Cat's Quill (19 page)

"No." Tomas shook his head. "Their story is done." He hesitated, remembering that Cathal had thought they'd had a connection. "What did you want to happen to them?"

"They settled down with a nice girl each and lived happily ever after," Mrs. O'Neil put in helpfully. "As I said before, it's the nature of these things."

"No." Both Heidi and Tomas spoke and turned to glare at Mrs. O'Neil as one. Tomas felt himself turn bright red, hoping like hell neither of them would call him on it.

"They settled down together and lived happily ever after," Heidi said firmly. "Sometimes the nature of things goes differently."

Tomas stared at her. "If you want, that's what happened," he said quickly, relieved and at the same time trying to wrap his head around what Heidi had said. How bloody obvious was it they'd meant to be together? First Cathal, and now her. Hell, he hadn't even noticed it until he'd got to that point in the book where the muses had wanted the kiss and he'd fought them on it and eventually won.

"You've been hanging around Mr. Campbell too long, Heidi," Mrs. O'Neil snorted. "He's a nice boy, don't get me wrong, and I'm sure he'll find someone eventually, but it doesn't mean that's what is going to happen here." She turned her attention to Tomas. "Does it, dear?"

"Whatever Heidi wants is what happened." Tomas met her gaze stubbornly. Blackthorn meowed, jumped down off Mrs. O'Neil's lap, and rubbed against his ankles. Tomas absently stroked her tail.

Heidi grinned from ear to ear; he'd obviously made her day. Mrs. O'Neil didn't look quite as impressed, but screw it, if Heidi and Cathal both thought Alan and Roger should have been together, Tomas wasn't going to argue the point with either of them. He'd denied himself that truth once; he wasn't about to do it again.

"Make another pot of tea, Heidi, dear, and wipe that smug look off your face." It appeared this was the closest Mrs. O'Neil came to admitting defeat. "Mr. Kemp wanted some information about Alice Finlay, if I recall, and we're wasting his time and ours talking about novels that aren't going to be written when we should be focusing on those which are." She narrowed her eyes, giving Blackthorn a disapproving look at the way in which she'd switched allegiance.

"After I've refilled Tomas's coffee," Heidi replied, already leaning over the table to do so.

This was definitely a good time to shift the focus away from himself and onto Alice. Tomas wasn't about to look any gift horse from Mrs. O'Neil in the mouth, or enter into any more arguments with her. "Thanks," he told Heidi, ignoring the warm furball that had settled on top of his foot, preventing him from making a run for it even though that thought was looking rather attractive. There was one thing he'd learnt very early in life. It did not pay to get in the middle of a conversation between two strong-minded women.

A fresh pot of tea on the table, and Heidi sat down again, her chair a little closer to Tomas's than it had been. "I've already told Tomas what I know about Alice," she said to Mrs. O'Neil, "but it's not much. Just that her family owned this place and that her husband died in the war before their baby was born."

Mrs. O'Neil nodded slowly; she definitely knew more. "Rumor has it," she said, topping up her tea and taking an appreciative sip, "that they weren't married. Terrible scandal it was. No one knew where he'd come from. Some place east, I believe, but of course, he could have come from Timbuktu and there was no way of proving it."

"Not married?" Tomas's pen stopped mid-stroke. "But the let--" He caught himself just in time. "What makes you think they weren't?"

"Marriage license, young man." Mrs. O'Neil looked over her cup of tea, very disapprovingly. "There wasn't one. As I said, he came out of nowhere and probably went back to wherever he'd come from. He got the poor girl in the family way and then deserted her. I suspect that's why she took his name, pretended there'd been a wedding and that he'd died in the war. It would have been far less scandal than the truth."

"Maybe it was the truth," Tomas pointed out. "They could have got married overseas; she came home first and then he joined her. It's not unknown."

"She would have had to have left first for that to happen." Mrs. O'Neil glared at him for daring to disagree with her theories. "Alice was a real homebody. She never left the village in the whole time she lived here, at least physically. Her mind was all over the place after she had the child. She told stories of faraway places she said her husband told her about." She sighed. "She was an artist, you see; it addled her brain just as it has with poor Mikey. He's just as bad with stories about seeing things that aren't there."

"Just like writing has addled mine." Tomas couldn't help but add the comment. Her attitude was beginning to annoy him, and Mikey seemed completely normal to him even if he was the brat from hell. "Just because you don't know what actually happened doesn't mean it didn't." Perhaps this was a mistake and the letters contained the answers he wanted.

"Go look in the church records if you don't believe me." Mrs. O'Neil helped herself to a scone, munching it slowly. "It's got all the records of births, deaths, and marriages in the area that have occurred since it was built."

"They could have got married somewhere else, just not in this parish." Heidi glanced between them, suggesting an alternative. "If she'd eloped and gone somewhere for a couple of days, no one would have even noticed. It happens all the time."

"This isn't one of your romance novels, Heidi, dear." Mrs. O'Neil finished her scone and drained her tea. "I've checked. Mr. Kemp isn't the only one in this room who knows how to research. There are no marriage records anywhere in Britain for an Alice Finlay and a Christian Edmonds. Why, he doesn't even have a birth--"

Edmonds? Tomas froze, the coffee in his cup sloshing with the abrupt halt in motion. "Her married name was Edmonds?"

Mrs. O'Neil and Heidi turned to look at him. "I thought you'd done your research, Mr. Kemp," Mrs. O'Neil stated, more than a little smugly. "According to the fairytale Alice would like us to believe, she became Mrs. Alice Edmonds in 1918 by marrying a man who never existed."

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Twelve

To hell with the fact he hadn't originally planned to meet with Cathal until that afternoon. As soon as he could do so without arousing further suspicion, Tomas excused himself from Heidi and Mrs. O'Neil, his mind going nineteen to the dozen with possible implications of the bombshell that had been dropped on him.

It would have been so much simpler if Tomas believed in coincidence, but he didn't. He could live with the fact that Cathal's friend Alice had the same name as the artist who had owned the inn, and maybe, if he stretched his imagination, that she and her husband shared the first names of the main characters in this damn book. For which there was a sequel; there was no way he was giving up on that thought now.

But that her married name was also the same as Cathal's Alice. Who just happened to be involved with his cousin. That was pushing it.

Even if Alice and Christian had been married, and lived here, over eighty years ago. Or not married, if Mrs. O'Neil was to be believed.

Fuck. None of this made any sense.

His bag swung over one shoulder and a Thermos of coffee supplied by Heidi in his hand, Tomas stalked out of the inn and across the field toward the tree. If Cathal wasn't there yet, so be it. He'd wait. Not that he was expecting any answers; Cathal had already shown that he wasn't the type to give any, at least any that made any sense, but Tomas was determined to talk to him about this anyway. So far, he was the connection, and as such should be given the opportunity to explain, or at the very least offer some kind of theory as to what the hell was going on.

Blackthorn scampered ahead of him. The bloody cat had literally stalked him since morning tea, not taking her eyes off him the whole time, apart from the odd glare at Mrs. O'Neil as the older woman had kept talking. St. Aiden's church was high on his list of places to visit. No matter what Mrs. O'Neil had said, Tomas intended to still carry out his own research.

Mrs. O'Neil was not the fountain of all knowledge, no matter what illusions she wanted to live under. She could be wrong. And besides, what did it matter if Alice and Christian had not been married? The important thing was how they felt about each other and that the child had been conceived within a loving relationship.

For a moment, Tomas's step faltered, and he looked up at the sky, shading his eyes from the sun as he took several deep breaths to calm himself. Would he feel that way about anyone, he wondered, to the extent that he wanted to settle down into something more permanent? Hell, he'd never kissed anyone before Cathal. Warmth flooded through him at the memory. Relationships were not built on a single kiss, he reminded himself. He liked Cathal, but he wasn't prepared to go any farther with someone he didn't trust, and that quality wasn't high on his list of Cathal's attributes with all these unanswered questions.

All Cathal had to do was offer an explanation as to why he couldn't possibly have had anything to do with someone who had been dead for over fifty years. God, his sanity had definitely left the building. What was he thinking? This whole scenario was impossible. Perhaps Cathal's Alice was a relative; yes, that had to be it. Cathal only appeared to be in his mid-twenties. There was no way he could have known someone that long ago.

"Tomas!" A familiar figure began walking toward him; a smile lit up Cathal's face as he drew closer. How long had he been there, waiting?

Guilt followed on the heels of Tomas's confusion and anger. He tried to plaster a smile on his lips to return Cathal's, and failed. Pretending as far as emotions were concerned had never been a strong point. While he could play disinterested, cool, calm, and collected without much trouble, the opposite had never come easy to him. It was too much like lying.

"Something's wrong, isn't it?" Cathal's expression dropped almost immediately, a frown replacing the smile. "What's happened?" He searched Tomas's eyes as though looking for an answer. "Do you need to talk about it?"

"Yes." Logic said this all had to be a mistake. Seeing Cathal again, Tomas knew he'd been an idiot in reacting this way. A name in common meant nothing. This was crazy. He couldn't allow the lines between fantasy and reality to blur like this again. "Can we sit?"

"All right." Cathal slipped his hand into Tomas's, and Tomas took it without thinking. They'd kissed. It was only natural that Cathal would want to hold hands. Tomas squeezed Cathal's hand, determined to hang onto him, at least until after they'd had this discussion. After that, if Cathal wanted to leave, after learning just how crazy and unreasonable Tomas could be, so be it.

Instead of leading him to the tree as Tomas expected, Cathal walked farther into the grassy field, sitting down in the middle of it, and pulling Tomas down to join him. "There's no shelter here," Tomas said. "Don't you want to sit under the tree instead like we usually do?" If they stayed here, they could be easily seen from the inn.

"No." Cathal's tone was soft but firm. "I want to do something different. Besides, we're only talking, right?"

"Right." Talking and possibly yelling. With each passing moment, this was becoming more and more of a mistake. Tomas wondered where the hell his head had been.

"So, do you want to tell me what happened?" Cathal seemed genuinely concerned; his reaction suggested very strongly that he cared. This was stupid. Of course he did. He'd told Tomas that he wanted to see if they could be more than friends. That in itself suggested that he did.

Perhaps, instead of getting straight to the point, Tomas could ask a question which would mean he wouldn't have to make a complete idiot of himself. He cleared his throat, still not letting go of Cathal's hand, ignoring the warmth from the skin-to-skin contact and how right it felt. "Remember how I brought the scones with the coffee last time?"

Cathal nodded but didn't say anything, his gaze still firmly fixed on Tomas.

"You told me you used to steal your friend Alice's baking and that she and your cousin were together." Tomas swallowed. If Cathal didn't give the right answer, there would be no need to go farther. Tomas could just explain about what he'd found out without having to admit what an idiot he'd been. Two plus two did not always equal four. In this case Tomas rather hoped they didn't.

"Yes." Cathal frowned and let go of Tomas's hand. His voice was even but a little flatter than it had been. "Why?'

"What was your cousin's name, Cat? You never told me."

"You never asked." Cathal absently petted Blackthorn when she rubbed herself against him, meowing softly. "You haven't told me why you suddenly need to know." His expression shadowed, a stiffness coming over it Tomas hadn't seen before. "It was a long time ago. You don't know him."

"Humor me." Tomas tried to keep his voice nonchalant, his expression neutral, wondering exactly what Cathal meant by "a long time ago."

"His name is Christian." Cathal's gaze didn't falter, although his eyes glazed over briefly. His voice softened. "You don't know him, Tomas."

"Obviously not." Tomas's brain tried to process the thoughts running through it and his jumbled emotions. "After all, that would be difficult, considering he lived over eighty years ago, now wouldn't it?"

"Excuse me?" Cathal went pale, his hand poised in midair from where he was stroking Blackthorn's back. He swallowed.

"You heard me." There was nothing better Tomas wanted than for Cathal to explain why this couldn't be true. "Alice Edmonds and her husband Christian lived in the inn in 1918." He did the math. "Actually, make that ninety years."

Cathal opened his mouth and closed it again. "No," he whispered, backing away and hugging his knees. "It couldn't be that long ago."

For a moment, Tomas's resolve to get to the bottom of whatever was going on weakened. Cathal's reaction didn't seem quite right for just a simple denial. What the hell was he hiding? He went to move closer to Cathal, but Cathal shook his head.

"Cat, please. I need to know what's going on. They aren't the same people, are they? They can't be." This was all falling to pieces because of some crazy theory that couldn't be true. "People have the same names, especially in families." He tried to laugh it off, but all that came out was a choking noise; common sense and a need to know warring with a gut feeling that in this case his crazy-sounding theories were the truth.

Cathal met Tomas's eyes again; there was a mixture of wistfulness, regret, and guilt in his own. His voice was very calm. "What do you want to believe, Tomas? That they are the same people, or that it's just that they share the same names?"

The realization of what he did want hit at the same time the words tumbled out. "I want to believe in you. I need to be able to trust you." His words trailed off.

"I have never lied to you, and I'm not about to start now." Cathal sighed, stretched out and edged closer to Tomas, resting one hand on his knee. "However, I also refuse to put you at risk, and there are things I can't tell you." Blackthorn rubbed herself up against Cathal again. He glanced at her and then back at Tomas, his gaze finally focusing on a small square of grass between them. "I know it's not fair to expect you to trust me, although you don't really know me, but I need you to be able to believe in and trust me too."

"This is crazy, isn't it?" Tomas rested his hand over Cathal's. "I'm accusing you of knowing people who lived nearly a century ago." He managed a small smile.

"I'm sure my cousin and his wife were not the only people to have those names. After all, weren't they also used in the book you loaned me?" Cathal's head came up, but he still didn't quite meet Tomas's eyes directly.

"They were." Tomas had to admit that. "See, that's the thing that I can't get my head around. I don't believe in coincidences, and this is too much of one." He wanted to believe Cathal. Fantasy was for stories, and the stuff of myths and legends; it was what he wrote about, not what he lived. The two were separate. They had to be.

"Writers often use names of people they know. The Alice and Christian who lived in the inn might have been friends of the author who wrote the book. Maybe the names were supposed to be changed but the first draft got published by mistake by someone else? It happens." Cathal was watching Tomas very carefully.

"I suppose." Tomas stroked Cathal's hand with his thumb, freezing suddenly when a thought struck. "That still doesn't explain why they shared the same last name as your cousin, though."

Cathal was silent for a few moments. "They might have been related," he said slowly. "Christian's father wasn't local; he moved into my... area from somewhere else. He never spoke much about his family." He smiled ruefully. "Names are also passed down between generations. I know I certainly never asked for mine. It's one of the reasons I asked you to call me 'Cat'."

"That's also possible." The way Cathal explained it made sense, although Tomas felt a little disappointed as to the reason why he'd been asked to use the name. He'd hoped it was something special just between them. "If I find out any more about the Alice and Christian who lived in the inn, do you want me to let you know? Just in case they are family?"

"I'd like that, thank you." Cathal frowned. "Are you researching their background, and can I ask why?"

Tomas owed Cathal the decency of an explanation for that, at least. "It started because of the book I loaned you." He had the grace to look a little sheepish. "I still think there's a sequel."

"There's not." Cathal shook his head and sighed. "I wish there was, Tomas. They needed a happily ever after, and what happened was very unfair, but sometimes life is like that." He noticed the Thermos on the grass next to Tomas's bag. "Is that coffee?"

"Yes, Heidi wouldn't let me leave without it." Tomas began unscrewing the lid. "Would you like some?" He peered into his bag, frowning. "I only have one cup. Is it okay if we share?"

"I don't mind if we do." Cathal smiled. "I don't have anything nasty that you might catch." He blushed suddenly. "I'm sure after that kiss, we can at least share a coffee cup without any ill effects."

"I enjoyed the kiss," Tomas said softly. He poured some coffee into the cup and handed it to Cathal. The pink dusting suited his pale complexion. Watching Cathal sip the hot liquid, a thought suddenly struck Tomas. He frowned. "Are you trying to change the subject?"

"I noticed you had coffee." Cathal put the cup down to rest on one knee. One hand picked a few blades of grass, twisting them around his finger. "Tell me, then, how did looking for a sequel that didn't exist lead you to Alice and Christian?"

"I found a copy of the original book in the library." Tomas hesitated and then pulled his journal out of his bag, flipping through it until he got to the page which kept the postcard safe. "This was in it." Carefully, he handed it to Cathal.

"It's Alice." Cathal smiled sadly, running his fingers over the photograph. He turned it over, reading the dates. "People are often remembered for what they did in life rather than who they were." His voice softened. "Only the good die young. I sometimes wish that wasn't true."

"It's not always," Tomas disagreed. "I don't think it matters how you live your life. When it's time, there's nothing you can do about it." Watching Cathal with the postcard, he had a weird feeling he was missing something. Reaching out to take the postcard back, it suddenly hit him, his tone more accusing than he intended. "You knew who she was before you turned the photograph over."

"Yes, I did." Cathal handed back the postcard. "The picture on it is a photograph of a portrait. I saw it hanging in the inn once, but the last time I was there it was gone."