“Describe it to me?” Jack’s attention was concentrated on her now and not the stew.
“There’s not much detail really. All it is a pair of feet in worn leather sandals walking over a dusty, rocky path. I get the impression, whoever it is, is wearing a long dress of some sort, though the feet look masculine. It’s a bit confusing to be honest.”
“Did you bring your notes with you?”
“They’re in my room.”
“Let me have them later, they’ll make good bed-time reading. Maybe I’ll be able to slot it into place for you.”
Brigitte, disappointed he’d got no other late night intention apart from reading her fifth century scribbling, just nodded.
“Are you joining us in the bar after dinner?” It was Graham, still attired in his long black apron and looking quite the chef.
“Not tonight, I think Brigitte’s probably too tired after her long drive for a late night, yes or no?”
“True. All this good food has made me sleepy.”
“That’s a shame. We were hoping Jack would give us a few songs. I’ve had the old guitar restrung especially. Did you know he’s quite handy with a g-string?” Graham smiled at Brigitte in all innocence.
That remains to be seen. She was just about to answer Graham when Jack interrupted.
“Don’t be giving away all my secrets, Alan. Any chance of a nightcap in here? Brandy alright for you?” She nodded her acceptance and Graham disappeared across the dining room in the direction of the bar
“So what’s all this about? A few songs?”
“Alan’s exaggerating. We had a bit of a rowdy night with a group of Irish lads that were staying last time I was down and it seems he wants to repeat it.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“It was, until the morning after.”
“I don’t know whether to drink this or swim in it.” Brigitte said, a few minutes later when Alan returned with two huge glasses of cognac. “I’ll certainly sleep well tonight after this.” They sat sipping their brandy and chatting about places they’d visited in the past until Brigitte, stifling a yawn, felt the tiredness of the long drive over take her. “This has finished me off completely.” she said, swirling the last few drops of golden liquor around in the glass. “I can hardly keep my eyes open, even in such good company.” The last thing she wanted was for Jack to think he was boring her, but she was too relaxed and sleepy to be able to keep up an intelligent conversation.
“I’ll walk you back to your room then.” Jack downed the last dregs of his brandy in one. ‘And pick up those notes. Tomorrow’s another day and we’ve got a lot to do.” He waited until she stood and then followed her out of the dining room and up the stairs.
As Brigitte turned the key in the lock of her room door she turned to Jack and said in a sleepy voice, “The notes are in my case I’ll get them for you.” He hovered in the open doorway like a shadow until she came back with the sheaf of papers. “Don’t expect too much will you. I’m still not sure what it’s all about.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll just have a read through and see what comes to mind.” He bent towards her and kissed her softly on the forehead. “Sleep well,” were just words that echoed in her tired head as she heard his room door closing.
Drowsy from the huge brandy, Brigitte stood by the side of the bed and slipped out of her clothes. Too lazy to hang them up, she let them drop and they heaped into a pile on the floor. Picking it up off the bed, she looked at the sexy, short nightshirt she’d packed just in case. “Too much wishful thinking is no good for a girl,” she mumbled to herself as she yawned and slid the soft, black satin over her head. She switched of the bedside lamp and crawled under the soft feather duvet. A soft glow from the fireplace was the only light in the room and as a flicker from the dying embers danced across the walls, she slipped into a deep and dreamless sleep.
Jack, sitting alone in his room, began to read through the notes Brigitte had given him. The story was fascinating, but he was alert and listening. The words would keep him occupied while he waited. He was sure it wouldn’t take long.
The crying woke her with a start. The pitiful, heart-wrenching wail tore at her like a knife. It was the wail of a child wanting its mother. Stumbling from the bed Brigitte mumbled, “I’m coming, I’m coming.” Half asleep she groped across the bed covers in search of her robe, but couldn’t find it.
“Alright, alright. I’ll be there in a minute.” The old habitual consolation slipped automatically from her lips. It could have been her own child with the night terrors. Still semi-comatose from the large brandies she weaved her way across the bedroom in the dark. The howling grew stronger and started to get on her nerves. “Carry on like that and you’ll wake the bloody dead.” she muttered, then swore out loud when she stubbed her big toe on the table leg. “Stupid place to put a table.” She fumbled for the door, opened it and padded barefoot into the corridor. Jack crept from his room and followed her. He’d been expecting her to head for the attics, but she didn’t she went downstairs, straight out the front door and into the garden.
She stood at the entrance to the maze. “I’m on my way.” The branches of the privet caught at the fabric of her nightie. It ripped, but she didn’t notice. She didn’t have time to find her way around the paths. She was in a hurry. She had to get there before it was too late.
Brigitte pushed her way through the thick hedge. The twigs pulled and caught in her hair. One scratched her cheek, another left a bleeding red line along her bare shin. She didn’t care, she had to get there.
Jack couldn’t keep up. He kept to the grass path. She was just up ahead. There was a splash of water. It sounded like Brigitte was swimming. In the lily pond. She was in the lily pond?
He rounded the corner of the maze. Brigitte was standing knee deep in the water of the pond, groping about and pulling up the plants.
“Stop!” he called out to her. “You’re killing the lilies.” She didn’t hear him. She bent over and searched the bottom blindly with her hands.
“Where are you. Where are you.” She was crying. Jack stepped into the water and took her in his arms.
“Brigitte, it’s me. Are you with me?” She came too as if she’d been in a trance.
“Oh my God, Jack. She drowned in the pond. She got lost in the maze and drowned in the pond. Her mother couldn’t get there in time.” She sobbed. He picked her up in his arms and carried her out of the water, back to the Manor House and up the stairs. He nudged her room door open and set her down inside. She was shivering and crying and dripping all over the carpet.
“Get a shower before you catch your death of cold.” He sat on the bed ad waited until she came out of the bathroom, towelling her hair dry. “That was pretty impressive.” he said and patted the bed. She sat down beside him. He gave her a peck on the cheek. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.” And he was gone before she had a chance to say goodnight.
She woke up in the morning, ravenous and wondered what time they started serving breakfast. She dressed quickly and went to tap on Jack’s door to see if he would join her. He wasn’t there. She headed downstairs to look for him. It was his voice she heard and that of Graham’s. Behind the reception desk, the door of the office was open. They were inside talking. She knew she shouldn’t, but she couldn’t help but overhear.
“Well, now we know what we've got we can market it.” Jack said.
“Yes, it should be very profitable. Hauntings always are. Now we know where it is I’ll get the web-page set up and try and get us on the haunted list. It’ll up business no-end if we can interest the ghost-hunting crowd.”
“I’ll leave you too it, but keep me informed. You and Sue are doing a grand job. I’m glad I chose you.”
“Theme weekends, ghost hunts, the possibilities are endless.” Graham was obviously excited. She heard a chair slide back and scooted back to the stairwell. She was just coming down the stairs when Jack walked out of the office.
“I’m j
ust sorting out the bill. Are you hungry? Breakfast is on the go.”
“Starving,” She couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“I think it’s about time you met Mrs Murphy” Jack said as he loaded her case in the boot of her car.
“What?”
“Come to Ireland. I want you to help me investigate Aughnanure Castle. I think it’ll help you too. Maybe even put your ghosts to rest and you’ll get some peace.”
The idea sounded good to Brigitte, but as tempted as she was to disappear with Jack to the Emerald Isle it wasn’t a feasible option.“I can’t get away again Jack, it’s impossible. An overnighter in Cumbria is one thing, but Ireland? If the girls were on school holidays it might be different. They could spend a few days with their father and not even miss me. Term time, apart from the odd day at the weekends, they’re more or less my responsibility. Sorry, but I just can’t do it.” She was, she knew, more disappointed than he was. He stood on the gravel and watched her drive away. She wondered if she’d ever see him again, and if so, when.
Chapter 20
Brigitte sat in the shop contemplating life in general. She hadn’t seen or spoken to Jack for six weeks. Late Autumn'd passed into early winter and she wondered if she’d ever see him again. It didn’t seem likely. The time passed in backward slow-motion. She’d made a decision about the shop. The Christmas sales would get rid of most of the remaining stock and the bookworms were waiting for Brigitte. She was starting her new job in the library after the New Year. Even thinking of Christmas didn’t rouse any enthusiasm. Life was just plain boring.
She went through to the alcove, took her jacket off the hook were it hung and slipped her arms into the sleeves. She'd given up on giving up. A five minute smoke break was just what she needed. She was half way out the door with her cigarettes and lighter in her hand when the phone rang. She hoped it wasn’t Paul having a psychic moment. That was doubtful. She hadn’t seen him for the last month. Giving up hypnosis had been an awful lot easier than giving up smoking. She contemplated letting it ring, but didn’t just in case it was Jack.
“Hello,”
“Ah, Brigitte,”
Could life get any worse? The last thing I need is to talk to him.
“I’m just calling to let you know I’ll be taking the girls on holiday on Saturday. It’s all arranged with the school.”
Thanks for letting me know. Though I suppose you forgot I even existed.
“The headmistress was very understanding when I explained it was time they got to know their step-mother-to-be. It’ll make us a proper family. She quite agreed with me.”
She probably couldn’t get a word in edgeways. He always been good at one sided conversations. If I put the phone down he wouldn't notice.
“You’ll need to sort out their clothes. I’ll pick their suitcases up tomorrow evening when I come to get them. Don’t forget their passports. I don’t want any problems at the airport.”
She let him waffle on without listening. She was too busy wondering if Jack’s invitation was still open. Brigitte willed her ex to shut up and get off the line so she could call him and find out.
It was still dark when she turned off the motorway and into the car park at Stansted airport. A thrill of excitement pulsed through her. Her flight was scheduled to take off at six thirty am. She had plenty of time to check in her baggage and then get some breakfast before going through to the departure lounge. She sat sipping coffee and people watching. It’d felt good to stick the sign on the shop door, Closed for Holidays. She’d been tempted to write ‘back whenever’ underneath it, but the village was small and before she knew it gossip would say she’d run off with the milkman.
The departures display screen showed her flight was on time. She sent Jack a text message to let him know. He’d promised to pick her up on the other side. The flight display flashed the boarding notice and she stood up with a smile on her face. It would be the first time she’d been to Ireland and she was looking forward to it.
“I can’t believe I’m really here.” Brigitte said. They were standing in Jack’s kitchen sipping at large mugfuls of his best Columbian coffee.
“Who’s that?” She nodded at the figure she could see through the window.
“Ah, that’s George, or rather the poor suffering husband of Mrs. Murphy.” She mentally struck Mrs. M of her list of competitors. One down and how many to go?
The man was working away with slow, methodical chopping strokes of his hoe at some rows of green plants. She thought the scarecrow, standing arms extended in-between the rows, added a nice rustic touch, until it moved. In strange, jerky, mechanical-type steps, it skipped over the plants and danced to the far end of the garden. Its bare legs protruded from beneath what looked like a sack tied up with string. “Is that human or am I seeing things.” She peered harder after the gyrating figure. It was impossible to tell if he was wearing shoes.
She didn’t see the shrewd glance Jack gave her before he answered. “Oh, that’s Greg, their son. He’s a bit of a problem child with a lot of learning difficulties. He’s part deaf and not very communicative. We’re...well, we’re used to having him around. He comes in handy for scaring the birds.” She looked again, but the strange figure had disappeared. Her attention was caught by a shaft of sunlight reflecting on the great expanse of lake. The stretch of water reached as far away as the horizon.
“It’s a beautiful view.”
“Isn’t it just,” Jack agreed. “Lough Corrib. Steeped in local history.”
“Really?”
“Indeed it is. At one time we even had our own pirate’s stronghold....”
“Don’t tell me Black Beard was here as well...”
“No, ours was a fearsome woman called Grace O’Malley.” Jack swigged his coffee as if he were drinking a toast. “The stuff of legends our Grace. A bit like Molly Malone, only more dangerous.”
Brigitte crossed her fingers and hoped the pirate queen wasn’t planning on coming calling or at least not until she’d had a bit more practice at dealing with things. “I’ll take you for a walk along the shore later when you’ve settled in. The lake’s dotted with small islands and you’ll be able to see some of them. There’s supposed to be the same amount of islands as there are days of the year, but I think there’s probably more. One or two are quite close, in fact, just a short row away. You could get marooned on one and nobody would ever find you.”
“Are they that isolated?”
“Some of them, yes.”
“What time does Mrs Murphy appear?” The inevitable meeting was something she wasn’t really looking forward to.
“With a bit of luck she won’t. I’ve given her the day off, but that’s no guarantee she won’t pop in on some excuse or the other, so be prepared.”
“If she’s so bad, why do you keep her on?”
“Her cooking and she tends to keep me in order.”
“You don’t look as though you need keeping in order.”
“Oh believe me, on occasion, I do...” Brigitte couldn’t help but smile, there went that eyebrow again. “... definitely need keeping in order...” Jack muttered into the confines of the the fridge as he opened door. “Let’s hope Mrs. M’s remembered to pack us a snack.” On the well organised shelves sat two large plastic containers. “Oh good,” He’d pulled out the two, pale blue semi-transparent boxes and put them on one of the clutter-free work surfaces before he said, “I’ll be back in a minute, there’s something I need from my study.”
Out of sheer feminine curiosity at the culinary competition, Brigitte decided to have a sneaky peek and peeled the lid part-way back from one of the boxes. Laid on the top inside was a neatly packed set of cutlery wrapped in a starched, linen napkin. The knife and fork nestled over a perfect square of some sort of stuffed puff pastry. Along the sides smaller sealed tubs held what she guessed to be salad. She pressed the lid back quick and wondered if Jack would lend her Mrs Murphy for a week or two.
“I think
we’re ready to go,”Jack said from the door. “The car’s outside. Will you bring the lunch?” She picked the boxes up and followed Jack outside.
“Is it far?” Brigitte asked as she settled herself in the passenger seat and slipped the seat-belt on. “No, fifteen minutes and we’ll be there. Nervous?”
“Yes.”
“Try not to be...”
“That’s easy for you to say. You’ve had loads of practice. I just never know at the moment what’s coming next.”
“You’ll get used to it eventually. Well at least to some degree. Though it’s always best to be prepared for the unexpected.”
“The unexpected seems to be the rule at the moment.” Jack didn’t reply, just looked across at her and smiled.
The drive skirted the lakeside some of the way, and Brigitte fell quiet. It made a nice change of scenery from her flat homelands. Her mind drifted to how much her life had changed since she’d met Jack. It was strange, but she couldn’t say she wasn’t enjoying it.
Chapter 21
Brigitte stood facing the high wall which circled the rear of Aughnanure Castle. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “There were roses here. I can smell them.” But Jack had gone. From the corner of her eye she saw him disappearing around the side of the tower house, heading for the door. She might as well have been talking to herself. The soft fragrance of flowers grew more pungent. It couldn't have smelt stronger if there'd really have been roses growing there. A strange sadness overwhelmed her and a solitary tear slid down her cheek. Now I'm being silly. It's not the right time for getting a dose of the hormonal miseries. A slight pressure rested on her shoulder and a voice whispered soft and low in her ear. It came like the stirring of a gentle breeze rustling amongst the fallen leaves of autumn.
Take me to her.
“Myriddn?” He's here?
A presence hovered close behind her.
Take me to her.