Secrets of the Lighthouse (49 page)

‘I would like to read a blessing, one that you all know well, but to be honest it never really meant much to me until now.’ He paused and took a deep breath to calm his nerves. Then
he looked steadily at his mother and his eyes sought encouragement in hers. ‘I know Ciara is with us. I know you know that too, Mam. She’s with us every day, but never more so than
today. It is love that binds us together and because of that, I know she will always be with us.’ Peg wiped a tear from her cheek and held Oswald’s hand tightly as Ronan read the famous
Irish blessing:

Ronan’s voice thinned on the last line but he managed the final words. As he returned to his seat, Dylan’s piano-playing rose in a stirring crescendo.

Oswald took his wife’s hand and pressed it to his lips. ‘Did I tell you how beautiful you are?’ he asked.

Peg’s eyes sparkled with happiness. ‘Oh, you old rogue,’ she laughed. ‘I’m too old for that sort of compliment.’ But Oswald could see her face light up as she
smiled through her tears. They turned to the congregation who, quite unexpectedly and with great vigour, erupted into loud applause. With a spring in their step and laughter in their faces, they
walked back down the aisle, grinning broadly at friends and relations as they passed.

The congregation spilled out onto the lawn. The small children ran off to pat the donkey and ride in his little cart, supervised by their mothers. To their excitement, the donkey walked
diligently around the lawn, following the carrots Ronan had placed on the grass to tempt him. The adults made for the food and wine. Ellen observed the English and the Irish with interest. At
first, they remained in two separate parties: those in morning coats and those in suits, and neither dared penetrate the other. But then, as they drank champagne and ate from the sumptuous banquet
laid out on the lawn, they slowly began to mingle. She was reminded of the story ‘Stone Soup’, which she read to the children at bedtime. Sharing brought them together. In this case it
was the wedding feast and their mutual affection for Peg and Oswald.

Her gaze was drawn to Conor and Ronan, who were deep in conversation a little distance from the rest of the party, in the shade of a cedar tree. She took a gulp of elderflower cordial and
watched them anxiously. Surely, on this special day, they could both find it in their hearts to forgive.

‘What are you looking so anxious about, Ellen Olenska?’ It was Dylan.

‘Over there. Ronan and Conor.’

‘We don’t need to wonder what they’re talking about.’

‘Does it look friendly to you?’ she asked anxiously.

‘Not at the moment. They look like a pair of dogs standing their ground.’

‘Surely, today of all days, they have to call a truce. Ronan can’t still believe that Conor killed his wife!’

‘Of course he doesn’t and he never did. He was just so jealous that he had to think of a reason to hate him. In his heart he knows the truth.’

‘That Caitlin never loved him?’

‘Aye, a mighty hard truth to swallow. Come, leave them to it. They’ll work it out eventually.’

‘I do hope so.’

‘Oswald has asked us to sing,’ he told her.

She looked at him in panic. ‘You and me?’

‘Me and you.’ He grinned mischievously. ‘It’s about time we sang to a live audience, don’t you think? And we aren’t half bad.’ He put his arm around her
waist and led her towards the tent.

Just as she was about to step inside, she glanced back to see Conor reach out and embrace Ronan, like a father embracing a son.

Inside, the tent was warm with body heat and fragrant from the flowers and perfume. The chairs had been placed around the edge and the middle was now left open for dancing. Oswald and Peg held
court like a king and queen, surrounded by a crowd of happy courtiers. When they saw Ellen and Dylan, they called them over.

‘Play us one of your songs,’ said Oswald. ‘We’d like to see what you’ve been doing these past months.’

‘Do you have any happy ones?’ Peg asked hopefully.

Dylan whispered to Ellen then sat at the piano and placed his fingers over the keys. ‘Ready, Ellen?’ he asked. She nodded, feeling her heart accelerate beneath the bodice of her
dress. She silently prayed that she wouldn’t let him down. The music started and Ellen took a deep breath. All eyes were upon her as she stood at the piano beside Dylan, and she was thankful
that they couldn’t see her legs trembling or the palms of her hands beginning to sweat with nerves. Dylan grinned up at her reassuringly and their voices broke into harmony, filling the air
with its rich and magical tone. Peg looked astounded and Oswald bent down to whisper something, to which she nodded vigorously in response. Ellen began to enjoy herself. It wasn’t so
embarrassing once she got going. Her eyes swam over the heads of the crowd and settled on her mother. She noticed at once that she was holding her father’s hand. She noticed, too, the proud
and wistful look that made her eyes shine.

Drawn into the tent by the sound of music came Conor and Ronan and a few other guests who had remained on the lawn. A moment later the clapping began and then Oswald pulled Peg into the centre
of the room and began to swing her around in a merry dance. She laughed and blushed and kicked her legs as the clapping grew louder. Dylan then played a song they all knew and everyone joined in.
Conor grabbed Ellen’s hand and led her into the throng of dancers. Even Leonora and Lavinia were being whirled about by their husbands, who had taken off their morning coats and now danced
with their shirt tails hanging out of their trousers. Music united them all and no one enjoyed the dancing more than Oswald and Peg.

Conor pulled Ellen into his arms. ‘You’ve given Peg a beautiful wedding,’ he said, pressing his bristly cheek to hers.

‘I couldn’t have done it without you,’ she replied.

She felt his skin grow hot against hers. ‘How would you like a day like this for us?’

She lifted her chin and looked at him steadily. ‘Are you asking me to marry you, Mr Macausland?’

‘Yes, I am. I’m a traditional man at heart.’

A small smile crept across her face. ‘Well, I think it would be
appropriate
if we did.’

The meaningful way in which she said ‘appropriate’ made him frown. ‘What do you mean, Ellen?’

‘Well, considering . . .’ She grinned smugly and her eyes twinkled with maternal pride.

He stopped moving to the music and stared at her. ‘You’re not saying . . .?’

‘I
am
saying.’

‘Jaysus, are you really?’ His smile widened with excitement. ‘I hope you’re not messing with me, Ellen Trawton.’

‘I’m not messing with you, darling. You’re going to be a father again.’

‘Jaysus, Mary and holy St Joseph.’ He laughed, wrapping his arms around her. ‘Then we’d better do the right thing before your grandmother turns again in her
grave.’

‘She’s turned so many times she must be quite dizzy by now!’ Ellen smiled.

‘When can we announce it?’

‘Not yet. Not today. This is Aunt Peg’s day.’

‘Tomorrow, then?’

‘Tomorrow.’

He pressed his lips to her temple. ‘ To think we have every tomorrow until the end of our days.’

‘And if Caitlin has taught us anything, Conor, we have all the tomorrows afterwards as well.’

I really loved writing this book. The moment I set off on my fantasy to the west coast of Ireland, I was captivated by those wild and rugged hills, the ruined stone farmhouses
inhabited only by the wind and sheep, and the cast of wonderful characters I met along the way. I fell in love with Ballymaldoon, and the hours spent in my imagination were immensely pleasurable.
It didn’t feel like work. But I did need help along the way, because I didn’t want my characters to sound like they came from Chelsea! For that, I am indebted to my Irish friend, Jane
Yarrow, who fell about laughing at some of things I made my characters say! Ah, we had
da craic
, all right! She is a great mimic and it wasn’t long before the voices of Dylan, Conor
and Peg were loud and clear in my head. They sprung to life and I’m certain that, when I next travel to Connemara, I will find them.

I’m fortunate that my agent, Sheila Crowley, is Irish. She has been a very good adviser, and one or two of the ideas she tossed my way have had a much greater impact on the book than she
could ever have imagined. I’m enormously grateful to her for her expertise as an agent, but also for her inspiration and her friendship. I feel positive about the future and am very aware
that I wouldn’t be in such a fortunate position now if it wasn’t for her. I’d also like to thank Katie McGowan and Rebecca Ritchie at Curtis Brown.

Simon & Schuster have thrust me onto the bestsellers list and I’m beyond grateful for that. They are a formidable team. Dynamic, enthusiastic, full of energy and ideas, but most
importantly they understand my novels and how best to present them. The covers are stunning. They are beautiful windows through which my reader can leap into my imaginary world. All writers want
their covers to accurately represent the book but it’s amazing how many don’t. Thank you Team S&S for
getting
me.

Therefore, it is with a rush of gratitude that I thank Suzanne Baboneau, my chief editor, Kerr MacRae, my Svengali, Clare Hey, who meticulously edited the book, line by line, and the fantastic
band of hard-working professionals who lend their expertise to help produce and sell my books. They all do an incredible job. Thank you, James Horobin, Dawn Burnett, Maxine Hitchcock and Hannah
Corbett.

On the other side of the Atlantic, Simon & Schuster US are an equally impressive team, bestriding a massive territory. When I go to New York, my editor Trish Todd is the only person capable
of enticing me out of Saks! I look forward to our lunches with great enthusiasm and wish only that the Atlantic wasn’t quite so big. She is a tremendous support and I feel very lucky to be in
her care. I also thank my publisher Jonathan Karp, Kate Gales, Alicia Samuels, Andrea DeWerd and Molly Lindley.

As always, I would like to thank my mother for her editing. She gets the manuscript first and improves it enormously with her ruthless eye for ill-chosen words and bad grammar. But more than
that, she is a great analyst of people and their relationships, and I think a little of that talent has rubbed off on me.

This novel has a strong spiritual angle, which is very much part of me and my experience. I thank my father for igniting my interest all those years ago and for keeping that flame alive during
our long walks through the countryside and on the many chairlifts of Klosters. The last fifteen years have been a fascinating spiritual journey for me, thanks to my dear friend and sage, Susan
Dabbs; but Daddy was my very first guru.

I thank my children, Lily and Sasha, for the gift of love, and my husband, Sebag, for his encouragement, ideas and advice. He is my champion and an inexhaustible source of joy. Because of him, I
believe I’m the best I can be.