“To engage the services of a solicitor he trusts to keep his confidence. I don’t need to remind you the property is his. Your mother, considering he would fail as an actor and end up homeless, rightly or wrongly left Galty House to him.” Humphrey spoke slowly, they had had this conversation many times.
Escaping his words, Bernice abandoned her tea and stood at the window.
“But what about me? Am I to be left homeless?”
Humphrey joined her. “You were engaged at the time, I’m sure your mother thought you would be married and settled in your own home.”
He took her hand in his.
She looked away. “Don’t bring all that up again, please.”
He gave a melancholy smile. “Come, it’s a lovely day, let’s walk through the Green, I’ll stand you lunch. You haven’t touched the delicious scones I sent out for, maybe a glass of champagne in the Shelbourne will perk you up?”
She squeezed his hand, the one with the wedding ring, his only flaw.
“Very well, and over lunch you can tell me how I can find out what’s in my brother’s will.”
“I don’t think I can do that.” He gave a soft laugh and picking up her bag, opened the door.
“Or help me find out who his solicitor is, I could try and get to it that way.”
He held her arm as they descended the stair, so he could drink in the scent of her.
“Not a chance,” he said, taking her hand lest he lose her in the buzzy, city sunshine.
After dropping Bernice off at Dalkey station, Fenella settled back into the comfort of the old car. Bernice had tried, unsuccessfully, to find out what Fenella knew about Archie’s will. Unsuccessfully because Fenella genuinely knew nothing and despite Bernice’s obsession with the subject, was only mildly interested.
“Whatever happens, happens. You’ll be fine, Archie will look after you, you know that.”
“How come you’re so sure? What’s he told you?”
“Nothing.” She flashed a look at the back of Driscoll’s head, he was taking in every word.
“Oh, please.” Bernice turned away.
“You’ll be fine,” Fenella told her quietly. “Archie loves you.”
“He loves you more.”
Fenella sighed. “It’s not a competition, you’re getting yourself into a state. Come on now, let’s not part on bad terms, we’ve enough to contend with, our lovely fella so ill and all.”
Bernice shrank in her seat, as if all the air had been let out of her.
“You’re right.” She looked down at her hands clamped together in her lap. Tense, angry hands. “Oh, Fenella.”
The actress folded her in an embrace. Bernice hugged her back and they stayed locked together for a long moment, united in their pain.
With Bernice despatched, Driscoll seized his chance.
“Afraid he’s left everything to you isn’t she? Or Mia? Probably thinks his Last Will and Testament will finally prove Mia is his daughter. Mind you a lot of people think that.”
“What the hell do you know about it?” Fenella was ready for a row, she had been biting back a lot of anger for a very long time. “And how is it any of your business anyway?” She slammed the glass partition closed. Then noticing the chauffeur’s hat on the parcel shelf, flung the glass open and rammed it on his head. “Now shut up and drive, if I miss my plane you don’t get paid!”
She tried to calm herself but she could not stop thinking about Archie and Bernice and their interminable love-hate relationship. The way Bernice vied for his attention, challenging him to demonstrate who he loved more, his sister or his best friend; because they were best friends, always had been. And now Driscoll, making inane comments. She knew he was only voicing what people thought, the tittle-tattle still repeated after all these years. It was raining again, another bloody reason why she hated the place.
Closing her eyes she was back at Galty House barely eighteen, at her dressing table, taking out the heated rollers Archie had bought her for Christmas. He liked her to look her best, as near to one of Pan’s People as she could, she could never remember which one.
“There is a difference between vanity and taking pride in one’s appearance,” she told Bernice, glaring at the intruder.
“Really?” Bernice had replied. “That would be hard to measure where you’re concerned. Vanity is one of the seven deadly sins.”
“Ah, fuck off with your sins,” Fenella threw back. “I don’t know why you don’t take yourself up to the convent and stay there, you’re so bloody pious all the time.”
“Lock myself away in the Mary Magdalene? That would suit you right down to the ground. Then you’d have everything, the house, the land, Archie.”
Fenella turned to look Bernice in the eye. “I don’t want Archie!”
“No, but he wants you, it’s pathetic to watch, fawning all over you like a puppy.”
“Stop it, you bad-minded bitch. And I don’t want the house either, it’s your home, yours and Archie’s. Besides, I’m going to be a great actress and will, no doubt, have a number of beautiful homes scattered about the globe. So you can stick this shambling, old wreck up your …”
“Trilogy!” Archie slammed the dictionary shut. “That’s the word I was looking for, ‘a set of three related artistic works’.” He stuck his head through the doorway. “Rather like us.”
As ever, Archie was oblivious to the atmosphere in the room and had not heard a word of their bickering. He threw himself on the bed.
“Bernice, put something on by that Marc Bolan fella Fen likes so much, she might dance for me.” He licked his lips, attempting to appear louche.
“She’s going to be a great actress. You’ll get no more free shows around here,” his sister told him.
“That’s interesting.” Archie sat up. “I’ve decided to become an actor too. I’m made for it, wouldn’t even have to try very hard. This playwriting is really draining, I don’t know how father made a living at it.”
“He didn’t,” Bernice confirmed, sweeping out of the room.
Fenella returned to her toilette. “I’ll be far more famous than you.”
“You already are, darling.” Archie replied, eyeing her neat curves and wondering if he would be able to tell when she were no longer a virgin.
“Now she’s gone, you can kiss me if you wish.” Archie watched her in the mirror. She saw the glint, the lust he was trying to douse whenever they were alone these days. “I do have the most fabulous cheekbones, don’t I?” He turned his head sideways so she could admire them more fully.
“I don’t know what’s got into you lately, Archie Fitzgerald, but as far as I’m concerned you can stick your fecking cheekbones up your arse.”
He lifted an eyebrow. ‘Even I, lithe as I am, darling girl, would find that a contortion too far.” And kissing her anyway, exited stage right just before a snakeskin shoe hit the door frame.
She felt the car swing left, they were at the airport; she would be through security and home very soon. She was ready to go, as much as she loved being back, if she stayed too long she began to despair, finding herself late at night, staring across to Phoenix Island and wondering, always wondering, what became of him, the dark, clever, handsome one, the one who had taken her love and thrown it back in her face.
FOOD FOR THOUGHT
Standing in the VIP car park, shades on, arms folded across his pale green thousand dollar suit, Ross Power imagined himself a tourist. He watched a man about his age in a rugby shirt, pulling a trolley piled high with luggage and children; broad grins, excited faces. A woman in cropped jeans and bangles caught up with him. He slipped an arm around her, she pushed hair from his eyes; his mouth brushed her forehead. Ross was suddenly saddened. In that moment he caught a glimpse of something he felt sure he would never have.
A vintage Daimler purred by and recognising it immediately, he waved the driver down. The movie star sitting in the back gathered her things.
“I could have given you a ride,”
he said, as the actress emerged.
“I came up with Bernice, a mass exodus with you here too.” Fenella Flanagan scanned the crowds clamouring for buses, queuing for taxis. “Still, with this lot descending for the holidays the hotel should be good and busy.” Fenella had always made her own way in the world, working hard as a single parent, running the ‘family’ business as she mockingly called her career.
“The more the merrier.” Ross took her bag. “We haven’t had a complete season yet, it’s taking us a while to get going.”
Fenella gave him an admiring glance; he had dismissed Driscoll, effortlessly taking charge, guiding her towards departures. “Who are you meeting? Some well-heeled guests, I hope?”
“Chairman of the board, he’s bringing over an architect from the States.” Ross strode on, she trotted to catch up.
“An architect? Planning more development at the Harbour Spa? I imagine it’s been a massive investment so far, apart from the building itself, the infrastructure for that stretch of coast must have been a phenomenal project,” Fenella said.
Ross was surprised, the actress sounded very knowledgeable.
“I nearly married a developer once, lovely man, very talented,” she explained.
“Really? What did he build?”
“Most of Dubai, I think.”
Fenella declined the VIP lounge, choosing to stand in line to check her bags.
“I don’t bother with all that, I’ve been travelling backwards and forwards for over forty years. I’m not paying for status as well as my ticket, money’s too hard earned.” Nevertheless, a man in airline uniform arrived to escort her through security. Fenella warranted superstar treatment, whether she wanted it or not.
“I’ll say goodbye, ma’am.” Ross offered his hand.
“Things will work out, Ross, you seem a pretty determined young man to me, just give it time.”
She leaned in to be kissed; he caught an aroma of lilies and cocoa and instantly the enigmatic redhead Pearl was convinced was a mermaid came to mind, though Mia and her mother could not be more different.
Ross went to greet the airplane he was dreading, his mind a swirl of unanswered questions; he was tired, was all. Besides, they were in too deep to pull the plug now. The Harbour Spa Hotel had cost millions, if they were to sell they would lose a fortune but if they could not keep to the repayment schedule investors would walk away and they would be left with less than nothing. Everything would have to be sold. The Harbour Spa was already draining money from the corporation’s existing businesses just to stay afloat, no wonder the gnawing anxiety in the pit of his stomach never left him.
Fenella was right, it had everything going for it and it was just a matter of time but as usual time was the one thing Ross Power did not have and pretty soon he would need a miracle to save him and miracles were hard to come by, nearly as rare as mermaids.
Scanning the screen, the plane had landed; he smoothed his hair, straightened his tie; time to face the music.
Driscoll was dawdling along the motorway towards the city. He kept the great Dame in the slow lane, pootling gently southwards. She was a pleasure to drive, a soothing sort and he needed soothing, so far very little in his life was going according to plan.
Dominic Driscoll had always played it fast and loose, a gambler just like his father, a risk taker with an eye on the main chance; the sort of guy who made the best of every opportunity. After a brief career in a show band, Driscoll left Ireland to join the cruise ships, sailing the seven seas entertaining wealthy passengers who visited exotic places without the requirement to leave their five-star, air-conditioned cabins.
A native of Rosshaven, his father was a fisherman lost at sea during the terrible storm that had taken Fenella’s father, Captain Seamus Flanagan; the man who had stolen the Driscoll family boat and who was no doubt drunk at the helm that fateful day. He tried not to think about it, but the past always seem to creep up on him and in no time at all he was fuming, livid with anger at his loss, his pain as raw as the day it had happened.
By now he was way over the speed limit. Coming to a sharp bend he slowed the car abruptly, a horn blasted behind him. He gave the driver the finger in the rear-view mirror.
What was it about Fenella Flanagan that always wound him up? She had been silent all the way to the airport, doing that high and mighty act she was so good at. He only wanted a couple of contacts to get him back on track. It was the least she could do. The Flanagans owed him, he could have been Archie Fitzgerald up in the big house if it had not been for them … all of them.
He passed the sign for Glen o’ the Downs; he could stop, give his old flame a call, she might enjoy a ride to the coast, they could have lunch, a romantic interlude on the beach, just for old time’s sake. She may have some news, a juicy titbit about Fenella’s daughter, the unassuming redhead who spent most of her time with Archie. Maybe she knew something he could use to exert a little pressure. It was the least she could do. They all owed him anyway.
He swung the car off the road before he missed the turning, the driver behind him honked again. Arsehole.
Humphrey had ordered, choosing something she insisted she would not like and promptly loved, and he always made her laugh, flirting decorously, eating her with his warm brown eyes, touching her fingers at every opportunity; dear Humphrey.
“So, what’s the worse-case scenario?” he asked. She had sipped two glasses of champagne and had become quite skittish. “What’re your plans, if as you fear, Archie has left everything to someone else?”
“I’ll contest the will of course, say he wasn’t in his right mind, he’d never leave his only living relative homeless.”
Humphrey gave her one of his legal eagle looks.
“You have evidence?” the barrister persisted.
“His medication, Doctor Morrisey will verify he hadn’t taken it, or taken too much, he’d do that for me.”
“Would he?” Humphrey stirred his coffee. “You might be scuppered if it was the good doctor who’d witnessed the will.”
“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that. Do you know he’s witnessed it?”
Humphrey sipped his espresso.
“Just playing Devil’s advocate, to see if you’ve really thought this through.”
She looked away.
“Now, worse-case scenario? Answer please,” he prompted.
“I’m left homeless and I’ve to pack up and move out.”
“And if you were left with that choice, that freedom, where would you chose to go? No ties, no demands. Where?” He watched her intently.
She thought for a moment.
“Well, Tuscany first of course, a month there at least and then Dublin, that would be my choice. Why would I stay in Rosshaven, what would be there for me?”
“Precisely!” He slapped his napkin on the table. “The worse-case scenario is actually a lovely alternative to rattling around a falling down mausoleum, struggling to keep warm and pay the bills. Perhaps if this worse-case scenario comes to pass, you’ll stop cursing your brother and thank him for setting you free.”
“But …” Bernice was bemused.
“Think about it,” he said. “Might be the best thing that ever happened to you.” He took her hand. “Us.”
She kept her eyes fixed on the tablecloth.
“I’ve a meeting,” he told her. “I’ll see you at the theatre later?”
She nodded, avoiding his gaze.
“Good, I’ll ring Gordon, tell him we’re coming. I’ll book a table so we can all have supper together.”
Sometimes it was such a relief leaving everything to him. Since her mother died she ran the house, paid the bills, kept up appearances. What was wrong with the worse-case scenario, she began to wonder?
Yet there was always that barbed wire in her heart where Fenella was concerned. She had taken everything from her once before, all she had ever loved or wanted, she was damned if she was going to let her do it again.
Bernice waited for Humphr
ey to leave, then took out her phone and dialled.
“We’ve a serious problem.” She pressed the phone to her ear. “We need proof Archie’s been coerced into signing this will, watertight evidence and quickly, very quickly.” She waited.
“Okay. Ring the other fellow and organise a meeting, there’s no time to lose.” She waited again.
“Tell him we’ll pay the going rate and not a penny more. I’m not sure if we can trust him but I agree we’ve no choice.” She shut the phone off.
It was a short walk to the small hotel she favoured in Harcourt Street. She needed a lie down, her head was thumping and her lunch was not agreeing with her one bit.
UNDRESSED REHEARSAL
Mia leapt from the taxi as deftly as she could, considering the precious cargo she was carrying. She rammed the box between her legs while she paid. She could not believe how expensive the cab fare was, she was left with the grand total of fifty-two pence and four euro in her purse. But she could not risk the Tube, she needed to get herself and the dress home as quickly as possible, cost did not matter, she and the package were safe. She was just bursting to see Rupert and tell him all her wonderful news. This was going to change everything, forever.
Mia fumbled for her keys. She very nearly pressed the buzzer to announce her arrival, but stopped herself. That would spoil the surprise and although she could not show Rupert the contents of the box – that would never do ‒ she could tell him all about it. And then the best bit – revealed after a frenzy of passionate love-making – her promised inheritance. How dearest Archie had made sure she, and therefore her gorgeous husband-to-be, would have nothing to worry about.
Rupert would be free to pursue a glittering career, while she kept house, cooked delicious meals, walked the puppy, took care of … she cut her reverie short, not wishing to tempt fate.
Mia and her precious ‘something borrowed’ clambered into the lift. Arriving at her floor, she was relieved to find the door to the apartment slightly ajar. Arms full, reversing into the hallway, she caught sight of herself in the Venetian mirror; eyes shining, cheeks pink with excitement.
That Summer at the Seahorse Hotel Page 17