Secrets of the Lighthouse

by Santa Montefiore

  ‘I shall pray for you,’ says Peg firmly.

  ‘Thank you. Though I fear prayers will not be enough.’

  They reach the house to find Ellen standing in the field with the donkey, gazing at the lighthouse. She joins them at the gate.

  ‘What are you doing out here?’ Madeline asks.

  ‘I’m saying goodbye to the donkey,’ says Ellen, and her breath rises into the soggy air. Her cheeks are gaunt and pale.

  ‘Come in and have some breakfast,’ Peg suggests.

  ‘I will in a minute.’

  ‘I’ll make you porridge,’ says Peg. ‘I don’t want you to fade away.’

  ‘I don’t care if I do,’ Ellen replies sullenly, giving a little shrug. ‘He’s gone. He’s not coming back to get me. It’s over.’

  ‘Oh, Ellen,’ says Madeline and there is a warmth in her voice which takes her daughter by surprise. ‘Come inside, you look freezing.’

  ‘I’ll join you in a minute,’ Ellen repeats, averting her eyes because they are filling with tears. The two women head for the kitchen door, leaving Ellen in the field with the sheep, the llama and the donkey. It is a long while before she turns around and follows them into the house.

  It is not long before Dylan, Johnny, Joe, Ryan, Desmond and Craic drive up to say goodbye. Oswald wanders over from his cottage and they all share one final pot of tea in Peg’s warm kitchen. They all look gloomy and sad, but none more so than Dylan. The conversation is awkward. Joe makes a few bad jokes but they laugh just the same. They are all trying to be jolly when inside they feel as heavy as lead.

  At last it is time. Madeline’s taxi is waiting outside to take them to the airport. She embraces her brothers and Peg, hastily, so as not to crumble with emotion. She is English, after all, and the Irish passion is locked away with the Irish girl beneath the very effective steely veneer she has built around herself like a suit of armour. Then she hugs Dylan. He holds her close but even I can see that he finds the veneer impenetrable. He has seen glimpses of Maddie but he is resigned to the Englishwoman who has taken her place.

  When he says goodbye to Ellen it is a different matter. I feel a strange pain in my chest as he takes her young hands in his old ones. I notice that his are trembling. He doesn’t find the words, but gives her a CD, pressing it into her palm. She wraps her arms around him and lets out a muffled sob. They remain together and the pain in my chest grows stronger. And then I recognize it, this pain that weakens my jealousy and fills me with guilt. It is compassion.

  Chapter 32

  Ellen returned to London and to her old life with the weary acquiescence of a buccaneer whose adventure has ended in failure. She had only been away from London for a few weeks and it was still as she had left it; only she had changed. She no longer belonged. She felt like an outsider in a city she had previously felt she owned. In spite of breaking off her engagement with William, who didn’t seem nearly as unhappy about it as she had feared, Ellen found her mother expected things to return to the way they were. But she hadn’t liked the person she was then and she had no intention of slipping back into that skin ever again. Ireland had shifted something in her consciousness and it was irreversible.

  After an awkward lunch with William, which had been more like ending a business contract than an engagement, she returned home. But it no longer felt like home. It was as if she had grown out of the room; even the bed felt too small. She lay down and listened to Dylan’s CD, while the ache in her soul wracked her with homesickness for her new adopted land. When she heard the lyric to ‘Ellen Across the Sea’, she was no longer able to control her tears.

  She had resolved that she wasn’t going to lie any more. As much as her mother had tried to dissuade her, she knew that in order to live honestly she had to tell her father the truth about her birth. At first, her mother didn’t believe she’d do it. She truly felt that once Ellen was back at home, life would return to normal and she would forget about Ireland. She called Emily and asked her to rally her friends and take her out, but Ireland was in Ellen’s heart and in her tears, which spilled readily at the smallest provocation.

  In spite of her efforts, Madeline could do nothing to stop her daughter from finding an opportune moment to be alone with her father in his study.

  ‘Darling one,’ he said, lowering The Times and smiling at her. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘I need to talk to you, Dad,’ she said, closing the door behind her.

  ‘Of course,’ he replied, folding the newspaper and placing it on the corner of the club fender.

  She sat down in the armchair opposite and laid her hands in her lap. He hadn’t asked her how she was since she had split up with William and he hadn’t asked her about Ireland, either. He had simply continued as if nothing had happened. As if she had been away with friends for a long weekend. She didn’t know how to break it to him that she had dug up her mother’s past and discovered that she was another man’s child.

  ‘So?’ he asked, raising his eyebrows.

  ‘I want to tell you about Ireland,’ she began.

  ‘Yes,’ he replied, and she thought she detected a shadow of uneasiness pass across his face. ‘How did it go?’

  ‘I love it.’

  ‘It is a very beautiful part of the world.’

  ‘Mum never talked about it, so you can imagine how surprised I was to discover I had an aunt and four uncles.’

  ‘I bet they were just as surprised to see you,’ he said with a chuckle.

  Ellen began to feel sick. ‘I really felt at home there, Dad. I really felt I belonged.’

  ‘It’s in your genes.’

  ‘Yes, the Irish in my genes is very strong.’ She watched him, hoping for some reaction, but he looked at her with the same honest blue eyes and innocent face.

  ‘I met your mother when I was staying at this rather magnificent old castle owned by a chap called Peter Martin.’

  ‘I visited the castle,’ Ellen told him. ‘It’s very romantic.’

  ‘Is it still owned by the Martins?’

  ‘No, they sold it and moved to Australia.’

  ‘Good Lord, that’s a long way to go. I often wondered what happened to them. I never saw them again after that summer.’ He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘Peter’s son, Lorcan, and I were friends at Eton and Oxford. He was a top man with a formidable forehand. I’ll always remember that.’

  ‘Did you ever meet a man called Dylan Murphy?’ Ellen asked. She watched him closely for his reaction, but he shook his head and replied that he didn’t think so. Ellen knew then that he couldn’t possibly know about her mother’s old lover, because her father simply wasn’t capable of dissembling.

  She stood up, suddenly agitated. ‘Dad, I have something terrible to tell you, but I have to get it off my chest and I have to be truthful with you.’ She felt a horrid sinking sensation in her stomach. She had now gone too far to turn back.

  ‘Is it something about Ireland?’ he asked, and when she looked at him, his blue eyes were strangely darker and deeper than before.

  ‘Yes, it’s something about Dylan.’

  He nodded slowly, breathing in through dilated nostrils. Then he rubbed his chin again, staring into space. ‘Does this Dylan person have brown eyes?’

  Ellen frowned. ‘Yes, why do you ask?’

  He looked at her steadily. ‘What did Dylan tell you?’ He was serious now.

  Ellen’s heart began to race. ‘He didn’t tell me anything,’ she answered quickly. ‘I found out on my own.’ She was aware that her eyes were welling again with tears. ‘Then things began to make more sense.’

  ‘Sit down, Ellen,’ he said calmly. She did as she was told and perched on the edge of the armchair.

  ‘Mum begged me not to tell you, but I lost the man I love because I lied about my engagement. I don’t want any more lies. I don’t want any more secrets. And I can’t live without you knowing what I know. Knowing that you don’t know. And that you might find out, someone might tell you and then I’l
l have lied again, or withheld . . .’ She was rambling now, her nervous fingers fidgeting in sweaty palms.

  ‘Ellen, I know,’ he said gently.

  Ellen stared at him in astonishment. ‘You know? You know what?’

  ‘I’m not your biological father. That is what you’re trying to tell me, isn’t it?’

  The relief was overwhelming. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘My darling, do you really think I wouldn’t notice that my daughter had brown eyes? Even with my limited knowledge of biology I know that it is impossible for two blue-eyed parents to have a brown-eyed child.’

  ‘Is it? I didn’t know.’

  ‘And I spent all that money on your private education!’ He smiled kindly. ‘I imagine it must have been a terrible shock to find that out.’

  ‘It was.’

  ‘But it doesn’t change anything, unless you want it to.’

  ‘Doesn’t it?’

  ‘Why should it? The past is done and can’t be undone. It is what it is. Finding out which sperm fertilized your egg doesn’t change the fact that I have been your father for the last thirty-three years. It doesn’t change the fact that I love you, Ellen. It doesn’t change that at all.’

  Ellen had never heard her father talk about love before. It moved her unexpectedly, to the point of making her chest and throat grow tight. He had always been uncomfortable discussing his feelings and Ellen had never probed. Now he was flinging open the emotional door and inviting her to step inside. It was unfamiliar territory for both of them. ‘What did you think when I was born?’ she asked in a small voice.

  ‘That you were the loveliest little girl and I was very lucky to have you.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Of course. I loved your mother. It didn’t matter that she was pregnant with another man’s child because I wanted her at any cost. She was fleeing Ireland and I was happy to be her knight in shining armour and lower the drawbridge.’

  ‘Didn’t you think it odd when she called me Ellen?’

  He chuckled at the memory. ‘Well, it wasn’t my choice, but she was determined. I thought it must be the name of her grandmother or some other relative.’

  ‘It was Dylan’s nickname for her. Ellen Olenska.’

  ‘Ah, The Age of Innocence.’ He acknowledged the information with a nod. ‘Well, I suppose you were conceived in an age of innocence of sorts. Things got pretty complicated for her after that.’

  ‘And she never told you?’

  ‘No, she probably thought I wouldn’t marry her if she told me the truth. I never discussed it with her because I didn’t want to rock the boat. As far as I was aware, it was irrelevant.’

  ‘Did you ever wonder who he was?’

  ‘That didn’t matter, either.’

  ‘Mum thinks you don’t know. She begged me not to tell you. I imagine she thinks it’ll ruin your marriage.’

  He smiled. ‘Nothing will ruin our marriage, Ellen. Not then and not now. One has to be philosophical.’

  ‘I always felt different, growing up,’ she reflected. ‘Now I know why.’

  ‘You weren’t different, Ellen. You were yourself. You’re not simply a product of two people; you’re an individual, unique soul, unlike anyone else. You’ve always been our daughter and a vital part of our family. You fit in irrespective of your differences, because you belong. Nothing can change that except your negative thoughts. If you go around thinking you don’t fit in, you will eventually believe that you don’t.’ He grinned at her fondly. ‘And it’s your differences which make you compelling, Ellen. They make you special.’

  ‘I never felt special.’

  ‘Then that’s our mistake, not yours.’

  ‘I wish we had been able to discuss this before.’

  ‘I don’t think it would have been possible before. The timing is just right now. You had to go to Ireland in order to understand your mother’s motives. She’d never have told you herself. I’m afraid this was the only way.’

  ‘So, I suppose you’re going to have to tell her that you knew all along,’ she said, standing up.

  ‘Yes, she might not be too pleased about that.’

  ‘In which case, I’ll make sure I’m out when you tell her.’

  He stood up, too. ‘Darling, you’ve been very brave.’ He pulled her into his arms and gave her a gentle squeeze. She rested her head against his solid, reliable chest. ‘I’d like you to stay here at Eaton Court, but if you want to go back to Ireland, I’ll understand. Don’t ever feel you’re not free to do exactly as you please.’

  ‘Are you disappointed I’m not going to marry William?’ she asked.

  ‘A little,’ he replied and her heart stalled. ‘I haven’t seen such a formidable forehand since I played with Lorcan Martin.’

  ‘Oh, really.’ She laughed and pulled away.

  ‘No, I’m not disappointed. I’d have been much more disappointed if you had accepted someone simply because you thought it was expected of you.’

  She looked at him steadily, pleased to see that his eyes were light blue and full of amusement again. ‘Thank you, Daddy,’ she said.

  He kissed her forehead. ‘You’re my daughter, Ellen, and I’m very proud of you.’

  Chapter 33

  In spite of her improved relationships with both parents, the following weeks dragged by for Ellen. She missed Ireland and Peg, and she missed Conor until it felt as if her pining had burned a hole through her heart. She knew now that he wasn’t going to call her, but she couldn’t bear to sever the final tie that made communication with him possible. She kept his telephone in her bag just in case. The constant disappointment of hearing nothing from him served to remind her of her stupidity and pull her deeper into her unhappiness.

  Emily was a loyal and constant friend, but even she, after weeks of arranging dinners and cinema nights, lost patience. She suggested taking some of her holiday time early and flying off somewhere hot, but Ellen refused to go anywhere. She wanted to hide beneath the bedspread and never come out. Her mother told her to look for a job. There was nothing more corrosive to one’s morale than sitting about doing nothing. ‘What you need is a project,’ she said briskly. ‘At least do something. Why don’t you come and help me with one of my charities? We’re always looking for people to stuff envelopes.’

  But her mother was right, she did need a project. With a racing heart, she pulled out her laptop and placed it on the desk in her bedroom. Why don’t you put on some music, light a candle, inject a bit of atmosphere into the room, then empty your mind and see what comes, were Dylan’s wise words. So she lit a candle and played Dylan’s playlist of songs on her iPod. The music was stirring, her heart expanded with love and longing and her fingers were a channel for her creativity to flow through her.

  Oh battle-weary lighthouse,

  Still rising from the sea,

  Don’t you know it’s over and the angels call to thee.

  It’s time that you surrendered

  To the greater light,

  Rise up eternal being and put aside your fight . . .

  She wrote pages and pages of songs, about Conor, about Dylan and about the lighthouse, whose symbolism she didn’t quite understand. The words flooded her consciousness from the still, eternal part of her she had discovered that first morning on the beach in Ballymaldoon, and spilled onto the screen. Then she went out and bought a guitar and composed music as Dylan had taught her to do. The songs she produced raised her spirits and her sorrow found a vent. She now understood why Dylan had poured his unhappiness into his songs, because it made him feel better. Ellen’s songs made her feel better, too, and little by little the fog lifted off her future and she was able to see it more clearly.

  She realized that she was never going to be happy as long as she stayed in London. She wasn’t going to be happy without Conor and that was the truth. But she would rather pine for him in Connemara than here in London, where she felt isolated and disconnected. At least there she might bump into him. In any cas
e, she could work for Alanna, write her songs and play them with Dylan. She’d help Peg with her shopping and learn to look after all her animals. She would throw herself into her new life with vigour, because Connemara would be her home. The thought of going back filled her with energy and enthusiasm. She leaped off the bed and pulled her suitcase out from under it. For the first time in weeks she felt happy.

  Chapter 34

  Time moves slowly on. I don’t know how many weeks go by but spring is here now. I see it blossoming in the apple trees outside Reedmace House in spite of the dense fog that follows me wherever I go. I imagine the sun is warm and the hills are bright with yellow and purple heather. I remember the troll’s bridge and the lake, but I haven’t the will to go and visit those places dear to me. I haunt the corridors of the castle with the other ghosts whose unhappiness chains them to this pitiful level of existence. It is not a place I would choose to be, but I feel powerless to raise myself up. My jealousy has robbed me of my freedom. It has taken everything. I am more alone than ever.

  And then Conor comes back to Connemara. I am horrified by the state of him. He has not grown a beard or let his hair reach his shoulders like before, but his eyes are full of sorrow and his cheeks are hollow. I experience the same pain in my heart that I felt when Dylan and Ellen parted. My spirit swells with it, and I feel a warmth in me that I haven’t felt in a long time. It grows stronger and more intense as I follow him into the castle and up the stairs to his tower.

  This tower room was a storeroom when I was alive. Conor didn’t need it then. When I died he made it his secret sanctuary. A refuge from the world where he could be completely alone. Now he seeks refuge from his pain, but he cannot drive it out because it is a thorn in his heart and only Ellen can remove it. He lies on his bed and pulls a pillow to his chest. I know he is not thinking about me. He’s pining for Ellen, and for the first time since my death I want his happiness more than my own. I want it so badly; I’m willing to do anything.