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The big hall was flooded with light. Dessie looked up at the intricately carved staircase rising all the way to the third floor, where a glass dome let in the sunlight. “How beautiful,” she breathed. “It’s like looking into heaven.”
Richard put his hand on her shoulder. “I’ve always loved this hall.”
“Thank you for showing it to me.”
Richard laughed. “There’s a lot more to see than the entrance.” He took her hand. “Come on, let’s do the grand tour.”
Dessie hesitated. “Are you sure it’s all right? Won’t we get into trouble being here like this without permission?”
“It’s fine. My dad and his aunt own the place now, and he told me to come here and check the house to make sure no windows are open or that anyone left a light on. I’m trying to get someone to keep an eye on it when I leave. This is a great opportunity to have a good ol’ snoop around.”
“Okay.” Dessie let herself be pulled along. They tiptoed across the beautiful oriental carpet and down a corridor lined with paintings, sculptures, and carved consoles that Richard told her originated in China, brought home by one of his ancestors after his long posting there during the days of the British Empire. Dessie’s pale face was reflected in the huge gold-framed mirrors, and their footsteps on the parquet floor echoed eerily through the vast, musty rooms. They walked through a cavernous drawing room furnished with antique sofas and chairs, mahogany occasional tables and padded footstools. The floor was covered with another oriental carpet still in mint condition, the pattern of deep red, green and gold gleaming in the light from the French windows that overlooked stunning views of the valley and mountains beyond.
Dessie stopped in front of a table with an array of photographs in silver frames. “Is this them? Your ancestors?”
“Yes.” Richard picked up one of the photos. “Here he is. Tom Hourigan. My great-granddad.”
Dessie peered at a black-and-white photo of a pale young man in a dark suit. “Not very like you. He looks so solemn.”
“They all did in those days. He was just about to depart to India to work as an engineer. Didn’t come back until thirty years later after his parents died. Then he married a Spanish girl called Conchita. She was supposed to have been very beautiful.”
“Is that where you got your black hair and olive skin?” Dessie enquired.
Richard laughed. “I suppose. And my blue eyes are from my Irish ancestors.”
“Why did the family move to America?”
Richard put the photo back on the table. “Conchita upped and left in 1936 to fight in the Spanish Civil War. She was a socialist and a patriot. She wanted to help free her country from the right-wing regime. Sadly, she died during an air raid in Andalucía. Then my great-grandad didn’t want to live here anymore, so he closed up the house and took the children, my grandad and my great-aunt Rose, to live in New York, where he started a business. My grandfather married an Irish girl and went into law, and my dad followed in his footsteps. The house was left unoccupied all this time. Neither my dad nor my great-aunt want to sell it. I think they both feel some kind of connection with the old country and this is the only link to it. My dad is even thinking of retiring here. Until then, it’ll be sitting empty, like some kind of museum. Expensive, but they can afford it.”
“What about you?” Dessie asked, puzzled by the disdain in his eyes. “Do you want to live here when it’s yours?”
Richard laughed. “No, sweetheart, I don’t. I couldn’t live in Ireland. Especially not in the depth of the Irish countryside. I will have a career in my dad’s law firm, and then I will take over when the time comes. I have to think of my future wife too. She isn’t exactly what you’d call a country girl. We’ll be living in New York and have a weekend place in Connecticut. The all-American lifestyle.” He pulled her close. “But I’ll always have a soft spot for my Irish colleen.”
Dessie pulled away. She was deeply in love with him, had been all summer, but she didn’t like his condescending tone. She knew she was just his summer fling, his final flirt before he married Stacey or Courtney or whatever that posh girl in New York was called. “I’m no colleen,” she protested.
“I forget.” He laughed. “You’re the vicar’s daughter. Remnant of the British Empire. But brought up in Ireland. Must make you feel confused.”
“In a way. When I’m with people like you. But not with the people I grew up with. My roots are in Ireland. My dad always said that we’re part of the rich patchwork that makes up this country. British, Irish, Norman, and Viking—they’re all there in every Irish man or woman. My granny was an O’Neill from County Cork. My mum is from an old Norman family. In any case, you’re Irish too, despite that American accent.” She drew breath and looked away from his teasing smile and twinkling eyes. “Can we go and see the rest of the house now?”
“Yes, my darling. Maybe you’d like to see the bedrooms?”
She blushed, knowing what he meant. But she wasn’t going to give in, despite his hot looks and flirtatious ways. She would have been ready to take that final step if he didn’t keep mentioning his fiancée in New York. It was like being wooed by a married man. Kissing and cuddling was bad enough, sleeping with him would be the ultimate sin. “Let’s see the library,” she suggested.
“Yes, miss prim and proper. When are you going to join the twenty-first century?” He pulled her close again. “Don’t tell me you don’t want what I want. I can see it in your eyes.”
She broke away from his hot breath on her face, his warm hands on her bare arms, and the scent of his aftershave. “Not now, Richard. Not here.”
There was a glint of hope in his eyes. “But somewhere else? Soon?”
“Maybe.” She laughed and skipped across the carpet. “Right now, I want you to show me the rest of the house.” She wanted to distract him, to make him think of something else instead of constantly trying to seduce her. She was, at only nineteen, too young to handle a sexual relationship, even if her hormones had other ideas. She wanted him—oh God, yes—but was frightened of sex. It would be painful and scary, pulling her into something she wouldn’t be able to cope with. And what if she got pregnant? Then he’d abandon her and run to New York and his fiancée.
The summer had been like a beautiful dream from which she didn’t want to wake up. Meeting Richard secretly at the lake for picnics, going on long hikes in the mountains, and riding along the river on the land that belonged to Killybeg, on horses borrowed from Harry, her brother-in-law. It had all been like something from one of the romance novels she loved. But no sex, not yet. She wanted the romance to go on this way, not descend into something sleazy that she’d regret for the rest of her life.
They continued their tour, forgetting their feelings, mesmerised by the elegance and beauty of the house, the many paintings by famous artists of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, the exquisite collections of china and glassware and the jewel colours of the carpets and tapestries.
“What a wonderful house,” Dessie sighed, looking again up the staircase rising gracefully to the glass dome above. “Can we go upstairs?”
“Of course.” Richard walked up the stairs, Dessie in tow. “I’ve never seen the bedrooms, but I’ve heard they’re magnificent.”
He was both right and wrong. The bedrooms were all lavishly furnished, but the beds had been stripped of their mattresses and the curtains removed from the four posters. They quickly moved through bedrooms that echoed with thin whispers of sadness and despair.
Dessie stopped at the door of a large room, unable to enter. “Oh,” she whispered and pointed at a collection of dolls lined up on a small bed. “It’s the nursery. Look, there’s a rocking horse and a doll’s pram...” She was suddenly overwhelmed with a melancholy she couldn’t explain. “Let’s go,” she said over her shoulder to Richard, who was coming out of another room down the corridor.
“Why? We haven’t seen everything yet.”
“I’ve seen enough.” She closed the door to the nursery and started to walk down the long gallery toward the stairs. “It feels kind of spooky and cold here. I need to get out into the sunshine. Maybe we can have a look at the walled garden?”
“Yes, you’re right. I get this eerie feeling someone’s watching us.” He shivered, smiling apologetically. “Probably my imagination, but I have a feeling the ghosts of the former occupants are floating around and don’t want us up here.”
They ran down the stairs and out the door, slamming it shut. “Phew.” Richard turned his face to the sun. “That was weird. It’s good to be outside in God’s fresh air.” He looked happy and carefree standing on the steps of his ancestral home, as if he belonged there.
“Maybe you should move here when you inherit this place?” Dessie suggested.
He opened his eyes and smiled at her. “I told you I never could, didn’t I? In any case, that’s a lifetime away. I want to live my life, not wait for someone else to die before I get an old house.”
“And when you do, will you sell it?”
He shrugged. “Probably. But I’m too young to worry about the distant future.” He skipped down the steps. “Come on, let’s see the walled garden. I’m sure it’s enchanting in this lovely sunshine.”
Dessie laughed and followed him. It was a beautiful day. She was young and pretty and in love with this gorgeous man. So he was engaged. Engaged wasn’t married. He was in love with her he said; he wanted her. She wanted him too. Maybe, if she gave him what he wanted most, he’d ditch that girl in New York and decide Dessie was his true love?
She went through the arch in the old stone wall that led to the walled garden and stopped, enchanted. “What a beautiful place,” she exclaimed.
Richard looked around, as if he had just noticed the rose bushes heavy with blooms in a riot of colours, the gnarled apple and plum trees, their branches weighed down with fruit, the old walls covered in ivy, and more roses climbing all the way to the top. The still air was full of the scent of flowers and ripening fruit. A thrush serenaded them from the top of a monkey puzzle tree, and bees buzzed, moving from flower to flower.
Richard sighed and sank down on the grass. “Ah, August. My favourite month. Especially on a day like today. Isn’t it grand?”
She sat down on the grass beside him, laughing. “Oh, yes. It’s incredibly grand.”
He put his arms around her and pulled her close. “And romantic? I feel very romantic right now. Don’t you?”
She looked into his twinkling eyes. “Yes, I do,” she whispered.
He kissed her lightly on the lips. “And something else, too?”
“Maybe,” she mumbled, her mouth against his.
He kissed her harder, making her open her mouth and tasting his tongue. “Oh, baby. My darling, sweet Dessie...I love you.”
She blinked, afraid to move. “You do? Really? You love me?”
He looked deep into her eyes. “Yes. Dessie, I have tried not to, but I can’t help it. I have fallen in love with you.”
That was it. What she had waited for all summer. “I love you too,” she whispered, knowing there was no going back. “I love you so much, Richard.”
He lay down, pulling her on top of him, kissing her, his mouth moving from her lips to her neck, then the swell of her breasts under the thin summer dress. He ran his hands down her body, to her thighs, pulling up her skirt, then rolling them both over so he was on top and her back was pressed into the damp grass. “Dessie, you’re my girl,” he said. “I can’t stand it much longer. Please don’t make me wait anymore.”
She closed her eyes, frightened of the intensity of his voice and his hot gaze. “I won’t.”
“You want it too, don’t you?” he mumbled into her ear, breathing hard.
“Yes,” she whispered and pulled him tighter against her, parting her legs without thinking, the danger suddenly exciting rather than frightening. “I want you, Richard.”
“Now?” He asked, his hand between her thighs.
“Yes. Now,” she panted, hot desire pulsing through her. She suddenly couldn’t control herself and acted out of some deep instinct, moving, arching her hips. Doing everything he wanted even before he asked.
Afterwards, she lay still, tears seeping out of her closed eyes.
He touched her face. “Baby, you’re wonderful. Was it the first time? Did I hurt you?”
She smiled and opened her eyes. “Yes, it hurt a bit but then...something happened. It was like a slow explosion. Like fireworks.”
“Next time it will be better, I swear.”
“Better than this? How could it be? I don’t know what happened, but it was glorious.”
He sat up. “You had an orgasm, sweetheart. That’s good. Do you know how good that is?” He sounded like teacher with a child who had performed well in an exam.
“It felt amazing.” She watched him as he zipped up his trousers while she pulled the skirt of her dress over her legs. She didn’t feel ashamed. It was right and good. They were in love. Richard would leave his fiancée and marry her. She closed her eyes to the afternoon sun and started to plan their wedding. They would be married in the pretty little Protestant church in Clonmel. Harry might walk her up the aisle, as Dad had passed away two years ago. Miranda would be matron of honour, Jules’ little boy ring bearer...
“I have to go,” Richard said, cutting into her daydream. “I have to call my dad. Organise my trip back. Lots to tell him. Then I have to speak to the people who manage the property and see if there are things to discuss. Like the heating and the cleaning schedule. The house has to be aired and dusted regularly and checked for damage from wind and rain. After all, that’s why I’m here. I’ve been a little lax about such things. You were too much of a distraction, my sweet.”
She grinned. “I’m sorry. But it wasn’t on purpose. It just happened, didn’t it?”
He laughed. “Yeah, you just kinda happened to be there, at the country market, looking like my dream girl with your huge dark eyes, silky black hair, and long brown legs.”
She giggled. “You didn’t have to talk to me. I could have just brushed past you and walked away.”
He pulled her up and ran his hands over her bare arms. “How? It wouldn’t be possible to see you and not talk to you. And then you said ‘Hello’ and ‘How are you?’ and ‘What are you doing in this little town?’ in that lilting Irish accent, and I was hooked.”
“Me too,” she breathed, pressing her face against his chest. “Hooked on you.”
“You have grass stains on your dress.”
“I don’t care.”
“But how will you explain if your sisters see them?”
Dessie shrugged. “Miranda? She won’t notice. She’s so busy with the boys and the farm and Jerry, she hardly has time to say hello. Juliet wouldn’t notice much either. She’s only interested in horses and dogs. Nobody pays much attention to me.”
Richard nodded. “Good.” He let go of her and ran his hand through his brown hair. “So long then, babe. Must run. I’ll see you before I go back, I hope.”
Dessie laughed. “Of course you will. We have to make plans, don’t we?”
He kissed her cheek. “Sure. We’ll make plans. Soon. Cheers for now.”
“Cheers,” Dessie mumbled. She watched his tall figure as he walked through the archway and disappeared. She never saw him again.