Always and Forever
A Cathy Kelly classic – full of her trademark warmth and wit from the No. 1 bestselling author.Fairy godmothers do exist, even in the tranquil hills of Ireland…Once upon a time, in the beautiful town of Carrickwell, lived three women whose lives were mapped out: Ambitious Mel would have her career and her family; caring Daisy a child with the boyfriend who is everything to her; and hot-headed Cleo would finish her degree and step into the family hotel business.Until the landscape shifted and it all came tumbling down.But Carrickwell, nestled in the shadows of Mount Carraig, is an ancient, magical place. And when Leah, a woman with her own secret turmoil, opens the Clouds Hill spa, Mel, Daisy and Cleo are thrown together – and find the courage to discover what really matters to them, always and forever…
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Always and Forever
Cathy Kelly
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
Copyright © Cathy Kelly 2005
Cathy Kelly asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Ebook Edition © February 2012 ISBN: 9780007389308
Version: 2017-11-21
‘A must for Kelly’s many fans; a warm, moving read.’ Daily Mail
‘Totally believable.’
Rosamunde Pilcher
‘An upbeat and diverting tale skilfully told…Kelly knows what her readers want and consistently delivers.’ Sunday Independent
‘Warm and delightful.’
New Woman
‘An absorbing, heart-warming tale.’
Company
‘Her skill at dealing with the complexities of modern life, marriage and families is put to good effect as she teases out the secrets of her characters.’
Choice
‘Kelly dramatises her story with plenty of sparky humour.’
The Times
‘Kelly has an admirable capacity to make the readers identify, in turn, with each of her female characters…’
Irish Independent
For Dylan and Murray
Table of Contents
The woman stood as still as the mountains around her, taking in the view from Mount Carraig House – the windswept, overgrown gardens and the ragged path leading down to the small lake. Behind her towered Mount Carraig itself. Rob, the estate agent, had told her that ‘Carraig’ meant ‘rock’ in Irish, and that’s exactly what Mount Carraig was: a spectacular rock dominating a smaller range of mountains known as the Four Sisters, which swelled to the southwest.
Spread out before her lay Carrickwell, the bustling market town that took its name from the mountain. It was bisected by the silver line of the River Tullow, and from here, high up, she could make out the gently winding main street, the sprawl of houses, shops, parks and schools, and the medieval cathedral at the centre.
A quarter of a century before, Carrickwell had been a sleepy backwater, within reach of Dublin but still very much a rural community. Time and the price of houses in the city had turned it into a busier town, but the air of tranquillity had remained.
Some said this was because of the ancient ley lines that crossed it. Druids, early Christians, religious refugees – all in their turn had come to Carrickwell and set up home in the benevolent shadow of Mount Carraig where they could seek refuge and thrive on the pure mountain spring water.
On a slope to the left of the mountain were the ruins of a Cistercian monastery, now a honey pot for tourists, water-colour painters and scholars. There was also the remains of a round tower where the monks had raced up rope ladders to safety when invaders came.
Across the town, near the pretty but slightly crumbling Willow Hotel, was a small stone circle that archaeologists believed to be the site of a druidic settlement. Mystical Fires, a small shop in the town that sold all manner of alternative artefacts, from crystals and tarot cards to dream catchers and angel pins, did a roaring trade in books about the druids at midsummer.
At Christmas, visitors drifted unconsciously away from Mystical Fires to The Holy Land, a little Christian bookshop, where they could buy recordings of Gregorian chant, as well as prayer books, delicate Hummel Holy Water fonts, and the shop’s speciality, mother-of-pearl rosary beads.
The respective owner of each shop, a pair of lovely septuagenarian ladies, each devout in her chosen creed, didn’t mind in the slightest that their businesses waxed and waned in this manner.
