Songs of Love and War (57 page)

‘They were happy at the beginning,’ Digby argued.

‘But then they weren’t,’ Augusta added firmly. ‘It’s no good being happy at the beginning. Life has a middle and an end. I’m near the end now and I can safely
say, can I not, that in spite of all I have suffered Stoke and I are still happy.’

‘Blissfully happy,’ Stoke agreed
un
happily.

‘One mustn’t allow one’s eye to stray,’ Augusta continued stridently. ‘You see, Maud was much too beautiful to remain devoted to one man. Wasn’t it Eddie
Rothmeade who caught her eye?’

‘Eddie Rothmeade?’ Digby repeated. ‘I’ve never heard such tripe.’

‘Oh yes, it was indeed. Adeline and I discussed it a great deal. There was a moment I thought they might run off into the sunset and never be seen again. Maud was that sort of woman. But
Eddie tired of her. Now Bertie has tired of her too. Vain women like that eventually wear a man down. A woman must give as well as take in a marriage but Maud doesn’t know much about
giving.’

‘Good Lord, Augusta, you never told me about that,’ said Stoke, his winged moustache twitching like a walrus’s snout.

‘That’s because Adeline would have killed me. Now she’s dead, she can’t.’

Augusta dabbed her lips with her napkin. ‘I’m a deep well of information, Stoke dear. But I’ll take all my other secrets to the grave, I suspect. Pity. I do hope I live long
enough to find out who has bought the castle. I’m frightfully curious.’

Co. Cork, Ireland, 1925

The little boys looked at each other in bewilderment. The woman had clearly stated that she was going to rebuild the castle. That would mean an end to their games. They listened
harder. ‘To think I used to play in those rooms. I used to watch the glamorous ladies arriving for the Summer Ball in their fine gowns and sparkling jewels and marvel at the beauty of it all.
Because it really
was
beautiful then. I don’t think there was anywhere else in the world more beautiful than Castle Deverill at that time of the year, on that night, when the sun was
setting and turning it all to gold. You can’t imagine how magnificent it was. But I remember. I’ve always remembered. That’s why I wanted to preserve it. I couldn’t bear to
see it go to anyone else.’ She sighed and shook her head. ‘But now it’s mine. I will rebuild it stone by stone, brick by brick and bring back those glory days. We’ll bring
them back together because this wouldn’t have been possible if it hadn’t been for you. Oh, Archie, you’re just wonderful to me.’ Celia took his hand. ‘And our children
will play with Kitty’s just like
we
used to do. History will repeat itself. One big happy family.’ Archie put his arm around her and smiled. ‘One big happy family,’
she repeated with pleasure, conveniently forgetting the centuries of family curses, brutality, greed and self-indulgence. ‘Just the way it should be. A Deverill’s castle is his kingdom,
after all.’ And so it was that Deverill money had gone full circle because when Digby had rescued Archie Mayberry in return for taking back his disgraceful wife he had given him the means
with which he would eventually show his gratitude for their unexpectedly happy marriage. In some ways, one could say that an empty-headed girl wearing nothing but a pair of white silk gloves had
saved Castle Deverill.

Connecticut, America, 1925

The little girl with dark hair and freckles lay on her stomach on the lawn and stared at the yellow flower. Around it danced a tiny, quivering orb of light. She smiled. Every
time she blinked the orb moved somewhere else, as if it enjoyed the game. The child reached out her hand and tried to catch it but the orb jumped away. She tried again: this time she thought she
had it. But when she opened her fingers there was nothing there. The orb remained, hovering around the flower.

‘She’s been staring at that flower for ages,’ said the child’s mother from the window of the house. ‘Is that normal?’

‘She just loves nature, Pam darling, I wouldn’t worry.’

‘I’m not worried, Mom. It’s just, you know, when you adopt a child you never quite know what you’re getting.’

‘She just loves flowers,’ said the older woman.

Pam frowned. ‘Perhaps. But it’s as if she sees something else. Something more than just the flower. Look how she’s trying to grab it.’

‘It’s probably a little bug.’

Pam shook her head. ‘No, it’s not. I’ve watched her before. She has an imaginary friend.’

Pam’s mother smiled. ‘All children have imaginary friends. Children are very inventive. It’s very normal that an only child should invent a buddy to play with. After all, she
is a twin, don’t forget. Perhaps she senses the loss of her brother.’

‘I don’t know . . . I have a funny feeling she sees things other people don’t see.’

‘She’s happy, right?’ said Pam’s mother.

‘Yes, she sure is,’ said Pam.

‘Then you don’t need to worry, darling. So long as she’s happy, everything will be just fine.’

‘I’m sure you’re right,’ Pam agreed with a sigh. However, she continued to frown as she watched her little daughter. ‘I feel so blessed. It was a miracle that a
newborn baby girl should be available at the very moment we arrived in Dublin. Sister Agatha was so kind to let us take her. You know, she said it was breaking every rule but Larry can be very
persuasive.’

‘Once he’d promised to embellish their dreary little chapel with the biggest golden cross Ireland has ever seen she was ready to give you as many babies as your heart desired,’
said Pam’s mother archly. ‘I really don’t think luck, or God, had anything to do with it.’

The child gave up trying to catch the nature spirit. She raised her eyes to the kind woman with red hair who was Adeline Deverill. ‘Hello, Grandma,’ she said and
smiled.

How I have adored writing this book! It’s been such a challenge but so invigorating – and it fills me with immense joy to know that I’ll follow the characters
I have created here into two more novels!

I really have to thank the angels first, because by some wonderful magic a man called Tim Kelly was inspired to email me about one of my novels just as I was thinking about writing this one.
After some fabulously funny correspondence, because really, Tim is just so witty, it transpired that he was born and raised in Co. Cork, the place I had started researching for my novel. Tim is a
deep well of knowledge and wisdom; he has an eye for the absurd, an almost photographic memory for detail and a sharp understanding of human nature. He soon became my mentor, my adviser and most
importantly, my friend. I genuinely could not have even considered writing this book without him. Therefore I have dedicated the novel to him, with my love and gratitude. I am so lucky to have
found him!

I would like to thank my Irish friends Emer Melody and Frank Lyons for inviting me to their home in Bandon, Co. Cork and for driving me around the wild and beautiful countryside so that I could
get inspired. We visited the most compelling ruined castles, burned down by the rebels during the Troubles, and went for long walks up and down vast white beaches accompanied only by sea birds and
the wind. I returned to London full of excitement and itching to start writing about a country that has taken hold of my heart.

I would also like to thank my Anglo-Irish friend Bill Montgomery for his invaluable advice and fascinating anecdotes. We enjoyed a long lunch at Sotheby’s Café in London and I wrote
pages of notes and a lengthy reading list of books which would help me research Irish history. I have always loved Bill and his wonderfully flamboyant wife, Daphne, because as a child they were
grown-ups who always had time for us. Daphne would play the piano and encourage us to sing along and Bill would talk to us as if we were adults. They were fun and eccentric and memories of the
magical summer holiday we spent with them in their house in Connemara have never left me. They are two of life’s treasures and I thank them both.

My parents are always on the end of the telephone ready to answer questions about anything from gardening and farming to helping me find the right word or simply to give an honest opinion on
something I’ve written. They seem to have all the answers! My mother is the first to read the manuscript and her pen is the first to grace the pages with corrections and suggestions. It
really is a labour of love and I’m so grateful that she finds the time to do it. The older I get the more I understand and appreciate the value of their love. They have made me the person
that I am and therefore, because my writing is an extension of who I am, I owe them everything.

My mother-in-law, April Sebag-Montefiore, was a prolific and successful writer herself when she was younger. She manages to read my husband Sebag’s books, which are massive, so she
deserves a huge thank you for making time for mine! Her encouragement and wisdom are invaluable.

I’d also like to thank Nora May Cremin and Noel Coakley for their Celtic translation of the curse, Stuart Squire for the Latin translation of the family motto, Peter Nyhan for his
friendship and support, Nicky de Monfort for her advice on the Anglo-Irish and Mary Tomlinson for her thorough and sensitive copyediting.

Writing is one of my greatest pleasures – the fact that I earn my living from it is all thanks to my agent and publisher. Therefore, I would like to extend my most heartfelt gratitude to
Sheila Crowley at Curtis Brown – she’s completely brilliant and I’m so fortunate to be one of her authors – and to the other hard-working people at Curtis Brown who make up
a really unbeatable team: Katie McGowan, Sophie Harris and Rebecca Ritchie. Thank you Ian Chapman and my editor, Suzanne Baboneau, at Simon & Schuster UK for believing in me. Together with
their colleagues Clare Hey, James Horobin, Dawn Burnett, Hannah Corbett, Sara-Jade Virtue, Melissa Four, Ally Grant, Nico Poilblanc, Gill Richardson, Rumana Haider and Dominic Brendon they have
turned a hobby into a greater success than I ever dreamed. Thank you!

Finally, I would like to acknowledge the three people whose love is more precious to me than anything else on earth: Sebag, Lily and Sasha – and to give a very special thank you to my
husband for taking the time and trouble when he was so busy writing
The Romanovs
to work on the various twists and turns that have made this book such fun to write. We are great
collaborators.