Having always cycled or been driven along the sweeping curve that led to Drumsollen, the walk was further than she thought. But the morning was so still, the sunlight so beautiful, that when at last she reached the wide sweep of gravel before the front door, she was reluctant to go inside. She stood looking around her for a long time. She sensed something different about the house. It seemed less forbidding, more welcoming.
Without pausing to consider, she walked round the back of the house and stepped cautiously down the steep stone steps that led into the basement rooms. She opened the door, caught the smell of fresh paint, saw light reflecting from newly whitened walls. As her high heels echoed on the wooden floor, a door swung open and June Wiley came to meet her, arms outstretched.
‘Ach dear, it’s great to see you,’ June said, hugging her tightly. ‘I was listening for Mr Burrow’s car an’ then I heard this wee noise at the back, an’ I thinks to myself, “sure no one else woud’ come to the back but Clarey.” Come an’ sit down, I have the kettle on the boil.’
They sat at the scrubbed wooden table and talked as they’d so often done before. Clare thought of all the hours they had worked together, the hundreds of cakes June had baked, the sandwiches she herself had made, the two funeral gatherings they’d shared and would never forget.
‘Was it a big do for the Missus, June?’
‘Ach, no. It was kinda sad really. I think a lot o’ them older ones must’ve died themselves in the last year or two before The Missus went. Mrs Richardson and the husband came – Mrs Moore she is now, I should say – but Virginia wasn’t home. To be honest, there was only a handful. There’s really no one left now but Andrew,’ she said, looking away quickly.
‘Harry says he’s well,’ said Clare easily, to reassure her. ‘I’m going to get in touch with him next week. I’ve promised Jessie we’ll meet up and see if we can be friends. She wants us to be godparents to the new baby. We let her down on the first one,’ she said matter-of-factly.
‘It was an awful shock,’ June admitted, shaking her head. ‘D’ye think it was the right thing? I suppose I shouldn’t ask ye that.’
‘Ask away, June. Haven’t you known us both since we were children? But I’m not sure I can answer you. I think it had to be, but it was a pity it happened as it did.’
‘Ye were that fond of each other, it was plain to see. Sure, when ye’s come here to arrange for Uncle Edward’s funeral, he coud hardly bear to let ye out of his sight. He couden a done it at all, if ye haden been there at his back.’
Clare nodded, but said nothing. She’d often thought about Andrew’s vulnerability, his difficulty with thinking problems out and making up his mind when things were complicated. ‘You think about everything, all the time,’ he had once said to her. ‘Sometimes I don’t, when I should.’
‘When did the kitchen get painted, June? Ginny thought the house was being sold.’
‘Oh yes, it’ll have to go all right, but Andrew’s been working on it at weekends for a long time now. Since he got the job in Armagh. If he didn’t have things to see to at Caledon, he’d be here, working away. Did ye see the front steps and the porch? Dangerous with all that green on them, he said, so he got stuff and cleaned it. Made a great job of it. Sometimes John gives him a hand, though of course he works for Robinson’s now.’
Clare was just about to enquire about John and the three Wiley girls when they heard tyres crunch on the gravel. June looked up, saw it was only just after twelve.
‘That’s never Mr Burrows back so soon,’ she said disbelievingly. ‘An’ I haven’t even started to make a bite of lunch yet.’
They heard the front door open and shut with its usual heavy thud and felt the old ceilings of the kitchen vibrate slightly as footsteps strode across the hall and into the big drawing room.
‘Ach, it’s him all right. He’s away in to look at the pictures. Woud ye go an’ tell him I was gossipin’ so much I haven’t even a sandwich ready yet. Away an’ give him a hand to pack them,’ she said, as she took a sliced loaf from the bin and opened the door of the fridge.
Clare went upstairs and paused for a moment in the big hall. There were pale spaces on the wall left by the pictures that had already gone, but the chandelier she’d always loved still hung in its usual place, sparkling in the sunlight which filtered through the fanlight over the door and tinkling slightly from the passage of air as the door opened and closed.
She heard the sound of movement from the drawing room and went towards the open door. A figure stood with his back to her, looking up at a portrait hung over the fireplace. As she stepped into the room, he turned and spoke her name, his voice tight with surprise.
‘Hello, Andrew,’ she managed to reply, coolly and steadily, amazed at how easily the words came out after all. ‘I was planning to give you a ring next week. Harry thought you were in court today, so I came to see June.’
She watched as his look of pure amazement turned to recognition, then to uneasy pleasure.
‘Are you home on holiday?’
‘No. I was planning a holiday in the summer, but Jessie’s been very poorly. Harry asked me to come,’ she explained. ‘She’s much better now.’
She walked across to an armchair by the fireplace and sat down. The last time she’d sat in this room, she had been perched on that terribly low chair beside The Missus, holding court at Uncle Edward’s funeral.
Andrew leaned against the mantelpiece. For a moment, they regarded each other silently. Andrew smiled a slight half smile.
‘To meet here, of all places,’ he said, shaking his head.
‘Where better?’ she replied quietly. ‘Though I certainly didn’t plan it,’ she added more vigorously. ‘Harry said you were never here during the week.’
‘Harry’s quite right,’ he said, grinning. ‘I should’ve been in Belfast today, but the plaintiff decided to settle out of court. I only heard when I went in to pick up the post. Then I got a message at five to twelve to be here at twelve for Mr Burrows,’ he said, opening his hands in a gesture that reminded her of the Gallic shrug he could mimic so beautifully.
‘I can think of one prime suspect,’ she said, as he came and sat down in the chair opposite, the only other armchair in the large, sunlit room that was not draped in dust covers.
She looked at him, taking in the familiar features, his way of stretching out in a chair, of putting his hand round to the back of his neck, of leaning his shoulders against the worn leather. She felt waves of relief flow over her. If it was Jessie who’d brought them together, perhaps she’d got it right after all. Here at Drumsollen, the place that had shaped so much of Andrew’s life and so much of their relationship, they had to resolve what had begun at its very gates, in one way or another.
‘How’s life treating you, Andrew? Is the job going any better?’ she asked, meeting his gaze.
The face seemed a little thinner, but the blue eyes had lost none of their candour. His hair was the same thick, wavy and undisciplined mass.
‘It goes. It’s not what I want, but it pays the rent and sometimes I can help someone who’s had a raw deal,’ he replied. ‘I don’t expect too much so I’m not disappointed.’
‘And the farming?’
‘Fairly unlikely at the moment. Perhaps one day. It’s not a fantasy, but making it a reality is probably more than I can manage. I’m not good with money, though I seem to be more practical than I thought I was,’ he said, matter-of-factly.
‘You’ve certainly done a wonderful job on the kitchen,’ she agreed.
After the first easy words between them, she was now aware of a growing tension. She had not the slightest idea how she might resolve it.
‘And you, Clare? I hear great things from Ginny. I knew you’d be successful whatever you did. Are you having a wonderful time?’
‘Yes, I suppose I am,’ she said, surprised herself at the flatness of her tone. ‘I think I sometimes get homesick,’ she said honestly, ‘though I’m not entirely sure what that means.’
‘Longing,’ he said, promptly. ‘Nameless longing. At least that’s how I see it now. I’ve come to realise I’ve been homesick for Drumsollen most of my life. Now it’s mine, for however brief a time, I still feel the longing,’ he admitted wryly. ‘At least I know Drumsollen stands for a part of what I want. And knowing makes it easier to bear. It came as a surprise to me,’ he said, looking at her very directly. ‘Knowing what you want when you can’t have it is easier to bear than just not knowing what you want. At least it stops you reaching out for things you think might help, but won’t. Like Canada.’
‘Why was Canada wrong for you, Andrew?’
‘Because I hoped I’d be able to escape all my confusions and make up my mind about things. But when Uncle Edward died and everything was such an enormous effort for me, I was afraid I’d never be able to make the right decisions. I thought I’d only let you down. That’s why I let you go,’ he said, sadly. ‘Was I right?’
‘You were right to let me go,’ she said, smiling bleakly, ‘but not because you couldn’t make decisions. If two people work together, decisions can always be made,’ she said softly. ‘But I had things I needed to find out about me and I didn’t know that till I went. You’d been around, seen things, done things. I hadn’t. I’d felt so limited, so enclosed. I thought I could do it the easy way too: go off to Canada with you and have all the new experiences I needed with the comfort of having you around at the same time. But it wasn’t that simple. I found out I had to do it on my own. Perhaps you had to, as well?’
‘Yes,’ he said simply. ‘I thought if I worked hard, it would all come right, but it’s not like that. No amount of work will solve a problem if you’ve got the wrong problem,’ he said wryly. ‘There was more out against us than we could have guessed.’
He paused, looked around the room as if it would help him to know what to say next.
‘But better things ahead, yes?’ he went on, his tone and manner giving away the fact that he was making a tremendous effort to be positive.
So there is someone, Clare thought, as she saw him move uneasily in the large, straight-backed wing chair the Missus had always claimed as her own. She felt suddenly overcome with sadness. In the short time they’d sat together, it was perfectly clear they could be very good friends. Whatever bitterness he’d felt at their parting had quite gone. He’d made the best of a sorry situation. Like herself, he’d worked his way through to a better understanding of what had happened between them. Jessie would have her wish. They would be friends. But no more than friends.
‘When are you getting married, Clare?’
‘Married?’ she repeated, utterly amazed ‘Me? Who told you I was getting married?’
‘Well, Ginny did say there was someone in London waiting to take you out to dinner in some frightfully posh place,’ he confessed uneasily. ‘She said he sent in a note to tell you when the car would collect you.’
Clare laughed and breathed a sigh of relief.
‘That was my boss, Andrew. I’m his interpreter. Mostly, I never leave his side, but he’d given me the afternoon off to spend with Ginny. We had a big business dinner in the evening.’
‘Oh.’
She had never before heard a single syllable in any language convey such a wealth of meaning.
‘So you’re not engaged to anyone?’
‘No, I’m not.’
The last few minutes had told her everything she needed to know about her own feelings, but this time there must be no misunderstandings.
‘What about you, Andrew?’
‘Me? Marrying someone, you mean?’
‘Don’t sound so outraged,’ she said, unable to stop herself laughing. ‘If I might have been about to marry someone, why shouldn’t you?’
‘Do you really want to know?’
There was no mistaking the look in his eyes. For one strange and disturbing moment, like a reminder of all the sad and lonely times she’d had since first she’d read Ginny’s letter and thought of Andrew ‘sad and hurt’, she wondered if she really did want the answer she knew he was going to make.
‘Yes, Andrew,’ she said firmly, ‘I do want to know.’
‘I’ve never loved anyone but you, Clare. I’ve not much to offer, but I’d do my best not to make a mess of things, if you’d try to keep me straight. If that’s any good to you, then I’m your man.’
Sunlight spilled into the small bedroom at the top of the house as it moved westwards across the weathered stone façade of Drumsollen. It made bright patches on the worn carpet, illuminated the titles on a pile of boys’ annuals stacked on the floor, and spilled over a battered armchair draped with discarded underwear and two business suits, one moss green, one grey. Beneath a shiny pink eiderdown, one of two sleeping figures stirred.
‘Clare, are you awake?’
‘No, I’m fast asleep. I’m having a lovely dream.’
He leaned over and kissed her. When she still didn’t open her eyes, he protested. ‘You’re supposed to wake up when your Prince fights his way through the briar hedge and kisses you.’
She giggled and opened her eyes.
‘Have you fought your way through briar hedges, then?’
‘Yes, I think you could say I have. Very dense they were, too. I thought you might like to see what I’d been up to on the property of which you are presently mistress, if only for a little while.’
She rolled over and propped herself on one elbow.
‘Andrew, why do you want to sell Drumsollen?’
He laughed shortly.
‘Oh, I thought I’d prefer a nice three-bed semi.’
She looked at him severely, then relented and kissed him.
‘Come on, tell me properly. I tried to find out from Ginny, but she’s not exactly the most accurate informant, especially not when she’s in love.’
He smiled and stroked her shoulder.
‘I don’t have much choice, Clare. In fact, when I tell you how bad things are, you may not want to accept my offer for your hand,’ he said, trying to be light. ‘Until The Lodge is sold, I’m up to my ears in debt. Unless I can hang on long enough and get the necessary work done, it’s not going to fetch enough to clear the mortgages on top of the death duties. My partner in Armagh has been a real friend. If it hadn’t been for him, I’d have let it go for what I could get and landed myself in real trouble. I just can’t keep up the work on The Lodge and cope with this place as well.’
‘Is there a mortgage on Drumsollen?’
‘No, I tried to raise one for Ginny, but they wouldn’t have it, given my erratic income. It was Ginny who lent Teddy the money for the roof here when it had to be done, so she’d no money of her own when she most needed it,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘Apart from the said roof, there are other bits of Drumsollen ready to fall down and I’ve got nothing to prop them up with, except a pile of bills for The Lodge.’
‘Sounds like you need some short-term capital input and a longer term loan,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Shouldn’t be difficult, given the available collateral and the general economic upswing.’
He looked at her blankly, not sure he knew what she was talking about.
‘But, Clare, no bank here would touch me with a barge pole,’ he said flatly. ‘I’m certain of that. I’ve tried.’
‘I wasn’t thinking of you,’ she said. ‘I was thinking of me. And it would be a French bank, probably the one where I have my investments.’
‘Investments? Clare, you’re joking. You have to be joking.’
‘I’m not.’
Andrew laughed, and then looked at her seriously.
‘No, my love, I can see that you’re not. And it doesn’t really surprise me. Do you remember Jessie once telling you that if you ever worked for a bank you’d make their fortune?’
‘I’d forgotten all about that,’ she said, amazed he should have remembered.
‘But Clare, my love, doesn’t your having investments make things worse? Here am I with nothing to offer you except myself and a load of debts. How can I possibly ask you to give up the life you have?’
He propped himself on one elbow. ‘Come and share my encumbered estate, my often boring job, my fish and chips and baked beans,’ he said soberly. ‘Clare, it just wouldn’t be fair,’ he ended sadly.
‘But life isn’t fair, Andrew. Not in the way we expect it to be. You inherit an estate and for all your hard work, you’re short of money. I hadn’t a bean, except what Harry lent me, and I end up with more money than I ever dreamed of and some collateral I haven’t even told you about yet. But if we put the two together we could make something good.’
‘Do you really think so?’
‘I know so.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because I know I can trust you to do your best and to let me do mine. You’ve always done your best, Andrew, ever since I’ve known you, but you weren’t given many options. I worked hard too, but no one got in my way. I may have been badly off, but at least I was able to make my own decisions. You just had to get stuck in with a mess you’d inherited. Where would Ginny be without what you did for her? And Barney and Helen? Neither of them would ever have coped with The Lodge having to go. It’s time you had some choices.’
He grinned sheepishly.
‘Poor old Ginny, she did have a bad time. Don’t know how I’d have coped without that psychiatrist chappie.’
‘Yes, but you found him and you found the money for his bills,’ she said vigorously.
‘Yes, I did. But I still don’t see how I can ask you to give up all you have and come and marry me.’
‘But you don’t have to ask me to give anything up. I’ve done what I needed to do. It’s given me so much. I’ve made some dear friends. But it’s time for me to move on. I want to make a life here, with you, and the little green hills.’
‘You really mean that, don’t you,’ he said, surprised.
She nodded vigorously, clear at last about the meaning of all the images that had come to her in the years she’d been away. From those daisies on the edge of the vineyard near Nîmes, to the alpine pastures of the Dolomites, she’d been prompted time and time again. But the most potent prompt of all had been given to her on the turret of the château at Chirey. No wonder the words had come so easily, though she didn’t know then that they were true.
‘And for my next problem?’ he said, teasingly.
‘Right,’ she replied.
‘Have you kept up with the radical changes in the social and economic structure of your beloved province?’
‘Yes, I have. Armagh Rural Council plans to replace its condemned houses within thirty years.’
‘You didn’t read that in Le Monde, did you?’
‘No. Charlie Running told me when I was over last year. But Ronnie still keeps me posted. I’ve no illusions, Andrew. We may yet have to go on our travels. But at least we could try. What d’you think?’
‘There is nothing in the world I would like more than you and me making a life together, wherever that might be. But I’d love if we could start at Drumsollen. Do you really think we could?’
‘Yes, we can. I’ll show you how when I’ve got a sheet of paper. But not just yet. We don’t have to do sums in bed, do we?’
He lay down and shut his eyes.
‘Don’t wake me up. I’m having a lovely dream. You and Drumsollen. Could I bear so much happiness?’ he said, opening his eyes and looking up at her.
‘We could try. I think you’ll survive the strain.’
‘I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,’ Andrew said, as he came back from the bathroom and began to put on his socks.
‘They say making love burns up an awful lot of calories,’ she said, sitting up and laughing. ‘That sandwich disappeared hours ago.’
‘We could see what there is. Should be eggs at least.’
‘And there’s some sliced loaf,’ she added, as he pulled on the rest of his clothes and left his dressing gown on the bed for her.
They had scrambled eggs on toast at the kitchen table and then made coffee.
‘When do I have to part with you?’ he asked, as he filled up her cup.
‘Depends a bit on Jessie,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘If she’s as pleased to see you tonight as I think she’s going to be, it’s probably safe to leave her. We could have the weekend together before I go.’
She sipped her coffee and thought about Paris, about Robert and Louise and her life there. Of course it would be hard. Anything of any value is hard to part with.
‘I could give a month’s notice, but I think I need a bit longer. If I came back in August, we could be married in September. Would you still like a country wedding?’
‘Grange Church?’ he said, smiling.
‘Yes, please. And only our nearest and dearest.’
He nodded vigorously.
‘If I stay in Paris till August, you could come over for a holiday in June or July,’ she went on, thinking how delighted Madame Dubois would be that she had at last produced a lover. ‘I want you to meet Robert Lafarge. He’ll love your Breton accent. Actually, I’d like him to give me away, if that’s all right with you. Who will you have as best man?’
‘Oh, my partner, John Creaney. He’s been such a good friend. Heaven knows what would have happened if he hadn’t known the ropes for keeping me out of jail.’
Clare laughed, leaned over and kissed him.
‘Now it’s my turn for the lovely dream. I can’t believe it. This morning I was sitting here talking to June. Now we’re planning our wedding. Can it really all happen so quickly?’
‘Well, we did work on it for a long time,’ he said thoughtfully.
‘And then we worked on ourselves.’
‘Yes, I suppose that’s what makes it all so easy. We know what we want and what we can’t have and what to do about it.’
‘Speaking of which, have you got a sheet of paper?’
They finished their coffee and sat side by side at the scrubbed wooden table while Clare sketched out a financial plan for The Lodge and Drumsollen.
‘Well, that’s quite incredible,’ he said, when she finished. ‘Jessie was right. But you did say there’d have to be collateral for the development loan.’
She nodded.
‘Do you remember the small gift the Missus promised me?’
‘Yes, a brooch wasn’t it? I never saw it. I just passed on her note to the solicitors so you’d know it was meant for you and not as a wedding present if you married me. I think they had it in a safe deposit.’
Clare suddenly thought of the night in Paris when Madame had brought the small packet to her door, the sheet of paper with the solicitor’s letter folded and creased to fit round the small box. That strange moment when she thought it was her engagement ring.
‘It was an emerald brooch, Andrew. There’s a story to tell about her and about the emerald itself and where it came from, but the main thing is I had it valued a few weeks ago.’
She told him the amount and he whistled.
‘So the Missus has given us back Drumsollen. That’s our collateral,’ she said quietly, as she saw the look of relief and joy spread across his face.
For a moment he sat so still, his face so immobile, his eyes downcast, that she thought he might cry. She hugged him and kissed his cheeks, feeling tears come to her own eyes. No one could give him back the home he had lost when his parents died, but having Drumsollen returned to him, with someone to help him make a new life there, would do much to heal the old hurt. The thought came to her that in healing his hurt she would probably heal her own.
‘Why don’t I take you on a tour of works in hand,’ he said. ‘I’ve had a go at grandfather’s conservatory. June has some fuchsias in there. And I’ve done up the morning room,’ he began, as he collected up their plates and took them to the sink.
‘Actually, on second thoughts, why don’t we go outside first while the sun is still shining. We can do inside any time.’
They went out through the front door, and followed the sweeping curve of the drive to the point where a gravel path led off under a wrought-iron arch and began to climb steeply to the highest point of the low, rounded hill that hid all but the chimneys of Drumsollen from the Loughgall Road.
The slope was steeper than Clare had imagined, and even at the end of the April afternoon the sun had real warmth in its rays. They climbed slowly, hand in hand, pausing every so often to look back at the changing perspective on the house and the surrounding landscape.
Nearest to the house, the lower slopes of the hill were planted with clumps of daffodils, now in full bloom. As they climbed higher, Clare’s eye caught the pale, green-grey buds of honeysuckle, just beginning to unfold, on a trellis by the path. All around, in the still air, binds fluttered and scuffled. A large jackdaw passed overhead, a stick in its mouth, heading for the trees beyond the house.
‘I don’t think you’ve ever been up here before, have you?’
‘No, I haven’t.’
At the top of the climb, a wooden summerhouse looked out across the Drumsollen farmland to the north and west, its roof recently repaired, the elegant wrought-iron weather vane newly cleaned and painted.
‘Andrew, I had no idea,’ she said, as she ran her eye around the full sweep of the horizon, her voice breathless from the climb and the excitement of seeing her world suddenly opened up and spread out all round her.
Beyond the fields and meadows, the wooded hollows and the winding lanes of the adjoining townlands, she could just see the silver-blue acres of Lough Neagh, its unruffled surface sparkling in the low, late afternoon sunlight. Away to the west, the hills of Tyrone and Derry swelled up, layer beyond layer, higher and higher, till the eyes could no longer resolve the difference between the misty tones of the farthest ridges and the infinitely more distant bands of low grey-blue cloud.
Clare scanned every inch of the horizon. For a moment, her eyes rested on the little parish church of Grange, its spire a thin pencil in the arc of the sky. Suddenly, she remembered a morning, aeons ago, when she had climbed a ladder and stood steadying herself against the roof of the forge and saw Drumsollen alight with the morning sun.
Tears sprang to her eyes. Her beloved forge was gone, but its memory was hers to cherish for ever. In its place, Drumsollen itself. Perhaps ‘the hill in the sun’ was what the name really meant. No one could be sure. Her life had been full of puzzles and mysteries she couldn’t resolve, but what was no longer a puzzle was the love they had for each other. Nor was her immediate future any mystery.
She glanced again at the spire of Grange Church, in whose lengthening shadow Robert and five generations of Scotts lay buried. It would be a happy wedding, a meeting of friends old and new. And afterwards they would drive back to Drumsollen to celebrate, and chase the old sad ghosts out of the house and launch it and them into a new life.
‘Would you like a wedding ring?’ she asked, as a thought came to her.
‘If you’d like to give me one,’ he replied, turning towards her.
‘We’ve got two wedding rings in Harry’s safe,’ she said, smiling.
‘And your engagement ring,’ he added. ‘Unless you’d like something different.’
She shook her head vigorously. ‘Perhaps those rings were meant for us after all.’
He put his arm round her shoulders and they watched the shadows lengthen over the fields laid out below them. She moved closer to him and felt the comforting warmth of his body as the air began to chill.
With someone to love who loved her, she’d always be able to make a life, no matter how hard things were. And this was the place she needed to be.
‘Look, Clare, you can even see the mountains of Donegal,’ he said, gazing into the far distance. ‘Beyond your beloved green hills.’