at her in admiration with an encouraging smile on his face, so she let her voice rise to match the volume of those singing around her.
When the song was done and the musicians had put down their instruments to swig down large mugs of ale, Jill sighed.
“Oh, to be able to sing like that every night,” she said, sighing and smiling wistfully.
“You have a beautiful voice,” James said.
“Thanks,” she said, embarrassed. “I’ve always sang, ever since I was little. I used to stand in front of my parents’ big console stereo and sing and dance to the music. Later, I sang in high school choirs and performed in musicals.”
“And after?”
“Well, let’s just say it fell to the wayside,” she said, giving a slight wave of her hand. “I gave it up to do all those other things, like college and marriage and kids.”
“And yet, you sound like you’ve been singing recently,” he said. “That’s not an out-of-practice voice.”
Jill laughed. He’d read her like a book.
“I’ve been taking voice lessons. And piano lessons. And a bunch of other things.” She turned her head to look at him. “The life of a bored suburban housewife.”
James shook his head. “No way should you be relegated to housewifery. You’ve got too much talent, too much life to be bored.”
“Thanks.” Jill wasn’t sure how to respond. Scott hadn’t complimented her in years.
The evening progressed with both James and Jill drinking and singing, and at one point after several pints of beer, James stood up and did a jig with another man who was as equally beer-happy. Jill laughed hard at him, until tears ran down her face.
After a while, though, she started to fade and told James she really needed to head back to the hotel and sleep. He agreed and after saying many goodbyes to their new Irish friends, they headed back out into the chilly night air, walking leisurely towards their hotels. They were laughing and joking around with each other, very much at ease.
Tripping over an uneven sidewalk, Jill found herself grasping for James’ arm. Once she had righted herself, she held on to his arm, finding it warm and strong. She’d drunk more than she had realized and was a bit tipsy. She needed his support, so she didn’t let go. James didn’t try to loosen his arm, either.
Still laughing, they found themselves in front of the Georgian Hotel.
“Oh!” Jill exclaimed, “This is my hotel!” She turned to James, looking up into his face. He was grinning, obviously feeling no pain himself.
“Jill, I’ve had a great time today.” James said, reaching out his hands to hold her by the shoulder, trying to steady her.
“Me, too,” she said, smiling back at him.
“We’ll have to keep in touch, maybe see each other back in the U.S.”
“Yes, yes, that would be great.”
Suddenly, as Jill gazed up at him, with a grin plastered on her face, she realized he had stopped smiling and was looking at her seriously. Her smiled faded, now knowing that he was going to kiss her. She knew she should stop him, turn now and run into the hotel, but she didn’t. His face lowered to hers and then his warm lips were pressed softly to hers.
Again, she thought, go, run, you can’t do this. But she didn’t run. Instead, she leaned into his warm, strong body. His arms wrapped around her and the soft kiss turned more urgent, as he opened her mouth and kissed her more deeply. She forgot all thoughts of stopping and her hands crawled inside his jacket, feeling his stomach and chest.
They stood kissing in front of her hotel for several minutes. Her head was spinning and she knew she needed to breath. Finally breaking the kiss, she threw her head back and took a deep breath. James didn’t let go of her, just smiled at her as she tried to gain her composure.
The kissing, the warmth of his body had made her think of doing something she would have never considered before – bringing him up to her room. It would be so easy to do, no one would ever know. Two things stopped her. First, she was a married woman. Regardless of how she felt about Scott, she didn’t want to cheat on him while they were married. Second, she really liked James. He couldn’t just be a one-night-stand. If she were to see him when they got home, it could progress naturally. Sleeping with him after one day wasn’t what she wanted.
Gently pulling away from him, she gathered her coat up around herself.
“I need to go up now,” she said.
He nodded. “I know.” He pulled her close again, kissing her gently and releasing her. “I do want to see you again.”
“Me, too. Really,” she replied. “I have your card. I promise I’ll call.”
“Okay.” James grasped her by the shoulders again. “I really had a great time,” he said again, laughing.
“Me, too,” she said, laughing along with him.
Jill turned and walked to the door of the hotel. A doorman came from inside to open the door for her. She stopped and looked back at James.
“Bye, James.”
“Bye, Jill.”
Then she went inside.
Chapter 9
The knock on the door woke Jill up from a sweet sleep. She’d been dreaming about James and his kisses and didn’t want to give it up, but the knocking continued. She climbed out of bed, chilled by the cold morning air. Peeking through the peephole in the door, she saw Tara, Mary’s younger sister.
Jill opened the door and Tara burst in, hugging her enthusiastically.
“Jilly!” Tara exclaimed. “Still in bed?”
Jill shut the door and followed Tara into the room.
“Yeah, I had a late night last night. Plus the jet lag, I guess. What time is it?”
“It’s almost nine.” Tara sat down on the edge of the bed, looking curiously at Jill. “What did you do all by yourself last night?”
&
nbsp; Jill laughed. Tara was younger than her by about seven years. She had never married, lived the life of a successful talent agent in Los Angeles, and always attended every family event at Mary’s house. Kids birthdays, Thanksgiving, Christmas. She would fly into Phoenix, make everyone laugh, then jet back to LA. Her nieces and nephews called her “Aunt Terror” as a joke. Jill had gotten to know her well over the years and appreciated her zeal for life.
“Okay, but you can’t tell anyone, not even Mary. At least not until I figure out what I am going to do about it.” Jill busied herself while talking, packing some of her clothes in her bag. “I met a guy on the flight from New Jersey.”
“A guy? You met a guy?” Tara asked, one eyebrow arching. “What kind of guy?”
Jill chuckled. “A regular kind of guy. Well, not actually. He was pretty special.”
“Really?” Tara grinned at Jill.
Jill shrugged. “It’s not that big of a deal. We got along well. He’s a writer with the LA Times.”
“No way, what’s his name?” Tara asked.
“James Sinclair.”
Tara pounded the bed with a hand. “I’ve read some of his stuff. He does that in-depth investigative type reporting, right?”
Jill nodded her head.
“How great is that? What’s he doing in Ireland?”
While Jill told her about his immigration story, she got dressed and pulled her hair back into a ponytail.
“Okay, so he’s a reporter. Nice. What happened?”
“Well,” Jill started, not entirely sure how much she should tell. But Tara didn’t talk to Scott at all, didn’t even like him much, so Jill felt like she didn’t need to worry about that. “We met at the airport in New Jersey, then ran into each other again at the baggage claim in Dublin.”
“And…” Tara prompted.
“And he said he had some time to kill before his interviews were scheduled, so would I like to go sight-seeing with him. I didn’t have anything to do and thought it might be more fun to have someone to do the tourist thing with, so I said yes.”
“And?” Tara prompted.
Jill giggled. “Okay, he’s cute and funny and we drank a lot and he kissed me in front of the hotel.” The words came tumbling out in a rush.
Tara thumped her hand on the bed again. “And, how was it?”
Jill sat down next to Tara on the bed. “It was great. Better than great.”
“So did he spend the night?” Tara asked, looking around the room for signs of a man.
“No, no, no,” Jill said, standing back up to continue packing. “Oh, I thought about it. But I really like him and he acted like he might want to see me when I get back. I just need time to figure out what I’m doing. I can’t get involved with another man until I figure out what I’m going to do about Scott.”
Tara nodded. “Not the path I would have taken, but I do understand.”
Jill checked out of the hotel and they piled their luggage into the back of the small black hatchback rental car. Tara had taken a taxi from the airport to the Georgian Hotel to save Jill from having to figure out how to get back to the airport. Tara had been to Ireland several times and was fairly acclimated and used to the driving habits. Jill was the driver of record with the rental company, but she let Tara drive. Just getting to the hotel from the airport had proven a challenge, even with James there to navigate.
James, she thought, smiling to herself as she sat in the passenger seat. She wanted just to sit and think about him, but the whirl of Dublin passing by her window distracted her. It was so different from home; the buildings all set so close to the roads, the ornate treatments on everything. And the daffodils. There were daffodils everywhere. As the city gave way to the countryside, they seemed to grow wild on the side of the highways, in every front yard. Everywhere she looked it, the land was green, oh-so-green, and daffodils popped up in big yellow bunches here and there. There were plenty of other flowers, too, in pinks and whites, but the brilliant yellow daffodils were definitely the queen of the flowers.
“What’s with all the daffodils?” Jill asked, turning to look at Tara.
“It’s the national flower. In fact, April is National Daffodil month in Ireland.”
“Really…” Jill looked back out the window in wonder. “I have always equated daffodils with Holland.”
“No, they have tulips.”
“You’re right,” Jill said, grinning. “This is just so – amazing!”
Jill and Tara were not expected in Killarney until late Thursday, so they had a day or so to kill. Once out of Dublin, they pulled over to the side of the road to consult Jill’s travel books.
“This looks neat,” Jill said, pointing at a page that described an estate just south of Dublin. It was called Powerscourt and was supposed to be in the grand style of an English manor and grounds. Tara read a bit of the page out loud.
“Sounds good to me,” she said, and pulled the car back out onto the road.
They had been driving for a mile or so, when they saw a car coming down the road towards them, in their lane.
“Oh, my god,” said Tara, as they sped head on towards the other car. “What the hell?”
“Left, left, Tara!” Jill tried not to grab the steering wheel to whip the car back over into the left lane. Tara had pulled back onto the road and into the right lane, not the left lane where she was supposed to be. She quickly corrected herself and moved the car over. The oncoming car passed and the driver gave them a friendly wave as he went by.
They looked at each other and burst out laughing.
“Oh, boy.” Tara said in between laughs. “That was close. Guess I need to pay a little more attention.”
“Ya think?” Jill laughed, shaking her head.
They followed the signs to Powerscourt when they were closer. Signage in Ireland was proving to be an interesting challenge. In Dublin, there were few street signs, and the ones that were there were stuck on the side of buildings, usually up high where you couldn’t see them until you were already past the street. Out here in the country, the signs were like those signs you see in cartoons; thirteen arrows pointing every which way. To make things more difficult, about half the signs were in the Gaelic language. While beautiful to look at, the language of the Irish was hard to interpret.
They pulled through the entrance to the estate and drove down a long drive flanked by expertly manicured lawns, many different trees, and flowers beds full of pink, yellow and white blossoms. The road led down to the massive mansion and the guest parking lot.
They walked through a gap in a tall white wood fence, following the signs to the entrance. Jill was expecting a grand entrance, but instead, they entered through an open doorway into what appeared to be a hallway. It lead into a foyer or reception area, where an older woman stood behind a chest high counter. A sign on the wall behind the woman's head said that they could wait for a tour and pay a bit more, or they could self-tour for less. After consulting each other, Jill and Tara decided to self-tour, paid the entrance fee and took an estate map.
"Do you want to explore inside or outside first?" Tara asked.
"Let's do the inside first," Jill responded.
They stepped through a large stone arch to a hallway that led them to a low ceilinged room. The room was not renovated, obviously, and contained floor-to-ceiling panels that told the story of the great mansion and estate.
Around the year 1300 a castle had been built on this picturesque land, it previously serving as an important site for the Anglo-Normans who came during the previous century to conquer the Irish. The le Poer, "Power," family owned the castle, which passed through several powerful families through the next few centuries. Then in 1603, the castle was taken over by an Englishman, Richard Wingfield, who had enjoyed a successful military career and was knighted and appointed the Marshal of Ireland. It was his family and descendants who continued to live and develop Powerscourt for over 350 years. Under Wingfields direction, the castle was remodeled and an incredi
ble mansion was built around the ancient castle building. Later, more stories were added and other alterations made up into the 19th century.
Besides the changes to the estate's buildings, much work had been done on the grounds. Part of the grounds extended out in large riding paths and parkland. In another part of the estate, tree farms were planted. South of the house, which lay out the back doors, the owners added a walled garden, fish pond, fountains, and a series of terraced land. Early in the 1900s, Wingfield's family carried on his work, adding a Japanese garden, and a small stone tower, which was called the Pepper Pot Tower, because it was designed to resemble a pepper pot that adorned the family dinner table. By this time, the estate had become the home of hundreds of trees from all around the world.
In 1961, the estate was passed to the Slazenger family, who continued to tend to the gardens. They opened the gardens to the public and after renovating the house, it too was opened for viewing. Then, tragically, the house caught on fire in 1974. While no one was hurt, much of the house was destroyed. The fire had burned unchecked in the house, burning away facades that had covered original 16th century walls. The room in which Jill and Tara stood was one of the rooms in the original castle.
The pictures of the fire in the display tore at Jill's heart. Such antiquity, such history, gone. Someone had lived here. A whole family lived here. It was the same sadness she felt when she saw the results on the land on which a war fought. Destruction. You could rebuild it, but it would never quite be the same.
After reading through the display, the women traveled up a set of stairs to the second floor. Several of the rooms on the second floor had recently been renovated, including the ballroom. Tara hooted when she saw the ballroom. Jill stood in the center of the large empty room, gazing wide-eyed at the space. It wasn't the grandest she'd seen, but it was beautiful, with an extremely high ceiling and columns of a yellow marble. Another room had a restored fireplace, the ornate carvings of its mantle freshly painted white and the hearth clean and unused.
The Replacement Bridesmaid Page 6
