The Kinsella Sisters (39 page)

Río looked to the east upon the gleaming, floodlit Villa Felicity with its glimmering pool and its shadowy orchard, and smiled.

The next morning, very early, Izzy woke. Finn lay beside her, looking like the sleeping prince in some fairy tale. She longed to reach out and trace the curve of his mouth, the contour of his cheekbone, the line of his jaw–but she resisted. She needed time to herself, time to think. Izzy needed to swim.

Downstairs, there was evidence everywhere of last night’s party. The deck was littered with a kind of picturesque debris–glasses and bottles glinting in the early morning sun, bunting fluttering overhead, fairy lights gleaming still. There were flowers and half-burned candles and birthday cards and confetti curls and streamers all over the place, and by the steps that led down to the garden was a pair of shoes. Red shoes, with heels.

Looking around, Izzy saw for the first time that this was a house where fun could be had; where music and laughter and love was possible. The house had never looked like this after Felicity’s parties. When the sun rose on the morning after one of Felicity’s parties, the detritus had all been cleared away–disappeared by an army of house elves while the guests slumbered under goose-down quilts. After Felicity’s parties it looked as if no fun or music or laughter had been on the agenda; no dancing, or shenanigans, or shooting the breeze until the small hours. And the house had appeared as unloved as ever.

On the big trestle table–like an island surrounded by a reef of discarded gift wrap–was the stack of presents Adair had given Río: the books, the CDs, the distinctive black-edged Jo Malone boxes. The bracelet. The bracelet that she had seen Río Kinsella decline so categorically last night.
I won’t take jewellery from you, Adair
, she had said.
No–indeed I won’t…

The whirring sound of powerful wings overhead made Izzy look up. Above the bay to the east, two swans were soaring towards the open Atlantic on snow-white pinions. They said that swans mated for life. Unlike humans. Izzy did not know one single couple of her parents’ age who was not already on their second or third marriage. What made them turn their backs on their spouse and children and embark in hot pursuit of a specious happiness elsewhere? Her mother hadn’t been made happy by the man who’d presented her with the diamond she coveted and had just split from her third ‘boyfriend’ since she and Adair had parted company. Izzy didn’t want a reconciliation between her parents–she knew that they had never been right for each other. But who
was
right for her father?

There came the sound of a splash from the sea below. Moving to the rail, Izzy saw that someone was swimming in the bay. Río Kinsella. Fleur had told her last night that Río had an affinity with the ocean that was almost spiritual. Just as she, Izzy, had. Fleur had told her that Río was the most loving and generous of souls. Fleur had told her lots of things about Río, and the person that Fleur described bore no resemblance to the floozie who had flounced in front of Felicity’s cheval glass all those months ago, badmouthing Adair. Who was the real Río? Was she the ultimate gold-digger? Or was she the woman who said ‘Don’t’ with gentle eyes? Maybe it was time for Izzy to find out.

Moving across the deck, she picked up the red shoes and descended the steps to the garden. She passed under the apple trees and through the gate that led onto the shore, and when
she reached the edge of the slipway, she set Río’s shoes down and raised a hand to shield her eyes from the sun.

‘Hi,’ she said, when Río had finished her second lap. ‘May I join you?’

Río shook her wet hair back, sending droplets of water spraying. Treading water, she regarded Izzy speculatively for a moment or two. Then she smiled the smile that her son had inherited–the smile that said, ‘All’s right with the world and aren’t we lucky to be living in it?’

‘Be my guest,’ she said.

These are the people to whom I owe a thousand thanks: each of you knows why.

Tony Baines; Barbara Bradshaw; Maxine Hitchcock; Yvonne Holland; Cathy Kelly; Marian Keyes; Padraig Murray; Keshini Naidoo; Fiona O’Brien; Hilary Reynolds; Moira Reilly.

My husband, Malcolm; my daughter, Clara.

Kate Thompson is an award-winning former actress. She is happily married with one daughter, and divides her time between Dublin and the West of Ireland, where she swims off some of the most beautiful beaches in the world.

For more information about Kate, please go to www.kate-thompson.com

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This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

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A Paperback Original 2009

1

Copyright © Kate Thompson 2009

Kate Thompson asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

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EPub Edition © 2009 ISBN: 9780007329021

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