Page 120 of The Love Letter
‘Could I do it myself?’
‘I suppose so, yes, as long as you took the planning map with you. It’s a bit of a hack to Dublin, though; a good four hours by car. Take the express train from Cork, it’s faster.’
‘Then I might go tomorrow. I’ve never been to Dublin and I’d like to see it. Thanks for your help anyway, Emily. I do appreciate it.’
‘Hold your horses, Joanna. I said I didn’t find any title deeds, but I did find a couple of other things you might be interested in. Firstly, and it might be coincidence, I found an old ledger used to keep a record of staff wages in 1919. A man by the name of Michael O’Connell is listed on it.’
‘I see. So he may have worked up at your house many years ago?’
‘Yes, it would seem so.’
‘Doing what?’
‘The ledger doesn’t say, I’m afraid. But in 1922, his name vanishes from the list, so I presume he must have left.’
‘Thank you, Emily. That’s really helpful.’
‘Secondly, I found a letter. It was written to my great-grandfather in 1925. Do you want to pop over tomorrow and see it?’
‘Could you read it to me now? I’ll just get a pen and paper out to make notes.’ Joanna signalled to Margaret for some paper and a pen.
‘Righto, here goes. It’s dated the eleventh of November 1925. “Dear Stanley” – that’s my great-grandfather – “I hope this letter finds you well. I am asked by Lord Ashley to write to inform you of the arrival to your shores of a gentleman, guest of HM Government. He will be staying for the present at the coastguard’s house and will be taking up residence on the second of January 1926. If possible, we would like you to meet him off the boat, which will dock in Clonakilty harbour at approximately zero one hundred hours, then see him safely to his new lodgings. Would you please arrange for a woman to come in from the village and clean the house up before his arrival? Such a woman might wish to work for the gentleman on a regular basis, keeping house and cooking for him.
‘“The situation with this gentleman is highly delicate. We would prefer his presence at the coastguard’s house to be kept quiet. Lord Ashley has indicated that he will be in touch with further details regarding this. All expenses taken care of by HM Government, of course. Do invoice me with the bills. Lastly, love to Amelia and the children. I am yours very faithfully, Lt. John Moore.”’
‘There you go, dear,’ said Emily. ‘Did you get the gist of all that?’
‘Yep.’ Joanna skimmed the shorthand notes she had taken. ‘I suppose you didn’t find any correspondence indicating who this gentleman might actually be?’
‘None, I’m afraid. Anyway, hope it helps you on your way. Good luck in Dublin. Night, Joanna.’
28
Zoe opened the shutters and walked out onto the wide terrace. The Mediterranean Sea sparkled beneath her. The sky was a cloudless blue, the sun already beating down. It could have been a July day in England; even the maid had commented how unusually hot it was for late February in Menorca.
The villa she and Art were staying in was simply beautiful. Owned by one of the King of Spain’s brothers, its whitewashed, turreted outer shell was nestled in forty acres of lush grounds. Inside the villa, the warm breeze blew in gently through the floor-to-ceiling windows, and the vast tiled floors were kept sparkling by invisible hands. It was built high up, overlooking the sea, so unless the paparazzi were prepared to scale sixty feet of rock face, or dodge the Rottweilers that patrolled the high walls topped by lethal electrified wire, Zoe and Art had the comfort of knowing they could enjoy each other’s company undisturbed.
Zoe sat down on a lounger and gazed into the distance. Art was still asleep inside and she had no wish to wake him. To all intents and purposes, the past week had been blissful. For the first time, there was nothing and no one to drag them apart. The world was going on somewhere else, managing to turn without either of them.
Night and day, Art had sworn undying love to her, promised that he’d let nothing stand in his way. He loved her, he wanted to be with her, and if others wouldn’t accept it, then he was prepared to take drastic action.
It was a scenario she’d dreamt of for years. And Zoe could not understand why she didn’t feel ecstatic with happiness.
Maybe it was simply the stress of the past few weeks catching up with her; people often said that their honeymoons were less than perfect – the reality being less than the expectation. Or maybe Zoe had come to realise that she and Art hardly knew each other on a day-to-day basis. Their brief affair years ago had been as teenagers; immature and vulnerable human beings, blindly seeking their way towards adulthood. And, in the past few weeks, they’d spent no more than three or four days together, and still fewer nights.
‘Snatched moments . . .’ Zoe muttered to herself. Yet here they were, and rather than feeling relaxed, she was undeniably tense. Yesterday evening, the chef had cooked them a wonderful paella. When it was served, Art had pouted and suggested that next time the chef consult him on the menu before he presented it to them. Apparently, he loathed shellfish of any kind. Zoe had tucked in to the paella with gusto and praised the chef fulsomely on the recipe, which had sent Art into a sulk. He’d also accused her of being ‘too friendly’ with the staff.
There had been numerous other small things over the past few days that had irritated rather than angered Zoe. It seemed they always did whathewanted. Not that he wouldn’t ask her opinion first, but then he would talk her out of her ideas and she’d end up agreeing to his plans for the sake of a quiet life. She’d also discovered that they had very little in common, which was not surprising, given that their worlds had been so vastly different. For all Art’s fine public school and university education, his broad cultural knowledge and his grasp of politics, he had little idea of the kind of routine staples that filled the average person’s day. Like cooking, watching soaps on TV, shopping . . . just normal, pleasurable activities. She’d realised how difficult he found it to relax, how he was full of nervous energy. And even if hehadagreed to watch a film with her, she doubted they’d be able to reach a consensus on which one to choose.
Zoe sighed. She was sure most of these differences were discovered by every couple who suddenly began living together twenty-four hours a day. It would work itself out, she assured herself, and their magical romance of the past could be sparked into life once more.
The problem was exacerbated, of course, by the fact that they were held captive in the most luxurious prison imaginable. Zoe looked beneath her and thought how much she’d like to leave the house and go for a long walk on the beach alone. But that would mean alerting Dennis, the bodyguard, who would then tail her in the car, so that the whole point of being solitary was lost. Yet for some reason, she thought, she hadn’t objected to Simon being around her. She’d found his presence and his company calming.
Zoe stood up and rested her elbows on the balcony railing, remembering the twenty-four hours she and Simon had spent together at Welbeck Street. The way he’d cooked for her, soothed her when she was in such distress. She’d felt like herself then, like Zoe. Comfortable to be who she was.
Was she herself with Art?
She didn’t know.
