That Summer at the Seahorse Hotel

by Adrienne Vaughan

  “Where did they go?” Pearl pointed. “Is it a castle?”

  “Been many things.” Archie showed her how to focus the binoculars. “Has a very mysterious past.” Archie was using his spooky, storytelling voice. “In olden days it was a meeting place for chieftains, ships were moored in the bay, ready to do battle with invaders on the high seas.”

  Pearl’s eyes grew wider. “Was there a princess?” she asked, enthralled.

  “Ah, sure any amount,” Archie countered, but he could not remember a legend featuring a royal female and pressing for names, Pearl was disappointed, the island losing its appeal.

  “When did people last live there?”

  “During the last war it was a seminary.” Mia said. “A school for training priests.”

  “That was probably one of the island’s most interesting periods,” Archie declared, not wishing to lose his audience.

  “Priests have to be trained? To do what?” Pearl asked.

  Archie smiled, he was wooing her back.

  “Well, apart from learning which vestments to wear on particular days, they’re taught how to perform the Sacraments, let’s see …” He tapped his chin. “Turning water into wine, for example.”

  Mia laughed. “Neat trick.”

  “Heal the sick, cleanse the souls of sinners.” Archie continued.

  Pearl raised her eyebrows.

  “You know, people who’ve done bad things, their souls have black stains on them, priests help make them white again,” Archie explained.

  Pearl nodded. “Like the Laundromat.”

  “And the best of all is, they learn to exorcise demons.” Archie confirmed. “Big job, someone’s got to do it.”

  “No way!” Pearl was impressed. “Just like a school for wizards. They’re taught magic and spells.”

  Mia coughed. “Archie might be exaggerating.” Pearl’s eyes were wide with wonderment. “Priests are taught to do good deeds and help others do the same. It’s the same for imams, rabbis, preachers; they’re priests too, trying to help people as best they can.”

  Pearl turned to Archie.

  “So, why was the war the best bit?”

  “Because during the war it was a very special kind of training camp. A secret one.” Archie’s ‘man of mystery’ voice came into play this time.

  Mia’s knew this tale, this was one of Sister Agnes’s favourite stories.

  “Training what?” asked Pearl.

  “Spies!” Archie folded his arms, triumphantly.

  “Wow, no way!” Pearl clapped her hands together. “Spells and spies? Can we go there, can we go there now?”

  “You’ll be disappointed,” Mia warned. “It’s not a theme park.”

  Pearl gave her a look. “I’m not a kid, Mia. It can be my summer project, I’ll search for clues, take pictures, recordings, everything.” She looked expectantly at Archie. He twinkled down at her. Mia was outnumbered.

  “Your wish is my command, ma’am.” Archie gave a salute. “Clear that picnic away, let’s get shipshape, we’re heading for the island.”

  “It’s a bit late, maybe another time?” Mia suggested, but it was half-hearted; Pearl’s excitement was contagious.

  “No time like the present.” Archie took the wheel. “Who knows when another opportunity will present itself, a perfect day for memory making.”

  Mia gave him a grin, it was one of their sayings. When she was little and needed cheering up, Archie would invent something, a treat, a trip, some kind of experience, calling it ‘memory making’. Nothing else mattered while memories were being made, Archie always insisted.

  Watching Pearl climb up beside him at the wheel, wind in her hair, beaming smile, Mia felt exactly as she had all those years ago; excited, uplifted and happy. It was such a wonderful feeling, a bit more memory making was definitely called for.

  WELL, WELL, WELL

  It was the second time Driscoll had been to Galty House that day and it was not yet noon. The call had come around ten o’clock, Fenella had to return to England, an urgent message from her agent, she needed to be at the studio as soon as possible.

  The actress was showering when Bernice arrived with coffee. Checking her reflection in the mirror; smart linen trouser suit, tan brogues matching her silk scarf, a smear of colour on her lips, she looked well; she also looked worried.

  Fenella padded through from the en suite. “Water’s cold, never worked properly, bloody thing.” She left footprints on the antique rug.

  “Did you see Archie?” Bernice was stripping the bed.

  “Came to kiss me goodbye before he left.”

  Bernice did not comment. Archie and Fenella had always been uncommonly close.

  “Leave the bed,” Fenella told her. “I’ll be back once the schedules are sorted, no need to change it on my account.” Bernice ignored her and continued; she decided when beds were changed.

  “Do you mind if I come up to Dublin with you?” It was only then Fenella realised Bernice was dressed for town.

  “I need to go straight to the airport.”

  “Drop me anywhere, I can pick up the DART.”

  The Fitzgeralds often used the commuter train that swept around the Dublin coast. Archie in particular loved to be recognised and would chat to fans while enjoying the journey, while Bernice preferred to remain buried in a book.

  Fenella started throwing things in a bag – a bottle of Chanel, her jewel case.

  “Have you a date?”

  “Just some shopping, I’ve run out of ochre for a painting I’m working on and if Archie’s to go into hospital, I can’t let him take that old smoking jacket, whatever he thinks.”

  Fenella stopped what she was doing. “Surely he’s had enough of hospital?”

  Bernice shrugged. “I don’t know Fenella, nobody does. I’ve discussed it with Doctor Morrissey – Archie won’t let anyone near his consultant – and we just don’t know how he’ll be, what he’ll need.”

  “He’ll need to be here!” Fenella turned on her. “He’ll need to be at home!”

  “But what if we can’t cope? I can’t cope?” Bernice was standing at the end of the bed Fenella’s discarded shoes in her hands. Fenella was stunned. Bernice coped with everything, always, but there was mild panic behind her eyes.

  “I’ll help. We’ll organise round the clock nursing, make sure everything’s covered, there’s Leela too,” Fenella offered.

  “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but Leela’s not in the best of health herself. She’s crippled with arthritis these days and hopeless where Archie’s concerned. Gives into him all the time, never backs me up.” Bernice’s voice caught in her throat.

  “Ah, Bernice, give her a break, he’s her baby, always has been.” Fenella was applying moisturiser.

  “He’s a middle-aged man with responsibilities, it’s high time he and indeed everyone else around here realised that!” She let the shoes clatter to the floor.

  Leela was polishing the Daimler when Driscoll arrived. He swung the taxi in beside the old girl, her rich ruby body and shiny chrome gleaming in the sun.

  “You’re to take this,” Leela said, not a bit happy. Driscoll had always been too borderline bad in her opinion. “Archie said she could do with a run and if you’re taking the girls, you’re to do it in style.”

  “The girls?”

  “Miss Bernice needs to go to town and Miss Fenella the airport, they’ll be company for each other.” Driscoll rolled his eyes. The batty old housekeeper always referred to the women as Miss, as if they were the young daughters of somebody grand.

  Driscoll was delighted he could take the Daimler but disappointed he would not have Fenella to himself. Having worked together back in the day, she might know of something going, just a small part would do; he would not broach the subject in front of Bernice. Things were not working out, he had been wooing Bernice ever since his return and was getting nowhere. Eamon intimated she was going to inherit everything but he was not so sure, wondering should he ha
ng around or move on, again.

  “Keys are in it,” Leela told him, and taking a large box from the trunk, waddled off in the direction of the house.

  “Any coffee going?” Driscoll called.

  Leela did not reply, the box had her intrigued. Was it a costume, some fabric, an objet d’art? Mia was a collector, Leela knew her little flat was a palace, a treasure trove filled with exotic pieces from everywhere she had ever been. She could not wait to see what was in the box, what little piece of paradise Mia had secreted away.

  Checking the coast was clear, Leela placed the box on the kitchen table. It was old, she could tell by style of the script scrolled across the turquoise surface. She ran her fingers over the lettering, noticing the note.

  “Something borrowed,” she read aloud.

  Removing the lid she gazed down at a swirl of tissue. As deftly as her twisted fingers would allow, she drew the wrapping back to reveal a glorious creamy froth of fabric and taking it out, held it up. The gown fell away in a whisper of gossamer, the faintest tinkle as embroidered pearls and shells swung free. A piece of paper fluttered to the floor, the delivery note. Lol had left the vital clue to gown’s provenance intact. Reading it Leela gasped. The door opened. Spinning round, she whipped the gown away and scurried into the back kitchen.

  “Be right with you,” she called, shoving the box into the cupboard along with tennis shoes and abandoned riding boots. Driscoll was at the sink, washing his hands.

  “What was that?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “Whatever you were stuffing away in the cupboard?”

  Leela rubbed her hands on her apron. “Just some old clothes.” Not a lie, the dress was obviously an original, it had a look of the nineteen twenties about it, like something from an old film.

  “Valuable?” Driscoll queried. Leela stood in front of the cupboard door.

  “What’s it to you?” She was mightily fed up with people asking her how much this or that was worth. There had always been speculation on how wealthy the Fitzgeralds were. Was there money stuffed under every mattress? Were the paintings and antiques really worth more than anything on display in the national museum? To some extent she had perpetrated the myth; wanting the family and especially her beloved Archie, to appear a cut above. But since Archie’s diagnosis the speculation was rampant and the questions downright rude.

  “I’ll get you some coffee.” She pushed a towel at him.

  “Any emergency fruitcake going begging?” he asked.

  Leela tutted, he could have the stale stuff she was saving for the birds, she would not butter it either, always after something, that fella.

  Bernice was at the coffee pot, freshening the brew.

  “I’ll stay over, up above,” she announced as Leela and Driscoll appeared. “There’s a play on at the Gaiety, I’d like to see, Archie’s friend, Gordon O’Toole is in it.”

  Leela sliced a piece of elderly cake for Driscoll but Bernice was eating it before she could stop her.

  “Good enough,” Leela replied.

  Bernice pulled a face at the cake. “I’ll be back for supper tomorrow.”

  “Good enough,” Leela repeated, giving Driscoll the last of the cake on a plate. The door opened, it was Fenella, dressed head to toe in cream, a tangerine scarf around her hair, amber drops in her ears.

  “Breakfast?” Leela asked.

  “No time.” Fenella swooped on Driscoll’s plate, swiping the stale cake. “Could you put a drop of hot chocolate in a flask?”

  “The coffee’s fresh,” Bernice told her.

  “Of course, won’t take a minute,” Leela said.

  Bernice sighed. “I’ll be in the car.”

  “Is she staying over?” Fenella asked, biting into and then abandoning the cake.

  “There’s a play,” Leela said.

  “Don’t tell me, Gordon O’Toole’s in it?” Fenella gave an old-fashioned look.

  Leela changed the subject.

  “Any idea how long Mia will be staying? Anyone to get back to?” She could not get the dress out of her mind. It looked like a wedding dress to her way of thinking.

  “How would I know? She plays things very close to her chest. Especially after Courtney, he hurt her more than she let on.”

  “Ah, that was a long time ago.” Leela looked wistful. “Lovely boy, very exotic. She gave him up though, then he turned round and got married just like that.” She snapped her fingers. Leela has seen it in the cards, Courtney was not ‘the one’.

  “Introduced me to a guy at a party a while ago, very good-looking. Flirted with me like mad, most inappropriate.” Leela was not surprised, men of all ages pursued Fenella. “An actor, what can I say?” Fenella gestured despair. “Don’t think I’m going to be a granny anytime soon.”

  “Well, that would hardly suit your image, now would it?” Driscoll piped up. They had forgotten he was there.

  Leela gave Fenella a flask with a wink indicating there was a good slug of whiskey in it. Her eyes were misting over, she hated them, any of them, leaving.

  “You’d better go.” She looked up at the school-house clock over the range. Fenella hugged her.

  “I’ll be back soon.”

  “Make sure of it.” Leela turned away, rubbing at her eyes.

  The intrepid trio had made great progress over on Phoenix Island. Banshee was moored at the end of the old jetty and once Archie was happy she was secure, they took the cliff path up to the brow of the hill with the ruins on the far side. Passing the teenagers heading back, one of them recognised Archie and stopped.

  “Hello, sir, heard you lived around here. I’m a great admirer of your work,” the young man said, politely.

  “Dear boy!” Archie shook his hand, glad to take a breather. “How very kind. Are you in the business of theatrics?”

  “I’m a student, sir, final year at the Gaiety School of Drama.”

  Archie studied him. Handsome, fine nose, clear eyes. He would do well.

  “Are these all drama students too?” He waved at the gaggle of youngsters who had gathered round.

  “A couple, the rest are doing creative writing, and Joe over there, he’s English Literature at Trinity.” The others jeered Joe, pushing him playfully.

  “Ah, mock not the pen pushers,” Archie warned. “For they write the words we speak, life would be a lot less without them. Someone had to scribe, ‘all the world’s a stage’.” He turned to walk on.

  “I hope you get better, sir,” the young man said.

  “I’ll keep trying, promise me you’ll do the same.”

  The student laughed and ran after his friends.

  “I think he meant your health,” Mia said.

  “I hoped he meant my art.” Archie gave her a broad grin.

  Arriving at the entrance of what had been the monastery, they were disappointed to find a metal fence barring the way. There were signs declaring the building unsafe, the land private property and trespassers would be ‘Persecuted’ ‒ some wag had messed with the sign.

  “It’ll be health and safety. Everyone’s so scared of being sued, wiser just to ban everything,” Mia said. Pearl was poking around the entrance, pushing at the gate hopefully. Her shoulders drooped in disappointment and then something caught her eye, she ran off, disappearing round the building.

  “Look, I’m in.” Pearl was jumping up and down behind the gate.

  “How?” Mia was bemused.

  “Go round, the wall has a hole in it,” she hissed through a crack.

  “Where?” Mia could not see an opening anywhere.

  “Behind the hedge.”

  Archie was already there.

  “Come on,” he called. “Breathe in.” He grabbed Mia’s hand and they slipped through the crumbling stone. Pearl ran towards them.

  “It’s not half as ruined once you’re inside the wall,” she exclaimed. “Look at all this!”

  They were in a flagstone courtyard; a corridor of beautifully carved eaves ran along one
side leading to what looked like a school room and on the other a church. Although windows were broken and the roof had collapsed, the crumbling eaves gave the place a gothic grandeur.

  “It’s lovely,” Mia said, struggling to remember what it had looked like on her one and only visit many years ago.

  “And there’s the well,” Archie announced, striding off to a circle of bronze stone in the centre of the courtyard. He took a pebble dropping it into the darkness, turning his head to listen. A splash.

  “Aha, still water in there!”

  “I’m thirsty,” said Pearl. They had left everything on the boat. Leaning in Mia could just make out rough steps circling downwards, disappearing into the gloom.

  “I remember!” Archie yelled. “Count thirteen stones round from this one and then thirteen down.”

  “Really?” Mia thought this was one of Archie’s fairy stories.

  Pearl was there in a flash.

  “I can only reach down eight.” She was on tip toes.

  Mia grabbed her by the waist, making her squeal. “I’ll do it.” She leaned in and counted. “I’ve found something.”

  “Good, pull it out,” Archie said. Sure enough, Mia grappled with the object and pulled out a small bucket attached to the wall of the well by a chain.

  Archie went to help. “Keep hold of the chain, let the bucket drop.” Mia did as she was told. They heard a clunk and a splash. “Now, pull it up.” They drew the bucket up together. It was full of water.

  “Looks clear enough,” he said, lifting to taste it.

  “Archie,” Mia went to protest.

  “Delicious,” he exclaimed. “Fresh as can be. I thought it might be sea water after all this time but no, here.” Mia took a tentative sip. “You’ve lost your sense of adventure, young lady.”