Secrets of the Lighthouse

by Santa Montefiore

  Ellen crinkled her nose. ‘It just seems a bit drastic to me, to run away from your mother and siblings and never return, all because you fell in love with the wrong man.’

  ‘I’d say that you only know the half of it. Nothing is ever simple.’ He smiled at her. ‘So, tell me, what’s your family in England like?’

  Ellen told him about Leonora and Lavinia, and her descriptions of their superficial lives and her ruthless imitations made him roar with laughter. ‘They’re like my father,’ she said. ‘Fair with flawless skin, big blue eyes and long legs. They’re so similar it’s hard to tell them apart, although there are two years between them. I’m the black sheep of the family. Dark and troubled – the more I learn about my mother the more I realize that I am probably something like her. And that’s not an easy admission. I find my mother intolerable!’

  ‘You’ll feel happier when you break the mould and start being yourself. It sounds to me as if you’re struggling against your mother’s ambitions. She should relax and let you make your own way.’

  ‘She wants me to marry a duke at the very least.’

  ‘She sounds like Mrs Bennet.’

  ‘I know, that sort of attitude seems so old-fashioned, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Oh, it’s alive and kicking all right. There’ll always be aspirational people climbing up the social ladder, leaping to the top with a good marriage. I don’t suppose she’s thought for a minute what sort of man you want. What does your father think about it?’

  ‘I’m sure he’d be happy with whoever I married as long as I’m happy, but deep down, he’d prefer me to marry a man like him, of course: Eton-educated, good at sport, rich and well-connected.’ She paused a moment, reflecting on her parents’ marriage. It was a miracle that it had worked, considering the very different worlds they came from. ‘You know, I think my mother has tried so hard for so long to fit into Dad’s world that she has lost sight of the important things in life. As I was growing up, all she cared about was appearances. That I looked right and said the right things and was invited to the right parties. She forced me to attend the debutante balls even though the debutante thing was way out of date and no longer glamorous. She was desperate to find me a suitable husband – but all the boys were chinless and gauche, especially the aristocratic ones! All interbred, I’m afraid.’ She sighed and shook her head in mock despair. ‘I mean, really, what was she thinking? I shouldn’t laugh, though, she hasn’t given up yet!’ She began to imitate her mother ruthlessly. She had always been an excellent mimic.

  ‘You’re a funny girl, Ellen,’ he said, wiping a tear from his eye. ‘You should have been an actress.’

  ‘I bet you say that to all the girls,’ she retorted dryly.

  ‘I don’t, actually. But I wouldn’t recommend it, even to someone as talented as you. You’re better off behind the camera, writing stories.’

  ‘I have never wanted to be an actress.’

  ‘Always a writer?’

  ‘I like words and I like to express myself that way. But I’m not sure I’m very good at it. I’m feeling my way, just trying to find how best to channel my creativity.’ She laughed. ‘I hope I’m not deluding myself, and that I do have some creativity!’

  ‘Of course you do, otherwise you wouldn’t even be considering it. So, if you weren’t a writer, what would you be?’

  ‘I don’t know. At the risk of sounding like a self-help book, I’m very confused about who I want to be right now.’ She gazed out of the window at the green velvet fields and grey stone walls and said the first thing that came into her head. ‘A gardener, perhaps.’

  ‘A gardener?’ He was surprised.

  ‘Yes, my mother would hate me to be a gardener! She’d like me to be a grand lady who lunches and sits on charity committees like her. But I think I’d like to plant things and watch them grow. I know nothing about gardening, and didn’t realize until I arrived here that I liked nature so much. But yes, I think gardening would make me very happy.’ She turned to him and smiled. ‘Do you think there’s something magical about Connemara?’

  ‘Yes,’ he replied, smiling back. ‘But only if you’re willing to be enchanted.’

  After a short drive, Conor parked in a lay-by on the crest of a hill. ‘Right, now for some serious castle-creeping,’ he announced, switching off the engine.

  ‘I’m surprised you like castle-creeping when you have a castle of your own.’

  ‘It’s not the same, you’ll see. This one’s a total ruin. You’re going to love it.’ They both climbed out and Conor walked round to the boot to let Magnum out. The dog bounded down in a rush of excitement and cocked his leg against the wheel of the car. Conor opened the gate then took her by the hand and led her down the field.

  There, on the cliff overlooking the ocean, were the stony remains of a once magnificent castle. Hollow towers and crumbling walls were all that was left of a mighty fortress, protecting the land from invasion by sea. The wind whipped through the empty windows and whistled around the redundant ramparts where once soldiers had kept watch for the enemy and ladies in rich velvet dresses had looked out for trade ships bringing silks and spices from foreign lands.

  ‘Ireland is full of ruins,’ said Conor, as they approached.

  Ellen wanted to bring up the ruin that fascinated her the most every morning on waking, but she knew instinctively that Caitlin was unmentionable. ‘Ireland’s a very romantic country,’ she said instead.

  He smiled down at her and gripped her hand tighter. ‘I like you, Ellen Byrne.’

  ‘I’m Ellen Trawton.’

  ‘So you are. Well, I like you whatever you’re called. You’re like a ray of sunshine.’

  Ellen smiled at him quizzically. ‘You know my name means “bright light” in Greek?’

  ‘No, I didn’t,’ he replied. ‘Greek was never my strong subject at school. But did you ever see the movie The Age of Innocence with Daniel Day-Lewis and Michelle Pfeiffer?’

  ‘The infamous Ellen Olenska,’ she said, repeating what Dylan had already told her.

  ‘That was a tremendous film.’

  ‘I’m ashamed to admit that I haven’t seen it. Nor have I read the book.’

  He looked pleased. ‘Then I’ll get the DVD and we’ll watch it together. I think you’ll like the Countess, your namesake. She’s a wonderful character – very mysterious, rather manipulative, I think, but utterly compelling. It’s a beautiful and sad love story.’

  They reached the ruins and began to wander around. Magnum sniffed the ground, following the scent of fox. There was no one else there besides them and the dog. The castle was hidden from the road and those who knew of it didn’t bother to look at a pile of old stones. Ellen’s stomach began to tingle with nerves as she anticipated him kissing her again. ‘I think this would have been the sitting room,’ she announced, letting go of his hand and jumping playfully over a knee-high wall into a large, grassy square where the remains of a chimney could be seen against the outside wall.

  ‘You think?’ he questioned, following her.

  ‘Oh, yes, I can imagine them all sitting around drinking wine, can’t you?’

  He laughed. ‘Or it could have been the kitchen. Can’t you just see a big, fat cook roasting a pig on a spit?’

  ‘No, it’s much too elegant to have been a kitchen.’ She hopped over another wall into a smaller room where a big arched window looked out over the sea. ‘This might have been a library. What do you think?’

  He put his hands on his hips and frowned. ‘Or a study.’

  ‘Yes, it might have been a study. Perhaps it was a smaller sitting room. You know how grand houses always have so many sitting rooms?’ She looked out of the hole where the window used to be. ‘I wonder who gazed out of here. A young maiden in love with a sailor, perhaps, waiting for him to return across the sea?’ When she turned around, Conor was standing right behind her.

  ‘Are you playing hard to get, Ellen Trawton?’ he asked, pressing her against the wall. She caught he
r breath. ‘Well, you’ve caught me, all right, Conor Macausland,’ she replied, mimicking a strong Irish accent.

  ‘Not bad for a posh English bird!’ he exclaimed, his gaze heavy with intent.

  She laughed. ‘You sound just like my uncle Johnny.’

  He swept a lock of hair behind her ear. ‘You don’t have to be nervous. I’m not going to eat you.’

  ‘I think it’s the beard. You make me feel like Little Red Riding Hood.’

  He laughed and pressed his lips to hers. ‘Let’s hope it’s the woodcutter’s day off, then.’

  He kissed her passionately and for a moment she was quite overcome by the force of it. She could feel the heat through his clothes and the sexual energy that escalated between them. He smelt of lemon and spice, and the very masculine strength of his physique made her go weak with desire. She forgot herself and her inhibitions, aware only of the sensual pleasure now creeping over her. He buried his face in her neck and kissed the curve of her shoulder and the feeling of his tongue against her skin made her gasp out loud and long for a bed they could both tumble into.

  At last, he pulled away, breathless. ‘You drive me wild, Ellen!’ he whispered, kissing her lips again, this time with more tenderness.

  ‘What’s the name of Ellen Olenska’s lover?’ she asked, attempting to quieten the noisy pounding of her heart.

  ‘Newland Archer.’

  ‘Do they have a happy ending?’

  ‘I’m not going to tell you.’

  ‘That’s unfair!’ she protested.

  ‘If I tell you, I’ll ruin it for you.’

  ‘I want to know whether the name Ellen is lucky or unlucky.’

  He looked at her for a long moment as he considered her question. The frown that lined his brow suggested that it wasn’t an easy question to answer. ‘I can’t tell you that without giving away the end of the story. But I can tell you that you are lucky, whatever you’re called.’

  Later, they walked along the clifftop, hand in hand, while Magnum ran on ahead, invigorated by the wind. Gulls cried mournfully from the skies and birds twittered in the gorse bushes. The ocean roared below them, breaking onto the rocks in small eruptions of foam, and the sun peeped out every now and then from blue holes in the cloud to sprinkle them with optimism.

  ‘I suppose your Aunt Peg has told you about my wife,’ he said softly, holding her hand tightly as if he thought she might run away at the mention of his marriage.

  ‘A little. I’m sorry, for you and the children. It must have been dreadful.’

  He glanced at her and smiled sadly. ‘It was.’ They walked on for a while in silence. Ellen wondered whether he was going to talk more about Caitlin, or whether he was just making sure that she knew his past, as she had done earlier by telling him about her mother. ‘You don’t want to believe everything they tell you, all right?’ he added, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. She wasn’t sure how to respond, for she didn’t want to let on how much she had already heard. ‘My wife died in an accident and that’s the truth.’

  ‘That’s what I’ve heard,’ she replied, eager to dispel the tortured expression in his profile.

  ‘Your Aunt Peg is a good woman,’ he conceded. ‘Others aren’t so well intentioned. There’s a lot of small-town gossip in a place like Ballymaldoon. There always was and there always will be. But until something else dramatic happens there, I shall be their favourite subject. That’s why I don’t venture into town much.’

  ‘You came to the pub.’

  He grinned across at her and pulled her a little closer. ‘That’s because I wanted to find you.’

  ‘You could have spoken to Johnny or Joe at work.’

  ‘They had already left.’

  ‘Then you could have dropped by Peg’s.’

  He shook his head. ‘No, I couldn’t, not after . . .’ He hesitated a moment, then rejected the thought with another toss of his head. ‘I knew I’d find you or a Byrne or ten in the Pot of Gold.’

  ‘You must have given them all one hell of a shock, just turning up like that, out of the blue.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure I did.’ He chuckled to himself. ‘I must admit, it did give me a certain pleasure to see the look on their faces.’

  They reached an old-fashioned little fishing village, nestled in a sheltered cove out of the wind. Conor knew the pub. It was smaller than the Pot of Gold and much quieter. Only a couple of old men in caps sat at the bar, drinking Guinness, while a group of four women played cards at a table beside one of the windows.

  The publican greeted them with typical Irish warmth and poured Conor a pint. Ellen asked for a Coke and told Conor about the time she had tried Guinness to impress Johnny and had nearly thrown up all over the bar.

  ‘Oh, that was brave of you!’ he teased, taking their glasses and choosing a table at the other end of the pub to the card players. ‘I could have told you you’re not a Guinness girl just by looking at you.’

  ‘I think Johnny could, too. He must have thought I was mad, asking for a pint.’

  ‘I bet he was impressed by your spirit, though,’ he said kindly.

  She took a sip of Coke. ‘This is much better.’

  ‘I bet the whole town is talking about you, almost as much as they’re talking about me.’

  ‘Do you think?’

  ‘Absolutely. They’re probably still talking about your mother running off with her Englishman all those years ago.’

  ‘The morning after I arrived, Johnny, Joe, Craic, Desmond and Ryan all turned up for breakfast at Peg’s.’

  Conor laughed. ‘I bet they did. Imagine, they hadn’t seen your mother for, what, thirty years?’

  ‘Thirty-four, to be precise.’

  He stared at her quizzically. ‘And you are?’

  ‘I’m thirty-three.’

  ‘So, what’s your mother doing trying to marry you off then? You’re young!’

  ‘Not in her eyes. She married my father at twenty-five and had me the same year.’

  He narrowed his eyes and looked at her steadily. ‘Then you know why she ran off, don’t you?’

  ‘Well, like I said—’

  ‘She ran off because she was pregnant with you. I mean, getting pregnant out of wedlock would have been enough to have sent your grandmother to an early grave.’

  Ellen’s eyes widened. She looked incredulous. ‘No! Not my mother!’ But then she frowned. It did add up, after all. ‘You think?’ She was about to protest, but stumbled on the words.

  ‘Of course. Good Catholics don’t have sex before marriage and we’re talking over thirty years ago. Ireland thirty years ago was still in the Dark Ages and your grandmother was a different generation altogether.’

  ‘Oh, my God! I mean, my mother is so Catholic and so quick to criticize others for misdemeanours far less serious than that!’ She swallowed a gulp of Coke. ‘Do you think my grandmother knew that she was pregnant?’

  ‘I doubt it very much. Your mother would have known what a sin her mother would consider it to be. You know, girls who got pregnant out of wedlock were put in nunneries and their babies were given away. Your mother would have kept her pregnancy very secret, I can assure you.’

  ‘So my grandmother must have wondered why her daughter never came back.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ He rubbed his beard thoughtfully. ‘Though I imagine one person would have known everything.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Father Michael. If your mother was a good Catholic—’

  ‘She still is a good Catholic. Or rather, she likes people to think she’s a good Catholic.’

  ‘She most likely confessed to the priest. I’ll bet he knows the whole story.’

  ‘Would he tell me?’

  Conor shook his head. ‘Not likely.’

  ‘Might he have told my grandmother? They were cousins, you know, and Joe told me that Father Michael had lunch with her every Sunday without fail. How indiscreet do you think he is?’ She grinned mischievously. ‘I mean, he manufactures his own sloe
gin.’

  ‘And it’s quality gin, too! Perhaps he’s not entirely discreet under the influence. But I’m afraid I don’t really know Father Michael well enough to answer that question.’

  Ellen took another sip of her drink. ‘So, the plot thickens. Johnny did say that my mother was wild and bound to do something really stupid – getting pregnant then would have been really stupid.’

  Conor’s eyes twinkled at her fondly. ‘She fell in love. There’s nothing stupid about that, Ellen. When you fall for someone you want to make love to them. There’s nothing stupid about that, either.’ He took her hand across the table. ‘I want to make love to you,’ he said, lowering his voice.

  Ellen felt a blush flower on her cheeks. ‘You’re very direct, Conor,’ she replied. But her smile was enough to tell him how much she wanted him to.

  They ordered food and ate it slowly as they shared stories. Ellen didn’t mention William, and Conor didn’t mention Caitlin. At that point it didn’t seem to matter that they both harboured secrets. At that point it didn’t look as if those secrets would have any impact on their budding relationship. Falling in love forced them into the present and neither the past nor the future really seemed to matter at all.

  Chapter 15

  I watch their flirtation with a mixture of curiosity and rage. Ellen gazes into Conor’s eyes believing she sees love in them, and I smile because it is all too easy to mistake lust for love. Conor is not a man so easily won. He is wild and independent, selfish and strong. Many beautiful women before me tried and failed to capture his heart, and there will be many more after Ellen who will break themselves against him like waves against rock.

  He wants to bed her and she believes his longing is a physical reflection of his growing affection. If I could I would tell her to run right now and never look back, because he will surely crush her dreams and tear her heart to shreds. But I cannot and I admit there is some pleasure in watching the story unfold before me. After all, I have been in this limbo for so long, don’t I deserve a little entertainment?

  The fact remains that no woman will ever match up to me. Conor loves only me and always will. All the Ellens in the world will never replace the only woman he has ever loved. I know that we argued and fought and that I went to terrible lengths to force him to prove how much he cared, but beneath the tempest that was our life together, we needed each other. We truly did, as the flower needs the bee and the bee needs the flower.