‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Inside and out.’ He wasn’t likely to get over his pride in showing her off. That they were married at all still waked an astonishment in him. ‘We’re both needing a few days to unwind. There’s no better place to do it than here.’ The most excitement he could recall from his first visit was a wandering cow in the kitchen garden.
He wiped his hands with the towel and replaced it on the tray. ‘Many thanks,’ he said to the server, who cast a cool glance beyond his.
‘We’re so sorry about the power being out, but it happens often with the big rains.’ Anna turned and spoke to Cynthia. ‘I hope you don’t greatly mind candle power, Mrs. Kav’na.’
Cynthia came to them and slid her arm in his. ‘Not in the least. I love candle power.’
‘Such dreadful weather, it’s been raining for three weeks. I do apologize.’
‘Please call me Cynthia, and you needn’t apologize for anything at all. I love rain.’
The old man stumped up with his cane. ‘A villainous rain!’ he declared in a loud voice.
‘Meet my father, William Donavan, he’s our keeper of the fire at Broughadoon. The Kav’nas are from the States, Da. North Carolina.’
‘Rev’rend, missus, good evenin’ to you. We’re destroyed by th’ rain entirely.’ William removed a handkerchief from his vest pocket and gave his nose a fierce blowing.
He reckoned William a handsome man, even with a once-broken nose that had been badly set. The rope of an old scar crossed his left temple.
‘Now, now, Da, not entirely. But no one goes hungry,’ she assured them, ‘our Aga is fired by oil and there’s a lovely rack of lamb roasting for your dinner.’
‘I’m desperate with th’ hunger,’ said the old man.
‘Our own lamb,’ she said. ‘We hope you’ll approve. The dining room in thirty minutes, then, straight down the hall and to the right. Flashlights and chamber sticks on the book table.’
‘Chamber stick,’ said Cynthia, not knowing the term.
Anna laughed. ‘Something to stick a candle in and light the way to your bedchamber. Oh, and when you’re ready to retire, we’ll bring buckets of hot water so you can have a wash.’
A good-looking woman brimful of energy, just as he remembered. Ten years ago, she appeared to run the place virtually single-handed. He didn’t remember meeting William before, or Liam.
‘And what may I get you in the meanwhile?’ asked Anna. ‘Whiskey? Glass of wine? Cup of tea?’
‘A cup of tea,’ said his wife. ‘I’ll just find the powder room first.’
‘Ditto,’ he said.
‘Straight across there, next to the sheep painting. And behind the sofa there’s the honesty bar and a box for outgoing mail.’
Aengus arrived at his elbow. Something looked very different about their driver, though he couldn’t say what. A brown fellow, wrinkled as a dried apple.
‘Bang-up, Aengus. Thank you.’
‘Ah, well, we didn’ get drownded, so.’
Owing to the criminal diminution of the dollar, this would be no mean gratuity; he dug into his pocket and pressed more than a few euros into Aengus’s hand. He was in turn handed a business card troubled by age and a series of phone numbers crossed through in pencil.
‘You’ll have no vehicle a’tall ’til th’ cousins come. Best give us a shout if there’s need.’
‘What if you’re mowing?’
‘We’ll send a cousin of our own, we’ve thirty-odd, m’ brother an’ me.’
‘Thank you, Mr. Malone,’ said Cynthia. ‘Be safe out there. Not too much backin’ up, if you please.’
Aengus grinned, a sudden and remarkable sight, and hurried out.
‘You first.’ She nudged him toward the sheep painting.
‘Ladies first.’
‘What’s that smell?’
‘Turf. They’re burning turf. Takes some getting used to.’ He remembered how much he’d learned to like the pungent odor.
Liam bounded up. ‘Everything is in your room, Reverend. I hope you’ll be happy with us. Welcome again to Broughadoon.’
‘Thank you, we’re thrilled to be here.’
A lean, handsome Irish face, he thought, with intense blue eyes and hair graying at the temples. ‘I don’t believe we met when I visited a few years ago.’
‘I was helping rebuild the west wing of the oul’ place, and keepin’ my head down. There’s still work going on, I hope it won’t disturb you. Anyway, you’ll see more of me this trip, I’ll be givin’ a hand with dinner and cookin’ your breakfast.’
‘The full Irish breakfast I so fondly remember? ’
‘And skip the blood pudding, Anna says.’
‘Correct. My wife, however, is eager for the blood pudding!’
Liam laughed. ‘Is she Irish?’
‘Her maternal double-great-grandmother was from Connemara, but we know nothing about her except she was very cheerful-looking and played the fife.’
‘I expect you met the lorry coming in.’
‘I’ll say.’
‘Sorry about that. It was my wine wholesaler, he was held up by the storm and finally had to run for it. By the way, the delay of your cousin and his wife opened up the room they requested. Always the silver lining.’
‘Always,’ he agreed. ‘The books. I don’t recall seeing so many books last time, or paintings.’
‘My father’s library passed to me years ago; we finally got the shelves built last spring.’
‘Beautiful millwork on the shelves.’
‘Thanks.’
‘You did it?’
‘My da was a builder, I grew up with a hammer an’ saw. I wanted his books to have a good show. A few good pictures also passed to me, including a Barret you’ll see in the dining room-it’s a beauty in afternoon light. Anyway, books and pictures for me, and the house up the hill for my older brother, Paddy, thanks to God.’
‘Thanks to God!’ Sitting nearby with Seamus, William thumped his cane on the floor.
‘Refresh my memory. What’s the meaning of the name Broughadoon?’
‘From the Irish, both an dún-hut of the fort.’
‘This being the hut, and the fort being…?’
‘Catharmore-on th’ hill above.’
‘So. It’s a pleasure to see an open fire.’
‘Ireland’s gone modern, I’m afraid, though Anna and I try to keep some of the oul’ ways. Speakin’ of oul’ ways, sorry about the power, ’t is usually back on in no time.’
Through the open window, he glimpsed the taillights of the Volvo disappearing along the road. And there, on the antlers of a mounted deer head, hung Aengus’s hat, as shapeless off as it had been on.
‘Aengus Malone forgot his hat,’ he told Liam. He felt oddly remorseful.
‘So he did. We’ll leave it just there ’til he comes again.’
They had no plans for Aengus to come again, as they’d be traveling with Stirling Moss in the future. ‘A pity he left it,’ he said, ‘his old mum gave it to him.’
‘Aengus Malone forgot his hat,’ William announced to Seamus. ‘Leave it just there ’til he comes again.’
Seamus was filling his pipe. ‘Aye,’ he said, looking up and smiling. ‘Will do.’
On going in to dinner, he spied a large, well-thumbed book lying open on a table by the dining room door. Names lined the pages.
‘Want to sign the guest book?’ he asked Cynthia.
‘I’ll do it tomorrow; I’m famished.’
He couldn’t resist. Squinting in the dusky light of the candle sconces, he picked up the pen and made the inscription.
Timothy A. Kavanagh, Mitford, North Carolina.
There. His Irish name in an Irish book, on the heels of an Irish rainstorm. It was official.
Three
They found extra blankets, and piled covers on until the pair of them were pressed flat as hoe-cakes. It’s the way he’d slept as a boy in Mississippi, beneath the heavy homemade quilts of his Grandpa Howard’s country house bed.
‘Wonderful dinner,’ she murmured. ‘Lovely people. Great pillows.’
‘Happy?’ he asked.
‘Happy.’