Closing the door, Mia took a large gulp of glorious fresh air and set off, striding through flower beds, air fragrant with scent. She strode past the fountain and stone Buddha, until she reached a cluster of palms each nodding gently in welcome.
Filled with childhood memories, Galty’s garden was eccentric. She remembered sailing boats on the pond, planting flowers and making gloopy soups from the vegetable patch. Although her stays were sporadic, Mia had lived here longer than anywhere else and soon, not today or tomorrow but soon, it could all be gone. No wonder Bernice was desperate to know what Archie had in mind.
Mia looked back at the house regally gracing the cliff, windows winking in the sunshine, shining ivy clutching the building in an embrace. Chimney pots were missing, the roof badly patched and the whole place rattled pitifully when a storm blew in off the sea, yet it was still the most beautiful house she had ever seen.
She closed her eyes and imagined it gone. Archie gone. All of it gone. And as she did a huge wave of sadness washed over her, chilling her very bones. Opening her eyes she stared at the house, willing it to remain, stand its ground and fight and as she did the icy dread began to trickle away, sliding down her body and into the ground at her feet. This was how she had been trained to deal with fear, loneliness and despair – one of Leela’s many tricks ‒ simply will the evil away. It always worked; that and treacle toffee, of course.
“Hey, you’re back!” The voice made her jump. “Probably prime real estate once.” Ross Power, the hotelier, was at the top of the steps.
Mia blinked.
“The house, prime real estate at one time, given the location and all.”
“I think you’ll find Galty House is one of the finest examples of the period in the area, probably the whole of Ireland.” Mia used her haughtiest tone.
“Was,” he replied. “People make that mistake. Think a period property’s got to be valuable. But not maintained and upgraded, well, in most cases better to demolish and start again, site’s probably worth a lot more.”
Mia shuddered. Americans, always so bloody opinionated. The shouty stress-head had reverted to type.
“That’s my home you’re disparaging,” she said pleasantly, given she felt like kicking him in the balls.
“Just my considered opinion, ma’am.” He was cleaning his Aviator sunglasses on his tee-shirt. Mia looked at him; did he really think that patronising, false charm would wash?
“I too am opinionated,” she told him. “I’ve an opinion on most things but try to consider, when in conversation, whether it’s appropriate to air my opinion or not, in case it might offend.”
“Sorry, didn’t mean to offend you.” He did not sound remotely sorry.
“You offended the house. I was merely defending a grand old lady.” Again she kept her tone light. Ross, whatever his name was, was a neighbour after all, a newcomer and already a friend of the family. Mia had long since perfected the skill of being perfectly pleasant to people she found excruciatingly distasteful, one of the reasons she was so good at her job. She looked him up and down. “Looking for someone?” He was on private property after all.
“Archie. Invitation for tonight, said he’d like to bring someone along.”
“He’s resting at the moment, it’s probably for me.”
“You?”
Her grubby denim shorts and old sweatshirt would certainly not fit the Harbour Spa Hotel dress code.
“I’m escorting him.” Again, her haughtiest intonation.
“Great, excellent.” Ross tried to sound enthusiastic, but he was not looking forward to playing happy host at this evening’s event. “There’ll be dancing.” He indicated her leg.
She pocketed the invitation.
“Time I shook the dust off my Irish dancing costume, anyway.”
He looked uncomfortable. No homespun, skiddly-row at the Harbour Spa Hotel it would appear.
“Anything else?” Mia folded her arms.
“Your leg better?”
“Loads better, mystical healing power of the water.” She nodded towards the sea, wanting him gone. “Where’s Pearl?” she asked, hoping that would send him off to attend his niece.
“Summer school, she needs to keep up her studies.”
“Local?” She started walking, he might take the hint and push off.
“The convent on the edge of town. Has a fine reputation, I believe.”
“Must have changed then,” she said, without thinking.
“You know it?” he was scowling again.
“Just voicing a considered opinion, you know, the way people do.” She had steered him to the top of the steps. “See you.” He stayed where he was. “Later? See you later?”
“Yes. Looking forward to it.” He sounded unconvinced. Descending the steps he turned back. “Is it a good school?”
“One of the best,” Mia assured him, not particularly convincingly either.
NOTHING TO WEAR
The wall curved, sweeping out towards the bay, its centrepiece a huge porthole window through which the entire harbour was visible. Sailing boats and fishing trawlers came in, liners and ferries pushed out, every minute the view changed, like watching a movie … a film of real life.
Yet more and more Ross Power seemed to see less of it. Glued to his computer screen, counting figures, checking statistics managing the daily grind of a multi-million-pound business from behind his glass-topped desk. If not tied to spreadsheets or back-to-back conference calls, he was trying to contact his sister, Tara. Sometimes an entire day could be lost, trying to find out it if she was surviving, alive even.
At first Pearl’s anxiety had driven his quest but as time passed and Pearl’s confidence grew, she hardly mentioned her mother. When Ross did manage to contact Tara, Pearl would dutifully mark the map tracing her mother’s trip but that was all. Ross sometimes wondered if he should give up on Tara too, the way she seemed to have given up on them.
A discreet knock on the door.
“Mr Power, we’re nearly ready, Miss Pearl’s told everyone she’s helping you host, is that okay?”
He dragged his eyes from the screen.
“Fine by me.”
Caroline, Pearl’s long-suffering English nanny sighed, it was a school night after all.
“And you, sir, will you be changing?”
Ross was still in the Levis and tee-shirt he had been wearing all day.
“Of course.” He gave a smile. His whole face changed when he smiled, Caroline often thought, his smile rarer these days. Shutting off the computer he strode the length of the room. “Let’s get ‘all shimmied up’ as Pearl says. Time to put our best foot forward.” He guided her out, he had never felt less like hosting a party.
“What do you mean, I can’t go like this?” Mia hid her smile, arranging Fenella’s outfit on the bed.
“You just can’t!” Fenella turned from her dressing table, Mia was still wearing the tatty shorts and top she had dragged on first thing.
“But I don’t have anything for a party, let alone a smart one.”
“We’ll find something.” They were the same size, although all similarity ended there. Fenella tied a scarf at her hair, curls wafting out from the exotic silk; the actress had impeccable taste, a master class in elegance.
Mia was dowdy by contrast but this had not always been the case. Young Maeve loved to dress up. Throughout childhood, the milky-skinned redhead cut a dash in her stylish outfits, choosing what to wear and when to wear it. If her cowboy hat was inappropriate or a tiara deemed outré, a steely wilfulness would surface behind the turquoise eyes and she would be left unchallenged. And besides everyone loved to indulge her, buying her clothes from faraway places, designer outfits way ahead of the latest trend. She really was a ‘fashion plate’ as the older ladies used to say.
Although still obsessed with fashion, teenage Mia appeared disinterested in her own appearance, tying her back her hair and wearing only plain, plain unadorned black. Instead, her interest to
ok an academic turn, studying everything from the Tudors to haute couture. Fascinated by the myriad of techniques used to create, dye and decorate fabrics, she learned to make patterns, cut, sew, and embroider. Although she had decided not to follow fashion herself, she had fallen in love with the art of it and her passion engulfed her.
Graduating from the Courtauld Institute in London, it was no surprise when she announced she wanted go into show business but her decision to become a dresser was greeted with disappointment by the occupants of Galty House. Archie immediately offered to secure her an apprenticeship with a renowned costume designer but Mia refused point blank; this was her career, she was going to do it her way. So in fact, nothing had changed, the wilful five-year-old had just grown up.
Fenella was watching her in the mirror, so alike yet so different. Both determined and stubborn but Mia more sensible, less volatile than she. Mia rarely showed her feelings, slow to take people into her confidence and careful about relationships. Mia would choose to stay single rather than make a bad choice, Fenella admired that in her only child.
Finally happy with the outfit she had selected for her mother, Mia found Fenella riffling through a wardrobe. She withdrew a sheath of aquamarine silk, thigh length with a mandarin collar studded with opaque sequins, it looked like a jewel.
“This and capri pants?” She was trying to think of shoes; Mia would probably want to wear flip-flops.
“It’s a bit bright,” Mia said.
“It’s a colour!” Fenella held it against her truculent child. “Gorgeous with your hair.” She said, immediately sorry. Mia’s copper mane was a moot point. “Lights your eyes.” She tried.
“It’s drinks in the local hotel, do I need my eyes ‘lighting’?” She gave her mother a dark look. “I’ll just change my top.”
“But my outfit is gorgeous, we’ll look out of sync!” Fenella exclaimed.
“We’re not a matching set, we don’t have to ‘go together’.” Mia was holding the tunic as Archie looked in.
He was wearing a midnight blue suit, white shirt. The sunshine had brought out his freckles, he looked boyish and suave at the same time.
“That’ll suit you,” he told Mia. “Get a move on though, we’re guests of honour.”
“What?” they exclaimed.
“I did tell you.” He shook his head despairingly. “We’re opening the new cocktail bar, Ross asked if we would, great publicity for the place, don’t you think?”
“I just can’t open a bar on a whim, it hasn’t been booked, what will my agent say?” Fenella was waspish.
Archie shrugged. “Come on, Fen, it’ll be fun. Besides, it’s only neighbourly to support a new venture on our doorstep.”
Mia frowned. “Opportunistic, considering the neighbours are international movie stars.”
“Hurry up, now,” Archie said, as he left.
Mia looked again at the garment on the hanger, deciding she had better make the effort. Nothing worse than the tabloids running a picture of Fenella and Archie looking fabulous with a monotone Mia in the background. She had made that mistake before, the columnists had had a field day.
The Daimler swung effortlessly into the gateway of the Harbour Spa Hotel. A domed portico graced the entrance, flanked either side by plinths bearing flame-filled bowls, the stone shimmered in the torchlight; solid, rich, expensive.
A red carpet across the gravel was cordoned off with thick rope swaying from gold struts. Guests streamed along the walkway as doormen, sleek in powder blue jackets, greeted the car. Archie, who had insisted on driving, was relieved to hand over the keys.
Bernice emerged first, elegant in bronze, a fitted cocktail dress and jacket, Mia followed wearing the aquamarine tunic with cream palazzo pants and unfamiliar heels. Fenella had twisted her daughter’s copper mane into a twirling bun, finishing off the look with her own emerald earrings. Fenella, in turn, wore a slither of bitter chocolate, turquoise shoes and bandana, understated and opulent at the same time. The transformation was total, they each looked divine and all heads turned.
Archie stood back to admire the three women, looking forward to a night with his talented trio, they had not been out together in a long time, who knew when they would again. He hoped his medication would soon kick in, some alcohol might help, he had seen Mia watching him, sensing his pain.
“You came!” Pearl cried, leaping into Archie’s arms. “I was worried. Ross said you had to rest in bed all day.”
Archie kissed her, placing her on the ground. Pearl in a pink tutu, yellow wellingtons and sparkly tiara, danced a few steps and ran away.
“See,” he said, eyes twinkling. “Just like you at that age.” Mia looked at Pearl and smiled.
Had she ever been that self-assured?
Pearl ran up to a man and tugged his jacket. His face broke into a warm smile as he took her hand, striding through the crowd to greet them. Wild black hair smoothed back and dressed in a classically-cut dinner jacket with a perfect bow-tie, Ross Power cut a dash; a man in control. Strikingly handsome, the sun had darkened his skin making his smile bright white. Mia slipped into shadow.
“We’re honoured to have you,” he said in his soft American accent, giving Archie and Fenella a look of deference. “Your presence this evening will make it truly special.”
Archie pumped his hand. “Delighted to lend our support, neighbour. Isn’t that right, Fenella?”
“Totally,” Fenella agreed. “This is all very impressive, a boost for the whole community and we’re locals after all.”
Ross was relieved. He had never seen Archie in professional mode and was unsure what to expect. Archie still had a ‘wild man’ reputation. When Archie asked if Fenella Flanagan could come along – meaning two famous movie stars in attendance ‒ Ross could not believe his luck.
Within seconds the PR team had whisked them away and Mia could relax, she had never been fond of the limelight. An elegant young man was playing the piano, giving the whole scene a smooth, jazzy feel. With Bernice deep in conversation with Eamon, Mia took a glass of champagne and moved to the edge of the crowd. The artwork around the room had caught her eye, original pieces by a hand she had not seen before. She drifted over to a seascape, wild water, the spray so vivid she could almost taste salt, its vibrant primitive style enchanted her, just the sort of art she loved to get lost in …
“Hey, Mia, how’s it going?” Driscoll looked surprised to see her. “What do you think to this place, amazing isn’t it?” He had made a real effort, smart jacket, lots of aftershave. His eyes were on stalks, he had clearly been partying for some time.
“It is,” Mia moved away, Driscoll was a nuisance, especially smashed.
“Thought you were called back to the job, Wicklow or somewhere, wasn’t it?” he asked, loudly.
“Finished now.” She looked for an escape.
“Heard there was a problem, you’d to go and sort out.”
“It’s wrapped, they’ll do the edits in London.” Driscoll used to be in the business, she would not discuss anything he could turn into tittle-tattle.
“I believe you had the police up there and everything,” he continued. “Thought you’d be giving statements and stuff.”
Nosy busy-body, Mia thought.
“Excuse me,” she said. “Old friend … must say hello.” And zigzagging through the crowd she slipped out onto a vast deck, framed by hundreds of fairy lights. Making for the farthest corner, she nestled into a chair to call Rupert. He picked up, she was thrilled to hear his voice.
“You on your way home yet?”
“Not yet. How did the audition go?” She so hoped he had positive news, Rupert was a good actor, he deserved a break.
“Still in Manchester, going out to dinner with the director, looks promising.”
“You’ll win them round, you see if you don’t,” she told him. Suddenly music piped through speakers on the deck.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“A do at a local hotel. Fenella and
Archie are officiating, you know, ‘Movie stars open cocktail bar’, I’m in the backup team,” she explained.
“Oh.” Rupert sounded deflated. “I thought you were visiting someone who’s terminally ill, not partying at flash hotels?”
“It’s not how it sounds,” Mia replied, then as if to belie her words, a huge fanfare blared out calling everyone to order, official proceedings were about to take place, glasses needed charging. “Rupert, I’ll have to go.”
“Yeah, go and enjoy yourself while I hold everything together back here. I mean it’s not as if mingling with those guys could in anyway benefit my career, is it?” He was miffed.
“This wasn’t planned. Anyway the one time you did meet my mother, it didn’t go that well, I seem to remember.” Mia wanted to bite her tongue, she had promised she would never mention that disastrous occasion again. “It’s not like that anyway, I’ll explain when I see you, just wanted to say good luck.” He had already hung up.
Mia gave him the benefit of the doubt, he was obviously stressing about dinner and how much was riding on it; he needed the job. The music stopped, Mia downed her drink, Archie was about to make a speech, he loved making speeches.
Passing a porthole window, she spotted Ross Power and two other men. Ross checked his watch, folded something into a drawer and opened the door. Not wishing to be caught snooping, Mia sped away as fast as her heels would allow. One of the men saw her.
“Mia, this way.” It was Eamon.
Mia turned back, feigning relief. “This place is vast, easy to get lost.”
Ross did a double-take, the mad woman with the wild red hair certainly looked very different.
“Welcome to the Harbour Spa, do you know our esteemed mayor?” She felt a blush at her throat; what was it about a man in a dinner jacket?
“Of course we know each other,” beamed the mayor. “Miss Flanagan went to the Mary Magdalene with my daughter.”
That Summer at the Seahorse Hotel Page 13