That Summer at the Seahorse Hotel

by Adrienne Vaughan

  Mia saw Archie place his hand on her mother’s wrist.

  “You’re probably right, Bernice.” Fenella grinned openly at her old sparring partner. “Will I lift up the blinds, let in the sun? Any vampires lurking can leave now.”

  Archie coughed. This was Fenella’s particularly cruel nickname for Bernice, implying that never having had a proper job she sucked him dry.

  “Now, now precious one, no bad vibes, not today.” Mia heard Archie tell her mother. “Let’s get some fresh air, it’s rather stuffy in here.” He shot Eamon a look. Eamon smiled back, Archie could be as rude as he liked; he was going nowhere.

  It was indeed a glorious day; the tide was in and the sea, a barely rippling sheet of dark blue silk, stretched as far as the eye could see.

  “Not too long, Archie,” Bernice instructed, handing sundae dishes to Mia. “You don’t want sunstroke on top of everything else.”

  He pulled a face at Fenella. She handed over her extravagant hat which Archie plonked on his head.

  “Crisis averted.” He gave his sister a gracious smile. Bernice held the scoop aloft.

  “Only if you have a proper meeting with Eamon,” she smiled back, eyes challenging. “Only then will the real crisis be averted.”

  “All in hand,” Archie replied. “Mia, come and play in the sun, you’re hardly ever here these days and I’m nearly dead.”

  “Archie!” Fenella exclaimed.

  “Well, it’s true and Bernice will let her do more housework than Leela if we’re not careful.”

  “That wouldn’t be hard,” teased Fenella. Leela was taking her afternoon nap, one of the few habits she had never tried to give up.

  Bernice took the dishes from Mia. “Go, Driscoll can bring the ice cream.” Then, to Archie. “I never see her either, you know and I could easily die before you, you selfish old shite!”

  Mia hesitated but Bernice was joking. Relieved she followed the others outside; relationships at Galty House could be volatile to say the least and Mia did not know the half of it.

  SMOKE AND MIRRORS

  Fenella and Archie were the first to return from the beach. Archie liked an early evening bath. It was an old habit, he learned his lines while soaking in the tub. She knew he was tired when she insisted on carrying her bag and he let her.

  “Archie, I …” She stopped.

  “Please don’t say you need to talk to me. I’m fed up with everyone needing to talk to me.” He gave a weary smile.

  “It’s only …”

  “It’s alright, honestly. You’ll just have to trust me.” He touched her cheek.

  “I trust you, totally.”

  They had reached the landing as the phone rang. Fenella ran back down to the bureau that had nestled in the elegant curve of the staircase for as long as she could remember. Archie waited.

  “It’s Trixie, she says if you’re not dead yet, remember you promised her the jewelled cigarette case?” Fenella held the receiver aloft so Trixie could hear.

  Archie, together with the family portraits, peered down from the upper floor. Trixie had been friends with Fenella since the early days. He openly admitted he was jealous of their closeness, nearly having a fit when she moved into the actress’s newly-refurbished London home.

  Trixie had loathed Archie on sight, declaring he was a manipulative old queen who needed to come out of the closet and stop pretending Fenella was the unrequited love of his life. Thankfully, these days they maintained an amicable truce.

  “Tell her to come whenever she likes, you’ve given me a new lease of life, she can have anything she wants, always been my favourite.”

  “No, I have not.” Trixie overheard him. “He’s delirious on morphine, hated me for years.”

  “You’ve hated her for years.” Fenella reminded Archie.

  “Doesn’t mean she’s not a favourite though.” He blew a kiss. “Now, I must take my bath.” Archie strode briskly towards his room; he knew she was watching. The door closed heavily.

  “He’s gone,” Fenella said into the phone.

  “Gone?” Trixie gasped.

  “To take a bath.”

  “Oh, for a minute I thought … anyway, old goat sounds perfectly alright to me. What do you think?”

  “We’re here for a reason, that’s for sure. I thought it was to say goodbye but Archie’s not quite ready to say goodbye yet by the looks of things.”

  “He always was an outrageous tease.” Trixie had a smile in her voice. “Any hint on the Mia thing?”

  “They had me worried, taking off to the boathouse when we arrived, then came back laughing, he hasn’t told her anything he shouldn’t have, not yet anyway.”

  “How can you stop him though?” Trixie was practical.

  “Plead, beg, blackmail, I’ll think of something.” Fenella was not joking. “We’ve to meet in the library at seven, he wants to talk to all of us.” She twisted the cord through her fingers.

  “What about?”

  “The future, I guess.” She said it lightly, yet the words hung in the air.

  Replacing the receiver Fenella noticed a silhouette flickering against the glass, the last of the sunset causing everything to shimmer. She ran to the door, swinging out in one movement. But the embodiment of the shadow had disappeared.

  Running down the steps, she looked left and right. No one. She saw movement in the kitchen garden, a flash of yellow. As she sped towards it, her scarf came loose and pulling it free she lost an earring. Damn, she would have to go back, the earring was special. She was rattled, someone had been listening at the door, she was sure of it. Stopping to fix the scarf, she decided to look for her earring later and pushing on through the gate found Bernice stooped, yellow hat fastened tightly against the breeze.

  “Beetroot,” she said, holding out a clutch of bulbous vegetation. “Very good for blood pressure.” She gave the actress a frown. “When did you take up running, Fenella? I’m full of admiration, fighting back the years the way you do, must be very draining.”

  Fenella tried to hide her breathlessness by turning to face the sea.

  “Is … there … only … you here?” She dragged in air.

  “No, you’re here with me, aren’t you?” Bernice lifted the brim of her hat to look intently at Fenella. “Has the sun got to you, again?” A euphemism she invoked whenever she suspected illegal substances had been imbibed.

  “I thought someone was outside the hall door but they ran away.”

  “Did they ring the bell? Call out?” Bernice asked. Fenella could be fanciful at the best of times.

  “No, I saw something, felt something … I’m not sure.” She touched her ear, distracted. “Now I’ve lost an earring.”

  “Where?”

  “Here, just now.”

  “Which earring?” Bernice asked, taking Fenella’s chin in her hand.

  “A gold one.” Fenella touched the other earring mournfully.

  “Do you mean the pair you keep here? The ones in the mother of pearl jewellery box, you put them on when you come, yet leave them when you go. Why, I wonder?” Bernice was looking at her.

  “They belong here, that’s why.” Fenella’s eyes glittered.

  “Surprised you haven’t lost one before, you’re so careless with everything.” Bernice looked away, satisfied.

  “Not these, I treasure these. Hope it’s not a bad omen.”

  “What nonsense! Just time for a new pair, that’s all.” Bernice picked up the secateurs and started snipping at the mint, wild and unruly, taking over everything as usual.

  “Fenella! Bernice!” A shout from the beach. The women looked at each other. Eamon was waving urgently. They ran towards him.

  Mia was on the edge of a sun lounger at the bottom of the steps. Driscoll was crouched, wrapping a towel around her calf, the fabric dark with blood.

  “What happened?” Bernice looked at the wound.

  “Don’t take the pressure off,” Driscoll commanded. “A nasty gash, we’ve to stop the blood.�
��

  Fenella knelt beside Mia, white-faced beneath her shock of hair.

  “What happened?” Fenella glared accusingly along the beach, where not half an hour since Mia had been strolling, waving back as they packed the day away. She had been gazing at the new development, the shiny marina filled with sparkling yachts, the elegant hotel on the cliff, wrapped in a terrace, its awning a billowing sail fluttering out to sea. She had never seen anything like it, certainly not in Ireland. Maybe the shouty stress-head had something about him after all.

  “The ground seemed to fall away. I went down, panicked and something sharp cut my leg as I came up.” She was wet up to her chest, her top sodden, splashed with sand.

  “Your hands are freezing.” Fenella rubbed her daughter’s clenched fists. Mia started to shake.

  “It’s shock, back to the house, now!” Bernice ordered. “Eamon, help Driscoll carry her. Fenella keep the pressure on, I’ll run ahead, ring the surgery.”

  “I don’t think …” Mia tried to reassure everyone but no one was listening and besides she was just about to faint.

  Strangely calm and nauseous at the same time, Mia tried to speak but her lips were numb and letting go she just drifted away in a swirl of grey cloud.

  Fenella pulled a throw from a chair, eyes fixed on her child.

  “What did she say?”

  The doctor was replacing phials in his bag.

  “It’s the painkiller, she’ll sleep awhile. Quite a scare, a lot of blood. I’ve given her tetanus and antibiotic just in case. Keep an eye on the wound, I’ll take another look in a few days.” He gave a reassuring smile. He had known the famous actress and her daughter for over thirty years.

  Everyone loved Doctor Morrissey, trusted him implicitly. Besides he knew where all the skeletons were buried, Archie always quipped whenever the doctor was mentioned.

  Once Mia was settled in the library, Bernice sent Eamon to see how Archie was faring.

  “He won’t let me in,” Eamon announced, pushing the bell at the mantelpiece for more tea. He was wasting his time, Leela never responded to the bell. “The door’s locked. Told me to go away. I reminded him we had unfinished business and he said to stick my unfinished business up my arse, preferably with the file still in my briefcase!”

  “Head in the sand as usual,” Bernice said wearily.

  “And the business?” Fenella watched as Eamon leaned proprietorially against the fireplace.

  “All of this!” he replied, encompassing the room. “We must make arrangements, sort out his affairs.” He shook his head, hair springing from his scalp anxiously.

  “You know Archie and paperwork.” Bernice tucked the throw around Mia. “He hasn’t made a will and won’t tell us what he wants us to do. Wouldn’t surprise me if we’re to put him in a boat and set fire to the lot.”

  “A fitting end to the Viking he is.” Driscoll had been flicking through Archie’s sailing magazines.

  “Wouldn’t surprise me either.” Eamon agreed, then looked sheepishly at Bernice.

  “We need to know.” She sounded desperate. “It’s just that …” The door opened and Leela came in backwards carrying a tray freshly laden with tea and toast. “Dear Lord, Leela we’re still stuffed, you’ve served everything in the kitchen,” Bernice said, changing the subject.

  “Ah sure, why not, with everyone here?” Leela replied.

  Fenella stood.

  “I’ll go, he’s probably just tired. It’s been a long day and he’s a sick man.”

  Bernice reached for her friend’s hand.

  “You do know how sick, don’t you, Fenella? He wasn’t being dramatic when he sent for you. It really is just a matter of time.”

  “Isn’t that the case for all of us?” Fenella was brusque.

  “Don’t be in denial, please.” Bernice looked into Fenella’s eyes. “Don’t, now.”

  “But … he looks so well, in such good form.”

  “He is one of the world’s finest actors,” Bernice reminded her. “And don’t make a big deal of this either,” she nodded at Mia buried under a throw. “He’s so on edge these days, the slightest thing sets him off. He’d be mortified if he thought anything had happened to her here.”

  Fenella went to take the staircase at the far end of the library. The entrance had once been disguised as a bookcase but Mrs Fitzgerald had it removed, installing a plain oak door instead. It was strangely at odds with the rich mahogany shelves and leather tomes lining the walls.

  “That’s locked,” Bernice looked up. “Haven’t used it in years, dry rot or something.”

  “Of course,” Fenella said. “I knew that. I’m all over the place today, must be the sun.” She turned and walked the length of the room avoiding everyone’s eyes.

  Arriving at Archie’s door, Fenella tapped. It was locked. She pushed the handle upwards with her hip. The manoeuvre, known only to the Fitzgeralds’ inner circle, lifted the mechanism, releasing the lock. Putting her hand over her eyes, she stepped into the room. She could smell cigar smoke.

  “For Christ’s sake, woman, you’ve seen me naked before haven’t you?” He was speaking from the ancient roll-top bath perched on a plinth before the window.

  “Of course, but you’re old and wrinkly now and I’ve just eaten,” she told him, taking her fingers away, the frailty of his voice disturbing her.

  “I could do with a hand.” He lay half out of the water, translucent skin illuminated by the chandelier above the bath, the whole scene reflected eerily in the mirrored alcove. He had wedged himself between the tub and the wall. Grabbing a bathrobe, she ran to help.

  “Should you be smoking these?” She took the cigar from his lips.

  “Ran out of weed,” he replied.

  The bathwater, now cold, was a murky, brownish red. Finding soap, she lathered his trapped shoulder and taking a towel threaded it behind his neck, holding each end separately.

  “Now, when I count to three I want you to haul yourself up, I’ll pull on the towel, okay?”

  Fenella was praying this would work, his lips were purple.

  “One, two, three …”

  His skin made a sucking sound and she gripped him as he fell forward, hugging him tightly. He had turned to stone. She rubbed his chest with the towel.

  “How long have you been stuck here?”

  “A good while, before that tosser of a solicitor came looking for me anyway.”

  “You were stuck and didn’t ask Eamon to help you?”

  “No way, that would have meant telling him how to open the door. That’s a family secret.”

  “That’s ridiculous, you’ve probably caught pneumonia. Anyway, Eamon is family.”

  “He thinks he is.” Archie gave her one of his lizard looks.

  “Now, a hot shower!” Fenella said, taking charge.

  “Yes please, darling, that would be wonderful, one of the downsides of this bloody thing is incontinence.” He gestured as the filthy water sluiced away.

  Fiddling with the mixer tap, she wet her face in case of tears.

  “I’ve played a nurse, don’t forget, Sister Moriarty in Angels of War.”

  “Yes, you were an American, glad you didn’t say ‘no shit?’ when I told you I was incontinent, I’d have wet myself laughing!”

  Fenella smiled, Archie was warming up a bit.

  Eamon was dozing as Bernice tidied away the remnants of tea, when the door swung back to reveal a perfectly groomed Archie, resplendent in vintage smoking jacket and silk cravat. Fenella, on his arm, wore an embroidered tunic with matching bandana, a shimmer of crystals at her ears.

  “I hope you haven’t dressed for dinner,” Bernice told the couple in the doorway. “Because there isn’t any.” There was a rattle and they parted, making way for Leela carrying the best glasses and a plastic bucket bearing a bottle of champagne.

  Archie beamed as the housekeeper placed the bucket on the table. “Improvisation, the lifeblood of originality!” He scanned the room and seeing Mia mo
tionless on the chaise, froze. “What’s happened? Why was I not sent for?”

  Her eyes opened. “I gashed my leg, that’s all.”

  Archie looked at Fenella.

  “Doctor Morrissey’s been, dressed the wound, she’ll be fine,” she told him.

  “Show me,” he instructed. They drew back the throw, her leg swathed in a large dressing.

  “How did it happen?”

  “I was just paddling and seemed to fall, as if there was a hole in the sand.”

  “On our beach?” Archie frowned.

  “Must have been a bit of rock or something,” Driscoll offered, returning with a basket of peat.

  Archie was momentarily distracted, Driscoll had been overtly helpful all day. “Does it hurt? Can you stand?”

  “I’ll be running tomorrow,” Mia smiled into his worried face. “I won’t let it spoil the fun.”

  “That’s my girl! A drink, you must have a drink!”

  “What’re we celebrating?” Bernice asked, eyeing Leela hovering, hoping there would be a glass of champagne coming her way too.

  “We’ve much to celebrate, have we not?” Archie opened the bottle with a flourish, gesturing to Eamon to pour drinks while he took a glass to Mia.

  “Just a sip,” Fenella warned, pushing hair from Mia’s face, blotchy with heat. “She’s had strong painkillers.”

  “Champagne makes everything better,” he told the patient.

  “Archie, we’re waiting!” Bernice was irked.

  He waved a hand at her. She harrumphed, taking a glass from Eamon until her brother, satisfied Mia had enough champagne, took his place in front of the fireplace.

  “Beloved family and friends.” He was using his warm, speech-making voice. “A toast. The future.”

  They raised their glasses. Everyone except Bernice.

  “I would really like to know what you mean by that,” she said, quietly.

  “I’ve no crystal ball, Bernice, no tarot telling me what’s around the corner but here we are, all together and I think it’s important to be optimistic, just because things change it doesn’t mean they won’t change for the better.”