Ross pushed his shades up. “A bomb?”
“See that?” Mia pointed at a disused shed. “It’s a Look-Out post. They’re dotted all around the coast. Ireland was neutral during the war, not surprising given our proximity to the UK, these were manned by a special army division, guarding against invasion.”
Ross nodded. “Makes sense.”
“Phoenix Island was more than just a Look-Out post though, it had the seminary too. Sister Agnes said during the war the clergy could move quite freely throughout Europe, so the Irish Army worked with British Intelligence to train priests.”
“To do what?”
“Spy, of course. The art of espionage.”
“Interesting, a bit like the Knights Templar,” Ross said. “Christian soldiers with a special agenda.”
Mia was impressed, for her history and art were inextricably linked, feeding her passion, Ross Power seemed to have an appreciation of this fascinating connection too.
“The bomb was left over from the spy school, they were probably being taught how to disarm it.”
“Or make one.” Ross was intrigued.
“Told you.” Pearl tapped the chart with her magic marker. “A school for spies and wizards.”
“Wizards?” Ross was bemused.
“Priests have to learn how to do miracles, you know water into wine, that kind of thing.” Pearl explained. “The bomb was probably a turtle.” Pearl was off on one of her flights of fancy.
“We don’t have turtles, Pearl,” Mia told her. “Sea’s too cold.”
Pearl shrugged. “Get real Mia, anyone who can change water in wine could easily heat it up a bit.” She went back to drawing the map. Mia gave Ross a look. He was trying hard not to laugh out loud.
Pearl had disappeared to take rubbings while Mia and Ross took shelter in the shade of the ruined church.
“Does she have to go back?” Mia rested against the cool wall.
“They’ve chosen a very good school,” he said.
“They?”
“The family trust.”
“Is her mother not coming back?” Mia was surprised.
“On her way to Australia.”
“Her father?” Ross shrugged.
“Tara’s never spoken about him. She was something of a wild child around the time she got pregnant, wonder if she even knows who he is.” He looked out to sea.
Poor Pearl. Mia knew what that felt like, trying to plaster over a huge fatherless hole in your heart. “Can’t you keep her here?”
“Not sure if I’m staying,” he said.
Mia could see he was tired, nearly beaten. “Archie told me the hotel was your father’s dream. He died before he saw it finished, I’m sorry.”
“Who’s to say it’s not my dream too?”
“Oh, I didn’t realise.”
Ross gave her a look, she could have a point. He plucked idly at the grass between them.
“What about your father?” he asked, eventually.
“What about him?” She was practiced at changing the subject when asked a direct question about her parentage but she had nowhere to hide with Ross.
“Did he follow his dreams?” Ross might have been talking about Archie, the general consensus presumed he was Mia’s father but dig a bit deeper and older folk might cast a different light and besides, locals shut up like a clam when asked about the Fitzgeralds. They were like royalty. Fascinating, mysterious; revered and despised in equal measure.
“We don’t talk about my father.” Her voice was dull. “My mother … gets upset.” She looked away, blinking at the sun with watery eyes.
“That must be hard.”
“Only if I think about it.” She was already shutting down the compartment in her brain where the questions lay buried beneath legends and fairy tales.
“Still, you only had your own dreams to follow.” He was looking at her.
Mia tried not to dream. Dreams while she slept turned into nightmares, daydreams a waste of time. Until Rupert that is, something about him had made her dream; a fairy-tale wedding, marriage, family, a bustling busy home. See how that had ended, her confidence rocked, pride smashed, dreams shattered.
She looked down; Ross’s fingers were a hair’s breadth from hers.
“You have to be brave to dare to dream,” he said.
“That sounds like something Archie might say.” She took her hand away, brushing crumbs from her top, watching him under her eyelashes, wondering if Ross had also dared to dream and now had no idea where the future lay. “Best stick to reality, less chance of getting hurt that way.”
“You okay now, with everything?” Ross recalled Archie declaring fish and chips healed broken hearts.
“Why do you ask?” Mia was defensive.
“When I picked you up the other day … you seemed …”
She must have looked in a bad way. She guessed what he was thinking.
“I left London in a hurry, Leela needed me.” She shielded her eyes, the sea a soothing stretch of dark velvet, sails shining like pearls; a smooth, deep space between her and that bastard who broke her heart. She stood up to shake the rug and the bitterness away.
“What will you do, you know, after Archie ..?” He had no idea how tough this was for her to hear.
She could not talk about it, think about it even. The more time passed, the more she could feel a future without Archie pressing down upon her and all she wanted to do was push what was coming further away. But Ross was anxious to know what would happen to Galty House, the fate of the Fitzgerald estate would impact on the future of the hotel, the whole area come to that.
A yelp.
“Look! Look what I’ve found.” Pearl ran towards them, holding what looked like a coloured worm in her hand, turquoise beads interspersed with rings of silver. “Is it treasure?”
“Could be a necklace.” Ross examined it.
“Is it antique?” Pearl asked excitedly, pointing at the well. “I was taking a rubbing of the date stone when I saw it glinting, behind the bucket on the ledge.”
“Maybe someone leaning in to get a drink lost it, see, the clasp is broken.” Mia showed her.
Pearl produced a small plastic bag.
“I can put a card in the post office, lost and found.” Pearl had recently discovered this ‘old school’ service and visited the post office regularly, fascinated by the weird and wonderful items people advertised.
“Won’t be worth much,” Ross told her.
“There’s more to life than money, so you always say,” Pearl reminded him.
“Very true,” Mia agreed, as Pearl put the trinket safely in the bag.
Ross had been trying to focus on that premise for some time now. Struggling with the desire to cut and run, escape the pressure; or stay and fight his corner, make the dream work, whatever the cost, for all their sakes. Growing anxious, he checked his watch, they had been gone for some time.
“Time to head back.”
Mia was ready to leave too, their conversation had made her uncomfortable. She zipped her jacket, the wind was getting up.
“Can’t we stay? The island would be wonderfully spooky in a storm,” Pearl pleaded. But the grownups had already disappeared out through the wall, the squall was building. Phoenix Island had its own micro climate, cut off from the rest of the world violent storms flared up out of nowhere. Emotions too … very definitely time to head back.
THE COFFIN DODGER
It was not until the intrepid researchers had moored up that Mia noticed Leela waiting anxiously in the shade. She looked odd there on the beach, in her apron and slippers.
“What’s up?” Mia asked, helping Pearl from the boat.
“You’ve been gone hours,” Leela declared.
“Big project,” Pearl said, patting her bag of swag.
“This place has gone mad altogether,” Leela told Mia. “First the hotel called looking for Mr Power. A leak or something, some of the rooms have been flooded.”
Ross checked h
is pockets. “Damn, I forgot my cell phone, I’d better get back.”
“Can Pearl stay while you deal with whatever it is?” Mia asked. It seemed unfair to spoil her day.
“Might be best.” Ross gave Mia a grateful look. He had already started to trot ahead, taking the steps up from the beach two at a time.
“Any idea what could be wrong?” Mia asked Pearl as they walked through the garden to the house.
“There’s always problems when you have a hotel,” Pearl told her sagely. “Uncle Christie says Ross takes it all too personally, he needs to be more dis … dis …”
“Dispassionate?”
“Yep. It’s his artistic nature, Uncle Christie says.” Pearl went to wash the sand from her feet before entering the kitchen, another house rule.
“Artistic?” Mia was surprised.
“He wanted to be an artist, Uncle Christie said you can’t make a career out of a hobby, and the business needs him.”
Mia remembered the wonderful paintings in the hotel; maybe Ross was the artist?
“And what about your mom, will she be coming back to help with the hotel?”
Pearl was drying her feet with an old towel.
“She’s in the outback researching marsupials.” Pearl was matter-of-fact. “Doesn’t want anything to do with the business. I heard her tell Ross she’s done her duty, now he had to do his while she had a life.”
“She probably didn’t mean it like that.” Mia remembered Ross scolding Pearl for eavesdropping, a skill she had also developed at that age.
“I’m not a kid, Mia. I know what she said.” She went to the mirror, her long, golden brown hair tangled from the breeze. Taking a brush, Mia started to ease through the strands.
“I don’t mind Mom not being around. She was going to send me away to school when I reached twelve, anyway.”
Mia smiled at her reflection. Pearl set her mouth in a line.
“You’ll help me stay, won’t you?” Pearl asked as Mia finished brushing her hair.
“It’s not up to me, Pearl. I’m sure your family will do what’s right, Ross seems a very good uncle from what I’ve seen.” Pearl pulled a face. “A bit scowly perhaps.”
“Scowly?”
Mia had forgotten, Pearl loved new words.
“You know, frowny, grumpy.” She gave an exaggerated crease of the brow.
“Oh, that’s because he’s been cheated in love.”
“Really?” Ross seemed too sharp to be cuckolded. “I couldn’t imagine anyone getting anything over on him.” Fascinated as she was, Mia needed to change the subject, she hated gossip, the stock in trade of show business.
“He’s very creative, sometimes he loses himself Mom always says, and that’s when people take advantage. I guess trying not to lose himself makes him scowly. That and his fiancée running off with his best friend.” Pearl glanced over her shoulder. “But I overheard that, might not be true.”
“Like I said, he’s still an excellent uncle, I’m sure he’ll do what’s right.”
“But he’s not even sure he’s staying,” Pearl said sulkily. Mia bit her lip. It seemed no one was sure about anything at the moment.
Leela’s ample bottom stuck out of the freezer as she grumbled deep within its icy recess. Mia cast about, the usual pile of magazines tidied away, table scrubbed. Emerging with arms full, Mia gave her a quizzical look.
“Bernice is on her way back from Dublin.” Mia waited, nothing unusual there. “She’s bringing a guest.”
“And?” Mia prompted.
“It’s a man.” Leela eye-balled her, giving her words full impact. “She cut me off before I could ask who, I’ve to get the blue room ready and here’s the best of it, we’re to have supper in the dining room. Three courses. Imagine, three courses and only five minutes’ notice.” Leela banged a couple of pots in the sink.
“I can make pizza,” Pearl offered.
“Thanks, Pearl, I’m sure we’ll manage,” Mia said. “What do you want me to do?” Leela was pink with indignation.
“Us.” Pearl came to stand beside her. “What can we do to help?”
The phone in the hall rang as Leela allocated tasks, piling Mia’s arms with linen from the hot press.
Leela tutted. “That bloody thing’s not stopped all day.”
“I’ll get it.” Pearl was on her way.
“Some fella with a plum in his mouth keeps ringing for you,” Leela told Mia.
“Rupert?” Even saying his name made her angry.
“No, that other lad, what was he called?”
“Not Courtney?”
“Yes, him. Demanding to know where you were, when you’d be back.”
“Take a message, Pearl, I’ll ring back,” Mia called out.
“No problem, I’m trained for reception,” Pearl replied, hop-scotching out to the hall.
There was still no sign of Archie. Never an early riser it was very late, even for him. Mia suggested as much, taking a basket to raid the kitchen garden for vegetables.
“Don’t ask,” was all Leela said, scrubbing a sink full of new potatoes. “Sometimes he goes too far, is all I’m saying.” This was scathing criticism from Leela; Archie could do no wrong in her eyes, something more than Bernice’s impromptu supper had the older woman riled, Mia could see that now.
Bernice was breezy, sailing into the kitchen, magnanimous with her greetings, behaving as if turning up with a male companion and demanding nothing short of a dinner party in the dining room – only ever used on high days and holidays – was the most natural thing in the world.
“You’ve done the blue room?” she asked in a sweet voice, something different oozing from her as she spoke.
“Mia has, sure I’m up to my eyes! Five minutes’ notice for a three course meal, I ask you!” Leela said crossly.
“You’ll be in better form when you see who you’re feeding.” Bernice tried to charm.
“I hope it’s not that gormless eejit, Gordon O’Toole,” Leela hissed. Bernice pretended not to hear, she was at the dresser, pulling out the silver.
“Well, this has looked better.” She rubbed at the tarnish on the sugar bowl.
“Not due for a polish yet. I have my schedule, you know.” Leela’s schedule was a standing joke, always referred to when asked why some household task had not been performed but everyone knew it did not exist.
“Where’s your guest?” Mia asked.
“Library. I’m taking him sherry, but …” Bernice was digging about for the Silvo.
“I’ll do it,” Pearl piped up.
Distracted, Bernice left her to it, which meant Humphrey Beaumont was both surprised and bemused when a bubbly young American delivered his aperitif. Having dropped his bag in the guestroom, he was looking forward to surprising Archie with his unannounced arrival; however, the large wooden box at the other end of the room was making him uneasy and although Pearl had introduced herself most beautifully, even her butterfly presence could not distract him.
“Oh, good, it’s arrived.” Pearl followed Humphrey’s gaze.
“Is that what I think it is?” He could only see one end, the polished veneer and brass fittings hidden in the shadows.
“A casket,” Pearl announced, running to examine it. “I hope the lining’s right, we picked ‘astral blue’. Archie wants to look his best.”
“Of course.” Humphrey drained his glass in one. “Where is he?”
“Not sure, resting or in the boathouse with Banshee.”
“Banshee?”
“His boat.” Pearl was examining Humphrey; he looked like something out of a movie, one of the classics her mom would leave her to watch when she went out. “I’ve been over to the island on her.”
“Which island?”
“The island with the priests’ school. The one used in the war for training spies.”
Pearl liked to extol an area’s virtues, something every good hotelier practised.
“Thought that place was off limits?” Humphrey sa
id.
“I found a way in, we had a picnic there today. I found treasure too, part of my school project.”
Humphrey was curious. “You found treasure? Where, in one of the caves?”
“There’s caves? I didn’t know that, I need to put them on my map.” She went to the door.
“Where then?” Humphrey asked. Pearl gave him a distracted look. “The treasure, where did you find it?”
“In the well, the one in the middle of the courtyard.” The door slammed as Pearl left.
Something crawled along Humphrey’s spine; the well was still there then. He sat in the gloom, staring into his empty glass, trying not to remember what he had trained himself to forget.
It was quiet in the library, the sea calm, the wind still. Humphrey went to the window, hoping the view would distract him. He looked out to the summerhouse, the steps and the beach beyond, an ever-changing vista, season by season, month by month. Standing to the far right he could watch unhindered, Phoenix Island disappeared, the haunting hump-backed monster, out of sight, out of mind. It was not working. Another sherry would help, he was about to go in search of the bottle when he heard a noise; a faint scuffling.
He walked around the room, checking the skirting boards for rodent activity, pests thrived at Galty. His gaze rested on the coffin. Sometimes he despaired of Archie, to order a coffin ahead of his demise and have it installed in the library was insensitive to say the least. Humphrey crossed the room to examine it.
The casket stood in the corner, sleek and gleaming. The sound came again. Was it coming from the coffin? He placed his glass on the lid, leaning in to listen. He heard it again, there was definitely something in there. Taking his glass, he started to lift the lid slowly, making sure whatever was in there could not escape.
“There you are!” called Bernice.
Humphrey jumped; the lid flew open as his glass crashed to the floor. Footsteps raced towards him. The poor man stood staring open-mouthed into the casket, where Archie lay, eyes closed, arms resting across his chest. He looked so peaceful, so serene and dead, very dead indeed.
Bernice gave a cry. Humphrey turned to embrace her as she crumpled against him. There was a snuffle, this time louder. It was coming from the coffin alright. In fact it was coming from the corpse. The dead body was snoring.
That Summer at the Seahorse Hotel Page 23