Tara, now warmed by the flaming fire, slipped her arms out her coat, too. The skirt she was wearing was a bit creased, but for once, she was not troubled by her appearance. She sat back in the armchair, her feet tucked under her, sipping her drink and listening while William Fitzgerald talked about all the worries he had about his wife and daughter.
He talked and talked – in an intimate way he had never talked to a woman before. After a while, he got up and poured them both another hot drink – and then he resumed talking again.
The third time he got up to replenish their drinks, Tara held on to her almost empty glass, refusing any more. “My head’s spinning a little,” she confessed. “I’m afraid I’m not used to strong drink.”
“I’ll take your glass anyway,” William said, in a voice mellowed by the alcohol. “I’ll just add a drop of boiling water and sugar to what’s left, to heat it up for you. After that, you must go on up to bed – and a nice warm bed. I have the kettle boiling for your stone jar, and I’m going to fill it, and put it into your bed right now.” He paused and smiled, the corner of his eyes crinkling up.
As she watched him, Tara was struck by the resemblance between William Fitzgerald and his son. Thinking of Gabriel now, she felt a stabbing sensation in her breast. Oh, how she wished he was here in Ballygrace House now, with his beautiful blond hair and blue eyes. How she wished he was here, stroking her hair and telling her that everything about Madeleine, and everything at home, would be all right.
“The one good thing out of all this,” William suddenly announced, “is that neither of us has to go into the office in the morning.” He gave a wry smile and bowed. “I formally give us both the day off.”
“But what about . . .”
William bent down and pressed a finger to her lips. “Shhhh . . . what happens in the office tomorrow is not your department. Your department is to sleep in bed all morning . . . like a good little girl.” He held his finger to her lips for a few moments longer.
Tara turned her head, feeling vaguely disconcerted with the physical contact. She focused her glazed eyes on the glowing fire, while he fixed the hot stone jar and took it upstairs.
A minute or two later, he was back downstairs whistling an old Irish tune as he made the drinks. William Fitzgerald – who had never lifted a hand in any kitchen before – discovered something about himself at five o’clock on that dark spring morning. He discovered that he was deriving the utmost pleasure from the simple rituals of making drinks and filling a stone jar for Tara Flynn. He imagined how it would feel to make a light breakfast for her, and then carry it upstairs to her bedroom – and then sit on the end of her bed while she ate it. This – from a man who had previously believed that satisfaction was derived purely from what women gave to him – was a revelation indeed.
As she watched the flames flickering and dancing, Tara wished again with all her heart that she was alone in this cosy, warm kitchen with Gabriel Fitzgerald – and not his father. Her thoughts – hazy from the brandy – drifted back to the New Year’s Ball and all the hours they had spent wrapped in each other’s arms. She slipped her shoes off now, ignoring the soft clatter as they hit the stone floor, and then she drew her knees up higher, hugging them close to her body.
An unexpected, cosy feeling stole over her – blanking out the horrors of the night – and making her feel relaxed and mellow. She was still in this pleasant daze when William Fitzgerald returned with two steaming drinks. She happily accepted hers with the reassurance that he had added only hot water and sugar, to the small amount of brandy she had left in the bottom of her glass.
As he took a gulp of his own strong drink, William felt no guilt at deceiving the breathtakingly beautiful girl opposite him. He had in fact added another good measure of brandy to her glass. He knew that she was already showing the signs of having drunk too much but, if she had another drink in her hand, she would be more relaxed – and she would stay with him longer. He found himself enchanted by the easy, unselfconscious way she was talking and listening to him. It was so deliciously different to the formal manner she adhered to in the office. He loved sitting so close to her, even when she was staring into the fire, wrapped in her own private thoughts. It was like sitting looking at a beautiful, flawless painting. Except this painting was living and breathing – and had the most voluptuous breasts he had ever seen.
He took another sip of his drink, grateful to the alcohol for putting distance between himself and all the horrendous happenings of the previous night. He had thought when Elisha went over to London that an emotional burden had been lifted from his shoulders. A few weeks away from each other would surely help ease the tension which had been growing again between them.
He had been certain that Madeleine was on the road to recovery and would soon transform back into the blonde, well-groomed girl she had been. He had even considered her eventually taking over and running one of his offices in the not too distant future. Certainly not the undertaking office. He shuddered at the thought. He could hardly bear to go into the place himself, and given Madeleine’s nature, it definitely would not suit her. The auctioneering office in Tullamore would be worth considering. It would give her a status as a businesswoman in the immediate locality and it would keep everything in the family.
And then of course there was Tara to consider – the beautiful, elegant Tara – who, in the last few weeks, had become as real in his affections as any of his family. He stole a glance at her now – the sort of glance that a smitten young boy would steal. Her glorious red head was bent in deep thought. The sight sent a rush of pure lust ripping through his body, so fierce he was afraid she would see his discomfort.
He gripped the stem of his brandy glass to stop himself reaching a hand out to her. The hand of a drowning man. A man cast adrift in a loveless marriage – a marriage which had long grown cold.
He took a gulp of his drink – to force back all the thoughts which were threatening to erupt in a volcano of words declaring his longing and desire. He lowered his head and only allowed himself the small pleasure of staring at her shapely ankles and her stockinged feet.
He had plans for Tara Flynn – big plans. He was going to move back into the property business in Dublin. All his misdemeanours from the past were now forgotten and he had redeemed his reputation. Recently he had been approached by old Dublin associates, interested in property around Kildare and Naas. Stud farms and riding schools were becoming big business in those areas, and there were many people interested in cashing in on it.
An auctioneer’s office in Dublin would save a lot of travelling and with the dazzling Tara Flynn running it, he would be guaranteed plenty of business. He would rent an apartment for her in the city centre. An elegant place for an elegant lady – tastefully furnished – that would serve as a retreat for him when he was visiting the city.
“My two best friends . . .” Tara ventured in a wavery voice, “both of them . . . have gone away.” She lifted her head up to look across at him and was surprised at how difficult the small gesture was. “Both of them – Madeleine and Biddy – are in Dublin . . . and I’m left down here in Ballygrace . . . all on my own.”
William could see quite plainly that the brandy had done its job. “Biddy?” he asked.
“Yes,” Tara said thickly. “Biddy . . . Biddy’s having a baby.”
William’s eyes narrowed in interest. He vaguely remembered Tara mentioning this girl’s name before. He wondered if this was the girl Mrs Scully had been gossiping about. “And this, Biddy – is she a married lady?”
Tara swung her head rather violently from side to side. “No . . . no. Some boy . . . he took advantage of her. They sent her to a convent . . . to a place for fallen girls.”
He nodded, surprised that the fairly religious, highly principled Tara would have a friend in such a position. The pregnancy was one thing – but the home for fallen women was another thing entirely. “Dreadful business for a young girl,” he said diplomatically.
“She’s a very good girl,” Tara said with emphasis. “She’s had a terrible life . . . she’s an orphan.” She halted for a moment, then added in a tearful voice: “And poor Madeleine . . . I hate to think of her in that place, too.”
William’s heart sank. “It’s too damned awful,” he agreed in a broken tone. “And I can’t bear the thought of explaining it to her mother and Gabriel. Elisha’s very delicate at the moment – and Gabriel’s due to sit exams shortly – pretty tough exams. He didn’t do as well as he’d hoped at Christmas so he has to put a big effort into his work this term, if he doesn’t want to get thrown out.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “His mother is finding things difficult enough, coping with Madeleine. If Gabriel comes home without any prospects, I think it will break her completely.”
Tara lifted the glass and took another drink of the sweet lukewarm brandy. She wanted to ask William if failing his exams was the reason Gabriel hadn’t been home for some time. Perhaps he felt he had nothing to offer a girl at present – not until his studies showed more success. Perhaps he had only cooled towards her until his future was more secure. A little glimmer of hope came into Tara’s heart.
“Of course,” William went on, “a man looks at these things differently. If one path in life doesn’t work out, you simply change to another one. Gabriel could always come into the property business with me. It would just be a case of toughening him up a bit. He’s inclined to be a bit on the dreamy side.”
Tara moved in her chair to reach the small table and put her glass down very carefully. “I think,” she said, unravelling her long legs from under her, “that I should . . . go to bed.” She got to her feet rather unsteadily.
“Must you?” William’s voice was anxious. Having opened up to her about all his family life, he wasn’t ready to let her go just yet. He had enjoyed their conversation immensely, and there were many other things he wanted to tell her.
“Yes,” Tara replied thickly, “I must go.” She searched a foot around the chair until she found one shoe, then she did the same with the other, staggering slightly as she did so. She stood up straight, throwing her mane of red hair back from her face. “I’m sure . . .” she said, “that Madeleine will soon be better . . . that everything will soon be better.”
William drained his glass and stood up, too. “Thank you, Tara – you’ve been such a comfort to me tonight.”
“I’m glad I could help.” She turned and started to negotiate her unsteady way towards the kitchen door. Then, she swung back, suddenly remembering her handbag, and collided into him. “Oops! Sorry . . . I’m so sorry!” she said, reaching a hand to the door handle to steady herself.
Both his arms came round her waist immediately. “Okay, now?” he asked, his hands tightly holding her young firm flesh. The nearness of her made William feel almost faint, and the light scent from her hair made his hands shake ever so slightly.
“Yes,” she replied, straightening herself up. “Sorry . . . but the brandy seems to have gone to my head a bit.” As she excused herself, a niggling little voice in her head suddenly alerted Tara to the fact that she was all alone in Ballygrace House with William Fitzgerald. A hot, nervous feeling swept over her and she was acutely aware of the pressure of his fingers and the nearness of his dark, male body. Trying not to show her panic, she eased herself out of his arms and started for the door again. “I’m really not . . . not used to strong drink.”
William Fitzgerald stood watching her as she swayed her way out of the room – and used every ounce of willpower to control the passion which was coursing through all the veins in his body.
Chapter Seventeen
As she undressed in her cold bedroom, Tara murmured to herself how kind William Fitzgerald was, for he had not only slipped the hot stone jar into her bed, but he had also taken the trouble to light the oil lamps for her. Several times, as she removed her stockings and undergarments, she had to grip the bedside table to steady herself – and she told herself off for being such a silly girl as to drink all that hot brandy. She hadn’t felt too badly, she remembered, until she had drunk the third glass – the one with only hot water and sugar. She shook her head. Never, she decided, would she drink hot brandy again.
She fiddled about for a while with the tiny pearl buttons on the front of her long lace-trimmed cream night-dress. Having succeeded in fastening it, she padded across the bedroom floor in her bare feet and quenched both lamps. Then, she slid in between the smooth flannelette sheets and laid her fuzzy head on the green satin top-pillow which for once she had forgotten to remove.
She stretched out her long legs, luxuriating in the warmth of the stone bed-warmer, and thought of Gabriel Fitzgerald. It had heartened her to hear how hard Gabriel was concentrating on his studies. It suddenly all made sense to her, that of course he would have to put a greater effort, if he were planning on a solid career for the future. And if she, Tara, played her cards right, perhaps there was a chance that she could be part of that future with him. By the time he finished university, she would have passed all her exams at night school and would be well on with her piano exams. Certainly, well enough qualified to teach the subject at an elementary level, and earn some more money to add to her precious savings. She closed her eyes now and, still thinking of Gabriel Fitzgerald, she drifted off to sleep.
Some time later Tara was suddenly woken. It was still dark in the room, and somewhere in her befuddled brain, she was vaguely aware of a presence in the room.
Perhaps, she thought, perhaps it’s Gabriel – sneaking in to give me a goodnight kiss! She almost giggled, the effects of the brandy still working. Then, she chided herself. How could she even imagine Gabriel getting into the same bed as her? She was obviously dreaming again. She turned over on her side, facing the wall. She had had lot of dreams about the handsome blond Gabriel over the years. When she remembered some of them the next morning, she often blushed, wondering where the sinful thoughts came from.
She was still hazily unconcerned when she felt the heavy weight lie down on the opposite side of the bed beside her. And then, she felt a warm breath on the back of her neck and a gentle hand reaching out to caress her shoulders. Then the hand moved to gently touch her hair.
Gabriel! She wasn’t dreaming – he was here in the room and in the bed beside her. She gave a little moan of pleasure and then she turned in the darkness of the room to face him – to say his name – and warn him that someone might come in and catch them together. But before she could get her tongue around the words, he pulled her in his arms and crushed his mouth on top of her parted lips. Then he kissed her with an urgency she had never experienced before, and suddenly she was aware of strange, warm feelings in her body she did not know existed. Her body trembled and she clung tighter to him as he moved his mouth to kiss her eyes, her neck, and started down towards her breasts.
Then, as his hands moved to the tiny pearl buttons – the buttons she had struggled to fasten earlier on – Tara suddenly was wide awake. Her hands flew to the neck of her nightdress to prevent him opening it, but then his weight moved on top of her. Before she could do anything, she was pinned beneath this warm, heavy weight. Pinned beneath a naked, muscular male body – which was not Gabriel’s – and when she realised who it was, she was paralysed with fear and horror!
“Tara . . . Tara, my love!” William Fitzgerald‘s voice moaned, his hands reaching down her body now, pushing up her nightgown – searching for the lithe limbs beneath. The limbs that had so captivated his thoughts these last few months.
“No!” Tara gasped, trying to push the heavy weight off her. “No . . . please! No!”
“Shh . . .” he told her drunkenly, “we both deserve a little comfort . . . no one need know . . . we’re not doing anyone any harm.” Then he turned towards her and smothered her mouth with kisses while he pressed the hardness of his body against hers.
“No!” Tara screamed. “Don’t . . . please, don’t!” But as the sound echoed round the bedroom, she knew that t
here was no one within miles who would hear her cries. Realising that she had only herself to depend upon, she summoned up every ounce of energy she possessed, and then – with all her might – she pushed him away.
But it was useless. In a split second he was back on top of her again, one hand moving over her breast, and the other forcing her thighs apart. And all the time moaning – saying her name over and over again – telling her how much he adored and worshipped her and had wanted her all these months. How she had brought sunshine into his life and made him forget all the burdens he had to endure. Tara heard nothing of his words or excuses, as she struggled in vain against his fingers pressing hard into her flesh, and his mouth crushing once again upon hers.
Gradually, Tara became still. A cold, stark fear which had stolen over her body, told her that that the inevitable would now happen and to struggle would only make it worse.
There was only one point later when Tara struggled again. When William Fitzgerald thrust himself inside her, she gave a scream which came from the depths of her soul.
After that, she was silent. She was silent as she mourned the loss of her virginity.
The virginity she had been saving for William Fitzgerald’s son.
PART TWO
Man cannot discover new oceans,
until he has the courage
to lose sight of the shore.
Anon.
Chapter Eighteen
June, 1950
The crowd surged forward. “Thanks be to Jaysus!” a sandy-haired man said loudly in a thick Dublin accent. “That was the worst boat journey I’ve ever had. Every feckin’ pint I supped came back up quicker than it went down!” He gave a raucous laugh, then looked around the other passengers to see who was laughing along with him. To his satisfaction, several others joined in, making disparaging remarks about the boat company and the rough journey across.
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