Trixie knew that only too well.
“You’re right,” she agreed. “But she’s devastated, Archie. It’s terrible to see her like this, all the wind knocked out of her. She can’t even bear to stay in her own flat, he’s spoiled her special place, her sanctuary. If I ever meet him, I’ll kill him.”
“Get in the queue,” Archie told her, wondering now if he should have come clean about Rupert Boniver’s reputation in the first place.
The news that Mia’s dream lay in tatters saddened him, he so wanted his backstage girl to have her moment in the spotlight. The wedding would have set Mia on a different path, a new future, because as independent as she tried to be Archie felt she was at a stage in her life when she needed a partner. The Galty House clan had always had each other, whenever any of them seemed about to break free, something prevented it. Now the pattern was repeating itself, although slightly differently. Mia’s relationship was being thwarted by outside influences, whereas Archie, Bernice and Fenella had always scuppered one another’s plans ‒ unwittingly of course.
“Are you still there?” Trixie barked.
Archie did not like his thought process being interrupted.
“I’m trying to work out how can we help? Surely, she needs time to lick her wounds, heal her broken heart.”
“I agree,” Trixie said. “But the wedding plans were well underway. Mia arrived with a dress box, after she left I found it abandoned under the bed. I opened it of course, there’s a beautiful gown inside and a note from you.”
“Ah.”
As usual Trixie knew more than she let on. “Well?”
“She had taken me into her confidence, they were broke. I couldn’t not help, could I?”
“I suppose.” Trixie went quiet. She probably would have done the same, she loved Mia too.
“Well, with all that’s happened, I think you’re the best person for her to spend time with right now. I found Fenella crying in the garden, she’s hopeless when anyone is having an emotional crisis.”
“Unless it’s her own,” Archie replied, tartly. Trixie laughed. They did all try to keep Fenella on an even keel; having suffered from depression in the past she could be unpredictable, especially without her medication.
“Okay, I’ll ring Mia, tell her to come home. We’ll keep the tickets for Tuscany, we’ll all be ready for a nice holiday by September.” Archie was trying to be upbeat. “Could be the perfect ending, closing the chapter where it began, what do you think?”
“First things first, let’s get her back to Ireland and see where we go from there, anything could happen between now and then.” She ended the call. Archie was being very optimistic, it was June, who knew if he would be able to travel by the time September came. Who knew if he would still be here, who knew if any of them would? Trixie was a realist if nothing else.
Archie chose not to disclose the conversation with Trixie in front of Bernice, who was poking about in the butler’s pantry when he went to ask if Mia’s room could be made ready for her return.
His sister followed him into the kitchen, the aroma of Leela’s freshly-made ham and pea soup making him nauseous.
“Find what you’re looking for?” Leela asked. Bernice was empty-handed.
“Who was on the phone?” Bernice ignored her.
“Trixie, she thinks we ought to have Mia over, she’s between jobs, needs a break and London’s as hot as hell.” Archie buttered some bread, he needed something in his stomach.
“You and Trixie are very cosy all of a sudden.” Bernice was at the mirror, fixing on a large hat. The sun was intermittent, but Bernice did not take chances.
“Not at all,” Archie replied. “We both love the child and love is very unifying, don’t you think?”
She raised an eyebrow at him through the glass.
“I’m not in for lunch,” Bernice told Leela. “I’ve a meeting in town.”
Leela continued to stir the soup.
“Hope you find what you’re looking for there,” she murmured.
“What?” Bernice was impatient to be gone. Things had moved on. She wanted to see Eamon, tell him Archie was leaving Galty House to Mia. The will would have to be challenged.
Eamon should have found Driscoll by now and as much as it was distasteful they needed him, because whatever they had to do next, was going to be rather more dangerous than sprinkling a box of itching powder into a few costumes on a movie set, of that there was no doubt.
Archie spent the rest of the day deep in thought. He had taken a long walk on the beach and as evening fell found himself on the steps of the summerhouse, the sun dipping over the horizon as night’s velvet promise smeared the purple sky. He was weary now. He sat, gazing out at a calm sea, the bay shimmering before him as a lone gull swirled elegantly through the dusk before taking a deep swoop to disappear into the dark. A final bow.
Today had felt closer to the end than ever before; he had been going through his checklist, relieved he had managed to tell Mia his plans face-to-face, the rest she would have to discover for herself.
He looked across the water, out to the island and imagined he heard again the glorious choir, the young priests practicing Gregorian chant. He recalled the summer they had all fallen in love and the shock and fear, followed by the joy of the gift of Mia, their little girl. He could hear his mother, laughing as they built castles in the sand, singing soft lullabies to the baby they adored.
He remembered too how brave his mother was, a woman ahead of her time, a real warrior in her own way; she would not be cowed down. He recalled the conversation the night he realised she was going to stand by Fenella and the baby whatever the world wanted to throw at them.
“I won’t go, why should I? I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of. You’re the ones not allowing us to be together, you’re the ones in the wrong!” Fenella was shouting at her mother. Mrs Fitzgerald had just walked into the room.
“You don’t have to go anywhere, love. This is your home. The best place for you and the baby. We’ll sort it out and if you’re to be together, you and the baby’s father, then that’s okay too. Your mother’s just in shock, that’s it isn’t it Ursula?”
“In shock? In shock is it?” Ursula flared back. “I will not live with the shame and disgrace she has brought on us, brought to you and this house. You gave us a home when we had none, you’ve cared for us all these years and this is how she repays you … us! She’ll have to go, she’s my responsibility and if you won’t help me, I’ll make my own arrangements.”
“But …” Fenella was used to having her own way.
“Enough!” Ursula snapped at her. “You’re a traitor and a liar! Get out so I don’t have to look at you a moment longer.”
Archie listening at the door disappeared into the kitchen as Fenella ran upstairs crying, his mother followed. A few minutes later he heard someone on the phone.
“The best thing for her and the baby is to go away, far away. But she’s very stubborn.” It was Ursula, she was listening to the response. “What kind of scare? … Oh, I see a little fright so she comes to the conclusion herself. Well, that might be the best idea. How will we do that?”
She listened again.
“I’m to leave it with you. Alright. Sooner rather than later, oh I agree with you, that’ll be for the best. What about him? Has he confessed yet? Did he … you know … take her without her consent?” She listened again. “I see, of course, it’s a terrible mess, I hope we don’t have to involve the police. I’d die of shame, I’m dying inside already.”
Sitting on the step Archie lit another cigarette. He was cold now and zipping his jacket up to his chin wondered if there was any whiskey in the summerhouse. At the same time his handsome, feckless father came to mind, it was here he had poured him his first real drink and they had sat, father and son, watching the sunset as they drank.
He was remembering the stories he had struggled to understand. Rumours of a lover in Dublin, a young man his father would not give up and he
recalled Leela’s eyes, hard as stone on the rare occasions his father appeared, until he stopped coming home altogether.
He needed a drink now. Relieved to find the door unlocked he slipped into the summerhouse, flicking on a lamp. He found a half bottle of whiskey nestling behind a selection of elderly liqueurs and tipping the contents into a tumbler took a gulp. The lone lamp doused the room in a soft pool of light, illuminating a haphazard gallery of posters on the wall above the old-fashioned cocktail cabinet. He gazed at them smiling, the whiskey warming his chest, some huge hits, some massive flops, one crazy career; the films, the fights, the fun. A great life.
He had played so many parts but if asked which had been his favourite role, his most accomplished, he would have to say, in all honesty ‒ father to Mia. Making up for the father she had been denied? Perhaps. But more likely seizing the opportunity presented, embracing the gift he might never have had. His beautiful, gorgeous girl, her happy childhood, her loveliness as a grown woman his greatest achievement, his finest hour.
Taking his drink, he stood at the door facing the sea. He looked round taking in the beach, the garden, the house, lights glinting here and there as the night set in; this would, should, all be hers. His legacy to his precious darling girl.
“Archie, Archie are you there?” Leela called through the dark. “Your medication, time to come in now.”
Archie took another pull on his cigarette and closing his eyes stayed precisely where he was.
NEEDS MUST
Twisted like a corkscrew in the duvet on the sofa Mia could not sleep. She was too angry. She had been so naïve. She kept reliving how Rupert had targeted his prey and she had played right into his hands. Reeling from a broken relationship and the recent news of Archie’s illness, she was so fragile, so vulnerable, how could she not fall for the dashing young actor, who had pursued her so relentlessly?
She remembered vividly the intimate dinner, the bottle of Chianti encased in mesh and Rupert looking deep into her eyes, before taking pieces of the gold wire to turn into make-shift rings to propose to her so irresistibly.
“As soon as I saw you, I knew you were the one.” He placed the rings in the palm of his hand. “Here, take one,” he said, looking at her intently. “A symbol of my love. Wear it, show the world you’re mine and I’m yours.”
She heard herself say “Rupert, this is mad! We hardly know each other.”
“I’ve never been saner. Don’t you believe in love at first sight?” He gave her that smile again. “I’m serious Mia, I’m crazy about you. Wear my ring – until I can afford to buy you a proper one – and we’ll get married and be together forever. Say yes, all you have to do is say yes.”
And so she did. The wine, the moonlight, the ring and his kisses all merged into the most delicious feeling of perfect romance. And she woke the next morning, in his room, in his arms and in love. The absolute and utter bastard.
The trill of the landline woke her. She staggered to the sideboard, the phone nestling beside her precious Clarice Cliff vase.
“It’s Leela.”
The caller shouted, surmising the distance between Wexford and London warranted full volume. Mia’s heart lurched.
“Now, Archie’s after telling me what’s gone on and you’re to come home at once.” Relief, Archie was not dead.
On hearing that Mia had been betrayed Leela had been unable to rest, a vision of that beautiful dress kept flashing before her eyes. She had scanned the cards for answers.
When the dress arrived, she had recognised the name on the delivery note, the Beaumonts of Ballsbridge; Humphrey’s family. It was an agonising story, the sisters, Lydia and Louisa had been engaged to Mrs Fitzgerald’s brothers. Two handsome boys, their picture in the library, taken the very day they had left for war, never to return.
But the dress had somehow found its way back and Leela was convinced it had been sent to fulfil its original purpose, to play a vital role in a wedding, a wedding at Galty House, she was sure of it.
Mia was quiet.
“Did you hear me, love?”
“Leela, I need to be looking for a job.”
“You need to be looking after yourself.” Leela replied.
“It’s not a good time,” Mia protested.
“No, it’s not. Your boyfriend is a cheating bastard but at least you found out before you married the little shite. Now, the sun’s shining.” Silence. “The boat’s ready to sail.” Still silence. “I’ve no one here but a sick, grumpy old man to mind, so if I’m allowed to be just a little bit selfish, Mia, you’re badly needed and I’m praying to Our Lady and all the saints you’ll come. So please say you’re on your way and make one tired old woman very happy.”
Mia looked around the room that used to fill her with such pride, now it just felt sullied, sullied and sad.
“Okay, tired old lady, tell the grumpy old man I’m on my way.”
Leela let out a yelp. “Praise be, I knew that novena would work.” And promising to arrive at Rosshaven later that day, Mia said goodbye.
Crossing her fingers the credit card would work, she booked the next flight to Dublin and without even stopping to pack, gave the apartment one last look before slamming the door with the new lock shut. Mia Flanagan was needed elsewhere; thanks to Leela Brennan and all her saints.
By the time Mia was on the train pulling out of Connolly Station with a cup of coffee and a bacon sandwich, Rupert had phoned six times. Not a word for days and then six calls in less than six minutes. When she failed to pick up, he started texting; complaining he had gone to Manchester to discover the producer had been called away and then, the final straw, on his way back to London – it really was the most horrendous journey – his agent rang to say the part had gone to someone else.
She read the message again, no enquiry of how things were in her world, no hint that while she was away supporting Archie through his last days, he was shagging someone else senseless in her very bed. She trashed the message, was just about to block his number when the phone went to voicemail.
“I can’t get into the flat. Why won’t my keys work?”
His beautiful voice shouted at her. Mia gazed out as the train trundled through Dublin, graceful buildings, broad streets, green parks resplendent in the sunshine. She looked back at the phone, hit delete and closed her eyes. She was tired, she had been tired for a long time, a nice quiet holiday and a rest would do her the world of good.
Mia was jolted awake just before they pulled into Rosshaven. The train manager, concerned the winding journey in hot carriages would leave half his passengers in the land of nod, called out the stop repeatedly. She could not believe she had slept, missing all the landmarks she loved.
Grabbing a carrier of hastily purchased essentials ‒ Archie’s favourite whiskey, Leela’s luxury chocolates and a toothbrush ‒ she leapt from the carriage onto the sandy platform.
Dusk was falling, the sky streaked with echoes of the setting sun, the air warm; a delicious aroma made her mouth water. Fish and chips, perfect, a tempting treat for Archie and nice surprise for Leela. She looked round the deserted car park, taxi rank empty. A liveried minibus was reversing out, she would have to walk into town.
“Need a ride?”
A now familiar accent drifted towards her. Mia looked up. Ross Power was leaning out of the window.
“Sorry?”
“Hop in, no cabs in sight and if you’re heading to Galty House, it’s on my way.”
He opened the door. She did not move.
“Other plans?” he asked. She looked drawn, pale beneath her freckles.
“I was going to the chip shop. Thought I’d take supper with me.”
He sniffed the air. “Smells good. Okay, let’s go there first, then I’ll take you home.”
She felt awkward, he was always so busy, no time for anything but the hotel … and maybe Pearl.
“Come on, it’s making me hungry too.” He gave her a bright smile. She nearly fell up the step.
“You driving?” This seemed a very menial role for such a high-powered businessman.
“Yep, that guy Driscoll has gone AWOL so I’m ferrying guests. Enjoying it, if I’m honest. Might be better to stick at this.” He gave a wry smile as he turned towards town. Mia leaned across, instinctively pushing the wheel away.
“Only if you remember we drive on the left,” she told him and he started to laugh, making her laugh too. The sound surprised her; she had not heard herself laugh in a long time.
Leela must have been on tenterhooks, because she came flying out as fast as her swollen ankles would allow, pointing at the bundle Ross held in his arms.
“Knew you’d stop off at the chipper, I said as much to Archie. She’ll stop at the chipper the way she used to, I told him. ‘I hope she remembers a pickled onion with my ray’, he said. I bet you did, didn’t you?”
Mia threw her arms around her.
“You’re such an old witch!”
“I’m sorry?” Ross thought he misheard.
“Term of endearment in these parts.” Mia followed Leela into the house.
“You’ll stay and share the fish supper with us?” Leela called back at Ross and then whispered conspiratorially to Mia. “You’d wear your eyes out looking at that fella, he’s only gorgeous isn’t he?”
“Can’t say I’ve noticed,” Mia hissed back. “Does a lot of scowling though … a right stress-head if you ask me.”
“Many thanks, ma’am but I’ve to be back at the hotel.” Ross still had the food in his arms.
“Not at all, even the Rockefellers had to eat,” Leela said, and the hotelier had no choice but traipse through to the ‘engine-room’ as Galty House residents called the kitchen.
Archie was in a rocking chair smoking a French cigarette. Smoking was banned but Leela rarely upheld any of Bernice’s rules and regulations, especially where Archie was concerned. He jumped up to greet them.
That Summer at the Seahorse Hotel Page 21