That Summer at the Seahorse Hotel

by Adrienne Vaughan

  Christie had been watching Ross, so like his father before him; the worrier, planner, perfectionist. But life could not be planned or perfect. Christie still felt the pain of losing his only brother way too young and he knew Ross felt it too. Sometimes he feared he had placed too much on his nephew’s shoulders, but Ross had been hungry to fill his father’s shoes. Now with Pearl under his wing, maybe Ross had taken on too much, there was more to life than business and responsibility. And as for family, the Powers were obsessed with protecting their own.

  “How’s Pearl doing? I’m longing to see her,” Christie said, hoping his vivacious great-niece had settled and that distancing her from her mother was having the desired effect. Following her father’s death, Tara had taken up with a weird cult, traipsing the globe, hoping it would assuage the grief of losing the only man she truly loved.

  Then there was Imelda, the girl they hoped Ross would marry only to change her mind at the last minute and vanish out of his life completely ‒ no goodbye, no explanation ‒ or not one Ross had shared with anyone anyway.

  It had been a trying couple of years.

  “Pearl’s doing really well,” Ross told him, hoping it would give Christie one less thing to worry about.

  “And how’re you getting on with the neighbours?” the older man smiled at him. “You did a good job getting those movie stars to open the bar, great PR, making people think they’d be rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous as a matter of course. I believe there’s a young niece staying there at the moment.” Nothing much passed Christie. “Might be just your type? Worth cultivating anyway, just being neighbourly, you might say.”

  Ross flashed him a look. “You know I never mix business with pleasure, besides she is so not my type.”

  Christie raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, I get it.” He stood. “You all set for tomorrow? Big deal, you know.”

  “I think I know that, sir,” Ross replied coolly. He had thought of nothing else for weeks.

  “You sleep well now, like I said big day coming up.” He gave Ross a casual salute as the headwaiter guided him to the elevator.

  Ross threw his napkin down, and shrugging out of his jacket walked onto the deck to take some air. It was a beautiful evening, moonlight on the water, the soft shush of waves landing on the shore. Placing his hands on the rail, he took a deep breath and throwing back his head let out a long, piercing howl … the cry of a lone wolf.

  “Is this a dagger which I see before me?”

  The unmistakable enunciation of the world-famous actor, Archie Fitzgerald, drifted towards him and emerging from the shadows, Ross watched as he took another long pull on his cigarette.

  “Gauloises, dear boy, hard to find these days, I rather greedily smoke them alone, another of my guilty pleasures.” He looked at the younger man intently.

  “I wonder about yours?”

  Ross pulled a face. “Don’t flirt with me, Archie, it freaks me out.”

  Archie laughed. “Sorry, dear chap, but you are so devilishly handsome.” He waggled his eyebrows.

  “Stop it!” Ross laughed with him. “Damn actors, never know when you’re for real.”

  “Fair enough,” Archie resumed his everyday voice. “But I’m sure it’s a skill you’ve called upon on more than one occasion. A tense boardroom take over or the seduction of a fair maid, perhaps?”

  “Guess so,” Ross conceded. “Pity we couldn’t all be a bit more honest though and ditch all the bullshit.”

  Archie gave an exaggerated shudder.

  “‘A little sincerity is a dangerous thing, and a great deal of it is absolutely fatal.’ Oscar Wilde,” he said. “And I agree, one’s life could be threatened, going around telling the truth. No, let’s keep the pretence, the dark secrets.” Archie flicked his cigarette into the sea, coughing with the effort. Ross waited for the hacking to subside. “Please don’t ask about my health, bores me witless, people have been talking about nothing else for months. I’m starting a campaign, if you know someone who’s dying, stop the fuck asking them how they are. They’re dying, talk about something else, something interesting, for the love of God!”

  Ross watched Archie leaning on the rail, wheezing after his outburst.

  “Something pissing you off, Archie?”

  “What makes you say that?” Archie was snippy.

  “You’re here again, second time today, this time alone.”

  They started back towards the bar. Ross was tired, ready to go to bed but he was fond of Archie and found him fascinating, he would rather spend some time with him if he could.

  “Just needed some thinking time. Nice place you have here.”

  “Cognac, Mr Fitzgerald?” Ross guided the older man to a stool.

  “A beer if that’s okay, Ross. A few beers would do us both good.”

  Considering what Ross had to face tomorrow a few beers was a very bad idea, there again considering what he had to face tomorrow, a few beers was probably the best idea in the universe.

  They were sitting companionably on the terrace, Ross laughing at one of Archie’s many anecdotes when two girls in gowns designed to show off their shapeliness gave them a lingering look.

  “Bet you have to put up with a lot of that.” Ross raised an eyebrow at his guest.

  Archie frowned. “Lovely young things like that are way out of my league these days. You’re in denial, young man if you don’t think they were looking at you.”

  Ross shrugged.

  “You don’t have an eye for the ladies? Didn’t think you were gay, am I wrong?” Archie had lots of gay friends, men and women but Ross was an enigma, hard to define, not a pack animal at all.

  “I’m ‘resting’.” He was smiling but a sadness had seeped in.

  “Bad experience?”

  “You could say that.”

  “Divorced?” Archie kept his voice to a whisper.

  “Worse.”

  “Jilted?”

  Archie knew he was onto something.

  “I wanted out. So for her sake I let everyone think she jilted me.”

  “Gallant.” Archie approved. “Had a similar experience myself. Beautiful girl, opera singer, everything booked, cathedral, honeymoon, the lot. Guess what? She wanted to stay in Florence, when it came to it, wouldn’t hear of living at Galty House.”

  “Shocking,” Ross mocked. “What’s not to like?” Galty House was more like a gothic film set than a family home.

  “Married a Duke in the end. It wouldn’t have worked, she didn’t like Bernice and hated Fenella. One shouldn’t marry a person who hates one’s best friend,” Archie stated, remembering the rows about ‘that other woman in his life’.

  “Or marry a person who likes one’s best friend too much,” Ross replied, mimicking Archie perfectly.

  “Hmmm, I see. Such deep cynicism for one so young.” Archie considered. “Women eh? Can’t live with ̓em …”

  “Can’t live without ̓em!” Ross finished the cliché.

  “Would you try again?”

  “Dunno. Right girl, right time, right place,” Ross looked away.

  Archie raised his glass. “Here’s to swimmin’ with bow-legged women.” He quoted Robert Shaw’s character in Jaws.

  Ross threw his head back and laughed. “I love that movie, no sharks around here, I hope.”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure about that!” Archie growled, knocking his beer back.

  Ross’s initial appraisal was correct, something and indeed somebody was seriously pissing Archie off … and it was something to do with Bernice. Despite their earlier friendliness, Ross was sure there had been a disagreement at lunch. It was a warm summer’s day but the atmosphere between brother and sister was positively icy. Mulling things over while Ross fetched more beers, Archie was still annoyed by the way events had panned out.

  He had been in his robe when Bernice had telephoned to say she would be arriving at noon from Dublin and needed to discuss an urgent matter in private. Archie was to collect her from
the station and take her to lunch.

  “Of course,” Archie told her, trying to calculate the drive, even the shortest journey exhausted him these days. “But who’s at home to overhear us?” Wednesday was Leela’s day off.

  “That house has ears,” was all she said, ending the call.

  He replaced the handset gently, yet the click reverberated around the hall. He looked up at the portraits; eyes and ears everywhere, the house knew everybody’s secrets. He had guessed what she wanted to talk about, the only item on the agenda lately. He dialled the offices of Beaumont & Co.

  “Goodness me, you’re like buses, don’t see a Fitzgerald for ages and then you all turn up at once.” Humphrey Beaumont’s velvet voice warmed his heart, there was something uncommonly reassuring about his childhood friend.

  “You’ve seen Bernice then?” Archie was hoping Humphrey could talk, he was a busy man.

  “We had lunch. Went to see Gordon act his heart out in that awful shite he’s in at the Gaiety. Had supper together, one of these buzzy Italian places on Chatham Street. Gordon had a pizza, I ask you? He’s lost the run of himself altogether.”

  Archie laughed ‒ Humphrey could be such a snob ‒ he started to cough.

  “I hope you’ve stopped smoking,” Humphrey remarked, once Archie could breathe again. “You’re not going to ask me if I told her anything, are you? You know me better than that.”

  “Of course not. One thing though and I need to be absolutely and unutterably clear on this, you still feel the same, don’t you? She is and always will be the love of your life?”

  “I’d be lying if I said Isabella and I weren’t happy for a while. But she grew to hate living here, me working all the time, no family close by. Spending more and more time in Italy, she was bound to meet someone sooner or later and Giovanni’s a nice guy.”

  “And Bernice?” Archie had always wanted his dear friend and sister to be together, but affairs of the heart never did run smoothly for the Fitzgeralds.

  “I’ve always felt things were unfinished where Bernice and I were concerned. We parted badly, she blew everything out of proportion.”

  “She hasn’t changed in that respect,” Archie warned.

  “She hasn’t changed in lots of other ways too. So yes, Archie, I still feel the same.”

  “I have your word?”

  “My bond,” Humphrey confirmed. “Sorry, due in court.”

  “Before you go, what you said about all the Fitzgeralds turning up, have you seen Eamon too?”

  “Got it in one. Bernice and I met for breakfast in Bewley’s and that bad penny showed up. He was giving her a lift home.”

  “Interesting, she told me to pick her up at the station, but now I come to think of it, she didn’t say she was taking the train.”

  “Aha, a criminal mastermind at work,” Humphrey said.

  “Me or Bernice?”

  “Two peas from the same pod,” Humphrey laughed.

  “Humphrey, one last thing.”

  “Who are you now, Columbo?”

  “About the letter. Fenella, she doesn’t know does she?”

  “Not from me. She did ask though, whether I thought he ever got it. She wondered if it had been delivered at all. I told her I couldn’t say and that was the truth, I couldn’t say. Bernice would have killed me. She broke down, I was comforting her when Bernice came in put and two and two together coming up with a hundred and ten! Why? You know all this, Archie.”

  “Just want to be sure, get my facts absolutely straight.”

  “You’re not writing us all into one of your fecking plays, are you? I’ll have to see my lawyer about that one.” Humphrey gave a loud guffaw. The line went dead.

  Archie looked at the phone; the conversation had made him melancholy. He would probably never see his long-time friend again, not in this life anyway.

  What Archie did not know was, that by the time he saw his sister that day, she too had been frazzled from spending too much time in Eamon’s company. Eamon was a hopeless driver, the luxurious appointment of his old Mercedes had compensated a little but this elderly Subaru was totally unforgiving, Bernice thought she would be physically sick as he tried to navigate from the city centre towards Dun Laoghaire.

  She did not want to engage him in conversation while he drove but she had no choice, time was running out. She knew Humphrey Beaumont well enough to know he had not been telling the truth, although he had not been telling untruths either. Humphrey had told her precisely nothing, other than confirming Archie had made a will, and she was not entitled to see what was in it. Damn him.

  “Any news?” she asked.

  “About what?” Eamon squinted at her.

  “The property. Did you have it valued?”

  “I did indeed. That was a masterstroke getting rid of Mia so she wouldn’t suspect anything. Imagine a couple of auctioneers turning up, measuring, tapping walls et cetera and her asking Archie what was going on.”

  “For God’s sake Eamon, watch the road,” Bernice snapped. “Well?”

  “It’s a big estate. I’d to make sure the coast was clear.” Eamon grew irritated, it was always questions with Bernice, drove him mad.

  “And where was Archie, while people were tapping on walls et cetera?”

  “With his consultant,” Eamon replied, it had worked out well.

  “Leela?”

  “She drove Archie, those needles and tests tire him out. Bound to, I suppose.” He slammed the brakes on.

  “Good God, Eamon, it’s amber!” Bernice was flustered. They jerked forward as the lights changed. “And?”

  “And what?”

  “What did the auctioneer say?”

  “Not had the report yet. But worth a good bit alright.” Eamon found the right gear at last, he shot her a look; he had his own reasons for appointing an auctioneer who was notoriously slow.

  “Very helpful.” Bernice glared out of the window. “I could do with a bit more detail than ‘a good bit, alright,’ if I’m to have ammunition for a counter-claim.”

  “Counter claim? Sounds expensive,” Eamon mused.

  “It would all be in the bag if Archie had instructed you. But as usual you let me down,” Bernice huffed.

  “I got Mia out of the way, didn’t I?”

  “She’s very committed to her work, brave of her to go back with that bad wound in her leg.” Bernice softened. “That was strange, never had any kind of accident like that before.” Not entirely true, Bernice recalled, but the near disaster she had in mind had not been accidental, there were a number of people to blame for what happened that terrible night.

  Eamon swerved round a bend, Bernice held onto the dashboard. “That was just a fluke. Good job she was well enough to go back to work though, we didn’t want her hopping around telling the auctioneer the beach was unsafe either. That stretch of coast adds quite a bit to the property.” He was driving too fast now.

  “So he has given you a price?” Bernice was sharp.

  “No, no, just said that in passing.” Eamon kept his eyes on the road, he could taste perspiration on his upper lip but he dare not take his hand off the wheel to wipe it away.

  “I’m going to ask Archie point blank what’s in the will and if he won’t tell me, I’ll make sure he knows I’ll contest it if it’s not to my liking.” Bernice had checked on what grounds a will could be contested. “We need to see a copy of the actual paperwork to find out who witnessed it, see if we can get them to testify to coercion, say Archie was not of sound mind when he signed it.”

  “Tricky.” Eamon swallowed. “You do appreciate if someone is a beneficiary they cannot witness a will, might not be anyone we know.”

  “I know that,” she snapped, this was difficult enough; she was talking about something that was going to happen after her brother’s death. “That’s why we need Driscoll, we want the signatories’ names so he can track them down, you’ve said he can be very good at exerting a little pressure if required. They’d be well rewarded for
their statements.”

  Eamon sighed heavily. If what he had been up to regarding the Fitzgerald estate came to light he would be in enough trouble, he could barely contemplate the outcome if they had to contest the will on top of everything else. Was that a red light he had just gone through? Bernice was screaming, probably was, so.

  Bernice had Eamon drop her at the station, the less Archie knew about their liaison the better. She was surprised to see Galty’s battered ‘run-around’ swing into the station car park with Archie at the wheel. Bernice did not want a row, they had so little time left, but she would not be side-lined into allowing him to control what remained of her life. It made her boil with rage the more she thought about it.

  Archie looked as if he had slept in his clothes, they were hanging off him he had grown so thin. He wheezed as he opened the door, hoping she was not planning anything more adventurous than a sandwich in Rosshaven, what with the heat and everything else, he was totally wiped out.

  She had timed her arrival to coincide with the Dublin train, just like Bernice to be thorough, he thought. She was immaculate too, navy linen trouser suit, pearls, low-heeled courts. Archie and Fenella used to tease her, asking her how someone so artistic could be so conservative at the same time. Pushed too far, she would rail at them.

  “I don’t have to paint my face and put on a flouncy top to be creative, I’m not play-acting at it, I’m creative where it counts, in my soul!”

  Fenella would give a dreamy smile. Artistic or not, Fenella was sure if she could afford the same level of instruction in speech and drama as Bernice undertook in art, she would be the greatest thespian the world had ever seen. Archie assured her the money would be wasted, Fenella was a natural. Not true, Archie was the natural, they all knew that, Fenella worked very hard at her art, hoping she was making the whole thing look completely natural too.