Anne Mather - Master Of Falcon's Head

Father Donahue shook his head vigorously. ‘Oh, no, my dear child, please. Don’t leave on Ross’s account. I’m convinced he’ll apologize for his actions later—’

‘No!’ exclaimed Tamar swiftly. ‘I doubt that, Father,’ she amended, more calmly. ‘He – he obviously believes that I should not have come here, and quite honestly, I’m inclined to agree with him.’

‘Why did you come, Tamar?’ he asked suddenly. ‘You never did really tell me.’

She shrugged. ‘My reasons are slightly obscure,’ she murmured. ‘There’s a man in London, Ben Hastings, he wants to marry me.’

‘Yes?’

‘Yes.’ Tamar bit her lip. ‘I – I never intended to marry anyone. I don’t love him. I don’t think I’m capable of loving anyone any more.’

Father Donahue seized on her words. ‘Any more, Tamar?’

‘Yes. I guess I’m the frigid kind.’

Father Donahue half-smiled. ‘With that hair, I doubt it!’

Tamar smiled a little sadly herself. ‘Well, anyway, this place haunts me. I have a painting – do you remember it? – an oils, that I did of Falcon’s Head before I left. I guess I wanted to come here before I resigned myself to that other life.’ She sighed. ‘Can you understand that?’

Father Donahue frowned. ‘Are you sure it’s the place that haunts you, Tamar? Or is it Ross Falcon?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

Father Donahue stifled an epithet. ‘God forgive me,’ he muttered, ‘of course you do!’ He smote his fist into the palm of his hand. ‘Haven’t I just witnessed with my own eyes the reaction you had to him?’

Tamar’s hands were balled into fists. She liked the Father, he was the only man in Falcon’s Wherry with whom she could be completely herself, but even he should not know the depths of desolation she had once suffered over Ross Falcon.

‘You’re wrong, Father,’ she said tautly. ‘My reactions to Ross Falcon were the normal ones of anybody confronted with such arrogant hatred. I don’t know why Ross Falcon hates me, but if he does, then it’s as well that I go away. I have no desire to cause any trouble.’

Father Donahue looked impatient. ‘Tamar, there was trouble enough seven years ago. All right, go! Run away a second time, but don’t tell me that you’re indifferent towards Ross Falcon because I simply do not believe you.’ He stared angrily at her, roused out of his cool calmness. ‘You may hate him too, for all I know, but that was not indifference I sensed in this room!’

Tamar turned away. ‘You’re mistaken, Father.’

Father Donahue sounded sceptical. ‘All right, all right,’ he said, ‘if that’s so, why are you leaving? Your actions belie your words!’

Tamar twisted her hands together. Of course, Father Donahue was right. If she ran away a second time she would never come back, never discover the real truth of her feelings.

But did she want to know? Wasn’t she secretly afraid of what she might discover? And if she left, she would always be left with the picture of Falcon’s Head to haunt her. Was she such a weak person, hadn’t past experiences taught her anything? Where was the shell she had grown to protect her from just such situations? She was stupid and ineffective, and Father Donahue was right, she was leaving because she was afraid.

She swung round. ‘There’s nowhere for me to stay,’ she challenged.

‘That’s little excuse. You could stay here, at least temporarily.’ He glanced round. ‘I have room. And maybe we might be able to find you a house or a cottage to rent. There’s a place down near the beach, old Flynn’s cottage. He went to visit his sister in Cork in March, and he hasn’t returned.’

Tamar felt her nerves were stretched to fever pitch. Then she sighed, and hunched her shoulders.

‘All right,’ she said, a little tiredly. ‘I’ll stay.’

Father Donahue looked pleased. ‘Good. Now, shall we have a small glass of wine to celebrate?’

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