Chapter 4 #2
Her sister laughed. “You forget I’ve known you all my life, and I know what that blush means.”
“Just ignore her,” she said to Rover. “You’ll learn things are easier when you don’t pay attention to what she says.”
“That hurts, Rory. But hey, if you find him at the castle, you can thank me later.”
She shook her head at her sister’s laughter, snatched an umbrella, and made sure she exited to the left so Aisling would be sure to see her go in the opposite direction from the way she’d suggested.
Then, as soon as she was out of her sister’s sight, she backtracked around the garage and pool area and took the southern track that led to the golf course. And the castle ruins.
Not because she wanted to meekly comply with her mother and sister’s suggestions. Not that she was desperate to see the man. But she was desperate to show that she bore him no ill-will, and if it meant she found out a little about what the man was interested in, then all the better.
* * *
It looked like it would rain again. Aidan peered up at the grey skies, the soft cotton wool-like heavens so close like he could touch them. Or maybe they were touching him, as a light mist dampened his face. Fresh, some would call this.
But the moisture probably accounted for why the land was such a vibrant green. He was used to the muted grey-green of eucalyptus trees back home, but this, a green so bright it nearly hurt his eyes, made sense when it rained so much.
Interspersed with the moss and lichen-covered trees were patches of pinky-red flowers.
Fuchsias, his grandmother loved them. He stopped at a nearby bush and handled the delicate stalk with its ballerina-like petals, not unlike what he remembered little Keira dressed like at a concert he’d been dragged to last year.
Best uncle of the year award, attending that one.
He loved his niece but that was two hours of his life he’d never get back. He would never do that again.
He glanced down, saw a little fairy garden statue. Cute. Not aimed at his particular demographic, more the one who had guilted him into that best uncle of the year attendance. But it was nice to see how someone had tried to ensure the hotel’s littlest guests were catered for.
He glanced at the estate map, noting the different paths. It was another five hundred metres or so until the castle remains, and from the look of the clouds he needed to get a hurry on. The whole purpose of coming to Ireland lay there.
Mary had told him about the church cemetery, and it had been a little surreal to see the graves of one Thomas John Quinn, died 1717, along with his wife and children. The names of long-dead ancestors made his quest feel so real, adding urgency to this, his next task that he’d promised Gran he’d do.
So he trudged on along the muddied path, across a wooden bridge that traversed a stream, past giant oaks and rocky inlets. The hotel advertised wild swimming, but while it might not have the headline-grabbing sharks of home, it still seemed a little too wild for him.
He passed another damp bush, rounded a corner, and one of the greens of the golf course came into view. Another hedge of fuchsias, then—
The castle. The broken-down remains of the castle his family had once owned. Well, his family back half a dozen generations, until fire had destroyed it, during the anti-English uprisings of the early 1900s, and the remaining ruins had been blown apart in the 1960s.
From this vantage point he could see the scale of it.
Weathered dark grey stones precisely fitted together constituted a long castellated ivy-covered section that led to square towers either end.
Arched windows that must have once been part of the family’s living area overlooking the seascape now looked out over tumbled down rocks, also covered in ivy.
He peered more closely. Saw the rocks matched the rest of the wall.
So this was where the house had tumbled to.
It was quiet, except for the slap of the sea and the burr of the wind that caused ivy to scrape against the stones.
It was eerie too, to think that this place had once been a family residence and hosted balls and known laughter.
Now it seemed so desolate, empty, entertaining ghosts and birds and memories.
His heart curled a little at the edges, and he was suddenly glad Gran wasn’t here to see this. Wasn’t here to know just how much this part of history had faded into nonentity. How their family legacy had fallen into obscurity.
He took a few photos, doing his best to make the place seem nicer than it was, but it was nothing like the castle he’d left twenty minutes ago. Nothing like the castles he’d passed on his way from Cork airport to here. Resentment at how things had turned out begged to be unpacked and played with.
His sigh clouded the air. “I hate to say it, but you’re a bit of a disappointment.” A crunch of gravel behind him swung his attention around. His chest tightened. “Miss Rory.”
Her smile was hesitant. “Sorry if I’m intruding.”
He shrugged. “It’s a free world.” But what was she doing here?
His question must have shown on his face for her expression turned sheepish, and she handed over an umbrella. “Ash mentioned you’d come this way, and might not be prepared for wet weather, so I thought I’d give you this.”
“But you don’t have one.”
“I suspect that I’m likely more used to these conditions.” Her voice held tease.
“I suspect you’re right.”
Her smile grew, and he was tempted to stare all day, but a grumble of thunder prefaced a near immediate downpour.
And these raindrops weren’t polite like the misting rain of before, which held more suggestion than true purpose.
No, this rain seemed determined to soak whoever was so foolhardy to stand outside.
Rory might be more used to such conditions, but it seemed even she wasn’t immune to wanting to stay dry. “Quick, come in here.”
She hurried to the nearby tower, and he followed her into murky darkness, the only light seeping into the space mostly shrouded by the swathes of ivy cloaking the small square windows.
Outside the rain’s intensity soon softened to a steady patter. He glanced at her. “I guess this is why everything is so green, huh?”
“We get a lot of rain, it’s true.”
“I’m not used to it. We get a lot of baking hot summers where I live, have had a few days topping forty-four degrees Celsius.”
“I can’t imagine ever being that warm.”
“Yeah, I think that qualifies as hot, not warm.”
She peered at him. “I didn’t figure you for being pedantic about such things.”
“But you don’t know me, do you?”
A beat. “No.”
Had that sounded more abrupt that it should have? He didn’t want to sound harsh, even if he did want to be real. “Thanks for the umbrella.”
“It’s okay.” She shifted to the doorway.
“Wait, you’re not going to leave, are you?”
She shivered.
“Look, you can’t go out in this rain, even if you are more used to it. I don’t want to be the reason you come down with a cold, just because I set off without a rain jacket.”
“I truly don’t want you to think I’m intruding,” she said. Her smile flashed. “And I didn’t want you to think that I’m always rude to tourists either.”
Huh? Oh. “You mean earlier at the bookshop.”
She winced. “Mary mentioned you were interested in some local history. And look, I didn’t mean to imply that we don’t want you here.”
“I don’t think you implied it.”
“Phew.”
“You straight out said it.”
Her nose wrinkled. “I’m so sorry. Sometimes my mouth runs away on me. We just had some guests stay who were quite patronising, and I hate feeling like we’re supposed to be grateful for people who look down their noses at us.”
He studied her. “Are you kidding me?”
“What?”
He shook his head. “How can you live here and have such an inferiority complex? You live and work in a flippin’ castle , for crying out loud.”
“Well, my family might own it, but we had to open it to the public to keep a roof over our heads. Literally.”
Huh. Earlier, he’d been shocked when he’d learned from Mary that the Fairalls owned the castle. But he’d never really thought about the upkeep of a grand old building like Griffin Castle. “I bet a new roof cost a bit.”
She nodded. “Nearly half a million euros.”
He whistled.
“I know that sounds an awful lot, but if it wasn’t fixed, water would have continued to soak through the walls and damage the plaster and ceilings and contents. So it needed doing.”
“It looks good. You’d never know it had issues.”
“Well, that’s the hope. But it’s also why our prices are higher than other local accommodation options, and why my sister, Mam and I work here sometimes. The castle costs require it.”
“We don’t have castles where I’m from. And I’m guessing most of your visitors don’t have castles that are hundreds of years old either.”
Her smile poked out again. “Some of them do boast about castles built by rich merchants in the early 1900s. Call me a snob but I don’t really think that counts.”
“Yeah, that’s just a pretentious millionaire’s mansion if you ask me.”
She nodded, and something like a wave of understanding rolled between them. “It’s not got the history we have here.”
“And this country sure is full of history.” Ancient burial mounds and stone circles, towns and villages that had existed for hundreds of years, churches and cemeteries older than the so-called New World. “That’s something that should be celebrated.”
“Even if it means people keep looking at the past instead of working towards the future?” she asked wryly.
Okay, he could see her point. Too much focus on the past could lead to stereotypes and clichés, and tourists who wanted to box their visit to Ireland into leprechauns and Guinness.
“I guess nobody likes to feel typecast.” He glanced at her.
“Like, I hardly look like the beach-bronzed surfer some might expect an Aussie bloke to be.”
She bit her lip, which made him wonder if she’d had exactly the same thought. Hmm. He was used to counteracting expectations with his job, from people who judged others based on what school or university they attended, or their address in the western burbs.
But still, for all her valid points about cultural stereotypes, it didn’t change the fact that she was still one of the lucky few whose family lived in a castle—even if they’d had to open it to guests to afford to keep it.
On his way here he’d passed through plenty of villages where far more humble housing suggested most people lived far more modestly.
His fingers clenched. Unclenched. Like his kin no doubt would have been, seeing this place was no longer his family’s. Still, there’d be plenty of time to investigate further. Like tonight, at the Story Circle Mary had invited him to.
He joined her in looking out across the drenched middle lawn, much of which had been ploughed into what looked like a vegetable garden. “Do you grow vegetables there?”
“Well, I personally don’t, but yes. There’s a gardener who leases the land. It’s like a walled garden from years ago. We use some of those vegetables in the restaurant at the castle.”
Hmm. So his relatives were still being exploited.
And while he didn’t want to admit it, it felt like this pretty woman’s family had done much of the exploitation.
At least that was the gist of what he’d learned today, when he read between the lines of what Mary Connolly had said. And what she hadn’t.
Rory peered up at him. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah.” No. But everything felt too complicated to explain in neat sound bites, especially when he still didn’t fully know exactly what had happened to the ownership of the property.
And it also probably wasn’t helping to have her so near to him like this, in this dark place that felt like a cocoon from the outside world.
Space like this could lead to an intimacy he couldn’t afford to foster, even if he did find her intriguing.
Just why had she followed him out here?
Her phone buzzed with a notification, and she glanced at it then winced.
“What’s wrong?”
“Oh, nothing. Just my sister, wondering where I am.”
“We could walk back together if you want. I’m pretty sure I won’t melt in the rain. Whereas I know you’re a little thingy about getting your hair wet.”
Her mouth opened then closed, her eyes narrowing. Then she laughed. “Fine. But if you had hair like this you’d be fussy about things too. I hate it when it goes frizzy, which it does whenever it gets too hot or too damp.”
“Funny, it hasn’t seemed too frizzy to me, and it’s not exactly been forty degrees.”
“I think if we ever reached forty degrees here we’d all melt.”
He smiled at that, then offered her the umbrella. “Want to go back together?”
She eyed it, then him, then shook her head, leaving him with another unsettling feeling, like loss.
“Thank you, but I don’t think that’s big enough for us both.” She shrugged from her jacket, then unzipped a hood, then put it on again. “Come on. Let’s brave the rain and go get warm.”