The Girl on the Cliff (39 page)

‘But, Mam,’ Grania sighed, ‘how could she be expected to do that? Gerald was Anna’s stepson. She was married to his father. Oh dear, what a terrible mess.’

‘Yes,’ Kathleen agreed, ‘and, of course, you’re right. Aunt Anna always knew which side her bread was buttered. Sebastian provided her with a comfortable life, and as much freedom as she wanted. After the incident, Aunt Anna rarely came back to Ireland, spending most of her time in London at the house she had grown up in. The two sisters never spoke again.’

Grania was silent for a bit, taking time to make sense of what her mother had told her. ‘I understand you must hate Lily for what she did to Joe, but actually, Mam, was it really her fault? She had to suffer that terrible attack,
whoever
was the perpetrator of it. Perhaps she really couldn’t remember, but even if she could, would she ever have been likely to blame her half-brother?’ pondered Grania. ‘And who knows? Gerald threatened you; he may well have done the same to Lily to make sure she kept her mouth shut. I’m not trying to make excuses for her,’ she added hastily, ‘but I don’t see how she could have won.’

‘You’re right, so,’ said Kathleen. ‘That’s what your daddy has said to me for years. And, to be fair, when Sebastian Lisle died just after Gerald, and Lily inherited the Dunworley Estate from her father, my daddy wrote to her in London asking if he could finally purchase our farm. She agreed and was very fair about the price.’

‘Being cynical, perhaps it was to minimise any kind of contact between your family and hers?’

‘Yes. It probably was,’ Kathleen agreed. ‘That, and maybe guilt too.’

‘Obviously, Alexander knows none of this,’ said Grania.

‘I’d hardly think his wife would be telling him.’

‘No, but perhaps it would help him if Alexander did know. He’s always said he’s been uncomfortable living in Dunworley. And I think,’ Grania scratched her head, ‘that even though you are not responsible for your partner’s problems, you still feel guilty that you didn’t do enough to help. And I know, from what Alexander has told me, that he did everything he possibly could to support Lily.’

‘I’m sure he did. And if it makes any difference to you, Grania, I’ve stopped blaming Lily for what happened. But the pain in my heart over my Joe will never go away.’

‘No … and Lily sounds as though she paid the price too. Poor thing. Would you mind if I did tell Alexander when the moment is right?’

‘No. I was feeling suddenly it was important to tell you before you left to see him tomorrow. The sad thing is,’ Kathleen sighed, ‘I’m the only survivor left out of that night on the beach. It’s almost as if the world turned wrong for all of us that evening.’

‘Mam! I’m here and Shane and Dad,’ Grania teased, ‘so something continued to go a little bit right.’

‘Yes, pet.’ Kathleen reached out a hand and stroked her daughter’s cheek. ‘Of course it did. And your daddy, Grania, well now, if it hadn’t been for him being there for me after it all happened, I’d have gone mad altogether. He was wonderful, so he was. And he still is, for all his irritating habits,’ she chuckled. ‘And now, I’d better let you get
some sleep before you leave tomorrow. Promise me you’ll be taking care of yourself?’

‘Of course I will, Mam, I’m a big girl now.’

‘Never too big for a hiding from your mammy,’ Kathleen smiled wearily.

‘I know.’ Grania watched as Kathleen heaved herself off the bed and walked towards the door. ‘Goodnight, Mam. I love you.’

‘And I love you too, Grania.’

Kathleen left her daughter’s room and walked next door to her own. John was fast asleep, the light still on. Dropping a tender kiss on her husband’s forehead, she wandered over to her dressing table. And picked up the small, exquisitely carved wooden angel Joe had fashioned with such love for Lily. She’d spotted it, lying in the sand, just outside the cave where Lily had been found, a few weeks after Joe had been sentenced. Holding it to her breast, Kathleen looked up.

‘Sleep tight now, Joe,’ she murmured.

Oh, Reader! Poor Kathleen! Under the circumstances, I’m surprised she ever let me darken her doorstep, given the black cloud of family history I brought with me.

And poor Joe … one of life’s vulnerable humans, unable to protect or defend himself; a ‘victim’ through fate’s lottery, and no fault of his own. I can only hope that his gentle spirit came back as a much-loved family pet, a cat for example; and that Ghastly Gerald was the mouse the Joe-cat stalked, played with and finally killed, just for fun.

The worst thing is, as I learn more about my past I worry for the genes I have inherited. Ghastly Gerald was my uncle! Not to mention my granny, Anna, whose inherent selfishness meant Lily grew up without what I believe to be perhaps the most important element of a human-being’s life: the love of a mother. And, subsequently, so did I, until Grania came along and saved me.

At least this part of the story has helped me understand Lily. I’ve been musing that, just as Joe was a victim through a lack of the normal portion of gifts we are given at birth, it was Lily’s ‘gift’ – her beauty – that made her so vulnerable. Perhaps too much of any quality is as bad as too little. And she was so fragile – just as fragile as Joe, yet in a different way. Perhaps that’s what he recognised in her, even if others could only see her from the outside. To most people, like the young Kathleen, beauty and
wealth is associated with power and strength. Yet Joe saw her vulnerability and simply wanted to protect her.

Amongst other things, I’ve been reading a lot of religious philosophy recently. (If I sound more serious than usual, these books are the reason.) Science has now identified the genetic physical link we hand down, but I prefer to think that each little baby born is its ‘own’ spirit, and that, whatever their upbringing, they will become who they are despite it. This makes me feel better personally, given my gene pool.

I said earlier on that the world doesn’t learn its lessons. Reader, I think I’m wrong. In the space of fifty years, people like Joe, who have for centuries been either drowned at birth or shut away because of their imperfections, are now cared for by society. Of course, there’s a flip side to that. In the western world anyway, children are no longer put up chimneys, they are treated with kindness and consideration. But from being an often unwanted by-product of a man and a woman playing the most enjoyed human game (you know the one I mean!), they have now become the centre of the family universe. I have met some very spoilt little people recently, and I struggle to imagine a world in which they can think of others and not themselves. Which may mean the human race turns another full, selfish circle again when their generation begin to run things, because we never stand still.

I am only happy I lived this life when I did. In the past, I’m sure I would have been drowned as a witch. Along with Kathleen, who sees and feels the things I do and understands.

Perhaps this is longer than usual because I am putting off writing the next bit of the story. It is not going to be easy for me …

A liveried chauffeur was holding up Grania’s name as she emerged through Arrivals at Geneva Airport.

‘Follow me, madam.’

Outside, a black Mercedes was waiting. She climbed in and the driver set off silently.

As she drove through Geneva to an unknown destination, Grania wondered if she’d been naive. Should she have trusted Alexander? She knew so little about him. He could be involved in all sorts of things that were illegal: gun-running, drugs …

‘Get hold of yourself, woman, and stop letting your imagination run away with you,’ Grania admonished herself. Still, she fished in her handbag for her cell phone and tucked it safely in the pocket of her jacket.

After a journey which took them out of the city and upwards into the mountains behind, the car drew to a halt in front of a brightly lit modern building. The chauffeur opened the passenger door for her and she stepped out.

‘I will be waiting for you here. Mr Devonshire is on the second floor. Ask at the desk and the nurses will tell you where to find him.’

It was then Grania looked up above her and saw she was standing outside the entrance to the Clinique de Genolier. Instinctively, her hand went to her mouth. ‘Oh God, oh God …’ she whispered to herself.

Numbly, she took the lift to the second floor as the chauffeur had directed, and walked to the nurses’ station to make herself known.

‘Your name?’ asked the nurse.

‘Grania Ryan.’

‘Yes,’ the nurse gave a smile of recognition, ‘Mr Devonshire’s been expecting you. Follow me, please.’

Heart in her mouth, Grania walked down the corridor and waited as the nurse knocked on the door. A weak voice said, ‘Come.’

The nurse indicated for Grania to push the door open.

Alexander, or at least what Grania could only describe as a vague shadow of the man she’d said goodbye to a few weeks ago, was lying in the bed. He was completely bald, his skin a sallow grey, his body hooked up to tubes, with monitors beeping monotonously around him. With effort, he lifted a thin arm in recognition of her arrival.

‘I’ll leave you alone for a while,’ the nurse nodded as she closed the door behind them.

‘Grania, thank you … for coming.’

Grania was rooted to the spot, her shock, she knew, visible on her face. But there was little she could do to control it.

‘I know,’ croaked Alexander. ‘I know. You weren’t expecting –’ he indicated himself – ‘
this
.’

Grania shook her head silently, willing herself not to break down. He made a small movement with his hand to indicate she should come closer. When she drew next to him, she saw his navy-blue eyes were full of tears.
Instinctively, she leaned forward and placed a kiss on his cold forehead.

‘Alexander,’ she whispered, ‘what’s happened to you? I don’t understand.’

He motioned her to pull up a chair and sit down next to him. Once she had done so, he moved his hand towards hers and she took it in her own.

‘Brain tumour. I knew a year ago. Times I was away was for treatment.’ He smiled sadly. ‘You can see. Didn’t work. I’m dying, Grania. Thought I’d have longer, but –’ he licked his dry lips to aid his speech – ‘haven’t.’

‘I …’ the tears were rolling unchecked down Grania’s cheeks now, ‘I’m so sorry, Alexander. Why didn’t you tell me? I knew something was wrong; you looked terrible the last time you came home. And all those headaches … it makes sense now. Excuse me.’ She rooted in her handbag to try and find a tissue to stem her running nose. ‘Why didn’t you say something?’ she repeated.

‘While there was still hope, didn’t want Aurora to know. Or you,’ he added.

‘Is there … nothing the doctors can do?’ Grania knew, looking at him, she was grasping at straws.

‘Nothing. Tried everything. Done for, I’m afraid.’

‘How long – ?’ Grania could not finish the sentence.

Alexander helped her. ‘Two weeks, maybe three … way I feel, I think sooner. Grania –’ she felt sudden pressure on her hand from his – ‘need your help.’

‘Whatever I can do, Alexander, tell me.’

‘It’s Aurora. Worried for her, no one to take care of her when I’m gone.’

‘You mustn’t worry about that. I and my family will look after her. You know we will, Alexander.’ Grania could see that both the effort of speaking and the emotion were draining him.

‘My poor little girl … what suffering she’s known.’ It was Alexander’s turn to cry now. ‘Grania, why is life so cruel?’

‘I don’t know, Alexander, I really don’t. All I can promise you is that Aurora will be safe and well and
loved
.’

‘Excuse me … so tired, the drugs, you know.’

Grania sat there as Alexander’s eyes closed and he slept. She felt giddy, faint with shock. Of all the things she’d expected, sitting at the bedside of a dying Alexander had not been one of them. She tried to think rationally about what this meant, but her brain was numb. She sat there holding his hand as tightly as she could, as if she and her health and energy were his conduit to life itself.

Eventually, his eyes fluttered open, and he turned his head to focus on her. ‘I trust you, Grania. Seen your love for Aurora. And your family … good people. Want Aurora to be with you and … them.’

‘I’ve said, Alexander, she can be. She
will
be.’

‘No,’ Alexander made an effort to shake his head, ‘not good enough. Can’t take any chances. Grania, need to ask you a favour.’

‘Anything, Alexander, you know that.’

‘Will you marry me?’

After an evening of shocks, this was the largest so far. Grania wondered seriously if Alexander was mentally sound.

‘
Marry
you? But … ?’

‘Hardly a dream proposal, know that.’ Alexander’s lips turned up in a sad facsimile of a smile. ‘Wish could be asking you under different circumstances.’

‘I don’t understand, Alexander. Can you try and explain?’

‘My solicitor will do that tomorrow. Then I can die knowing …’ Alexander took a deep breath to try and curb his emotion, ‘my little girl is safe.’

‘Oh, Alexander –’ Grania’s voice cracked.

‘Will you? Do this? For me?’ he managed.

‘I …’ Grania put her fingers to her forehead, ‘this is such a shock, I – I need some time to think about it.’

‘Haven’t got “time”. Please, Grania, I’m begging you. Promise, I will leave you financially secure for the rest of your life.’

‘I don’t want your money, Alexander.’

‘Please, Grania. Need to do this before it’s … too late.’

She looked at his anguished face and knew she had no choice.

‘Yes,’ she answered slowly, ‘I’ll do it.’

The following morning, having spent an entirely sleepless night – albeit in a beautiful suite at a hotel in Geneva – Grania met Alexander’s chauffeur in the lobby at ten o’clock and was taken back to the hospital.

Alexander managed a weak smile as she walked through the door. Sitting in the chair next to his bed was an older man, greying hair combed neatly, dressed immaculately in a suit.

He stood up, towering over Grania, and offered his hand.