That Summer at the Seahorse Hotel

by Adrienne Vaughan

  “Ha!” Eamon laughed, embracing the world-famous actress warmly. “You have me rumbled, as always.”

  “Missed you,” she whispered in his ear.

  “And you.” He kissed her on the nose. “And where’s your beautiful daughter?”

  “With Archie, of course, probably building a pirate ship in the boathouse, I’ll go and drag them out in a minute.” Fenella was at the fridge. “Who’s locked the drink away?”

  Bernice glanced at Leela. Archie had been ordered to cut down on alcohol but the bottles kept evaporating anyway.

  “Replenishments are at hand.” Eamon ferreted in the bags.

  “Excellent. Are we outside?” Fenella asked.

  “Of course.” Bernice was taking trays out of the pantry. “The summerhouse, Archie always goes continental when the sun shines, you know that.”

  “Lovely.” Fenella was straining to look out of the window, hoping Archie and Mia would soon return.

  “You’ll have to help me.” Archie took the corner of the dust sheet in one hand, his excitement contagious. They were in the old boat house, Mia had helped push open the sliding door, wiping cobwebs from her hands as she stood breathing in the scent of heat and wood, fuel and fish. Closing her eyes she was sucked back in time, a curious little girl, let loose in Archie’s adventure playground.

  “Mia, a hand!”

  She crossed to the large bulk hiding beneath a grubby canvas. It filled a vast area, as broad as it was long and so tall, it reached the roof.

  “Ready?” Archie gave a grin as they hauled the tarpaulin up and away. “Ta dah!” He stood back, arms wide.

  “Wow!” Mia touched the gleaming surface with her fingertips. “It’s a beauty, who owns it?”

  “She’s mine, ours, everyone’s really. We’ve been too long without a boat and it’s high time The Seahorse Hotel and its vagary of vagabonds had a seafaring vessel to make good our escape … should the need arise.”

  Mia walked around the boat. “Cool, what is she?”

  “She’s a motor sailor, I’m going to call her Banshee, after the mystical she-spirit that haunts these isles. She’ll sail like a demon once the wind catches her and when it’s calm we can anchor off the beach, swimming in the clear blue water to our hearts’ content.”

  Mia gave him an indulgent smile; he seemed to have forgotten they were on the east coast of Ireland, the waters hereabouts rather cooler than the Caribbean. She watched him polish the bow-rail with his sleeve, Mia could not remember the last time she had been on board, wind whipping her hair, spray stinging her eyes, it was so long ago.

  “You’ve not named her yet?” There was no lettering on the side.

  “Not yet. She’s a surprise. You’re the first person I’ve introduced her to.”

  Mia folded her arms, smiling.

  “So, Bernice doesn’t know?”

  Archie shook his head. “Not yet.” He started to pull the cover back over the boat, she went to help; he did not look very strong at all.

  “She’ll go nuts.” Bernice was always fretting about finance.

  “Ah, she might indulge me, given the circumstances.”

  “She might. When will you tell everyone?”

  “After lunch, wouldn’t want anyone to suffer indigestion, now would I?” Archie clipped the cover neatly under the bow.

  “How many for lunch? I saw a car arriving, Eamon?” Mia said, subconsciously linking Eamon and indigestion.

  “Bugger, I’d forgotten that crotchety old shite was coming. Bernice invited him, it’ll be a touch of The Last Supper no doubt.”

  Mia widened her eyes. “Archie, please don’t say things like that!”

  “His not mine.” Archie gave an impish grin. “I’ll give him the sack, then the miserable fecker will have something to moan about.” Satisfied Banshee was safely under wraps, he took Mia’s arm.

  “Now, not a word until I make my announcement.”

  “Of course,” Mia laughed. Archie loved surprises. Surprises and secrets.

  “And over lunch I want all the news, the sets you’ve been on, the bitchy badinage, who’s sleeping with whom.”

  “No, Archie.” Mia was stern. She had an unblemished reputation as one of the most trustworthy operators to ever wield a needle, she would never undermine that and certainly not for Archie’s amusement ‒ renowned as one of the biggest gossips in the business.

  “Okay then, who are you sleeping with? Anyone I know?” he pressed.

  “Stop it.”

  “There’s someone in your life, I’ve guessed that much. You seem to have forgotten my legendary powers of deduction. For instance, there’s a very odd looking lump of metal on your left hand, so you’re probably secretly engaged to a cad and daren’t tell your mother, especially as he doesn’t have a pot to piss in.”

  “Archie!” Mia exclaimed, as the faded forget-me-not blue of the clapboard summerhouse came into view. She stopped and gave him a look. Archie had spies everywhere, always desperate to know who was plotting against him or worse threatening to entice Fenella away, well that’s how it seemed.

  “Spot on, aren’t I?” And he laughed his craggy laugh, striding off towards the summerhouse. Mia followed frowning, the entire structure looked more unstable than ever, almost as if it were leaning towards the sea, longing to fall into the waves and float away, somehow teasingly playful and lethal at the same time ‒ rather like Archie himself.

  A LONG LUNCH

  Typical of most meals taken en masse at Galty House, lunch was a far from sombre affair, despite Archie’s prediction.

  Driscoll and Eamon carried the picnic basket, followed by Fenella and Leela with trays. Bernice bore a large salmon on a platter, while Mia and Archie laid the table with the eclectic mix of Delft stored in the ancient sideboard, arranging a flagrant collection of glasses at each setting. Mia saw Bernice scan the tablecloth.

  “Napkins!” she said, and went to the drawer where the antique linen was kept. As a child she used to help Bernice fold the mountain of fresh laundry which seemed to appear magically and without fail at Galty House, despite Leela’s resistance to regular housework.

  When Bernice was happy all was ready, Archie seated everyone in his usual haphazard fashion. Famous for often placing sworn enemies next to one another, Fenella complained Archie never thought anything through, while Mia suspected that was precisely what he did. Today Fenella sat to his left with Mia at his right and despite his best efforts, Eamon was placed at the far end of the table. In time-honoured fashion everyone helped themselves, passing dishes and while Archie made a great show of piling his plate, Mia noticed he ate hardly a bite.

  The meal was delicious, a flavourful mix of luxurious and simple and Driscoll, assuming the role of wine waiter, seemed quite at home. Mia was intrigued, she was sure she had never met this man before ‒ yet he was certainly one of the old guard, someone this tightknit inner circle knew well and accepted. And then, unbidden as usual, the same old question arose and she started to ponder, wondering if Driscoll was the shadowy secret they kept from her, the man who might be her real father.

  Mia had been ten when she finally stopped asking but the question had never gone away. And though it seemed everyone else was happy to assume Archie was her father, she had never stopped wondering if the ‘open secret’ really was true. Yes, the clues all led back to the lovely man she had known all her life but sometimes in the middle of the night she would wake, convinced it was a myth and the reason Fenella had never told who her father was, was because in reality her mother did not know and if not Archie, then which of her mother’s many admirers could it be?

  She would try to guess his name, what he looked like and the hardest question of all, why he had left? Until longing for sleep she would push all thoughts away, desperate to quash the gnawing deep in her stomach, burrowing away like a worm … a worm of doubt.

  Lifting her knife, Mia caught her reflection in the blade and saw again that sad, anxious little girl who had never been t
old the truth … and suddenly she was back, back to when she swore she would never, ever ask again.

  Leela and Fenella were decorating the cake while Bernice took her to change. It was the first time she had ever invited anyone to the house and was bursting with excitement because two of the most popular girls in her class had agreed to come and share her birthday tea.

  She remembered standing in front of the long looking glass, having opted for a violent pink froth of a dress, clashing dramatically with the wild red hair tied with ribbon. She pointed shiny toes and took a bow.

  “What are you doing?” Bernice demanded.

  “Thanking my audience,” she beamed back.

  “What for?”

  “My ovation, I’m a great star,” she told her.

  Bernice drew her mouth into a thin line. Mia twirled and curtsied again.

  “Stop it!” Bernice was sharp. “Stop it now and come down.”

  “One more encore.” Mia blew kisses.

  The woman grabbed her hand, pulling it from her mouth. “Don’t be silly, you could never be an actress!”

  “Why not?” Mia pouted.

  “You’d always be compared to your mother, of course. She is a great star. We’ve enough with two in the same family, don’t even think about it!”

  “I want to be an actress!” Mia had wailed.

  “But look at you!” Bernice dragged her in front of the mirror. “Red hair, long nose, skinny legs. You’d be a laughing stock. You look nothing like her. A fate worse than death to be constantly compared with her. Sure you’d never be valued for yourself. Put it from your mind, I’m telling you for your own good.”

  “But …” Mia could feel her cheeks burning.

  “Now listen to me.” Bernice tried to speak kindly, crouching to look Mia in the eyes. “Choose a sensible career, keep your expectations realistic. A good steady job and a nice reliable husband, you’ll be lucky if you achieve that much.”

  “But …” Mia tried again.

  “Don’t delude yourself, child, heed my words, your heart will be broken, your hopes dashed.”

  Mia blinked at her reflection. It was true, she did not look at all like her mother, not one bit.

  “Well, who do I look like?” she asked in a small voice, tears brimming, “My father?”

  “You’ve asked that question often enough and what’s the answer?”

  “I’m not to ask. I’ll be told when I’m bigger, old enough to understand.” Mia repeated her mother’s words precisely.

  “Well, there’s your answer.” Bernice handed her a tissue. “Now, go and splash water on your face. Your guests have arrived.” She pushed Mia towards the bathroom. “And when you come down, be charming, totally charming.” Bernice’s voice trailed after her.

  Mia was ready for the consternation her outfit caused when she greeted her guests, deliberately late. She had ditched the party dress for her drab school uniform.

  If she could not be a star, she would no longer dress as one. At the first opportunity, she would burn all her pretty clothes in the oil drum in the garden or give them away to the missions, even Sister Agnes would approve of that. She would show them, if they would not tell her who she looked like, she would not care what she looked like, so there!

  “Wine, Maeve?” Driscoll asked, bringing her back to the present. She must have been staring at him for some time. Fenella was perfectly relaxed. No, Driscoll was not her father, she was sure of that.

  “ My name is Mia.” She reminded him, curtly.

  “What are you working on at the moment, Fenella?” Driscoll filled their glasses.

  Fenella gave a small frown. “A dilemma, I want to chat it through with Archie.” She turned navy blue eyes on her host. “I’m not sure what to do next.”

  “You always know precisely what to do, what nonsense!” Bernice chimed, sipping mineral water.

  “You’ve a choice?” Archie was impressed, Fenella was still much in demand.

  “Not an easy one.” Fenella played with her wine glass.

  “Theatre or film?” Mia was interested.

  “Neither, both television.” Fenella sounded less than enthusiastic. “Haven’t done any telly in an age.”

  “Go for the big bucks, Fenella. That’s my advice,” Eamon told her.

  “Crass in the extreme,” Archie whispered to Mia. “Most of his advice is.”

  “And?” Mia pressed; no one ever asked about her work. Well, Archie did, but he was only interested in gossip.

  “One is a long running soap and I play an aging thespian looking for a rich husband.” She glared around the table. “If anyone says ‘typecasting’ they’re dead!”

  Everyone laughed.

  “In the other, a nun – imagine me and my attitude to religion, playing a nun? She decides life is passing her by and wants to have sex before it’s too late.”

  They laughed even louder.

  “A comedy?” Archie tried to straighten his face.

  “A love story!” Fenella flicked him with her napkin.

  “Do you know the director? Is there something that could sway you either way?” Archie was being unusually practical.

  “That’s the problem, they’re all so young. I don’t know anyone anymore,” Fenella admitted.

  “The male lead, would that help make up your mind?” Mia tried.

  “They’re asking James Quinn to be the nun’s lover when he’s finished your film, darling. But the actress in the soap falls for a much younger man, she deludes herself he loves her. Needless to say it ends badly. I’ve checked the list of executives but again, no one I really know.” She gave Archie another frown. “I wish you’d come and be the nun’s lover, I’d know what to do then.”

  “I’m sorry, dear heart, I’m really not up to it.”

  “Ravaging virgins or the part itself?” She slid him a look.

  He gave a melancholy smile. “Neither, I’m afraid.”

  “He had to kick the habit!” Driscoll joked, lightening a sudden dip in the atmosphere.

  Archie scowled. “Always stealing my lines!”

  “The actress in the soap then?” Fenella asked.

  “Regular money,” Eamon interjected. “Make you a household name. Think of the revenue streams, advertising expensive face creams for mature women, for example.”

  “He has a point.” Bernice sided with Eamon. “Who knows what’s around the corner?”

  They all knew what was around the corner, for Archie, anyway.

  “I’ve always worked, I’m fine,” Fenella replied, giving Bernice a pointed look.

  Bernice shrugged. “So you have. There’s many been in the business thirty years, yet barely worked for half of it.”

  Mia looked at one of her mother’s closest friends. Bernice was very adept at making a compliment sound like a slight. She had a very low opinion of theatricals, despite being close to two of the most lauded thespians in the world. Mia considered acting, good acting, extremely gruelling and was grateful she had not followed Fenella into the limelight after all. She recalled the day she had made that decision distinctly. She and Archie had been sailing and returning to the summerhouse were thrilled to discover Fenella had arrived. Fenella however, was annoyed at being disturbed.

  “Can’t I get any peace?” She had said crankily, going back to her work. Mia was crestfallen, she had not seen her mother for months.

  “Whatever you’re doing, we’ll help!” Archie was unfazed by her bad humour.

  “Please don’t,” she grimaced. “I fear I may have to drop out, it’s far too complicated and with so many brilliant actors involved I’m petrified I’ll make a total balls of it.”

  “Even after all this time you’re still petrified?” Mia had picked up the discarded script.

  “Always. If I wasn’t petrified I’d be terrified I wasn’t.” Fenella reopened her book.

  “What do you mean?” Mia asked. They had had this conversation before, but she was pleased to have her mother’s attention, howe
ver briefly.

  Fenella put the book aside, she had been reading the novel the new movie was based on.

  “Because I wouldn’t be able to give my best,” she explained.

  “Does it always have to be your best?” Mia wondered, it was only acting after all.

  “Of course, without question.” Her mother was emphatic.

  “Even something like a TV commercial?” Fenella did voiceovers, it paid well. “That must be very tiring.”

  “Exhausting.” She closed her eyes to demonstrate the fact.

  “Is that why actors rest so often?”

  “Resting is a term used to describe an out of work actor, someone between roles,” Archie explained helpfully.

  “I can’t ever remember you ever resting, Mother,” Mia said.

  “That’s because I haven’t been found out yet.” Fenella tried to go back to her book.

  “Oh, come on!” Decried Archie.

  “It’s true! I’m so petrified I learn all my lines and everyone else’s and then try really hard to be the best I possibly can, you know I do, Archie, I’m renowned for it.”

  “But you’re beautiful, surely that counts for something,” Mia persisted.

  “Worse if you’re considered beautiful. They expect you to fail, want you to. So you have to try even harder. Totally exhausting.” Fenella fell back into the chair to demonstrate her weariness.

  “No wonder you’re so often in bed,” Mia replied, innocently.

  “Sometimes that’s for sex, darling.” Archie laughed, being helpful again. “She has to try and fit that in as well.” He ducked as Fenella threw the novel at him.

  Mia blinked and the scene dissolved. She wondered fleetingly if Fenella might find a novel to throw at Bernice but Archie distracted everyone in the nick of time.

  “Driscoll, grab some loungers, we’ll head to the beach after lunch.”

  “I won’t come,” Bernice stood. “It’s too hot today.”

  “Afraid you’ll dry up even more,” Fenella said, under her breath.

  “You’d make a lovely nun,” Bernice came back, giving Fenella an appraising glance. “Better than an actress in my opinion.”