Secrets of the Lighthouse by Santa Montefiore Page B

inspiration for your book?’ Joe asked, raising his eyebrows suggestively. ‘You could write one hell of a good ghost story.’
    ‘I’m not sure I’d want to go back to that castle to do the research,’ she replied. ‘How do you manage to work there every day?’
    ‘I don’t go inside,’ Joe answered simply. ‘But sometimes, when I’m in the garden, I feel as if I’m being watched.’
    Johnny rolled his eyes. ‘Jaysus! Will you listen to the two of you?’
    ‘I swear that place is haunted,’ Joe retorted firmly. ‘Maybe that’s why Mr Macausland never sets foot across the threshold; he’s afraid she’ll get her
revenge!’
    ‘Don’t be a gobshite, Joe,’ Johnny growled into his beard. ‘He doesn’t set foot across the threshold because his fecking heart is bleeding and that’s the
truth.’ With that, Joe was silenced. They drove up the lanes into Ballymaldoon without saying another word.
    The Pot of Gold was positioned on the main street, painted as red as bull’s blood with the name emblazoned in heavy gold lettering along the top. Johnny parked his truck
in the car park behind and they walked round together. ‘Welcome to my second home,’ said Johnny. The thought of a pint and a hearty meal had transformed his face into a wide smile.
    ‘
Second
home, Dad?’ quipped Joe.
    ‘Quit codding about, lad,’ his father shot back, but his eyes twinkled with merry anticipation as he pushed open the door.
    Ellen followed them inside, where it was warm and stuffy. The smell of old cigarettes was ingrained in the carpets and upholstery from before smoking in public places was banned. There was a
pleasant fire at one end and the walls were covered with prints, cartoons and other paraphernalia. She recognized Johnny’s brother Craic at once. He stood behind the bar, grinning at them.
There was something in his smile that reminded her of her mother. Ellen felt a momentary stab of guilt, but it was gone before she was able to brood over it.
    ‘You’re a bit early,’ Craic said to his brother. ‘Suppose you’re using Ellen as the excuse not to work.’
    ‘I’m too old and knackered to need an excuse,’ Johnny replied, leaning on the bar like a big liner docking into its habitual berth. ‘What’s your poison,
Ellen?’
    ‘I suppose I’d better have a Guinness.’
    Johnny was pleased. ‘She’s a Byrne, all right.’ He chuckled. Craic put a fat-bellied glass beneath the tap and began to fill it with stout. Ellen tried not to grimace.
She’d have rather asked for a Coke, but she was a little frightened of Johnny and thought he’d like her more if she ordered a Guinness. Craic placed it on the bar in front of her. The
creamy head looked appealing, at least. She wanted to scoop a bit up with her finger and taste it first, but Johnny and Craic were watching her enthusiastically. She was left no alternative but to
put it to her lips. It was strong and bitter and more disgusting than anything she had ever drunk in her life. She swallowed with feigned relish. Her performance was convincing enough. Craic filled
a couple more glasses for Johnny and Joe and then began to talk about things of which she knew nothing. She wondered whether she’d give herself away by asking for a glass of water. The stout
was burning her throat.
    They took their drinks and sat at a table in the corner so that Ellen had a clear view of the locals coming into the pub. She realized pretty swiftly that they had a clear view of her, too.
Everyone who entered came straight up to talk to Johnny, as if he were hosting some sort of private party, but they never took their inquisitive eyes off
her
.
    ‘Word has got out that Maddie’s daughter is in town,’ Joe whispered to Ellen. ‘I’m afraid they’re all coming in to have a look at you.’
    ‘If I’d known, I would have made more of an effort with my appearance,’ she replied, feeling painfully conspicuous. ‘I’m like an animal in a zoo.’
    ‘We don’t get