Page 31 of The Granddaughter's Irish Secret
She nodded. ‘Okay. I’ll go out to dinner with you. You’re right, we do need to go through the business plan. Tuesday night is fine. Where are we going?’
‘Cloghane,’ he replied. ‘It’s a little village on the other side of Dingle.’
‘I know where Cloghane is,’ Rose said impatiently.
‘I suppose you do,’ Henri replied. ‘The Harbour Pub there has great food. I’ll pick you up at seven.’
‘I don’t want to be picked up. I’d prefer to meet you there.’
‘But it involves driving over the Conor Pass,’ he remarked. ‘Maybe it would be better if I drove?’
‘Why? she asked. ‘Because I’m a little woman who doesn’t know how to drive across a mountain pass?’
‘No, but I thought… It’s quite a challenging road, especially from the top. Hairpin bends and no barrier at the side. I don’t like it myself.’ He stopped and smiled. ‘Oh okay, Miss Independent. In that case I can do a bit of surfing on Fermoyle beach beforehand. We’ll meet at the pub at seven-thirty, if that suits you?’
‘I’ll be there.’
‘Good. Don’t dress up.’
‘I’ll wear my best wetsuit,’ Rose said. ‘But now I have to leave you. I’m going up to the storeroom. I need to put together material for the vintage part of the fashion show.’
‘Sounds like hard work.’
‘But very interesting. Bye, Henri. See you Tuesday.’
‘Looking forward to it,’ he said, before walking down the corridor to the main entrance.
Rose shook her head and went up the two flights of stairs to the attic and the storeroom. Whatever that was about, she would find out on Tuesday. She had no idea why Henri suddenly wanted to have dinner with her, but she had to admit that itwould be interesting.Who is he really?she wondered as she continued up the stairs.And when I find out, will I like him better – or maybe dislike him even more?
14
Rose forgot all about Henri and the dinner as she delved into the attic. She found huge piles of papers, albums and boxes with knick-knacks, as well as leather suitcases with scarves, gloves and bits of fabrics from clothes that had been discarded long ago. They could be made into quilts, Rose thought as she put the nicest ones in little piles to be looked at later. Portraits in gold frames were stacked against the wall, and she studied each one, thinking they might be hung in the café – it would be a pity to hide them away. Some of them were a little eerie to look at, as she met the gaze of her ancestors who had lived at Magnolia Manor many years ago.
She smiled as she pulled out Cornelius’s portrait. He looked so charming and mischievous, but what a calamity he had caused, she thought, remembering the near disaster his gambling had brought on the family. It had resulted in the present connection with the Bernard family.
Two of the portraits brought tears to her eyes – her grandfather Liam and her father, Fred, both of whom had been painted when they were young men. Rose remembered that they had hung in Sylvia’s old study before the renovations. Theoil paintings had been replaced by photographs, and no more Fleurys had adorned the walls of the manor after the tragedy.
Rose looked for any portrait of Iseult but found none. She must have been of less importance being the younger daughter. The painting of Maria Fleury, however, was leaning against the wall beside the bookcase. Rose studied it for a while, remembering how it had always fascinated her when she was a little girl. That black hair and the flashing dark eyes spoke to her in a strange way. Maria looked like a woman to be reckoned with. Had Iseult had her mother’s personality, or had she been more demure? Rose remembered the steely look in Iseult’s eyes in the later photos and felt that she must have been both adventurous and determined. What had happened to her? And was she the person who had had the copy of the necklace made? That question kept nagging at Rose, and she knew she had to find out soon.
As Rose was sorting the more interesting mementoes into piles, something fell out of a folder onto the floor. She picked it up and found that it was a photo of a family group against the backdrop of a big villa. She tried to figure out who they were, but the faces were so faded it was hard to see any features. All she could see was that the clothes they wore were from the early 1920s, with shorter skirts and bucket hats. As she kept looking at their faces, she could see that the woman in the middle, holding a baby, had a square chin and fair hair, just like Iseult.
Rose was so absorbed by the photo that she gave a start as the door suddenly opened and a voice called her name.
‘Rose?’ Sylvia peered in, looking concerned. ‘You’ve been in here for hours. It’s past dinnertime. What have you been doing here for so long?’
‘Oh.’ Rose was pulled out of her thoughts. ‘I didn’t realise it was so late. I got carried away by all the stuff, trying to decide what to include in the vintage part of the fashion show. Andthen I thought that there could be a display cabinet in the café with some of the more interesting items. But I stacked all the portraits over there, because I think they should all go on the walls of the orangery with little plaques explaining who they were and when they lived here.’
‘That’s a good idea,’ Sylvia agreed. ‘They will make a wonderful display. They should all certainly be hung in the orangery. It could be a whole wall of portraits through the years.’
Rose nodded. ‘Exactly. And then we could have a few glassed-in display cabinets for the more interesting things, like old snuff boxes and candlesticks and brass bedwarmers and fun stuff like that, to show what life was like in the old days.’ Rose paused. ‘Maybe some of the less valuable jewellery could be in the fashion show?’
‘Oh like costume jewellery from the nineteen twenties and thirties?’ Sylvia asked. ‘And old hats and fur boas, maybe? I put them away in boxes, but we can go through them and see what would be suitable.’
‘Yes. That would be great.’ Rose looked at her grandmother as a thought struck her. ‘Talking about jewellery… Those lovely necklaces you gave us as gifts to keep… That wasn’t what usually happened, was it?’
‘No,’ Sylvia said. ‘They had to be returned on the death of the recipient. The pearls then went to the next eldest daughter and so on. Just so the pieces stayed within the Fleury family and weren’t dispersed all over the place.’
‘But you gave me and Lily and Vi the necklaces to keep.’
