Page 78 of The Missing Sister

‘Holy Mother of God, this will rouse mayhem around here.’

‘Don’t you be telling me, Nuala. ’Tis my wedding day in three weeks. I’m scared that half the guests will be locked up in Bandon Barracks, or worse, if they’re caught.’

Nuala reached for her sister’s hand. ‘We have to believe they won’t be,’ she comforted her as they manoeuvred past a young bullock being walked down the street by his proud new owner.

‘Now then, why don’t we buy crubeens from Mrs MacNally’s stall, eat them and then go to see your dress at the shop?’ Nuala forced a bright smile onto her face. ‘And mine, o’course, even though just the thought of it gives me the horrors!’

‘I like lilac,’ Hannah said defensively. ‘’Tis quite the thing in Paris, my magazine said.’

Nuala rolled her eyes and went off to buy their crubeens, then they sat themselves on their favourite bench overlooking Courtmacsherry Bay. The day was bright and mild, and they could see the ruins of the old stone abbey below them. The sound of the waves breaking on the shore calmed Nuala’s fraught nerves.

‘Does Himself know what’s to happen?’ she asked her sister.

‘No, and I’ll not be telling him,’ Hannah said firmly. ‘I’ll be as surprised as Ryan is the day after.’

‘I know it’s none of my business, Hannah, but d’you think it’s right to be lying about what you believe in and the brave things that you’ve been doing for your country –hiscountry – before you’re even wed?’

‘This war can’t go on forever, and if ’tis just a few months of pretence, I will, so. Aren’t we all having to pretend?’ she said pointedly.

‘Not to our husbands, surely?’

‘Nuala, will you leave it be for now? Everyone knows I’m to be wed to Ryan soon, so they’re not asking me to take dispatches anyway. So I’m not lying to him, am I?’

Nuala wanted to say more, but knew it wasn’t her place. ‘Well now, will we go away up to the shop and try on that lilac rag you’ll have me in?’

‘Are you ready to be walking outside now?’ Nuala said to Philip a few days later, as they paced around his sitting room for what felt like the thousandth time. A month of daily exercise had strengthened Philip’s upper body as well as his legs, so his posture was now straighter even when sitting in the chair. Nuala had been surprised at how tall he was, standing at over six feet.

‘Outside?’ Philip gave a snort. ‘It’s December and you want to drag me into that damp, frigid air?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘’Twill be good for you. We’ll wrap you up tight, and you’ll warm up quick enough when you’re walking,’ she encouraged him.

‘All right then,’ he softened. ‘After all, I did once live in a trench at below freezing point, so a walk in my mother’s garden should be a breeze in comparison.’

‘Right, so, I’ll warn Mrs Houghton that we’ll be going outside.’

‘Oh, don’t bother with that, Nuala, just get me ready, will you?’

She helped him dress in a woollen coat, his scarf and hat, then together they walked out onto the landing and into the lift. On arrival into the entrance hall, Maureen, who was carrying a tray across it, stopped short and looked at Philip in amazement. Nuala felt an inner sense of satisfaction.

Outside, the air was sharp and cold, and though their breath was visible in front of them, the sun had come out to shine on the barren winterscape of the parklands. With Philip using his stick, and Nuala having her arm tucked into the crook of his on the other side, they trod carefully on the path towards the garden, lest Philip slip on a patch of damp moss.

‘Ahh,’ Philip sniffed the air. ‘The glorious Irish smell of peat fires burning. I rather think youarea fairy queen, Nuala,’ he said as they arrived in Lady Fitzgerald’s private garden, walking past stone planters full of winter pansies, which provided delightful splashes of purple and yellow against the slumbering perennials. ‘I feel as if you have cast a spell on me. I could never have pictured myself walking again. Going where I please, having independence...’

‘’Tis not magic, Philip,’ she replied. ‘’Tis your own strength and hard work.’

‘And your encouragement,’ he said, pausing to turn to her. ‘Nuala, I can never thank you enough for what you have done for me. You have brought me back to life.’ Then he took her hand and kissed it. ‘Promise me you’ll never leave me, Nuala. I swear I’d die without you. You’ve given me a reason to live again. Promise me, Nuala, please.’

She looked up at him and saw tears coursing down his face.

‘I promise,’ she answered. What else could she say?

With Philip declaring himself exhausted at seven that night, she changed out of her work clothes and was just about to leave for home when Mrs Houghton called her back.

‘Her ladyship wants to see you, Nuala,’ she said and led her across the hall into a pretty parlour, which contained a writing desk looking over the garden she and Philip had walked through earlier. Lady Fitzgerald was engaged in reading a letter, but turned round and stood up as Nuala walked in.

‘Thank you, Mrs Houghton. You may leave us. Please, sit down, Nuala.’ Lady Fitzgerald indicated a chair.

‘Is everything all right, your ladyship? Philip was feeling up to walking around, but if you’d rather he stayed inside in the warm—’