The Forgotten Secret: A heartbreaking and gripping historical novel for fans of Kate Morton
She watched him, a little spark of hope in her heart that he would tell her the most important thing in his life was her, and that he had decided he wanted to be with her, now and always. But as soon as the thoughts crossed her mind, she dismissed them. Something in his expression, in his distant gaze across the fields, told her he cared more for something else. ‘What is it?’ she whispered, hardly wanting to hear the answer. It would change everything – she knew it.
‘Ireland, Ellen. Ireland’s future, Ireland’s freedom. Ireland’s independence. That’s it, Ellen. That’s the most important thing, the thing my heart says I must follow, no matter what. I’ve joined up. I’m a Volunteer. The Cause, Ireland’s independence, that’s what’s calling to me. I’ll be neither a lawyer nor a farmer. I’ll be a soldier for Ireland, till the day I die or the day Ireland is free, whichever comes first.’
He jumped down from the fence as he made this speech, and wheeled around to face her. She’d never heard so much passion in his voice. Tears sprung to her eyes as she realised two things simultaneously – first that she loved him with all her heart and would never love anyone else as much, and second that she was losing him.
‘Ah, Ellen, what has you crying?’ His expression was softer now, the fire in his eyes dimmer but still there, smouldering.
‘The thought of you fighting and maybe dying for the Cause. Surely it’s not worth it?’ She dashed the tears away with the back of her hand.
‘It is worth it. One man’s life is a small sacrifice to make for a country’s future. I love my country, Ellen. I have to do this. I have to fight the British. You are not to worry. I’ll be all right. I’ll do my part, but I’m young and fit, canny and clever, and I’ll not get caught and I’ll not be killed. You wait and see! You’ll be proud of me yet, and we’ll be able to tell our grandchildren that I fought for their future.’
Ellen was once again left speechless, still trying to process what she’d heard about grandchildren, when Jimmy grabbed her suddenly, pulling her off her perch on the fence. He squeezed her against him and landed a huge, passionate kiss on her lips. It wasn’t quite how she’d imagined their first kiss would be – she’d pictured a more tender moment – but it was still a kiss and it was intense.
‘Ah, Ellen,’ Jimmy said, holding her tightly and burying his face in her hair. ‘It has me all fired up. And you, my love – believe me, you mean just as much to me as Ireland does.’ He kissed her again, gently this time, his lips warm against hers, the fire within him spreading into her and with it the certain knowledge that he loved her. And she loved him, and together they would build a future.
If the Cause didn’t claim Jimmy first.
Clare, April 2016
In the end I waited till probate was complete, the money was in my account and Clonamurty Farm was in my name. I didn’t mean to wait that long to tell Paul; I was just weak and couldn’t seem to find the right moment. Or the courage.
He’d had his dinner – fish pie, and a glass of Sauvignon Blanc. I’d eaten almost none of mine, having made up my mind that tonight was the night we’d have the conversation. My stomach was churning. ‘Not eating?’ he’d asked, and I’d grunted and shrugged, then forced down a mouthful or two.
I’d cleared up. He’d gone to the sitting room and put the TV on in the background while he read a magazine. Something to do with cars, I noted. Well he’d need to read up on car recommendations. ‘Our’ car was actually my car – Dad had given it to me when he gave up driving, and I was going to use it to take my stuff to Ireland.
I stood in the doorway of the sitting room, breathing deeply and summoning up the courage to speak. Paul looked up and frowned. ‘Well, either come in or go out. Don’t stand there like some kind of zombie.’
‘Sorry. I’m coming in. Just – we need to talk.’ I took a few steps forward. I could feel my heart pounding.
‘Hmm? What about?’ Paul had returned his attention to his magazine.
I took a deep breath. ‘Probate on Uncle Pádraig’s will is complete. The money’s in my bank account.’
‘Ah, right. That’s good. I’ll get online and invest it later. Got my eye on a couple of safe retail bonds.’
‘Er, no. I mean it’s in my bank account. My private one, not our joint one.’
He put down his magazine and looked at me over the top of his reading glasses. ‘You don’t have a bank account.’
‘I do now.’ Oh why could I not just come out and say it? Paul, I’m leaving you.
‘Why is the money in there? I can’t access it if it’s only in your name.’
That’s the point, I wanted to say, but stopped myself. ‘Paul, the money’s in there because it’s mine, not yours. And the farm is mine.’
‘But we decided to sell it, didn’t we? What are you getting at, Clare?’
This was it. This was the moment. ‘I’ve decided to keep the farm. I want to live there.’
‘What? But it’s uninhabitable!’
‘Just a bit dirty. I’ll soon sort it out.’
‘Clare, you are mad. It’s revolting. It’ll take more than a bit of Vim and a quick hoover round, you know. Not something you can do in a few weekend visits.’
‘I’ll have longer than that. I’m going to live there permanently.’
‘Well I’m bloody not!’ He stood up and crossed the room, towering over me.
‘No. I’m not expecting you to. Paul, I think … I want … I think we should separate.’ There. Said it. The words were out there and there was no clawing them back. To give myself strength I imagined Matt and Jon standing at my side, holding my hands and lending me support. And Mum, behind me, whispering in my ear, arise and go now.
‘Separate? What? Why? Don’t be ridiculous. Aren’t you happy? You have this beautiful house, all the time in the world to get your hair done or whatever it is you do with your days. Get this stupid notion about the farm out of your head, Clare. I don’t want to hear any more of it. We’ll get it on the market as soon as possible, and use some of the money to go on a cruise. How does that sound?’
‘I don’t want to go on a cruise. I want to live at the farm in Ireland. On my own. I’m sorry, Paul, but this is it. No, I’m not happy. I need things to change.’
‘You’re menopausal, aren’t you? That’s what this is about. Your hormones. Can’t you see a doctor and get some tablets or something?’
That did it. ‘I’m not fucking menopausal, Paul. You’re not listening to me. I’m saying I want to leave you. I have had enough of you controlling everything and telling me what to do. I want to be independent, to be in control of my own life, and now I have the money to do it. I’ll be gone in a few days’ time, and till then I’ll sleep in Matt’s old room.’
‘Is this about Angie?’
I stared at Paul. Angie was a woman he’d worked with for a while. He’d invited her round for dinner once or twice, and she’d brought a different date each time. He’d slept with her at a conference, I’d found out. He’d apologised and swore it’d never happen again. And I’d believed him and stayed with him. For the sake of the boys, who’d been under 10 at the time.
‘Angie?’
‘Because if it is, remember that all happened ages ago. Been over for years and there’s been no one else since.’
‘No, it’s not about Angie,’ I said, coldly.