Aisling Gayle (20 page)

‘That,” Aisling laughed, “is what we call in Ireland a back-handed compliment.”

Thomas beamed at her. “Very beautiful,” he repeated giving a reassuring wink and a nod, as an older man might do.

“Well, thank you,” Aisling said, “you’re very kind.”

“He’s not being kind . . .” came a familiar, deep voice from behind. “He’s being truthful.”

Aisling turned now – she hadn’t noticed Jameson Carroll come up behind her.

“You look lovely,” he said, his eyes sweeping over her.

And again, as their eyes met, Aisling suddenly felt self-conscious and shy, because the tall, rangy American looked very different himself. Gone were the casual shirts and jeans – replaced by a well-cut, navy suit with a pristine white shirt and a subtle navy and white-spotted tie.

“I suppose we all look very smart and very different,”
Aisling said, smiling. For some reason, she felt embarrassed
at the thought of directing a compliment to him alone.

“Well,” he said, grinning, running his finger inside the shirt collar, “I reckon this won’t last too long. As soon as the speeches and formalities are over, the tie’s coming off.”

Then, Thomas moved forward and touched Aisling’s hand. “You – Ash-leen – look like my mom! She’s a very beautiful lady – too.”

Aisling saw Jameson Carroll stiffen up as though he had just been punched. But he said nothing.

“My mom,” Thomas went on, getting quite animated,
“she wears beautiful clothes – and she smells
be-a-utiful
. . .”

Aisling could almost feel the tension coming from his father.

“Thomas,” Jameson said in a quiet tone, “that’s enough now. Aisling doesn’t know your mom.” Then, seeing the confused look on the boy’s face, he put his arm around Thomas’s neck and pulled him towards him playfully.

Aisling stepped back now, her hand shielding her eyes against the sun. “I think they’re getting ready for a whole-wedding-group photograph . . . they’ll probably want us to join in.”

And then Aisling spotted her mother and father coming out of the cemetery – with perfect timing. They were laughing and chatting animatedly to their companion.

When the photographs were finished, everyone dispersed into cars and small coaches to head off for the reception, which was being held in a local hotel. Aisling and her parents went along with the man from the cemetery, all three discussing the old headstones in great depth.

When they arrived at the hotel, Maggie steered Aisling along in the direction of the ladies’ room. “The hat was near-torture in that church,” she told Aisling, as she removed the hatpins first, and then the hat. She shook her head from side to side. “The biggest pin was sticking into my head all through the Mass . . . and then I didn’t want to show myself up taking it off when we were with the nice man.” She moved to the mirror now, checking that her hair had stayed in place.

“You’re hair’s fine, Mammy,” Aisling said, touching up her lipstick. “It’s sitting perfect.”

Maggie turned the hat round in her hands. “Ah, well . . .
that’s it till the next wedding,” she sighed. “I wonder whose turn it will be next?” Her eyes dimmed for a moment. “Please God, it might be Pauline . . .”

Aisling turned to her mother, smiling reassuringly. “Come on, Mammy,” she said quickly. “Everyone else will have arrived now and will be taking their seats.”

Waitresses greeted them at the wedding function room with trays laden with glasses of chilled champagne. Aisling gratefully accepted two, handing one to her mother.

Maggie held the glass up to the light, her brow wrinkled suspiciously.

“Just ho
ld it,” Aisling told her. “You don’t need to drink it if you
don’t want to.”

They moved to the far side of the room, where they stood admiring the fashionwear as the groups of women came through to join them.

Then, Aisling spotted Thomas and his father coming into the room. Quickly, she lifted her glass and took a deep gulp of the bubbly drink.

“There’s that neighbour of Jean’s, ” Maggie hissed to Aisling. “The fellow with the handicapped son. Wasn’t it good of her inviting them?” She craned her neck to get a better look. “And they’re both well got up in their shirts and ties and everything.” She leaned closer to Aisling, whispering. “The poor lad. And their kind don’t get any better – only worse. What kind of life can his father have?” She dug Aising with her elbow. “I’m surprised now – he’s quite passable-looking when you see him in a decent suit and with his hair tidy.”

Aisling took a deep breath.

Maggie pursed her lips. “I feel sorry for the man. There’s no woman will look at him with a handicapped son . . . not even out here, where anything seems to go.”

“Mammy,” Aisling whispered, “that’s a shocking thing to say. Thomas is a lovely boy. Any parent would be proud of him.”

Maggie gave a little smile and shook her head. “Oh, you’ve a big heart, Aisling, and you’re very good with children – but actually having one of your own like that would be a whole different matter.” She put her head to the side. “If the truth be told now, would you honestly feel happy having one of those children yourself? You and Oliver growing old, and them always remaining a child?”

Aisling bit her lip, and swallowed back the words that would only cause a row on this lovely day. “Look,” she said, motioning over to the doorway, where a woman was standing in a floaty, pinky-coloured ensemble, “isn’t that the most beautiful dress and matching coat?”

“It certainly is,” Maggie agreed, Thomas and his father forgotten for the moment, “but isn’t she a bit long in the tooth to be wearing that long hairstyle? They say women over thirty should always keep their hair short and tidy . . .”

Aisling pinned a smile on her face and took a deep gulp of the champagne.

* * *

The wedding buffet was completely different to anything the Kearneys had experienced in Ireland. Maggie and Declan were very vigilant as they approached the line-up of servers willing to heap their plates up with the most suspicious-looking dishes going by the name of spicy meatballs and hash-brown potatoes. A very far cry from their local wedding fare of turkey and ham or sliced beef – and not a boiled spud in sight.

“Actually,” Declan said, dabbing a napkin to his mouth, “that was very nice. It’s surprising how you take to thing
s. I think after a while I would come to like this kind of food.”

“Yes,” Maggie said, still carefully picking around her plate, “but would your stomach like it? How would your stomach take to all those spicy things after a while?”

The puddings were a different matter entirely. Aisling smiled as she watched her mother pile up her plate with a meringue smothered in an exotic fruit salad and cream, and accept the offer of a spoonful of a chocolaty creation to the side of it.

“It’s grand to try something different,” Maggie said, as she carefully sorted out her strawberries and peaches from the suspicious green and blue fruits.

The meal over, the guests moved into another festooned room to finish the evening off with a dance band.

“Are you enjoying yourself, Aisling?” her father asked, as he guided her in a waltz. “You’re looking very thoughtful today . . .”

Aisling looked up at him, and saw concern on his face. “I’m really enjoying myself, Daddy. In fact, it’s a long time since I’ve enjoyed a holiday so much.”

“Good, good,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I would hate you to feel that you were trailing after us or anything . . .”
Then, as they swirled around the floor he said, “You’re looking very well, my girl. The sun and the swimming suits you. Wouldn’t it be grand to have this weather and everything at home?”

“It would,” Aisling laughed, “but there’s no chance of that happening. Anyway, Ireland has its own appeal. But aren’t we lucky to have come all the way out here? It was good of you both to bring me . . . and I’m really glad I came.”

“And I’m glad you came,” Declan told her, “for your mother, no harm to her, would wear you down at times.”

Aisling looked up at her father, and suddenly felt a rush of affection for
him. “She doesn’t know she’s saying half of it,” she said, trying to push a picture of Thomas out of her mind.

“Of course, it’s all this with Pauline and the little one,” he said resignedly. “She wasn’t near as bad before that happened. And yet, she loves the child . . . in a way it’s brought her happiness if only she could see that.”

“She will eventually,” Aisling told him. Then, to lighten things up, she smiled and squeezed her father’s arm. “Oh, listen! That’s one of your old tunes now.”

“Glen Miller,” Declan said, grinning. He guided Aisling
into a quickstep now, delighted that she remembered the steps he had taught her years ago. “We still have nearly three weeks to go,” he said, “and a lot more to see. We’ll be big Yanks by the time we go home.” His hand tightened on hers again. “Forget about everything back home, Aisling, and enjoy yourself.”

Aisling drew back slightly and caught the look in her father’s eyes. Did he know, she wondered, about how things were with her and Oliver?

After the dance, Maggie and Declan took to the floor, and Aisling sat watching them as they glided easily round the floor. Her parents loved dancing, and they were both very good at it.

Then, catching Aisling’s eye, Jean waved over from another table, and a few minutes later came to sit beside her. “Well,” her aunt said with shining eyes, “how are you enjoying your first American wedding?”

“I love it,” Aisling said. “In fact, I love nearly everything
about America.” She laughed. “I might never go back to Ireland.”

“Oh, honey,” Jean said, throwing her arms around her niece, “I’m so pleased you all came – it has made the wedding even more special for me.”

“But we’ve taken up so much of your time,” Aisling said, “and you’re so good. You never get worked up about anything.”

“You are so welcome, Aisling,” Jean said, patting her hand. Then she gave a girlish giggle, and reached for the champagne bottle. “Your mother’s nowhere in sight at the moment, is she?”

Aisling glanced around the floor, and saw her parents heading out of the door with the cemetery enthusiast. “Nope,” she said to Jean, with a quizzical look on her face.

“Good,” said her aunt, filling Aisling’s empty glass, and filling a fresh glass for herself. “Drink this down quickly, and we might steal another one before she comes back! Here’s to fun and lots of it!”

“I’ll definitely drink to that!” Aisling said. “We need all the fun we can get!”

Jean clinked glasses with Aisling, and then she suddenly bent her head and whispered, “Don’t look round, but speaking of fun – I think there’s some heading right your way.”

Aisling wondered if the champagne had gone straight to her aunt’s head, when suddenly she saw Jameson Carroll weaving his way through the dancers towards their table.

Aisling felt the colour rise in her cheeks. “He’s probably looking for you,” she said to her aunt. “I’ll go outside and see if my parents are – ”

“Honey,” Jean whispered, “you stay right where you are.”

He came to a halt by the table. “Would you care to dance, Aisling?” he asked, stretching his hand out towards her.

“I’d love to,” Aisling said brightly and, as she stood up, she noticed that his tie was still in place. It was looser and the top button of the shirt was undone – but the tie was still there.

She stole a glance at her aunt, who was discreetly moving to the table behind, then she took his hand and let him guide her onto the floor.

Thankfully the band were playing a lively jazzy number, and they wouldn’t have to get too embarassingly close. But, by the time they reached the floor, the band had finished playing the quick number, and had slid into a slow waltz.

Then, as easily as if he had done it a hundred times, Jameson Carroll moved towards her. One hand came to encircle her waist while the other hand tightened around hers. Aisling suddenly felt as though she had just received an electric shock. Every nerve in her body had became alive and alert, and she found that she couldn’t look up at him.

Silently, they moved around the floor together – Aisling more aware of his closeness with every beat of the music.

Eventually, she lifted her head to make some lighthearted remark about the wedding, but the look on his face stilled her tongue. His eyes were piercing into hers and they were very dark and serious. He held her gaze for a few long seconds, then, when she started to feel too uncomfortable, she turned her head away.

Maybe, she told herself, it was the effects of the champagne. Then – when his arm tightened around her – Aisling knew it was not the alcohol. The closeness of this man to her and the feel of his muscular arms were the cause of her discomfort. He was holding her in a way that only Oliver had ever held her. But the feelings Jameson Carroll was stirring up were much stronger and more intense than any Oliver had ever aroused.

Aisling felt lightheaded and was struggling to catch her breath. Then she looked up and caught the serious expression on his face again – the expression that had been there the first time they met.