Chapter 9
NINE
A month later, Marian wondered where time had gone when she and Claire looked at the wedding photos, sitting on the sofa in the living room of the flat on a balmy evening in the middle of July.
The wedding had been lovely and just as romantic as Claire had wished.
But it had felt sad for Marian as she watched Claire and Pierce exchange their vows, bringing her back to her own wedding thirty-five years ago, and the sad state of her marriage that had once been so happy.
Theo hadn’t been in touch since she left, and had not replied to her texts.
She knew he was still sulking, as he usually did after any kind of row and she had to leave him alone until he was ready to talk.
It was hard to accept but she just had to try to be patient, even though she knew he was in the wrong.
She felt as if he was drifting away, along with all the happy memories of their early years together.
It was as if it had happened in another life and all that was left was a feeling of resentment and suspicion.
Marian realised she needed to let go and move on and try to settle into her new life in this wonderful part of Ireland where she felt so at home already.
In fact, she wanted a holiday away from all the heartache.
Easy to say but oh so hard to do, she thought.
Then there was the issue of that novel, the publication of which now loomed even closer.
She had tried to get in touch with the man she had met on the plane, but he had not replied.
She had looked at his photo on the Internet so many times, she knew it by heart: his brown eyes, his wide smile and his deep voice that all combined into the image of a charming, flirtatious man that was hard to resist. But now that she had found out what he had done, she tried to fight the attraction she had felt that night on the plane when she had been so sad.
‘The wedding seems like it happened only yesterday,’ Claire said as she opened the beautiful leather-bound album, her voice cutting into Marian’s musings.
‘It was like a dream,’ Marian said.
‘I know,’ Claire said. ‘And the honeymoon just flew by. I only just got this from the photographer, who put it all together.’ She opened the album and pointed at the group photo on the first page. ‘Look at everyone all dressed up. And the flower girls with their bouquets and pretty dresses.’
‘And Scarlett O’Hara in her hat,’ Marian teased. ‘You look like the cat that got the cream.’
‘That’s how I felt,’ Claire said. ‘And I still do. I never knew being newly married felt like this. With Hugh, it was so different. Pierce is so considerate and always asks me how he can make me happy. Hugh took for granted that I was over the moon to be married to a hunk like him.’
‘I don’t think you should compare them,’ Marian said. ‘Just forget Hugh and count your lucky stars that you got it right the second time.’
Claire nodded. ‘Yes, you’re right. Why do I keep harping on the past?’ She turned and looked at Marian. ‘You look great. The rest has been so good for you.’
‘I know.’ Marian smiled. ‘I’ve had the best few weeks.
Working for Pierce hasn’t been too hard.
He only really needs me in the mornings and then when I’ve gone through all the messages and straightened up the paperwork, I mostly have the afternoon free.
I’ve been spending a lot of time on the beach with Tricia, actually. ’
‘You seem to get on so well,’ Claire said. ‘I’m glad you’ve made friends with her.’
‘She’s been so nice and introduced me to some of her friends,’ Marian said. ‘And she has included me in her book club. We met last night at Tricia’s house.’
‘What book were they reading?’ Claire asked.
‘That book we bought when we were in Cork,’ Marian said. ‘A Stranger Comes Home. It’s really good. Very moving. You should read it.’
‘I will when I get the time,’ Claire said. ‘You seem to have liked it.’
‘I did.’ Marian had enjoyed that book enormously and been swept away by the story.
She had started reading it out of curiosity, but then found she couldn’t put it down.
The writing was beautiful and the story very moving.
It had opened her eyes to John Peters’ wonderful prose and descriptive style.
He was truly a remarkable writer. But while she read it, she had thought about his forthcoming novel and wondered why he hadn’t replied to the email she had sent him two weeks ago.
She remembered every word she had written.
Dear John Peters – or should I call you Sean?
I hope this finds you well. You might remember me, the sobby woman in the seat next to you on the Qantas flight from Sydney to Dubai about a month ago.
You asked me to tell you my story, so I did with knobs on…
Not only my story, but the story of my family, going back over a hundred years.
I was tired, sad and had drunk a lot of very bad aeroplane wine, which must have gone to my head.
I revealed things that I wish could be unsaid and I thought that you might have forgotten the whole thing.
When I arrived in Dingle, where my family lives, I discovered to my amazement that you are in fact an author and very popular around here.
Your books are being read and discussed everywhere – in pubs and book clubs and cafés and people’s living rooms and wherever else reading and chatting about books take place.
I imagine that you will be delighted to hear this.
But now I come to your next book, Family Secrets.
I discovered it by accident on and maybe you might imagine the horror I felt as I read the description.
It seems to me that you somehow remembered every detail about my story, and then added your own frills to that.
Especially details about Sylvia Fleury that I didn’t even mention, as I knew nothing about her past and still don’t.
I have just arrived here and am beginning to get to know a family I never knew.
Every one of the Fleurys have been remarkably kind and helpful to me ever since I arrived.
I feel so welcome and so part of the family in a place that is finally home.
There is only one thing ruining my sense of mental wellbeing that I need during this very hard time in my life and that is your forthcoming novel.
I would like us to meet so I can talk to you about this, and maybe persuade you to make changes to the characters and plot in order not to embarrass my family.
Hoping to hear from you soon,
Marian Fleury
She had sent it off, hoping that he would reply soon afterwards.
She had checked her emails nearly every hour since then, but there had been no reply.
It worried her so much she found it hard to sleep.
She was glad she had the job with Pierce and could turn her mind away during the hours she spent in his office.
It was a fun and interesting job, covering all aspects of publicity and marketing, and she had learned a lot about advertising online and using social media to get attention for a book.
Despite her sorrow about Theo’s behaviour, she secretly enjoyed this period of me-time ever since Claire’s wedding.
The little flat at the top of the manor was a true haven and Marian loved opening the windows wide on warm evenings as she had dinner looking at the beautiful views of the gardens with its meadows with wildflowers in full bloom, and beyond across the treetops to the ocean.
She had a pair of binoculars on the windowsill and could spot the birds flying high in the blue sky, gannets diving for fish and seagulls gliding just above the waves.
The air was so pure and fresh, bringing with it that special smell of salt and seaweed.
It made her heart sing and healed her soul.
If only she could get in touch with John Peters and get him to make changes to his novel, all would be perfect.
But as he hadn’t replied to her email, she didn’t know what to do next.
She had contacted the bookshop in Cork, asking if they had his phone number or address, but they said they didn’t give such details to anyone and that she would have to wait until the next book signing and talk to John Peters in person then.
But that will be too late, Marian thought, feeling fear creeping up her spine like tiny ice-cold darts.
How am I going to stop this novel and avoid scandal?
‘Look at this photo of Sylvia and Arnaud,’ Clare said, interrupting Marian’s musings. ‘Aren’t they such an elegant couple?’
‘Yes,’ Marian said, studying the shot of the two of them clinking champagne glasses and looking into each other’s eyes.
‘They are truly compatible.’ Sylvia had been wearing a long-sleeved green silk dress with a knee-length skirt that showed off her still slender legs.
‘Where did Sylvia get that elegance, though?’ she mumbled, thinking about what she had read in that book description about the fictional grandmother that must have been based on her own fleeting mention of Sylvia.
‘I think she was in Paris at some stage before she met her husband,’ Claire said.
‘I heard that from one of Pierce’s aunts who was at our wedding.
Sylvia grew up somewhere near where they lived.
This aunt seemed to have known her very well when they were both at Coláiste íde.
That’s an all-Irish boarding school for girls here on the Dingle peninsula. ’
‘I know,’ Marian said, her thoughts drifting. ‘That’s interesting, though. Syvia being in Paris in the sixties, I mean. I wonder what she got up to there?’
‘Up to?’ Claire asked, looking puzzled. ‘You sound as if she did something bad, which I doubt very much.’
‘I didn’t mean it that way,’ Marian protested. ‘I just thought it might have been a fun time to be in Paris.’
‘I’m sure it was. I never thought of asking her about it.
’ Claire closed the album. ‘I’d better go.
Pierce is cooking tonight so I don’t want to be late.
Oh, and I nearly forgot. We’re having a housewarming party in the bungalow in a week or two.
We finally finished all the painting and decorating, so we’ll celebrate when the smell of paint wears off.
’ She got up, tucking the album under her arm.
‘We’ll let you know. I think we might do a barbecue if the weather allows. ’
‘That sounds like fun,’ Marian said. ‘I’m looking forward to it already.’
‘I didn’t want you to see it before all the redecoration and building work were finished,’ Claire said. ‘But now it’s nearly done and it looks fabulous. We’ve done a lot of the painting ourselves and it’s been great fun, if a bit tiring.’
‘Can’t wait to see it,’ Marian said.
Claire said goodbye and Marian turned to her phone to check her email before making herself something to eat. She looked up her Gmail account and saw that there was a new message in her inbox – from John Peters.
Her heart beating, Marian opened the message that read:
Hi Marian,
So sorry for not replying to your email sooner, but I only just found it in my spam folder.
I read through your message and I think we should meet to discuss your concerns. I could come to Dingle tomorrow and meet you at a place that’s convenient for you, so please name time and place.
Looking forward to hearing from you very soon.
Best,
Sean
‘Finally,’ Marian said to herself as she tried to think of the best place to meet him.
It had to be in a place where nobody would pay attention to them.
She couldn’t think of anywhere in Dingle where they could have a private chat without anyone seeing them and then starting to gossip.
She had been to practically every pub and café in town with all the Fleury girls, and with Tricia and her gang, too, on many occasions.
They had introduced her to anyone they met and now everyone in town knew who she was – one of the Dublin Fleurys.
So anywhere in town was out. It had to be somewhere else, where there might be lots of tourists who wouldn’t have a clue who either of them was.
Then she had an idea and immediately composed a reply.
Hi Sean,
Well, as you might imagine, I have been wondering why you didn’t reply. Anyway, I think it’s best if we don’t meet in Dingle as we might attract too much attention. Everyone knows me by now, and you’re the talk of the town. So how about the South Pole Inn in Anascaul for lunch tomorrow at 12.30?
Marian
The reply arrived five minutes later:
That’s fine. See you then. I’ll put in the phone number at the end of this message, in case of any problems.
See you tomorrow.
Sean
Marian heaved a sigh of relief. She had finally managed to contact him and now had a chance to make him change, if not the whole story, enough to prevent any rumours to start flying.
Then she felt another wave of panic at the thought of meeting Sean again. How could she persuade him to do what she wanted? It would take a lot of talking and explaining. She had to make absolutely sure that he understood her plight.
If that novel is published, exposing the family and Sylvia, and if they find out who gave Sean the idea, Marian thought, I will have to leave and never come back.
But she suddenly realised she had nowhere to go.