Read Secrets of the Lighthouse Online
Authors: Santa Montefiore
Secrets of the Lighthouse (45 page)
‘Did you ever wonder who he was?’
‘That didn’t matter, either.’
‘Mum thinks you don’t know. She begged me not to tell you. I imagine she thinks it’ll ruin your marriage.’
He smiled. ‘Nothing will ruin our marriage, Ellen. Not then and not now. One has to be philosophical.’
‘I always felt different, growing up,’ she reflected. ‘Now I know why.’
‘You weren’t different, Ellen. You were yourself. You’re not simply a product of two people; you’re an individual, unique soul, unlike anyone else. You’ve always
been our daughter and a vital part of our family. You fit in irrespective of your differences, because you belong. Nothing can change that except your negative thoughts. If you go around thinking
you don’t fit in, you will eventually believe that you don’t.’ He grinned at her fondly. ‘And it’s your differences which make you compelling, Ellen. They make you
special.’
‘I never felt special.’
‘Then that’s our mistake, not yours.’
‘I wish we had been able to discuss this before.’
‘I don’t think it would have been possible before. The timing is just right now. You had to go to Ireland in order to understand your mother’s motives. She’d never have
told you herself. I’m afraid this was the only way.’
‘So, I suppose you’re going to have to tell her that you knew all along,’ she said, standing up.
‘Yes, she might not be too pleased about that.’
‘In which case, I’ll make sure I’m out when you tell her.’
He stood up, too. ‘Darling, you’ve been very brave.’ He pulled her into his arms and gave her a gentle squeeze. She rested her head against his solid, reliable chest.
‘I’d like you to stay here at Eaton Court, but if you want to go back to Ireland, I’ll understand. Don’t ever feel you’re not free to do exactly as you
please.’
‘Are you disappointed I’m not going to marry William?’ she asked.
‘A little,’ he replied and her heart stalled. ‘I haven’t seen such a formidable forehand since I played with Lorcan Martin.’
‘Oh, really.’ She laughed and pulled away.
‘No, I’m not disappointed. I’d have been much more disappointed if you had accepted someone simply because you thought it was expected of you.’
She looked at him steadily, pleased to see that his eyes were light blue and full of amusement again. ‘Thank you, Daddy,’ she said.
He kissed her forehead. ‘You’re my daughter, Ellen, and I’m very proud of you.’
In spite of her improved relationships with both parents, the following weeks dragged by for Ellen. She missed Ireland and Peg, and she missed Conor until it felt as if her
pining had burned a hole through her heart. She knew now that he wasn’t going to call her, but she couldn’t bear to sever the final tie that made communication with him possible. She
kept his telephone in her bag just in case. The constant disappointment of hearing nothing from him served to remind her of her stupidity and pull her deeper into her unhappiness.
Emily was a loyal and constant friend, but even she, after weeks of arranging dinners and cinema nights, lost patience. She suggested taking some of her holiday time early and flying off
somewhere hot, but Ellen refused to go anywhere. She wanted to hide beneath the bedspread and never come out. Her mother told her to look for a job. There was nothing more corrosive to one’s
morale than sitting about doing nothing. ‘What you need is a project,’ she said briskly. ‘At least do
something
. Why don’t you come and help me with one of my
charities? We’re always looking for people to stuff envelopes.’
But her mother was right, she
did
need a project. With a racing heart, she pulled out her laptop and placed it on the desk in her bedroom.
Why don’t you put on some music,
light a candle, inject a bit of atmosphere into the room, then empty your mind
and see what comes
, were Dylan’s wise words. So she lit a candle and played Dylan’s playlist
of songs on her iPod. The music was stirring, her heart expanded with love and longing and her fingers were a channel for her creativity to flow through her.
Oh battle-weary lighthouse,
Still rising from the sea,
Don’t you know it’s over and the angels call to thee.
It’s time that you surrendered
To the greater light,
Rise up eternal being and put aside your fight . . .
She wrote pages and pages of songs, about Conor, about Dylan and about the lighthouse, whose symbolism she didn’t quite understand. The words flooded her consciousness from the still,
eternal part of her she had discovered that first morning on the beach in Ballymaldoon, and spilled onto the screen. Then she went out and bought a guitar and composed music as Dylan had taught her
to do. The songs she produced raised her spirits and her sorrow found a vent. She now understood why Dylan had poured his unhappiness into his songs, because it made him feel better. Ellen’s
songs made her feel better, too, and little by little the fog lifted off her future and she was able to see it more clearly.
She realized that she was never going to be happy as long as she stayed in London. She wasn’t going to be happy without Conor and that was the truth. But she would rather pine for him in
Connemara than here in London, where she felt isolated and disconnected. At least there she might bump into him. In any case, she could work for Alanna, write her songs and play them with Dylan.
She’d help Peg with her shopping and learn to look after all her animals. She would throw herself into her new life with vigour, because Connemara would be her home. The thought of going back
filled her with energy and enthusiasm. She leaped off the bed and pulled her suitcase out from under it. For the first time in weeks she felt happy.
Time moves slowly on. I don’t know how many weeks go by but spring is here now. I see it blossoming in the apple trees outside Reedmace House in spite of the dense fog
that follows me wherever I go. I imagine the sun is warm and the hills are bright with yellow and purple heather. I remember the troll’s bridge and the lake, but I haven’t the will to
go and visit those places dear to me. I haunt the corridors of the castle with the other ghosts whose unhappiness chains them to this pitiful level of existence. It is not a place I would choose to
be, but I feel powerless to raise myself up. My jealousy has robbed me of my freedom. It has taken everything. I am more alone than ever.
And then Conor comes back to Connemara. I am horrified by the state of him. He has not grown a beard or let his hair reach his shoulders like before, but his eyes are full of sorrow and his
cheeks are hollow. I experience the same pain in my heart that I felt when Dylan and Ellen parted. My spirit swells with it, and I feel a warmth in me that I haven’t felt in a long time. It
grows stronger and more intense as I follow him into the castle and up the stairs to his tower.
This tower room was a storeroom when I was alive. Conor didn’t need it then. When I died he made it his secret sanctuary. A refuge from the world where he could be completely alone. Now he
seeks refuge from his pain, but he cannot drive it out because it is a thorn in his heart and only Ellen can remove it. He lies on his bed and pulls a pillow to his chest. I know he is not thinking
about me. He’s pining for Ellen, and for the first time since my death I want his happiness more than my own. I want it so badly; I’m willing to do
anything
.
This longing to take away his pain makes me feel strangely uplifted. I cannot extract the thorn and I cannot bring Ellen back, but still, the desire to do so fills me with joy. How odd it is to
feel pleasure in this way. I have only ever thought of myself. My love was a selfish love and therefore not love at all, but neediness. I realize now that my whole life was driven by this desperate
need – and my death a result of it. Oh, why didn’t I know this before? Why now, when my existence has been reduced to this dark and stifling limbo? Did I really have to suffer so much
to learn such a simple thing?
I long with every fibre of my soul to lift Conor out of his grief, even if it means losing myself in the process. If I could wave a magic wand and return Ellen to him, I would, even though
I’d be forgotten and relegated to the shelf of unwanted memories. What would it matter? Conor doesn’t want to remember me. After what I did, I am not surprised. How could I ever have
believed that
that
brutal act would force his love? I should have been content with the love he gave me, but I wasn’t. I wanted more and more and more and went to terrible lengths to
get it. I never felt loved enough. But if I had only shown
him
love I would have felt loved in return, that’s the irony of it. If I had only thought of what I could give and not of
how much I could be given, I would have been happy. Why didn’t I know that when I was alive? Why did I allow my jealousy to destroy my marriage? Why did I allow my jealousy to destroy
him
? I watch this strong and powerful man sob like a child on the bed and I realize it is because of me. I did this to him. I did it in life and I did it again in death. It is time I put
it right. It is time I let him go.
But what can I do? There must be something. And as I think of all the things that might bring Ellen and Conor back together again, I notice my spirit growing a little lighter and the fog around
me dispersing slightly. I feel more energetic and
alive.
With this new sense of selflessness I leave the castle and will myself to the beach where I seek inspiration from the sea. I could
go to London and whisper into Ellen’s ear. I could tell her Conor loves her and give her the idea to return to Ballymaldoon. I could find Ciara and ask her what to do. I could seek her help.
I am sure I am not as powerless as I previously thought. I am power
ful
, if my actions are motivated by true love. I don’t know why I know this. I just do.
It comes as a complete surprise, then, when I see Ellen on the beach with Peg and Mr Badger. They are walking up the sand, chatting, as if Ellen had never left. I wonder then whether I am not
alone after all. Whether there is someone watching over me, guiding me from a higher level of existence? If there are lower levels, surely there must be higher ones too, where angels dwell. Levels
that I can’t see. With this thought I feel myself grow a little lighter, and, as a consequence, a little happier. I watch Ellen and know that there is something I can do to help. I just
don’t know what it is.
And so I follow her back to the house and I watch them drink tea and talk. I watch Oswald come over in the evening to play cards. I watch Dylan and Ellen strumming the guitar in the sitting room
and singing in harmony. I watch Johnny and Joe turn up for breakfast. I watch Ellen working in Alanna’s shop and having lunch with Dylan in the pub. I watch life go on, but with the sole
purpose of somehow bringing these two distraught lovers together again. I know I can do it. I feel I’m being guided, with senses more alert and open because I am not consumed with thinking
about myself any more. I know my opportunity will come and I anticipate it with joy.
I wait: after all, there is nothing else to do, and my waiting gives me pleasure. I notice the beauty of the countryside as the fog evaporates in the light of my love. I enjoy the longer days
and the busy nesting of birds. I listen to their song and watch their flight. I notice the flutter of butterflies and the industrious little bees and my heart expands with the magnificence of
God’s earth.
And then it comes. I am so thrilled I can barely believe it. Ellen is alone one afternoon at the table in Peg’s sitting room. Mr Badger is asleep on the rug in front of the fire which Peg
has built because it has rained all day and it is damp and cold. Ellen has lit a scented candle and is playing Dylan’s list of songs on her iPod. The room is infused with the sweet scent of
fig and the stirring sounds of violins. Ellen is transported. Her mind is open and empty, and as fertile as the richest soil. It is easy for me to plant my seeds. She thinks she is going to write a
song, but I intend to give her a story.
I drop my words into her mind and she channels them unwittingly onto the page. Her typing is fast and efficient, the flow of inspiration continuous and uninterrupted. It is easy and we are both
quivering with exhilaration and surprise, too excited to question why or how.
October 8th 2007
It was not yet dark. A yellow glow smouldered behind the hills where the sun was setting, turning the sky a pale flamingo pink. The lighthouse was a black silhouette as we rowed out in the
little boat that knew us both so well. It carried us over the waves with its usual determination, like a brave and loyal servant. I smiled at my lover encouragingly as he rowed. He was strong,
with broad shoulders and a wide, muscular chest. He grinned back, his face full of adoration, and I felt my heart swell with pleasure. It was so pleasant to be loved with such abandon.
We had rowed out like this many times before, though I had done it more than he. The lighthouse was my secret place where only I ventured in my little boat, full of dreams. I liked to lie
beneath the stars and imagine other worlds out there in the infinite space. I listened to the lapping of waves and the cries of gulls and took pleasure from the danger I was in, knowing the
fury I would incite if I was caught. But tonight was different. I was not alone. I was with my lover and I had a plan. This time, if I was caught, it would be infinitely worse. I sensed that
tonight something dramatic was going to happen. Tonight I would give him the opportunity to prove his love once and for all.
We reached the island and tied the boat to the rocks. The tide was out and the little pools were shallow and full of shrimps and crabs. It was a still night and the wind was a silken caress.
He took my hand and we hurried up the grassy path to the lighthouse. Inside, the wooden stairs were lined with small candles. He lit them one by one and they glowed brightly through the dusk as
the sun sank lower and the sky darkened above us. Up the stairs we climbed, through the avenue of little tea lights, until we reached the room at the top, which was round like a nest.
My room was as exquisite as Aladdin’s cave. I had hung drapes on the walls in rich purples and greens, and the floor was covered with brightly coloured rugs and velvet cushions. There
was no electricity, for the lighthouse had not been used in years; the only light was given by the rows and rows of candles, in all shapes and sizes, which were placed around the room and
filled the air with perfume.
We opened a bottle of wine and drank to our health and our future. We lost ourselves in each other. He whispered that he loved me, that he would die without me, that I was the very air he
breathed. I told him I didn’t believe him, so he kissed me even harder, trying to prove his devotion. I revelled in his valiant attempts to convince me that I held his heart in my hands.
I basked in the warmth of his enthusiasm. ‘I love you, I love you, I love you,’ he murmured as he tried desperately to possess me body and soul. ‘I love you, I love you, I
love you,’ he groaned. But I did not love him back. I could not, for there was only one man I loved and it was not he.
My lover heard the motor before I did. I was slowly coming down from the heady heights of his flattery, which had fulfilled me more than the physical pleasure of our lovemaking. He sat up in
panic and lifted his nose, like a dog that senses danger on the wind.
‘Can you hear that?’ he asked and I listened. He was right. The sound of a motorboat rose above the sounds of the sea.
I sat up and feigned surprise. ‘It’s him,’ I said, hurrying to my feet and searching for my clothes among the cushions.
‘Jaysus! You’ve got to hide me!’ he cried, pulling on his trousers.
‘There is nowhere to hide,’ I replied, and I watched his face contort with fear.
‘What’ll he do?’
‘Leave it to me.’
‘You said he was in Dublin!’ he hissed.
‘I thought he was,’ I replied, buttoning up my dress. ‘It might not be him,’ I added. But I knew, because I had planned it just like this.
‘It
is
him,’ he replied and his big eyes gazed at me, full of dread. ‘What’ll you tell him?’
‘That I love him.’
‘That’s not good enough!’ he retorted. ‘He won’t believe you.’ But it was the truth and the only truth. I had done this for him, for us. He would surely
realize how much I needed him; that every time he left me I was at the mercy of predatory men who wanted me for themselves. He’d realize that he couldn’t leave me. I needed him and
I needed his love. If that didn’t convince him of my need, nothing would.
‘He’ll believe me,’ I told him. ‘Trust me.’
I hurried down the stairs, past the burning candles, careful not to catch the hem of my dress in the flames. Outside, it was dark but for a sliver of moon peeping out of the cloud, which
left a thin trail of mercury on the water. My husband was tethering his boat to the rocks. He lifted his eyes to the lighthouse and saw me standing in the doorway. I anticipated his fury and
his fear, like a child anticipating the embrace of an anxious parent. He strode over the rocks and up the grassy path towards me. ‘What’s all this about?’ he asked and his
eyes weren’t full of fury and fear, but of weariness and exasperation. I suddenly noticed how tired he looked and how unhappy.
‘I thought you were in Dublin,’ I answered.
‘Where is he?’ he demanded. There was nowhere to hide and my lover stepped out from behind me, sheepish and afraid.
My husband’s face grew red with amazement. ‘How could you, Caitlin? He’s just a boy!’
‘I’m a man,’ said my lover bravely, pulling his shoulders back, but compared to Conor he was still a slender youth.
‘Ronan Byrne. Have you no shame?’
‘I love her,’ Ronan declared.
‘What would your mother say? Hasn’t she been through enough already?’
‘Don’t bring Mam into this.’
‘She’s a good woman, Ronan. She doesn’t deserve to have her heart broken all over again.’ Ronan then stumbled, like a horse before a fence he suddenly realizes is too
high to jump. ‘Go on home,’ said Conor wearily. ‘I don’t want Peg to ever learn about this, do you understand?’ There was a warning tone to his voice which made my
skin grow cold. ‘I’ll take Caitlin back in my boat.’ Ronan didn’t know what to do with himself. I could see him panicking, thinking of me and thinking of his mother. He
remained trapped on the rocks like a terrified crab.
My anger boiled over in a volcano of jealousy. ‘This is the problem. This is what it’s all about. You don’t care about me, Conor! You don’t mind that I’m
sleeping with another man. You don’t love me any more. You wish I was dead!’
Conor’s mouth twisted in anguish. ‘Caitlin, I’ve had enough of your dramatics. You’ve pushed me over the edge now and you’ve only got yourself to
blame.’
I began to sob. ‘You don’t love me,’ I wailed.
‘
I
love you,’ Ronan cut in, emboldened by my tears. ‘Come away with me, Caitlin.’
Conor interrupted impatiently. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Ronan. Go on home to your mother and forget about it.’
‘Caitlin loves me!’ he protested fiercely.
‘No, she doesn’t,’ Conor told him calmly. ‘You’re just a pawn in a bigger game.’
‘That’s not true.
You
don’t love her,’ Ronan accused, even more confident now. ‘You don’t care for her. You’re never here.
I’m
here.
I
look after her.
I
give her what you can’t.’ He turned to me, his eyes burning with the spark of an idea. ‘Run away with me,
Caitlin. Right now. We don’t ever have to come back.’
‘I don’t love you, Ronan,’ I told him. ‘I love Conor. I always have.’
But Ronan thought that I was lying to protect him. ‘I understand,’ he said quietly.
‘No, I mean it, Ronan. I’m not just saying it. It’s been fun, but I love Conor. I love him with all my heart and I will die loving him.’
Ronan’s face crumpled like a little boy’s as the sincerity of my words hit him like a punch in the stomach. ‘It’s not true, Caitlin. I don’t believe you.
You’re just saying that to protect me.’
‘I’m not,’ I insisted. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘But we can be happy, far away from here, Caitlin. We can start again. I know we can. Let me show you how happy we can be.’
I smiled at him sadly. ‘I’ll never leave my home and my children, Ronan. Do as Conor says and go home.’ Then I lowered my voice for only Ronan to hear. ‘Please, my
love, don’t be a fool. Leave before he lays a hand on you.’ He gave me a long, desperate stare, and then hurried past me, down the path to where we’d tied the boat to the
rocks. I hoped he’d be safe, rowing out in the dark. I glanced up at the sky and saw the moon, now big and round like a crystal ball, and realized it would be sufficient to guide him back
to shore.
‘Come on, Caitlin,’ said Conor, reaching for my hand.
‘So you think this is a game?’ I asked.
‘You said yourself that you don’t love him. You’ve been using him to get at me, but I’m unmoved, Caitlin. Unmoved.’
‘He’s been my lover for months,’ I gloated provocatively. ‘While you were in Dublin and America, I’ve been making love to Ronan. What does it matter if I
don’t love him, Conor?
He
loves
me
. You heard him! He loves me with all his heart.’
‘What does it matter?’ he repeated, horrified by my callous disregard for Ronan. ‘Caitlin, have you lost your mind? He’s a boy and you’ve destroyed
him.’
‘I wanted you to show me you care.’
‘By provoking my jealousy?’ He stared at me incredulously. ‘You’d go that far to provoke me?’
‘You don’t understand me. After all these years, you don’t know me at all.’
‘No,’ he said in a quiet voice. ‘I don’t think I do.’
At that point I could not contain my frustration a moment longer. ‘What will it take for you to love me, Conor?’ I cried in despair.
‘I did love you, Caitlin, but you’ve drained me dry. I have nothing left to give.’ He was shouting at me now, his voice strained with frustration. ‘You need help,
Caitlin. Professional help, because I don’t know what else I can do. You’re not in your right mind. I should have realized years ago instead of putting my head under the carpet and
ignoring your cries for help. I’ve been callous. I’m sorry, darling. You don’t need me but a good doctor who knows how to make you better.’
‘You think I’m mad.’
‘No! You’re not mad, you’re unbalanced. I know I can get help for you.’
‘You don’t want me any more! You want to claim I’m insane and have me put away.’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘You want me put away!’
‘No.’
‘You want me dead!’ I whispered, shocked at the realization that he must surely want me out of the way.
‘No, Caitlin, I didn’t say that.’ He reached for me, but I threw myself back. I suddenly felt the world spinning away from me. I felt detached, floating above the island
and the lighthouse, miles away from reality. It was as if I knew I was on the brink of losing everything, but unable to stop myself.
‘You want me dead!’ I repeated and the calmness in my voice frightened me. ‘When all I have given you is love.’ I turned and fled up the stairs.
I glanced back to see that he was not following me. I wanted him to run after me and pull me into his arms and beg forgiveness. But he didn’t. I was alone on the stairs. Alone as I
felt I had been all through our marriage. I let out a desperate sob, turned back to the stairs and ran to the top. It wasn’t until I reached the balcony which ran all the way around the
lighthouse that I realized my dress had caught fire. It was consuming the fabric with such speed I had no time to rip it off. Before I knew what was happening I was burning. Crazed with terror,
I had one final thought before I threw myself over the edge:
He’ll realize he loves me when it is too late, and he’ll regret it for the rest of his life.
A moment later I was above myself, watching my body land and break on the rocks below. I saw Conor on the balcony, staring down in horror and disbelief. He
had
followed me, after
all.
How clear everything is to me now. I had his love but I hadn’t recognized it. How foolishly we behave when we know no better. Why does it take so much unhappiness to make us realize
there is nothing of any value in our lives but love? That is all there is. It is all we take with us when we die. It is the only thing I will take with me when I move on. It is all that I am. I
just never knew it.