"No, I won't ever be glad about anything connected with him. Whether he is alive or dead doesn't really matter to me. I think I preferred him dead. I certainly don't love him or anything about him. So there'll be no second thoughts. But I'm not going to spend
my life consumed with hate, either. That would really make me the loser."
She thought he looked very pleased, but maybe it was just his pleasant smile.
When she awoke on the sofa yet again there was a note.
I've already gone to investigate this early-morning Dublin. See you tonight at Quentins, 7.30. Call my mobile anytime if you need me. Love, Derry
Ella spent the day at Colm's restaurant on Tara Road.
"I don't know why you should think I should help you boost a rival restaurant," Colm grumbled.
"Because I'm a neighbour's child, because you're not remotely in competition with me, and you love to talk about your pride and joy. I just want to know what's a typical day?"
"As if there ever was one. Come on in and have coffee and I'll walk you through it."
By lunchtime, she thought she had understood the routine. It would be very visual. Derry would like it. Patrick and Brenda wouldn't object, their place was immaculate and all that backstage stuff would be something to be proud of.
"You look tired, Ella. Stay and have lunch. You've seen it all being cooked. Enjoy it."
"No, I have a lot of things to do. I have to tell several people something but I want to rehearse on you, Colm. Just to make sure I can do it without crying."
"Fire ahead."
"Don Richardson's not dead. I spoke to him yesterday. He's in Spain, on the run."
"Is it a secret?" Colm asked.
"No, not now."
"Good. I'll tell Ria's ex-husband Danny that he might go out and kill him for all of us. Would that help?"
Ella laughed nervously. "No, not really, but it did make me laugh. I don't suppose everyone else will be as practical as you are, Colm."
She told Deirdre. Deirdre sat and listened with a stony face.
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"Mother of God! Why couldn't he have done it properly? Did he wash up somewhere?"
"No, I don't think he tried it at all," Ella said.
"And now of course you're taking him back?" Deirdre was anguished.
We, Dee, I'm only telling you in case it was in the papers."
"No! You are taking him back or going out to him, I know you are."
"Oh, Deirdre, shut up. You're meant to be cheering me up, telling me some old song like "There Ain't No Good in Men". Not telling me I'm going back to him."
"I "wonder if Nuala knows," Dee said.
"Let's tell her, then," Ella said, her eyes dancing. And for a glorious moment Deirdre thought maybe it was going to be all right. That the one great love of Ella's life might not be able to seduce her back in again.
"Nuala! It's Dee."
"No, Dee, I'm not going to talk to you. Last time you frightened me to death - I've had to blackmail them all with the threat of telling Carmel about your disgraceful antics with Eric to get them off Ella's back. Fine pair of friends you both turned out to be."
"Shut up, Nuala. I told you if we had anything to tell you we would."
"Did you?" Nuala was confused.
"Yes, and now we have. I have Ella here and now we do have news for Frank and his brothers."
"You do?"
"Will I put Ella on?"
"Well, not if she's going to be cross with me," Nuala said.
"Not at all. She won't be cross with you. Here's Ella now."
"Hi, Nuala."
"Oh, Ella, I'm sorry. I don't think Dee explained it all properly at the time."
"No, Nuala, I'm sure she didn't. Have you got pen and paper?"
"Yes, I have." Nuala sounded very nervous.
"Write this. It's Don's telephone number in Spain. Oh, and he's not dead, by the way. That was a mistake. He's alive, but he calls himself Mr Brady. I know, isn't it a scream? No, I'm not drunk, Nuala. That's the number and the other thing is that the Fraud Squad has his computer, with all the details, everything it contains.
Oh, and the last thing is that Dee would have gone the distance and told Carmel every last detail. She's been a marvellous friend."
"Ella," Nuala's voice was hoarse with fright. "They're going to be in terrible trouble if it all gets out. Not only will they have lost money and property but there's a matter of tax, you see." She ended in a near whisper.
"Oh, there often is, Nuala. Anyhow, we're all fair and square now."
Ella hung up and they giggled as they had done for so many years.
"What I've been saying is getting easier to say as the day goes on," Ella said as she walked into Firefly Films.
"I hate mystery statements," Nick said.
"Don Richardson's alive and presumably coming back to this land in leg irons," Ella said.
"You're not serious? Sandy and I once wondered if he might have staged it," Nick said.
"You were right," she said crisply.
"How did you find out?" Sandy asked.
"I spoke to him on the phone," Ella said, and it didn't make her feel even slightly tearful. "I spoke, and he called me Angel as he always did, and he had never died at all. Imagine."
"Are you okay?"
"Yes, I'm fine, I'm fine, but I need to be kept very busy. Could I work here this afternoon until we all go to Quentins? I'm just a bit jumpy and I need to be with people."
"Why did he ring you?" Nick asked.
"He didn't. I rang him, or rather his wife. I didn't know he was still alive."
"And are you glad?" Sandy asked.
"I don't care, really and truly, I don't. Too much has happened to care."
They believed her, got her a sandwich, and sat her down so that she could write out a type of running order that they might go through at tonight's meeting at the restaurant.
They watched her through the glass door, her head down over the paper as she planned out a very rough shooting schedule.
"Do you think she'll go back to him?" Sandy wondered.
"With any luck he won't be in a position to ask her."
Cathy and Tom at Scarlet Feather heard from Ria and Colm that Don Richardson was still alive. Nora O"Donoghue heard it from them because she had gone into their premises to book a little wedding party. Nora was busy costing out the possibility of having canapes and wine in the back of a bookshop, which would let them have the premises free. There wouldn't be a huge number, but they had really very little money. Still, some things called for the equivalent of fireworks.
Cathy knew that the discussions were irrelevant since Brenda and Patrick had planned to give them a wedding present of a reception in Quentins. But they were only being told this much nearer to the time. Nora had been pushing Cathy for details of how many canapes each there would be for so many euros.
Then this news came suddenly out of the blue.
"I knew he wasn't dead," she said calmly.
"How on earth did you know that, Nora?" Tom was sceptical.
"I saw him this morning," she said simply, "getting out of a taxi in Stephen's Green."
Tom and Cathy called Deirdre to alert her.
"Is she sure? She can be quite odd, Nora O"Donoghue."
"No, she's fine, she saw him, she said nothing and was going to say nothing because of Aidan, this guy she's going to marry, he was the one who knew him, taught Don Richardson's kids, and was conned out of money by him, she didn't want to upset him coming up to the wedding."
"Thank God she mentioned it to you," Deirdre said. "Now we can alert Ella."
"And maybe the Guards as well," said Cathy.
Ella's mobile number was engaged. So Deirdre rang Nick at Firefly Films.
"Don't panic, it's okay, I can see her, she's in the next room talking away on the phone."
"She's not talking to him, is she?"
"He doesn't have that number. It's a new phone."
"What will
we do, Nick?"
"Why don't you find Derry somehow. I'll tell her parents. It's not as if he's going to do anything in broad daylight."
"It's just so that he takes nobody by surprise. Will you tell her, Nick? Gently, you know?"
"Sure thing, Dee," he said. "As soon as she gets off the phone."
Ella was phoning Sasha, the girl who was now living in the Richardsons" Killiney house, the girl with Max, the lovely baby, and whose uncle Michael Martin was a great friend of Don's.
"Do you remember me, Ella Brady? I came to visit you on Saturday," she began.
"Well, am I glad you called."
"You are?"
"I was looking everywhere for anyone who might tell me where you lived."
"But why? What for, Sasha? I was just going to tell you that. .."
Sasha interrupted. "He's not dead, he never died. It was all a pretend suicide. He's alive, and he's coming back to look for you."
"No, he can't, the police know, he wouldn't dare to come back here."
"Well, he left his home in Spain last night. He'll be here today. He says if he can get to you first you won't sell him out."
"But I've done it. I've given everything to the police."
"He doesn't believe it."
"Who told you all this, Sasha? Who says he doesn't believe it?"
"Michael Martin, my uncle. He told me to pack up everything of mine and Max's to have the place looking perfect in case Mr Richardson wants to stay here."
"In his own house? But he's wanted for huge frauds. He wouldn't go there in a million years."
"I know. That's why I wanted to find you. It's obvious he's not coming here, he's going after you."
Derry King had begun his day at 5.30 when he walked to Quentins Restaurant to see if there was any sign of life and indeed he was proved right.
Eight large rubbish bags stood in bin containers, each bag tied and labelled. A private rubbish collector was removing them to a truck. The empty bins were left in the alleyway behind, some on their sides.
Derry nodded with satisfaction. This was one point he could score over Ella. She said no one was awake then.
She was such a courageous girl. She had faced everything so bravely. And there had been a lot to face. The only good thing was that this guy Don Richardson could not come back to Ireland now. It would be far too dangerous for him. So at least Derry didn't have to worry about Ella being in any danger. He went to
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get himself an early mug of tea. A small cafe not far away obliged. It was at times like this that Derry longed for a New York diner. Still, it wasn't too bad.
He nodded at the men sitting there. "You're up early," Derry said pleasantly.
"Big rush job, office block over there. We get treble time before seven o"clock in the morning," one of them said.
"Nothing wrong with that kind of money. Did it take much negotiating?"
"No, Kennedys are tough but they're fair. If you do the work right, paint well and put in the hours, then you go home with a decent pay packet at the end of the week."
"Kennedys?" he asked.
"That's us, well, that's the bosses."
"Two guys called Sean and Michael?" Derry enquired.
"The very ones."
"Well, isn't that a small world."
"You know them?"
"No, my ex-wife met them a few years back, said they were good guys."
"They're not bad at all."
"Will they be round during the day, do you think?"
"Bound to be, they usually come in round seven when we"re meant to be clearing out of the place. Will I tell them who was looking for them?"
"No, it's okay. I'll come back and tell them myself." He had no intention of coming back. It was such an extraordinary coincidence that he should walk into his father's family by accident. What was anyone doing, calling this place a city? They were mad. It was a village.
Sandy called Tim and Barbara Brady to tell them that Don Richardson had been seen in Dublin.
"Thank you, Sandy. As it happens, Mr Richardson is here with me at this very moment. I'm telling him that we have no idea where Ella is and that you don't either."
"She's here, Mrs Brady, don't worry. We'll get the Guards," Sandy whispered.
The phone was hung up.
"Ring them again, Nick, quick, tell them he's in Tara Road."
"They're not taking it as urgently as I thought," Nick said. "They
seem to think it's all a matter for Fraud, they don't think she's in any danger."
"Well, can't we speak to Fraud?" Sandy said. "They may think differently."
"They've passed my message on," Nick said. "But I'll ring again saying where he is now."
"We didn't expect to see you again, Don," Barbara Brady said when she got over the shock of seeing him on her doorstep.
"I know, I know. But you did know I was alive? Ella must have told you."
"Yes, she did, last night. She was very startled, shocked."
"Is your husband at home, Barbara? I'd like a quick word with you both. It won't take long."
"Tim isn't here. He's at the doctor. He doesn't sleep at all well, and there's a matter of his getting counselling."
I can't tell you how sorry I am." Don looked sun-tanned but thinner than he had before. He had lost his lazy, easy confidence and his eyes darted around all the time.
"Yes," Barbara Brady said bleakly.
"I have had so many regrets in this sad business. I truly did enjoy talking to him. He was a man of such integrity and a, well, a man of faith in a way."
"He's not that now," Tim Brady's wife said, looking around the small house they lived in, her face showing just how disturbed and upset the man of integrity and faith was these days.
I did everything I could to make it up to him. I sent money. Ella surely told you that?"
"We couldn't take that," Barbara said as if it were obvious.
"May I sit down, please?" Suddenly the great Don Richardson looked tired and even a little frightened.
"I'd prefer if you didn't, Don, it would be hypocritical to pretend that you are welcome here."
"Ella?" he asked.
"I don't know, I really don't. She didn't come home last night."
Tlease."
"I can't tell you what I don't know."
Til only talk to her for ten minutes, in front of you and Tim if you like, or here in the house. Please, I have to ask her something."
"I think you asked her enough over the years."
"No, I'll tell you what it is. I know her. I know her, for God's
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sake. When I was talking to her last night, she said she had given in the laptop. She wasn't telling the truth. All I have to do is meet her and tell her how much she can save, for everyone, if she doesn't give it in. I can get it back together, that's what I'm trying to do. I can rescue people's investments, your Tim's, too."
"I don't think she cares about the computer," Barbara said.
"I agree with you and I don't believe she's handed it in."
"She told me she had given it back."
"She said given it back?"
"Those were her words. Then she said, "Well, to the Guards anyway"."
He was thinking hard. I still don't believe she would have done it. I know her voice, you see."
The telephone rang. "Can you answer it? It just might be her," he pleaded.
But it was Sandy at Firefly Films.
He stood listening.
"Who was that?"
"Just friends concerned for her."
"So they know I'm back, you can see I haven't much time."
"Do you know that I don't give a damn how much time you have, Don Richardson, or how little? Our only daughter had the misfortune to love you and she has ended up a hurt, damaged girl as a result. She lives with a sense of guilt and shame on account of you, and the fact that her father is a shell of a man, disgraced and empty, and that I live in a prefabricated hut instead of that
house over there. She has wept oceans over your leaving her to live in a marriage that she thought was over. She wept further oceans when she thought you were dead. Now do you understand how little I care about how much time you have or don't have ? I do not know where Ella is, and if I did know, then by God I wouldn't tell you."
"I'll go now, Barbara, and I won't say any more. I urge you not to, either. Remember, there is still the possibility that Ella may forgive me and come with me. I don't want her to feel that the door to her mother and father is closed."
He was gone and Barbara Brady stood in her doorway shaking at the courage she had shown and her fear that Don Richardson might be right. Was it possible that, after everything, Ella would go back to him again?
Derry walked by Quentins again. This time there was activity
inside. He knocked at the back door. "I'm Derry King. I'll be meeting you tonight," he said.
The tall dark man dusted the flour and sugar off his hands and gripped Derry's warmly. "Brenda told me all about meeting you at lunch. I couldn't be there. Someone had to run the shop."
"And it's an elegant shop I hear from all."
"Well, thanks to you we're going to make it more widely known, certainly. Come on in, won't you?"
If Patrick Brennan was the slightest bit surprised to see a caller at 6.30 in the morning, he showed no sign of it. He was always here at this hour to do the pastry cooking. He was bad at delegating, he admitted, and just couldn't hand it over to someone else. This was his real skill, and what he enjoyed most. Today he had to make two lemon tarts, a chocolate roulade, a chocolate mousse, a tray of poached pears, a great bowl of chocolate curls, two litres of praline ice-cream and a raspberry coulis.
"But do you have to start so early?"
"Well, I do, really, you need constant exact temperatures for desserts. Later in the day the ovens are always opening and closing. It's not as good."
And before the city woke up properly, Quentins seemed to be buzzing. A lad called Buzzo came in to hose out the dustbins in the lane and line them with heavy-duty rubbish sacks. He scrubbed out the kitchen and made a note of supplies needed.
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