Page 32 of The Granddaughter's Irish Secret
Sylvia nodded. ‘I did. But that was because the manor had to come to the end of its present existence. Now there will be no more Fleurys in Magnolia Manor, so I thought you should keep those pieces and pass them on to your daughters or nieces as you wish. The house will still stand but be reborn in a whole new form. Sad, but at least the house will not be lost.’
‘Or the gardens,’ Rose filled in. ‘The Fleurys will live on in the memories of all who knew them. But the next generations will want to know about the family who built the manor. That’s why it would be good to have a display.’
‘And the walled garden is going to be wonderful,’ Sylvia remarked. ‘What you and Lily are doing is truly wonderful, and I’m so grateful to you both.’
Rose smiled tenderly at her grandmother. ‘That makes me so happy. I felt so strongly that we had to do it. Just so the family is not lost. I know you will live in Magnolia until the end, and maybe one of us will take over your part of the manor, but it will never be the same again. So this is a new beginning with a connection with the past.’
‘Lovely,’ Sylvia said. ‘But now, my darling, you have to rest. Come and have something to eat in our kitchen, a glass of wine and a chat. Arnaud made a wonderful beef stew and I can heat up what’s left.’
‘Oh that sounds perfect. I’m actually starving.’ Rose looked at the photo she was still holding and handed it to Sylvia. ‘I just found this. Do you know who these people are? One of them looks like Cornelius’s sister Iseult. But where was it taken? And when?’
Sylvia took her reading glasses from the top of her head and studied the photo. ‘I have no idea. I’ve never seen it before. But it could be Iseult. I never met her though, so I can’t say for sure.’
‘Yes, but I saw those photos of her when she was young, and that woman looks so like her. The chin and the hair and the way she holds herself.’
Sylvia gave the photo back to Rose. ‘Yes, she does look a little like Iseult, now that I think about it. Interesting. I can see that you’re hooked on it all. But you have to give this a rest for now and come and have some supper.’
Rose wiped her hands on a rag. ‘I will. Must clean up first though. I’m covered in dust.’
‘You can use my bathroom. I’ll go and heat up the stew for you.’
When Sylvia had left, Rose tidied up the stacks of photos and bits of paper as best she could, trying to get some kind of order in the storeroom. As she did, what she’d found out from her grandmother went through her mind.So the necklace had to be returned when the recipient died, Rose thought.Maybe that’s when the copy was made? So… All I have to do is to find out who died around the time it was made. I have to find the hallmark and look it up online. That will tell me when it was made and I can go from there…
Rose ate a hurried supper in Sylvia’s kitchen, itching to go home and look at her necklace. She had a glass of wine, declined the offer of dessert, kissed Sylvia – promising to let her know how the fashion show planning went – and ran out the door. Once at home in the gatehouse, she took out the necklace from its hiding place behind the bookcase in the living room. She peered at the tiny hallmark on the back of the clasp. After a little searching she saw that it was an ‘e’. She went to her laptop to look it up online. She found that the ‘e’ on sterling silver meant the necklace was made in 1920. Strange that the jewellers didn’t remark on that. But perhaps they just noticed that the necklace was fake and didn’t bother to look. So 1920... was that when Iseult had died? It seemed unlikely, as she would only have been around forty years old then. But you never knew. She had to find out more about Iseult, and who had been given the necklace after her possible death… This search was becoming harder as time went on. Every clue seemed to lead to an impasse instead of a road ahead. It was so frustrating.
Rose put the necklace away, feeling disappointed, and went to bed, knowing she needed a good night’s sleep to prepare for the week ahead. Mondays were always busy, as the builders and workmen would be looking at the plans and asking all kinds of questions. She also had to talk to all the shops that would be providing clothes for the fashion show, and have a chat with the owner of the vintage shop so they could decide how to combine the items from Magnolia Manor and their own stock. Then there was the dinner with Henri that she was looking forward to, with a feeling of both dread and anticipation. What would happen between them during their evening together? She had decided to be on her best behaviour. But would he?
15
Rose thoroughly enjoyed the drive to Cloghane, the little village on the north side of the Dingle Peninsula. The road up to the Conor Pass had recently been widened and was now an easy drive, if a little steep. But she knew the road down on the other side was still narrow and full of hairpin bends with no barrier in parts. A real challenge for any driver. But her little Volkswagen Polo was small enough to cope with the size of the road, even if she met cars coming the other way, and she felt confident she’d arrive safely.
Once at the top of the pass, Rose pulled up at the little carpark and got out of the car to admire the view before she carried on her journey. Up here, the wind was chilly, as usual, but the views of both sides of the peninsula so spectacular. To the south, she could seeacross Dingle Bay to the Iveragh Peninsula with the Ring of Kerry, and out to sea the Skelligs. To the north, she recognised Castlegregory, a lovely old village at the beginning of the Maharees, a peninsula of sand edged with long golden beaches, pushed flat and green into the deep blue water of Tralee Bay. She could also see in the distance the mountains, the long spine of the Slieve Mish mountainsinland, the hills around Mount Brandon away in the west across Brandon Bay, outlined in dove grey and pink against the ever-changing sky. And the Atlantic spread out below, the intense blue meeting the sky at the horizon, waves crashing onto the rocks. It was dramatic and beautiful and Rose never tired of it, despite having looked at this view since she was a little girl. As she stood there, she wanted to spread out her arms like that famousTitanicscene, close her eyes and feel like she could sail away on the wind, far out to sea. But then she laughed at the idea, worried someone would see her, so she gave up the notion.
The cold wind bit into Rose’s shoulders through her white linen shirt. She reluctantly got back into the car and shrugged on her blue fleece. It was time to drive down to Cloghane and meet Henri for their dinner date. On the way down, a low cloud shrouded the road momentarily in a mist, only to lift again. Rose found the mountainside empty. She drove down the narrow winding road with only a few sheep for company, through an ancient landscape, past the waterfall, as if lost in the mists of time. It was an eerie feeling and she could imagine donkeys loaded with supplies walking up the steep hill years before.
Then she was in the valley and turned down the narrow road that led to the charming village of Cloghane, with its old houses painted in vibrant colours, and hostels for hikers who’d climbed the steep slopes of Mount Brandon. She made her way down the slipway to the quays and parked in front of the Harbour Pub, where she could see Henri’s car with his surfboard on the roof. This made her feel apprehensive, but here she was and there was no going back. At least she had come in her own car and could leave whenever she wanted if he was obnoxious.
‘Bonsoir,’ Henri said, standing just inside the door as she entered. He was dressed in a black polo shirt and jeans, with a white sweater across his shoulders. ‘Nice evening, but the wind is cold.’
‘Not as cold as on the Conor Pass,’ Rose said as she shrugged off her fleece. ‘I always stop there to look at the view when I come this way. It was freezing up there.’
‘So do I,’ he said. ‘The view from there is so amazing.’ He looked across the old pub with its timber floor and rough white walls. ‘Not many people here yet. Let’s get a table while we can.’
‘Okay,’ Rose said. ‘Why don’t we sit over there?’ she suggested, pointing at a round table in an alcove. From there she could see the little harbour and the boats moored by the quayside through the window.
‘Good idea.’ Henri led the way to the table and pulled out a chair for Rose. ‘Voilá, mademoiselle.Please sit down while I go and get some menus. There doesn’t seem to be a waiter anywhere.’
‘Thank you.’ Rose sat down and peered out the window while she waited, enjoying the view. Lobster pots were piled up beside the boats, and there was a pile of nets and floaters by the little shed. Seagulls hovered in the air, though some of them were waddling across the paving, picking at bits of crab shells.
‘Got some menus,’ Henri said as he arrived back with two big cards, handing Rose one of them. ‘Not much of a selection, but what they have is good, I’ve been told.’
‘Mostly fish and seafood,’ Rose said, scanning the list of dishes. ‘Which I love. I see they have crab claws, one of my favourites, so I’ll start with that. Then the grilled tuna.’
‘And some white wine?’ Henri asked.
‘No. I’m driving.’
‘Well I’m not, so I can indulge,’ Henri said.
