Second Time Around Part 15

'Okay,' she heard herself say, 'I'd love to.'

Chapter 14.

Oren seemed unusually preoccupied as they drove the eleven miles, along winding country roads walled with high hawthorn hedges, from the isolated farmhouse he called home into Enniskillen. Bereft of their lush green summer leaves, only a handful of red haw berries clung stubbornly to the orange-brown skeletons in the vicious westerly wind.

'Where are we going?' said Lucy, watching the dark belly of a cloud sag ominously over the mud-blotted landscape like the seat of an old chair. In the distance, the hills were curtained with rain pressing in from the Atlantic and, in a nearby marshy field, tufts of reeds sprouted from the wet gra.s.s and sodden sheep sheltered from the wind in the lee of the hedge.

'I thought I'd show you Enniskillen,' he said. 'The walk along the river by the castle is spectacular.'

'You want to go for a walk in this weather?' she said incredulously and his smile slipped momentarily to be replaced with a look of mild irritation that Lucy had come to expect when she displeased him in some way.

Oren's patient smile returned and he said, confidently, as a spat of rain plopped on the windscreen, 'It's only a shower. And we can always take shelter in the castle.'

'Yes. And it's nice to get out of the house for a bit, isn't it. Just the two of us,' said Lucy who'd quickly discovered that the best way to restore harmony between them was to agree with Oren.

'You do like my family, but,' he said, slipping into the Ulster dialect his parents spoke.

'Of course. They're lovely and they couldn't have made me feel more welcome.'

His mother, in a sober knee-length dress with greying hair sc.r.a.ped into a tight bun, had welcomed her with tea and a mound of home baking that would've fed the entire population of Oakwood Grove. His father was a quiet, serious man with work-roughened hands and a face scoured red by a life outdoors. He was tall like Oren and shared the same thick neck and big hands. After tea on the first night, he'd offered her his favourite seat by the peat-blackened fireplace a great honour, Oren had later confided. The large farmhouse was homely inside despite its austere grey-harled exterior and black slate roof. It had been in the family for four generations and was crammed full of ancient dark wood furniture, crazed pottery and worn patterned carpets. The farm itself was immaculate, the vast barn outside filled with s.h.i.+ny brand-new machines, the only evidence that this modest family were one of the wealthiest in the county. Lucy was getting used to grace before every meal, the animal smell of the farmyard and a very different daily rhythm to the one she was used to. Life on the farm started early, long before dawn, and the house was closed up for the night at ten every evening.

They'd spent the last few days visiting Oren's relatives scattered across the county. Together, they'd explored the grounds of Florence Court, the historic home of the Earls of Enniskillen with its breathtaking views over Benaughlin and the Cuilcagh Mountains. One of Oren's uncles had taken them out in his boat on a chilly sightseeing trip on Lough Erne and they'd all attended church together on Sunday where the congregation greeted her like some long-lost member of their flock.

'And you don't miss TV?'

'Not at all,' she said truthfully. There was a television in the drawing room but it was very rarely switched on the family got their news and weather from the sun-yellowed white plastic radio that sat on the kitchen windowsill alongside the eggs Mrs Wilson collected from the henhouse every morning. At night, while Oren and Lucy played board games on the coffee table, Mrs Wilson did cross-st.i.tch and Mr Wilson read the Bible. 'There's something nice about the serenity of your parents' house. It's very peaceful.'

'Yes, the outside world is very much kept outside,' he said. 'The way it should be.'

'The only thing I find a little odd is the lack of books in the house.' There were no bookcases and the only books she could find, apart from cookery books in the kitchen, were on a shelf in the drawing room. There were gardening books, an atlas, books on birds and DIY, dog-eared copies of farming magazines, several copies of the Bible and religious tracts, but no novels at all. 'And they don't buy a Sunday newspaper either.'

The car came to an undulating, straight stretch of road. Oren thrust the car into fifth gear, and accelerated so fast Lucy felt a nauseous tug in her stomach. 'That's because the Bible is the only book you need, Lucy. The original blueprint for this short life on earth.'

She turned her face to the window and stared out at a muddy field, thinking guiltily of the Tess Gerritsen thriller she'd brought with her and which had remained in her attic room, a secret bedtime treat.

'Oh, look, there's a fairy tree,' she said, pointing at a gnarled and ancient hawthorn tree in the middle of the field. It was boxed in by a new fence of raw wood, erected to protect the tree from grazing animals. 'Apparently some of them are four hundred years old. I wonder how old that one is.'

'You don't believe in fairy trees, do you?' he said, sounding horrified. 'All that nonsense about fairies bringing you bad luck if you cut down the tree.'

Lucy, who wasn't sure whether she believed in fairies or not, said dreamily, 'But I think it's a sweet tradition, the idea that fairies live in the tree. And it's harmless, isn't it?'

'Superst.i.tious folklore,' he tutted and glanced grudgingly at her. 'That's McQuillan's land. Silly old papist fool. I daresay when the old man dies, his son'll have more sense and cut the thing down.'

Oren's mood improved as they neared Enniskillen on the western approach road dominated by views of the imposing castle. Once they'd parked and got out of the car, he seemed positively and uncharacteristically buoyant, hurrying Lucy along by the elbow.

'Enniskillen,' he said, gripping her tightly by the arm and propelling her along the grey gravel path beneath the dark grey walls of the castle, 'is the only island town in Ireland. And this castle was once the medieval home of the Gaelic Maguire clan.' They paused for a moment to look up at the perfectly preserved castle walls, and he let go of her arm. He was wearing a black hiking jacket but no gloves or scarf. He seemed impervious to the cold. 'This bit,' he said, pointing at a distinctive twin-turreted section, 'is the Watergate and it was built by William Cole in the seventeenth century. The family moved to Florence Court in the eighteenth century after which it became a military barracks.'

'It's a handsome building,' said Lucy, pus.h.i.+ng her gloved hands deeper into her pockets and wis.h.i.+ng she'd worn a hat. A hank of her hair whipped up by the wind blowing across the River Erne slapped across her face. She tucked it behind her ear, only for another length to break free.

'I love it here,' he said.

'I'd like it too if it was a bit warmer. I imagine it's lovely in the summer,' said Lucy, wondering how soon she could suggest retiring to a tea-room without incurring Oren's wrath.

Oren turned his gaze from the castle wall to the inhospitable-looking river. Lucy huddled against him, doing her best to shelter from the wind.

'I used to love coming here as a boy,' he went on, obviously lost in memories, for he had completely ignored her when she'd spoken. 'I imagined I was a soldier fighting for King and Country.' He glanced nervously over his shoulder at the path they'd just travelled, then peered ahead in the direction they were going. They were completely alone. 'And I still like coming here to think and talk to Him upstairs. You'd think I'd be able to do that best in a church.' He favoured her with a whimsical thin-lipped smile, the right corner of his mouth turned up. 'But no, for me, it's here.'

Lucy examined him closely, registering his flushed pink cheeks and his eyes glinting like wet flint in the cold wind. He was looking at her but yet he seemed to be looking through her. Alarmed by his apparent agitation, she said, touching him lightly on the arm, 'Are you all right, Oren?'

He started a little and his eyes came into focus. He smiled. 'I guess I always liked the idea of serving, except now I know my role in life is not to serve an authority here on earth, but in heaven.' He paused, raised his eyes momentarily to the steel-grey clouds skittering across the sky, then focused on her once more. 'Things are suddenly clear to me, Lucy. I've prayed long and hard for G.o.d's guidance and He's answered my prayers. Now I know where my duty lies. But it's a path I don't think I can walk alone. I need a partner to do it with me. Someone who loves Jesus as much as I do.'

'What path is ' she began but suddenly, with a scuffle of gravel underfoot, Oren dropped to the ground. Lucy, thinking he must've somehow slipped and lost his footing, held out both hands to a.s.sist him to his feet. 'Oren, are you okay?' she t.i.ttered, torn between genuine concern and amus.e.m.e.nt.

And then, noticing the annoyed solemnity of his expression, her laughter died away. He made no attempt to struggle to his feet, but remained where he was with his right knee digging into the sharp, glittering gravel. It could only mean one thing. Her heart battered the inside of her chest and she took a small step backwards, overwhelmed by the idea that he might be about to propose. She had not expected this.

She was not worthy of Oren. She fell so far short of his goodness every day. It seemed inconceivable that he should choose her. But yet, she still believed in fairytales. And deep in her heart, somewhere way beyond consciousness, she had allowed the hope to blossom that one day he might look on her and see a woman good and holy enough to be his wife.

And yet, now that moment appeared to be upon her, she looked around wildly, torn between the inexplicable impulse to run and the urge to stand her ground. For wasn't this the dream that had sustained her through long nights of Bible study, when she'd racked her brain to decipher the meaning of incomprehensible pa.s.sages that seemed so crystal clear and unambiguous to Oren? He held out his hand and gestured her towards him. She took a deep breath and stepped forward.

His eyes gleamed with the hard intensity he usually reserved for talking about G.o.d and, when he grasped her hand, his grip was tight and his hand was shaking. 'Lucy. Will you marry me?'

'Marry you?' She wors.h.i.+pped the ground he walked on, but she had never allowed herself to believe he felt the same about her. 'You love me?' she said, her heart pounding now to a mad, chaotic rhythm.

He glanced momentarily to the left and said, 'I wouldn't be asking you to marry me if I didn't love you, now would I?' Then he smiled, a disarming, nervous smile and he said, 'You'd better hurry up and give me an answer, or I'm going to end up with a punctured kneecap!'

'Yes! Oh, yes, I'll marry you!' she cried and the next thing she knew she was in his arms, sobbing with joy and relief. The lonely future she had so often steeled herself to accept was not to be her destiny after all. Instead, she would have love and companions.h.i.+p and a family all the things she had thought would never be hers.

'Why are you crying, Lucy?' he said, smoothing the hair back from her forehead and planting a chaste kiss on her brow. 'I thought you would be happy.'

'I am happy. I'm sorry,' she said, sniffing back tears. 'I'm just being foolish. I'm happier than I've ever been in my entire life.'

'Good, because so am I,' he said and he held her tight against his body, as hard and solid as a tree.

'Oh, the ring,' he said suddenly, releasing her. He fumbled in his pocket for a few moments and pulled out a small, battered burgundy velvet box. He opened it and there, nestling inside on a tiny bed of rumpled silk, lay a port wine coloured garnet ring, encircled by a wreath of small, dull diamonds.

'Oh, it's very ... unusual,' said Lucy. In style it was very like her grandmother's emerald engagement ring which now lay, unworn, in her mother's jewel box at home.

'It was my grandmother's. Here, try it on.' He plucked the ring from the box and slipped the glove off her left hand.

'It won't fit,' she said, slightly embarra.s.sed, clutching both fleecy gloves in her right hand. Why did everything about her have to be big and ungainly? 'I have thick fingers.'

'Nonsense.' He tried to wrestle the ring onto her ring finger but it would not fit. He settled on the little one instead. 'No matter,' he said brightly. 'We can have it re-sized.'

She stared at the ring and tried to suppress her ungrateful disappointment. It was too small and delicately wrought for her large hand, and she would never have chosen such an old-fas.h.i.+oned stone, or setting. The garnet stared at her lifeless and gla.s.sy like a fish eye and she could see now that the dirty diamonds cl.u.s.tered around the garnet were only diamond chips.

'My grandmother would've loved you, Lucy. She was level-headed like you. I think you'd have gotten on well.'

Lucy swallowed her dismay and blushed with shame. Clearly, Oren believed that bestowing this hideous ring on her was a great honour. She ought to be thankful.

He grinned at her then and said, 'Oh, you and I are going to do wonderful things together, Lucy.' He tucked her arm under his and went on, leading her along the path once more, 'And with you at my side to support me, I feel ready to take on G.o.d's next challenge and change the course of my life.'

'What challenge?' said Lucy, as a drop of cold rain splattered on the crown of her head. Another one followed almost immediately, this time on her cheekbone. It trailed down her face like a cold tear.

Oren looked at the sky and said, 'We should be making tracks. Let's find a coffee shop, shall we?'

'You are going to be a minister, aren't you?' said Lucy.

'Not necessarily,' said Oren, patting her on the arm.

Lucy pulled her arm from his grasp and standing still, forced him to do the same. 'I thought that's what you wanted?'

'It was what I wanted,' he said, turning to her with a small, secretive smile, 'but it turns out it wasn't what G.o.d wanted.'

'I don't understand,' she said stubbornly, ignoring the rain that was falling heavily now, gusting on the bitter wind.

'I don't either. But G.o.d works in mysterious ways. And it turns out that He has a different plan in mind for us. Oh, don't look so worried, Lucy,' he said, and he threw back his head and laughed. 'When you're engaged in the Lord's work, you have nothing to fear.'

'What work, Oren? What are you talking about?'

He swept his arm in a wide arc across the vista of castle and river. 'Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature.'

She stared at him dumbly, not understanding, as a trickle of cold water worked its way down the collar of her thick winter coat. 'But you're already an evangelist,' she said.

'I'm not even that, Lucy. I'm a revivalist, speaking to people who've already heard the Word of G.o.d.' He shook his head sadly in disbelief and then brightened. 'But I want to spread the Word in the true biblical sense amongst peoples who have never heard it. Can you imagine how that would feel, Lucy? To bring the good news to people for the very first time? Just like Jesus.'

He clasped her hand to his breast. 'You and I, Lucy Irwin, are going to be missionaries in Peru.'

Jennifer picked up The Ballyfergus Times for the umpteenth time and scowled at the grainy photograph of her sandwiched, like a dwarf, between Diane Crawford and Ben's father. She was smiling too hard in the photo so that her eyes all but disappeared and the black dress, which she'd thought so flattering, made her look pale and fat. Or perhaps it wasn't the dress, perhaps it was standing beside Diane Crawford that was the problem. Diane sported a flirty, knowing smile and inclined her right bronzed shoulder slightly towards the camera, making her look even slimmer. Alan looked like any other bald-headed man of advancing years.

Jennifer threw the paper down on the workbench, refusing to let the unflattering picture put a dampener on her good mood. With a bit of luck, she told herself, no one would notice the photo hidden away on page twenty-three, except perhaps Ben who would surely look for it. She touched the smooth wooden surface of the bench and smiled. Five days had pa.s.sed since the first wonderful romantic night they'd spent together and, even with Matt's rude interruption, it was the happiest day of her life. The speed with which she'd fallen in love unnerved her slightly. There was still so much she didn't know about Ben. But they had the rest of their lives to find all that out. They'd met twice since Carnegie's opening night. On Sunday they'd gone for a sedate drive and lunch and yesterday he'd called in at the shop.

She blushed as she recalled their tryst in this very room where he'd bent her over the workbench amidst a pile of feather cus.h.i.+on pads and made hard, pa.s.sionate love to her while she bit down on her hand, moaning in ecstasy. And later, he'd sat her on his lap and held her tight and told her she was the most beautiful woman in the world. She shuddered, weak-kneed at the memory, and walked out of the room.

Across the street, in the steamy window of the internet cafe opposite, brightly coloured Christmas lights pulsed as if to the beat of music around the s.h.i.+ny plastic head of a jolly Santa Claus. Jennifer smiled at the display although her homage to the festive season was much more subdued. A string of blue-white LED fairy lights with white feathers attached round every bulb were artfully draped in the window.

The phone rang abruptly, startling her. She took a deep breath, went into work mode and picked it up.

'Saw you in the paper,' said David's gleeful voice and Jennifer cringed. So much for her hope of the photo pa.s.sing undetected. 'I see you're brus.h.i.+ng shoulders with the great and the good.'

'What can I do for you, David?'

'Can you come over to ours on Sunday for lunch? Lucy's bringing Oren down and she wants us all to be there. I asked her why and she went all mysterious on me and said I'd have to wait to find out.'

'How odd,' remarked Jennifer, bothered by the short notice as much as the fact that Lucy hadn't asked her to stage this event. Of course, where a big party was involved, it made a lot more sense for Maggie and David to host, not only because they had more room, but because it would be a lot more relaxed for everyone if the girls were in their own environment.

'She wants your father there too,' said David, cutting across her thoughts. 'I've already texted Matt.' Odder still. Was Lucy trying to create the illusion of one big happy family? Family get-togethers at Maggie and David's weren't unprecedented, but they were unusual. The last time they'd all been together was for Matt's eighteenth and the time before that was Lucy's. Maggie and David were always generous hosts but, in spite of everyone's best efforts, these occasions were, naturally, a bit awkward.

'You'll come then? Maggie'll lay on the food. You just have to turn up.'

'Of course I'll come, David, but I'll bring a couple of dishes. It's not fair to expect Maggie to do it all. Tell her I'll give her a ring later and we can talk about it.'

'Okay. Look, I have to go. My next patient's just come in. And he's not very happy by the sound of it.' Jennifer could hear the sc.r.a.ping of claws on the smooth hard floor of the veterinary practice.

As soon as she came off the phone, Jennifer tried calling Lucy but there was no reply. She texted her asking for a chat but got a cheery message back almost straight away saying that she was very busy but she was looking forward to catching up at the weekend. How could she be busy? She'd finished university and was staying down at Enniskillen on a farm in the middle of nowhere by all accounts. She'd never been too busy to phone her own mother before, thought Jennifer. She frowned. Whatever Lucy was up to she would have to wait until the weekend to find out.

Meantime, she had a more pressing problem on her hands. She dialled Donna at work and, when she answered said, 'Can you talk?'

'I've got a few minutes before my next meeting.'

'I know it's short notice, Donna, but can you come late night shopping with me on Thursday night?'

'Wardrobe crisis?'

'You could say that. Ben's asked me to his cousin's wedding at Galgorm on the twenty-ninth of December.'

Donna sucked in air through her teeth and said, 'Oh, that'll be quite a do. A society wedding. You'll definitely need a hat. Luckily, I'm free on Thursday. I can meet you in the city centre straight after work. Let's. .h.i.t Victoria Square.'

'Thanks Donna. You're an absolute life saver.'

'Does this mean that you and Ben have gone public?'

'Not yet,' said Jennifer. 'Matt knows but he's sworn to secrecy. I've still to tell everyone else and, in the interests of ongoing diplomatic relations, I'd like them to hear it first from me. I just have to pick the right time.'

Chapter 15.

At Maggie's, Jennifer arranged her colourful contributions of orange and fennel salad, stuffed red peppers and a side of smoked salmon amidst platters of ham, chicken, beef and c.o.c.ktail sausages. As well as this, the dining table groaned with all manner of salads warm potato, coleslaw, tomato, rice and couscous, spinach with toasted pine nuts and crumbled white cheese. Maggie, generous to a fault, always went overboard with catering, and even now she was hovering in the doorway in a Chanel-style navy jacket and matching knee-length skirt, fretting. Jennifer too had made the effort in a royal blue military-style belted dress and black heels. Maggie had always been a slightly anxious person but these days she seemed positively neurotic, an impression reinforced by her whippet-thin figure and the way she stood wringing her hands as if she were at a wake.

'Do you think there's enough food, Jennifer?' she said, coming over to the table and fiddling with an already perfect arrangement of holly-covered napkins fanned out like cards on a dealer's table.

Jennifer, peeling the cling film off the salmon, glanced sharply at Maggie. Her shoulder-length brown hair was both voluminous and smooth and her make-up, especially around her pale grey eyes, was magazine perfect.

'It's just that David likes things to be perfect.'