‘That’s good. You relax there, I’ll bring you some tea and biscuits,’ Mary calls over to her. ‘She’s a regular Christmas guest. Dan is very good to her. But like I was saying, we’re getting desperate,’ Mary tells me sniffing the air again, moving on.
‘I’m so sorry to hear all this. It’s just the most magical place.’ I have to ask as I follow her, pulling my case behind me, ‘So I guess that’s why they are selling it?’
Mary stops dead. She stands bolt upright and pales, like she’s just seen a ghost.
‘Selling it? Oh, good grief, no! The castle is not for sale, lovey! Why did you think that?’ Mary eyeballs me, her hand clutching her neck like she’s just heard something dreadful.
‘I – oh, I’m not sure. I-I thought I heard .?.?.’ Again, I feel my face flush. Just as I suspected, the manager doesn’t know Castlemoon is about to be sold in a few days’ time! What on earth is going on? And why do I suddenly feel like I’m in the middle of something I shouldn’t be?
‘Hear what now?’ Mary stands closer to me in her soft plimsoles.
‘I-I heard about .?.?. when you said the Rolls-Royce was for sale .?.?. I thought everything was for sale,’ I bluff for my life.
‘No, no, no.’ Relief spreads like warm butter across Mary’s face. ‘There’s a nasty rumour spreading like wildfire around Heartwell, I just thought you’d got wind of it. There’s always something we’re selling here – paintings, cars, furniture – because there is always stuff for Terry to fix and maintain. You see we’ve a tiny staff but let me tell you something, Castlemoon means the world to Heartwell village and our people, it’s as much a part of our history as our own children are. Take me for example, I started here a long time ago when it was run by the parents, met my husband, JP, here – he’s a carpenter – we spent all our Christmases here with the five kiddies when they were small. It has my heart and all my best memories. Let me tell you, if it wasn’t taken on—’
The phone shrills out on the desk. ‘Excuse me.’ Mary potters back to the desk, picks up the receiver and in a grander voice than the one she’s been using to chat to me sings, ‘Guuud evening, thank you for cauuulling Costlemoooon, please houuuuuld.’
Mary puts her palm across the receiver. ‘Don’t write about any of that now, lovey. I told you all that in confidence, they all say I’m a bit of a blabber mouth.’ But she chuckles. ‘We still put on the greatest weddings in the county. Get some Americans over for us? Why don’t you pop inside to Aisling and Aaron’s afters later and see for yourself?’ Mary puts the receiver back to her ear.
Mary is going to be a brilliant source to quote for my article. But I’m utterly confused about this sale. I need to talk to Frederick. I mean is he aware of the extent of the work that needs doing? A new roof, the cracked fireplace that’s spreading,the draughty bedroom windows? Most worryingly, so few wedding bookings? Surely weddings are the hotel’s best income? Is this what he’s expecting me to report on? This is a far different job than I’d thought. That sense that I’m doing something wrong creeps through me again. I didn’t sign up for this and I’m going to email Frederick as soon as I get into my room to tell him that. I need to find out exactly what people around here know and what they don’t.
Heading for the grand staircase, I turn to see Dan is back and again I jolt. Hairs stand up on the back of my neck. He’s sitting in the chair beside Mrs Geraghty, jotting down things she’s saying on a pad, deep in conversation. I put my foot on the first step, feeling almost regal as my ankle boots sink into the middle of the deep green carpet covering the centre part of the old staircase.
But why would the sale be a secret? Amanda assured me that Frederick wasn’t going to change a thing and that all the staff would be keeping their jobs. Maybe that’s why no one knows, because nothing will change but the owner’s name on a piece of paper. That must be it. It’s just business. Business as usual.
My priority is to focus on my story, but my head is spinning at Mary’s words. There are always ways to run weddings more affordably. And there are endless ways to generate money with a building as magnificent as Castlemoon. Ideas whizz around my mind. The more events they have in the castle, the more income they would generate, and the more money to fix up the building. Look at all the outdoor space – there should be a Christmas market set up out there right now! People would pay for stall space, attracting more people up here. They could run fetes in summer, outdoor events, barbecues, even summer weddings in marquees. But, unfortunately, that’s not my concern. I wish it was but it’s not. I step over the last step, where I see it dipping in the centre. But if itwasmy concern, I know I could be of use. If I was here to save the castle instead of writing about it I’d have nodoubts I would do a great job!
I find myself outside room nine, use the key and the large pine door swings open with a long creek. I gasp.
The room is unbelievable. It’s stunning. It’s everything and more I’d hoped it might be. Gently, I shut the door behind me. My hungry eyes take in every inch as I look around in awe and grapple for my Dictaphone in my satchel. Then, I plonk down on the huge mahogany four-poster bed and sink into the thick cream embroidered eiderdown, looking out at the snow falling through the windows. Automatically, my thumb clicks down on the record button on the handheld device.
‘My bedroom is stunning. It manages to retain that original, cultivated style that is in keeping with the period of the castle. Fabrics and period furniture effortlessly highlight the singular heritage of the castle, along with my opulent old four-poster bed and large sash windows overlooking the magnificent, three tiered gardens. The thick, plush beige carpet makes you feel like you definitely should not be wearing shoes indoors. It’s like I’ve stepped back in time, to an era where things were lavish and women wore corsets and elaborate dresses and danced in grand ballrooms. If you want your wedding guests to have an experience of a lifetime, this is the bedroom to deliver. Note, I need to get into the bridal suite, Mary says they have one.’ I save the recording, kick off my boots and flop back on the bed, like a snow angel. Then, I sit up and open my MacBook. I try not to look at the horrible crack as I compose an email.
from: Maggie Grace
to: Frederick Macken
date: Dec 19, 2025, 19.56 PM
subject: Castlemoon
Hi Frederick,
With the time difference it’s probably easier to email. I didn’tget to talk with you before I left as expected so I have a few questions for you. Amanda said you’d like me to compile a report on Castlemoon. Can you clarify exactly what you want from me? I was speaking with the manager when I checked in a little while ago and it appears she has no clue about the sale of the castle. I’m a little confused.
Regards,
Maggie Grace.
I hit send, fall back onto the bed again and stare up at the white ceiling with the intricate plaster work. The room is just so beautiful. It fills me with a sense of contentment I haven’t felt in ages. I release a long, relaxed sigh as my stomach rumbles. I’m going to devour my dinner and that bread and butter pudding dessert I saw as a special on the board behind reception. That’s the first change I’d make, I think. The food specials need to be out the front of the hotel, on a large blackboard. No doubt hundreds of tourists drive up here just to take a look at the castle and could be tempted by the specials board outside to come in for food, or even just a scone and coffee. They could even refurbish one of those cheap run-down horse boxes at the end of the drive and sell takeaway coffee and cakes, iced lattes in summer. Once people are inside the castle grounds, anything can be sold to them, not just an idyllic wedding venue but merchandise too – cups, T-shirts, key fobs. My mind goes into overdrive again. Then I remember I’d promised to call my mom as soon as I was safely inside the castle walls. I dial the number, doing the quick calculation it’s 3PM in New York.
‘Hi! I’ve arrived safely in Galway.’ There’s hustle and bustle down the line – the clinking of glasses, the rumble of voices. Dorothy is not in her kitchen.
‘Thank goodness, I was watching the clock and starting to fret. I knew you should have arrived over forty minutes ago,’ sheyells so loudly I have to hold the phone away from my ear. I hit speaker.
‘No, I did, I just ran into someone .?.?.’ Catching my reflection in the mirror on the wall opposite I pinch my cheeks to draw some colour into my porcelain skin, smile at Eliza’s comment about my skin the other day.
‘Did I tell you Alice had to go back in with her veins?’ Dorothy is literally screaming.
