Chapter Thirty-one

Izzy had been careful to stand very close to Finn when he was introduced to foxy little Megan Vaughan. ‘Paws off,’ said her body language. There was something about the girl that was aloof yet alarmingly predatory at the same time, and Izzy determined not to let her guard slip for a minute.

She had managed to inveigle Finn into the downstairs shower room before dinner, where they had shared such an intense kiss that Izzy’s appetite had come bouncing right back. Her place was at the right-hand side of her father, who was seated at the top of the table. Río was at the other end, directly opposite, looking flagrant in scarlet silk.

The food served up by the caterers was so mouthwateringly good that Izzy decided she might try and head-hunt the chef once she’d got her business up and running. They had steamed mussels with watercress sauce to start, followed by parsnip and honey soup. The main course was saffron risotto with grilled sardines and a green salad, and pudding was bitter chocolate sorbet with raspberries. Blue Mountain coffee was served afterwards, and cognac for those who wanted it, and then the table was cleared as guests started to arrive for the main event, which was, of course, music and dancing.

As hostess, Izzy was kept busy. Her savoir-faire–courtesy of her mother–was the one thing for which Izzy was grateful to Felicity. Izzy knew she had considerable charm, and she used it to great effect.

She spoke to Devla Kinsella about property, and expressed an interest in the logistics of conversion work. Could she introduce Izzy to a bespoke carpenter? Which design consultant would she recommend? When Dervla put forward her sister, Río, as a potential design guru, Izzy feigned enthusiasm.

She spoke to Christian about his wine importing business, and suggested that he supply the restaurant of her scuba-dive centre. He knew a chateau in the Loire that could provide an exceptional house white, he told her, and he’d be delighted to draw up a sample wine list for her.

She spoke to Fleur about Fleurissima, and told her it was her favourite shop in the whole world–better than anything Dublin had to offer. She had admired Fleur’s dress (Bill Blass) and her shoes (Freelance) and her bag (vintage) and her scent (Chanel No. 5). Of course! How classic! Incidentally, would Fleur be able to recommend someone who could design staff T-shirts for her? Why, yes, indeed. Fleur could recommend her partner, Conrad.

Having pocketed Conrad’s card, and crooked a finger under Babette’s chin (Babette was dressed for the occasion this evening in a diamante collar), Izzy noticed that Mrs Vaughan senior was sitting on her own on a seat in the garden, under a patio heater. The old lady had clearly elected to distance herself from the hurly-burly of the party, so Izzy decided that it would be a charitable thing to keep her company for a while. She sought Finn out to tell him that she was going to spend some quality time with Mrs V.

‘Aren’t you sweet!’ said Finn. ‘To spend time with a little old lady when you could be dancing with me!’

‘I’d rather slow dance with you later,’ Izzy replied, with a minxy smile.

She fluttered across the deck like a white butterfly, gracing guests with compliments and smiles (an especially saccharine smile was bestowed upon Megan), and lit next to Mrs Vaughan on her bench under the patio heater.

‘Good evening! We didn’t get a chance to talk earlier. I’m Izzy’

‘Izzy! What sort of a name is that?’ said Mrs Vaughan.

‘It’s short for Isabella.’

‘Is a bell necessary on a bicycle?’ said Mrs Vaughan, and Izzy gave a tinkling laugh.

‘That’s a good one all right!’ she said.

‘Do you like my trousers?’ asked Mrs Vaughan.

Izzy nodded a polite assent. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘They’re lovely!’

‘I got them in Ireland, I think. You should get yourself a pair.’

‘I–well–I could have a look for them,’ said Izzy, uncertainly. ‘I could ask Fleur, who has a boutique in the village. She might be able to help.’

‘What village?’

‘Lissamore.’

‘Where’s that?’

‘Well, it’s–kind of where we are now. Just down the road.’

I see.

‘It’s a lovely party, isn’t it?’ said Izzy, manfully.

‘Yes. What are we celebrating?’

‘It’s a birthday party’

‘Congratulations,’ carrolled Mrs V. ‘That’s Cliff Richard, you know. I love Cliff Richard.’

‘Yes. His music is very…accessible.’

‘What are those people doing?’

From beyond the sea wall, came the sound of a couple making out con brio. Izzy ignored the question, and tried to think of another topic of conversation. The weather! Of course. ‘The weather’s—’

‘Are they having sex?’ demanded Mrs Vaughan. ‘It’s very overrated, you know, sex.’

‘The weather’s changed a bit for the worse, hasn’t it?’ said Izzy hurriedly. ‘Such a shame, after our glorious Indian summer. It’s definitely got a lot cooler.’ ‘Cooler, cooler…’

Some time later, Izzy staggered back onto the deck, feeling as though she’d been over an assault course. She very much wanted to find Finn and fling herself into his arms, but there were two more people she needed to talk to before she could relax and enjoy the party.

The first person she wanted to sweet-talk was her father. The second was Río Kinsella.

She found the former in the kitchen, settling up with the caterers. ‘Hello, Daddy, darling!’ she sang, linking his arm as the caterers backed off, practically salaaming after clocking the tip they’d received. ‘Let’s take a stroll’

‘I couldn’t think of anything nicer,’ said Adair, dropping a kiss on her forehead, ‘than an evening stroll through the garden with my gorgeous girl on my arm.’

They walked through the atrium and headed for the orchard.

‘I’m sorry Lucy couldn’t come,’ remarked Adair.

Izzy hadn’t actually invited Lucy to the party, but she wasn’t going to tell her dad that.

‘Yeah. It’s an awful shame,’ she said. ‘But she felt she had to stay in Dublin to be agony aunt to a friend who’s going through a really rough time.’

‘Oh? What’s happened?’

Izzy paused for dramatic effect before launching into a pre-prepared spiel. ‘Well, this friend–her name’s Sarah–met a boy that she really really liked. And Sarah’s dad’s divorced, and so is this boy’s mum. And when she introduced her dad to the mum, they fell madly in love.’

‘The parents did? That’s lovely!’ said Adair.

‘No, it’s not,’ said Izzy, in the manner of an infant school teacher. ‘You see, Sarah and Paul–Sarah’s boyfriend’s called Paul –were so mortified by the whole thing that they had to break up. Sarah’s inconsolable.’

‘Why?’

‘She just couldn’t hack the idea of her father and Paul’s mother being a couple.’

‘Why–why not?’

‘Oh, come on, Dad! Just think what it would be like for a girl to be involved with a guy whose mother was having a thing with her own father? Ew, ew! It’s so icky it’s almost incestuous. What if there were babies? I mean, imagine if Paul’s mother got pregnant? Would the baby be her sister or brother as well as being Paul’s sister or brother? It’s just really, really hard for poor Sarah to even contemplate the idea of her father having sex with her boyfriend’s mother. I mean–ew! It gives me the shivers to even think what it must be like to be in her situation.’ Izzy shook her head mournfully. ‘Poor, poor Sarah. Lucy’s doing her best, but she thinks she might need medical help.’

‘You mean, the girl might have to go on anti-depressants?’

‘Yes. And get counselling too, probably. The whole thing’s messed her up, bigtime. Without Paul, her life’s a meaningless void.’

‘That’s–that’s a dreadful story.’

‘Yes. Isn’t it?’

Izzy’s ringtone went. ‘Oh! Sorry, Dad. I’m going to have to take this. It’s Lucy. She’s probably looking for some advice.’

‘Yes, you go ahead and take that call, darling. Dear God–that’s a dreadful story!’

And Adair turned and walked back into the house, looking bewildered.

Izzy hung up on her caller (it was a private number; she never picked up on private numbers, but she thanked the anonymous caller for his excellent timing), and went off on the next stage of her mission, which was to find Río.

The scarlet woman had discarded her shoes and was sitting by the pool. Her feet were dangling in the petal-strewn water and she was sipping champagne, doubtless waiting for her host to come along so that she could flirt with him again.

‘Hi, Río!’ said Izzy, sitting down beside her. Río choked a little on her champagne, and Izzy banged her on the back. ‘Oops! Careful. That happened to my friend Paul recently, and he choked so hard that champagne came out of his nose. He thought he was going to die, but then that wouldn’t have been so bad because he actually really did want to die.’

‘Oh?’ said Río, recovering. ‘Was he suffering from depression?’

‘Yeah. He was going through a really rough time.’

‘What happened?’

‘Well, Paul had met a girl, Sarah, who he really really liked. And Paul’s mum’s divorced, and so is Sarah’s dad. And when he introduced his mum to the dad, they fell madly in love. Madly being the operative word, at their age.’

‘I think that’s rather lovely,’ said Río, cautiously.

‘No, it’s not,’ said Izzy categorically. ‘You see, Paul was so mortified by the whole thing that he and Sarah had to break up. He was inconsolable. Neither of them could hack the idea of their parents being a couple.’

‘Why–why not?’

‘Oh, Río! Just think what it would be like for a guy to be involved with a girl whose mother was having a thing with his own father? Ew, ew! It’s so icky it’s almost incestuous. Anyway, Paul knew that his mother didn’t even like Sarah very much. Can you imagine what it would be like for them to have to do family stuff together–you know, holidays and Sunday dinners and Christmas and all that jazz? And the other thing is that it’s just really, really hard for poor Paul to even contemplate the idea of his mother having sex with Sarah’s father. I mean–ew! It gives me the shivers to even think what it must be like to be in his situation.’ Izzy shook her head mournfully. ‘Poor, poor Paul. He’s on anti-depressants, and he’s probably going to have to get counselling too. The whole thing’s messed him up, bigtime. Without Sarah, his life’s a meaningless void.’

Izzy was just about to congratulate herself on her performance, when she clocked the expression on Río’s face. The woman was looking back at her with a kind of understanding that made Izzy feel…petty. Worse than that, she felt ashamed. She felt as ashamed and worthless as she had when her mother had told her ‘Don’t!’ Don’t make a mess! Don’t fiddle with your hair! Don’t get your dress dirty! But her mother had never said the word ‘Don’t’ gently, the way Río was saying it now, with her eyes.

‘That’s a dreadful story,’ murmured Río.

‘Yes. Isn’t it?’ Izzy hardened her heart. If she started backtracking now it would be like unravelling a tapestry.

‘D’you know something, Izzy?’ said Río. ‘There’s a lot that I’d love to be able to—’

But just then Adair came round the corner, swinging a bottle of champagne. ‘Oh, hi, Dad!’ said Izzy brightly. ‘I was just telling Río that awful story about Sarah and Paul’ There was a pause, as the three of them looked at each other. Then Izzy jumped to her feet. ‘Well, I’ll leave you two to enjoy your champers. I’d better go and find Finn. We’re going to wander round the house and dream-build. Gorm Mhór is going to be sooooo beautiful!’

‘Gorm Mhór?’ echoed Adair, uncertainly.

‘Our dive centre, of course! The Big Blue!’

And, mission accomplished, Izzy danced off in the direction of the deck.

Río was in the downstairs bathroom, trying to resist the temptation to bury her face in Adair’s robe so that she could breathe in Acqua di Parma. She was feeling very confused, and it wasn’t just from a surfeit of champagne. She was confused about her feelings for Adair, and she was confused about the whole thing with Finn and Izzy, and she was confused about the land issue and how she was going to resolve it.

Oh, how she wanted her orchard! But if Finn was dead set on going ahead with this Gorm Mhór idea, she wanted to be able to help him out too. If he and Izzy needed to build on part of the land in order to realise their dream, she couldn’t be the one responsible for thwarting them. However, on anticipating the expression on Izzy’s face when she found out that Río had the power to veto any building on the orchard of which she did not approve, she couldn’t help but break into a smile. It was petty of her, she knew, to think about scoring points, but after the treatment meted out to her by Adair’s daughter, it felt good to have the upper hand for a change. Arra, what the hell–she’d think about all that tomorrow. After all, as her heroine Scarlett O’Hara had said, tomorrow was another day. She was sure they could come to some compromise.

And yet, and yet…her smile faltered when she recalled Izzy’s story about the guy whose dad had fallen for his girlfriend’s mother. If she and Adair did hook up–and the idea had become more and more attractive to her–she’d not just be opening a can of worms, she’d be disturbing a whole nest of vipers. Izzy had started making hissy noises, although, to Río’s ear, the hiss was more like a kitten’s than a snake’s.

She suspected that the girl’s story was just a cautionary tale concocted as a warning to Río to back off. She had a point. The thought of padding down to breakfast someplace and bumping into Finn and Izzy after having just left Adair’s bed was wildly inappropriate. She couldn’t–wouldn’t– subject Finn to such mortification. It was the kind of scenario you’d find in a Feydeau farce or a Greek tragedy–and look what happened to all those old Greeks: murdered in their baths and killed by their own hands and sacrificed to indifferent gods.

Río moved to the mirror to check out her reflection. She’d made an effort to look good tonight, and she knew she’d made that effort for Adair. But any possibility of a relationship was out of the question now. Things had become far, far too complicated.

She’d have to go to find him and say thank you for the party, and then she’d have to excise him from her life. Excise was the right word, she decided, as she unlocked the door and went out into the atrium. ‘Excise’ meant to cut away with a knife, and doing what she was going to have to do was going to cause Río some pain.

She moved through the party on bare feet, looking this way and that for Adair. The band was playing something languorous now, and couples were slow-dancing, wrapped in each other’s arms and looking at each other with amorous eyes.

Finn was dancing with Izzy The couple looked so beautiful together that they almost took Río’s breath away. He–so like his father, dark and piratical; she–so like something out of a fairy tale, elfin, a golden sylph. Río couldn’t do to them what the couple in Izzy’s story had done to their children. She couldn’t break their hearts.

Christian and Dervla–the new Mrs Vaughan–were waltzing, clearly delighting in their new-found synchronicity Río was so very happy that Dervla had found love at last, at this (fairly) advanced stage in her life. But love came at a price–Río knew that–and Dervla would have to learn some new life skills to negotiate the web of problems in which her in-laws would be bound to snag her.

Would her sister want to have children of her own? Río wondered. That too, could bring complications. It was strange to contemplate the idea of Dervla with a baby: she still thought of her older sister as formidable, a consummate businesswoman, a princessa.

But then, people changed, circumstances changed, and the world moved on. Río remembered how, in his cups, her father had used to recite the poetic works of William Butler Yeats, and she heard his voice in her head now, uttering the passionate words of ‘Easter 1916’. All changed, changed utterly: A terrible beauty is born.

And then she heard Shane’s voice in her head, and the words of the Yeats poem he had adapted to suit her and Dervla:

Both beautiful, one I adore. She, Río, had ended up being the adored one. Like her mother before her.

Adair was in the orchard. She could see him standing under a tree, gazing at his view. The sea had grown rougher now, with white horses curveting on a horizon where the silver light of a full moon frosted the edge of the world.

Río made her way towards the steps that would take her down to the garden, reaching for the pashmina draped over the back of her chair, the exquisitely embroidered swirl of silk and cashmere that Adair had given her.

Out in the garden, her bare feet made no sound on the newly-mown lawn. Once under the trees, though, the lawn gave way to more luxuriant growth, and grass and fallen leaves rustled underfoot.

Alerted to her presence, Adair turned to her. Río was taken aback to see that there were tears on his face. Raising a hand, he dashed them away.

‘I–I’m sorry,’ she said, making to move away. ‘I’m intruding.’

‘You’re not intruding, Río. Please don’t go. Unless you’re embarrassed by seeing a man cry.’

‘I’m not easily embarrassed by anything,’ she said. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

‘You’ve already helped.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You were responsible for this. All this festivity.’ He gestured towards the house, where the shadows of partygoers danced on the candle-lit deck, and the sound of laughter competed with the fiddle-players and bodhrán for supremacy, and the aroma of barbecue rose into the sea air.

‘I was responsible?’

‘Yes. This party wouldn’t have happened without you.’

‘But that’s crap, Adair! This is your party’

He shook his head. ‘If I’d announced I was throwing a birthday party for me, people would have made excuses to stay away. Nobody gives a shit about me. But they care for you. That’s why all these people are here tonight–they’re here for you, Ríonach Kinsella. They adore you. The house is full of your friends, not mine. You’ve breathed life into the place.’

‘Don’t be daft!’

‘It’s true. I’m under no illusions that I haven’t made enemies in Lissamore. Well, maybe not enemies, exactly, but I know that people had no very high opinion of the Bolgers. You didn’t.’

‘I…’

‘It’s all right, Río. You don’t have to deny that you thought I was a right plonker. I probably still am. Look at me, blubbing because I’m Norman No-Friends.’

‘You’re allowed to blub. It’s your party, you can cry if you want to.’

‘Don’t worry. I’ve finished blubbing. Let’s change the subject.’

‘We could talk about the weather.’

‘We could. Or we could talk about our hopes for the future.’

‘No, no. I made the decision earlier today that I was putting off thinking about the future until tomorrow. Let’s just try and enjoy the present.’

‘Live for the moment?’

‘I guess.’

They remained silent for some time. Across the bay, clouds were slinking along the mountain range, draping themselves over the dark peaks like an eiderdown settling over a recumbent figure.

Then Adair said, ‘I have something for you.’

Reaching into his pocket, he produced a leather box and held it out to her. Río recognised the logo of an über-exclusive jeweller’s, and her hands flew to her face in shock.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Adair hastily. ‘It’s not a ring. I wouldn’t be so presumptuous as to offer you a ring at this stage in our relationship.’

‘Our–relationship?’

‘I–well–oh God. I’ve just dug myself into a hole. It is, of course, presumptuous of me to–er–presume that we enjoy such a thing as a relationship. But I have to tell you, Río, that I’d love to think we might. Enjoy one, I mean. I…you see, I adore you—’

‘Adair! Stop it.’

‘But it’s true! I adore you! I adore everything about you! I adore your feistiness and your just for life and your laugh. I adore the way you swim in the freezing cold Atlantic to warm it up, and I adore the way you walk barefoot, and I adore the way you swig wine and slide down banisters. I adore your name, Río–Ríonach! I adore the way it feels on my tongue. Look at you! You’re beautiful, Río. A goddess. A selkie.’

‘Adair—’

But he wouldn’t stop.

‘I’ve never met a woman like you before. All the women I know are harpies, and they’re all made of plastic. They wouldn’t dream of walking barefoot into an orchard. They wouldn’t be caught dead bowling along on a bicycle. Can’t you see how I adore all those things about you? Don’t you know that that’s why I want to shower you with gifts?’

‘You’ve showered me with too many gifts already, Adair. I can’t possibly accept any more.’

‘But you must, Río.’ He undid the clasp on the small leather box. ‘It’s part of the birthday celebration you dreamed up. Please take it.’ He proffered the box, looking at her with entreaty. Then he opened it, and revealed the contents.

Inside was a bracelet of beads looped together by a network of silver filigree. The beads were exquisite, handmade and decorated with tiny whorled pink rosebuds against a blue and silver background–like miniature Faberge eggs. It was clearly antique, and it had clearly cost him a lot of money.

‘It’s the last gift on your wish list,’ said Adair, lifting it from its bed of creamy satin. ‘It’s the bracelet your imaginary birthday girl left lying on the table.’

Río looked at the bracelet, and then she looked at Adair and shook her head. ‘I won’t take jewellery from you, Adair. No, indeed I won’t.’

‘Take it. Please take it, Río.’

He thrust the box at her, and she put her hands behind her back. But Adair was insistent. Putting his arms around her, he tried to prise her fingers apart so that he could slide the bracelet onto her wrist. And as he did so, her pashmina fell to the ground and Río felt the hardness of him against the slippery silk of her dress. And then she felt a wave of just so powerful that nothing in the world could have stopped her pulling his face down to hers and kissing him. Adair made a kind of growl deep in his throat, and suddenly they were embracing. The embrace for Río was like tasting water for the first time after travelling through a desert. She had, she realised now, been parched for him, and he likewise for her. She was his selkie: she would sacrifice her ocean home for him.

She felt his palms travel down her back, and she felt the hard grip of his hands on her ass as he pulled her closer into him, and then there came a muffled squeal from the garden beyond the orchard, and Río and Adair sprang apart abruptly. There, like a little lost ghost standing in the middle of the lawn, was Izzy. Her hands were covering her mouth, and her eyes were wide in her pale, pale face.

‘Daddy!’ she cried, and Adair said, ‘Darling, it’s not what you think!’–the classic line so abused by truly guilty people.

But Izzy just shook her head wildly before turning and fleeing back in the direction of the house, her sobs receding as she left the arena.

Río and Adair regarded each other for a long moment before Río said, ‘It’s impossible, Adair. You know it is.’

Adair stooped and picked up the pashmina and the bracelet, which had also fallen to the orchard floor.

‘Yes,’ he said, straightening up wearily. ‘I guess it is.’

‘It would have been lovely in another place and under different circumstances. Wouldn’t it?’

‘He nodded. Then he held the bracelet out to her. Are you sure you won’t accept this?’ he said.

‘I’m sure. You’ll find someone else to adore, who would love to wear it. I’m certain of that.’ Río smiled at him. ‘I’ll keep the pashmina, though, if you don’t mind. It’s starting to get really cold.’

‘Of course.’ Adair wrapped her in the swathe of crimson cashmere, and then he stuck his hands in his pockets. ‘I’d better get back to Izzy,’ he said.

‘You better had,’ said Río. ‘Goodbye, Adair. Thank you for the party. It was lovely.’

‘You’re welcome, Ríonach,’ said Adair. He turned with an awkward dip of his head, and retraced his daughter’s steps back to the Villa Felicity.

Río watched him go, then pulled the pashmina tighter round her, and wandered further down the orchard. She wouldn’t cry, she told herself, as she slid the bolt on the five-bar gate and stepped off her land onto the beach. She had no reason to cry.

Back at the house, Izzy sped upstairs to her room to compose herself before rejoining the party. But someone had got there before her. It was Babette. The little dog was lying in the middle of Izzy’s bed, looking like a furry odalisque.

‘What are you doing here, sweetie pie?’ Izzy asked; then figured that the pooch had been airlifted away by her mistress to prevent her from being trampled to death by the dancers on the deck.

Babette wagged her tail in greeting, then gave Izzy a sympathetic look as she clocked the tears on her cheeks.

‘I know–I’ve been crying. Sorry. They’re stupid tears, really’ Izzy helped herself to a Kleenex from the box on her bedside table, then sat down beside Babette, and curled her feet up underneath her. ‘It’s just that my dad’s made a real eejit of himself over that appalling Río woman, Babette. He fancies her, but I so want him to find someone who will love him for himself and make him happy, not a gold-digger like her who’ll probably get pregnant and force him into marrying her. And then I’d have to share Dad with a half-sister or–brother, and I couldn’t bear that. If that happened I’d be practically an orphan, because I don’t have a mother, Babette–at least not a mother in the real sense, who makes comfort food like cottage pie, and does your laundry, and tucks you into bed with a hot-water bottle when you’re sick. And I’m horribly, horribly lonely because I’ve no one to talk to apart from Lucy and she’s going to study abroad next year.’

‘You have Finn.’

‘What?’ Izzy looked at the dog in astonishment, before realising that the voice had come from the direction of her en suite bathroom. She turned to see Fleur leaning against the doorjamb, looking at her with concern.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Fleur. ‘Your father told me I could leave Babette here in your room. I came up to check on her and go to the loo, and of course I couldn’t help overhearing you. You clearly need someone to talk to, Isabella, and wise as Babette is, she’s not the most articulate of agony aunts. Can I help?’

Izzy felt her face flare up, and then, to her mortification, the tears started again. Except this time, they were tears of despair, not tears of anger.

Fleur moved across to the bed, and took Izzy in her arms. And when she’d soothed her and told her ‘There, there’ over and over again, she pushed Izzy’s damp hair back from her face and smiled.

‘You’re confused about a lot of things, Isabella, and I’d like to put some of your misconceptions right, if I may. The most important thing you need to know is what a remarkable woman Río Kinsella is. Allow me to tell you all about her.’

On the beach, Río walked towards the edge of the water and stood looking out to sea for some time, while wavelets lapped at her feet. Then she reached down and picked up a stick of driftwood that had been washed up onto the shore. Taking a few steps backward, she hunkered down and wrote some words in the sand with her driftwood pen, in great big letters. Then she looked up. Above her a gull screamed, and she wondered idly, if the bird could read, what it would make of the legend looped in Río’s swirly capitals on Lissamore strand.

The climb up the cliff path was a stiff one, and by the time she got to the top Río was breathless with exertion and emotion. Looking down, she saw that the words she’d inscribed on the beach were visible, just, by the light of the full moon. There had been a full moon too, on the night Finn had been conceived. ‘I know what it is,’ she murmured, ‘to be adored.’ She repeated the words, like a mantra, for reassurance. She, Ríonach Kinsella, knew what it was to be adored, and really, that was all that anyone should want from life, because it meant that you were a good person.

She watched, dry-eyed, as waves swept over the words on the sand, erasing them. Erasing them for ever? Maybe. Maybe not. She could write those words again and again, on sand or on paper or in bold graffiti on a wall. She could embroider them in silk or daub them on canvas or carve them upon a tablet of marble. She could blazon them on a banner, or across the sky in fireworks if she damn well pleased.

Río looked to the east upon the gleaming, floodlit Villa Felicity with its glimmering pool and its shadowy orchard, and smiled.