‘She’s in her element. She loves it! Bossing everyone around, baking her fabulous goodies, making a fuss of us, like she’s always done. Don’t be worrying, there isn’t a bother on her,’ Marie-Hélène soothed, her Kerry twang as pronounced as ever. She had taken the name Marie-Hélène, after one of the Order’s founding nuns, because she thought it sounded more exotic than the more mundane Benedict they’d first suggested. It suited her greatly, Brigid thought, amused.

‘Ah, Una’s the best,’ Brigid said fondly. ‘I remember the day she started here as a young maid and she tipped a pitcher of buttermilk over Mother Patrick—’

‘If she survived that, she’ll survive your party. We’d better get ready. We’ve to be in the big parlour at six sharp. We’ll see you down there,’ Veronique interrupted briskly. If Brigid started going back to the early days they’d be there all evening. She loved to reminisce.

At that moment, Marie-Claire appeared on the return. ‘I came to see if you were awake, Mère,’ she said, from the top step.

‘I am, dear. I’m just going to freshen up and change my habit,’ Brigid assured her. Now that it was actually happening, Brigid was looking forward to her little party, although, at the back of her mind, the realisation that it was a swansong of sorts was unsettling. She was yesterday’s woman now. A new order had taken over, Brigid thought, smiling at her little pun. Having Marie-Claire here was the icing on the cake for her. Tonight would be a night of reminiscing, of happy memories, of love and sisterly affection. A fitting end to her career.

*

The Four Winds was a beacon of light at the edge of the cliff. Lamplight shone through every window. The Christmas tree lights sparkled in the bay windowpanes of the big parlour. Una’s husband had strung fairy lights along the shrubbery that lined the drive. It looked like fairyland, Keelin thought, as memories came hurtling back with a fierce intensity that was almost painful, when she saw the old house lit up in all its glory.

‘Isn’t it gorgeous!’ exclaimed Rita Sheedy in the seat behind Imelda’s on the minibus. ‘The nuns must have plenty of money to be able to afford a place like this.’

‘Indeed!’ sniffed Imelda, glancing out the window as the bus rattled along the drive. ‘Wouldn’t we all love a holiday home like it?’