“So, Dev. What were you photographing down at the shore earlier? You were so intent that you didn’t appear to hear me crunching my way over the rocks.”
Dev searched her face as he took a swallow of the amber liquid. He must have realised she needed to distract herself and was happy to oblige. She knew she probably still looked pale but the clammy texture was gone and her eyes felt clear.
“Otters.”
“Pardon?”
“Otters, you dope! You know, those pretty brown swimmers that often make their home around here? Well, I’ve been capturing the beauties over the last while both here and across on the island.”
The island was about a mile away by boat, directly in line with the house, and though uninhabited, bleak and lonely, it was sometimes quite beautiful. The coastline was rocky and dangerous but the Fitzgerald family had been sailing there for picnics as long as Frankie could remember and knew the little inlets that were most accessible. Seals, otters, cormorants, terns all made their home there and sometimes, during a particularly warm summer, a family of porpoises played nearby.
As teenagers they’d sail over, bringing tents and camping gear, and stay as many as three or four nights, cooking on an open fire and at times abandoning the tents and sleeping under the stars. Jo and Patrick would worry, of course, but they had a good system with flashlights in case there was any problem and the campers had to flash goodnight to the shore every night before turning in. In more recent times the island had, to some extent, lost its appeal to the “kids” but it was, it seemed, turning out to be a happy hunting ground for Devlin Fitzgerald, photographer at large.
“Wow! that’s cool. I hadn’t thought about the island in years. Did you sleep over?”
“Yeah. For a few nights. It’s been brilliant with the long evenings now that it’s almost midsummer. The evening light has been just what I was hoping to use for this series I’ve been working on for a while now.” Dev sipped from his glass but continued glancing discreetly at Frankie, probably to check she was relaxing.
He told her of his upcoming exhibition, his first one-man show, to take place in early September at a fashionable Dublin gallery. And as he talked and she listened, the sun began lowering towards the horizon and the evening grew chilly. Dev heaved himself to his feet and, grabbing Frankie by the hand, hauled her up, too.
“Come on, you. Let’s get something to eat. I, for one, am famished and if any more of this brandy goes down I’m either going to get pretty damn drunk on my empty stomach or fall asleep. Maybe even both!”
They headed into the kitchen and while Frankie rummaged in the cupboards, Dev made a few trips in and out with his photography gear, stacking it in the hall.
“Dev, you know, I’m really not that good at cooking, so I hope you aren’t expecting anything special.”
Grabbing a tea towel from the dresser, Dev tucked it around his waist then gently pushed her out of the way and opened the fridge.
“It just so happens that I can cook a steak as well as the next man, so move over. Oh . . .” He looked concerned. “There isn’t any steak in here.”
He looked so forlorn that Frankie chuckled and reached across him to take out a parcel of chicken fillets. “Here, Chef, do your worst! Don’t bother marinating them, just fire up the grill and I’ll work on a salad.”
Before long a pleasant, if plain, meal was set up on the outside table. Frankie had lit several of the citronella candles to ward off the midges and they’d both put on fleeces. Deciding against wine on top of the beer and spirits, they sipped fizzy water with their food and finished off with another brandy when the dishwasher was loaded. The moon had risen over the lavender sky and the only sound to be heard was the lap of the distant shore and the terns coming home to roost. Reluctantly, Frankie stirred herself and with glass in hand bid goodnight to Dev. He reached out and took her hand as she walked by his chair.
“Hey, sleep well, Jones. And since it looks like we’re both here for the duration, we can work out a schedule of sorts in the morning, okay?”
“Sure.”
When the door had closed behind her and a few minutes later a light went on in the upstairs hallway, Dev sighed raggedly. Well, shit. What the hell am I supposed to do now?
Chapter 4
The scent of freshly brewed coffee got Frankie up and moving the following morning. After a hasty shower and quick rummage through her closet for more comfy jeans and a grey T-shirt, she headed barefoot down to the kitchen. The back door was open, as was usual during the summer, and she followed her nose to the patio, where a large French press coffee pot perched temptingly on the table. A couple of mugs sat next to it but of Dev, there was no sign.
Oh well, you snooze, you lose.
Pouring the strong brew into her cup, she inhaled deeply and then sipped cautiously.
Delicious.
It reminded her of her favourite Italian roast she used to get in the States from a small chain of stores on the Northwest Coast. She’d had it shipped to New York regularly and it was a real addiction for her. The coffee she’d had so far in Ireland was only okay, so this was an absolute delight. She sank into the garden chair and realised that Dev must have been up a while as all the cushions were back out on the seating and were already warm. Glancing at the old outdoor clock, she let out a shriek.
“Holy God! It’s almost eleven!”
A figure arrived around the side of the house.
“Did someone call my name?” Dev strolled over to the table and gave Frankie a wide grin as he helped himself to the pot.
“Smarty pants! Goodness, Dev, I had no idea of the time. I can’t believe I slept so late! Why didn’t you call me?”
“Well, Sleeping Beauty, when I looked in on you about three hours ago you were dead to the world. I always sleep like that after my first shot of Western air in a while, so I just figured I’d give you some time.” He eased himself down into the chair opposite. “Then, when another few hours passed, I thought you might throw a fit for missing such a pretty day, so I cheated and left the coffee on the table below your open window.” He drank deeply. “And I can see it worked!”
“This is great coffee. My first decent cup since coming back. Where did you buy it?” Frankie topped up her cup and poured another for Dev.
“I have it shipped direct from Italy.”
“No way!”
“Yes way. A couple of years ago I was in Seattle and found this great café that sold this brand, so I got on the internet and sourced it myself. It’s called—”
“Bellini!”
“You know this stuff? How bizarre is that!”
They stared at each other in bewilderment.
“Yes, I do,” Frankie said wonderingly. “I have it shipped from Washington each month to my apartment in New York. God, I think I just got goose bumps!”
Dev peered at her through narrowed eyes. “We happen to share excellent taste.”
There was an uncomfortable silence.
Frankie stirred and said abruptly, “So, what’s on the agenda today? Have you work to do?”
Dev stretched his legs casually out in front of him and settled back in the chair. “Nope. I’m done for today.” At her incredulous stare, he continued, “I’ve been up since five thirty or so and this my second pot.” He took another sip. “I’m revved and ready to go on a hike. And you, you lazy bones, are coming with me. No,” he continued at her immediate protest, “I won’t take no for an answer, so go get some decent clothes on – and by that I mean no designer labels – some good walking shoes and a sunhat, and I’ll pack us a snack. Go!” he ordered as she just stared at him.
Frankie knew if she pleaded exhaustion he’d let her stay but she already felt embarrassed about her little “episode”, as she chose to call it, the previous night and didn’t want him to think of her as a total loser. “All right. I’ll come with you. But under protest, I might add, and only because I really do need the exercise.”
Dev heaved a sigh of relief.
Right, plan A on target, he thought. Get her out and about, no time for brooding, and get some colour into those ghastly pale cheeks. Like every hot-blooded male in the universe, Devlin Fitzgerald enjoyed the sight of a beautiful woman. Having known Frankie since she was a gawky ten-year-old didn’t blind him to the fact that she was a stunning-looking female. That amazing cloud of hair, her smoky eyes capped by perfectly arched brows, straight nose and sensuous mouth with that divine lower lip . . . No, he wasn’t blind.
However, right now she looked worn out and just plain tired. His parents were counting on him to get her back on her feet, metaphorically speaking. Dev had spoken to his mum earlier that morning to reassure her about Frankie’s “attack” and Jo had explained a little about the dreadful state Frankie had been in just a week and a half earlier. It sounded like his brother and sisters had helped her out a lot and now it was his turn. Well, Devlin was nothing if not conscientious and he was determined to do his part. Some men might relish the idea of spending days with the beautiful Francesca Jones, but for Dev it seemed like his worst nightmare.
The walk up Errisbeg, overlooking the seaside village of Roundstone, was exhausting for Frankie. Although she’d been walking in the previous ten days, this hill climb totally finished her. Mind you, the stunning views from the top more than made up for her gasping breaths.
“Wow! Oh, God! To capture this on canvas would be magic.” Frankie announced her desire to paint and in her enthusiasm she turned to her climbing buddy and poked him in the arm. “Hey, how come you aren’t madly taking photos of this amazing view? You’re supposed to be the hotshot photographer. So where’s your camera?”
“Babe, I have tons of images of this particular vista, which I’d be more than happy to show you when we get back. But, truthfully, no matter how many I take, there really is always another one more spectacular the next time I get here.”
“So, do you come here often?”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth Frankie’s eyes met Dev’s and they both burst out laughing.
“Perhaps I should rephrase that,” she gasped through her laughter. “It sounds pretty leading, don’t you think?”
“Are you propositioning me, madam?” he teased with a glint and a raised eyebrow.
“Yeah, like you need anyone to proposition you! I bet you have the proverbial little black book that gets lots of phone use. And you probably have a Tinder account, too.”
“Oh, I get around.” Uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation, Dev pulled his backpack off and, opening it, took out a flask and some cups.
“Hey! You thought of everything. Thanks.”
Gratefully, she took the proffered cup and sipped the hot tea. They sat in companionable silence for a while, nibbling on the digestive biscuits Dev had also produced from the bag and washing them down with the welcome liquid. They sat cross-legged on a couple of rocky patches absorbing the day.
“So, back to your black book. Do you have a girlfriend at the moment? I only ask ’cause I totally want to slag you off about it!” Frankie smiled at Dev from under her lashes.
The gesture appeared completely innocent but was actually straight out of her previous film Surrender, which had been a huge hit at the box office. In it she’d played a murdering widow who seduced her prey and then killed them with poison.
“Cut the acting, Jones. I’m not impressed.” Dev had seen the film. Several times.
He’d marvelled at her ability to convince each and every male, both onscreen and in the cinema, that she was a wounded frail woman who needed protection. The audience only realised just how vile the character was in the last quarter of the film, when her horrific deeds were disclosed. The critics raved about Frankie’s performance, predicting Oscar nominations both for her and the director.
“Acting? Me? Nonsense. I’m done with acting.”
Dev let out a guffaw and murmured a “Yeah, right,” as he gazed out towards the Bens.
Speaking the words aloud cemented what Frankie knew had been an option brewing for some time. Even before Stephen was shot, there’d been niggling doubts in the back of her mind and since his death, the idea of getting back on the stage or screen seemed simply ludicrous. She knew what she had to do – she just had to convince her agent to let her go. At least, let her go in a different direction.
She turned to the man she’d known for most of her life. The same man who’d supported her when she’d begun her career and sent her flowers for every first night. Who else but Dev should be the first one to know about her next venture?
“No, really. It’s true. I’ve decided. No more acting either on stage or film.” She closed her eyes against the sudden unexpected sting of tears and tilted her head back to face the sun. “I’m going in a whole new direction and I intend to embrace it wholeheartedly.”
“The only direction you can take is ‘exit stage left’ or some other directorial gesture,” Dev sneered as he angled his head towards her.
Startled by the glint of tears on her lashes, he quickly turned away. Shit! She was getting all emotional and he was stuck up a bloody mountain with her. Okay. Not an actual mountain but a fairly steep hill climb that required her to be clued in on the way back down – not a snivelling mess. What the hell did she mean by new direction, anyway? Back to modelling like in the early days? She sure had the body and face for it but, as Dev, the photographer, knew only too well, she was, at thirty, getting too old for the catwalk. He expected she meant to get a contract with a cosmetic company or clothing line. Yeah. That made sense. In his mind, anyway.
“A new direction is a great idea if you’re too nervous to go back on stage.” He ignored the sharp glare she sent his way and blindly continued to make matters worse. “At your age, photographic work is probably your best bet. It would keep you occupied and you could still travel while making a butt-load of cash. You could probably even stay in New York at your apartment.” Satisfied that he’d got it all sorted out, he threw his backpack over his shoulder, got to his feet and put a friendly arm out to haul her up.
All emotion rapidly dried up, Frankie shrugged off his arm. “Lord, but you take the biscuit! My age? Something to keep me occupied? What the blazes do you think I am? Decrepit? Inept? Over the hill?” She scrambled up and rounded on him, eyes furious and bright, but not now with tears. “You have some nerve, you great oaf! You don’t have a clue as to what I want to do with my life. You’ve no business trying to tell me what to do. As if you’d know anything about me! You’re actually ‘mansplaining’ my life to me right now – God! How could I have thought you’d understand?” Frankie marched off down the hillside with her arms swinging wildly.
Dev followed in her wake, wondering just how he’d made such a screw-up of things.
The silence was deafening on the car journey back to the lodge. It continued to make itself heard through dinner preparations, where only necessary questions were asked and answered. The several swift glasses of wine Frankie consumed helped to ease her anger and the matched bottles of beer swilled by Dev had, fortunately, a similar effect. By dessert, Frankie had accepted Dev’s stumbling apology. For what, he wasn’t sure – he just knew from living with his sisters that a generic apology could apply in most places if you filled in the appropriate blanks.
Frankie chose not to go into explanations regarding her future career choice but rather took the olive branch and thereby allowed a pleasant evening to follow. Dev took out the Scrabble, which Frankie hated with a passion but felt obliged to play since it was a real Fitzgerald tradition at the lodge. Everyone in the family played although, truth be told, they didn’t always enjoy it, as Patrick tended to beat the pants off everyone and the rivalry between the boys was intense. What started off as a fun, friendly game could take on the appearance of a military campaign with all the associated casualties.
This evening they took the game outside on the patio and played till it became necessary to spell by candlelight. Dev reverted to his role of Frankie-watching, as
ordered by his mum, but realised that Frankie seemed to have an ability to switch off whenever she wanted to ignore anything unpleasant. Dev refrained from probing when the few attempts to discuss the previous few months were met with gentle rebuffs or a turn in the conversation. As they gathered the game tiles and added up the widely mismatched scores, Frankie decided to offer an apology of her own.
“Sorry about flying off the handle earlier, on the hill climb. I’m a bit all over the place at the moment and my emotions tend to get the better of me. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”
“Crap. Of course you should snap at me, if you feel like it. We’ve history, you and I, that involves a lot of snapping and I don’t want that to change. You’re entitled to feel a bit shitty considering everything. Yes,” he forestalled her interruption. “I do know some of the story. Mostly through the parents as I don’t read the tabloids, but if you want to talk I have a ready ear.” Dev held open the door for her as she walked through, complete with the now boxed game.
“Thanks. I think. But I’m not sure what talking will do. The girls have been great; they’re such good sisters to me and listened to my drivel without complaining once. Mind you,” she broke off with a laugh as she headed upstairs, Dev close on her heels, “I had just given them some very nice gifts!”
“Bribery is good, I always say, and am open to some myself. Let me see . . .” He exaggeratedly scratched his chin. “Yes, I could listen to you for an hour or so for a really nice bottle of Amarone, or two hours would require a bottle of Irish Mist.”
Frankie laughed at his nonsense and, turning on the stairs, she leaned into him, eyes level as he was still a step below.
Family Affairs Page 5