They wandered, hand in hand, along the aisle, all sixty-five metres of it, according to the tourist information on Hannah’s phone. Holding hands seemed a very couple-y thing to do and while she liked it, it also made her feel a little off balance. Conor had been tender and thoughtful, and when they’d made love last night there’d been a difference. Maybe it was because she’d realised the depth of her feelings for him or maybe it was because his feelings for her had deepened. They hadn’t talked about when things would come to an end. It was odd; she’d never been in a relationship with an expiry date before and every now and then, as she gazed up row upon row of books which had been here for hundreds of years, she found herself wondering what would happen when the time came to part. Would it be a finite end? No further contact. Would they stay friends? It wasn’t a landscape she’d ever navigated before and she had no idea what the etiquette might be. They’d never ever talked beyond the next week. Would they exchange Christmas cards, WhatsApps, be friends on Facebook, send each other emails? She swallowed. Or would it be easier just to cut everything off, severing the connection hard and fast?
Her head hurt.
‘You seem miles away. What are you thinking about?’ asked Conor, squeezing her hand as they brushed past several display cases on their way towards the queue to see theBook of Kells.
She managed a quick smile, even though inside she suddenly felt a little wobbly. ‘Oh, you know, there’s so much history here.’
‘It does make you think, doesn’t it?’
She nodded and pushed her thoughts to the back of her mind as he showed her around, pointing out a host of treasures including the original Brian Boru harp, and the proclamation of the Irish Republic in 1916 before they went back downstairs to see the magnificent ninth-century manuscripts of theBook of Kells. Although it was atmospheric in a gloomy sort of way in the specially built viewing room, Hannah was a little disappointed that they were only able to see two of the original pages, although that was only to be expected of a priceless artefact. She decided that the Long Library alone had been well worth the visit.
With overloaded brains reeling with history, they left the twilit rooms to return to the bright sunshine of the afternoon in Library Square and walked out of the grounds onto College Street down towards the river.
‘One of my favourite facts about the university is that once upon a time students weren’t allowed through the grounds without a sword. In fact, myth has it that the rule has never been dropped, so students could still be fined for not having a sword. There’s also the one about a secret wine cellar but again I’m not sure how true that is, and another that if students walk under the campanile bell tower they’ll fail their exams.’
‘Glad I didn’t come here then.’
‘There were plenty of other bonuses,’ he said, idly staring back at the buildings.
‘You went here?’
He nodded. ‘Brains of the family.’
‘Wow. Just think, you trod the same halls as Oscar Wilde, Samuel Beckett, and Jonathan Swift.’
‘Not sure that ever crossed my mind while I was here. I was too busy getting acquainted with the black stuff.’
‘Guinness?’
‘Yep, and it’s true. You’ll get no better pint than here. I feel bad – I should have left enough time to visit the Guinness Storehouse. You get a fine view of the city from the Gravity Bar they’ve build on top. But we can have a pint at Mulligan’s. And then head down to the river, cross over the Ha’Penny Bridge, come back over to Dublin Castle, and then back to the hotel to pick up the car.’
‘I’m going to have to come back to Dublin. I feel like I’ve barely scratched the surface.’ And in that moment, Hannah promised herself shewouldcome back. She’d fallen in love with the city, with its elegant Georgian thoroughfares in Merrion Square, the lively cobbled streets of Temple Bar, pulsing with personality and party vibes, as well as the stately grandeur of the university and other historic buildings.
The only problem was, she couldn’t imagine coming back without Conor.
Chapter Twenty-Three
‘How was Dublin?’
Hannah jumped and almost dropped the scraps bucket for the chickens. ‘Adrienne! Morning. It was… it was great.’ Conor had told Adrienne? She hadn’t expected that.
‘I hear you had a great time. Conor was…’ – she smiled in that knowing way – ‘most enthusiastic.’
Hannah felt the blush staining her cheeks. ‘Although I gather you were less than impressed with Patrick.’ Adrienne’s mouth pursed. ‘He’s been with us for a long time and I’ve a tremendous sense of loyalty, but I think the time has come for us to consider someone younger and more local. I understand you know Aidan Fitzpatrick.’
‘I do. I was at university with him and I’ve worked with him. He’s diligent and thorough… and he’s a real terrier on behalf of his clients.’
‘That’s good to know.’ Adrienne nodded her head thoughtfully. ‘I’ll feel guilty about Patrick but we’ve known for a while his heart isn’t really in it.’
‘I can imagine, but I think he’ll probably be glad not to have anything interrupt the racing.’
Adrienne laughed. ‘That’s very true. Although going to see him was always a good excuse to visit Dublin. It really is lovely.’
‘Oh yes, I loved it. In fact, I love Ireland full stop.’ Hannah gazed out over the view, the hens fussing around her feet like a welcoming committee. There was something about this place that had got under her skin. The slower pace of life, the sense of community, and the warmth of the people, from complete strangers to old friends. She felt at home here and as she watched the white crests dancing on a deep-navy sea beyond the rich-green carpet lining the coast where the hills rolled right down the water, stopped by the ragged cliff edges, a sense of peace filled her. She really didn’t want to go home.
With a heavy sigh, she said. ‘I’m not sure I ever want to leave.’ Attila pecked around her feet, as always in search of the juiciest scraps, and Hannah threw her a couple of pieces of apple, feeling like an old hand. She’d come to love the ladies and relished this curious and unexpected sense of belonging. All her life she’d been a city girl but she fitted here.
‘Well don’t,’ said Adrienne, as if it was as easy as that. ‘Stay.’
