Chapter 24

Writing is like getting married. One should never commit oneself until one is amazed at one's luck.

Iris Murdoch

There's a part of me that doesn't quite believe Charles and Ariel are completely over, despite his promises that the divorce will happen quickly. But then he takes me shopping for an engagement ring in Warren's, the very exclusive jeweller's near Grafton Street, where every single ring is exquisite and breathtakingly expensive. I've often stopped and looked at the window displays, but I've never been inside the store in my life.

When Charles says we're looking for an engagement ring, the saleswoman brings a tray of sparkling diamonds along with two glasses of champagne.

Charles likes their signature ring, the Snowdrop, which is a diamond solitaire in a white-gold setting. It's gorgeous, but too imposing for me, and I ask for something smaller. The saleswoman seems slightly horrified by the idea of someone wanting a smaller ring, but brings another tray of neater, more modern designs.

My favourite is the Ice Cube, which is an arrangement of small square diamonds in a white-gold band. As I slide it onto my finger, I feel my eyes fill with tears.

‘What's wrong?' Charles notices me wipe them away.

‘It's this. I love it.'

‘Oh good.' He sounds relieved. ‘I thought you hated it, and I was afraid we'd be here all day.'

The saleswoman goes to get a box for the ring, even though she knows I'll be wearing it out of the shop because it fits perfectly. While she's out of earshot, I ask Charles if he bought Ariel's engagement ring here too.

‘Why would you even . . .' He shakes his head. ‘No, I didn't. I bought it in London.'

When the saleswoman returns, I give her my mobile and she takes a photo of Charles and me holding hands, and then one of me holding a refilled glass of champagne, my ring very visible. That's the one I post to my Instagram account: #Engaged #LuckiestGirlInTheWorld #ForeverInLove.

It only takes fifteen minutes for my phone to buzz with a message. It's an unknown number and the message is brief.

What the actual fuck?

I know it's from Steve.

I send him a reply when Charles and I are in Davy Byrne's pub having more champagne to celebrate our engagement. (I've become a convert to champagne over Prosecco. It seems I'm already growing accustomed to higher standards.) Charles has gone to the Gents', so I message to say that I've met someone and am engaged to him. A second later, my phone rings.

‘Are you off your trolley?' he demands. ‘A few weeks ago you were going to marry me.'

‘Whose phone are you using?' I ask in return.

‘A work one,' he says. ‘You blocked me after New Year's, Izzy. That was a horrible thing to do.'

‘Because you kept contacting me and we're not together any more.'

‘I was being friendly.'

‘You were being stalkery. It's like you didn't want me yourself but you don't want me to be with anyone else either.'

He's silent for a moment, then tells me I'm talking rubbish, yet I can't help feeling I've touched a nerve.

‘There's no need for you to be friends with me any more,' I say.

‘OK, OK, I'm sorry if you feel hassled. I didn't mean it. But before we stop being friends, I have to point out that you've gone from being engaged to me to being engaged to someone else in jig time. Are you sure you know what you're doing? And who on earth is he?'

‘His name is Charles Miller. He's a writer and I love him. That's all you need to know.'

‘I'm saying this because I care about you. You're on the rebound.'

‘If you cared about me, you wouldn't have dumped me. And FYI, I'm not rebounding from anything.'

‘I admit I messed up,' says Steve. ‘I told you why. I'd have been wrong to marry you feeling the way I did. It was because I cared for you that I broke up with you, and it's because I care now that I'm telling you not to do this insane thing.'

‘Stop trying to make excuses,' I say. ‘I'll do whatever I damn well please.' I end the conversation at the same time as my fiancé returns to the table.

Everyone oohs and ahhs over my latest ring at work.

‘I prefer it to your previous engagement ring,' Katelyn says, as she extends her hand in front of her and watches it sparkle beneath the office lights. ‘Not that that one wasn't lovely, of course, but this is stunning.'

‘You make me sound like I get engaged every week.' I make a face at her.

‘Hey, as many times as you need to find the right person,' says Natasha.

‘I thought I had with Steve,' I tell her. ‘But I know I have with Charles.'

‘You'll have to bring him to the pub some night so we can all meet him.'

‘I will,' I promise. ‘He's very impressed by my job. He might turn it into a book one day. We X-ray a container and find a body. Can you imagine! I must suggest that one to him. In the meantime, though, can I have my ring back?'

When the Ice Cube is safely on my finger again, Natasha and I head for the car and drive to the docks to do our inspection on the most recent arrival. I might be #TheHappiestGirlInTheWorld, but I still have a job to do.

When I tell Celeste my ring is from Warren's, she's impressed.

‘I don't think you can walk out of there without dropping five figures on a piece,' she says.

‘You can,' I say. ‘Just about. But we didn't.'

‘It's absolutely stunning.' She spins it around on her finger. I don't ask what she's wished for, although the tradition is usually for a lovely mother-in-law.

‘And to think how devastated I was when Steve dumped me.' I smile when she hands it back. ‘I was heartbroken in the Caribbean. Life's amazing, isn't it?'

‘Will you go back there for this wedding?' she asks.

‘We haven't talked about it yet,' I reply. ‘But I'm thinking that a massive do in Dublin this time, with you as my bridesmaid, would be perfect.'

‘Oh, Izzy.' She flings her arm around me. ‘Thank you. That's exactly what I wished for just now."

‘What can I say?' I grin. ‘I'm the girl who makes wishes come true.'

Now that we're officially engaged, and my fiancé and his agent-slash-hopefully-soon-to-be-officially-ex are pushing ahead on the divorce, Charles turns his attention away from engagement rings and back to his book. I thought he could take his time about editing it, but apparently there's another deadline for this.

‘Maybe I should read it again for you,' I suggest. ‘I'm your beta reader after all.'

‘But not my editor.' He says this dismissively and I frown. ‘Sorry. Sorry. I'm a bit stressed at the moment,' he adds when he sees my expression. ‘I'm always stressed by this part, and the worst this time is that Sydney's damn changes have meant rewriting three bloody chapters. Three!'

‘If it makes it harder to figure out who the killer is, that's a good thing,' I console him.

‘You're not the one doing all the work.'

‘Janice Jermyn—'

‘I'm not Janice bloody Jermyn,' he snaps.

‘I know. Sorry.'

We sit in silence for a while. It's Sunday and my day off, so I'd asked him if he'd like to meet. We haven't seen each other much since we bought the ring, and we're having lunch in an airy café within walking distance of his house. It's packed with families, and I get the feeling that Charles doesn't find this very restful.

‘Let's go,' I say.

‘What about coffee?'

‘We'll have it back at the house. You've a brilliant machine in the kitchen.'

‘All right.' He's still grumpy, but he pays the bill and leaves a generous cash tip on the table.

When we get back to Riverside Lodge, he makes us both coffee and we sit at the island in the kitchen. I move my hand so that the diamond in my ring splinters into a prism of colours. Charles laughs, and the dark mood between us lifts immediately.

‘You love doing that, don't you?'

‘Yes.' I'm a little embarrassed that he's noticed.

‘It looks lovely on you,' he says. ‘I'm very happy you like it.'

‘Like it? I love it.' I slide from the bar stool and put my arms around him. ‘I love you too, Charles Miller.'

‘And I love you,' he assures me. ‘I'm sorry if I'm a bit tetchy. I'm always like this when I'm editing. Ariel says it's my worst writing phase.'

‘Does she help with it?' I'm madly keen to talk about her and their relationship, but I haven't known how to raise the subject. I don't want to appear obsessed; I tell myself I'm not, but I can't help remembering the look on her face when she met me. It's unsettling that she's still a part of his life, and will be even when they're properly divorced. I'm hoping that once he's finished the book, she won't have any need to be in touch with him for ages.

He tells me that Ariel's original notes on his manuscript, before he even gave it to the publisher, ran to twenty-two pages. And since then, his editor, Syd, has sent even more.

‘You need a break,' I tell him.

‘We've just been out to lunch.'

‘A proper break,' I say. ‘I'm going to bring you to the port.'

‘But I . . .' He hesitates, then smiles. ‘I'd love to come to the port with you,' he says.

The traffic at the port isn't as heavy on a Sunday, and I drive him around the various warehouse and storage areas. It's always impressive to see the huge stacks of freight containers, and I explain about the X-ray machine and the other things we do. I also tell him that I have the best view in the world from my desk, and he asks if he can see it.

I phone the officer in charge today to ask if I can come in with a visitor for a nanosecond. He agrees, and soon Charles and I are standing at the window, looking out at the bay.

‘You're right,' he says. ‘The view is amazing.'

Katelyn, who's also working, walks in, and I introduce her to Charles.

‘I love your books,' she tells him.

‘I'll give Izzy some signed copies for you,' he promises.

And then they're chatting away, and I think how Charles has some great people skills, even if he doesn't always use them.

‘Absolutely hunky,' Katelyn whispers to me as we turn to leave, and I wink at her and link my arm through my fiancé's.

#LuckyMe

We go back to Marino for a cup of tea after the port visit, but unsurprisingly end up in bed first. I'm impressed by his stamina and say so, which makes him look pleased until he asks if I mean for his age.

‘Are you mad?' I sit up and push my hair out of my eyes. ‘You're way better than . . . well . . .' I don't really want to mention my ex-fiancé. Or give him the chance to mention his nearly-ex-wife either. It's time to put our past lives behind us.

‘I'd better call a cab and get home,' he says when we've had the tea. ‘I want to do some more editing.'

‘On a Sunday?'

‘Need to keep going,' he says.

‘I suppose you have to work hard to get those good Amazon reviews,' I tease.

‘Bloody Amazon.' He snorts. ‘One-star reviews because the book arrived a day late or the cover is torn.'

I laugh. I can't help it. He laughs too and puts his arms around me. ‘If I was giving you a review, my darling Iseult, it would be a five-star one. You're my total inspiration.'

‘I am?'

‘Of course you are. I've based Carolyn on you. Didn't you guess?'

Carolyn is the murderer.

I'm not sure how I should feel about that.