Chapter 10
TEN
‘A mission?’ Maureen asked. ‘What kind of mission?’
Oisín shrugged. ‘No idea. Most of them are gone now, I’m afraid, so I hope they managed to fulfil their promise.’ He lifted the carafe. ‘Have some more wine.’
‘Thanks,’ Maureen said. ‘It’s very good, but I’m feeling it going to my head, so I’ll just have water from now on.’
They continued to enjoy the food, which was delicious; the meat was tender and the vegetables had a wonderful fresh taste of being just harvested.
‘These carrots are amazing,’ Ciara said. ‘And the spinach and beetroot salad the best I’ve ever tasted.’
‘We grow everything ourselves,’ Liz said. ‘At least I do while Oisín paints.’
‘What do you paint?’ Ciara asked. ‘I mean, what kind of painter are you? Landscape artist or portrait or abstract?’
‘A bit of everything,’ Oisín said, smiling at Ciara. ‘You can take a look after dinner if you like. My studio is in the little shed behind the trees down by the river,’ he explained, pointing down the grassy field, where they spotted a log cabin behind the tall sycamores.
‘How fascinating,’ Maureen said. ‘I’ve never been in an artist’s studio before.’
Once they had enjoyed Liz’s rhubarb crumble laced with custard, they wandered down to Oisín’s studio that had large windows with views of the mountains.
‘The famous north light that all painters love,’ he explained as he held the door open to a large room that smelled of paint and turpentine.
They all stepped inside and looked around at the vast canvases stacked against the walls.
Oisín turned one of them around to reveal a big painting of the river and the mountains and a hawk spreading its wings against the deep blue sky.
‘The birds of prey around here are so majestic,’ he said.
‘There are a lot of them in this area. Hawks, buzzards, falcons, we have them all. I love watching them sitting on the wind and then diving straight down, several hundred feet to pounce on an unsuspecting mouse or rat, or even a squirrel or a rabbit.’
‘Not so much fun for the rabbits,’ Ciara remarked.
‘It’s the law of nature,’ Oisín said. ‘The birds don’t watch Disney movies, you know.’
Ciara shot him a pale smile. ‘Yeah, right. I know what you’re saying. Wild animals are not our little pets to cuddle and coo over.’
‘Even if they’re very cute sometimes,’ Oisín said. He turned another canvas, which was an abstract painting with swirls and shapes in blues and greens and greys feeding into black cloud shapes. It was a painting that drew Ciara in and she looked at it for a long time without speaking.
‘Thoughts,’ she mumbled. ‘All jumbled together like when you can’t go to sleep and the night is closing in and…’ She stopped, feeling suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. ‘It makes me feel strange.’
‘That’s exactly what I was trying to create,’ Oisín said with a faraway look in his eyes. ‘Thoughts and dreams that cram together in your head at that hour of the wolf when we wake up and don’t know what time it is or even where you are.’
‘It’s very powerful,’ Maureen said. ‘But I’m not sure I’d like to hang it on my wall all the same.’
‘Actually,’ Oisín said, looking a little self-conscious, ‘it’s going to a museum in Cork. They were impressed with my work and said it would be included in their Irish contemporary art collection.’
‘How wonderful,’ Ciara said. ‘Congratulations. You must be over the moon.’
‘He’s happy out,’ Liz said, beaming at her brother. ‘But he pretends to be very modest about it.’
Oisín frowned at Liz and then laughed. ‘Oh, okay. I might be a little overbearing with the self-praise at times.’
‘You have the right to be proud of what you’ve achieved,’ Maureen said.
Oisín bowed. ‘Well, thank you, lovely lady. You’re very kind.
’ Then he showed them a few other paintings, which were mostly landscapes he had produced to order, and then told them that the rest were just works in progress.
They wandered slowly back up to the deck where they sat for a while just to enjoy the sunshine and the beautiful landscape around them.
The party came to close when the sun dipped low behind the green hills and Ciara and her mother decided to head home before dark.
They thanked Oisín and Liz for a wonderful evening and started to walk back through the woods that were in deep shadow.
Brian bounded ahead, checking back now and then as if to hurry them up.
‘Lovely dinner,’ Ciara said.
‘Yes,’ Maureen agreed. ‘Very nice. Those two are a little – unusual. But so friendly and generous. I was just thinking about what Oisín said about those women and what they had promised each other.’
‘You mean their mission, or whatever it was?’ Ciara asked.
‘Yes.’ Maureen looked thoughtful. ‘They had some kind of plan, Oisín said. I’m just wondering if leaving you the house and the money might have been part of that plan. I also suspect that young man knows more than he let on.’
‘Really?’ Ciara asked, glancing at Maureen. ‘What makes you think that?’
‘The sins of the fathers,’ Maureen said, looking thoughtful. ‘Something happened between the O’Tooles and the Fitzgeralds at some stage in the past. And it could have something to do with Martha giving everything to you. We just have to find out what happened and then we will know.’
‘Could be.’ Ciara kept looking at her mother as they walked.
Ma had always had this eerie ability to see a deeper meaning in things that seemed quite straightforward.
Did she think that there was a hidden motive in Martha’s will?
There had to be, Ciara thought, otherwise why give everything to someone she had never met?
‘He seemed very taken with you,’ Maureen said, a smile playing on her lips. ‘Lovely young man with good manners and a real artistic talent.’
‘Husband material, you mean?’ Ciara asked.
‘Maybe,’ Maureen said. ‘You could do a lot worse.’
‘You’re already planning the wedding in your head,’ Ciara accused. ‘Stop it, Ma. I’ll know when the right man comes along.’ Maybe he already has, she thought secretly. Even if he’s not available. She felt a stab of sadness as she remembered the woman Ronan had spoken to on the phone.
Much later, when she was finally in bed, Ciara stared out into the dark, starlit night.
The only sound she could hear was the leaves of the trees rustling in the wind and the odd hoot from an owl.
She thought about the day that had just passed and how her mother had insisted on coming with her to Cherrywood.
She hadn’t known Maureen was so sad and lonely and that she yearned to get away from the house she had lived in for nearly forty years.
Ciara had thought her mother fairly content, even though she must miss her husband.
But when they had arrived at this remote village, she had watched her mother beginning to relax and find the peace she needed.
There had been a new light in Ma’s eyes as they settled into the old house and Ciara realised that the soft, clean air was doing wonders for Maureen.
But it would be madness to even contemplate keeping the house and moving here, even if now, with the lovely spring weather, the idea was very enticing.
Ma had seemed to pick up her life after becoming a widow, but now Ciara suspected it had been just a facade, the truth being hidden behind a brave face in order not to upset her only daughter.
Ciara was happy to have the company of her mother, who was both practical and astute.
It was good not to be alone now that night had fallen and everything seemed a little eerie and strange in this isolated village.
She thought about Oisín and Liz, brother and sister living in that tower.
It seemed such an idyllic setting where Oisín must feel very inspired, judging by his art.
But Liz seemed on edge, as if she was constantly looking over her shoulder expecting someone to pounce on her.
And then they had both told Ciara that they had barely known Martha Fitzgerald, who seemed to have been some kind of recluse during her last few years.
But Ciara suspected they were hiding facts about this woman that they were reluctant to share.
She would have to get to know them better and make them trust her.
Especially Oisín, whose green eyes had studied Ciara when he thought she didn’t notice.
He was madly attractive but also somehow mysterious, which she found intriguing.
Then her thoughts drifted once again to Ronan.
There was something about him that had sparked her interest. It wasn’t his effortless upper-class style, or his polished manners that aroused her curiosity; it was his kindness and empathy.
Ciara wondered about Elaine – the woman he’d spoken to on the phone and what that complicated relationship was all about.
It hadn’t seemed very affectionate even if Ronan had said ‘I love you, too’ which had sounded very forced to Ciara.
There had been immense sadness deep in his eyes and she wondered what caused it, and if she could make it better.
Oh, don’t be stupid, she told herself. I’ll never see him again, so what’s the point of even thinking about him?
But still, she couldn’t get his sorrowful gaze out of her mind.