Secrets of the Lighthouse (22 page)

‘Are you playing hard to get, Ellen Trawton?’ he asked, pressing her against the wall. She caught her 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.

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.

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.’