‘I was a cleaner at the castle. My best friend’s mother worked there for years, and she got me in. Have you ever seenDownton Abbey?’
‘Every episode, binged it, loved it.’ I smile.
‘Well, that’s what Castlemoon was like back in the day. The lord and lady lived very well and us less so .?.?.’
‘Terrible,’ Michael says, tapping his pipe off the table, releasing tobacco, tut-tutting to himself.
‘It really wasn’t, love. They took good care of us, Michael, you were just cut from a different cloth,’ Esther says to her husband as she slides her form towards me.
‘True,’ he concurs.
‘Anyways, I had to go out to work at a young age, I worked in service as a teenager and then His Lordship died and the castle started to fall apart a bit. He was a great man and ran that place like a military operation. Then Her Ladyship met another andshe moved to France. Most of the staff left. It left their only son to run the castle and one night I brought in the post, into the Sweet Orange Room. He looked so lonely and sad and desolate, head in his hands sat by the dying fire.’
‘Sure what else would a nineteen-year-old boy with no idea how to keep his father’s family castle running be doing?’ Michael’s old face lights up so much that, for a brief second, I can see that he must have been incredibly handsome at one time. ‘I was about to give up, until this light stepped into the room. Sent to me from heaven above,’ Michael continues with a break in his voice.
My head jerks up from my MacBook, my fingers hover over the keyboard. The old couple are holding hands again. My head spins. What is he saying? I open my mouth then shut it tightly like any good journalist to let him continue uninterrupted, but Esther takes over.
‘We’d never spoken, believe it or not, he’d been away a lot and I was in the kitchen by then. But I took one look at him that evening, in the Sweet Orange Room all on his own and I said to him, “What’s the matter?”’
‘I took one look at her and I fell in love right there and then. It was how she spoke to me, like I was just a person and not this entitled young man who had inherited a castle.’
I audibly gulp but remain tight-lipped.
‘So, he told me all the problems and I gave him some home truths. I told him he needed to make use of the place, turn the castle into a hotel. Make use of all the empty rooms upstairs, turn them into guest bedrooms and start over.’ Esther coughs now, takes a drink and steadies herself.
‘Music to my ears.’ Michael laughs, but watches his wife closely. ‘This woman here turned my fortunes around. I proposed to her four weeks later on her twentieth birthday. We married in the castle, the very first wedding there, and had twochildren. She worked like a dog with me to save the castle and together we turned it into a very successful hotel, working side by side seven days a week. A team, through good times and bad.’
‘I loved it. I love that castle. I was penniless when they took me in, and I ended up meeting the love of my life and being the lady of the castle. It was written in the stars. I’ve had a life of blessings and I’m forever grateful to the lord beside me and the Lord above.’ Esther blesses herself now.
‘So, you owned the castle for how long?’ I can’t believe the story I am getting to write, or these two incredible people in front of me. This is gold, pure gold. No way Amanda isn’t going to love this.
‘Until we stepped away. We retired ten years ago and settled here in my family’s old farmhouse,’ Michael says.
‘I’m sorry, Maggie, I’ve gone a little lightheaded, think I need to have a lie down,’ Esther says, suddenly looking very pale and holding her hand on top of mine.
‘Oh, of course.’ I make sure to press save, close my MacBook and click off the Dictaphone.
‘But you wanted a picture, where do you want us?’ Esther asks me, rising slowly.
‘Where you both are is perfect. It’s all perfect. It’s a perfect love story.’ I gulp, pull the Canon out, and decide against the ring light. This couple are authentic and real and I want my story to reflect that. I know this is probably the greatest love story I am ever going to write about. I’ve waited all my life to write this story.
‘Smile,’ I say but instead, at the exact same time, they turn to one another and gently kiss. A lone tear falls from my eye. I can’t help it. It’s so beautiful. Maybe my ideals about love are shifting. Maybe when I get back to the city I’ll open myself up more. Maybe I’ll find a Dan Delaney in New York.
Maybe.
SEVENTEEN
‘How sick is Esther?’ is the first thing I ask as I slide into the soft booth opposite Kate and Jimmy in the busy circular shaped café while Betsy fusses around us. The skylight above is scattered with fresh snowfall giving the most wonderous light from the afternoon’s December sun and the Christmas garland flashes on and off.
‘She’s a fighter that one. She’s had cancer before so she’ll kick it this time too, despite her age,’ Kate tells me with a purse of her lips as Gráinne puts a plate of freshly baked mince pies down in front of us.
‘Compliments of the house,’ she says as I do a double take and Kate immediately recognises it.
‘Yes, we all double job in this village, don’t we, G?’
‘And we wouldn’t have it any other way, would we, K?’ The two girls high five and giggle.
‘So, you know I write about love. I’m really interested to hear your love story?’ I set my Dictaphone in the centre of the table beside the small reused jam jar that holds fresh snowdrops.
