Joy Fielding - Now You See Her

As always, my thanks to Larry Mirkin, Beverley Slopen, Tracy Fisher, Emily Bestler, Sarah Branham, Judith Curr, Louise Burke, David Brown, Brad Martin, Maya Mavjee, Kristin Cochrane, Val G OW , Adria Iwasutiak, and Corinne Assayag. Thanks as well to some recent recruitsPauline Post, Carole Schwindeller, Lynn Henry, and Nita Pronovost. Its a pleasure to have you aboard.

Thank you also to my various publishers, agents, and translators around the world for the magnificent job youre doing.

Special thanks to my wonderful familymy husband, Warren, and daughters Shannon and Annie, Annies husband, Courtney, and my beautiful new grandson, Hayden, who makes me smile every time I picture his sweet little face. Thanks also to my sister Renee and to Aurora for her continuing efforts to make me as comfortable as possible.

And finally, I raise a pint of beer to the magnificent country of Ireland. I look forward to returning there again soon.

ALSO BY JOY FIELDING

The Wild Zone
Still Life
Charleys Web
Heartstopper
Mad River Road
Puppet
Lost
Whispers and Lies
Grand Avenue
The First Time
Missing Pieces
Dont Cry Now
Tell Me No Secrets
See Jane Run
Good Intentions
The Deep End
Life Penalty
The Other Woman
Kiss Mommy Goodbye
Trance
The Transformation
The Best of Friends

O KAY, IF YOULL ALL just gather around me for a few seconds, Ill give you a wee bit of information about this glorious building in front of you. The guide smiled encouragingly at the group of tired and somewhat bedraggled-looking tourists milling around the front of St. Annes Shandon Church. Thats it, darlin, he cajoled in his exaggerated Irish lilt, the emerald-green scarf in his hand waving impatient circles around his portly frame. Move in a little closer, young lady. I wont bite you. His smile widened, revealing a bottom row of spectacularly stained and crooked teeth.

Good thing her husband hadnt made the trip to Ireland after all, Marcy Taggart thought, taking several reluctant steps forward. Hed have interpreted the poor mans lack of a perfect smile as a personal affront. People spend all this moneyon facelifts and designer clothes, and they forget about the most important thing of alltheir teeth, he often fumed. Peter was an orthodontist and therefore prone to such pronouncements. Hadnt he once told her that the first thing that had attracted him to her wasnt her slim figure or her large, dark brown eyes but rather her obvious regard for oral hygiene, as evidenced by her straight, flawlessly white teeth? To think shed once found such statements flattering, even romantic; Marcy marveled at it now.

Can I have your full attention, please? the tour guide asked with only a hint of reproach in his voice. He was clearly used to the casual rudeness of those in his charge and had ceased to take offense. Even though the largely middle-aged group of twenty-four men and women had paid a lot of money for the days excursion to Cork, the Republic of Irelands second-largest city, with a population of approximately 120,000, only a handful of those in attendance had actually been paying attention to anything the man had been saying since leaving Dublin.

Marcy had tried, she really had. Shed repeatedly instructed herself to focus as the guide educated them on the history of Cork during the seemingly interminable bus ride, 168 miles of severely congested highway and narrow country roads. Shed learned that the name Cork was derived from the Irish word corcach, pronounced kar-kax, meaning marshy place, because of its situation on the river Lee; that it had been founded in the sixth century AD and now served as the administrative center of county Cork, and that it was the largest city in the province of Munster. Corkorians, as they were known, often referred to Cork as the real capital of Ireland. Its nickname was the Rebel County, the towns reputation for rebelliousness having something to do with its support of the English pretender Perkin Warbeck back in 1491, following the War of the Roses. Today it was better known as the heart of industry in the south of Ireland, the chief industry being pharmaceuticals, its most famous product none other than Viagra.

At least thats what Marcy thought their guide had said. She couldnt be sure. Her imagination had an unfortunate tendency to get the better of her these days, and at fifty, her once prodigious memory for facts both useful and otherwise was no longer what it used to be. But then, she thought, grit-filled eyes surreptitiously scanning the glazed faces of her fellow travelers, all clearly years past their best before date, what was?

As you can see, because of its envious hilltop position, the tower of St. Annes Shandon Church dominates the entire north side of the city, the guide was saying now, his voice rising to be heard over the other competing tour groups that had suddenly materialized and were jockeying for position on the busy street corner. St. Annes is Corks prime landmark, and its giant pepper-pot steeple, which was built in 1722, is widely regarded as a symbol of the city. No matter where you are in the downtown area, you can see the marvelous stone tower, on whose top sits a gilt ball and a unique fish weather vane. Two sides of the tower are faced with red sandstone, the other two with white limestone, from which the colors of the Cork hurling and football teams are taken. He pointed toward the large, round, black-and-gold clock in the middle of the bottom tier of the four-tiered steeple. Corkorians depend on Shandon clock for their time and its weather vane for their weather forecast. A gentle chorus of bells suddenly drifted down the hill from the church, bringing forth oohs and aahs from those nearby. Thats our famous peal of eight bells, the guide said proudly. As youve probably already noticed, you can hear them all over the city all day long. And if you choose to climb the belfry, you can even play the bells yourself. Any tune you want, although most people seem to pick either Danny Boy or Ave Maria. He took a deep breath. Okay, you have thirty minutes to visit the inside of the church, then well head over to Patricks Hill, so you can get a feel for its steepness. Americans say it rivals the notorious streets of San Francisco.

What if were not up to the climb? an elderly woman asked from the back of the crowd.

I think Im all churched out, the man beside her muttered. I dont know about the rest of you, but I could use a pint of Guinness.

For those of you who have seen enough and would prefer to enjoy a bit of rest and relaxation before heading back to the bus, theres no shortage of pubs in the area. Although youre more likely to find the locals drinking Murphys or Beamish, two stouts that are brewed right here in Cork.

Sounds good to me, someone said.

Well meet back at Parnell Place Bus Station in one hour, the guide announced. Please be prompt or we might not have enough time to visit the famous Blarney Castle on our way back to Dublin. And you dont want to miss out on kissing the legendary Blarney Stone, do you?

No, we certainly wouldnt want to miss out on that, Marcy thought, recalling Peters revulsion at the idea of being held by his feet and suspended backward and upside down like a bat in order to kiss some dirty piece of bacteria-soaked gray rock coated with other peoples saliva, as hed so memorably phrased it when shed first shown him the brochures. Who in their right mind would want to do such a thing? hed asked accusingly.

Marcy had smiled and said nothing. Peter had ceased believing she was in her right mind some time ago.