It is finished! And here are the first few pages, first short chapter actually.. Picture of Ballyalban fairy fort courtesy of tripadvisor. This post has now been edited, since the book has been, and the new improved first chapter c. April 2016 has replaced the original one.
Chapter 1
Hallowe’en
“So, how come I’m the only one
booked in at the Freke Park Hotel?” Deirdre asked RóisÃn, the conference
manager.
“Didn’t you request it? You
ticked 5-star on the form – and it’s the only 5-star hotel in driving distance.
You have your satnav?”
“Oh, yes, if it will
work out here in the sticks.”
“You’ll be grand,
so!” said RóisÃn, in a tone of steely cheerfulness.
Outside there was a
gibbous moon and once Deirdre had pulled out of the conference-centre car park
and into the dark country lanes, the scene was eerily lit. At first she drove
confidently – only slightly unnerved when she looked into the mirror and found
nothing but utter blackness – no street lights, no headlights behind her – just
deep, enshrouding darkness. She was comforted to hear the satnav’s mechanical
instructions occurring regularly. But it was strange – she didn’t recall it
having an Irish accent this morning, when she’d picked the car up at the
airport.
She had been driving
along an interminable road through rough grassland land and bog, with no sign
of any farm buildings, let alone a 5-star hotel, when she arrived at a
crossroads. The satnav was annoyingly silent. She slowed down, then stopped by
the Yield sign – peering about hopefully for a signpost, or
even some evidence of human occupation. In one direction, the road went
slightly uphill, and the beginnings of a hedge sprouted along a poorly
maintained stone wall. In all other directions stretched unbounded tracts of
bog. She probably ought to just go straight over the crossroads since there was
no signpost. The right-hand road looked more domesticated though: that hedge
indicated some sort of farming activity, and perhaps there’d be a place where
she could ask directions.
A movement, glimpsed out of the corner
of her eye, made her skin ripple with gooseflesh. A sinister dark shape was
moving purposefully across the bog towards her. She quickly turned the key in
the ignition, then panicked as the car wheezed, refusing to start. At a second
try it coughed into life and she moved forward with relief, her headlights now
picking out the old sheep which turned skittishly and trotted off.
Don’t they sleep? she
thought irritably.
She turned right, and
the satnav came alive.
“Change of
direction has been noted. Will I re-compute the journey for ye now?”
“What?” This was mad
– this was taking cute Irishry to desperate ends – next time she’d ask for a
regular satnav – not some Tourist Board whimsy.
“Or would you
rather just go your own sweet way?”
Deirdre felt panicky:
this was not satnav-speak. She had heard her grandmother saying those words to
her a hundred times throughout her childhood. For an instant she imagined that
some thing, some entity, had taken it over. That was ridiculous –
nothing could interfere with the laws of physics. It must be some daft folksy
program they had put in. Perhaps if she re-set it …
She stopped the car a
little farther up the road, where the hedge had given way to a thin band of
trees. She re-set the satnav, and waited while green lights flashed on the
device until it appeared to settle down.
When the satnav spoke
this time, it had an old man’s voice, uttering the immortal words: “Well
now, if I was you, I wouldn’t start from here.”
“Christ on a bike!”
She clicked it off.
Damn it, she’d find
her own way to the hotel. It wasn’t rocket science. She had a map too, an old
Ordnance Survey map that had been in the car – the last hirer must have left it
there. She opened the glove compartment and pulled it out. There was the
conference centre, and there was Freke Park. So she must have come this way ...
now was it this crossroads … or that … perhaps this one? The contours were
changing. Then she gasped as the interior light went out. She scrabbled at the
switch, but nothing happened.
It was now so utterly
dark that she could barely see the road beyond the headlights. Deirdre flung
the map on the passenger seat. She’d seen enough – she’d go on up the hill, see
if she could find a farm to ask directions. Failing that, she’d soon arrive at
Caisleanshee, which looked like a small village. Surely there’d be a bar there?
It was still only seven thirty; she’d be at the hotel in time for dinner. She
started the car again and drove on up the hill. The trees were dense and full
grown on either side now, and they reached to meet each other overhead so that
she was driving through a deep tunnel of boughs, which were still well-leafed.
At the brow of the hill, the road fell steeply down, but she noticed an opening
onto a green way off to her left, through the trees. That must be the drive to
a farm, she thought. There was a wooden noticeboard as she turned into the lane,
but the sign was written in Gaelic script and she couldn’t make it out. It was
so silent, driving across grass, through the still tunnel of trees. The lane
ran steeply downhill – she felt as if she were tumbling down it towards
something. As her headlights cut the darkness, through the rear-view mirror she
saw it falling back into place around her, unscathed and absolute. She felt
like the only person in the world.
This is quite a
drive, she thought, hoping it would be a short cut to the hotel too.
After several minutes
of uncertainty she stopped. She’d always been afraid of the dark – now she was
trembling with the effort of not giving in to her anxiety.
This is ridiculous,
she thought. There’s nothing threatening you, you’re out in the countryside, in
one of the safest countries in the world. You have nothing to be afraid of!
The moon had deserted
her, invisible beyond the trees which were packed together as densely as
fencing pales. And if she switched the headlights off ... but she was not going
to do that.
How much farther can
it be? I must have gone a mile already surely ... I’ll turn around, that would
be best.
But she could see
that the road was so narrow that it would be impossible for her car to turn in
it.
“Oh, if only I’d got
one of those tiny cars – that would have turned here, no problem!”
“If you’d a
smaller car, the road would be narrower,” a woman’s voice said.
Deirdre yelped.
“Who’s that?”
But there was no
answer. She looked about – certain there was no one outside. With a loudly
beating heart, she cautiously opened the door – it scraped against the stone
wall – the road here was barely wider than a parking space. There was nothing
to do but go on, and hope she could turn in a field gate, or indeed in the
farmyard she was expecting to find any minute.
A little music
perhaps? she said to herself, clicking the radio on.
She pressed the
different buttons, attempting to find one audible channel – but there was
nothing but crackles, and white noise, until at last she found a station which
was playing, very faintly, some fiddle music. It wasn’t her sort of thing, but
it was the only thing available, so she started the car again, and drove on,
fighting down a fear that it would get narrower and narrower and she would have
to somehow reverse all the way back. More time passed – she wasn’t sure how
much, since the car’s clock seemed to have stopped when the interior lights
gave up the ghost. Thank heavens for the radio – but then again, this station
seemed to play nothing but fiddle music, with no announcements, adverts or news
flashes. It alternated between lively dancing music, so vivid that she could
almost see the fiddler’s elbow bobbing and swooping, and slower, majestic,
heartbreaking tones, that seemed to convey a lost grandeur, a noble race whose
glory had faded forever.
As one of these
tragic pieces came to an end, so did the road and she found, to her relief,
that she was in a small green circle with room to turn around. There was no
farmhouse though: the road ended here, in a steep wall of rock. Deirdre thumped
the steering wheel in frustration, and accidentally hit the horn. To her
surprise the sound was echoed with a couple of seconds delay in the radio
broadcast. For a moment she felt her hairs rise a little. How could that be? A
coincidence. You occasionally heard these things on live Radio 3 concerts – a
police siren serenading the Schubert or whatever.
Deirdre sat up
straight and took a few deep breaths – she had clearly been breathing too
shallowly – her brain was starved of blood – that was why she was feeling
panicky. There was no way out but back, but it looked like there would be
enough space to turn around and leave by the way she had come. She drove
cautiously into the circle but, as she turned to face the opposite direction,
she was horrified to see the headlights of a car approaching along the lane.
There’d been no sign of any car behind her before – how on earth had it got
this close without her noticing?
It would probably be
a local farmer, someone who could give her directions, but she couldn’t see how
they would both be able to turn about in this tiny circle. As the car drew near
her, she saw that it was a small, neat sports car. Was this a lovers’ lane?
This circle would be ideal for a courting couple. Romantic even, if you were in
the mood, but Deirdre was definitely not. A shower, a change and a hot meal
were her sole desires at present. Still, it was embarrassing. She’d have to ask
them to help her out. She manoeuvred her car to the side of the circle to make
room. However, the car stopped in the mouth of the lane, blocking her way out.
He – it would be a man of course – had deliberately blocked her exit! Deirdre
was really frightened now, and quickly turned to lock herself into the car, but
there was no reassuring click of locks – had that failed too? Well, she’d just
sit tight. What was it they said about opening automatic windows in dangerous
situations? Don’t! was the only advice she remembered.
The door of the
little sports car opened, and a surprisingly tall man unfolded himself from the
driving seat and crossed the green circle to her. He didn’t seem fazed by the
headlights, which illuminated his almost glowing green eyes. That’s not
possible, she told herself, noticing how incredibly attractive he was. This was
irrationally reassuring. Surely such a handsome man wouldn’t have any evil
designs on her?
He bent down and
briefly touched the driver’s window – it slid down smoothly and he leaned
towards her. She could barely bring herself to look at him. He was so gorgeous
she was afraid he would see her interest on her face. But she still had to get
herself out of this.
“I’m afraid I’m
lost!” she said, as cheerfully as she could manage.
“Were you looking for
me?”
“Well, I was looking
for someone to give me directions.”
“So, since I’m the
only one who lives hereabouts, you were looking for me then.” He smiled, with
curving lips that reminded her of an Aubrey Beardsley faun. She found herself
checking his ears, to see if they were pointed, but they were covered with
brilliant, thick red-gold curls.
“I suppose I was
then,” she said, smiling up at him. God, this is ridiculous, he’s so ...
“Well – you’ve found
me now.” His voice had a husky edge to it, and he was smiling faintly, but
invitingly.
“I wonder, could you
tell me the way to the Freke Park Hotel? My satnav went on the blink at the
crossroads down the hill and I got confused.”
“They’re terrible
things, aren’t they? I never use them on my roads – I won’t have them.”
“You surely don’t
need one for this area yourself?”
“No, no ... now, let
me think.”
He turned his head to
one side and half-closed his eyes, allowing her to admire the slightly slanting
lids and the high cheekbones. Suddenly Deirdre felt very lumpen and ordinary –
even if he came back to the hotel with her and she changed into her smart black
dress, she’d feel too dowdy to be seen with him.
He dropped his head
to look down at her again, and she could see he was assessing her. She didn’t
really mind as much as she usually would have.
“I think I’ll turn
around and you can follow me to the hotel – that’d be best, wouldn’t it?” he
said.
That voice: warm and
deep as an embrace.
“Oh, would you?
That’s so kind, but if you can just show me on the map ...”
He pushed it away.
“It’s no trouble at all – I’m always happy to help a visitor – just follow me.”
He got back into the
car and it turned about without doing any obvious manoeuvres ... as if it
compacted itself, spun around and then elongated itself, as it was now a long,
elegant, low-slung car, rather like an old E-type Jag. Since this was
impossible, Deirdre did not believe what she was seeing. The darkness and her
fear had discombobulated her. His car started up the lane at a fair old lick
and Deirdre followed. He was the perfect guide, slowing at the crossroads,
indicating in good time. It was all too easy to follow him, and within a few
minutes he was driving into the brightly lit hotel car park.
During the drive,
Deirdre formulated her plan: she wasn’t going to let him get away. She was on
her own this evening, since Niall had abruptly dumped her by cancelling their
plans for dinner, and she would be happy to have the company of this handsome
local landowner, or whatever he was. She was betting he was a bachelor: a car
like that, no wedding ring. He might be gay of course, but she was curious know
more about him.
He parked his car
beside the hotel and she jumped out to speak to him. When she touched the
vehicle she was surprised to discover it was not apparently made of steel – but
a soft, almost rubbery material. It must be one of those new smart materials
which could be programmed to change shape and so on. He opened his window.
“Thank you so much
for your help,” she said. “I was quite lost out there.”
“You were nearly
entirely lost, but I’m delighted to have had the opportunity to help you.”
“Can I buy you a
drink to say thank you?”
He inclined his head.
“That is, if you
don’t have another engagement?”
He looked up at her,
his eyes looking straight into hers – and to her surprise she saw a distinct
interest.
“Why don’t we have
dinner together and make a night of it?” he said.
The low, slightly
rough tone in his voice suggested something earthier than his sophisticated
appearance.
“That would be lovely
– I think the food’s meant to be pretty good here.”
“Wouldn’t you rather come
back to the old castle with me?” he asked.
Deirdre’s skin
prickled ... having dinner with him in the carefully lit hotel dining room was
one thing ... but going to some old castle, however charming and traditional –
she didn’t like the sound of that at all. The hotel dining room was nice and
public, but presumably they’d be on their own at his castle. He was a stranger,
anything could happen, yet no alarm bells were ringing – she was more concerned
with the trivial horrors of dust, damp, draughts, cobwebs, spiders, beetles,
mould … and yet ... She felt herself being gently nudged towards saying yes and
having no resistance to the proposal.
He would have a drink
in the lobby while she changed for dinner.
After a quick shower,
she came back downstairs in her black dress and some jewellery and saw him
sitting in a wingback chair, turning the pages of theIrish Arts
Review. With his tumbler of whisky beside him, all he needed was a red
setter at his feet to look every inch a member of the gentry. Out there in the
green turning-circle by the rock he had seemed austere, aloof. His beauty had
been almost sinister, but now, seeing him in proper lighting, everything about
him appealed to her, even his slightly outré green velvet
jacket. It gave him a charming, sexy, boho air. Of course a lot of these gentry
types were old hippies really. She hoped to God he’d got a decent bathroom back
at his place and that the “castle” wasn’t just some glorified tepee in a field.
She handed in her key
at the desk.
“Are you not eating
with us, Professor Riordan?” the receptionist asked.
“I’m sorry – will you
cancel my reservation please – I’ve been invited to the old castle for the
evening.”
The girl looked at
her in astonishment.
“Do you know the
place at all?” she asked in a low voice.
“No – my friend over
there is taking me.” Deirdre gestured in his direction – but the wingback chair
stood empty and the glass empty beside it on a table.
The girl nodded
uneasily. “Oh, that gentleman … but he’s … Well, I wish you a pleasant
evening.”
This small exchange
gave Deirdre a slightly frosty feel, but her “gentleman” was standing by the
door waiting for her, giving her an approving look.
“Have you a coat?” he
asked.
“It’s a warm enough
night – the jacket will be fine, won’t it?”
“I’m sure it will,”
he said, putting his arm through hers.
As soon as he touched
her, she felt two conflicting sensations: the first a sort of limpness, as if
her intellectual faculties were draining away, then a weird vitality as though
a green sap was pumping through her veins, making her feel intensely alive. The
“body-mind disjunction”, was her last rational thought as they walked towards
his car.
