It is getting dark when they return to Reedmace House. Daphne took the children to the beach where they built castles and flew their kites with Ewan, but she is back now, baking potatoes for their tea. She notices their rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes when they walk into the kitchen.
‘Did you have a good day?’ she asks, and I know she is eager for details. She watches her son closely for anything that might give more away than he is willing to share.
‘We had a great day,’ he replies, switching on the kettle.
She turns to Ellen, hoping for more. ‘Why, you look so well, dear. I love your hair all wild like that. You must have been blown about by the wind.’
Ellen catches Conor’s eye and he suppresses a smile. ‘It was so windy,’ says Ellen. ‘ We went to a beautiful ruined castle on top of a cliff, then walked for miles and had lunch in a pub. The more I see of Ireland the more I fall in love.’ She bends down and pats Magnum as he wanders past like a lion that has been out hunting all day and is now tired and docile. I notice how Ellen has lost her fear of dogs. I notice too that she hasn’t smoked. It is interesting what women do for love – but no one has gone as far as me, although Conor would argue that what I did was so terrible it couldn’t possibly have been motivated by love. Oh, Conor, how wrong you are. How very wrong. Everything I did was propelled by my love for you: even that.
Ellen has taken off her coat and boots and is standing in her socks, leaning against the kitchen counter. Conor gives her a cup of tea and they both warm up as Daphne bustles about the kitchen, searching for signs to corroborate her suspicions that her son has at last fallen in love. She listens to their banter, for now they are as intimate and close as two people who have known each other years, not days, and the excitement between them is as tangible as heat.
The children come in for tea and Ida shows Ellen her nails. She has already chipped a few burrowing in the sand as she built her castle this afternoon. Ellen promises to repaint them. Another excuse for her to come to the house – not that she needs one because Conor is keen to see more of her. In fact, he is drunk with lust. I can see it in his eyes. It is a long time since he was so excited by a woman. The darkness he has carried around for the last five years like a shroud of misery has suddenly begun to disintegrate and light is shining through the holes, making him dizzy with happiness. He cannot believe that this woman has walked into his life and so quickly transformed it. The children seem to notice and are infected by his good mood. They laugh and joke at the kitchen table, sharing the adventures they had today with Ewan and Daphne, and Conor laughs too, delighted by their tales.
Conor does not want Ellen to go, but it is late and she worries that Peg will wonder where she is. ‘Can’t I call you?’ he asks as they stand in the hall and Ellen shrugs on Peg’s coat. She explains that she threw her telephone into the sea. ‘Now why would you go and do something like that?’ he asks.
‘Because I don’t want to speak to my mother.’
‘You could have just ignored her calls.’
‘No, I couldn’t.’
He sighs, frustrated. ‘I’ll get you another one.’
She laughs. ‘You don’t have to do that.’
‘I have to fly back to Dublin tomorrow night. The children go back to school on Monday. I’ll get you one there and send it to you.’
She pales. ‘But you’ll come back?’
He pushes her into the boot room and closes the door behind them. ‘As long as you’re here, I’ll come back, Ellen,’ he murmurs, and kisses her. I can see that he frightens her a little. Conor is a passionate man. She obviously isn’t used to men like him; men who aren’t afraid to be men. ‘I want to see you tomorrow.’
‘I have to go to Mass and lunch with Desmond and Alanna.’
‘Then I’ll come to Mass, too.’
‘But you’ll have to face all the gossiping locals again.’
‘I’ll do it for you.’ He grins at her with such fondness that his face softens quite dramatically. I haven’t seen his face do that except when he looks at the children. I am gripped by a cold and furious jealousy. ‘I want to be alone with you, Ellen. I want to kiss you all over,’ he says, and the urgency in his voice leaves her breathless. I can almost feel her heartbeat accelerating beneath her coat. He kisses her again, deeply and ardently, and her body sags beneath the weight of his desire. She is like a rag doll being mauled by a wolf. But she likes it. I liked it, too. For a minute, I feel as if it is me standing there against the coats. I am alive again and Conor is loving me like he used to, before . . . he is loving me like he did when we first met and I was all he ever wanted. Oh, Ellen, Ellen, you think you’re all he wants, but you’re not. I was there first and my imprint is still indented on his heart.
He sees her to her car and watches her drive away. He remains standing for a while, watching her headlights disappear up the track. She has chosen to drive past the castle because she is unsure of the other way. But she needn’t fear being seen by Johnny and Joe. They are probably in the pub by now, enjoying a pint with their friends and family, as they do every evening. I used to enjoy the pub. Life was lonely up at the castle on my own when Conor was away. I loved the throng of people, the noise of their chatter, the stuffiness of the room with the fire lit and all the windows closed. I relished the attention. I was aware that everyone was staring at me, as if I were a rare bird among chickens. Now they are more curious about me than ever. But tomorrow they will see Conor at Mass, which will set their tongues wagging even more than when he walked into the pub, because the last time Conor set foot in a church was at my funeral.
Ellen drives back to Peg’s. Her aunt is at the card table with Oswald. The fire is lit. Mr Badger is curled up on the sofa, while Bertie is in the kitchen by the stove. Jack is perched on the tallboy in the sitting room, watching the card game from his lofty post. When Peg hears the car she pricks her ears and raises her eyes from her hand of cards.
‘That must be Ellen,’ she says to Oswald. ‘She’s been out all day.’
Oswald takes a sip of wine. ‘What’s she up to, do you think?’
‘She’s in love, I’m afraid.’
‘With Conor Macausland?’
‘Of course. It was written all over her face.’ Peg shrugs helplessly. ‘There’s nothing I can do about it.’
‘Do you think she’ll own up?’
‘I don’t think she’ll lie. She’s already confessed to running away from home. Although I’d guessed as much. But I won’t be telling the boys. Desmond won’t have it, and you know him, he can be very fierce when he wants to be.’
‘Ellen’s a grown woman. Surely it’s up to her who she dates?’
‘Not when her date is Conor Macausland. Not that I have anything against the man. In fact, he has my pity, poor fellow. To lose a wife is bad enough, but to be suspected of her murder is beyond the pale.’
Oswald looks at her with such tenderness, I am quite astonished. She doesn’t notice because her eyes are now lowered to her cards – not that she’s looking at them. So she doesn’t see the way he’s gazing at her. His face is soft and full of compassion and I know that he is thinking of her little girl. She is thinking of her, too. And there, right beside her, is her little girl. It is incredible that she is bathed in the loving aura of her child and she doesn’t even know it.
The door opens and Ellen strides in, all pink-cheeked and shiny-eyed. ‘Hello!’ she calls out. ‘Aunt Peg?’
‘We’re in here,’ her aunt calls back. Mr Badger lifts his ears but he doesn’t bother to get down from his warm sofa. Jack now knows Ellen well enough not to be alarmed. He simply moves his head from side to side in that jerky manner as if he’s listening intently. Bertie is so fast asleep, he doesn’t hear the door open and close or feel the cold wind as it breezes into the kitchen.
‘Hi,’ she says, striding into the sitting room. She brings the outdoors with her and Peg shivers. Ellen smiles, unable to hide her excitement.
‘Well, look at you. Aren�
�t you the cat that got the cream!’ says Peg.
‘What have you been up to?’ Oswald asks, peering at her over his spectacles like a schoolmaster.
Ellen flops into the armchair with a contented sigh. She closes her eyes a second and I know that she is struggling with the thought of lying to them. She wrestles with her conscience for a moment, but honesty prevails. ‘Oh, Peg, I’m crazy about him!’ she declares, and she grins at her aunt with such charm that the old woman is immediately won over.
‘Oh, dear, you wouldn’t be speaking about Conor Macausland, now would you?’ She sighs, unable to share the girl’s enthusiasm.
‘I know you warned me against him. Everyone has. But I can’t help it.’ Ellen puts her hands up in defeat. ‘I cannot resist him.’
‘Well, don’t you go telling the boys, now, will you? Desmond won’t have it.’
Ellen laughs. She cannot believe that her uncle has any power over who she chooses to fall in love with. ‘But really, Aunt Peg, that’s absurd.’
‘To you it might be, but we do things differently over here.’ She inhales deeply and her large bosom expands even further onto the table. ‘I’m afraid it won’t do to have a Byrne stepping out with that man.’
‘But you know he’s not a murderer!’ Ellen cries.
‘Well, of course he isn’t, pet.’
‘It’s the gossip,’ interjects Oswald calmly. ‘No one wants their family name dragged through the mud.’
‘I’m a Trawton, too,’ Ellen retorts sulkily.
‘Not over here, you’re not. You’re a Byrne through and through,’ Peg corrects her. Then she softens and puts down her cards. ‘So, where did you go?’
‘To a ruined castle and a pub for lunch. It was all very innocent, you know.’
‘I’m sure it was.’ Peg smiles at her niece. ‘Whatever anyone says about him, no one can deny that Conor Macausland is a gentleman.’
At that moment, the little girl wanders over to the sofa and kneels beside Mr Badger. The dog opens his eyes and twitches his ears. She puts her nose so close to his that they are almost touching. Mr Badger thumps his tail on the cushion. ‘What’s got into him?’ Ellen asks, but neither Peg nor Oswald is particularly surprised.
‘A fairy,’ says Oswald.
Peg smiles and shakes her head fondly. ‘Are we going to continue our game or are you going to lower the conversation into the realm of peasant superstition and fantasy?’
‘You’re a hard woman, Peg Byrne,’ he replies, shaking his head. They resume their game.
‘I’m going to get something to eat. Can I get either of you anything?’ Ellen asks, getting up.
‘Don’t forget to call London,’ Peg reminds her. ‘That’s the deal, remember?’
‘I’ll do it now,’ Ellen replies. She pats the dog as she walks past him, but he has eyes only for the little girl.
I have been into Peg’s bedroom and watched her kneel in prayer beside the votive candle and the photograph of her child. I have watched that same child kneel beside her like a guardian angel, filling the room with a light that Peg cannot see. I remain close to my children, but not in the same way as this happy spirit. I am anxious and tormented, frustrated and sad. She is serene and at peace, unaffected by her mother’s grief. It is as if she has a deep understanding that reaches far beyond the human senses, as if she can see the bigger picture that I cannot see nor begin to comprehend. Grief, sorrow, happiness, delight: they are all but ripples on a vast lake that come and go according to how the wind blows, but beneath is something else, a deep and contented knowing. I wish I knew what it was and had access to it.
Ellen helps herself to food from the fridge then sits beside the telephone, staring at it for a long while, lost in thought. She eats and chews and stares. At last, she picks up the receiver and dials a number. It rings a few times before it is answered.
‘Emily?’
‘God, is that you, Ellie?’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you for a week.’
‘Sorry.’
‘So, how’s it going over there in deepest, darkest Ireland?’
‘It’s fabulous. I’m loving it!’
‘Well, I’m glad you’re having a great time, because you’ve left me on the front line over here, fighting all your enemies.’
‘I’m so sorry. Is Mum being a pain?’
‘Not just your mother, but yes, she’s called about a hundred times. Aren’t you getting any of your messages?’
‘I threw my phone into the sea.’
‘Well, that explains it, then. I’ve had Leonora and Lavinia on the phone as well, wanting to know where you are, but more importantly, your mother wants to know what’s going on with William.’
‘Ah, William.’
‘Your fiancé, remember?’ Ellen hesitates. The word ‘fiancé’ appalls her. ‘From the way he’s behaving I presume you haven’t called it off,’ Emily continues.
‘I just told him I need space.’
‘Oh, Ellie, that’s pathetic!’
‘I know. I just couldn’t bring myself to end it. He’s a nice guy. I don’t want to hurt his feelings.’ She inhales deeply, then lowers her voice. ‘I can’t be sure I won’t bolt back to London and still want to marry him.’
Her friend’s voice changes now. She is more sympathetic. ‘So what’s it like there?’
‘Beautiful.’
‘Are you actually writing anything?’
‘No.’
‘I thought not. So, what are you doing with your time, then? Besides throwing your mobile into the sea!’
‘I’m hanging out in the pub with the locals.’
‘God, Ellie . . .’
Ellen laughs. ‘It’s called the Pot of Gold.’
‘I bet it is. How quaint. Do they all say “top of the morning” and sing ballads?’
‘That’s just silly!’
‘Aren’t you missing civilization?’
‘It’s very civilized here.’
‘You surprise me. I didn’t think you could live outside a mile radius of Harvey Nichols!’
‘Neither did I. But Emily, I’ve fallen in love . . . with Connemara. Right now I have no intention of coming back.’
‘You know you’re the talk of the town. London is buzzing with gossip. Why did you leave your job? Where have you gone? Has anyone spoken to you? Have you had a row with William? Is it off? Is it on? What does your mother say?’
‘Where do they think I’ve gone?’
‘Thailand.’
Ellen laughs. ‘ To do what, exactly?’
‘People are saying that you’ve gone to a retreat in preparation for your wedding.’
‘Oh, really!’
‘I know. Aren’t they all shallow!’ Emily gives a smoky laugh. ‘So, what do you want me to tell William?’
‘How is he?’
‘Confused and worried. He came round last night for a drink.’
‘Does he look dreadful?’
‘Not at all. Tragedy suits him, actually.’
‘What did he say?’
‘That if you need time you can have all the time you want. But he’s put out that you didn’t tell him to his face and that you haven’t told him where you are.’
Ellen cringes. ‘I know, I’ve been horrid.’
‘He’s quite cross.’
‘Well, he has every right to be, I suppose.’
‘And he doesn’t like the fact that everyone is talking about it. I think it’s dented his pride. Why you couldn’t have taken a week’s holiday instead of quitting your job, I can’t imagine. Why did you have to be so dramatic and make such a scene? The whole of London is gossiping about you and you haven’t even been away a week. It’s ridiculous.’
‘I just snapped, all right. I wasn’t thinking. I just had to go. Anyway, isn’t he worried about me?’
‘He thinks it’s pre-wedding nerves, Ellie, which a lot of brides suffer. I’m sure he’s worried about you, too.’
/> ‘Doesn’t sound like it.’
‘Shall I tell him that I’ve spoken to you and that you’re fine? Would it hurt if I tell him where you are?’
Ellen is horrified at the thought. ‘Don’t you dare tell him where I am! Don’t tell anyone where I am. I mean it, Emily. I don’t want to be found right now. I haven’t even been away a week. You can tell Mum that you’ve spoken to me and that I’m OK. For God’s sake, don’t let on that I’m in Ireland.’
‘OK, OK, don’t lose your rag. I’ll keep my mouth shut, but you owe me, big time! I’m fighting a war over here while you sing “Danny Boy” in the Pot of Gold! It isn’t easy fending them all off. It would have been easier to have told them you were going away on a short break to some faraway place which has no mobile reception. That way, no one would have worried – and no one would be calling me up to find out where you are!’
They talk on but their conversation no longer interests me. Finally, after promising to call again, Ellen hangs up. She remains a while, thinking about what Emily has said. I don’t know what is in her mind, but she frowns and her face has lost its earlier cheerfulness.
So, Ellen is engaged to be married and has run away. I am delighted by this important piece of information. Although I am not with Conor and Ellen all the time, I am pretty sure she hasn’t told him. That would be enough to send him into a violent rage. He won’t be able to trust her any longer and that will be my greatest weapon. If Conor has a chink in his armour it is trust. I let him down, but only because he drove me to it, so desperate and deep was my love, but he won’t cope with it a second time. It will be Ellen’s undoing.
She washes her plate and puts it away, then wanders into the library. She carefully searches all the spines until she seizes upon the one she wants. I am not at all surprised that she is after The Age of Innocence, by Edith Wharton. Ellen pulls it out and looks it over, the joy returning to her features. I know why she wants to read it, because she is desperate to know whether it has a happy ending. I could tell her that it does not.
Secrets of the Lighthouse Page 18
