Sarah looked at her keenly. ‘You’ve to be up very early to catch me.’
Rose locked her van and walked straight over to her. She gave her a quick hug and said: ‘I’m okay, really. There’s no need to worry.’
Sarah looked at her. ‘You look well, but that doesn’t fool me for a moment. You’ve been hit by a truck.’
Rose smiled. ‘Good description. I was thinking of a runaway train myself – the pummelling lasts longer. Must be something to do with all those wheels.’
They walked together towards the door. Sarah put her hand on Rose’s arm. ‘You know, you don’t have to be here this morning. We can manage.’
‘Thank you, Sarah. But I do need to be here, and I can get six good hours’ work done before my appointment this afternoon. I need to keep the routine going, the normality. If I don’t, I’m finished. I may need to take time out later on, but for now, it’s business as usual.’
Sarah smiled. ‘Weekends off like that one, we can all do without. How are the kids?’
‘They’re fine, actually. I deliberately left them to their own devices this morning. I don’t want to start hovering over them. I’ll only make them nervous – especially Lisa. Brian’ll just get mad at me. And I do want to be here. I actually feel quite rested. A very kind friend shopped for me yesterday, made lasagne and even left me with a spotless kitchen, all while I slept. There’s nothing for me to do at home, except wallow.’ Or think about murder, she thought, seeing Ben’s face again as he dismissed her home with a wave of his hand, reduced it to something that could be measured, calculated in square metres, defined by narrow columns on a balance sheet.
‘Oh, well, a little wallowing never hurt anyone. I’m all for it, myself. Along with industrial amounts of chocolate and an old movie on the telly . . . sure I can’t tempt you?’
Rose laughed. ‘Not today. I’ll see Pauline this afternoon, and then I’ve Damien later on. I’ve no time to be tempted, just yet. And it really is a case of one day at a time.’
‘Okay, if you say so. But just shout if you come unstuck.’ Sarah pulled open the outer door. ‘And when you’re ready, you can tell me all about it. I can only imagine what you must be feeling.’
Rose stopped her. ‘Sarah – did you tell the others?’
‘I told Katie and Claire only that Ben had come back, out of the blue. I told them to take their cue from you, that you might not want to talk about it. They were great. Their only response was to ask how they could help out. I hope that’s okay.’
Rose smiled. ‘That’s more than okay. And of course they’ll need to know if I suddenly disappear for a day. I’ll talk to them later, but not while Betty and Angela are around. I don’t feel like sharing this news with either of them.’
Rose hung up her coat and brushed her hair. Just as she’d finished touching up her lipstick, Sarah turned to her and said quietly: ‘Betty was great yesterday, by the way. Did everything she was asked to do, and more. Angela was a different story. She spent a lot of time on her mobile, once she came back from shopping. I pretended not to notice, but Claire overheard bits and pieces of conversation and she’s convinced that Angela’s chasing another job.’
‘Jesus,’ said Rose, groaning. ‘More great timing. I need to start looking for staff like I need a hole in the head.’
‘Don’t worry about it for now. There’s always the three of us and I’ve a couple of nieces up my sleeve, if things get tight. Ellie and Julia are always open to earning a few quid.’
Rose grinned. ‘Must get a bit crowded, that sleeve of yours, with all the other things you’ve stashed up there.’
Sarah winked. ‘Nothing like having a Plan B. Now, let’s show them what we’re made of.’
Betty had already arrived and was tying back her hair when Rose greeted her.
‘Morning, Betty, you’re in early.’
The girl looked at her shyly. ‘You told me on Thursday to come in early this morning. I’ve to start the stock for your lunch party tomorrow. I’m in charge of the soups and the desserts, remember?’
Rose looked at her. Lunch party? Told her on Thursday? Didn’t the girl realize that some things had changed since last Thursday, even since yesterday? And then she remembered. The tennis club ladies who lunch – well, twice a year, anyway. Faithful clients of seven years’ standing. How could she have forgotten? The date had slipped well below her radar. Not surprising really, given the amount of enemy activity over the past few days.
‘So I did. I’m very glad you remembered, very glad you’re here. Did Angela do the shopping for it yesterday?’
Betty nodded. ‘All the stuff is in the cold room. I think she said she’d to collect the ducks and the tuna from the suppliers this morning, so she won’t be here until about ten.’
That’s interesting, Rose thought. Collecting ducks and tuna? Particularly as I have the van. She said nothing to Betty. Let Angela explain herself.
‘Okay, let’s you and I get stuck in. You go ahead with the stock, and I’ll make the breads.’ She pulled a ledger from the drawer under the counter. ‘Before I check, can you remember the menu?’
Betty nodded, eagerly. ‘Yeah – I went over everything again yesterday. I’d to work out all the quantities for Angela.’
‘Okay; let’s hear it.’
‘Almond and courgette soup, chilled gazpacho. Brown rolls, fennel loaf. Main course of glazed spicy duck, or marinated tuna, usual selection of vegetables. Dessert is orange and chocolate mousse or hazelnut meringue. You said to assume mousse and meringue: that these ladies have a sweet tooth. There’ll be approximately thirty guests, numbers to be confirmed this afternoon. Coffee and petits fours, red and white wine same as last time.’
Rose smiled at her earnestness. ‘Well done, Betty. Right, off we go. If you’re in any doubt, let me know as soon as possible. I won’t be here after lunchtime today.’
‘I’ll be fine; I’ve the notes I made from before. Don’t worry.’
Rose watched her begin to work, glad that her instincts all those years ago had been proved right. She was solid, reliable. Angela, it seemed, was another matter. With a pang, Rose remembered that young Betty had a four-year-old daughter to support: something that tends to concentrate the mind. It seemed that they had more in common than either would have thought.
An hour later, Rose was up to her elbows in dough. The more she mixed and kneaded, the more she relaxed into her task, forgot about what was waiting for her in her real life, that other life waiting in the wings. She remembered all those breads she used to make in her own kitchen: all those thousands of loaves over the years. She remembered the first batch of samples she’d put together, trying to bring in money just after Ben left. Trays of brown rolls, soda bread, almond buns, Russian Easter bread. Dozens of quiches, pizzas, apple pies. They’d all been a success, but she smiled now at how dull they seemed in comparison to the fashions of today. Now it was all tomato bread, olive bread, tortes and truffles. No matter what, though, there were still few culinary activities to beat the kneading of bread: all that punching and rolling and knocking back had a soothing effect on the nerves, she was convinced of it.
It was almost eleven when Angela arrived. Rose decided that a cool reception would be appropriate. She looked pointedly at her watch.
‘Bit late this morning, Angela. Anything wrong?’
Angela looked at her in surprise. ‘No, there’s nothing wrong. I told Betty to tell you I’d be late.’
Rose wiped the flour off her hands. She signalled to Angela to follow her, took her to one side. This was no time to take prisoners, she thought. These days, everything counted, at work, at home: nothing could be taken for granted any more.
‘First of all, you do not communicate with me through anybody else. Secondly, you cannot have been collecting anything from the suppliers, because I have the van. Thirdly, if you have anything to tell me about your future plans, you tell me now, right now, so that I know what I’m dealing with. After five years, we owe each o
ther that much courtesy.’
Angela looked at her, her face colouring – whether with embarrassment or anger, Rose couldn’t yet tell. Right now, she didn’t care.
‘I’m sorry. I had some personal stuff to deal with this morning.’
‘And you couldn’t call?’
‘It wasn’t . . . appropriate. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.’
Rose watched her closely. I’m a mother of three, she thought: I’ve had lots of practice reading faces. This one shows defiance, discomfort at having been caught, and not one trace of remorse.
‘Okay,’ said Rose, slowly, deliberately, still looking at Angela. The girl flinched, looked away. ‘We’re all under a bit of pressure here, this week: lunch for thirty tomorrow, and the party for a hundred and fifty on Friday night. Don’t let anybody down, Angela. If there’s something that needs your attention, tell me now. We can work something out. Otherwise, I’ll expect a hundred per cent from you over the next few days. You’re due a bonus: earn it.’
Angela said nothing. Her stance reminded Rose of Lisa on one of her bad days.
‘Take the van now and collect the ducks and the tuna from Maguire’s, please. Our preparation schedule is already tight.’ Rose walked away from her and pulled the keys of the van out of her handbag. ‘I’ll see you back here in an hour.’
Angela took the keys and turned on her heel without a word. Rose watched her go. When she turned back to the counter where she’d been working, there was more than the trace of a smile on Betty’s face. Rose groaned inwardly. Not only do I have it in spades at home, she thought, now even my employees are in conflict.
It looked like things were shaping up for an interesting few weeks.
‘Come in, Rose. Good to see you.’ Pauline’s handshake was firm, friendly. ‘Sit down. Can I get you a cup of tea or coffee?’
‘Coffee would be great, thanks.’
Pauline lifted the phone and said: ‘Two coffees, please, Joan.’
Rose settled herself into the large leather armchair, remembering its creaks and blemishes from before. She stroked the fine old mahogany armrest.
‘Couldn’t throw it out.’ Pauline grinned at her, replacing the receiver. ‘It would have felt too much like throwing out the old man. That’s where he sits whenever he condescends to come and dispense his much-needed advice. Much-needed in his estimation only, I hasten to say.’
Rose smiled. ‘I’ve a lot to be grateful to your father for – and to you. Is he keeping well these days?’
‘Almost too well. He rings me up on a regular basis telling me to get out of the rat-race, that the only worthwhile living is country living. He still likes to wind me up. Ah, here’s the coffee.’
Rose smiled at the motherly woman who entered. At nearly seventy, her face was still smooth, almost unlined. She balanced the tray in one hand and opened the door with the other, having already managed to knock. She brought an air of calm competence with her.
‘How are you, Joan? Keeping well?’ Rose smiled at the older woman.
‘You don’t know what I have to put up with,’ Joan murmured, casting her eyes in Pauline’s direction. ‘Even worse than the old lad, this one.’
Rose laughed. ‘And he was a hard act to follow!’
‘Indeed he was. But we don’t get too much of a chance to miss him, do we, Pauline?’ And Joan left, grinning, her ample frame adding a comforting, solid dignity to her surroundings. She’d always had the ability to make Rose feel completely at ease; more than that, she made her feel as though things could never really be as bad as they seemed.
Pauline smiled after her.
‘She still loves the last word. I know, I know,’ she groaned in mock-anguish, her hands waving away what she could read in Rose’s expression. ‘Don’t tell me how lucky I am to have her – not you as well.’
Rose smiled and looked innocent. ‘Okay. If you say so.’
Pauline poised the milk jug above Rose’s cup, her arched eyebrow questioning.
‘No, thanks, Pauline, I’ll take it black. I’m in need of a caffeine hit right now.’
Pauline sat easily on the edge of her solid, old-fashioned desk. Rose was glad she hadn’t thrown that out, either, in favour of the light, minimalist furniture, all tubular stainless steel and clear, clean lines, that seemed to be furnishing offices everywhere else in Dublin. Northern European décor certainly had its place, but something more grounded, more substantial, more experienced seemed to be required for those quiet, grave rooms where the fates of men and women were decided on a daily basis.
‘So,’ said Pauline, her tone telling Rose that she had absorbed all the implications of their phone conversation of the day before. ‘Mr Holden has returned, has he?’
Rose smiled. On paper, Pauline’s words would have been perfectly proper, supremely innocent, devoid of rancour. Spoken now, as they were, with a wicked expression on her face, the words contained a just discernible edge of contempt for Ben and support for her. Rose found it all immensely comforting. There was something very reassuring about feeling the warm, verbal embrace of the supposedly impartial interpreter of the law.
‘He has indeed. I believe from out of the “wide blue yonder” is the suitable expression.’
‘Well, his timing is certainly interesting. Has he given you any reason why he’s here now, rather than at any other time?’
‘Well, no, not directly, but I think it’s fairly clear, particularly after yesterday afternoon’s performance.’
Pauline didn’t speak; she simply gestured to Rose to go on.
‘He told me last Thursday that he was back to chase up some business opportunities in Dublin. He wants to see the kids, and “regularize” our position, as he puts it – financial, family, everything. That’s what he says.’
‘And do you believe him?’
‘Well, I did believe him that he was back in Dublin for business – in fact, I hadn’t even questioned it. I took that bit at face value. But of course, it might not be the truth. I can’t explain it properly, but I feel that someone has been teaching him what to say, how to get what he wants without a major row.’
‘And what is it he wants, do you think?’
‘Money,’ Rose said with certainty. ‘Maybe it’s not for business here, maybe he intends to disappear all over again, maybe it’s for another woman – even another family – what do I know? Most of me doesn’t care.’ She paused. ‘He brought around an estate agent yesterday, when he thought I wasn’t there. They couldn’t get in, of course, but they did a lot of measuring outside. So,’ she said briskly, ‘he wants to sell the house, take his share of the cash and . . .’ Rose shrugged. ‘After that, who knows?’ she paused again. ‘He says he wants to see the kids, too, and I have to believe him, for their sakes.’
‘How do you feel about all of that?’
Rose hesitated. ‘Furious. On the one hand, I resent him for coming back, pretending to be all reasonable. Then, behind my back, he goes and does what he did yesterday, full of the sort of assumptions that make my blood boil. On the other hand, I always knew that some day I’d have to negotiate with him. I always felt that he’d come looking for his share of the spoils at some stage.’
‘And how would you feel about selling the house? Just another gut reaction here – I’m not expecting you to have any worked-out position.’
Rose paused for a moment, trying to gather together all the impressions of past and future that had bombarded her ever since Ben’s return. ‘The house isn’t really the issue: I don’t care about it in any loving way any more, not like I used to when the kids were younger. It just always seemed too complicated legally to try and leave. I know I could have sold up and moved on, once Ben had been gone for seven years, but the last twelve months have been so hectic that selling my home was the last thing on my mind. And anyway, where would I have gone? Lisa is still at school, all her friends are around her – why would I have wanted to disrupt that? Particularly when it took so much hard work for me to keep i
t all together in the first place, after he walked out on us.’
Rose stopped. How dare he come back with such expectations, such demands? That small, spiteful voice inside her head had begun to rage again, stirring up all the old, tired angers.
‘The real issue for me – for all of us – is the emotional upheaval. I’m really worried about the kids. God knows, Damien is a grown man, but I’ve had so much trouble with him over the past few years that I’m terrified of anything knocking him off balance again.’
She took a sip of coffee, steadying herself. Pauline stayed silent. Rose breathed deeply and continued.
‘Brian has taken the news of Ben’s return pretty well so far, considering. And by the way, he’s very attached to where we live. He’s become a real old home bird. I just don’t know how he’d react if we had to move.’
‘Well, you don’t have to – not in any legally compelled sense. We’ll talk about that in a minute. What are your particular concerns about Lisa?’
Rose looked up at the ceiling, and back again at Pauline. She sighed. ‘What can I say? Lisa is your average, hormonal teenager: some days she’s great, and other days she’s impossible to deal with. I just dread anything else rocking the boat.’
Rose felt like putting her head in her hands. She didn’t want to cry, but she could feel the tears precariously close to the surface. Speaking all of her fears aloud had suddenly given them an added dimension, another layer of complexity that she wasn’t sure she could deal with. Ever since yesterday, potential treachery now seemed to hover around every word Ben had spoken, every intention he might have towards his children, towards her, towards what remained of their home.
‘And me? I’m just worn out. My home, such as it is, is now in jeopardy; my business is finally getting there but it still needs an awful lot of minding, and now it feels as though everything is up for grabs all over again. I just feel – overwhelmed.’
‘Okay,’ Pauline’s tone was brisk, kindly. She walked back to her chair behind the desk and put on a pair of glasses. It gave Rose the time to gather herself, to pull back a little. She was grateful to the other woman for her sensitivity in re-establishing, literally, her professional distance.
Something Like Love Page 11