Page 16 of The Last Love Song
‘Sorcha...is this...can we?’
She opened her eyes and smiled up at him.
‘Yes. Just promise me one day we’ll be married. Then I can think that this won’t be a mortal sin.’
‘We’re married now in our souls. Love is no sin in God’s eyes, Sorcha.’
‘No. Then love me, Con.’
Two hours later, Sorcha was back home, soaping herself in a hot bath. She felt a little sore, but it was a nice pain, because it was where she and Con had been joined. She’d cycled like a madwoman all the way home, terrified her mother might have called Maureen’s to find out why she was so late, only to discover Sorcha hadn’t been there at all. But when she arrived home, her mother was in bed with a migraine and her father was still out at a meeting in the community hall.
Slipping her nightgown over her head, Sorcha climbed into bed. She looked at the almost hairless teddy that usually kept her company in bed. Grabbing him, she tossed him out of bed.
Teddies were for children.
And now she was a woman.
After tonight, Sorcha knew that she and Con completely belonged to one another. All would have to be well.
She would make sure of it.
5
‘So, Helen, you can see from the figures that the investments your trustees have made have been rather successful. Your money has more than doubled. Now, it’s obviously your decision, but I would recommend you keep the investments as they are and live off the interest. I’d say there will be enough to provide for the upkeep of the house and grounds, and also keep you very comfortable.’
Helen looked across the desk at the papers sat in front of Seamus O’Donovan. There were columns of upside-down figures relating to her financial future – figures she must grasp and understand if she was to take control of her life.
‘May I take those home with me, so I can look through them?’
Seamus raised an eyebrow. ‘Why of course, Helen. But without wanting to seem rude, it’s doubtful you’ll be able to make sense of them.’
‘I’m sure you’re right, Seamus, but I’ll take them just the same.’
‘Grand job. Now, Helen, I need you to decide whether you wish me and the other trustees to carry on managing your money for you. As I said before, I’m also prepared to continue to manage the house and grounds. We would have to come to some kind of financial agreement for my trouble but I would not be greedy.’ Seamus tidied the papers in front of him, slid them into an envelope and handed them to Helen.
‘Thank you, Seamus. I appreciate all your help and I’m grateful to you and the other trustees for managing my money so well for the past fourteen years.’
‘’Twas nothing, Helen. Good luck with those figures. I’m happy to help if you want anything explained.’
Helen stood up. ‘Can we meet again next week?’
‘Of course.’ Seamus walked her to the door. ‘Come on Wednesday for your usual supper with us. Arrive a little early and we can talk before we eat. And, Helen?’
‘Yes, Seamus?’
‘In three weeks’ time you’ll be a very wealthy young lady. Until then I am still a trustee of your estate. Therefore I feel justified in giving you a few words of warning. Trust no one. There are a lot of people out there who will want to take advantage of your, er, youth – and money.’
Helen smiled at him. ‘Thank you, Seamus. I’ll be careful.’
‘Grand. Goodbye then.’
‘Goodbye.’
Helen opened the heavy entrance gates to the drive that wound up to the house. As she walked she looked at the land around her with new appreciation. The formal gardens were small, with most of the acreage in the farmland surrounding the house. This was rented out to local farmers for grazing. As the house came into view, she studied it. She’d always thought it ugly, its solid greystone walls built to withstand the salt air, rain and high winds that came from living so close to the sea. It was always cold inside. The six formal rooms downstairs were never used. Aunt Betty gave them a once-a-year spring clean, then the dustsheets would be replaced over the antique furniture, all in immaculate condition due to the lack of use. She and her aunt lived mainly in the kitchen, where the range burnt night and day.
Apart from the large black-and-white-tiled bathroom, the only other room Helen visited was her bedroom. Ignoring the grand, high-ceilinged bedrooms on the first floor, she had tucked herself up in one of the cosier attic rooms, originally used by the servants. A large window seat allowed her to view the village of Ballymore on one side and the beach on the other. She spent a lot of time sitting there, gazing out at the world.
Helen let herself in through the side door that led through a lobby into the kitchen. There was a note from her aunt saying she’d retired early. A pot of overcooked stew was simmering on the range. Helen helped herself to a bowl, then sat down at the large wooden table and took her papers out of the envelope.
