Page 105 of The Honeymoon Affair

When I arrive at the National Library, I realise that the ankle boots and jeans are perfect, and it’s the sparkly top that’s a little bit too much. Most of the guests are rocking a traditional Irish look of corduroy trousers and woolly jumpers, and quite a number of the men are sporting tweed caps. The woman at the lectern is making a speech in Irish, the general gist of which is that Seán Óg’s book is an important piece of work about a seminal period in our history.

I’m guessing that he hasn’t spoken himself yet and that I haven’t arrived at the tail end of proceedings. I accept a glass of rather warm white wine from a passing waiter, and look around for Charles. But it’s Ariel I see first, looking smart and businesslike in slimline trousers, a red jacket and high heels. She’s wearing her copper hair in what seems to be her signature style of a loose knot, while the drop earrings that match her ring sparkle in the light. As I look at her, she turns and sees me, and immediately walks over.

‘You made it,’ she murmurs so as not to distract from the woman who’s speaking. ‘In plenty of time too.’

‘My boss knew I had something on and let me leave early,’ I tell her. ‘Is Charles here?’

‘He was chatting to Seán Óg earlier,’ she says. ‘I’m sure he’ll scoop you up when Seán’s finished speaking.’

‘I haven’t missed it so.’

‘No. Even though you were given every opportunity.’ She shrugs. ‘Seán tends to . . . Ah well, you’ll hear for yourself.’

The woman at the lectern is introducing the author now, and there’s enthusiastic applause from the crowd.

I remember him from the party: a tall, somewhat unkempt man with a fearsomely bushy beard. Then he was wearing what I reckoned was an ancient green velvet jacket over black trousers. Today he’s in jeans and a tweed jacket with elbow patches. He reminds me of Mr O’Hanlon, my old history teacher. Poor Mr O’Hanlon spent three years trying to interest me in the past when all I cared about was the future.

Seán Óg begins by thanking what feels like every single person in the room, then starts to talk about his book. I tune out and survey the guests instead. I still can’t see Charles and I want to go looking for him, but Ariel is standing close beside me and I don’t feel I can walk away. I wonder if her feet are killing her in those heels. At least my ankle boots are low.

Seán speaks for about fifteen minutes and then reads from his book for what seems like an hour but is probably another fifteen minutes. When he finishes, the woman who introduced him thanks him and says he’ll be signing copies for anyone who wants one. An orderly queue forms at a desk set up for that purpose.

‘You should buy a copy,’ says Ariel. ‘It’ll make a great gift.’

‘What!’ It’s a massive hardback, and despite the fact that it’s being sold at five euros off the recommended price, it’s eye-wateringly expensive.

‘You’ve got to support him,’ she says.

‘I don’t even know him.’

‘You’re in the book world now.’

Maybe Dad would like a copy, I think. He’s interested in history.

‘How are the wedding preparations coming along?’ Ariel changes the subject.

‘It’s kind of tricky until we can set a date. And Charles is reluctant to set a date until he’s divorced. From you,’ I add, as though she mightn’t be aware she’s part of the whole thing.

‘It’s all under control,’ says Ariel. ‘He came into my office the other day demanding to know if my part of it was on schedule.’

I’ve no idea how divorce works in practice, so I say that I hope it is and she says that of course it is and that one day soon I’ll be free to waltz up the aisle with Charles.

‘I read some of the old pieces from years ago about you and him,’ I say. ‘It must have been a real flurry of love and success.’

‘Our feelings for each other grew over time,’ she says. ‘It wasn’t as speedy a love story as yours seems to be.’

‘It was a fun thing in the Caribbean,’ I tell her. ‘I didn’t expect to feel the same when we got home. But I did. I do.’

‘I hope you’ll be very happy together.’

Her words sound automatic, but I say that I hope we’ll be happy too.

‘I’m sure you thought you and he would be for ever,’ I add, ‘but sometimes things go wrong and it’s best to accept that fact. I guess finalising your divorce from him will give you permission to move on.’

Her eyes narrow. ‘In what way?’ she asks.

‘I simply mean that you can be professional without being around all the time. He admires you a lot,’ I add. ‘As a professional.’

‘Indeed.’

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