The Bright One (57 page)

‘To the strand, I think. I'd like to walk on the beach.'

They did so, taking off their shoes. Graham tied his around his neck and carried Breda's in his hand. They strolled, not hurrying, stopping to look in small rock pools which the sea had left behind.

‘We must bring Eileen here tomorrow,' Graham said. ‘Show her how to dig holes in the sand.'

‘She's much too young to do that!' Breda said, laughing.

‘Then I'll do it for her,' Graham said. ‘She'll enjoy it.'

‘I wanted so much to bring her to Kilbally,' Breda said. ‘I want her to know she's half-Irish. You don't mind that, do you?'

‘Of course not! Wasn't it the Irish in you I fell for, the minute you opened your mouth?'

He bent down and picked up a pebble, small and round, smooth as silk, patterned in blue and grey. ‘For your treasure box,' he said, handing it to Breda.

‘Oh, isn't that beautiful!' Breda cried. ‘And now will I find one for you. Even if you haven't a box, I can give you a treasure.'

Graham shook his head. ‘You've already done that, my love. Didn't you give me yourself – and Eileen? That's treasure enough for me.'

She put the pebble in her pocket and slipped her hand through Graham's arm. ‘Oh Graham, I do love you!' she said.

At the far end of the strand, they turned and walked back; then they put on their shoes and took the road which led to the high cliffs. The sun was high in the sky now, warm on their backs as they climbed. Breathless when they reached the top, they flung themselves down on the short grass near to the cliff edge.

The air was loud with the cries of seabirds, wailing and screeching like lost souls as they swooped around the black face of the cliffs. The sea, blue and green, white-topped with foam, banged and thudded rhythmically against the cliffs, the sound like the beat of deep bass drums punctuating the strident music of the birds. Breda watched a ferry boat heading for the Aran islands. And except for the islands, and behind them the long shape of Connemara, there was nothing but the sea.

‘When I was a little girl I used to think about crossing the water to America,' she said to Graham. ‘I thought about it whenever I was fed up. Once I told Kieran that I'd swim there. I reckoned everything would be good in America, and wouldn't Auntie Cassie and Uncle Fergal be waiting there on the beach to welcome me?'

‘But you never made it,' Graham said.

‘I never made it as far as Connemara,' she said, ‘let alone America! I suppose, deep down, I didn't want to. I loved Kilbally.'

‘But you left it,' Graham said. ‘And I for one am glad you did.'

‘And do you think I am not?' Breda said. ‘'Twas the best day's work I ever did, though I did not think so at the time. Wasn't my heart breaking as I sat on that boat?'

They sat for a while in silence, watching the sea.

Presently Breda spoke again. ‘I shall always love Kilbally, but now I belong in Hebghyll. It's my home; it's where I want to be – with you, and Eileen and the other children we will have.'

Graham drew her close, and kissed her.

‘And now,' she said cheerfully, ‘what about our sandwiches? I'm starving!'

It was teatime when they arrived back at the house. Molly, seeing them approaching, rushed to the door to meet them.

‘I'm so glad you're here! Miss Opal telephoned!' she said. ‘You're to ring her back. She didn't say what she wanted. Oh, I do hope nothing's wrong! I hope you're not going to have to leave us!'

‘It was probably Graham she wanted,' Breda said, ‘not me.'

‘No, 'twas not. She said
you
. I'm sure I got that right.'

The telephone was in the passage which led through to the shop.

‘Come with me,' Breda said to Graham.

She gave the Hebghyll number to the operator in Kilbally, then waited through several clicks and signals on the line until, at last, she was connected to the Hebghyll store.

‘It's Breda Prince,' she said. ‘I had a message to phone Miss Opal.'

That pause, until she heard Opal's voice, seemed the longest of all. ‘Breda! Breda, we've won! The White Horse. We've got the contract!'

Breda could think of nothing to say. No words came to fill the silence.

‘Breda, can you hear me?'

Breda handed the telephone to Graham. ‘I don't know what you've said to Breda,' he began, ‘but she seems struck dumb by it! Can I help?'

‘I told her we'd won the contract for the White Horse,' Opal said. ‘I said “we”, but really it's Breda who's done it! Aren't you proud of her?'

‘Oh I
am
! I am indeed! But then, I'm not surprised. I always thought she would.'

‘Put her back on the line,' Opal said. ‘I want to congratulate her.'

Graham handed the receiver to Breda.

‘Oh, Miss Opal, I couldn't think what to say! I'm so pleased. It's wonderful news,' Breda said.

‘It most certainly is. I congratulate you most heartily. But I won't keep you from your family any longer. I'll see you next Monday morning at nine o'clock sharp, and we'll discuss the details. Goodbye – and thank you, Breda!'

They travelled home on Friday, by way of Dublin, where they visited Kathleen, and stayed overnight with Moira and Barry, leaving early next morning. It was still daylight when the taxi they had hired at Hebghyll station drove up the moor road to Heather Cottage.

The cab driver lifted the suitcases into the hall, while Graham carried Eileen, now fast asleep against his shoulder. When he had driven away, Breda looked around her. ‘Home!' she said. ‘Home! Oh, Graham love, it's so good to be back. The three of us in our own place, where we belong.'