Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
‘How sick is Esther?’ is the first thing I ask as I slide into the soft booth opposite Kate and Jimmy in the busy circular shaped café while Betsy fusses around us.
The skylight above is scattered with fresh snowfall giving the most wonderous light from the afternoon’s December sun and the Christmas garland flashes on and off.
‘She’s a fighter that one. She’s had cancer before so she’ll kick it this time too, despite her age,’ Kate tells me with a purse of her lips as Gráinne puts a plate of freshly baked mince pies down in front of us.
‘Compliments of the house,’ she says as I do a double take and Kate immediately recognises it.
‘Yes, we all double job in this village, don’t we, G?’
‘And we wouldn’t have it any other way, would we, K?’ The two girls high five and giggle.
‘So, you know I write about love. I’m really interested to hear your love story?’ I set my Dictaphone in the centre of the table beside the small reused jam jar that holds fresh snowdrops.
‘Well, I grew up in Heartwell village planning to marry the lord of the castle . . .’ Kate crosses her legs dramatically in her platform boots.
‘. . . but he was nearly twenty years older than her so she had to settle for me!’ Jimmy laughs and peels the silver paper off a warm mince pie.
‘We met in the Gaeltacht, Irish summer college, and we’ve been together since we were fifteen. Even though he’s not from Heartwell, he’s my lobster.’ Kate makes a heart shape with her hands.
‘More like her prawn!’ Jimmy laughs loudly, pulls a funny face. Kate laughs heartily.
‘But you really wanted to get married at the castle?’ I probe gently.
‘Oh, don’t even go there.’ Jimmy takes a massive bite from his pie, rolls his eyes.
‘I do. So badly, but like I said, we can’t afford it.’ Kate drops her chin in her hand.
‘It’s breaking her heart, so it’s breaking mine!’ Jimmy mumbles through the pastry. ‘She won’t be happy at the Moritz because she believes in this everlasting marriage shite.’ Jimmy wipes his mouth, drapes a long arm around Kate’s shoulders.
‘Watch your language! Because it’s true! You can’t be from Heartwell all your life and not marry at Castlemoon.’ Kate shrugs his arm off. ‘He just doesn’t get it! He’s from down the road in Little Green Valley. He’s a blow in.’ But she laughs again.
‘Kate . . .’ Jimmy sits back. ‘We don’t have to go through with this wedding.
It’s so small, no one’s travelling from beyond the local villages.
Your aunt would probably be glad! We have ten thousand euros saved for the wedding day, we can keep adding to that.
All I care about is being with you.’ Jimmy shakes his head.
‘I’m sorry, that was so ungrateful of me. I-I love you Jimmy Murphy, I can’t wait to marry you and start our family, I will never mention Castlemoon again. Excuse me.’
Kate gets up to go to the bathroom.
‘I feel like such a failure,’ Jimmy abruptly tells me, leaning his long body across the table.
‘The one thing she really wants I can’t give to her.
She works so hard, she’s so good to everyone.
It breaks my heart, don’t tell her that, but it does.
And I pooh-pooh the folklore but she’s right, look at all the people we know whose marriages have seen them come through rocky times.
Take Una and Harold, for example, their marriage hit a rough patch during the recession when Harold went bust, but Dan gave them a free weekend at the castle, they were pampered, they fell in love again.
It has healing powers, just don’t tell Kate I believe that.
’ He sits back quickly as Kate returns to the table.
‘I just needed to wash my hands and I was thinking as I was drying them, so you want to encourage your readers to get married at the castle?’ She sits.
‘Yeah, well we do suggest ultimate locations,’ I tell her.
‘Well just say this,’ she picks up her coffee cup, cradles it, ‘Castlemoon is the most romantic place on earth to be married in. When the going gets tough you can always come back and relive the best day of your life and know that it has the power to heal a relationship like nowhere else does.’
‘Why?’ I ask the million-dollar question.
‘Why? Because it was built on true love.’ Kate shuts her eyes for the briefest moment. ‘Show me another hotel in the world that you can say the same thing about.’
‘I get it now,’ I say and sit back. I have my article.
* * *
Dan gave them a free weekend. I’m still thinking of Jimmy’s words as I close my MacBook and arch my back.
I only notice now that it’s dark outside.
Slowly, I get up and pull the brass handle of my drawer and get out my loose white jeans and red sweater.
My phone rings. I grab for it and at last I see Amanda’s name.
I’ve been waiting for her to call me back to discuss Frederick’s demands!
‘Amanda!’ I cry. ‘I’ve been desperately trying to reach you.’
‘So I see, what’s wrong?’ She sounds fine, I’m relieved to hear.
‘Well, I’m not sure if Frederick has told you but he’s been pretty hard on me in regards to me photographing a registration slash guest book here,’ I tell her, sitting back on the bed.
‘Oh, okay. No, he didn’t say. Is that a problem?’
‘Well yeah, it feels a bit . . . weird?’ I say, really emphasising the word weird. ‘And he . . . well, he more or less threatened my job saying he’d send Salma over if I didn’t do it,’ I say with trepidation.
‘He’s a hot head. I’ll call him now. How’s the article? Nearly there?’ She is tap-tap-tapping on keys, not really engaging as I’d hoped.
‘I just finished it. I’m going to go get dinner now, stretch out my breaking back and I’ll have it over to you soon. I just need to proofread . . . although I know that will be someone else’s job now!’ I try to see if she’s actually listening, but all I can hear is the banging of keys.
‘Cool. Great. Be back to you. Ciao!’
The line goes dead.
Just trust all is okay and file the article later tonight, I tell myself.
Pulling on my clothes, I run the comb through my curls.
I look at myself in the mirror. What does Dan see what he looks at me, I find myself wondering.
I know one thing, I feel more attractive than I have done in years.
No man has ever looked at me the way he does.
I pick my satchel up off the antique dresser, and slide in all my work stuff to re-read over dinner.
I slip out of the bedroom, closing the door with a soft click.
It’s only four o’ clock but the smells of dinner being prepped ooze down the hallway.
I take the staircase down to see the reception desk is being fronted by a young guy.
I wander into the Sweet Orange Room. It’s a very different experience now I can picture a desolate Michael sitting all alone in here sixty years ago.
A shaky shiver actually runs down my spine, stopping me in my tracks for a moment.
Taking a seat by the window, I watch the heavy sleet as it bashes against the glass.
The wind howls through the cracks in the woodwork and I can feel the cold air.
Slowly, I am starting to see the cracks in the castle and I find it impossible not to keep coming up with solutions in my head.
I need to file some kind of a report to Frederick now so I am complying with my commission and get it over with. Shut him up.
I shiver so I move closer to the cosy turf fire burning behind the black iron safety shield and I sit down. I bring up the Word doc I was putting together for Frederick and start typing.
CASTLEMOON REPORT:
FOR FREDERICK MACKEN ACQUIRED FINANCE
BY MAGGIE GRACE
PRIVATE I hadn’t noticed it in the dark of the evening.
That too is quite the repair. Holding the door, I see a winding staircase that goes down and down and then down again.
At the very bottom, there’s a tall iron gate that’s closed. What is this? I wonder.
Puzzled, I take a hold of the cold steel bar and put my stockinged foot on the first step.
Down and down I go underneath Castlemoon.
When I reach the bottom, I push the squeaky gate and walk in.
It’s dark and the cobblestone floor feels uneven beneath my feet.
There is a small beam of light at the far end of the room and I aim for it.
‘Helloooooo?’ Slowly and carefully, I put one foot in front of the other when suddenly, out of nowhere, I am thrown back onto the ground and the gate bangs shut behind me as I hit the ground hard. A dog barks wildly.
‘Ow!’ I yelp, feeling a sharp pain.
The dog continues to bark. I’m terrified. My heart’s racing as I scramble backwards on my bottom and hands. I try to get up but a sharp pain shoots through my ankle again.
‘Help!’ I cry out.
‘Who’s there?’ A voice is nearing.
‘Help me!’ I roar again over the yelping of the dog as my eyes begin to adjust.
‘Red! Red! Here, boy! It’s okay, hang on! My torch has died! Who is it? Who’s there? Is that you, Mary? Are you hurt?’ There’s concern and panic in the now recognisable man’s voice.
‘D-Dan?’