Rosewater and Soda Bread (25 page)

MARJAN EASED THE VAN outside the Wilton Inn on Main Mall and turned off the ignition. She would rather have parked somewhere more discreet, but the square up ahead was no better for privacy. By the time she made it out of the van and past the Saint Patrick monument, the whole town would know she was on a date.

On a date! She could hardly believe it herself.

With hands trembling, Marjan tilted the rearview mirror and checked her lipstick once again. A nice subtle pink, it was the most makeup she had worn in years. Satisfied with the results, she turned away from the mirror. Her heart was bumping against her tight black turtleneck. The sweater nicely matched her long pencil skirt and boots, knee-high numbers purchased on her last shopping trip to Dublin. She had felt silly for spending
so much on the boots but decided to treat herself all the same. This would be the first time she would be wearing them out—on a date!

A giddiness took hold of her; she felt frozen in her seat and couldn't seem to get herself to open the van door.

On the passenger seat next to her was the book Julian had given her, his novel. She had not had the chance to return to it since last week, when she had read its first few pages, but she intended to get down to it as soon as she had a moment's peace. She had brought the paperback with her tonight, hoping Julian would sign it. Perhaps write something special as well, for her eyes only.

Marjan felt her heart dancing again under her turtleneck; she didn't know what was happening to her; she had not felt this excited about a man since Ali, and the effect was entirely disconcerting. But also exhilarating.

Love is reckless; not reason, she told herself.

She grabbed the book and opened the van door.

UNLIKE THE MOSSY NORMAN RUINS and quiet rectitude of its Georgian surrounds, the Wilton Inn took a rather more Wagnerian view of life. Looming three stories above the other businesses on Main Mall, it had been built to resemble a turn-of-the-century Bavarian lodge, with a gabled rooftop and light brown shingles overlapping like pieces of gingersnaps. Pine wainscoting traveled the length of the lobby and lounge, directing the bewildered guest straight to the Lucky Lederhosen, a velour-boothed watering hole with a daily buffet of boiled ham and carvery vegetables.

A local boy, Jerry Mulligan, was at a lectern serving as a checkin
counter. Four clocks on the wall behind him gave the times in Ballinacroagh, New York, London, and Los Angeles.

“How's it goin' there, Marjan?” said Jerry. He thumbed his suspendered uniform and grinned broadly.

“Hi, Jerry. Another job?” Besides his latest concierge status, Jerry Mulligan worked at Healy's Hardware, delivered lunch orders for the Babylon Café's summer season, and on weekends manned the sole machine at the local Wellington boots factory.

Jerry clucked his tongue. “Paying the way somehow. Got a missus down in Galway now. You know how those city girls are—top of the range, all out. Fancy steak dinners and drives up to Donegal. No Blue Thunder burgers for her, no sir,” quipped the young man. He flashed her a freckled smile. “You're looking mighty tonight, I might add.”

Marjan smoothed her black skirt. “Thanks,” she said and paused, biting her lower lip. “I'm actually here to meet someone. He's staying at the Inn.”

“Julian Winthrop Muir? The Third?”

Marjan nodded, surprised. “How did you know?”

Jerry winked. “Talk of the town, you two. Personally, I'd thought you'd have nothing to do with a poncy two bit like him, but then I'm a bit prejudiced, you might say.”

Marjan was glad she was wearing her turtleneck. She could feel her blush creeping up her neck. “Because he's English?”

Jerry snorted. “Is that what he's been tellin' ya?”

“Oh, I don't know … He's from here originally, isn't he?”

Jerry scratched his hairless chin and shrugged. “Sure, who am I to know?” He grinned. “Just say the word, Marjan, and that Galway piece can go.” He snapped his suspenders again.

Marjan gave the young man a bemused smile. “I'll keep that in mind.” She looked around. “Julian, is he around?”

Jerry stared at her uncomfortably for a moment. “That's the thing, Marjan. He's not.”

“Oh. Did he step out?”

Jerry shook his head. “Checked out.”

“I'm sorry?”

“Left this afternoon, it says here.” Jerry pointed to the ledger opened on the lectern. “Thought you would have known yourself.”

Marjan shook her head. “No,” she said quietly. “I didn't know.”

Jerry scowled. “Ah, that bastard. He didn't have the balls to tell you he was leaving?”

Marjan frowned. “Did he leave anything? Any note for me, maybe?”

“No, I just came on shift. Let me check out the back, so.” Jerry disappeared through a side door.

Marjan let out her breath. She was feeling sick all of a sudden.

She gave her surroundings another glance. There were a few locals at the bar but no one she immediately recognized. They seemed to know her, though; one particularly mud-encrusted farmer flashed her a toothless smile and tipped his flannel cap.

Jerry came back shaking his head. “No. Nothing for you there. I'll find him for you, though. I'll do that. Get a few of my mates to show him what's what.”

“I'm sure there's a reason. Just, um, if he comes back, will you let him know I stopped by?”

Marjan turned around as though in a daze. All the excitement she had felt since the morning came crashing down on her chest.

Was she being stood up? She had no idea how this dating thing worked, not really, but she was sure that when a man did not show up for a dinner date, he was making his feelings known
clearly. Had she somehow taken Julian's advances for more than they were?

Marjan thought back on that moment earlier in the week, his surprising kiss near the maze's opening. His lips had been soft, softer than she had expected. Somehow he must have felt she wasn't ready for more, for he didn't press closer. He hadn't even pulled her into him, caressing her arms only, holding his space.

The hedges of holly had gathered around them, taking them in red-berried sleep, as did his mouth, taking in hers, gathering her breath.

The ache between her arm and left shoulder brought Marjan out of her daydream. She rubbed the spot thoughtfully. It hardly ever itched, only when she was especially filled with longing. She liked to think of the itch as a sign of things changing, of excitement and opportunity. Or was it a warning?

She drew in another quick breath, clearing her head. She was being silly, she told herself. There was no reason for her to jump to conclusions. There must be a good explanation for his leaving on such short notice. Hadn't Julian said there was a crew from Castlebar working on the plumbing today? He was nervous about handing such a large job to a local contractor, if she remembered correctly. That was probably it, she concluded. Something must have happened today at the Hall.

Whatever the reason for Julian's abrupt checkout, she wasn't going to make sense of it until she talked to him again.

Marjan walked out of the Inn into the dark, rain-swept main street. She stood on the wet sidewalk, staring at the green hippie van. The cast-iron streetlamp threw a spotlight on it, making it look unearthly. It suddenly looked so comforting, that clunky old thing. It was one of her first purchases in Ireland, a possession she was very proud of.

She had just made it around to the driver's side when she realized she had left the book,
Dominions of Clay
, on the lectern. Leaving the van door open, she hurried back inside.

She spotted the paperback immediately; it was balanced precariously on the stand, though Jerry had disappeared once again.

Grabbing the book, she turned and was about to walk out when, across the lobby, the elevator door slowly opened.

Marjan stood in stunned silence.

Out of the elevator stepped Layla and Malachy the latter with his shirt buttoned up wrong, the former with her usually immaculate hair completely undone.

“I CAN'T BELIEVE IT. What were you thinking?” Marjan turned to Layla in the passenger seat.

“But we didn't do anything! I swear!” Layla's voice was at its highest pitch. Her face was still burning a bright pink.

Marjan looked past her sister, out her van window. They couldn't see him from where they sat, outside the Wilton Inn, but Malachy McGuire was waiting out their talk in the Lucky Lederhosen, a glass of Lucozade in his shaking hands. No doubt he was calling upon the stars he studied so diligently at university to beam him up and fast.

Layla turned to Marjan, her eyes narrowing. “What were you doing in the Inn anyway? Weren't you supposed to be up at Mrs. D's?”

“I'm sorry, Layla, but this is unacceptable!” Marjan pounded the steering wheel with her palm. She turned to face her youngest sister once again. “We are not talking about me. This is about how—”

Layla interjected, “She shouldn't be living up there all by herself.
Something could happen to her, and none of us would know for days.”

Marjan shook her head, keeping her voice stern. “Layla.”

“But who could blame her? That cottage is so beautiful. You can even see Clare Island from the kitchen.”

“
Layla
.”

“Clare Island. Isn't that where that pirate queen used to live?”

Marjan couldn't help herself: “What pirate queen?”

“Grace, Grace a woman pirate. I've heard Danny Fadden talk about her a few times.”

“Layla, we were talking about you and Malachy”

Layla winced. She glanced out the windshield. “Can we not? Please? It's really embarrassing.”

“
Joon-e man
, I'm not trying to embarrass you. I just need you to understand how important this all is. The whole town will be talking about this little experiment of yours, you do know that, don't you?”

“Now you're sounding like Bahar!”

“Listen to me. You have to be careful, we have a business to keep going. And like it or not, this little town has its prejudices.”

“That's what Malachy said. I don't know what's the big deal.” Layla pouted. “This is 1987, not 1907.”

“You and Malachy have just made a decision that will affect the rest of your lives. What were you thinking?”

“I told you, we were just fooling around. Jerry told Malachy about the empty room, and, well, we just wanted to see what, we just wanted to try—” Layla paused, squirming in her seat.

“What? Come on, Layla, what happened?”

Layla looked out the window and shrugged. “Nothing. It just— We're both kinda not, not…” Her voice trailed off, and her blush turned a deep crimson.

“What? What did you do?” Marjan grabbed her sister's arm. “Layla, did you and Malachy have sex?”

Layla grimaced again. Marjan loosened her grip, sat back in her seat. She took a deep breath. “Well?”

Layla gave another shrug. “Kind of. Not really.”

“What do you mean, kind of? Were you even protected?” Oh, God, she thought. Why hadn't she written to Gloria?

“Malachy got some stuff from his roommate. He tried to get some from the chemist but chickened out at the last minute. Got foot powder instead.” She scrunched up her nose. “Anyway, all the Trinity boys apparently come to Philip—that's his roommate. He's got a Norwegian girlfriend. She gets boxes sent over from her parents! Can you believe that?”