Chapter Twenty-two

Because Shane didn’t call to her door the next morning, Río decided to call on him.

He answered the door bare-chested, in loose cotton pyjama bottoms.

‘Good morning!’ said Río brightly, trying to overcompensate for her hangover. ‘Where did you get to last night? You missed a great session in O’Toole’s.’

‘There was a session in O’Toole’s? Why did nobody tell me?’

‘You disappeared off the face of the planet clutching Isabella Bolger’s jacket to your heart. I figured you might have other things on your mind.’ Río smiled sweetly at him as she passed through into the living room.

‘Jesus, Río! You didn’t think—’

‘I will not condemn you, Shane, and I will not criticise you. What you do with your private life is none of my business. Where’s Finn?’

‘Finn didn’t come back here last night. I guess he ended up staying with Miriam.’

‘Miriam? Never! He’s always looked on her as a sister.’

‘You could have fooled me, the way they were carrying on last night.’

Río’s eyes took in the empty cafetiére on the coffee table, the mug with dregs, the script covered in scribbled notes, the orange highlighter pen, the open laptop. ‘Looks like you’ve been up for a while,’ she said. ‘It seems an awful shame to be working on a bank holiday when everyone else is in leisure mode.’

‘I didn’t know it was a bank holiday,’ said Shane.

‘All you needed to do was look through the window at all the miserable holiday-makers dripping in the rain.’ Río flopped down on the sofa, and picked up the script. ‘You been studying lines? Hey! You get to snog someone called Akasha. “Seth presses his lips against Akasha’s. She resists at first, but Seth’s expertise proves irresistible and the kiss grows passionate.” Hm. Is this Akasha hot?’

‘They’re all hot. I work in Hollywood, remember?’

Río gave him a curious look. ‘What’s it like, having to snog strange women?’

‘Embarrassing. It’s no fun at all. I only enjoy snogging women I adore.’

‘You must have adored plenty in your time.’

‘“In my time?” Are you implying that my time for adoring women is over?’

‘Not likely. Sure won’t they be forming a queue to be adored by you, you gorgeous ride?’

Shane gave her a cynical look. ‘They don’t want to be adored, Río. They just want to screw a star, so they can boast about it from the rooftops, or stick it in their blog. Hardly anyone in the film business screws around these days. It’s too dangerous.’

‘Because of STDs?’

‘STDs, hell. If you’re really unlucky, you might end up in Rip-Off Report.’

‘What’s Rip-Off Report?’

‘An online site that’s meant to be for consumer complaints, but where you can–conveniently enough–post any kind of scurrilous shite you like.’

‘Such as?’

‘Such as: “Shane Byrne is, like, totally crap in bed. He has the smallest dick I have ever seen, he can’t get it up, and he is a beyond lousy kisser.’”

‘But that’s totally untrue!’ Río leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

‘Thank you, sweetheart! If it ever happens, I’ll ask you to write a rebuttal.’

Shane’s laptop pinged, to indicate that an email had come in.

‘Bollocks,’ he said, checking it out.

‘What is it?’

A questionnaire from my agent. It’s for Variety!

‘Hey, let’s fill it in! I love questionnaires.’

‘Be my guest. I hate them.’ Shane stood up and stretched, then ambled towards the kitchen.

‘Don’t be a spoilsport!’ Río angled his laptop so she could scan the text. ‘All you need to do is come up with some makey-uppy shite, and I’ll type it in for you.’

‘Go ahead, then,’ said Shane, with a manifest lack of enthusiasm.

Río hummed the Mastermind theme tune as she clicked and scrolled. ‘Question One: “What is your idea of perfect happiness?”’

‘What kind of a dumb-ass question’s that to ask a red-blooded male?’

‘I’m sure you can come up with something that doesn’t have to do with sex,’ Río told him archly.

‘OK. How’s this? My idea of perfect happiness is dining in O’Toole’s seafood restaurant with my family and friends.’

Río raised an eyebrow at him.

‘It’s true. Last night was the best fun I’ve had in ages. I just wish I hadn’t missed out on that session.’

‘It was a good one, all right.’

‘It must have been a great welcome home for Finn. I hope you got maudlin enough to sing “Wild Rover” for him.’

‘Finn wasn’t there.’

‘Oh? So, who all ended up downstairs?’

‘Just me and Adair. And about a hundred locals.’

‘Adair? Baldy Adair, the boring millionaire?’

‘He’s not boring, actually.’

‘OK. Baldy Adair the charismatic, fascinating, scintillating and nimble-witted millionaire.’

Río shot him a look, and Shane said: ‘Well, to judge by the way you were laughing at his remarks last night, he must be all that and then some.’ Sending her an urbane smile, he turned his back on her, and busied himself with something at the kitchen counter.

‘We’ll carry on with the questionnaire, shall we?’ said Río, resisting the impulse to retaliate with some sarky remark about the millionaire’s scintillating daughter.

‘Question two: “What is your greatest extravagance?’”

There came a sound of a champagne cork popping, and Río looked up. Shane was standing with a bottle of O’Toole’s finest in his hand. ‘My greatest extravagance,’ he said, ‘is opening bottles of champagne on random occasions.’

‘Good answer!’ said Río. ‘Except I shouldn’t really indulge. I still feel a bit drunk from last night.’

‘Good. That means you’ll be drunk again after a glass.’

‘Why do you want to get me drunk?’

‘So that I can seduce you, of course.’

‘Ha.’

Shane poured, then strolled back into the sitting area, and handed Río a glass. ‘To family reunions,’ he said.

‘Well, I can’t not drink to that.’ Río smiled up at him, and chinked his glass.

‘Bring on the next question,’ said Shane, settling back on the sofa.

‘Next question is…“What do you consider your greatest achievement?’”

‘That’s easy. My son, Finn, the dive god.’

Río smiled. ‘What a coincidence! That happens to be my greatest achievement, too.’ She typed in the answer, then said, ‘You’re going to have to think a bit harder about this one. “Which talent would you most like to have?” And you’re not allowed to say “Acting”.’

‘I don’t have to think about that at all. The answer is, I’d like to be able to lie.’

Río gave him an interested look. ‘Would you really, Shane?’

‘Yes, I would. Hollywood is full of liars, all out to shaft you. I’d love to be able to shaft some of them back. Which talent would you most like to have?’

Río considered. ‘I suppose being able to lie would be pretty useful. Dervla’s magnificent at it. You have to be able to lie really well to be a successful auctioneer. Think of all those works of fiction that are estate agents’ blurbs. ‘I’m surprised one of them hasn’t won the Booker prize.’

‘Maybe Dervla will, one day. I heard her say something to Finn last night about some book she was working on.’

‘She’s writing a book? Sly-Boots, Dervla! Any idea what it’s about?’

‘Nope.’

‘Knowing her, it’s probably a memoir called My Brilliant Career. Or else she was just telling yet another one of her lies.’ Río returned her attention to Shane’s computer. ‘Next question. “What is your most treasured possession?’”

‘A photograph,’ Shane replied, without hesitation. ‘It’s my screen saver.’

‘Río typed in A photograph’, not bothering to ask what the photograph was of. Knowing Shane, his screen saver probably featured some nubile centrefold. She ploughed on. ‘“Who are your heroes in real life?’”

‘My son and his mother.’

‘Clever. “What or who is the greatest love of your life?’”

‘Ditto.’

‘Even cleverer! “What is your greatest regret?’”

‘That I didn’t marry the mother of my son.’

‘Ha! Nice one! You’re great at answering questionnaires, Shane. Even I couldn’t make up that shite.’

Shane reached out a hand and brushed something away from the side of Río’s neck.

‘What was that?’ she asked.

‘A fruit fly.’

‘At this time of the year?’

‘They’re not seasonal any more.’

‘It’s funny about seasonal stuff, isn’t it? I used to love peaches, but now I can buy them any time I want, I can’t be arsed with them.’

‘I guess that’s a metaphor for life. As soon as people get the stuff they once only ever dreamed about, they don’t want it any more.’

‘Ow. That observation’s a bit too profound for a tipsy gal with a hangover. Next question. “What is your current state of mind?’”

‘Let me think about that.’ Shane took a slug of champagne. ‘Horny.’

‘Horny? Hm. Maybe it’s not such a good idea to put that in. The readers might think you’re looking at porn.’

‘But I told you earlier, I’m crap at lying.’

Something about the way Shane was looking at her made Río feel unsettled suddenly. ‘What are you saying, Shane?’

His eyes didn’t leave hers. ‘I guess I’m telling you in a very roundabout way that I want to go to bed with you, Río.’

‘You do?’ said Río. ‘Um. Why?’

‘Because I adore you.’

‘Oh God! For a minute there, I thought you were serious.’ But there was no corresponding smile. ‘Um. Are you serious?’ she asked.

I am.

Río stood up from the sofa, grabbed her glass and moved to the window. ‘Don’t be stupid, Shane! How could you possibly adore me?’

‘I’ve always adored you.’

‘But we were disastrous together from the word go. We were way too young to be in a relationship.’

‘You weren’t too young to be a mother.’

‘That’s beside the point.’

‘Is it? I’ve always thought of Finn as a genuine love child.’

‘He was. I mean, he is. But things could never have worked out between you and me.’

‘They could now.’

Río turned to him. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I have money now, Río. I know I offered to marry you before Finn was born, but you were right to say no, because in those days I was a waster with no future. And I always hoped that one day you might meet somebody who would be able to provide for you better than I ever could. But that didn’t happen, and I’m glad it didn’t, because I couldn’t bear to think of you married to someone else. You’re the only woman I’ve ever really loved, Río Kinsella. And now I can provide for you. That’s why I came back here.’

‘You’re not…you’re not asking me to marry you, Shane?’

‘Yes. I am.’

‘Oh! Oh God–that is so sweet of you! That is really, really so sweet of you! But I can’t do that. I can’t marry you.’ Río took a great gulp of champagne.

‘Why not? Is it because of that baldy git?’

‘No.’ Río couldn’t help it. She started to laugh.

‘Because it wouldn’t surprise me if it was because of him,’ continued Shane. ‘I saw the way he annexed you last night, Río, all smarmy smiles. He clearly fancies the arse off you.’

‘Shane. It’s not because of Adair.’ She moved back to the sofa, and sat down next to him. ‘It’s because I’m finally in a place where I’m as content as I imagine I will ever be. I don’t need to be married.’

‘But if you married me—’

‘Listen to me. I have somewhere to live, I have no money worries–well, no serious money worries–I have reared my son–our son–and I think I’ve made a pretty good fist of it.’ Río drained her glass, then held it out to him. ‘Oh God. Give me more drink. This is starting to sound like the kind of dialogue you have to spout in Faraway.’

‘“You’re right, Akasha. We definitely need more drink.’” Shane moved across to the kitchen counter, saying, as he went, ‘“Seth moves to the bar, grabs the bottle by its neck. He sloshes champagne into both their glasses, hands one to Akasha, then slumps back onto the sofa.’”

‘That was very good!’ said Río admiringly. ‘Is that what you call method acting?’

‘No. It’s the Spencer Tracy school of acting. It’s called knowing your lines and not bumping into the furniture.’ Shane sighed. ‘Christ, I’m an eejit, Río.’

‘Sure, I’ve known that for years.’

‘No, I mean I’m eejit the way I handled this. I played my cards all wrong.’

‘It doesn’t matter how you played your cards, Shane. You know there’s no way things could ever work out between us. We’re two completely different people from the ones who made Finn. I’m a bogger from Coolnamara and you’re a Hollywood hottie.’

‘I used to be a bogger from Coolnamara too.’

‘But you’ve had twenty years to learn how to pretend to be someone else. Could you imagine me turning up with you at some red-carpet do, trying to make small talk with studio executives and starlets? What a joke!’ Río took another gulp of champagne, then leaned back against the cushions and turned to face him. ‘How were you going to play your cards, incidentally?’

Shane tapped his nose. ‘You’ll never know now, will you?’

‘You could tell me.’

‘It’s hardly worth telling you if you don’t want to come out and play’

‘Oh, go on!’

‘Let’s just say that it involved a candlelit dinner in a deluxe suite overlooking the lake in Coolnamara Castle Hotel with champagne and presents.’

‘Presents?’

‘Specially couriered over from Paris. It’s a shame. I’ll have to give them to somebody else now.’

‘Why can’t you give them to me?’

‘You don’t want to play. You won’t even allow me to buy you dinner.’ Shane sighed and reached for his phone. ‘I’d better cancel the booking.’

‘No!’

‘Why not? Have you somebody else in mind who might want to have dinner with champagne and presents in a deluxe hotel suite?’

‘Well…me.’

‘You wouldn’t be able to drive. You told me you were still drunk from last night, and you’ve had a glass of champagne.’

‘You could drive us.’

‘But you don’t want to come with me.’

‘Oh! Shane Byrne, you are a bastard. Can’t I at least see the presents?’

Shane stood up and looked down at her with a smile. ‘Sure.’ He disappeared into a bedroom and re-emerged with a big, glossy cardboard box, which he set on the coffee table in front of her. ‘Be my guest.’

Pulling away the tulle ribbon that bound the box, Río lifted the lid, feeling–like Pandora–a little apprehensive. Inside, nestled in scented tissue paper, was a treasure trove of silk: chiffon, foulard, crepe de chine. Río looked at Shane in astonishment.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she breathed.

‘Better than the stuff Baldy bought you?’

‘I keep telling you—’

‘“He didn’t buy me anything.’” Shane finished the sentence for her, mimicking her vexed tone. Then he smiled, and nodded at the frippery that was clamouring for her attention. ‘Go ahead,’ he said. ‘Have a look.’

No one had ever bought lingerie for Río before in her life. With reverent hands, she lifted item after item of exquisite under-things from the folds of tissue paper, and as she did, rose petals drifted onto the carpet. A scalloped bra trimmed with layer upon layer of ruffled baby-blue satin; another in ebony watered moiré: both with matching French knickers. A baby-doll nightie in barely-there mousseline, a pair of high-heeled mules with marabou feather pompoms. An assortment of embroidered garters, a dozen gossamer stockings, a butterfly’s wing of a camisole.

When she’d finished marvelling at the gauzy articles, Río laid them carefully back in their tissue paper nest, and placed the lid back on, firmly–as if it were a fabulous confection of chocolate and she was on a diet.

‘Well?’ asked Shane.

‘Well what?’

‘Don’t you want to keep them?’

‘Of course I do!’

‘Then they’re yours.’

Río gave Shane an uncertain look. ‘No strings attached?’

‘Strings? Ribbons might be more appropriate.’

Río gazed at the box as if she could hear little siren songs emanating from it. Then she reached for her champagne glass and drained it. ‘I’m definitely over the limit now,’ she stated.

‘Whereas I have been a model of restraint. I could still chauffeur you to the Castle, where a deluxe suite awaits with champagne chilling and dinner already paid for.’

‘No ribbons attached?’

‘No ribbons attached.’

‘How many beds are there?’

‘Alas, there is just the one. But it measures at least nine feet by nine. We could put a bolster down the middle to designate our sleeping areas.’

Río did a little muzzy thinking. The notion of a night in a five-star hotel–not having to cook or clear away or wash up, and being waited on hand and foot instead of doing the waiting–was enormously seductive. Maybe she could have a massage or some kind of spa treatment–the spa in Coolnamara Castle was the last word in luxury. Fleur always raved about the hot stone treatment, and had promised to treat Río to one for her next birthday. Looking down at the box that contained the fairytale lingerie, Río decided that she could go to the ball–this once.

‘If we’re going to do this,’ she said slowly, ‘I’d better get into something a bit smarter than pyjama bottoms and T-shirt.’ She rose to her feet, cluching the box to her bosom.

‘How long will that take you?’ asked Shane.

‘Give me fifteen minutes,’ said Río.

Fifteen minutes later, Río and Shane were standing in the hallway of Harbour View, looking through the open front door at the rain. Underneath Río’s smart new dress she was wearing the ebony silk bra (she’d discovered that its clasp was a tiny red rosebud!) with matching knickers and a pair of sheer silk stockings. There was no room for a toothbrush in her teeny tiny purse, so she’d stuck it behind her ear.

Shane was wearing a suit (the first time Río had ever seen him in one) but no tie; French cuffs, but no cufflinks. He had the air of a dapper vagabond, and Río realised, as she caught a glimpse of their reflection in the hall mirror, that they made a damn fine couple. They smiled at each other, and then Shane jacked up a big black umbrella and said: ‘Let’s make a run for it.’

They piled into the car, and Río strapped herself into the passenger seat, then went to turn on the CD player.

‘Wait,’ said Shane, laying a hand over hers. ‘I’ve something here I want you to play.’

And as they took off down the main street of Lissamore, the strains of Duran Duran’s ‘Río’ could be heard thrumming over the stereo speakers.

In Coolnamara Castle, a porter led them to their suite. It overlooked the lake, as Shane had promised, and was sumptuously furnished with antiques, paintings, ornate mirrors and a vast four-poster bed swathed in rich brocade. Logs were set in a fire basket ready to be lit, and a wide French window opened onto a balcony ablaze with Virginia creeper. If ever such a property were to come under her remit, this is just how Río would have staged it. Champagne was waiting for them in an ice bucket, and in the en suite bathroom Molton Brown products were lined up on glass shelves, pleading to be pilfered.

‘Yay!’ said Río, ducking into the bathroom and cramming soaps, gels, shampoos and body lotions into a Coolnamara Castle laundry bag before shimmying back into the sitting room and setting upon the sewing kits and notepads and pencils. ‘And look, chocolates, heart-shaped shortbread! They’ve thought of everything. Fresh fruit–check. Books, flowers, candles–check. Hell, I suppose I can’t take all this stuff home with me. Music–check. Binoculars–check! But where’s the television?’

‘There isn’t one,’ said Shane. ‘It’s a television-free zone. You’re meant to look at the view instead. That’s why they provide binoculars.’

Río wandered out onto the balcony as Shane stripped the foil from the champagne bottle. It felt a little unreal to be alone in a hotel bedroom with her ex, especially in such quintessentially romantic surroundings. When they’d conducted their whirlwind affair all those years ago, they’d had no money to spend on luxurious hotel rooms. They’d snatched precious hours in Shane’s dingy flat in Galway, or backstage in his dressing room or–as in the instance when Finn had been conceived–alfresco. The sound of the champagne cork popping made her turn. Bubbly was fizzing over the neck of the bottle, and she darted back into the room before any could be wasted.

‘Sléinte,’ said Shane, when he’d finished pouring.

‘Sléinte back.’

They raised their glasses and looked at each other over the rims. Then Río took a step back, set her glass down on a side table, and picked up a book, just for something to do. It was a volume of erotic verse, she realised too late as she opened it randomly at a page upon which she read the following:

Her eyes took in the words ‘cunt’, ‘arse’, ‘fuck’ and ‘frig’ before she realised that the author of the poem was none other than Rochester, the debauched earl who had been played by Johnny Depp in some film she’d seen on DVD.

‘Oh, this is very rude stuff!’ she exclaimed.

‘Yeah? Show me,’ said Shane.

Swiftly, Río turned to another page and handed the book to Shane, hoping that the verses were less lurid than the ones she’d just read.

‘Well, whaddoyaknow!’ said Shane. ‘I know this. It’s from Carmina Burana.’

‘Oh? Read it to me,’ said Río.

‘No. I’d feel like an eejit, standing here spouting poetry.’

‘Oh, please! It means that I can e-mail one of your fantasy websites to say that Shane Byrne read me an erotic poem in real life.’

‘OK. But you’re not to snigger.’ Shane cleared his throat. ‘“Innocent breasts”,’ he began.

‘Hmm. There ain’t anything very innocent about these breasts,’ remarked Río, looking down at her cleavage.

Shane gave her a pissed-off look. ‘I’m not going to do this, Río, if you’re going to interrupt.’

‘Sorry’

‘I’ll make it “beautiful breasts” instead, OK?’

‘OK, OK. “Beautiful breasts” is good.’

‘“Beautiful breasts”,’ resumed Shane, ‘“when I have looked upon them,

Would that my hands were there,

How I have craved, and dreaming thus upon them,

Love wakened from despair.

Beauty on her lips flaming,

Rose red with her shaming,

And I with passion burning

And with my whole heart yearning

For her mouth, her mouth, her mouth

That on her beauty I might slake my drouth.’

Río was speechless. The poem, as read by Shane in his dark velvet voice, was astonishingly erotic. And even though she hadn’t a clue what ‘slake my drouth’ meant, he’d made it sound like something devoutly to be wished for. ‘Oh,’ she managed finally.

Shane put the book down. He looked at her from under his eyebrows, and then he allowed his eyes to travel downward. ‘Would that my hands were there,’ he said, slanting her a smile. ‘You’re in great shape, Río. I remember you always used to go braless. It was very sexy.’

‘That was back in the days when my breasts were innocent,’ said Río ruefully. ‘I needs must wear a bra now. Gravity has a way of creeping up on a girl.’

‘Tell me it’s the present I gave you.’

Oh, God. Something about the way Shane was looking at her made her know that he knew it was the present he had given her. And not only that–that he knew that she knew he knew. ‘It’s the present you gave me,’ she admitted.

‘The blue one or the black?’

‘The black. To go with my stockings.’

‘Stockings, too?’ He sucked in his breath. ‘With the suspender thingy?’

‘I thought they called them garter belts in America?’

‘I don’t know what they call them in America. I’ve never bought underwear for a gal before.’

‘In that case, I feel privileged to be the first.’

‘Did I get your bra size right?’

Río hesitated, then gave him a challenging look. ‘Maybe you should check for yourself.

I think,’ said Shane, taking a step closer, ‘that that’s a very good idea. Did Baldy get the size right?’

‘How many times do I have to tell you—’

Shane laughed. ‘You sure look beautiful when you’re angry, Miz Kinsella.’ Reaching out a hand, he put a finger under her chin and tilted it. ‘“Beauty on her lips flaming”,’ he murmured.

‘You know the poem by heart?’ She wanted to hear it again. His voice always did it for her.

‘Yes, I do. I recorded it for an audio anthology of love poems for next Valentine’s Day’

Río bit her lip, then lowered her eyes. ‘Remind me how it goes again?’

‘“Beautiful breasts”,’ murmured Shane, ‘“when I have looked upon them, Would that my hands were there…’”

And as he trailed his fingers from her mouth to her shoulder, Río found herself wishing, too, that his hands were there. But Shane was taking things slowly. She remembered how in the past, she had felt as if under the spell of a master musician when Shane took charge of their love-making. He’d control proceedings adroitly, plucking at one invisible string to make her sing, stroking another to make her sob. Now his touch indicated that she turn her back to him, and she complied, feeling his fingers brush against her skin as he drew the zipper of her dress slowly from the nape of her neck to the very base of her spine.

‘“How I have craved”,’ Shane breathed, running his hands back up from tailbone to shoulder blades, ‘“and dreaming thus upon them, love wakened from despair”.’ Río could not prevent a giveaway shudder. The corresponding smile in his voice made her feel more shuddery still, as a knuckle skimmed her ribcage and he asked: ‘May I?’

‘Yes.’

Unhooking the rosebud clasp of her bra, Shane gently tugged at the ebony silk so that he could cup her breasts. ‘“And dreaming thus upon them, love wakened from despair”,’ he repeated, retracing the contour of her back with a finger. ‘“Beauty Beauty on her lips flaming, rose red with her shaming…’” Río pressed herself closer into him and found that while she might be trembling, Shane was hard with arousal. ‘And?’ she prompted weakly, as the palms of his hands travelled over belly and breasts and buttocks.

“‘And I with passion burning…’”

Shane scooped up the mass of her hair to drop kiss after kiss on the nape of her neck, and Río half-closed her eyes in a virtual swoon, before turning to him.

“‘And with my whole heart yearning”,’ he crooned, lowering his mouth to her collarbone and sliding the sleeves of her dress along her arms. She heard the fabric fall to the floor with a sigh, and felt an artful finger slip under silk. Oh! He’d unwrapped her like a present.

Shane’s breath was coming faster now, but it was more measured than Río’s, who heard herself say, in a very ragged voice,

‘Yearning–for what, Shane?’

‘“For her mouth”,’ he replied. Oh, God! Río felt herself dissolve as his sleight of hand worked its magic. She clung to him as he drew her down upon the bed and covered her body with his.

‘“Her mouth…” Your mouth…’ Shane smiled down at her, and she saw that the pupils of his eyes were very, very black. ‘That on your beauty I might slake my drouth.’

As he lowered his face to hers, Río pulled at the fabric of his shirt and slid her hands beneath, revelling in the sensation of skin on skin. And when he’d finally stopped kissing her mouth and had moved on to many, many other parts of her, playing the instrument of her body adagio, ad libitum, appassionata and glissando, she stretched languorously, to allow him full access. ‘What’s “slake my drouth” mean, Shane?’ she asked drowsily, tangling her fingers in his hair.

‘It means,’ he said, ‘to “quench my thirst”. I’ve been parched for you for an awful long time, Río. You are that river you know. The one in the song.’

‘Oh!’ Río remembered the song they’d listened to in her car earlier, as they drove through the magical landscape of Coolnamara, to their sojourn in this fairytale castle. ‘The one twisting through dusty land?’

‘The very one.’

Río smiled, and wrapped her limbs around him. ‘Drink all you want of me,’ she said.