Secrets of the Lighthouse

by Santa Montefiore

  ‘Thank you so much,’ she gushes and they are suddenly awkward with each other, as if they don’t really know how to say goodbye. I watch in amusement because I know they will probably never meet again. Conor doesn’t go into town and he certainly won’t be going up to Peg’s to pay her a visit.

  ‘I’m glad I rescued you off the mountain,’ he says and he gives her one of his most charming smiles.

  ‘Me too, although I feel rather embarrassed to have taken up so much of your time – as well as eating you out of house and home.’

  ‘All that walking made you hungry. I’m constantly ravenous down here.’

  ‘Well, thank you again.’

  ‘Drive carefully.’ I can tell that Conor would like to prolong the conversation.

  ‘I will.’

  ‘And good luck with the book.’

  ‘Oh, yes, thank you. I shall start tonight. If I leave it any longer it’ll never happen.’

  He laughs – I think he’d laugh at anything she said – and watches her climb into her aunt’s car and turn on the ignition. His eyes stray to the castle door a moment and his face suddenly darkens. Ellen waves as she drives past him. He is distracted and waves back. He watches her car disappear beneath the burr oaks then turns his gaze back to the castle door. I know he is fighting the impulse to go inside and look at my portrait. He remains a long while just staring at it, but he doesn’t move towards it. Eventually, he thinks better of the idea and returns to his car.

  My interest in this English girl is now aroused further, for she is possibly my only means of communication. She has sensed me once; she will sense me again, I am sure of it. I don’t know how, but I feel I will let Conor and my children know I live on, through her.

  I know Peg’s home well from the days when Ronan used to live there, but I haven’t been back since my death. I know the sheep and the obnoxious llama, the gentle donkey and that pig. Mr Badger used to bark at me from the hill when I was at the lighthouse, as if he knew of the danger I was in and wanted to warn me. I stand on the hill and gaze over the sea at my death. The water is black now that the sky has clouded over. The waves rise and fall and crash against the rocks, breaking into froth and foam. Darkness falls early in February and the lighthouse is already silhouetted against the indigo sky. I remember the times we made love there on the grass in summer. The times he held me and whispered into my ear that I was everything to him. I remember nights beneath the stars, gazing up at the moon, knowing that he’d do anything for me. Anything at all. Oh, what a feeling to be so loved. And now? The lighthouse was mine. My very own secret island. The one place I truly felt safe – the one place I wasn’t safe at all.

  And now, as I stand on the hill waiting for Ellen to arrive, I see a little girl in front of Peg’s house. She is dressed in white and has a radiance about her that does not belong to the living. Her hair is long and black and yet it has a shine to it that earthly hair does not have. She is staring at me with big, bold eyes and her smile is shy but serene. I know then that she is a spirit, but unlike me she has an otherworldly glow. I am of this world, but she? No, she is not. She is finer, as if she is made of soft beams of light. I smile back.

  The door opens and Peg strides out with Mr Badger. She does not see the little girl, but that is no surprise to me. I have been in this limbo long enough to know that only very rarely do the living see the dead. And when they do see us, there are plenty of people to call them crazy, deluded or liars. If only I knew then what I know now. But it is no good to wish for something one cannot have, I know that too. I watch Peg and I watch the child and I suddenly realize that the little spirit is the daughter Peg lost to the sea. I don’t know how I know, I just do.

  Peg is going to check on her sheep. She marches off into the field. Mr Badger walks up to the little girl and then the most extraordinary thing happens. I cannot believe it. The little girl puts out her hand and strokes the dog’s head. She touches him with her fingers and he feels her touch. I notice the hair flatten beneath her hand and yet I know that she is not solid. This spirit child is a beam of light, but somehow she can affect the material world in a way that I cannot.

  Peg turns and sees that Mr Badger is distracted. She shakes her head fondly, because she believes her dog to be simply eccentric. She whistles and he pricks his ears. The little girl withdraws her hand and Mr Badger runs off into the field. Then she follows, skipping happily after him. I look up at the sky, certain that the moon has come out and is now shining upon us. But no, the clouds are thick and grey and the air is now damp with drizzle. There is no moon, but the little girl has a light of her own, and as she stands beside Peg, the old woman is bathed in its radiance. I wonder whether, on some subconscious level, she can feel it.

  Chapter 9

  Ellen stopped the car in a lay-by and took a deep breath. For the first time since she had been in Ireland she wanted to call Emily and share her excitement. Oh my God, he’s the most handsome man I have ever seen, she said to herself. Conor Macausland! I have just had lunch with the notorious Conor Macausland. She closed her eyes then opened them again to make sure she wasn’t dreaming, and gripped the steering wheel to stop her hands from trembling.

  She knew she shouldn’t feel excited by a man many blamed for his wife’s death. He was obviously dangerous: the sort of man mothers warn their daughters about. But the darkness that muddied his name served only to enhance his allure and strengthen the power of his charisma. The fact that he might be dangerous simply made him more attractive.

  How suddenly this one small meeting had shifted the subterranean plates of her life. Her perspective, having been so concentrated on London, now focused in on this tiny Irish county of Connemara. More specifically, to the wild and beautiful Ballymaldoon Castle and the compelling man who owned it. Her parents, William and her London friends faded into the blurred backdrop behind her new focal point, leaving her aware only of Conor Macausland and the desire that had taken her so much by surprise.

  She pictured his raffish smile and the indigo eyes that shone the brightest blue by contrast with his brown, weathered skin and long black lashes. The tragedy in them only served to endear him to her all the more. She had never fallen for a man with a beard before, but there was something wild and exciting about the hair on his face, as if he were a storybook hero or a knight of old, and it looked incredibly soft. She imagined what it would feel like against her skin and the thought made her shiver with a sense of the forbidden. She remained in the car until it was too cold to sit there any longer without heating. Her hands were stiff with cold but her body was warm inside Aunt Peg’s heavy coat. By the time she started the engine she had projected all her desires onto this man who seemed so capable of embodying them, and she wondered how she could contrive to see him again.

  She arrived at Peg’s in a jolly mood and found her aunt in the kitchen with Ronan and Oswald. When he saw her, Bertie trotted up and nuzzled her with his wet snout. Because she was so happy she bent down and stroked his spiky head. It was softer than she expected. ‘Well, would you look at you!’ Peg exclaimed, folding her arms across her woolly jumper. ‘ We were about to send out a search party.’ For three people about to send out a search party they looked very settled and comfortable, Ellen thought.

  ‘Where the devil have you been?’ Oswald asked. ‘Your cheeks are very flushed. Have you been up to no good?’

  Peg stood up. ‘I’ll pour you a cup of tea. You look cold to the bone! Have you eaten, pet?’

  Ellen pulled off her boots. ‘I had lunch with Conor Macausland,’ she replied nonchalantly, relishing the effect that piece of news was bound to produce. Peg stopped in her tracks, halfway to the Stanley, and Oswald stared at her loose-jawed, while Ronan’s face darkened with fury.

  ‘You had lunch with Mr Macausland?’ Peg repeated. ‘Did I just hear right, or are you messing with me, girl?’

  ‘Why would you go and do that?’ exclaimed Ronan hotly.

  Ellen shrugged out of Peg’s coat and hung it o
ver the door. ‘I got lost and he rescued me,’ she said, unable to turn down the light in her eyes.

  ‘A knight in shining armour,’ said Oswald with a sigh.

  ‘Yeah, right!’ Ronan added sarcastically.

  ‘What were you doing getting lost?’ Peg asked.

  Ellen wandered in on socked feet and pulled out the chair next to Oswald, opposite Ronan. ‘I went for a walk over the hills. It was so beautiful. The sun was out, the place smelled so delicious. I was inspired.’

  ‘Ah, the glory of Connemara.’ Oswald sighed again.

  ‘So, then what happened?’ Peg persisted.

  ‘I walked and walked until I thought I’d better be getting back. But I got lost. Every hill looked the same. I think I was walking in circles. I was scared, actually. I didn’t know where I was. That’s when Conor came round the hill on his horse and rescued me.’

  ‘Did he brandish a sword and smite your enemies?’ Oswald teased.

  Ellen tutted and rolled her eyes. ‘He invited me back to his house and I had lunch with his mother, Daphne, and his two children, who are adorable. His dog is pretty terrifying, though.’

  Peg looked appalled. ‘I should think that Mr Macausland is pretty terrifying, too.’

  ‘I’d say your brothers look terrifying, Aunt Peg, but when you get to know them you realize how nice they are. Conor is like that. At first sight, with his dark beard and shaggy hair, he looked quite alarming. But he was charming, actually.’

  Ronan leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. ‘Don’t be an eejit, Ellen. There’s nothing charming about Conor Macausland. Don’t be blinded by his handsome face.’ But he couldn’t contain his curiosity. ‘So, what did you talk about?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she replied vaguely. ‘Lots of things. He asked me about myself. I told him I was your niece, Peg, and he made a joke about the size of our family.’

  ‘Well, he knows Johnny and Joe well, doesn’t he, so you weren’t really a stranger.’ She put the kettle on the stove.

  ‘Daphne’s an artist like you, Oswald,’ Ellen added.

  ‘Ireland is full of artists,’ Oswald replied, unimpressed.

  ‘What’s he doing down here, then?’ Ronan asked.

  ‘It’s the children’s half-term,’ Ellen answered, feeling important now that she had information to share with them.

  ‘I suppose he’ll fly back to Dublin in his fancy chopper the moment it’s over,’ said Ronan.

  Ellen was disappointed. ‘Do you think?’

  ‘He’s rarely here, isn’t that right, Mam? I wouldn’t want to show my face around here either if I was him,’ he added.

  Peg nodded. ‘It was a dreadful business, dreadful. I’m not surprised he doesn’t come here more often. Every corner of the estate must remind him of his beautiful wife.’

  Ronan drained his mug of tea. Ellen noticed the furious shadow that darkened his face.

  ‘I had so many questions I wanted to ask,’ she continued.

  ‘I don’t think you’d have found him so charming had you asked them,’ said Ronan sulkily.

  ‘I’m not a fool,’ Ellen retorted. ‘I wouldn’t have dreamed of prying. The poor man has suffered horribly.’

  Ronan’s dark eyes flashed. ‘But he’s alive, isn’t he?’ He took a sharp breath, as if preventing himself from saying any more. Jack flew off his perch and settled on the curtain pole above the kitchen window. It was pitch black outside and the wind had picked up. It moaned around the house like a ghost. ‘He only has himself to blame,’ Ronan added quietly. ‘They both have themselves to blame.’

  ‘Ah, the gossip and speculation,’ said Oswald. ‘Twenty years from now the people of Ballymaldoon will still be talking about it.’

  ‘And no one will be any the wiser,’ Peg added, taking the kettle off the stove and pouring boiling water into the teapot. ‘Now, let’s all have another cup of tea and talk about something else for a change.’

  A little later, Ronan drove off to the pub and Peg settled Ellen into the small sitting room and lit the fire. It crackled comfortingly in the grate. ‘Does Ronan have a girlfriend?’ Ellen asked her aunt as she plugged her laptop into the socket in the wall behind the desk.

  ‘Chance would be a fine thing,’ Peg replied. ‘He’s a very difficult young man, as you can see.’ She sighed heavily. ‘Probably my fault. Children never come out of a divorce unscathed.’

  ‘He’s very handsome, though, isn’t he?’

  ‘Ah, yes, he’s a good-looking boy, all right. The Byrne men are all very handsome.’ Peg closed the curtains. ‘It’s a gusty night. I’m glad you’re not going out.’

  ‘Lovely staying in here. It’s a very sweet room.’

  ‘It’s yours for as long as you want it.’

  ‘Aunt Peg, I’m very conscious of being a burden to you.’

  Peg turned round and smiled at her niece. ‘You’re no burden, Ellen. I’d tell you if you were. It’s nice to have a girl about the house. I only ever had big boys. Since Ronan moved out it’s been so quiet. I have Oswald.’ Her smile broadened. ‘He’s a lovely rogue, but it is nice to have a girl to look after.’ She hesitated a moment, considering Ellen’s concern. ‘You know, if you want, you can help me with the messages. I don’t need your money. I have enough for our needs. I’m not extravagant, as you can see. But if you want to help I’d appreciate you going into Ballymaldoon for me. This damp weather is bad for my bones.’

  Ellen was pleased there was something she could do, although she suspected Peg was just being kind. The damp didn’t stop her from spending all day outside with her animals. ‘I’d love to. Just give me your lists and I’ll do the shopping for you, and anything else you require. I’ll even help with the animals. Consider me your Girl Friday.’

  ‘It’s a deal, then.’ Peg glanced at her watch. ‘Now, I’d better go and look after Oswald, he’s very demanding. He wants me to help choose paintings for an exhibition in the town hall. Mr Badger might come and lie in front of the fire. He loves fires. So, don’t be alarmed. He won’t bother you. I’ll just be across the way with Oswald, if you need me.’

  ‘Thank you, Aunt Peg. I really appreciate that you’re happy to have me here. It feels like home already.’

  Peg smiled. ‘I’m happy to hear it, pet. Now get some writing done, will you?’

  ‘I will.’

  Peg departed, leaving the door a little ajar. The fire began to rustle and crunch as it devoured the kindling and set upon the logs with orange tongues. Ellen switched on her computer and waited dreamily for it to start up. She rested her chin in her hands and let her mind revisit the moment Conor had appeared over the knoll on his horse. She wasn’t aware of the small smile that crept across her face as she pictured him in his felt fedora with his wild hair and troubled eyes. The screen lit up in front of her but she was unaware of that too, until Mr Badger wandered in and settled in front of the fire with a contented sigh, alerting her to his presence and drawing her out of her head.

  She almost clicked onto her emails before she remembered that Peg didn’t have email access in her house. It was probably for the best that she didn’t begin communicating with the very people she had travelled to Ireland to avoid. Instead, she opened a blank page and wrote NOVEL UNTITLED in looped writing, adding her name beneath. She spent at least twenty minutes playing around with the fonts. When she scrolled down to the next page, she found she had nothing to write. The clean white of it made her shrink back in defeat. Until she had a plot there was no point even beginning. But she had her hero all right, and she put her head in her hands and thought of him again.

  It was eleven o’clock when Johnny and Joe banged on the door of Peg’s house. Ellen was in bed, reading a Daphne du Maurier novel from Peg’s bookcase. She put the book down and cocked her ear. She could hear Peg in the hall, berating them for waking her up, but in truth she had only just finished her card game with Oswald and had retired barely ten minutes before. Ellen threw a sweater over her T-shirt and s
triped pyjama bottoms and hurried downstairs to see what the commotion was about.

  ‘Just the person we came to see,’ said Joe when he saw his cousin in the doorway. He looked her up and down in amusement, taking in the boyish pyjamas and her dishevelled hair. ‘Sorry we got you out of bed,’ he added wryly.

  ‘Did they wake you up, pet?’ Peg asked.

  ‘No, I was reading,’ Ellen replied. ‘What’s going on?’

  Johnny sat at the table and looked at her gravely. ‘Mr Macausland came into the pub, asking after you.’

  Ellen’s heart gave a little skip. ‘Really?’

  ‘He came into the pub,’ Joe repeated. ‘Can you believe it? He hasn’t set foot in that place since the fire.’

  ‘What did he say?’ Ellen asked, trying not to look too interested, but failing abysmally.

  ‘He walked in and the whole place went quiet. You could have heard a mouse fart,’ Joe continued.

  ‘Craic poured him a pint and they chatted a while,’ said Johnny gravely. ‘It takes a lot of courage to come into a hostile place like the Pot of Gold.’

  ‘Fair play to him,’ Peg added, putting the kettle on the stove.

  Joe sat down beside his father. Ellen was so distracted she took Jack’s chair, forgetting that the bird was perched on the back until she felt him peck at her hair.

  ‘Good God!’ she exclaimed, getting up and moving to the other end of the table. ‘That bird is the limit!’

  ‘It took him a while to get the conversation around to you,’ said Joe with a mischievous grin. ‘He talked about the estate first. Then he said he found you lost on the hills and gave you lunch.’