The Stone House (12 page)

She had tried to talk to Kate about him, be nice and friendly and tell her that they were most definitely involved. She wanted to explain to her younger sister that meeting Patrick was one of the most important things in her life and that it was a serious relationship, much more serious than the brief fling he'd had with Kate. Kate was tense, pale and tired, exhausted from studying too hard when she finally agreed to meet in the Winding Stair Bookshop, the café on the quays overlooking the River Liffey.

‘I can't stay long,' insisted her sister, hanging her jacket on the back of her chair. ‘Minnie wants me to meet her.'

‘How did the exams go?'

‘The finals were shit! I don't know how you are meant to cram years of work and case histories into a few hours. Let's hope Mam's novena to Saint Theresa worked!'

‘You'll do fine, I promise,' Moya said.

‘It'll take more than a few old prayers.'

‘Come on, Kate. You are such a brainbox!'

They had just ordered mugs of frothy cappuccino from the waitress when Moya broached the subject of Patrick, realizing almost at once that she should have left it.

‘Why are you still seeing him?' demanded Kate angrily.

‘I really like him. I'm sorry, Kate, but I do.' She could see the hurt on her sister's face.

‘Patrick's one of my friends, one of my crowd. I don't go trying to steal your friends and hang around with them!'

‘He's still your friend.'

‘Like feck he is!'

‘He is!' Moya insisted. ‘It's just that he's my boyfriend.'

‘You're such a bitch! I don't want to hear about you and your bloody boyfriend, do you hear me?'

Moya had tried to remain calm, to reason with her, but instead had made things even worse by saying, ‘You know in your heart, Kate, he was just a friend, never your boyfriend. Never!'

The two of them ended up in a foul slanging match.

‘I'll never forgive you for what you did!' shouted Kate, grabbing her jacket to leave. ‘Patrick obviously means a whole lot more to you than I do!'

Moya sat staring at the angry figure marching along by the river down below realizing the truth of it. He did. What kind of a girl was she that would put a man above her sister? Maybe Kate was right. Maybe she should break off with him.

‘Don't mind her,' soothed Patrick later that night, kissing her and stroking her skin as they lay on the couch. ‘Kate's just jealous. She'll get over it. There was no big romantic attachment between us. I promise.'

‘But she's my sister.'

‘I know, she's a nice girl, but she's not you and it's you I want.'

As their kissing became deeper and she became more aroused, she let Patrick's lips and hands and body overwhelm any traces of guilt she'd been feeling. Moya was lost in a maelstrom of physical feelings. Although she'd had previous boyfriends and big romances nothing had been of this intensity. For all her sophisticated veneer she was old-fashioned, and at twenty-three was still a virgin.

‘I don't believe it! You are the most beautiful girl in the world!'

‘I want it to be special,' she admitted shyly. ‘I just don't want to be disappointed.'

Patrick was patient and kind and, unlike her previous boyfriend, did not try to blackmail Moya into sleeping with him. Eventually she herself could bear it no longer and wanted more than anything to make love with him.

Patrick had organized a weekend away in Hunter's Hotel in Wicklow. ‘It's a quiet hideaway,' he promised, ‘and we'll have all the time in the world for ourselves.'

Surrounded by summer roses and a tumbling garden Moya immediately fell in love with the place. Good food, walks on the nearby almost deserted beach and the biggest bed she'd ever seen. All her nerves had disappeared when she'd lain naked beside Patrick and felt the touch of his skin against hers. He had wrapped her in his arms and kissed and touched her and stroked every inch of her body till she was begging him to enter her, Patrick pushing his erection deep inside her till they climaxed together. Afterwards she lay awake
looking at his face and eyes and knowing he was the man she loved. Sweaty and exhausted, she wrapped her legs around him and began to touch him again. Feeling him begin to swell with the tips of her fingers and the rubbing of her hands, she turned her body to his.

‘Can we do it again?'

Patrick pulled her onto him this time, her long hair draping over his face as he took her nipple in his mouth and almost breathless she guided herself onto him. She groaned in pleasure.

‘Are you all right?' he said eventually. ‘I didn't hurt you?'

She shook her head.

‘I'm glad,' she said.

‘Glad?'

‘Glad it was you,' she said gently, rolling over and staring at him. Patrick kissed her eyelids as she closed her eyes. She fell asleep curled in his arms, every muscle and sinew in her body relaxed and unwound.

They enjoyed two blissful days and with great reluctance returned to the city and to work. Moya was unable to disguise her utter happiness as she sat at her desk in the art gallery and began to list the valuations on the latest paintings they would show.

She was besotted with him and went around with a perpetual smile on her face.

‘Are you sure you're not losing your head over him?' asked her mother anxiously.

‘Mum, you met him! There isn't a woman in Ireland wouldn't lose their head if they were going out with Patrick.'

‘I suppose. He's very handsome and charming and . . .'

‘Wonderful!' she interjected. ‘Mum, can't you and Dad be happy for me? I've met the most perfect man in the world.'

‘No man is perfect.'

‘Well, he's everything I want.'

‘Then I'm glad for you, pet.'

At the end of July Patrick brought her down to his family's summer house in Clifden for a long bank holiday weekend to meet his parents. His father Robert was a retired general surgeon, and his mother Annabel even at fifty-six was a stunningly attractive woman. She welcomed Moya to their large home.

‘Patrick never told us what a beauty you are,' she smiled, patting the seat beside her for Moya to sit down and skilfully proceeding to interrogate her about her family as they drank a glass of sherry before dinner.

‘Wow, Patrick, you sure know where to find them!' declared his brother Andy, who worked as an intern in Dublin, as he and their sister Louise joined them. Louise, a tall and thin sophisticated sixteen-year-old, declared she wanted to be a model or a vet when she finished school.

‘There's nothing like getting away from the city during the summer,' said his father, ‘and having the family around us.'

Moya blushed, not sure if she was considered an outsider or part of the family.

The weekend was spent walking, swimming and making salads while Patrick disappeared off to play golf with his father and brother, leaving her to help his
mother and sister with preparing lunch and dinner. Annabel was constantly on the move. Stick thin, and with lines of tension etched around her eyes, she insisted on almost every hour of the weekend being accounted for and kept up a level of incessant conversation that made Moya long for a bit of peace and quiet.

‘Can't we sneak off to a little restaurant on our own for one night?' she begged Patrick.

‘Mum would be insulted. She loves cooking for a crowd and big dinner parties.'

During the last day Moya lay in the sun, her skin turning gold, conscious of being watched by his mother. When they packed up on Monday afternoon, Annabel hugged her politely and begged her to come and join them again before the summer ended.

‘They like you,' Patrick smiled, triumphant, as they began the long drive back to Dublin in the sweltering heat, Moya so exhausted she fell asleep.

At Christmas he had proposed, buying a solitaire diamond ring in Weirs, which looked just perfect on her long slim fingers and hands. The engagement notice was put in the
Irish Times
and Maeve Dillon burst into tears with the good news of the impending marriage of her first daughter. Her father liked Patrick and had opened a bottle of champagne to toast the happy couple.

Even Kate had swallowed her anger and wished them both well, although the situation was still awkward between the three of them.

Sitting at her desk in the gallery, Moya still could not believe all that had happened and that she and
Patrick were going to be married. They were a couple and were going to start a life of their own.

Robert and Annabel generously offered to host a small family get-together to meet her parents at their Dublin home. Her flatmate Anne-Marie gave up her bed so they could stay the night in her place. ‘I'll muck in with Susan and Niamh,' she said.

Moya was eternally grateful to her good-natured flatmate as she wanted to be able to keep a good eye on her parents, make sure they arrived on time at Patrick's Foxrock home and that her father didn't get waylaid in some Dublin pub or bar.

They both looked great, her mother in a black top and skirt with a slight diamanté trim and her father in his navy suit and white shirt.

‘Don't keep fretting, Moya. I'm sure Patrick's parents are wonderful and we'll get along just fine.'

Her father begged Patrick to stop along the way at the famous Goat Pub so he could at least go in and wet his whistle before meeting the Redmonds.

‘One pint only,' she mouthed at Patrick.

Three-quarters of an hour later they almost had to pull him out of the place.

‘We were getting worried about you,' said Annabel with a smile as she ushered them into the large drawing room and took their coats.

Maeve Dillon admired the curtains and the wallpaper and the large paintings around the room, conscious of suddenly looking dowdy compared to the neat figure in the expensive designer outfit sipping a gin and tonic.

Patrick's parents were genial hosts and in no time
they were all gathered around the large dining table being served with stuffed pork fillet with creamy dauphinoise and roast potatoes and a selection of vegetables.

‘This is better than any of those fancy restaurants, Annabel,' complimented her father, tucking into his meal. Moya was almost tempted to go over and hug him for saying just the right thing.

Both sets of parents frantically searched for common ground.

‘You play golf, Frank? What do you play off?'

‘I'm a busy man, Robert. I wouldn't have time to go chasing a little ball around a field with a stick.'

‘It's great for the fresh air and a bit of exercise. You should give it a try – there are some great courses down your part of the country.'

‘I'm out on building sites and looking at pieces of property and farm lands most days.'

‘Ah, well very good!'

Moya sighed. Golf was quickly put aside as a topic as, clearly, her father hadn't the patience for it.

Eventually they settled on their offspring. Patrick had the grace to blush as his mother described the trauma she endured trying to get him to go to school on his first day, Maeve Dillon topping it with the story of the time Moya fell off a pony when learning to ride. Moya prayed that her father would keep out of it, as he loved to embellish stories and embarrass his offspring.

At last the talk turned to the upcoming wedding.

‘Moya dear, we are talking about a large wedding, aren't we?'

She smiled. They had discussed it briefly: family and close friends invited to celebrate the day in a nice hotel.

‘It's just that Robert has all his medical colleagues.'

‘Of course it will be a large wedding,' blustered her father. ‘We all want our friends to be there. Moya is our first to get married and both Maeve and I are in agreement that she will only have the best.'

‘Oh, that's so nice to hear,' gushed Annabel. ‘A generous father.'

Moya could see her mother try to catch his eye, warn him to slow down, watch what he was saying.

‘Daddy and Mum and Patrick and I, we all still have to sit down and discuss things,' Moya admitted. ‘Nothing is booked or organized yet.'

‘A word of warning,' cautioned Annabel. ‘Don't leave it too late, those wonderful country houses and good hotels like the Shelbourne and the Berkeley Court get booked out a year ahead and of course you would want to organize and book a church like Foxrock or Donny-brook as soon as possible.'

Moya swallowed hard. She had absolutely no intention of letting Annabel Redmond railroad her into some big Dublin social wedding that her family couldn't afford.

‘We were hoping to hold the wedding down in Rossmore,' interjected her mother, leaning across the table, a wicked sparkle in her blue eyes. ‘My only brother Eamonn is a priest and I know he would love to marry Moya and Patrick in our local church, with the reception perhaps at one of the local hotels or even at home.'

Wrinkles of disappointment gathered on Annabel's forehead.

‘Down in Rossmore!'

‘Yes,' beamed her mother. ‘It's something we'd always hoped.'

Moya could have jumped out of the uncomfortable dining chair and hugged her mother for standing up to the might of her future mother-in-law.

Patrick said nothing, as his mother glared over at him, his father breaking the embarrassing silence by proposing a toast to ‘the happy couple'.

‘To the happy couple,' Moya repeated to herself over again, realizing that being part of the Redmond family was at the very least going to be difficult.

ROSSMORE WAS THE
most beautiful town in Ireland as far as Romy Dillon was concerned, its long main street crammed with the supermarket and the butcher's and Scotts, the chemist, and the bank, the post office, the library, two drapery stores and a gift shop and a rake of other small businesses and offices that ensured a constant flow of shoppers. The wide main square with its bars, restaurants and craft shops overlooked the harbour and busy fishing pier where the catch of the day was landed, the fish packed on ice or frozen and made ready for sale and distribution. Hotels and guest-houses, holiday cottages and a caravan park, mostly used by summer visitors, spread along the coast road over-looking rocky shore and sandy beach. Unlike her two older sisters Romy had absolutely no intention of ever leaving the town and going to college. School and studying were bad enough without even thinking of doing a degree.