The Wife’s Irish Secret (Magnolia Manor #6)

Chapter 1

ONE

On the long flight from Sydney to Dubai, Marian Fleury found herself telling a complete stranger the story of her life.

It wasn’t what she would do under normal circumstances, but after all the stress and heartbreak she had been through recently, she felt an urge to talk to anyone with a sympathetic ear.

Unable to sleep, she had wriggled around in her seat, trying to find a comfortable position when her neighbour, a man with a friendly voice and warm smile, had suggested they order a glass of wine.

‘It might help us sleep,’ he said. ‘Or we could watch that documentary about the rivers of South America that’s on offer on the tiny screen in front of us.’

‘I prefer the wine,’ Marian said and waved at a flight attendant who was just passing by. ‘Two glasses of red wine,’ she said. ‘Or would you rather go for white?’ she asked the man.

He smiled. ‘No. I had the red with dinner. It was surprisingly good for aeroplane plonk.’ He spoke with a slight Irish accent laced with a touch of something else. French or Italian, she surmised, taking in his nearly black hair with grey streaks, and brown eyes.

‘Red then,’ Marian said to the flight attendant. Then she shot the man a tired smile and held out her hand. ‘We didn’t introduce ourselves. I’m Marian Fleury.’

‘Fleury?’ he said, looking intrigued. ‘That sounds French, but I know there are a few Fleurys in Ireland.’

‘Fleury is a Huguenot name from way back,’ Marian said. ‘They fled from France in the seventeenth century, due to persecution or something, I think.’

‘After the annulment of the edict of Nantes,’ he said and took her hand and shook it. ‘Sean Pierre Duvivier, and yes, I’m originally from France. I left a little later than your ancestors, though. I’ve lived in Ireland for a few years.’

‘You sound both Irish and French,’ Marian remarked.

He nodded. ‘Oh yes. I have a foot in both camps. My father wanted to call me Jean-Pierre, but my mother stuck to her guns and I was called Sean and then Pierre, after both grandfathers. I went to school in France and spent my summers in Ireland. And I’ve just spent two months in Sydney for work. How about you?’

‘I’ve lived in Queensland for seven years,’ Marian said, sensing that he didn’t want to talk any further about his background. ‘I’m from Ireland. Dublin, to be precise.’

‘What brought you to Queensland?’ he asked.

‘My husband,’ Marian replied. ‘He’s from there.’

‘Is he the Fleury or did you keep your birth name?’ he asked, looking intrigued.

‘I’m the Fleury,’ Marian said with an amused smile. ‘His name is Watson but, well, I didn’t feel like giving up my birth name when we got married.’

‘Quite wise,’ Sean said. ‘Fleury is such a nice name. So now you’re going back to Dublin for a visit?’ he asked.

‘Not quite. I’m going to Kerry for my sister’s wedding,’ Marian replied. ‘And possibly to stay for a while. I have family there.’

‘Oh.’ His eyebrows shot up. ‘Actually, I’m going to Ireland too.

But first London, for a meeting and then on to Dublin, and then I’ll drive west. I have Irish roots, you see.

My mother came from the southwest coast, and now I’m going there because she left me a cottage in her will.

She died two months ago. ’ His tone was casual but Marian could see a dart of pain in his eyes, gone as soon as it had appeared.

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Marian said. ‘So hard to lose your mother, isn’t it?’

He nodded. ‘Yes. Very hard. We were quite close. But then we kind of drifted apart when I started working as a journalist. She lived alone in France after my dad died twenty years ago. Never wanted to move back to Ireland, so I had to go over regularly, which was expensive, but nice all the same. I hadn’t been there for two years when she passed away.

Made me feel guilty, I have to confess.’

‘Not your fault,’ Marian soothed. ‘But I know how you must feel. I had a similar experience a while ago. It’s difficult to deal with all the emotions when someone close to you has passed away.’

‘Thank you. That’s kind of you to say. Was it your mother who died?’ he asked.

‘No, my great-aunt. She was all we had after my parents died in a car accident and I should have been to see her more often. I felt awful about not going home while she was ill.’

‘I know. It’s a horrible feeling. But here’s our wine now,’ he said when the flight attendant arrived with two glasses and a little basket with crackers and cheese.

‘Let me know if you need anything else,’ she said and disappeared down the aisle to answer another call.

‘She works hard,’ Marian remarked. ‘I wouldn’t want to be a flight attendant.’

‘It’s fun if you like to travel, I can imagine,’ Sean said and lifted his glass. ‘Here’s to an enjoyable journey. Cheers.’

‘Cheers,’ Marian said and sipped her wine. ‘Well, it’s more enjoyable now than when we got on board. You didn’t look like you wanted to talk then.’

‘I wasn’t going to,’ Sean said. ‘I don’t usually talk to people on flights, other than “hello” and “how are you”.’

‘Me neither,’ Marian confessed. ‘Before you know it, you have to listen to someone’s life story which can be pretty dreary.’

He smiled and nodded. ‘Exactly. I wasn’t going to start a conversation with you. But then I thought you looked as if you needed cheering up, so I thought I’d make an effort.’

‘That was kind,’ Marian said. ‘And you’re right. I do need cheering up.’

‘Not looking forward to the wedding?’ he asked.

‘Oh, no, it’s not that,’ Marian protested. ‘I’m very much looking forward to the wedding. My sister and I are very close. It’s something else. Relationship issues,’ she added.

Sean drank some wine and looked at her curiously. ‘I see. Well, then no need to tell me. I’m sure you don’t want to share your personal life with a stranger who just happened to sit beside you on a plane.’

‘Well, actually…’ Marian started after another sip of wine. A stranger on a plane might be the perfect person to share my story with, she said to herself as she met his kind eyes. ‘You don’t know me or anyone in my family, so why not?’ she quipped.

‘True,’ he said. ‘And it might feel good to unload your problems to someone with a sympathetic ear. So, if you want to talk about it, go ahead.’

‘Well…’ Marian hesitated. ‘Maybe it wouldn’t be fair to burden you with my misery.

But oh, it would be good to talk.’ He kept looking at her with that empathic gaze which encouraged her.

Marian took a deep breath. ‘So, I’m on my way to Ireland to my sister’s wedding, like I told you.

I’ve lived in Queensland for seven years.

In Surfers Paradise, to be precise. My husband and I run a shop that sells surfboards and wetsuits and everything to do with water sports. ’

‘Seems like the perfect place for it,’ Sean remarked.

‘Yes, of course,’ Marian said with a sigh. ‘But there are many such shops there so it was a bit of a struggle at times to get it off the ground. But now it’s doing really well and my husband is happy.’

‘But you’re not?’ Sean asked.

‘No.’ Marian put her empty glass on the tray in front of her. ‘I was never really happy, to be honest. I tried my best to put down roots, but I never felt at home in Queensland. Theo, my husband, loves it, though.’

‘Theo?’ Sean asked. ‘Is that short for Theodore?’

‘Yes,’ Marian replied. ‘His full name is Andrew Theodore, but everyone in Surfers Paradise knows him as Theo. He’s from around there so it’s home to him. He grew up on the beach, surfing and swimming. He’s in his element in that environment.’

‘He would be,’ Sean remarked. ‘So how did an Aussie surf dude and an Irish colleen meet?’

‘We met on a beach in France, actually,’ Marian said as the memories of that meeting over thirty-five years ago flooded into her mind.

She had been in Biarritz for the summer, working as au pair with a French family.

Theo had been there with a group of friends to surf on the windswept beaches of the French Atlantic coast and had spent a few weeks in Biarritz, famous for its high waves.

Marian had been on the beach with the children she was minding and when Theo was wading into shore carrying his surfboard, she had admired his toned body, blond hair bleached by the sun and salt water, and his deep tan.

He in turn had, as he told her later, been struck by her tall slim figure, fair skin and reddish blonde hair.

‘Not to mention your lovely blue eyes and gorgeous smile,’ he had explained later.

The little boy Marian was minding had stared at the young man and asked if the surfboard was heavy.

Theo had stopped to talk to him in his bad French and then sat down on the sand to chat with the children, while shooting Marian such admiring glances that it made her blush.

Then he had asked her to come to the bar at the beach that evening for a drink, and ‘the rest was history’, Marian told the man sitting beside her on the plane.

‘I can see how that happened,’ he said. ‘Sunset on the beach, a lovely young Irish colleen and an Aussie beach boy, what could be more romantic?’

She laughed suddenly. ‘Sounds a bit clichéd, but yes, it really was. We stayed on the beach drinking beer and eating hamburgers until well after midnight,’ she said wistfully, remembering the feel of the wind in her hair and the stars in the dark sky that night – and that handsome young man kissing her until she was breathless.

‘And then we met every day until I had to leave. I was at university in Dublin, studying marketing and business. But I never finished my degree.’

‘He followed you there and then you were married?’ Sean asked, looking amused.