by Amy McLean
At that moment it was as if there was nobody else in the room. A sadness in Elizabeth's eyes reflected in the eyes of Gráinne O'Malley, nad in the eyes of Grace Byrne. In that moment they looked at each other not as opposing figures of authority, but as two women living in a world where they were continuously challenged. The pain of Elizabeth's own suffering was silent but unmistakable, and it was not hatred and venom that looked back at Grace, but understanding and empathy.
"Perhaps we can come to some sort of understanding. An agreement," Elizabeth finally said. "I will allow young Tibbott to return to Ireland—"
"Yes!" Cathleen was unable to refrain from squealing. Donal held onto her to stop her from running toward Tibbott, who had to force himself to keep looking at the floor. A look of horror had spread across Lord Bingham's face.
"Quiet, please! Allow me to finish. Mistress O'Malley, I shall allow your son to return to Ireland, and Lord Bingham will return to you the land he has most recently confiscated." Grace was sure Bingham was about to weep. "However, I must ask in return that you do something for me." Her request could be absolutely anything, and Grace knew it. "I ask only that you never return to England. This rule also applies to the men under your command, and to anybody with whom you find yourself acquainted. I will cooperate with your request on the condition that you do the same with mine. If I am ever informed of your presence near English soil again, I will have your entire clan put to death. Do we have an agreement?"
Grace considered the offer. She quickly realised that she had to accept it.
"Your Majesty, your proposal is one to which I am happy to agree."
Elizabeth smiled. "Good. Well then, Lord Bingham," she continued to look at Grace as she addressed him, "Release the prisoner!"
There were tears in Bingham's eyes as he began to unchain Tibbott. Elizabeth remained standing in front of her visitors, her lips pressed tightly together. It was a moment Grace knew she would never forget. Never had she imagined she'd be standing in a room with this striking monarch. Her power was undeniable, but her beauty was eternal.
No final words were exchanged between Grace and Elizabeth. Nothing more needed to be said. Between them a recognition had been sealed, an understanding that neither could have predicted. There was just enough time before Grace was led away for Elizabeth to lower her head in a subtle nod. As Grace caught the gesture she bowed, a mark of her own newfound respect for the woman with whom she had presumed to have nothing in common. How wrong she had been! In their final moment together, both women looked at one another and smiled ever so subtly.
22
Standing at the bottom of the hill, Andy stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coat to keep them warm. He looked unusually casual in jeans, with a scarf wrapped around his neck. He must have only been standing there for two minutes, and yet it felt like a lifetime had passed.
Paranoia had started to take hold of him. What if he'd gone to the wrong stop? Perhaps he'd written the time incorrectly. There was still another ten minutes until she was due to arrive, but he couldn't help but fret that he'd messed up somewhere. He had no idea why he was so nervous. There was nothing to worry about, he knew that. It was just that he liked her—really liked her, in fact—and had never felt as happy as he did when he was around her. If his plan was going to work, he needed everything to go just right.
He blew air into his hands and rubbed them together, cursing himself for forgetting his gloves. Had December been this cold last year? Things would warm up when she arrived though—they would be able to start walking to keep the chill off them...
As he turned he saw her. There she was, right on time, heading up the road toward him. She looked radiant, even as the wind reddened the surface of her cheeks. Her hair was tied up, he noticed—a wise decision in this weather. He had always liked the way she wore her hair. It accentuated the features of her face.
"Hello, stranger," she said once she reached him. Her greeting was awkward. She knew it as soon as the words had left her mouth. Was she blushing? She hoped she wasn't.
"Miss Byrne!" he responded just as awkwardly. What was wrong with them? Why were they both so nervous? "Shall we?"
They entered Hampstead Heath, both walking with their hands clamped in their pockets.
"I'm glad you agreed to walk with me tonight." The area was almost deserted as they had made their way among the trees.
"You are?"
"I've been stuck inside the house all day and desperately needed to get a breath of fresh air," he said. "I swear I was close to going crazy."
"I know how you feel. This is one of my favourite spots to go walking. I can't say I've been to many places as beautiful as this, if any."
"I'm ashamed to say I've never been up here before." They turned the corner and stopped by the lake.
Standing in silence, they admired the way the trees were reflected on the surface of the water. A coot glided along the water, creating a trail of soft ripples behind it.
"The flowers are quite remarkable, aren't they?" Andy commented.
"Which is your favourite?"
"Definitely the blue ones... I couldn't tell you what they're called, of course, but they're very pretty."
Grace grinned. "Do you want to see something even prettier?"
"Even prettier than all this..." Andy tried not to make his flirting obvious, wondering whether Grace knew he was referring to her as much as he was to the Heath.
"Yep."
They walked in silence, side by side, as they continued along through the trees, making their way up the hill. "Here we are!" Grace announced once they'd reached the top.
They stood at the viewpoint as they stared out across London.
"So, what do we have here?" Andy glanced at the information board in front of them that featured a long line of buildings to help with the identification of London's skyline. "Ah yes, the Gherkin. Unmistakable, isn't it? And that over there looks to be the Shard," he said, pointing to a thin building in the distance. "Some of the architecture is wonderful, isn't it?"
"I've always loved the look of St Paul's Cathedral," Grace added. "It's such a wonderful shape, and the colour of the roof is beautiful."
"Where is it from here?"
"If you squint you can see it," she edged closer to him so that her body was slightly pressed against his, "right over there." She pointed to the area where it could be seen.
"I think I see it!" Andy turned to face her as he spoke, his eyes catching hers. They faced each other for a moment before Andy uttered a low cough from the back of his throat, awkwardly shifting his attention back to the view.
Grace took in the panorama of London, transfixed by its vastness. Forever expanding in every direction, there were patches of greenery juxtaposed with industrial chaos. London really was wondrous.
But as she stared in silence the scene started to shift in her mind. The large buildings were replaced with squat single-story structures. Everything turned dark as the air thickened with the haze of coal fires. No longer was her attention in her own time; it had returned to her other reality.
Everything had been so clear in her mind when she'd awoken that morning. The agreement with the Queen had been sealed, and Lord Burghley had escorted them in the carriage back to Thames Street, Tibbott included. He'd watched as they lifted anchor and retreated toward the English Channel, leaving the city behind them.
The crew had managed to stay below deck just as their captain had instructed. It had been Michael's idea, Grace later learned, for them to tell each other stories about their travels, and that had kept them occupied. Everybody was safe. They were all going back home.
The journey back to Clare Island had been safe but slow, and by the time they had reached the halfway point, everybody had been so drained of energy that it was decided that they would take turns being on lookout for invading ships.
Grace had slipped off her saffron dress and her leather boots and slid into bed, eager to rest. The last thing she remembered hearing w
as Cathleen calling through the door: "Goodnight, Miss Gráinne!"
"Goodnight, Cathleen," she had muttered. She'd closed her eyes and fallen into a deep sleep.
When she awoke in her own room in her own home she felt profoundly disappointed. She sprang out of bed and made for the door at the top of the stairs, but she couldn't see it. She banged on the wall and called out, but it was no use. It was gone.
She made herself a cup of tea and sat down at her desk, unable to stop her mind from running over the previous night's events. At least she assumed it had only been one night; she was struggling to keep up as time had started to blur into one existence. With nothing else to do, she opened her laptop and typed everything she could remember: the dangerous encounter with the Devil's Orifice; the look of desperation from the homeless woman as she clutched onto her starving child; the venom in Lord Bingham's eyes; and the unexpected empathy in Queen Elizabeth's.
It took her a long time to realise that she was not writing in third person as she made her notes, but was instead constructing them in first person. It now seemed almost bizarre for her to consider herself to be anybody other than Gráinne O'Malley. She had become so used to the identity that there was no longer anything unnatural about it to her. To leave her behind seemed almost unthinkable.
She continued tapping away, her mind flooded with images of Donal and Cathleen and Tibbott. She could still hear the squawks of the gulls and the lapping of the sea. Beneath her hands she was sure she could still feel the pressing of the ship's wheel as she grasped it. It had all happened so many centuries ago, and yet for Grace it was fresh in her mind.
It was only when Andy had texted her to ask if she'd like to accompany him on a walk that she was able to drag herself back into the twenty-first century. The one part of her mind that had allowed itself to remain as Grace Byrne couldn't refuse his offer. She replied to his message, suggesting they visit Hampstead Heath, and shut down her laptop while saving her notes to be continued later.
She'd managed to keep Gráinne O'Malley off her mind for the entire afternoon, with both her heart and her attention firmly fixed on Andy. However, as she looked out across London now with the sun setting in the sky, her mind and heart raced as everything she had locked away several hours ago instantly came flooding back to her in a surge of overwhelming emotion.
A tear trickled down her cheek.
Andy must have seen the tear out of the corner of his eye, as he turned to face Grace. He couldn't possibly understand why she was crying, Grace was sure of that, but she didn't question it as she watched him lift his hand toward her face to wipe her cheek with his index finger. He held it there for a moment before he cupped her other cheek with his right hand. He didn't speak as he leaned towards her, but pressed his lips against hers.
Grace had never known a sensation so magical: as Andy held onto her back, his body pressed firmly against her own, she felt like she was being kissed for the very first time. The more he kissed her, the more she felt herself floating on air. She was a free spirit soaring through the sky without worry or care. Their connection had made the moment something special that belonged only to them.
23
"How can you possibly prefer cricket to football?"
"We played a lot of it at school. Don't get me wrong, I love football. How could I not?" Andy removed his coat and slid it onto the back of his chair. The conversation had started ten minutes ago when he arrived to find that James was the only other person in the office. James had asked Andy what he was up to that day, and he'd mentioned cricket. James had practically fallen off his seat.
"Fair enough; but I still don't see how you can prefer any sport to football. Football's the greatest thing in the world!"
The door clicked shut as Grace came bustling in, her handbag wedged underneath her arm as she tried to balance the box she was struggling to carry. She dropped them both onto her desk. Andy left James to muse over his football teams and started for Grace's side of the room.
"Hungry this morning, Grace?" He nodded toward the large box of doughnuts that was now on top of a pile of loose papers.
"Oh, those?" she responded, flustered after her battle with the combination of vicious wind and the climb up the staircase to the office. "They're not for me." She unbuttoned and removed her coat, dropping her gloves into her bag. She reached in and pulled out an A4 plastic folder. "Is Mr Barrie in yet?"
The office door opened.
"Don't be so stupid, Moira. Of course I haven't got time to do that. No, you'll have to pick the kids up from their club. No, I've just told you. I haven't got time... Goodbye, Moira." He jabbed at his phone with a thick finger to end the call.
"I think he might have just arrived," Andy replied after the whirlwind had headed into his own office, Fran following him as she clutched onto two cups of takeaway coffee.
"Well, that's good. Because in here," she held up the folder, "is the finished article."
"You've done it? Fantastic! Can I read it?"
"I'd rather you didn't. Not yet, anyway. I'm really nervous about it as it is. I have no idea what he's going to think."
"And you went with the pirate thing in the end?"
"I stuck with the pirate thing, yeah."
"Well, I'm sure he's going to love it. I know that may seem like a bit of a stretch for Mr Barrie, but you're a good writer. He'll be able to see that."
"I hope you're right, Andy."
"I know I'm right." He placed his hand on her arm. She didn't flinch at the touch. He was smiling at her, his body turned away so that James couldn't see his face.
"I had fun the other night. Thank you," he said softly.
"So did I," she said as she smiled back. She was relieved that Andy wasn't able to read her thoughts, as she couldn't help picturing him from the Sunday morning. He'd emerged out of her bathroom after his shower with only a towel wrapped round his waist, his hair messy and water dripping onto his torso. The image was now ingrained in Grace's mind, and she didn't intend to remove it.
He hadn't been able to stay long in the morning as he was due to attend some sports event—Grace didn't really ask many questions about it—but he was there long enough for them to share jam on toast for breakfast. It was a silly thing to be amused by, Grace knew it, but for so long she'd fantasised about that sort of thing, and about Andy, that she still couldn't quite believe any of it had happened.
"It's not like me at all, you know. I don't usually jump into bed with...well, you know." He blushed, trying to ignore the sound of his own voice.
"No, Andy, neither do I." She too was blushing now. And yet, she didn't seem to mind.
"It's just that I...how do I say this? You're very...Grace, I like you." He spoke a little too loudly, snapping his head round to make sure that James hadn't heard. Luckily he'd already put his headphones in to zone out for the morning. "I really like you. I was kind of hoping we could do it again sometime."
"Andy—"
"Not just the sex," he said, catching himself. "All of it."
"Andy, I'd love to."
Grace had never seen such an excited grin on another person. It was definitely the answer he'd been hoping for.
"Well...good! I'm glad. I better get started with some work as it's a day of tight deadlines for me, I'm afraid. Do come over and let me know how you get on though won't you?"
"Of course I will."
He winked at her before turning his attention to his computer. The butterflies in Grace's stomach refused to escape her. They'd arrived when he first kissed her on the top of Hampstead Heath. They were still there when he started to unbutton her shirt back in her bedroom. They were definitely still there in the morning when she woke up with her arm wrapped around him, and they still showed no sign of leaving. It was all so new and exciting; for the first time in years she had discovered a real reason to get up in the morning, something more important than her writing and career and personal success. She had found love.
Once Andy had kissed her farewel
l and headed off on Sunday morning, Grace had pulled all her energy together and forced herself through the article. It took her most of the day, and she was sure on several occasions that she wasn't going to get it finished, but she knew she had to power through it or she'd never get it done.
She took the article out of the plastic folder and clutched onto it. In a few seconds she would walk into Mr Barrie's office with her head held high and present her work to him. What happened after that was out of her control.
The door opened and Fran walked out. It was now or never.
Grace picked up the box of doughnuts and carried them into Mr Barrie's office, pausing outside the door. She knocked lightly against the frosted glass panel. There was no answer. Should she knock again in case he hadn't heard her?
"What is it?" came the grunt from the other side of the door.
Grace pushed open the door just enough so that she could stand in the gap between the door and its frame. "Mr Barrie, sir, I have something I'd like you to read. If you don't mind, that is..." Her nerves almost caused her to stutter.
'Well, come in then; don't just stand there. Sit!"
"Right, yes. Sorry." She tried not to sound as flustered as she felt. The last time she'd been inside Mr Barrie's private office had been her interview day. He still had the same high-backed green leather chair trimmed with metal studs. The dim lighting, a product of there being no windows in the small space, darkened the blood red carpet. There was a wooden display cabinet to the left of his desk filled with family photos and hand-made gifts from his children; Grace expected he kept them there to prevent his wife from suspecting his adulterous behaviour on the off chance that she came to the office unannounced. Not that it would happen—in the years Grace worked at Anchor she'd not once actually seen any of Mr Barrie's family.
"I also thought you might like these," she said as she handed him the box of doughnuts.
There was a mumble from the other side of the desk, which Grace assumed had been a thank you.
