Page 39 of The Widow's Irish Secret
‘Yes,’ Tricia replied, suddenly wanting to get away from this woman with her knowing smiles and insinuations. ‘So you and Cillian work together?’ she asked in order to take the spotlight away from her own connection with Cillian. ‘Something to do with an archaeological find, he said. All to do with a sunken ship out in the bay, I believe.’ Tricia cringed slightly at telling lies but she felt that if she pretended to know, Ilse would feel safe to tell her more.
Ilse stared at Tricia, her eyes wide. ‘He told you?’ she whispered. ‘But he can’t have. It’s confidential.’
‘I know, but he’s an old friend and we’re nearly like family,’ Tricia replied, mentally crossing her fingers behind her back.
‘Oh. I see. Well…’ Ilse hesitated. Then she shook her head. ‘No, I can’t say any more.’
‘But you’re a colleague of Cillian?’ Tricia asked, changing tack. ‘You’re an archaeologist like him?’
Ilse shook her head. ‘Not really. My work is not as academic. I’m more of a… technician. Anyway, Cillian will be back soon and I’m meeting him for dinner in Dingle next week. I’ll ask him to tell you about the project then. He’ll have been briefed about it at headquarters in Germany and if they’re happy with what we have found so far, they might agree for us to talk about it. But now I must go and chat with the nice people Sylvia introduced me to. See you later.’ Ilse smiled and slipped away into the throng of guests who were now gathering to help themselves to what was left of the cake.
Tricia looked at the back of Ilse’s head with a feeling of having tried to catch a fish that kept getting away. So Cillian was having dinner with Ilse when he came back? Ilse had a glint of coyness in her eyes and Tricia wasn’t sure she could be trusted, or even if what she had said was true. She turned as someone grabbed her arm. It was Maggie, looking excited.
‘Hi, Tricia. You look fabulous. All I managed was this lace nightmare I found in my granny’s trunk.’ Maggie gestured at her black dress that went down to her ankles. ‘Not really nineteen twenties, but I gave it a lash all the same. How’s the house coming on?’
‘Great,’ Tricia sad. ‘I’ll be moving in during the weekend. It will be a little basic at first but I’m dying to start decorating.’
Maggie nodded. ‘Brilliant. Let me know if you need any help. I’m a dab hand with the old paintbrush, you know.’
‘I will,’ Tricia promised. ‘I’m sure I’ll be screaming for help later on.’ They joined the group around Vi and Jack as Vi showed off her ring and everyone congratulated them. While she looked on, Tricia thought about what Ilse had said. So Sylvia was pretending to be organising the wedding? And Vi was going to wear Sylvia’s wedding dress and not Tricia’s? She suddenly felt she was up against a wall of conspiracies and that Sylvia, lookingso demure as she smiled at everyone, was planning to hijack the wedding that Vi so wanted be her own.
Well, two can play that game, Tricia thought.I just have to be diplomatic and pretend I’ll go along with it.
20
Tricia pushed the controversy with Sylvia about the wedding to the back of her mind as she packed her bags and loaded them into the car with the help of Vi and Jack on Sunday. She had hidden the painting in one of her suitcases and had also sent the photo to a curator at the National Gallery in Dublin but hadn’t got a reply yet. Cillian had been on her mind ever since his message to her but the painting and what to do about it was her major concern at the moment. There was no harm in finding out more about the painting, and she could decide what to do later. Tricia figured that since Cillian had left just like that, he had lost his right to tell her what to do. Her resentment at his absence was growing by the day.
Vi pushed the last bag into the boot and closed it with some difficulty. ‘There. That’s all, I think. But if you’ve forgotten anything, you don’t have far to go.’ She paused and looked at Tricia with concern. ‘Are you sure you should move in so soon, Mum? You won’t be very comfortable until all the work is done. You can stay here as long as you like.’
Tricia smiled and touched Vi’s cheek. ‘You’re so sweet. But I want to move in now and start working. I know it’ll be likecamping for a while but it’s summer and warm and I’ll have a roof over my head – my roof, the very first roof I’ve owned all by myself.’
‘You have the flat in Dublin, though,’ Vi argued. ‘That’s all yours, isn’t it? And didn’t Sean leave you anything?’
‘Yes, of course he did,’ Tricia started, not wanting to reveal too much. None of her daughters had asked her about Sean’s estate after his death. ‘But the flat is not a house and I don’t own the roof,’ Tricia replied. ‘The apartment in Dublin is just a base, a place to spend the night from time to time. I can’t imagine how we all fitted in it when you were growing up and I was working in Dublin. But that was just during the shorter breaks. The rest of the time you were either in boarding school or at Magnolia Manor. It was just you and me during term time and you were so small. It was a home then, but now I don’t feel I want to go back there.’
‘That makes sense,’ Vi said and patted Tricia on the arm. ‘Good luck, Mum. Let me know if you need anything.’
‘I will. Thank you, darling.’ Tricia got into the car and drove away while Vi waved goodbye. As she looked at her daughter’s figure in the rear-view mirror, Tricia suddenly felt a huge sense of freedom. Not that she didn’t want to spend time with her daughter, it was just that she was now heading to a new beginning and a life all on her own terms and her very own space. It felt a little frightening but also exciting and she promised herself not to let anyone dictate how or where she should live ever again.
A week later, Tricia was astonished at how much she had achieved. In the living room, the walls had been drylined and painted, and the bookcases set up in the alcoves. There was a sofa in front of the fireplace, a rug in warm colours on thesanded and polished wooden floor and even two prints with seascapes from an art shop in Dingle on either side of the window which was hung with a sage green wool curtain to block out cold draughts in the winter. But now, on this Sunday morning, the window was open, letting in the scent of flowers floating in on the warm breeze which mingled with the smell of fresh paint.
In the distance, Tricia could hear the waves lapping onto the sand of the little beach and she felt a sense of peace and tranquillity as she wandered barefoot, still in her dressing gown, across the floor, warmed by the sunlight streaming in. She turned on her little radio to Lyric FM to listen to a Chopin piano concerto while she sat on the sofa sipping tea and munching on a cinnamon bun for breakfast. Not the healthiest of meals, but she felt like treating herself on a Sunday morning like this, when she had worked so hard all week.
Cillian had not been in touch since he went to Germany and she wondered why. Was he back, and if so, why hadn’t he called her? His behaviour was erratic and she wondered if he was suddenly as hesitant about their relationship as she was. She realised that she had no right to feel he should tell her the truth about his work, when she kept her own secrets so close to her chest. But then, what hope was there for them if they couldn’t trust one another?
She looked around the room, looking forward to finishing the walls by putting her books on the shelves of the bookcases and hanging more pictures. A big load had been delivered from the farm in Donegal, mostly crockery and utensils for the kitchen, bed linen and also a few framed prints and oil paintings she and Sean had chosen together. It had felt a little sad to unpack those things but she was also happy to have the mementoes from her life with him, which had been mostly happy and full of lovely moments to remember. The old painting which might – or mightnot – be by a famous Irish artist was safely locked away in one of Tricia’s suitcases that she had put behind the immersion tank where nobody would think of looking. She hadn’t heard from the National Gallery but as it was the holiday season she assumed the curator must be away and she’d hear once she was back to work.
The sound of someone walking on the gravel outside the front door made Tricia sit up. Who could that be? Probably one of the girls calling in to say hello. They had been so sweet: Lily brought food from the café as she guessed that Tricia would have had little time for cooking; Rose had brought her daughter, Sophie, for a visit and the little girl had run around the house, climbing the stairs and then in and out of the back door to the garden and finally climbing onto Tricia’s knee to wrap her arms around her grandmother for a hug. ‘Not the best help,’ Rose had remarked, ‘but I thought you might need a break and that you’d want to see Sophie.’ Tricia declared that she always wanted to see Sophie and they had a lovely few hours together – Tricia even teaching her four-year-old granddaughter to paint a wall, which she hugely enjoyed.
As there had been no sound of a car just now, Tricia assumed the visitor had to be Vi, possibly to ask Tricia to come over for lunch. Maggie and Nora had called around, too, bringing potted plants as housewarming gifts. But it couldn’t be any of them as they would have arrived by car. It could only be Vi, Tricia decided.
Tricia walked to the front door and opened it wide. ‘Well, I suppose you’re…’ she started but stopped and stared in shock at the visitor who was not Vi, but Cillian, carrying a piece of driftwood on his shoulder. ‘Oh,’ Tricia managed, pulling her dressing gown tighter around her. ‘It’s you.’
‘Sure is.’ Cillian grinned and put the piece of driftwood on the ground. ‘I brought this up from the beach. Do you remember Isaid I thought it would make a great mantelpiece for your living room?’
Tricia backed away from the door. ‘Okay, thanks,’ she said, still trying to recover from the shock of seeing him there all of a sudden, even though he had been on her mind. ‘Bring it inside while I get dressed. I didn’t expect anyone, so I’m just pottering around and relaxing after a hectic week.’
‘Sorry to interrupt your lazy morning,’ Cillian said, looking guilty. ‘And also sorry for not letting you know I had to go away for business, but it happened so suddenly, I didn’t have a chance to…’
