The Kinsella Sisters (38 page)

She’d have to go to find him and say thank you for the party, and then she’d have to excise him from her life. Excise was the right word, she decided, as she unlocked the door and went out into the atrium. ‘Excise’ meant to cut away with a knife, and doing what she was going to have to do was going to cause Río some pain.

She moved through the party on bare feet, looking this way and that for Adair. The band was playing something languorous now, and couples were slow-dancing, wrapped in each other’s arms and looking at each other with amorous eyes.

Finn was dancing with Izzy The couple looked so beautiful together that they almost took Río’s breath away. He–so like his father, dark and piratical; she–so like something out of a fairy tale, elfin, a golden sylph. Río couldn’t do to them what the couple in Izzy’s story had done to their children. She couldn’t break their hearts.

Christian and Dervla–the new Mrs Vaughan–were waltzing, clearly delighting in their new-found synchronicity Río was so very happy that Dervla had found love at last, at this (fairly) advanced stage in her life. But love came at a price–Río knew that–and Dervla would have to learn some new life skills to negotiate the web of problems in which her in-laws would be bound to snag her.

Would her sister want to have children of her own? Río wondered. That too, could bring complications. It was strange to contemplate the idea of Dervla with a baby: she still thought of her older sister as formidable, a consummate businesswoman, a princessa.

But then, people changed, circumstances changed, and the world moved on. Río remembered how, in his cups, her father had used to recite the poetic works of William Butler Yeats, and she heard his voice in her head now, uttering the passionate words of ‘Easter 1916’.
All changed, changed utterly: A terrible beauty is born.

And then she heard Shane’s voice in her head, and the words of the Yeats poem he had adapted to suit her and Dervla:

Both beautiful, one I adore.
She, Río, had ended up being the adored one. Like her mother before her.

Adair was in the orchard. She could see him standing under a tree, gazing at his view. The sea had grown rougher now, with white horses curveting on a horizon where the silver light of a full moon frosted the edge of the world.

Río made her way towards the steps that would take her down to the garden, reaching for the pashmina draped over the back of her chair, the exquisitely embroidered swirl of silk and cashmere that Adair had given her.

Out in the garden, her bare feet made no sound on the newly-mown lawn. Once under the trees, though, the lawn gave way to more luxuriant growth, and grass and fallen leaves rustled underfoot.

Alerted to her presence, Adair turned to her. Río was taken aback to see that there were tears on his face. Raising a hand, he dashed them away.

‘I–I’m sorry,’ she said, making to move away. ‘I’m intruding.’

‘You’re not intruding, Río. Please don’t go. Unless you’re embarrassed by seeing a man cry.’

‘I’m not easily embarrassed by anything,’ she said. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

‘You’ve already helped.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You were responsible for this. All this festivity.’ He gestured towards the house, where the shadows of partygoers danced on
the candle-lit deck, and the sound of laughter competed with the fiddle-players and bodhrán for supremacy, and the aroma of barbecue rose into the sea air.

‘
I
was responsible?’

‘Yes. This party wouldn’t have happened without you.’

‘But that’s crap, Adair! This is
your
party’

He shook his head. ‘If I’d announced I was throwing a birthday party for me, people would have made excuses to stay away. Nobody gives a shit about me. But they care for you. That’s why all these people are here tonight–they’re here for you, Ríonach Kinsella. They adore you. The house is full of your friends, not mine. You’ve breathed life into the place.’

‘Don’t be daft!’

‘It’s true. I’m under no illusions that I haven’t made enemies in Lissamore. Well, maybe not enemies, exactly, but I know that people had no very high opinion of the Bolgers. You didn’t.’

‘I…’

‘It’s all right, Río. You don’t have to deny that you thought I was a right plonker. I probably still am. Look at me, blubbing because I’m Norman No-Friends.’

‘You’re allowed to blub. It’s your party, you can cry if you want to.’

‘Don’t worry. I’ve finished blubbing. Let’s change the subject.’

‘We could talk about the weather.’

‘We could. Or we could talk about our hopes for the future.’

‘No, no. I made the decision earlier today that I was putting off thinking about the future until tomorrow. Let’s just try and enjoy the present.’

‘Live for the moment?’

‘I guess.’

They remained silent for some time. Across the bay, clouds were slinking along the mountain range, draping themselves over the dark peaks like an eiderdown settling over a recumbent figure.

Then Adair said, ‘I have something for you.’

Reaching into his pocket, he produced a leather box and held it out to her. Río recognised the logo of an über-exclusive jeweller’s, and her hands flew to her face in shock.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Adair hastily. ‘It’s not a ring. I wouldn’t be so presumptuous as to offer you a ring at this stage in our relationship.’

‘Our–relationship?’

‘I–well–oh God. I’ve just dug myself into a hole. It is, of course, presumptuous of me to–er–presume that we enjoy such a thing as a relationship. But I have to tell you, Río, that I’d love to think we might. Enjoy one, I mean. I…you see, I adore you—’

‘Adair! Stop it.’

‘But it’s true! I
adore
you! I adore everything about you! I adore your feistiness and your just for life and your laugh. I adore the way you swim in the freezing cold Atlantic to warm it up, and I adore the way you walk barefoot, and I adore the way you swig wine and slide down banisters. I adore your name, Río–Ríonach! I adore the way it feels on my tongue. Look at you! You’re beautiful, Río. A goddess. A selkie.’

‘Adair—’

But he wouldn’t stop.

‘I’ve never met a woman like you before. All the women I know are harpies, and they’re all made of plastic. They wouldn’t dream of walking barefoot into an orchard. They wouldn’t be caught dead bowling along on a bicycle. Can’t you see how I adore all those things about you? Don’t you know that that’s why I want to shower you with gifts?’

‘You’ve showered me with too many gifts already, Adair. I can’t possibly accept any more.’

‘But you must, Río.’ He undid the clasp on the small leather box. ‘It’s part of the birthday celebration you dreamed up. Please take it.’ He proffered the box, looking at her with entreaty. Then he opened it, and revealed the contents.

Inside was a bracelet of beads looped together by a network
of silver filigree. The beads were exquisite, handmade and decorated with tiny whorled pink rosebuds against a blue and silver background–like miniature Faberge eggs. It was clearly antique, and it had clearly cost him a lot of money.

‘It’s the last gift on your wish list,’ said Adair, lifting it from its bed of creamy satin. ‘It’s the bracelet your imaginary birthday girl left lying on the table.’

Río looked at the bracelet, and then she looked at Adair and shook her head. ‘I won’t take jewellery from you, Adair. No, indeed I won’t.’

‘Take it. Please take it, Río.’

He thrust the box at her, and she put her hands behind her back. But Adair was insistent. Putting his arms around her, he tried to prise her fingers apart so that he could slide the bracelet onto her wrist. And as he did so, her pashmina fell to the ground and Río felt the hardness of him against the slippery silk of her dress. And then she felt a wave of just so powerful that nothing in the world could have stopped her pulling his face down to hers and kissing him. Adair made a kind of growl deep in his throat, and suddenly they were embracing. The embrace for Río was like tasting water for the first time after travelling through a desert. She had, she realised now, been parched for him, and he likewise for her. She
was
his selkie: she would sacrifice her ocean home for him.

She felt his palms travel down her back, and she felt the hard grip of his hands on her ass as he pulled her closer into him, and then there came a muffled squeal from the garden beyond the orchard, and Río and Adair sprang apart abruptly. There, like a little lost ghost standing in the middle of the lawn, was Izzy. Her hands were covering her mouth, and her eyes were wide in her pale, pale face.

‘Daddy!’ she cried, and Adair said, ‘Darling, it’s not what you think!’–the classic line so abused by truly guilty people.

But Izzy just shook her head wildly before turning and fleeing
back in the direction of the house, her sobs receding as she left the arena.

Río and Adair regarded each other for a long moment before Río said, ‘It’s impossible, Adair. You know it is.’

Adair stooped and picked up the pashmina and the bracelet, which had also fallen to the orchard floor.

‘Yes,’ he said, straightening up wearily. ‘I guess it is.’

‘It would have been lovely in another place and under different circumstances. Wouldn’t it?’

‘He nodded. Then he held the bracelet out to her. Are you sure you won’t accept this?’ he said.

‘I’m sure. You’ll find someone else to adore, who would love to wear it. I’m certain of that.’ Río smiled at him. ‘I’ll keep the pashmina, though, if you don’t mind. It’s starting to get really cold.’

‘Of course.’ Adair wrapped her in the swathe of crimson cashmere, and then he stuck his hands in his pockets. ‘I’d better get back to Izzy,’ he said.

‘You better had,’ said Río. ‘Goodbye, Adair. Thank you for the party. It was lovely.’

‘You’re welcome, Ríonach,’ said Adair. He turned with an awkward dip of his head, and retraced his daughter’s steps back to the Villa Felicity.

Río watched him go, then pulled the pashmina tighter round her, and wandered further down the orchard. She wouldn’t cry, she told herself, as she slid the bolt on the five-bar gate and stepped off her land onto the beach. She had no reason to cry.

Back at the house, Izzy sped upstairs to her room to compose herself before rejoining the party. But someone had got there before her. It was Babette. The little dog was lying in the middle of Izzy’s bed, looking like a furry odalisque.

‘What are you doing here, sweetie pie?’ Izzy asked; then figured that the pooch had been airlifted away by her mistress to prevent her from being trampled to death by the dancers on the deck.

Babette wagged her tail in greeting, then gave Izzy a sympathetic look as she clocked the tears on her cheeks.

‘I know–I’ve been crying. Sorry. They’re stupid tears, really’ Izzy helped herself to a Kleenex from the box on her bedside table, then sat down beside Babette, and curled her feet up underneath her. ‘It’s just that my dad’s made a real eejit of himself over that appalling Río woman, Babette. He fancies her, but I so want him to find someone who will love him for himself and make him happy, not a gold-digger like her who’ll probably get pregnant and force him into marrying her. And then I’d have to share Dad with a half-sister or–brother, and I couldn’t bear that. If that happened I’d be practically an orphan, because I don’t have a mother, Babette–at least not a mother in the real sense, who makes comfort food like cottage pie, and does your laundry, and tucks you into bed with a hot-water bottle when you’re sick. And I’m horribly, horribly lonely because I’ve no one to talk to apart from Lucy and she’s going to study abroad next year.’

‘You have Finn.’

‘What?’ Izzy looked at the dog in astonishment, before realising that the voice had come from the direction of her en suite bathroom. She turned to see Fleur leaning against the doorjamb, looking at her with concern.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Fleur. ‘Your father told me I could leave Babette here in your room. I came up to check on her and go to the loo, and of course I couldn’t help overhearing you. You clearly need someone to talk to, Isabella, and wise as Babette is, she’s not the most articulate of agony aunts. Can I help?’

Izzy felt her face flare up, and then, to her mortification, the tears started again. Except this time, they were tears of despair, not tears of anger.

Fleur moved across to the bed, and took Izzy in her arms. And when she’d soothed her and told her ‘There, there’ over and over again, she pushed Izzy’s damp hair back from her face and smiled.

‘You’re confused about a lot of things, Isabella, and I’d like to put some of your misconceptions right, if I may. The most important thing you need to know is what a remarkable woman Río Kinsella is. Allow me to tell you all about her.’

On the beach, Río walked towards the edge of the water and stood looking out to sea for some time, while wavelets lapped at her feet. Then she reached down and picked up a stick of driftwood that had been washed up onto the shore. Taking a few steps backward, she hunkered down and wrote some words in the sand with her driftwood pen, in great big letters. Then she looked up. Above her a gull screamed, and she wondered idly, if the bird could read, what it would make of the legend looped in Río’s swirly capitals on Lissamore strand.

The climb up the cliff path was a stiff one, and by the time she got to the top Río was breathless with exertion and emotion. Looking down, she saw that the words she’d inscribed on the beach were visible, just, by the light of the full moon. There had been a full moon too, on the night Finn had been conceived. ‘
I know what it is,
’ she murmured, ‘
to be adored.’
She repeated the words, like a mantra, for reassurance. She, Ríonach Kinsella, knew what it was to be adored, and really, that was all that anyone should want from life, because it meant that you were a good person.

She watched, dry-eyed, as waves swept over the words on the sand, erasing them. Erasing them for ever? Maybe. Maybe not. She could write those words again and again, on sand or on paper or in bold graffiti on a wall. She could embroider them in silk or daub them on canvas or carve them upon a tablet of marble. She could blazon them on a banner, or across the sky in fireworks if she damn well pleased.