Page 63 of The Widow's Irish Secret
Tricia squeezed him tight. ‘Amen to that.’
Then everything fell into place. At the end of the week the curator from the National Gallery arrived and examined the painting Tricia had found. It didn’t take her long to decide that it was indeed a work by Kieran O’Grady. A few days later the story broke and there were features in all the newspapers. By then the painting was already hanging in the National Gallery with a label that said:On loan from the Fleury family. Sylviahad immediately decided that it was too valuable to have on the premises but she wanted it to stay in the family should they need to sell it. As no relations of Kieran O’Grady were still alive, the painting was assumed to belong to Magnolia Manor as it had been found there.
The most important day of the whole summer, however, was Vi and Jack’s wedding on a beautiful summer’s day in late August. Tricia’s eyes were full of tears as she watched Vi walk up the aisle of St Mary’s Church on Arnaud’s arm. He had formed a strong bond with all the girls ever since he and Sylvia had become a couple. He had been there in the background, a support and a shoulder to cry on, a kind of grandfather to them all, who asked for no favours but gave enormous love and attention to anyone who needed it. Vi was especially fond of Arnaud as she had no memory of her real grandfather. Tricia heard Sylvia sob quietly into her lace handkerchief and noticed many people in the congregation dab their eyes as the handsome Frenchman walked his step-granddaughter down the aisle looking proud of this beautiful young woman about to enter into marriage with the man she loved.
Vi wore Tricia’s dress and Sylvia’s veil with a wreath of flowers from the garden at Magnolia Manor on her head. Jack turned around as Vi and Cillian approached and looked at his bride with love and pride. Then they said their vows in front of the priest and walked out into the sunshine in a storm of confetti as everyone clapped and cheered. There were no photographers outside the church as they had managed to keep their wedding plans away from any publicity. A friend of Dominic took the official photos and then the guests boarded a bus that would take them to the orangery where there would be a barbecue and dancing late into the night.
It was a wonderful party that even Sylvia enjoyed. She and Arnaud did a much-applauded cha-cha number on the terrace inthe walled garden to the tunes of the salsa band Vi and Jack had hired. Then they declared they would leave the dancing to the young and walked slowly up the path back to Magnolia waving at everyone.
‘The king and queen have retired,’ Cillian muttered in Tricia’s ear as they danced cheek to cheek to the now slower music. ‘Do you think we could slip away as well?’
‘Not until the bride and groom have driven away in Jack’s Morris Minor,’ Tricia protested. ‘We have to give them a proper send-off.’
‘You’re right,’ he said and twirled her around, bending her over in a deep dip. ‘In the meantime I’m not going to let go of you.’
‘I’ll hold you to that,’ Tricia whispered into his ear. She felt a huge sense of relief and happiness that things were finally settled between them. They had been on some wonderful dates, having dinner, going to the cinema or a cosy pub to listen to Irish music, or do line dancing that was great fun. Sometimes they went on hikes up the mountains that felt nearly like the old days, even if Fred was missing and they couldn’t manage the steep slopes like they used to.
‘We didn’t get to the top, but hey, we’re enjoying the best views in Ireland,’ Cillian had said as they sat on a ledge in the MacGillicuddy’s Reeks on a sunny day looking out over the deep blue waters of the Atlantic. And now, as they danced under the stars, Tricia felt she couldn’t ask for anything more than this: Cillian’s arms around her, Vi and Jack married at last, Lily and Rose content and Sylvia and Arnaud happy in each other’s company. She was no longer afraid of the future or of growing old. Whatever fate had in store, they would face it together in their own way.
EPILOGUE
Exactly a year later, Tricia held her fourth grandchild in her arms. Rose had given birth to a son who they would call Fred. Tricia had rushed to Tralee hospital as soon as she heard the news.
‘He’s beautiful,’ Tricia said and touched the baby’s head covered in soft reddish down. ‘So like his grandfather already.’
‘He’ll have red hair like Vi and Dad,’ Rose said from the bed. ‘Isn’t that wonderful?’
‘Yes.’ Tricia looked into the baby’s blue eyes. ‘Hello, little Fred,’ she said softly.
‘Fred Wolfgang Quinn,’ Rose said with a giggle. ‘Such a mouthful, but there was no getting away from it. Noel’s real first name is Wolfgang and he insisted.’
‘A noble name,’ Tricia said, not taking her eyes away from the baby. She breathed in the lovely scent of baby powder, milk and soap. ‘He’ll be tall and handsome like his father. And good at maths like his mother. Such a lucky little chap.’
The baby whimpered and squirmed in Tricia’s arms.
Rose held out her arms. ‘Here. Give him back to me. He’s hungry again.’
Tricia carried the baby carefully over to the bed. ‘Here you go, little Fred. Back to Mummy for a good feed.’
Rose put the baby to her breast. ‘Where is Cillian? Gone off again to some far-flung place to dig up the past?’
‘Not so far-flung at all,’ Tricia replied. ‘Just to Roscommon where there is a Viking grave. He’ll be back at the weekend.’
‘How is it working out?’ Rose asked over her baby’s head. ‘The on-again-off-again arrangement you have, I mean.’
‘It’s perfect for us,’ Tricia replied. ‘Believe it or not, I’m really happy. I get to have my own space, my own life and then these lovely times with a man who makes my heart sing every time he comes back. It suits us both, you see. He has the freedom he needs and I get to spend time with my family when I want.’
‘As long as you’re happy.’ Rose put her cheek against her son’s head. ‘We love being with you, too, you know. And we do like Cillian so much.’
‘I know. And he loves you all. It’s just that he isn’t cut out to be a dad and we have to accept that.’
‘He’s a very good friend, though,’ Rose said. ‘You always feel he’ll be there if he’s needed, wherever he is.’
‘He’s my rock,’ Tricia said. ‘Even if he’s absent from time to time.’
‘Maybe that’s the secret to keeping a man like him,’ Rose pondered. ‘Letting him go so he’ll want to come back. Weird, but wonderful at the same time.’
‘Ask Sylvia. It works for her and Arnaud,’ Tricia said. ‘Could be that when you’re older, this kind of relationship works best. Not leaning on each other but enjoying being together when we want.’
