Free Secrets of the Lighthouse by Santa Montefiore Page A

beaches, cliffs and hills. But I cannot visit the lighthouse because my memories are too
painful to relive. Regret is still the thorn in my heart and I suffer it every moment of my death.
    And then, one cold morning in February, I am haunting the grounds of the castle when I see a stranger on my land: a beautiful, raven-haired stranger in the company of Johnny and Joe Byrne. While
Conor is in Dublin, those men look after the estate. But besides Mrs Haggett, who comes weekly to clean and dust the shell that was my home, no woman has set foot there. Until now.
    I am transfixed. It has been a long time since someone has ignited my interest. I move closer and see that she is indeed lovely. She has deep-set eyes, tawny-brown flawed by tiny flecks of gold.
Her skin is young and plump, and she has full lips, which she has glistened with gloss. She has the air of a foreigner, that look of wonder and uncertainty when faced with an unfamiliar place, and
is wearing the most ridiculous jacket I have ever seen, but I suppose fake fur is fashionable and that is why she wears it. Perhaps she is Joe’s girlfriend, but they don’t touch each
other as lovers do and there is no frisson of attraction between them. They are as siblings, but I know Joe only has brothers.
    They are wandering around the castle grounds. I can see that the girl is struck by the magnificence of my home. I’m not surprised. Today, the sky is as blue as the sea with foamy white
clouds floating across it like boats. The sun is shining brightly and every now and then, when a cloud passes over it, the valley is plunged into shadow and the air turns damp and cold. Then the
cloud sails on and light races down the hills like a bright wave, swallowing up the shade and breaking onto the castle in a dazzling burst of radiance. It is as if God has opened his treasure chest
full of gold and it is that which lights up the sky. I am distracted a moment by the beauty of it, but then the mention of my name brings me back to the little group wandering around the lake.
    ‘So, what was Caitlin Macausland like?’ the girl asks Joe. Her accent is English and posh, like Conor’s mother.
    ‘She was off her nut,’ Joe replies. ‘Away with the fairies.’
    ‘What, really mad?’
    ‘No, not really mad, just eccentric, I suppose.’
    ‘She was a stunner!’ Johnny rejoins and there is admiration in his tone. ‘There was something wild about her. She was an actress once, you know. She was born to be an actress,
but she gave it up when she married Mr Macausland. I’d say that was a shame, because she would have made a good actress, I think.’
    Joe laughs fondly at his father. Johnny looks short and stocky beside his tall son. ‘Dad had a bit of a thing for her,’ Joe says, grinning. ‘Didn’t you, Dad? Ah, go on,
admit it to Ellen, she’s one of us.’ Ah, so she’s family. An English cousin, perhaps. I wonder how that can be.
    Johnny shrugs nonchalantly. He is used to his son’s teasing. ‘Sure, I felt sorry for her, rattling around in this big castle on her own while her husband was away all the time. She
was a woman who needed a lot of looking after.’
    ‘And you know all about that, do you, Da?’ Joe smirks.
    ‘You have a lot to learn about women, boy,’ Johnny retorts. ‘Especially beautiful women, and, aye, she was beautiful, all right.’
    ‘Did she mix with the locals?’ Ellen asks.
    ‘When Mr Macausland was away, she was singing in the Pot of Gold with the best of us,’ says Joe. ‘She had a good, strong voice, altogether. Do you sing, Ellen?’
    But before Ellen can answer, Johnny interrupts and his voice is heavy with wistfulness. ‘She was mesmerizing. Ah, sure, you couldn’t take your eyes off her,’ he says.
    ‘In what way was she mesmerizing?’ Ellen probes.
    ‘Well, she had these very green eyes, and when they looked at you, they looked right through you and you were a fish caught on the end of a hook, trapped there in her gaze. She