Chapter 9 #2
Heading for the grand staircase, I turn to see Dan is back and again I jolt.
Hairs stand up on the back of my neck. He’s sitting in the chair beside Mrs Geraghty, jotting down things she’s saying on a pad, deep in conversation.
I put my foot on the first step, feeling almost regal as my ankle boots sink into the middle of the deep green carpet covering the centre part of the old staircase.
But why would the sale be a secret? Amanda assured me that Frederick wasn’t going to change a thing and that all the staff would be keeping their jobs.
Maybe that’s why no one knows, because nothing will change but the owner’s name on a piece of paper.
That must be it. It’s just business. Business as usual.
My priority is to focus on my story, but my head is spinning at Mary’s words.
There are always ways to run weddings more affordably.
And there are endless ways to generate money with a building as magnificent as Castlemoon.
Ideas whizz around my mind. The more events they have in the castle, the more income they would generate, and the more money to fix up the building.
Look at all the outdoor space – there should be a Christmas market set up out there right now!
People would pay for stall space, attracting more people up here.
They could run fetes in summer, outdoor events, barbecues, even summer weddings in marquees.
But, unfortunately, that’s not my concern.
I wish it was but it’s not. I step over the last step, where I see it dipping in the centre.
But if it was my concern, I know I could be of use.
If I was here to save the castle instead of writing about it I’d have no doubts I would do a great job!
I find myself outside room nine, use the key and the large pine door swings open with a long creek. I gasp.
The room is unbelievable. It’s stunning.
It’s everything and more I’d hoped it might be.
Gently, I shut the door behind me. My hungry eyes take in every inch as I look around in awe and grapple for my Dictaphone in my satchel.
Then, I plonk down on the huge mahogany four-poster bed and sink into the thick cream embroidered eiderdown, looking out at the snow falling through the windows.
Automatically, my thumb clicks down on the record button on the handheld device.
‘My bedroom is stunning. It manages to retain that original, cultivated style that is in keeping with the period of the castle. Fabrics and period furniture effortlessly highlight the singular heritage of the castle, along with my opulent old four-poster bed and large sash windows overlooking the magnificent, three tiered gardens. The thick, plush beige carpet makes you feel like you definitely should not be wearing shoes indoors. It’s like I’ve stepped back in time, to an era where things were lavish and women wore corsets and elaborate dresses and danced in grand ballrooms. If you want your wedding guests to have an experience of a lifetime, this is the bedroom to deliver.
Note, I need to get into the bridal suite, Mary says they have one.
’ I save the recording, kick off my boots and flop back on the bed, like a snow angel.
Then, I sit up and open my MacBook. I try not to look at the horrible crack as I compose an email.
from: Maggie Grace
to: Frederick Macken
date: Dec 19, 2025, 19.56 PM
subject: Castlemoon
Hi Frederick,
With the time difference it’s probably easier to email.
I didn’t get to talk with you before I left as expected so I have a few questions for you.
Amanda said you’d like me to compile a report on Castlemoon.
Can you clarify exactly what you want from me?
I was speaking with the manager when I checked in a little while ago and it appears she has no clue about the sale of the castle. I’m a little confused.
Regards,
Maggie Grace.
I hit send, fall back onto the bed again and stare up at the white ceiling with the intricate plaster work.
The room is just so beautiful. It fills me with a sense of contentment I haven’t felt in ages.
I release a long, relaxed sigh as my stomach rumbles.
I’m going to devour my dinner and that bread and butter pudding dessert I saw as a special on the board behind reception.
That’s the first change I’d make, I think.
The food specials need to be out the front of the hotel, on a large blackboard.
No doubt hundreds of tourists drive up here just to take a look at the castle and could be tempted by the specials board outside to come in for food, or even just a scone and coffee.
They could even refurbish one of those cheap run-down horse boxes at the end of the drive and sell takeaway coffee and cakes, iced lattes in summer.
Once people are inside the castle grounds, anything can be sold to them, not just an idyllic wedding venue but merchandise too – cups, T-shirts, key fobs.
My mind goes into overdrive again. Then I remember I’d promised to call my mom as soon as I was safely inside the castle walls.
I dial the number, doing the quick calculation it’s 3PM in New York.
‘Hi! I’ve arrived safely in Galway.’ There’s hustle and bustle down the line – the clinking of glasses, the rumble of voices. Dorothy is not in her kitchen.
‘Thank goodness, I was watching the clock and starting to fret. I knew you should have arrived over forty minutes ago,’ she yells so loudly I have to hold the phone away from my ear. I hit speaker.
‘No, I did, I just ran into someone . . .’ Catching my reflection in the mirror on the wall opposite I pinch my cheeks to draw some colour into my porcelain skin, smile at Eliza’s comment about my skin the other day.
‘Did I tell you Alice had to go back in with her veins?’ Dorothy is literally screaming.
‘You don’t need to shout, Mom. Oh no, that’s terrible.’ I watch the fast-falling snowflakes drop down over the long, half covered, green fields out of the tall windows. Then, I see him again.
Dan.
I snap in a short intake of breath. He’s marching across the gravel with Red bouncing along by his side.
He walks with swagger I notice as I half hide behind the heavy white drapes.
Peeking around them, I can’t take my eyes off him as he crosses the grounds and then out of sight.
Mom is going into such disturbing details about small slits above Alice’s knee being infected that I lower the volume.
My gaze drifts on up to the night stars.
They are bigger and brighter than I have ever seen in my entire life.
They look like snowflakes, lighting up in the night.
I can’t stop looking at them. This really is a magical place.
‘. . . then we left Mrs Schwartz. She was very tired and we saw the plans for George’s new café. It’s . . .’ Dorothy is still rambling on as I continue to half-listen but my ears prick up and I increase the volume again.
‘. . . for Dorothy’s Rise and Shine Bakery!’ George’s husky voice calls out in the background and my mouth drops.
‘That’s what he wants to call it!’ A crack in mom’s voice. I can almost see the expression she’s making from thousands of miles away – bursting with pride, her freckles dancing across her nose.
‘What? This is incredible, Mom! That’s what you’ve always said you’d call your bakery, if ever you were to open one. It’s your dream come true.’ I’m utterly delighted with this news, I sit back and hug my knees into my chest.
‘I know, pinch me! We’re going to buy some really cool fittings in this shop we saw on-the-line after dinner.’
‘Amazing, I am—’
‘Byeeeeeee, honey, our cheesecake has arrived.’ The line drops quicker than I anticipated and I stare at the phone in my hand, in a happy disbelief.
‘Well, well, well . . . dessert, singular.’ I can’t help but snigger as a vision of George spoon-feeding my mother cheesecake turns it into a snort of laughter.
A massive growl from my stomach reminds me yet again I need to eat.
I get up and sneak one last look out the window.
I peer left and right, squint my eyes and then I see him again.
He is taking Mrs Geraghty to a waiting taxi.
Linking her with one arm as he carries her bag in the other.
He opens the door for her, holds her cane and when she’s settled, he shuts the door, taps the roof and the car drives off.
Bravely I pull back the drapes and stand in clear view of my window, but he doesn’t look up.
The feeling I have is one of shocked disappointment and I shake it off. I’ve no time for this nonsense. Romance is the very last thing I’m after! Swiftly I pull the cord and draw the drapes as my email pings.
from: Frederick Macken
to: Maggie Grace
date: Dec 19, 2025, 20.16PM
subject: Castlemoon
Maggie,
Your brief is to send me a detailed report on how you see the running and management of Castlemoon by this Friday AM EST. I need you to photograph their guest/visitors book for the last few weeks (discreetly!) Don’t get involved in conversations about Acquired Finance.
You are just there to do an article on the hotel as far as everyone is concerned.
F
I read this email with a nagging sense that my gut was correct. Something isn’t right here. Amanda never mentioned any of this to me.
from: Maggie Grace
to: Frederick Macken
date: Dec 19, 2025, 20.18 PM
subject: Castlemoon
Hi Frederick,
I’m afraid there has been some sort of miscommunication. Unfortunately, I don’t feel comfortable doing what you ask. Happy to send you a quick report of how I find the castle but I’ll be too busy writing my article for anything else. I’m sure you understand.
Regards,
Maggie.
I hit send with a wallop of the key. Cheek of him, I’m not his bloody spy! I take myself off for a hot shower before dinner, planning to wash that man right out of my hair!