Secrets of the Lighthouse (17 page)

‘Business is slow at the moment,’ Alanna lamented. ‘It’ll pick up in the summer when the tourists come, and right now I’m on my own. Mary, who helps me, has had to
go to Waterford to visit her sick mother, so I suppose it’s just as well.’

‘
I’m
a customer,’ Ellen announced.

Alanna raised her eyebrows. ‘So, not just a social call, then?’

‘That too, of course. But I need something sparkly like glitter to decorate nails with.’

‘Oh, yes, Desmond told me. You’re going to have tea with Conor Macausland.’ Her eyes widened with fascination. ‘Be careful, won’t you, Ellen? He’s a
fine-looking man but I fear he’s trouble.’

‘I know, but I can’t help being curious. It would be mad not to go, don’t you think? As a writer it’s my compulsion to seek inspiration wherever I can find it.’

Alanna laughed and pushed herself up from her chair. ‘I suppose it’s hard to resist the allure of a handsome rogue. Now let me see what I can find for you. I have sequins.’ She
walked over to a stand at the back hanging with all sorts of packets. ‘These are pretty.’

‘Yes, they’ll do. Fantastic. Thank you.’ Ellen continued to browse. ‘It’s such a pretty town.’

‘Oh, yes. It’s pretty all right and the people are good, hardworking folk. I couldn’t live in a place like London. Too much noise, crime and rushing about. The few times
I’ve been there I’ve come home exhausted. I like a quieter life.’

‘I didn’t realize how much I needed to be in the countryside until I left the city. What you haven’t had you haven’t missed, I suppose. But now I know what it feels like
to be alone on the hills, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do without that space again.’

‘I gather you got lost up there?’

‘Yes, I did. Very silly of me to lose my way like that but I’m not born to the country.’ Ellen turned away to hide her blushes.

‘Be careful,’ Alanna repeated. ‘I’m sure you’re a sensible girl, but don’t forget who he is when you’re painting his little girl’s nails and
he’s looking at you with those deep eyes of his. He’s nothing but trouble.’

‘He didn’t look like the sort of man who could murder his wife,’ Ellen retorted defensively.

‘Oh, I don’t think he murdered her, not for a minute. I know Ronan does, but he would, wouldn’t he. In his eyes she was the princess in the tower and Conor was the ogre keeping
her prisoner.’ She laughed. ‘Poor Ronan, he took her death very hard.’

‘So, what do you think happened?’ Ellen asked.

‘Her death was suspicious, and people do like their conspiracy theories, but I don’t think Conor’s bad like that. He’s just selfish and spoilt, I imagine, and very
arrogant. He never came to the pub or got involved with the community. He just kept himself secluded up there in his castle as if he was too good to mix with the common folk. Caitlin, on the other
hand, would come down to the Pot of Gold when he was away in Dublin and lean on the bar for a good chinwag with Craic. She’d knock back her glass of Murphy’s and join in all the
singing. I think she loved those times best of all, when she could come down from her gilded tower and be herself. She was very beautiful but desperately unhappy. You could see it in her eyes. I
don’t think it was easy being married to him, in spite of all the money. She deserved better, poor girl.’

‘Did you get to know her?’

‘Not really, she was a man’s woman. But I did get to know Molly, her nanny.’

Ellen’s interest was roused by this new angle. ‘Really?’

‘She was bored, I suppose, and used to come in for a chat when the children were at school. She was a lovely girl, very sweet and gentle. She worshipped her mistress, had stars in her eyes
when she spoke about her. I think she was a little frightened of Conor. She saw too much, I imagine. Anyway, after the tragedy, she told me that Caitlin knew Conor was coming back the evening she
rowed out to the lighthouse, but she went anyway. Molly thought that was odd, given that he had forbidden her to go there. It was dangerous, you see, and he worried about her in that little boat.
But she was headstrong and determined to go. Well, that night, she had an air of intent about her, Molly said, like she wanted him to go and find her. When it emerged that the lighthouse was full
of little candles, Molly thought that she had made it all romantic in order to seduce him. Their marriage was really bad; perhaps it was an attempt to win him back.’

‘But why the lighthouse, if he hated her to go there?’ Alanna shrugged. ‘I don’t know, but Molly said that all the other times she went, she made sure he was away so she
didn’t get caught. This was the only time she had ever gone knowing he would find out. She wanted him to go and find her. Why? I don’t know, and Molly didn’t know either. We
couldn’t work it out. She was interviewed by the guarda but they didn’t seem to think that was relevant.’

Ellen stared at Alanna and her heart began to race. ‘You don’t think that she lured him there to murder
him
, do you, and it all went wrong?’

Alanna’s eyes widened. ‘Jaysus, Ellen, I never thought of that!’

‘I watch too much crime TV.’ Ellen laughed, dismissing the idea.

‘Well, don’t you go giving the boys any more fodder with that suggestion, will you?’

‘I think Peg would round on me if she heard me talking like that.’

‘She certainly would. You and Ronan with your dark theories.’

‘And I’m stepping into the very heart of the mystery,’ Ellen said with relish.

‘Well, you take care now,’ Alanna warned. ‘Men like him prey on pretty young girls, then toss them aside when they’ve had their fill. I’d steer well clear of him.
If you want a nice Irishman, there are plenty of decent boys on offer.’

‘But they’re all related to me!’

‘Well, that’s true, of course. Don’t you go falling in love with one of your cousins. That wouldn’t do at all!’

‘Joe’s handsome. Why doesn’t he have a girlfriend?’

‘Because he’s too busy playing the field. Why settle with one when ten will do?’

Ellen found pink nail polish in the chemist next door and bought a couple of things that were on her aunt’s list. Just as she was on the point of leaving, Dylan Murphy
appeared in the doorway and hooked her with his mad eyes as if he had been doing nothing with his time but fishing for her. ‘Well, hello there, Ellen Olenska,’ he said and grinned. He
looked surprisingly dapper in a jacket and tie, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to contend with him on her own.

‘Hello, Dylan. How are you?’

‘Not too bad,’ he replied, thrusting his hands into his coat pockets. He smelt strongly of tobacco. ‘How’s that book of yours coming along?’

‘I haven’t written a word yet.’

‘You will. You’re a talented girl, I can tell.’

His compliment disarmed her, as did the fleeting sweetness in his smile. It was gone as quickly has it had come, as if he were embarrassed to have revealed a softer centre. ‘I hear that
you and Peg are going to tea with Macausland.’

‘Really, nothing is secret in this town, is it?’

‘If you want to keep a secret, you tell only the fish.’

‘He asked me to paint his daughter’s nails.’

‘I don’t suppose that’s on a father’s list of duties, is it?’

‘Nor a grandmother’s,’ Ellen added. ‘Still, I’m happy to do it.’

‘You watch out now . . .’

‘Not you as well. Everyone’s warning me to take care, as if Conor’s some sort of demon. He was very nice to me.’

‘Well, of course he was, you’re a beautiful girl and he’s a red-blooded man like any other.’

Ellen was embarrassed by the way he emphasized the word
beautiful
. He almost sang it. ‘Aunt Peg’s coming with me, you know,’ she told him, then wondered why she felt
the need to explain.

‘Yes, that will be interesting.’

She didn’t know what he meant by that comment. ‘Well, I’d better be going.’

His face suddenly darkened with disappointment. ‘Off to do the messages, are you?’

She pulled Peg’s list out of her coat pocket. ‘I’ve got to go to the butcher’s and then to the grocer’s.’

‘Let me show you where they are, then.’

‘No, really, I don’t want to trouble you. I’m sure I can find them. It’s a very small town.’

But Dylan was already opening the door.

Ellen smiled to herself when, five doors down, they arrived in front of the butcher’s. ‘I’m glad you came with me,’ she quipped. ‘Otherwise, I
might not have found it.’

Dylan grinned bashfully. ‘Sometimes it’s not so easy to notice what’s right under your nose,’ he said, and opened the door for her. She stepped inside. ‘So, how
long are you planning to stay?’

‘I don’t know.’ She walked up to the counter and appraised the meat behind the glass. ‘Right now I’ve got no intention of going back to London.’ She sighed.
‘But I suppose I’ll have to go back sometime.’

‘What have you got to get back for?’

The very thing I’m running from,
she thought, but said instead, ‘My life.’

‘That’s a load of rubbish, Ellen Olenska.
You
are your life so your life is wherever you are.’

Ellen was surprised by the wisdom in his words and pulled her gaze off the counter. ‘I’ve never thought of it like that.’

‘Well, it’s true. Your life isn’t something you can leave behind or run away from, because
you
are
it
. People, on the other hand, are another matter
altogether. You can run away from them, all right.’

She looked at him steadily. He seemed suddenly smaller and she wanted to put her arms around him because of the callous way her mother had broken his heart. But they were in the shop and the
butcher was now ready for her. She pulled out her list.

A few moments later, they were walking down the pavement towards the grocery shop. The sky was as grey as porridge, but every once in a while the clouds parted and the sun
shone through, surprisingly warm for February.

‘You look like your mother,’ he said softly, keeping his eyes on the way ahead as if looking at her at that moment would cause him pain.

‘I’m sorry about what happened,’ she found herself saying. ‘Aunt Peg told me the two of you were engaged once.’

‘That we were. A long time ago.’ Ellen read the words that hung between them, unspoken:
but yesterday in my heart.
They continued a minute or so in silence before Ellen felt
the need to fill it.

‘I didn’t realize how much I’d dig up by coming to Ireland. I never knew she had such a big family and I never knew she had run away from them, or from you. She completely
reinvented herself. What’s she going to say when she finds out that I’m here and that I know the truth?’

‘That it’s none of your business?’

‘Yes, that’s probably true. But it
is
my business: well, the family stuff at least.’

At that moment he turned his heavy eyes on her. She felt the weight of them, as if he were about to divulge something important. She looked back at him anxiously. But he thought better of it and
said nothing, settling his eyes back onto the pavement again.

‘Perhaps I shouldn’t tell her,’ Ellen added to smooth over the awkward moment.

‘You’ll have to tell her eventually, Ellen Olenska. You can’t open Pandora’s box then pretend you never did.’

‘I’m scared.’ But without telling him the whole truth he couldn’t imagine what she was scared
of
. He touched her arm and she was taken aback by the natural
affection with which he gently squeezed it.

‘The Maddie I knew had a big and generous heart. She might have been wilful and a little wild, but she had a great capacity for love. She’ll forgive you.’

‘Maybe I can convince her to come over and make it up with her family. I can be the catalyst that brings everyone together.’

He chuckled cynically. ‘I think you’ll find it’s a great deal more complicated than you imagine.’

‘No, it isn’t. What’s done is done. It’s all in the past. Blood is thicker than water.’

‘You’re very young, Ellen Olenska, and I admire you for being bold, but I’d let sleeping dogs lie. You might wake them up and get bitten.’

They reached the grocery shop. Dylan helped her find the bottle of Jameson and the Barry’s tea that were on Peg’s list. Then he pulled a bottle of sloe gin off the shelf and showed
it to her with a mischievous grin. ‘Father Michael’s own brew!’

‘You can’t be serious? Your priest makes gin?’

‘That’s Ireland for you. It’s powerful stuff, too.’ He laughed. ‘He only sells it locally and he’s getting on a bit now, but he justifies the business by
putting all the money into the church. I think it was the gin that repaired the church spire.’

‘What an entrepreneur! And all for a good cause.’ She remembered Alanna telling her that Peg and the priest had fallen out. ‘So, what’s he like, Father
Michael?’

‘He’s a good man altogether, a little overbearing perhaps. Likes the sound of his own voice, but don’t they all? I’ve never met a reticent priest!’ He chuckled.

‘Do you still write music, Dylan?’ she asked.

He looked surprised. ‘So, Peg’s told you all about me, has she?’

‘She can even hum your tunes.’

He chuckled. ‘Anything else you need to buy, Ellen Olenska?’

‘I don’t think Peg will want any sloe gin.’

‘Not this brew, anyhow.’

‘Do you still write?’

He gazed at her and narrowed his eyes. ‘A little here and there.’

‘I bet it’s good.’

He shrugged. ‘I’m a bad judge of my own work.’

‘I’d like to hear it,’ she said, following him up to the counter. ‘But I wouldn’t presume to judge it.’

He smiled, and once again she was surprised by the sweetness in it. ‘You’re a good girl, Ellen Olenska,’ he said, but he didn’t offer to share his music. ‘Right,
let’s go and pay and I’ll get me some tobacco.’

Ellen drove back to Peg’s with a warm feeling towards Dylan, where before she had simply felt uneasy. They had parted down by the harbour and he had waved as she drove
off. She wondered what her mother would make of him now. He was still handsome. In fact, the more she got to know him the handsomer he became. He had a profound intelligence in his eyes, and when
he smiled they lost their madness and his whole face softened quite unexpectedly. She could almost imagine what he had been like as a young man, in love with her mother. He would have been leaner
and less hairy, of course, and his exuberance wouldn’t have been soured by disappointment or his joy dampened by sorrow. He would have been mischievous and outspoken, she imagined, rather
like Joe. She really could envisage him singing in a band and writing poetry because he was clearly a deep-thinking, sensitive man. He had mentioned love in a way that her father had never been
able to do, being so English and emotionally repressed. Dylan and her father were as different as a bear and a trout; her mother had traded passion for security, of that she had no doubt.