A Change of Heart (The Heartfelt Series)

by Adrienne Vaughan

  “Surprised we’ve any tourist trade at all with charming locals like him waiting to greet everybody.” Marianne was not amused.

  “I think Kathleen has made him welcome though,” Ryan twinkled at her.

  “Suit each other don’t they?” Marianne said, moving the ham out of his way.

  “Yes, they do, but she’s left Larry brokenhearted,” Ryan told her. “He’s emailing me every hour with script amendments, schedules, dates for costume fittings, all sorts of crap, clearly throwing himself into his work, now she’s taken up with her old flame.”

  Marianne tutted at him. “Shame Brian couldn’t stay longer, I’d like to get to know him, seems a nice guy.” She was wistful.

  “Said he had some business to attend to, appointments and such, I think he’ll be back though, they still seem pretty crazy about each other,” Ryan said.

  She sidled up to him, “Do you think we’ll be like that?” she blew hot breath on his neck. He grabbed her wrist, pulling her to him.

  “Oh yes, I’ll always be hot for you, especially if you feed me a bit more of that ham, it’s delicious.” The baby alarm shrilled to life; Joey was teething and cranky.

  “Go and see to your son, I’ll make you a …” but before she could finish her sentence Sinead swept through the room and up the stairs.

  “I’ll see to him, don’t want him to set Bridget off,” she said as she passed.

  Erin came through from the bar; there was a speaker there too.

  “It’s okay,” Marianne told her.

  “Sinead?” Erin asked. Marianne nodded.

  “She’s obsessed with those kids,” Erin said.

  “Is she?” Ryan asked.

  “She is a bit,” Marianne agreed, “and she’s not looking at all well lately, very pasty.”

  “I know what she needs, what we all need - a day out at sea!” Erin declared.

  “It’s November,” Marianne reminded her.

  “Sure you can get a gorgeous day this time of year. Head out early, pack a good hearty picnic, take a turn around the bay and home in time for tea. Come on, it’ll be great, and I’d love to get out on the water before I have to go back to the rat race.” Erin said.

  They both looked up. Despite rocky beginnings Marianne did not want Erin to leave and Ryan liked her, hoping she and Dermot might hit it off, and Dermot would give up making puppy-dog-eyes at Marianne.

  “Have you a boat in mind?” Ryan asked her. “Ouch!” Marianne slapped his hand wandering towards the ham.

  “Padar,” Erin called down the cellar, “will you give me and Marianne a loan of that old boat you have for a turn around the bay?”

  “What?” Padar called back, amid clunking.

  “Your boat, give us a go of it, will you?”

  “Sure, if it keeps you out of my hair for a few hours. One of the building lads hired it for the weekend, you’ll have to get it back off him,” Padar told her.

  Erin shrugged, “I saw it back on its mooring this morning. I know where the keys are, I’ll check the weather and we’ll make a plan, say Wednesday or Thursday this week. Are you on?” she looked at Marianne.

  “Can you skipper her?” Marianne asked.

  “No bother,” Erin replied, “what about you?”

  “Incompetent crew,” Marianne smiled.

  Sinead appeared with Joey on her hip, he was sucking a banana covered in Bonjela.

  “Fancy a girlie day out this week?” Erin asked.

  “Not sure, the children, you know,” Sinead replied.

  “We’ll bring them with us,” Erin smiled at Marianne, “and Monty too. We’ll all go, we could do with a nice restful day on the water, a bit of sea air.”

  “I’d better warn the coastguard,” Ryan said, stuffing more ham into his mouth as he fled the kitchen.

  “Goodness me, to what do I owe this honour? You haven’t been on the island since, let me see, when was it, Bridget’s christening? And only then because we had you carried over the water in five star luxury, on one of those superstars’ yachts. We’ve always been a bit rough and ready for you, haven’t we, Joyce?” Miss MacReady said, hugging and kissing her sister repeatedly during the diatribe. Joyce waved her away.

  “Stop fussing Kathleen, I don’t think that at all, but I do think you need a decent bridge to the mainland and the sooner the better. Good men and women fought long and hard to get that bridge built back in the day. It’s a disgrace that shower up in Dublin didn’t declare it a national priority and send the boys down by the lorry load to get the job done!”

  She dropped her bag in the doorway and walked through the spangly curtain into the kitchen. It was gismo central, everything coloured, mainly purple. Very appetising, Joyce surmised. She would love a cup of tea, but where to start, was there even a kettle in amongst all the paraphernalia?

  “A drink Joyce?” Miss MacReady eyed Joyce’s overnight bag uncertainly.

  “Yes please Kathleen. I don’t enjoy travelling as you know.” Joyce re-emerged, beaten.

  Miss MacReady disappeared into the kitchen and returned almost immediately with an ice cold sherry for her sister and a large whiskey for herself.

  “Well,” Miss MacReady asked, settling herself on the sofa, while her guest took the merest sip of her drink, pacing around the room in sensible shoes.

  “I’m all ears,” Miss MacReady tried again, although she was pretty sure she knew what had brought her well-meaning sister to her door.

  “It’s a surprise!” Joyce said.

  “What’s a surprise?” asked Miss MacReady.

  “Well, I am, obviously,” Joyce replied, lifting her arms and twirling a bit.

  “Okay I get that, but why, why are you surprising me?”

  Joyce thought about this briefly. “For your birthday.”

  “Thanks, but you’re either six months late, or six months early, depends on how you want to approach it.”

  Joyce looked a little uncomfortable. “Do I need a reason?”

  “Of course you do, I’ve never known you do anything without a reason,” Miss MacReady smiled at her sister to take the sting out of her words. Joyce fiddled with the collar of her neat tweed.

  “Well, I haven’t seen you for ages, you being in America and all, I just thought ...” Joyce surveyed Miss MacReady’s inner sanctum in dismay. If she were to stay, where would she even sit. “... ah sure, I needed a break.”

  Miss MacReady cut to the chase.

  “You know who I saw in New York don’t you?” There was a short silence.

  “I believe so,” Joyce did not meet her sister’s eye.

  “And you believe so because he told you so, because you have always known he was in America, right there in downtown New York!” She threw her drink down her throat.

  “Now Kathleen,” Joyce said, crossing the room to where her sister sat, “it’s not what you think. I wasn’t doing anything behind your back.”

  “What, for over twenty years you stayed in touch with him and never mentioned or even hinted at it. Did you not think you should tell me, your own sister, for God’s sake! That treacherous, spineless, two-faced bastard ruined my life and you’re pen pals?” Miss MacReady was livid.

  “Ah, Kathleen,” Joyce made soothing gestures as her sister’s voice rose.

  “Ah nothing, it’s unbelievable, and then our child, the daughter I was told was dead, is here and still you didn’t think I should know about him and he about her. What are you, the Secret fecking Service?” Miss MacReady stormed into the kitchen.

  “Kathleen, you’re angry, I can see that, I understand why, but it’s not what you think, it was pure coincidence. Brian and I were put in touch by accident. I didn’t know it was him for years, we both operated under code names,” Joyce tried to explain.

  “Jesus Christ, don’t tell me you’re still at that, playing bloody freedom fighters in this day and age, at your time of life. I’ve heard everything now.” Miss MacReady flung herself back on the sofa.

  Joyce arched
an eyebrow. She may have been lax, insensitive even in the communication department as far as her sister and her estranged lover were concerned, but she would not have her political beliefs, indeed her life’s work, mocked!

  “Kathleen, you have no idea what you’re talking about, the movement is strong, gaining momentum, there’s work to be done, there’s a new dawn on the horizon,” Joyce refrained from putting her clenched fist to her breast.

  “New horizon, my arse! About time you losers got a grip and concentrated on making today’s reality work, instead of clinging to a past that never did have a lot going for it in the first place,” Miss MacReady scoffed.

  “You’re a fine one to talk about clinging to the past,” Joyce said. Then, when she saw her sister’s eyes fill with tears, she ran to kneel beside her. “I’m sorry Kathleen, I didn’t mean that.”

  Miss MacReady looked away. Joyce continued.

  “I didn’t know who my contact was, I’m not supposed to, but a few years ago I was sorting out some new IDs for the ‘couriers’ and I recognised him. He’s not changed at all really, goes under the name of Mac now I believe.”

  Miss MacReady wiped her eyes and nodded, “Runs a very smart bar in uptown New York, a pillar of the establishment. Don’t tell me that’s all a front for your crowd?”

  Joyce shook her head, “Not that I’m aware of. Brian was a negotiator, a go-between, I can’t say anymore than that.”

  Miss MacReady sniffed.

  “Oh, so he’s not actually a mass murderer on top of everything else. That makes me feel a lot better.” She stood up. Joyce sat down.

  “Kathleen, this is about you and Brian now. When I did find out it was him I had many sleepless nights about whether I should tell you or not. Why stir all that up again, you both had your own lives, we’d no idea Marianne even existed, he could have been married, had a family, so I thought the best thing to do was let sleeping dogs lie.”

  “You were protecting him, siding with the enemy, that’s what you were doing.” Miss MacReady headed back to the kitchen for a refill.

  “I was protecting you. I couldn’t bear to see your heart broken again.”

  “But can’t you see Joyce,” Miss MacReady reappeared, eyes blazing, “my heart is still broken. Your betraying me has not made an ounce of difference.”

  Joyce stood up and sighed, “And now you’ve seen him, he’s been here and met Marianne, are you not reconciled? Is there hope?”

  “Hope? How can there be hope, I’m here, he’s in New York, so much time has passed. We could have been together. We could have had a life, instead of two, separated, broken hearts.” Miss MacReady continued to glare at her sister.

  “I can see you’re very upset Kathleen and very annoyed with me and I apologise if you think I did wrong, but I did what I did for the right reasons. And as to your heart still being broken, maybe it is, but many of us carry a broken heart, deep down, for most of our lives, wearing yours on your sleeve could be viewed as attention seeking.” Joyce went to the hallway and picked up her bag. “From where I’m standing, you have a lot to be grateful for, a lot to bring joy to any heart, broken or not.” And she opened the door of the post office, letting herself out into the street. The bell made a hollow ring as she left.

  Joyce MacReady cut a lonely figure, walking from the post office along Main Street towards Maguire’s. She carried her overnight bag in one hand, securing her hat with the other. It was a bright blustery day. The Atlantic, glimpsed between the buildings, was glittering and playful. Marianne was in Weathervane’s little garden, hanging out washing. Monty was helping by taking pegs out of the basket on the patio. Marianne picked him up to retrieve the last peg, when she spotted the woman coming along the street. She thought it looked like her mother’s sister Joyce, but she was not striding out the way Joyce did, she looked weary. As she drew closer Marianne saw it was Joyce. She let herself and Monty out of the gate to greet her.

  “Joyce,” she called, waving. The woman looked up, startled. Marianne could see she was crying. She ran to her.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” she took Joyce’s bag from her. Joyce rummaged in her pocket for a handkerchief and blew her nose.

  “Oh nothing, just me being a silly old woman,” she gave Marianne a watery smile. Marianne considered Joyce neither silly nor old.

  “Haven’t seen you for ages Joyce, would you not come over to the cottage and have a cup of tea with me? I was just about to put the kettle on.” Marianne looked into the other woman’s face. Joyce brightened.

  “Thank you Marianne. It’s a long way to come and turn straight back,” Joyce said. Marianne frowned. Joyce looked as if she had been coming from the post office. It was early. The postmistress would have been at her work.

  “Was Miss MacReady not in?” she asked, as they walked the short distance along the lane to Weathervane, Monty trotting between them.

  “Oh, she was in alright!” Joyce said, sniffing back her tears. “I probably shouldn’t have surprised her.”

  Marianne cut a slice of porter cake as Joyce sipped her tea. She had removed her hat and fixed her hair and looked a bit more like the fastidiously neat and solid little countrywoman she was.

  “Your home is lovely, Marianne. I like the way you’ve brought the colours of the island into it, and the textures too, very cleverly executed.” Her gaze swept approvingly around the sitting room: walls stained the colour of sand; the floor strewn with knotted wool rugs in sea-green and teal; chunky knit throws in ochre and slate; tweedy cushions reflecting the greys and browns of the cliffs.

  “Thank you,” Marianne handed her a plate. She could see Joyce was not going to tell why she had been crying. “Didn’t take much thinking about, just seemed to evolve.”

  Joyce pointed at the painting, unframed and propped on the mantelpiece; a magnificent stag in silhouette, looking out across a lake, hazy mountains in the distance.

  “Who’s the artist?” she asked.

  “Ryan, actually.” Marianne smiled, she loved the picture. She had found quite a few in Ryan’s jumble of luggage. All landscapes, echoes of his homeland. She was planning to sort through them, have them framed and hung about the place.

  “I didn’t know he was a painter as well as an actor and now a writer,” Joyce said.

  “Neither did I,” said Marianne. “He’s full of surprises.” And she turned away to hide a blush, remembering her early morning wake-up call, as Ryan, letting himself into the house, slipped into the shower, soaping her breasts and teasing her nipples with his tongue, before gently pushing his fingers inside her, recreating the lovemaking of their first glorious weekend together, when he had surprised her with a sumptuous scene of seduction she had not even tried to resist. She shuddered with pleasure. Joyce laid her cup on her saucer; the chink broke Marianne’s reverie.

  “I’m pleased you’re making your home here. It must be so nice for Kathleen. Not only to be reunited with the child she thought had died, but to have you here, right beside her and now with your family too. She’s become a mother and a grandmother in one fell swoop, from a spinster of this parish to this.” Joyce smiled warmly at her niece but there was something behind her eyes. “And you’ve heard the latest, who she met in New York and was here briefly?”

  Marianne was unsure how much Miss MacReady would have told Joyce.

  “Yes, I’ve met him too,” she said.

  “And how do you feel about it all?” Joyce asked.

  “A bit overwhelmed, if I’m honest. Suddenly so much family, when I had none.” Joyce was her aunt and Marianne knew nothing about her. “Were you born on the island, Joyce?”

  “Yes, we all were. Six of us; I’m the eldest, then Kathleen, John and James, no longer with us,” she blessed herself, “Agatha in Australia and then Patrick, the baby.”

  “And your parents?”

  Joyce finished her tea. “Long story,” she said, getting up. “Perhaps for another time, but you’re the image of our mother, Bridie. I know Kathleen wo
n’t have it but you are. She was a beauty, no doubt about that.”

  “I’d love to hear more, maybe see some photos if you have any?” Marianne said. “Miss MacReady, I mean, my mother, has said so little about her.”

  Joyce was at the door, about to leave, when it burst open and Miss MacReady appeared. Marianne noticed she was dressed demurely, also in tweed, perhaps in deference to her sister, a full-length heather skirt, matching nipped-in jacket, purple silk scarf, pearls at her throat. She rushed in.

  “You’re here, thank goodness. I thought I might have missed you,” she said to Joyce. Joyce stiffened. “I’m sorry,” Miss MacReady continued, staring at her sister, eyes brimming with tears. Marianne looked from one to the other. Joyce waved her hand dismissively.

  “Marianne and I had a lovely chat. I was glad of the opportunity to get to know her,” she said.

  “I’m truly sorry,” Miss MacReady said again.

  Joyce was putting her hat on. “Marianne, do you know when the next ferry is?” she asked, ignoring Miss MacReady.

  “Oh Joyce stay. Don’t go off in a huff,” Miss MacReady said, moving to put her arms around her sister. Joyce turned to look at her. “Joyce, I said I’m sorry. Come and have lunch with me, see if I can persuade you to spend some time on the island. I see so little of you, please.”

  Joyce gave her a wan smile, “We always end up disagreeing.”

  “We don’t,” Miss MacReady exclaimed, hugging her.

  Joyce patted her back, “You’re always so emotional about everything.”

  “I’m not, I’m tired, that’s all,” Miss MacReady told her.

  “Come on then,” Joyce said, reaching for her bag. “Where shall we eat?”

  “Shall we go to the pub? They do a nice ‘special’ on Tuesdays and I could do with a drink myself.”

  “You spend too much time in the pub Kathleen, always have,” Joyce said.

  “No I don’t. You don’t have to drink alcohol you know,” Miss MacReady reminded her.

  “Nor do you!” Joyce said.

  They bustled towards the door. It was the first time Marianne had notice a likeness.