Scarlet Feather

by Maeve Binchy

  Tom looked at her. 'And suddenly it was just like my sitting talking to you, where I told you that I had told you the truth but you said it wasn't the same as being honest, and that there was a difference. I didn't see it until then.'

  'Oh, Marcella.'

  'Yes, so anyway I had enough money for a month's rent, and then I didn't have any more. I took my portfolio around, and when I showed them the pictures of you and me that we did for Celebrity Couples, people asked what I was doing over there when I could be here. And I had no answer. And then the next month I didn't have the rent, so I did the topless pictures, and oddly enough it wasn't as disgusting as I thought. Everyone was quite professional and got the job done as quickly and as high-quality as possible, they were all quite respectful in an odd sort of way. And the money went through Paul Newton's office. I collected it at the end of each fortnight. I never saw him, except, except for the day… the day that I rang you

  'What happened… tell me?' Tom asked.

  'He was at the reception desk when I was picking up my envelope, and he asked me to come in. He said he was sorry we had parted bad friends, and that I was very good at what I was doing, and now he had something else to offer me. I was pleased because I thought he had a real job for me at last. And first he showed me magazines with me in them topless, I'd never seen the pictures before, and I felt upset when I saw them and then he said I didn't have to do this kind of thing all my life. I waited and he said that if I wanted to I could earn real money, and he showed me other magazines, hard-core porn ones, and I felt so sick when I saw where he thought my future lay.' She stopped again, shaking her head in memory of the shock. 'He said that these people were very detached about their job, and there would be no pawing or anything, that wasn't the way it was done, it was just a day's work for everyone in the end, and I thanked him and said I'd call him the next day and I moved flats and never saw him again.' A long pause. 'And then I came home.'

  'And where… ?'

  'I'm staying at Ricky's for the moment. I clean the place and help him around the studio. I've worked in bars a couple of nights too, and in a sandwich bar at lunchtime. You know that I'd be a real asset nowadays to Scarlet Feather?' The longing in her voice was almost too much to bear.

  But he said what had to be said. 'No, believe me, this is not spite, nor sulking, but it's no.'

  'I'm not saying we should get back together immediately… I'd go on living at Ricky's for a while…'

  'No.'

  'I'll ask you again, it's all I want to do. Be back the way we were. Suppose it were you that had made the mistake, and had upset me by stretching too far in some direction. And just suppose you realised it was the most stupid thing and begged me to start again, wouldn't you like me to say something hopeful rather than a cold, blank no?'

  'It's not a cold, blank no, believe me it's not. There's nothing I'd like better in many ways than to wipe the past bit from our minds and start again…'

  'Then why can't we… ?'

  'It's just not the way things are. It would all be a pretence, an act, like playing at being in love again. Maybe I'm shallow and you're better off without me. I've told you that before.'

  'I didn't believe it then, or now.'

  'But I don't love you any more. I'll never forget all we had together, and if I do ever love someone else, that will always be special…'

  'Love me again, don't look for someone new. Love me all over again.'

  He felt no desire for her, no memory of a love shared in this very flat. He felt nothing but pity. 'It wasn't a great summer for me, and after you left a lot of things went wrong and I was very unhappy,' he began. 'But compared to yours, mine was nothing. I'm more sorry than I can say.'

  'You must be pleased that you were right,' she said.

  'No, I was right about nothing. I didn't have an idea all this was going to happen to you, I thought you'd be a great success, you were, and are, so beautiful. And truly I hoped you would because you wanted it so much.'

  She picked up her handbag. 'I'll always be here, always around, if you change your mind,' she said.

  'No you won't, not a treasure like you.' He tried to make her smile. But her face was sad. 'Come on, I'll drive you back to Ricky's,' he said.

  'Will we be friends from now on, anyway?' she asked.

  'We'll be much more than friends; weren't we together for four years?' he said.

  'That's true, and there's so much I want to know.' But though he wanted to tell her all the adventures and dramas, and about the twins going missing and the guards looking for Walter for the break-in, he felt it wasn't the time for small talk, so they drove though the dark, empty, wet streets in silence.

  'If you won't come on a holiday with me, will you come away for a weekend?' Neil asked.

  'Sure, that would be nice,' Cathy said.

  She didn't really like the sound of a weekend away. It sounded dangerously like a honeymoon and she wasn't ready for that yet. The doctor had said that Normal Married Life would of course resume, it took different people different times. But Cathy thought that in her case it might take a long time. It wouldn't really be fair to go away with Neil unless she felt ready. Then again, it wasn't something she could easily discuss.

  If she said to him that she wasn't ready for love-making yet, he would reasonably say that he hadn't suggested it, he was only thinking of a weekend away. And in many ways a weekend would be nice. She would think about places to suggest to him. Not yet. In a few weeks time.

  They had fallen into a disconcerting habit of one being out when the other was in. Breakfast was the only meal they shared, and even at weekends they were both out a lot of the time. Cathy was cooking less at home in Waterview now during the day, since the facilities had much improved back at the premises. In fact, she often spent time there in the evening, and found herself sitting to read and relax in the big comfortable sofa rather than going back home. If Tom noticed, he said nothing; sometimes he was there himself, other times out. Cathy knew that he occasionally took girls out on dates, but rarely anyone a second time. She knew that Marcella was back in town and staying with Ricky; that's all he had told Cathy. June, however, who heard everything, had it that Marcella had totally changed and was doing all kinds of jobs she would have turned her nose up at, and was aching to get back into Scarlet Feather. She had told someone that she would wash dishes all day if she could come back.

  'Will he take her back, do you think?' June's eyes were round with interest.

  'She never worked here to be taken back,' Cathy said defensively.

  'No, stop playing games—you know what I mean.'

  'He never, ever talks about it.'

  'You surprise me. The pair of you have been through so much together, I thought he'd weep on your shoulder.'

  'No, I think there's too much shoulder-weeping in this business as things are.' But she also knew that they needed their space from each other. She had been tempted to tell him how much Neil had upset her over the whole pregnancy thing. But she didn't even want to acknowledge it openly. And anyway, a lot of that hurt seemed less sharp now. She and Neil did get on very well on many levels. Only this morning he had said how he wished she were free to come to the big demonstration for the homeless, but he knew she had to work.

  'Good luck, Neil,' she said. 'I hope you get a good crowd.'

  'You never know, mid-week.' He sounded worried. 'But then, if it does take off it really will focus serious attention on everything.'

  He had sounded so concerned, she was glad again that she hadn't decided to tell a whole self-pitying tale about him to Tom. Poor, tired Tom who had promised himself a nice quiet day at the premises when they were all out on this job.

  'Oh, June, how are we going to get through this lunch today, this woman's a monster.'

  'You say that about them all, and they turn out to be pussy cats.'

  'Not this one: we are to use the back entrance to the house, and take the van and park it somewhere so the guests won't see it and
be offended by it; we all have to have house shoes, which we put on when we come in the back door, only that way will she know that muck has not been walked in.'

  'Oh, well, if it keeps her happy.'

  'Wait till she sees your hair, June.'

  'What's wrong with it?' June looked in the mirror and patted her head. She had never again been able to afford the outrageous purple streaks that she had got with the Haywards token, and they had grown out, leaving her with a slightly piebald appearance.

  'Oh, Mrs Fusspot said that she hoped the staff would be decorous, because some of the guests are embassy wives.'

  'Decorous? I wonder,' June made faces at her reflection.

  'But if we're really good, then we might well get into a lot of embassies, that's what we must think throughout.'

  Tom wasn't coming on this one, there would be Con as barman,

  June and Cathy to prepare and serve the lunch. He urged them to leave in plenty of time, the lady seemed to think punctuality was highly important.

  'Cathy, stop calling her Mrs Fusspot, will you? You'll say it to her face when you're there.'

  'No I won't.'

  'Do you know where the place is?'

  'Yes, I looked it up just now.'

  'Have you got your mobile?'

  'Yes Tom, and let me tell you, you are rapidly becoming Mr Fusspot, perhaps the two of you are well met.'

  He laughed and patted the van. 'Good luck,' he called after them.

  The phone never stopped ringing.

  'Hi Tom, Neil here, have I missed Cathy?'

  'Yes, but she's got her phone in the van.'

  'No, it's okay, just tell her I've booked us into Holly's for the weekend after next, that will cheer her up.'

  'Simple question, Tom: I met Marcella, she said she'd like me to take her up to Fatima to see Mam and Dad, that you and she were good friends now. I just wanted an update.'

  'She never wanted to go to see them in Fatima when she lived with me,' he said simply.

  'You'd prefer not, then?'

  'She must go where she pleases.'

  'She's very broken, you don't know the kind of time she must have had over the water, she doesn't talk about it but it can't have been great.'

  'No, and I do wish her well, and I really hope she finds happiness like I would for any friend.'

  'Right Tom, matter dropped.'

  'Tom, it's Muttie here. You see, the twins are making an Irish stew for Lizzie as a treat tonight, and they gave me a list…' 'You'd like us to make it for you… Okay,Muttie…' 'I beg your pardon, they wouldn't hear of you making it. This is to be all their own work. I have all of the lamb and carrots and onions, but it's just that it says stock on the list. What's that?'

  Tom told him what little cubes to ask for in the local supermarket, and what they looked like. Cathy's mother probably had plenty of excellent stock in her freezer, but this was no time for opening the wrong things.

  Is that Tom Feather? Nick Ryan here, I want to have a surprise birthday party for Cathy's aunt at her apartment, and for you both to cater it.'

  'You know, Mr Ryan, we have a policy on surprise parties… we don't usually do them. They can go so very wrong.'

  'But not with Geraldine, surely… she has so many friends?' He sounded uncertain.

  'Could Cathy come back to you on this one? Please.'

  'Well, all right then, I thought you'd be glad of the business.' He sounded huffy now.

  'And indeed we are, Mr Ryan, as I say, Cathy will sort it all out as soon as she can.'

  'Yes, well.'

  'Tom?'

  'Cathy, there's telepathy, I was just going to ring you.'

  'Tom, have you her letter and the map there?'

  'You mean you aren't there yet? Oh, my God!'

  'Don't you panic, you're the one on dry land with the map, I've been to number twenty-seven, they never heard of Mrs Fusspot.'

  'Well, if you called her—'

  'Of course I didn't call her that, Tom, quick, will you.'

  He ran to the desk and took down the file with that week's bookings in it. He came back to the phone and read out the address.

  'That's where I am.'

  'Well, it's on her writing paper printed there in front of me.' He read it aloud again, this time with the name of the suburb.

  'What?' she screamed. There were two streets with the same name. People should be hanged for allowing this in any country. She was on the wrong side of Dublin.

  'Tom, what will I do? If I ring her now she'll go to pieces. Tom, speak to me.'

  'Just get there. I'm much nearer, I'll ring her and go round in a taxi with champagne and smoked salmon and hold them at bay until you get there. Drive carefully, don't take any risks. I don't want the entire company dead on arrival.'

  He had a fairly horrific phone conversation with Mrs Fusspot, where he had to hold the mobile far from his ear. The taxi man looked at him sympathetically.

  'You know your job is nearly as bad as mine,' he commented, when Tom had put the phone down, exhausted.

  'I don't think it's always as bad as this, but give me yours today, I beg you.'

  'Not today, you wouldn't want it,' the taxi driver said gloomily. 'There's some kind of protest in the centre of Dublin, people marching from O'Connell Street to Stephen's Green. We'll be all day and all night getting to your one on the phone, and the one you were talking about with the van of food will be lucky to get there by next weekend.' Tom lay back and closed his eyes. He must stay calm. Somebody somewhere in this city must be calm.

  Mrs Frizzell was around fifty, tiny in an unwise emerald-green wool dress. She had black hair scraped up into an angry-looking chignon and was very bad-tempered when he arrived. He saw with relief that there were no other cars, and noted from the high volume of abuse with which she greeted him that she must be alone, and that he had at least made it ahead of the guests.

  'There, there, there.' Moving quickly into the kitchen and finding suitable glasses, he said, 'You see, I told you, the traffic was terrible, they'll all be delayed, it's exactly the same for everyone.' He hadn't said anything of the sort, but he was picking up what the taxi driver had said.'I think it's some kind of protest march, Mrs Frizzell, it has totally disrupted the traffic and some streeIs are closed.' Her face was stony. Tom opened one bottle expertly and stood it in ice, then he swiftly arranged the smoked salmon pieces on the buttered brown bread, found a sharp knife and cut them into tiny pieces.

  He had grabbed lemons and parsley to take with him, but he needed a plate. He looked around for one.

  'I thought you said you provided all your own—'

  'And indeed we do, and our china is on the way, it's just as I told you, the transport has been unavoidably delayed in this protest march.'

  'Protest,' she scoffed.

  'Iknow, it is inconvenient, but still, it's good that we live in a democracy, isn't it, and people can make their views known.'

  Mrs Frizzell did not appear to think it was particularly good to live in a democracy, nor may ever have thought so. Meanwhile Tom had spotted a plain white platter. 'Let me use your lovely white plate, I'll take great care of it,' he soothed her, and produced in seconds an entirely acceptable dish of canapes. He noticed her beginning to thaw slightly.

  'Let me take you back into the very nice sitting room I saw briefly on the way in, and give you a glass of champagne while you wait for your guests. They too will be anxious, being so late for you,' he said.

  The guests were in fact not late at all, and to his annoyance he saw a big black car coming up the drive. He settled her down and ran back to the kitchen opening cupboards, fridges, drawers, anything to see was there any raw material from which he might make up a lunch, supposing Cathy never turned up. He did find a bottle of cheap brandy, and decided to add a few drops quietly to every glass of champagne he served. This was going to be the longest pre-luncheon drink in the history of catering: they might as well enjoy it.

  'I don't believe this,' Cat
hy cried when the guard on traffic duty told her that the roads were closed. 'Has there been an accident?'

  'Oh, no, it's only the homeless and those who care about them to the point of closing the city down,' he said, casting his eyes up to heaven. He was a weary man and he had little sympathy for those who made his job more difficult than it already was. 'Are you conjurers, the lot of you?' he asked them, interested. They had such a funny van with a red feather on it; they might be children's entertainers.

  'No, Guard,' said Cathy before doing a perilous turn. 'But we may have to become conjurers before this day is over.'