The truth is rarely pure, and never simple.
For the first chunk of the car trip, Des chatted mindlessly about football scores and what bands would be doing concerts in Ireland during the coming summer. I was so nervous about what would happen once we reached Castle Stone, I kept ignoring the elephant in the car, as it were. If he wasn’t going to bring it up, neither was I. We drove along the quay on the way out of town. I was charmed that the road signs were in both English and Irish. I turned off my mind and let the beauty of the landscape wash over me.
“Oh look!” I cried, breaking my silence. “Seals!” I couldn’t believe I was seeing sleek, dog-like creatures thumping along on the rocks and diving into the sea outside of a zoo.
“We’ve got loads of them ‘round here. If you wait long enough, sometimes you’ll see a whale. Pretty amazing, if you ask me.” He looked at me sideways, keeping one eye on the road. “You’re pretty amazing yourself.”
The lower part of my belly turned to warm liquid as memories of our time in bed flashed through my brain. A hand here, lips there, his breath on my cheek. “Look Des, I didn’t know you had a fiancée.”
“And I didn’t know you were a lesbian,” he countered.
“I’m not!” I protested.
He laughed softly. “I gathered that. I’m only taking the mickey. It was smart thinking, though. You’ve fixed it so we can meet up and no one will think twice.”
“That’s not why I said it.” I thought back. “I’m not a liar, in general. Maybe it was the jet lag or the panic.”
“Maybe you weren’t a liar up to this point, but you’d better get used to the idea, Sheila Doyle,” he teased, chuckling and shaking his head. “You’ve got to hand it to my Ashleigh and her brother Timmy. If they can’t go through a thing, they always find a way to go around it.”
My stomach fell. I couldn’t believe I’d agreed to this plan. Like a meteor hurtling toward the surface of the earth, I had momentum. There was no way to stop now, and I’d soon crash and burn.
I gripped the car door handle, tense. “I don’t think I can do this.”
“Ah, you seem a brave one to me. You got on a plane at the drop of a hat. I’d call that downright impulsive. And then, you seduced me. I’d say that was reckless.”
“You’re the one who grabbed when I was in my pajamas, still wet.”
“Mmm…say ‘wet’ again.” He put his hand on my knee.
“Stop it, stop it, stop it,” I said pushing his hand away several times in a row. “Stop.” I waited, guard up. When I was satisfied that he had his mind back on driving, I explained.
“Fair enough,” he said, feigning aloofness. “I was hoping to get you out of them black clothes. For self-preservation purposes. It’s depressing to look at in the middle of the day.”
“What’s wrong with my clothes?” I had on a long-sleeved, scoop-necked black tee, a pair of black wool Anne Taylor sailor trousers, a black silk cardigan, and a pair of black patent boots. One of my work outfits. “I think I look fine.”
“For a Portuguese widow. You looked prettier in your pajamas. Better still in your birthday suit.”
“OK, time to get this straight. It’s not like me to jump into bed with guys I don’t know. I never would have done it if I knew you were engaged.”
“Engaged isn’t married.”
“I’ll bet Ashleigh would have a different view.”
“There’s no call to involve Ashleigh in our affairs. When I’m married, I’ll behave.”
“I doubt that.” I thought back to the year my parents had separated. Mom and I had moved upstate with Grandma and Poppy. I’d gone to school there for 5th grade. When my parents reconciled, I asked if I could just stay in Rhinebeck. I was so angry. Even though no one spelled it out, I got the sense that Hank had cheated on her. I just knew. Looking back, I’m glad Mom said no. It would have meant losing precious time with her. “Anyway, I have a rule: I don’t sleep with married men.”
“I’m not married yet. We have until the autumn if you fancy another go.”
“No thanks.” The truth was, I did fancy it. Apart from the fact that it was just wrong, Ashleigh had gone to a lot of trouble to help me. It could never happen again.
“Suit yourself, but the door’s open until I’m legally wed.”
“Oh, look! There’s a Costa,” I said, changing the subject. “I’ll buy you a cup of coffee if you’ll stop.”
“Can’t have you getting the shakes now, can we? Tea’s more my speed, but I’m happy to oblige if it’ll bring you pleasure.”
We didn’t speak of what happened between us again. He turned up the radio, and bopped happily along to classic rock as we sped around the sharp turns and roundabouts that dotted our drive. My mind drifted off to Maggie. The very second I got to Castle Stone, I had to call her, even if I did it collect from a pay phone. This scheme Ashleigh had cooked up may have sounded practical around Auntie Fiona’s table when we were all sipping Rioja and possibly even early this morning among complete strangers while I was filling my face with sausages and fried potatoes, but now I saw it for what it was: insane. I couldn’t stay here till September. I had bills to pay, rent on an apartment. I’d talk to this Tom O’Grady, and if he said no, I’d just head to Dublin and call the whole thing off. I pushed all thoughts of how I was going to come up with two grand for a flight out of my head. With my lingering jet lag and only half a cup of coffee in me, I could only tackle one problem at a time.
Before I knew it, we were off the highway and driving through the main road of a picturesque village. There were stone walls along one side, covered in ivy and flanked by an impossibly narrow sidewalk. The houses and shops were humble and squat, none more than three stories tall, and some were topped with sloping triangular roofs and even spires.
“It’s gorgeous,” I breathed. There were flower boxes lined up on the other side of the road, with tender daffodils and crocuses poking through the soil, and the shuttered windows featured window boxes filled with the same, plus green shoots, yet to reveal their natures. “Flowers!”
“Mam says the early blooms signal a hot summer ahead. I don’t mind the heat, but the sun doesn’t agree with me. I went to Ibiza with some mates last year and came home looking like a boiled lobster.
There she is. If you look ahead, you can see the castle just there, at the top of the hill.”
And there it was, to me like something from a film. All stone walls, pointed rooftops and chimneys, one side covered in lush green moss. There simply are no buildings in America that look like this. It was, in a word, ancient.
“This is going to sound stupid, but I thought castles were supposed to be bigger.”
“Maybe so, but it’s still quite a pile.”
“Totally! I didn’t mean that it’s not spectacular. I guess I was picturing Cinderella’s castle from Disney World, or the one from Rob Roy.
“Some might call Castle Stone a manor house. We were taught in school that the old castles were on the smaller side in order for the inhabitants to be able to see enemies approaching from all sides, so they could defend themselves. When we get to the top of the hill, you’ll see the other buildings on the estate. The place is huge. Something like 1000 acres if I remember right. Can you fathom it? That huge tract of land and everything on it is owned by one man! The Earl of Wexford himself. Born to it. Luck of the draw, and you’re the man! He’s a bit of a crank, the old Earl. I heard he went to a wedding in the village wearing only his pajamas and a top hat.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Ah, who knows what the truth is? When you’re rich, you can do what you like, can’t you?”
We turned off the town road and onto the private drive leading to the castle and I drank in the view. A thrill went through my body. There were green lawns as far as the eye could see, really green lawns. The manor house was at the center, and extending from one side there was a long, roofed walkway made from the same stone, with arched window after arched window. At the end was a taller structure with a glass roof.
We drove through heavy, wrought-iron gates, surrounded by a tall, irregular stone wall. As we continued along the main drive, I could see myriad paved service roads leading to other, smaller houses, a circular cul-de-sac of cottages, and even a chapel. There were no fewer than five or six horses in my sightline, some trotting along dirt paths, one galloping at top speed right across the green grass toward a lake.
Des drove slowly, as the signs warned guests not to spook the horses. There were gardeners clipping at shrubbery and digging in the peaty dirt. We passed a group of ladies, all of a certain age, walking leisurely alongside the drive. I assumed they were guests of the hotel. A golf cart with four men of mixed ages, all dressed for the game came into view in the near distance. “There’s a golf course?”
“Sure, there is. You can golf, fish, row in the boats, ride a horse, whatever you fancy. The guests can, I should say. You, Sheila Doyle, are here for work experience.”
I felt sick. “Stop calling me that.”
“You’d better get used to it. I’ll make you a bargain, though. If you’d care to join me in my bed again, I’ll happily call out your real name. But here at Castle Stone, you’re Sheila now.”