Rosewater and Soda Bread (30 page)

“No. But I knew she was itching to.”

Marjan stared at the counter in thought. Word was traveling faster than she had expected. She looked up. “You didn't say anything?”

“What do you think I am?” Bahar huffed, grabbing the jar of bergamot tea. “Even if I don't think it's right, I wouldn't go behind Estelle's back,” she said, holding the jar with one hand, rattling
its contents. “It's
haram
, Marjan. I'm sticking to it. Even Father Mahoney thinks so.”

“You didn't tell him, did you?”

“No. But the Church doesn't believe in that, and you know it. I'm learning a lot about how to live my life. You could do with a bit of instruction as well.” Bahar walked over to the Victrola and turned on the radio below it. The dining room walls were instantly warmed by Father Mahoney's chirpy morning message.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you. I need an hour off this morning. Father Mahoney wants to take me through Mass procedures. For next week,” Bahar said before pushing through the kitchen door.

Biting her lip, Marjan turned back to the samovar. It was too early for another argument, she told herself. She just didn't have it in her. The matter about Siobhan was disturbing, though. It was bad enough that Dervla and her circle were gabbing away to the council and whoever had an ear, but when even Bahar was being questioned by neighbors, the rumor mill was clearly heating up. Sparks of gossip and wicked curiosity were surely heading straight for Estelle.

Marjan pressed the lever down, letting the hot water fill the teapot.
Haram
or not, a law had still been broken. Padraig Carey had made it perfectly clear during his visit. She had better call Estelle and warn her. They might have to think of an alternative, a safe house where they could take the girl if the guards did come questioning. Stirring the bergamot leaves with the silver spoon, she replaced the lid on the pot and put it on a silver platter.

The doorbell tinkled behind her, a rush of air entering the warm dining room. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw him. Julian was standing at the threshold, his fists deep in the pockets of his corduroy jacket. His sandy, windblown hair, wet from the rain, sat against his broad shoulders, giving him the rugged look she had come to find so attractive.

“I wouldn't consider it out of place if you never wanted to see me again,” he said, hunching into his jacket. “I acted the fool, that's certain.”

Marjan hadn't really decided what she would say to him when she saw him again. She stared at him for a moment. “I didn't know what had happened to you,” she replied, keeping her tone steady. “I wish you had told me before you left.”

“You're right,” he admitted. “Horrid manners on my part. Lost my head with the mess.”

Marjan set a tea glass on a saucer, placed it on a platter. “Is everything all right? With the house?”

Pulling out a chair, he sank into it, shaking the wet from his hair. “Lunacy, that's what it is. Should have known not to hire a local plumber. Said he had tapped into a well on the grounds: ‘Get the waters flowing, so I can.’ ” Julian winced. “Flooded the entire servants' quarters, the kitchen, the whole lower floor.”

“That's terrible!” Marjan brought the platter and teapot over, placed it in the center of the table.

“It's going to take a month to get it all sorted. I have to leave for Dublin tomorrow. Paperwork, legalities, you know how it goes,” he said, nodding appreciatively as Marjan poured him a glass of tea. “I was hoping to catch you before then.”

“I know. I read your note.” She gestured toward the mahogany counter.

Julian followed her gaze to the vase of roses. He smiled. “So I'm forgiven, then?”

Marjan shrugged, her lips curving despite herself. “Maybe.”

He leaned over and touched her hand. “Let me take you out to dinner. Tonight. I want you to see one of the most smashing spots. I know you'll appreciate it.”

Marjan watched his fingers linger on hers before moving her eyes up to meet his gaze. Of course she would go out with him,
she told herself. How could she say no to those deep green eyes?

The kitchen doors swung open. “I'll be right back. Father Mahoney wants me to read through some psalms for—” Bahar stopped in her tracks, her tweed coat halfway across her back. She stared at Julian, then Marjan, then Julian again.

Julian left his seat, stepped forward with his hand held out. “We haven't formally met. Julian Winthrop Muir, how do you do?”

“Hello.” Bahar shook his hand limply. She looked at Marjan with raised eyebrows.

“I hear you're the strength behind this operation,” said Julian, flashing her a smile.

“Oh …” She lifted a shoulder. “I don't know.”

He chuckled. “Modesty runs in the family, I see. Your sister told me how you take care of all the base work. She couldn't whip up all those lovely concoctions without you by her side, I'd say.”

Bahar slipped her right arm into her coat sleeve. “It's just chopping and shopping,” she said coolly, buttoning up her collar. Though she was pleased by the compliment, Marjan noted.

“She's lucky to have you, that's what.”

Bahar tilted her head, giving Julian another assessing look. “And you're lucky to have her.”

Marjan glanced at her sister, her own face flaring up. “Bahar.”

“Oh, I wouldn't say I have her,” Julian replied. “Though she certainly has my affections, if she wants them.”

Bahar set her jaw. “So those are your only intentions—just your affections?”

“Not at all.”

“Because you know, where we come from, a man doesn't just give out affections without a deeper meaning behind them. A
spiritual
meaning.”

“Couldn't agree with you more,” replied Julian, his lips twitching amusedly. He turned to Marjan with a meaningful look.

Bahar was on a roll. “A woman isn't something to be used for as long as she has flavor, then tossed aside when your taste for her is gone. There's got to be some promise, some agreement that you'll be around.”

Marjan's embarrassment had reached combustible levels. “Isn't Father Mahoney waiting for you?” She threw her sister an icy glance. “Don't want to be late for your lesson.”

Julian did not seem at all perturbed by Bahar's interrogation. In fact, he seemed to be rather enjoying it. “I couldn't agree with you more. ‘The Beloved is all, the Lover just a veil.’ ”

Bahar shook her head. “It'll take a lot more than poetry to impress me. Every schoolkid knows his Rumi.”

“Ah, but ‘whatever is in the heart will come up to the tongue.’ Isn't that what the old Persians used to say?”

Bahar fell silent, taken aback by Julian's knowledge of ancient proverbs. She tilted her head to the other side, her face scrunched up. Then, just as suddenly, her scowl turned into a relaxed smile. “Are you hungry?” she asked. “Would you like a breakfast plate? Cheese and
barbari
?”

Julian bowed his head. “I am at your whim, dear lady.”

Tossing her purse aside, Bahar hurried toward the cluster of teapots on the counter. Choosing a large green pot, she began to plop spoonfuls of lemon oolong into its belly.

Marjan made her way to the counter, a puzzled look on her face. “I've already made a pot,” she said.

Bahar ignored her, pouring the samovar's hot water into the lemony leaves.

Marjan stood looking at her for a moment. “Bahar.”

Her sister looked over her shoulder, then moved closer to Marjan. “Go sit next to him,” she whispered.

“What?”

“Shhhh … you heard me. Go keep him company. I'll get the platter.” She handed Marjan another glass and saucer.

When her older sister did not move, Bahar turned to her with eyes wide. “A man like that doesn't come along every day Marjan.”

Placing the lid back on the pot, she hurried to the kitchen doors, pausing only long enough to throw her sister a goofy approving wink.

MARJAN CHOSE A CREAM DRESS with a nice scooped collar, one that revealed her slender collarbones and neck. Instead of the high boots of the earlier evening, she slipped on a pair of tan leather pumps over her stocking-clad feet. With her hair tied back and her mother's ruby earrings, she felt just about ready. She took her best coat from the rack and opened the kitchen door.

Julian looked at her hungrily as she stepped out of the back gate. “Breathless,” he said, shaking his head. “That's what you do to me, Miss Aminpour. Leave me breathless.”

Marjan grinned and slipped into the soft car seat, feeling purely happy all of a sudden.

He had told her he was taking her somewhere special, but she had not expected it to be a castle.

“Ashford Castle,” Julian explained as the BMW wound its way through a grand gravelly entrance, studded by yews and guarded by a gatekeeper's house made up of eaves and window boxes. “Something else, isn't it?”

It surely was.

Arthurian parapets came into view, soaring high into the deepening sky. Mounted with jewel-colored flags and anchored
by ivy-covered towers, they were the ideal stages for trumpeting heralds.

The castle's wings, encompassing centuries of architecture, appeared to spread out forever. Everywhere Marjan looked there were soft green mounds rolling away from a paved walkway of polished granite. It was her turn to be breathless.

Julian glanced over at her, grinning. “Thought you might like it.”

“I didn't even know this place existed.”

“Been here since the thirteenth century, actually. You can trace the line of Mayo's history in the stones, each conquering tribe adding their bit.”

They had driven over a drawbridge on the way in, but it wasn't until the car pulled up to the entrance steps that Marjan realized the grounds were surrounded on three sides by ribbons of deep, sapphire water.

“It's the Corrib. A lake. Runs all the way to Galway” Julian handed the car keys to a tuxedoed valet.

“Gorgeous,” said Marjan, turning a full circle to take in her surroundings. The sun had already set over the water, but it was still light enough to see the outlines of a Franciscan fort holding steady at its edge.

She took Julian's arm, as she had done that day in Raven's Coppice, and followed him into the plush, gilded lobby.

“Tonight we are dining like royalty,” he informed her. “I know you will appreciate the menu.”

A red carpet led them through parlors done in palettes of lilac, gold, and cream, the oak panels tastefully simple. Pausing beneath a plaque that read “The Connaught Room,” they waited only a few moments before being seated by a waiter in full serving regalia.

A sunburst chandelier, hung with droplets of topaz, was suspended
in the center of the intimate space. Every table was swathed in what appeared to be endless reams of silk, so glorious it might have been spun by Rumpelstiltskin himself. Marjan gingerly traced her fingers over the soft tablecloth as another tuxedo-clad waiter handed her an embossed menu. Julian watched with amusement while she studied it.

Tart of wild mushrooms, with truffle mousse sauce. Chilled champagne soup, accompanied by a scoop of limoncello sorbet. Stuffed venison with currant reduction. Her head began to spin.

“I don't know where to start,” she said, her eyes drinking it all in. There were two other couples dining in the room, both equally entranced by the sumptuous setting and each other.

“How about some champagne to start?” Julian gestured to the waiter.

“That would be lovely.” She ran her fingers down the menu. “I can't believe I have never heard of this place,” she repeated.

“It's one of Mayo's most renowned landmarks. Ever see the film
The Quiet Man
?”

“Of course,” Marjan replied.

“Well, its opening shots were done here. And many of the actors stayed in these rooms while filming,” said Julian. “This place has hosted the crème of the crème. Presidents, sheikhs, film stars, you name it. It's a great example of what can be done with a bit of lateral thinking.”

“Is this what you are thinking of doing with the Hall?”

“See, I knew you had a business mind about you. That's it exactly, Marjan,” said Julian, adding, “If I get things in order.”

“Must cost quite a lot to get it going.”

“I was lucky enough to be set with some spending money. Plus, there are a few investors interested in bringing some glory back to the old place. That's another reason I've got to get myself to Dublin.”

“Sounds like a great idea. I'm sure you could make it happen.”

“I'll be needing your input as well.”

“Mine?”

“Who do you think I'll be looking to when it comes to the Muir Hall dining experience?”

“You mean Irish cuisine?”

“Fusion. That's the new word in London. Somewhere in between.”

Marjan's mind raced ahead. Fusion. Middle Eastern and Irish. Just think of what she could do with that combination. She smiled coyly. “So is that why you're trying to seduce me, Mr. Muir? An ulterior motive all along, eh?”

Julian grinned. “You've found me out. That's it all right.”

“Hmm, I was wondering how you knew all about me. Read about me in the
Connaught
and all.” She was enjoying her turn at flirtation. “Have you even been to Iran? Or was that another ploy to get me going?”