Unforgettable Embrace Read online

  She got to thinking about the old Rachel and how anally retentive she was. The old Rachel always had a five year plan, actually she even had a ten year plan. According to her old life plan, she and Tony would have been married by now, and she'd be expecting their first baby together. They would have moved out of their old apartment and into a semi-detached house in the suburbs, which would be more suitable for raising children than a city centre location.

  She would have taken a year off work on maternity leave to be with the new baby. She would have spent the following few years working her way up the proverbial corporate ladder to become manager of the French department. Once she'd achieved her new managerial position she would have been pregnant again. They would have upscaled to a bigger, detached house by this stage and after another year on maternity leave she'd return to work part-time, working hours suited to their eldest child's school time. So, she'd had her whole life planned and never felt more miserable.

  Sometimes, she couldn't fully believe how happy she felt now, even though she had no life plan whatsoever. Her plan these days was that there was no plan. Instead of feeling scared at the prospect of her unplanned life, she embraced it and felt liberated and excited at the future. Who knew what the future had in store for her and therein lay the joy of it all.

  Of course, her mother didn't understand this new, unpredictable hippy Rachel. She was all for her daughter taking a break, even a prolonged break, but not a whole year off.

  "You can't just quit your life for a whole year and expect to return to it like nothing even happened," she lectured Rachel, "your job will be long gone."

  "I don't want my old life back, mother, " Rachel tried to explain, "I don't want my old job back either. It was soul-destroying and not what I want to spend the rest of my working life doing every day.”

  "What about security, Rachel?" her mother continued, "you could have had that job for life, and it paid well."

  "I realise now that I wasn't happy before, I was just going through the motions. I'm happy now. I needed a change. I know it seems a bit radical. I'm glad I've taken the year out, and it's only a year out from the whole rest of my life."

  "I hope you won't regret it," her mother her.

  "I know I won't," Rachel said determinedly, "it's the best decision I've ever made."

  Rachel knew her mother meant well, and only wanted what was best for her daughter, and part of her could understand her mother's concern. Angela believed in working hard. She often said "there's a reason why it's called work and not fun." She'd worked very hard her whole life. Her working life began when she sixteen years old, working in a shop in her home-town of Skibbereen during the day and then having a few hours off in the evening and back to work in her uncle's pub until the early hours of the morning.

  She had one day off a week, which she usually spent helping out on her parents' farm. When she was twenty she got a job as a receptionist at a big hotel in Dublin, where she worked for several years and where she met Rachel's father. They married in Cork after a whirlwind romance and headed for London where they managed a pub together in Notting Hill.

  Notting Hill today is a posh, upmarket place but back in the 1970s it was the complete opposite. The clientele could be described as "choice" to say the least. Angela often shocked her family with some of the stories she recounted that she'd overheard while working behind the bar. "Amazing," she said, "the way the customers would pour their hearts out and tell us their most intimate secrets." They'd even had a drugs bust one early morning.

  Angela and her husband and Rachel, who was then a baby, all lived in accommodation just over the pub. Somebody had incorrectly tipped off the police that there were drugs on the premises so they'd done a raid on the place at six o' clock in the morning, frightening the living daylights out of Rachel and her mother. Angela said she was feeding Rachel when suddenly three police men and their German Shepherd dogs burst into the place, tore the place apart looking for the non-existent drugs and then left almost as suddenly as they'd arrived, without so much as an apology. It was this incident that prompted Angela to insist that the family move back to Ireland as she just didn't feel safe raising children in such a rough environment.

  Chapter 26

  "Damn," Rachel swore as she surveyed her flat tyre.

  She'd been driving along a very bumpy, pot-holed road for the last half an hour when she noticed the campervan was getting even shakier to drive. She thought it must be more than just the roads, even though they were quite horrendous. She didn't know how anyone drove them on a regular basis, but all the locals came flying past her at over a hundred kilometres an hour, beeping at her because she was doing a steady sixty. She decided to pull over and check to see if there was any damage to the campervan and had discovered a flat tyre.

  Changing tyres was something that Rachel was not familiar with doing as Tony had always sorted her mini out for her. She stared at the deflated tyre as if willing it to inflate itself again. She examined the wheel closer and saw a tiny hole in the tyre. She considered, momentarily, just taping it and crossing her fingers that it would fix the hole, but she realised she had no choice but to get out the spare wheel and her puncture repair kit. It was already getting dark so she knew she'd have to work quickly to fix it before nightfall, and she certainly didn't relish the prospect of parking at the side of the lonely country road for the night.

  She got to work and was making fairly steady progress when a man's voice behind her startled her out of her concentration.

  "You okay there miss?" the man asked.

  Rachel jumped and almost slipped in the mud with the fright. "I think so," she replied, struggling to her feet. She found herself looking into very bright green eyes. They were so green, they were almost yellow in the light. Rachel had a thing about eyes, it was the first thing she noticed about any one she'd just met. He had very blonde hair, that was so light it looked bleached. Rachel wondered if it was natural or dyed, probably natural, she thought. He doesn't look like the type of man who stands at the sink, dying his hair.

  He looked like a rugged, outdoors person. His face was very tanned, which made his eyes all the more startling and his body was lean but strong. He was about the same height as Rachel, which was acceptable, Rachel found herself thinking, after all I am exceptionally tall for a woman at five feet ten inches, whereas that is supposedly the average height for a man. She couldn't believe how so many thoughts ran through her mind in the few short minutes that they had met, and was surprised with herself for assessing him so quickly as potential boyfriend material, especially when she'd taken herself off the market.

  They stood for a few seconds gazing into each other’s eyes. Rachel had a habit of staring into people's eyes and holding their gaze for too long. She remembered one of her classmates at school yelling at her once "stop staring at me." She hadn't meant to upset the boy, it was just a habit she had, if someone was talking she liked to look into their eyes. So it was she found herself looking into this stranger's eyes. She blinked and looked away in slight embarrassment. It was usually the other person who looked away from her. Their trance-like gaze was broken, and the stranger smiled at her.

  "Come here to me and I'll have a go at this thing for you," he said kindly.

  Rachel passed him the wheel brace and he got to work on the tyre.

  "Would you like a cuppa?" she asked.

  "That'd be lovely, thanks, if you're having one yourself," he said.

  "I am indeed," she replied, climbing the steps back inside her campervan, thinking the least she could do was offer him some tea, considering he was fixing the tyre.

  "All done," the stranger said, just as the kettle was whistling to the boil.

  "That was quick. Come on inside," Rachel invited him, handing him the hot tea.

  "Thank you so much for sorting out my tyre for me. I've never changed a tyre before, and wasn't looking forward to the prospect of having to do it all by myself."

  "No worries at all," he smiled, "
Batt is my name, by the way," he held out his hand to shake Rachel's hand.

  "Rachel," she smiled back at him, "pleased to meet you Batt."

  "Likewise."

  He had a warm, firm handshake. "So what brings you up to this neck of the woods?" Batt asked. "We don't get many visitors around here."

  "Well, I was heading towards Belmullet, until this bloody tyre waylaid me," Rachel replied. "Belmullet's a lovely spot alright," Batt agreed, "stunning views out over the water towards Achill Island on a clear day. We'll soon have snow on the mountains if these temperatures are anything to go by, and those are views that could easily rival the most spectacular views of The Pyrenees."

  "What's the name of this area anyway?" she asked. "This is Bangor, Erris," he said. "There's a few things to see around here as well. The Ceide Fields is the most historic site in these parts. You know they were only discovered in the 1930s when Patrick Caulfield, a local farmer, was digging in the bog he noticed a heap of stones buried beneath it.

  His son, Seamus, was inspired by his father's story of the discovery to become an archaeologist, and in the 1970s he began extensive exploration of the area. Seamus and his team uncovered the world's largest Stone Age monument, consisting of stone-walled fields, houses and megalithic tombs. Can you believe they discovered such an important site right here in sleepy little Bangor? Archaeologists estimated that approximately five millennia ago a thriving farming community existed here, growing crops and grazing animals."

  "Wow, sounds very impressive," Rachel enthused. "There's an impressive Interpretive Centre there as well, I think admission is about €3.50 for adults, but I'm not sure if they're open at this time of the year."

  "It sounds like it might be worth a trip up there anyway," she agreed.

  "Oh, definitely," Batt said, "there are breathtaking views from the cliffs overlooking the ocean."

  "So is there anywhere you could recommend I park my campervan for the night?" Rachel asked Batt. "I don't know the area at all and I don't particularly want to stay here, parked at the side of the road."

  "Well, I own a farm just a few miles up the road, you're more than welcome to park in the drive if you'd like," Batt offered.

  "Are you sure you wouldn't mind?" Rachel asked a little hesitantly.

  "Not at all," he smiled at her, "sure I'd love the company, up there in the old farmhouse all by myself. I might even cook a bit of dinner if you're hungry."

  "That's very kind of you, thank you so much."

  "Right, that's sorted then. I just need to pop into the supermarket real quick and then you can follow me to the farm."

  "Sounds like a plan."

  It turned out that the village of Bangor was only a mile away from where Rachel had broken down. It was a cute place, with a few shops, pubs, hair salon and a post office. Rachel and Batt strolled around the supermarket together, and for a minute she was transported back to the times when she and Tony would go grocery shopping together. There was something so companionable about it, she was suddenly filled with a pang of loneliness.

  "Is everything ok?" Batt asked, noticing the faraway look on her face.

  "Fine, thanks," Rachel said quickly, "just lost in thought there for a minute."

  They had a mini battle at the checkout when Rachel tried to pay for the groceries but Batt was having none of it.

  "You're my guest," he insisted and that was the end of the battle.

  Rachel followed Batt for several miles out of town on the road to his house. It couldn't even be described as a road really, it was more of a track. The campervan shook and rattled all the way. Even though the road was atrocious the view was stunning. There were bog and mountains on one side of the road, which had a certain austerely bleak charm and on the other side was a beautiful lake, whose surface was so still that it perfectly reflected the mountain behind it.

  Floating on the lake were two snow white, graceful swans.

  "A good omen," Rachel mused. She loved swans and hated seeing one on its own, for she always thought its mate must have died as swans supposedly mate for life.

  Liz consoled her one day, when she couldn't find a second swan, that maybe it just hadn't found a mate yet. She liked that idea better than thinking its mate had died.

  Before long, Batt turned right up a little hill and Rachel followed close behind him. There at the top of the hill was a large, thatched house with ivy growing on the walls. The door was painted red with a round brass knocker. The house had a garden just in front, which was somewhat overgrown with late-blooming flowers. It looked like it needed a good weeding. The house looked so cosy and inviting, Rachel couldn't help smiling.

  "Here we are, home sweet home," Batt grinned as he opened the front door, his arms laden with groceries.

  Rachel almost jumped out of her skin when a very large, fluffy German Shepherd took a running jump at her. She stumbled a little at the impact but managed to remain standing.

  "Down, girl, down," Batt ordered the dog, "sit Sheba."

  The dog immediately sat at their feet, looking up at them both with big brown eyes and wagging her tail.

  "Sorry about Sheba," Batt apologised, "she gets a little excited. We don't get many visitors around here."

  "That's ok," Rachel replied shakily, "I thought I was under attack there for a minute."

  "Ah, no, you're perfectly safe with Sheba, she's a big old softie," he said, rubbing the dog's head gently.

  "Like her owner," Rachel said, instantly regretting the words once they came out of her mouth. Batt looked at her for a minute and then smiled, making Rachel blush a little.

  They made their way into the kitchen, with Sheba hot on their heels. A huge Aga stove stood against the back wall. It was toasty warm in the kitchen.

  "It's thirty years old," Batt said, seeing Rachel looking in admiration at the Aga.

  "Heats the whole house and gives a constant supply of hot water."

  "No fear of you going cold in the winter then," she said.

  "It gets too hot if anything, but I suppose that's a good complaint to have."

  "So, what are we having for dinner?" Rachel asked.

  "I usually like to treat myself to steak on a Friday evening, if that's ok with you?" Batt asked, looking worried.

  "It sounds good to me," Rachel agreed, "nothing like a good steak."

  "I'm glad you like steak, I didn't think to ask you in the supermarket," he sounded relieved, "for all I knew you could have been one of those vegans or vegetarians."

  "Definitely not a vegetarian," she laughed, "I like my food too much."

  "A girl after my own heart," and then it was his turn to blush.

  He quickly busied himself unpacking the groceries and opening a tin of dog food for Sheba.

  "I feel guilty if I don't feed her first," Batt explained, “bit like having a child really."

  "Do you have children?" Rachel asked.

  "Yes, a daughter, Lilliane, she lives in France with her mother."

  "When did they move to France?" Rachel asked curiously.

  "I lived in France for eighteen years," Batt continued, "I met Sylvie, Lilliane's mother, when I was there. We broke up nine years ago, when Lilliane was seven. My father died and being an only child, my mother needed me to come home to run the farm. She was too old to manage it herself. Sylvie didn't want to leave France to move to Ireland. She can't speak a word of English and wasn't too fond of Ireland when she visited here, and to be honest with you our relationship was in a bad place anyway.

  It'd been dying a slow death for a few years. I think we persevered for those extra years for Lilliane's sake. It's difficult when there's a child involved. I miss her, but now that she's older she comes and stays with me for a few months over the summer and whenever I can find someone to mind the farm for a few weeks I stay with her and her mother in France. Our split was amicable enough, thank God, and we've always made a conscious effort to get along for Lilliane's sake."

  "That's good," Rachel said, amazed at how o
penly Batt was speaking about his life. "Do you miss France?" she asked.

  "I miss certain things," he agreed, "like the wine and the cheese. Nothing more delectable than a bottle of Chateau Neufe du Pape and real French bread smothered in melted, smelly brie. I stock up on red wine and cheese whenever I visit Lilliane. I might break some out later for dessert if you fancy it?"

  "Definitely," Rachel replied, "I adore red wine, especially French. I studied in France for a year and I had an absolute blast."

  "There's no place like Ireland," Batt mused. "We may not have the wine or the cheese but there's nowhere else I'd rather call home."

  "Cheers to that," Rachel raised her mug in a toast.

  ****

  "I am well and truly stuffed," Rachel said, "that was absolutely scrumptious, thank you, Batt." "My pleasure," he looked pleased with the compliment, "it's not often I get to show off my culinary expertise. More wine?"

  "I don't mind if I do," she said, holding out her wine glass.

  They were Waterford Crystal wine glasses, exquisitely cut. They reminded her of the glasses which her sister had given her one Christmas, and which were now one of her most prized possessions. She felt like a queen drinking from them. Once you'd drunk from such glasses you couldn't go back to drinking from plain old glass anymore.

  "I almost forgot the brie," Batt said, rushing off to the kitchen.

  Rachel was left alone in the sitting room, staring into the massive log fire. The fireplace itself was about a metre long and half a metre tall, surrounded by old stones and brick which were a warm brown and reddish colour. There was a sword-like feature in a decorative sheath, hanging just over the fireplace, and either side of the hearth was two, life-like statues of German Shepherds.