That Summer at the Seahorse Hotel

by Adrienne Vaughan

  “There you are!”

  A figure shimmered in the haze, as if emerging from the water. She shielded her eyes.

  “How’re you doing?” It was Ross.

  They had not met since that fateful day; he had phoned, asking if he was needed but Humphrey had taken charge. He and Bernice had identified the body recovered by the coastguard the following morning, arrangements had to be made. Archie had not only organised his own demise, he had also engineered things so that Humphrey would be around to step into the breach, the best man for the job, no doubt.

  “I’ve been sent to find you,” Ross said.

  “Ah.” She did not move.

  “You’ll want to change?”

  She looked down at baggy trews, sloppy top. She needed to transform herself, the funeral was in less than an hour. “I’m supposed to lock up, make sure it’s all secure.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  “But …”

  “You go. I’ll make sure we’re watertight.” She hesitated. “It’ll be fine, believe me.”

  “You won’t …”

  “It’ll be just as he left it. Locked up, that’s all.” He gave a smile. “Now go.”

  Mia walked towards the house. It would be alright, Archie trusted Ross. Bernice was making everyone paranoid, she even made Leela hide the silver, although Leela had to admit she could only find half of it.

  Archie had organised two memorial services, one in Dublin and one in London, ensuring – as he put it himself ‒ as many friends, fans and enemies as possible could attend. His funeral was meticulously planned too, a small, private affair, carried out to his exact wishes. A smattering of cousins, school friends, neighbours. The parish priest said Mass, Fenella and Humphrey handled the eulogy beautifully, while the nervous yet enthusiastic choir of the Mary Magdalene gave the Ave Maria their best shot.

  Archie loved music and made sure his eclectic taste was well represented that sunny day. But the lone tin whistle, leading the way to the family tomb to the plaintive strains of Jimmy MacCarthy’s Ride On was more than Mia could bear; she slipped away to stand at the highest point of the churchyard and glare with unshed tears at the sea, the sea that had taken him.

  They were in the morning room for the reading of the will. By now they all knew Mia would inherit the house and estate, Bernice the property in London, Fenella most of Archie’s weird and wonderful collections and Humphrey the elderly tender; for some reason Archie had singled out the boat for his old friend. Proceedings were handled decorously and on the face of it, all legacies accepted graciously.

  As the barrister folded the paperwork away, Bernice announced drinks would be served in the library ahead of lunch and although Humphrey might have suspected this might not be the end of the matter, even he could not have predicted Eamon’s reaction once formalities were completed.

  “This is far from over,” Eamon said, as Humphrey placed the file in his briefcase.

  “What’s that?” Humphrey asked.

  “All this.” Eamon opened his arms, encompassing the house. Driscoll stood up. Eamon had been drinking since early morning.

  “Archie Fitzgerald’s wishes have been carried out, according to his last will and testament.” Humphrey looked Eamon in the eye. “Everyone he cared about has been looked after. If you have anything to say, you’d better say it to me.”

  “We’ll be contesting the will.” Eamon tried a menacing tone.

  “Pointless,” Humphrey said. “Who’s we anyway?”

  “My firm, on Bernice’s behalf, of course.”

  Humphrey raised his eyebrows.

  “You’re a firm now? That’s news to me. Eamon, you’re a small-town country solicitor and not a very good one at that, you need to get over yourself and get on with your life, you’ve had all you’re going to get out of this family.”

  Eamon lurched towards Humphrey. Driscoll stepped between them.

  “You’ve always been a big-headed prick.” Eamon glared at Humphrey.

  “Take my advice, Eamon.”

  Humphrey put his spectacles away.

  “Get your own house in order, you’ll have plenty on your plate soon enough.” By now Eamon was boiling with rage.

  “We need this house, we want it back!” He spat.

  “Again, the royal we? Eamon, it’s nothing to do with you. The whole estate belongs to Miss Mia Flanagan. The property in London is Bernice’s and all Archie’s other possessions have been doled out according to his wishes. You seem dissatisfied with your bequest?”

  “A pair of old shooting pistols? Please. After all I’ve done for this family.” Eamon continued to glare. Humphrey shrugged.

  “Any services you were commissioned to undertake were paid for. I’m handling affairs from now on.”

  “Bernice is my client,” Eamon barked.

  “No longer.” Humphrey snapped his briefcase closed. “Now, I’m joining the ladies for a glass of champagne, it’s probably best your friend takes you home.” He nodded at Driscoll, who had Eamon by the elbow. Eamon shrugged free.

  “I don’t take my instructions from you, you pompous arsehole. Archie was like a brother to me, I loved him.” Eamon’s voice broke with emotion. “You’ve not heard the last of this, I’ll get my dues, you see if I don’t!”

  “Time to go,” Driscoll said, taking Eamon’s arm again. “Any chance I can borrow the car?”

  “You’ll have to ask the new owner,” Humphrey replied.

  “Oh, who would that be?” Driscoll was put out, he had been left nothing.

  “I’m not at liberty to say. Now, good day.”

  “Good day? You’ll regret this day, I’m telling you.” Eamon called as they left. Humphrey watched Leela show them out. She was wearing a canary yellow dress, dangling daisies at her ears, another of Archie’s wishes carried out to the letter.

  “Bet you’re ready for a drink, love.” Leela liked Humphrey, a bit of a rogue as a young man, but she knew he would turn out well, he had an aura of success about him, did Humphrey. Why Bernice had never married him, Leela could not imagine but then she didn’t need to imagine, she knew.

  It was that fateful summer, the summer the whole world appeared to be teetering on the edge of madness and everyone at Galty House seemed driven insane with love and lust and fear. It still made her shudder to think about it. She remembered the conversation well.

  She had been in the kitchen as they all burst in.

  “When will this heat ever end, it’s killing me,” she groaned, pulling off her already rolled down stockings.”

  “You never know, we might see you in for a swim yet.” Archie gave her a nudge.

  “Don’t be audacious, Archie.” Leela was irritated.

  “I think you mean facetious,” Fenella said, helpfully.

  “It’s too fecking hot, is what I meant!” Leela replied, fanning herself with a spatula.

  “I can’t believe he asked you to go sailing with him, you’ve only just met!” Bernice slammed the back door.

  “We’ve all only just met,” Fenella said pertly, clearly delighted she had been asked out.

  “But I’m the one who goes to the island to paint, I’ve watched him working in the garden, carrying water into the lodge.”

  “The one who’s been spying on him, you mean.” Fenella was teasing.

  “But I saw him first!” Bernice snapped.

  “It matters not, dearest sister.” Archie was at the fridge. “Once he spotted Fenella he saw nothing else.”

  “What nonsense!” beamed Fenella, hardly able to hide her glee. “Good-looking though isn’t he?”

  “Deadly,” Archie agreed. “Total waste being a priest.”

  Fenella spun round. “He’s not a priest.”

  “Not yet.” Archie pulled the ring off a beer can and placed it on his wedding finger. “Vowed to another though, so don’t be getting your hopes up, virgin child.”

  Fenella threw a beach towel at him. Bernice was sulking at the sink, arms folded. A clatter.
They looked round. Leela was waving the blender – her waggly yoke – as she called it.

  “I heard that,” she said, beady eyes swivelling around the room. “There’ll be no going sailing with anyone from the island, do you hear me?” She pointed with the gizmo. “That place is out of bounds, if you go again I’ll tell your mother and she’ll have to alert the authorities.”

  Archie made to protest.

  Leela raised her hand.

  “No! You and Humphrey know mixing with those boys is strictly forbidden, they’ve taken vows and anyway girls shouldn’t be anywhere near them, it’s wrong to encourage them to break their pledge to God.” Fenella was staring at Leela in surprise, she had never seen her so incensed. “We’ve enough to contend with, all the tittle-tattle in the town about this and that. Don’t you dare give them any more ammunition, I’m warning ye!”

  And with that, she had stomped to the range, blending the pan of soup so thoroughly it nearly evaporated completely.

  But they had not heeded her, and things had gone from bad to worse. The Monsignor missing, the young priest disappearing and Fenella pregnant, wanting to give the baby up and then running away because she could not bear to.

  Mrs Fitzgerald stoic in the face of it all, Ursula so devastated by shame it would be the death of her and Archie, poor Archie, being blamed for everything by everyone.

  She remembered the day she had gone into town, not long after Mrs Fitzgerald had told Fenella Galty House was her home and she was to stay and have her baby there.

  “There’s always been something about that place. All the comings and goings and wild parties during the Emergency when it was supposed to be a safe house,” one woman was saying to another. “And Mr Fitzgerald, a lovely man, why did he stop coming home I wonder?”

  “She’ll marry anyone now, anyone who asks her, desperate to give the bastard a name.” Leela recognised that voice, it was Mrs O’Grady, the parish priest’s housekeeper.

  “She’ll get plenty of offers, she’s very beautiful.” The woman behind the counter said.

  “Not from any decent man, anyway.” Mrs O’Grady again.

  “You should be ashamed, saying such terrible things.” Sister Agnes spoke, the very one they were hoping to impress.

  “I’m sorry sister but I don’t want her anywhere near us. I’ve sons, good boys, one might want to be a priest.” Mrs O’Grady’s sons were the surge of the parish, there was nothing priestly about them.

  Leela emerged from behind the shiny new stand displaying postcards extolling the area’s virtues. “Are you talking about the young one up at The Seahorse Hotel, getting bigger by the day and no shame to her, walking on the beach as bold as brass.” She had repeated their exact words.

  “As well you know Leela Brennan, I’m no gossip.” Mrs O’Grady grabbed her basket and made to push by. Leela stood her ground, the young nun beside her. Mrs O’Grady’s face was puce with embarrassment.

  Leela let her bag drop with a clatter and lifting her hands above her head, let out a bloodcurdling wail.

  “A curse on you, you bad-minded biddy, a curse on all your kith and kin!” Mrs O’Grady screamed and ran out into the street. The nun started to laugh. Leela gave a crooked smile, picking up her bag.

  “Cancel our account,” she told the shopkeeper. “We’ll be taking our business elsewhere from now on.”

  Leela let out a long sigh, closing her eyes. Humphrey placed his arm around her shoulders.

  “Shall we have a quiet glass together?” he asked. “Someone amazing has left us, a little time to reflect and remember is what’s needed.”

  She squeezed his hand.

  “You’re right.”

  But Leela was not convinced Archie had left, not entirely; not yet anyway.

  Fenella, dressed in scarlet, as was decreed, stood at the still unpainted window, one of Archie’s impetuous improvements, a bay of enormous proportions incongruous against the room’s original features. It was so Archie ‒ flamboyant, excessive. Yet he could be suddenly frugal, declaring only the basics were required for the perfect life.

  Mia loved that side of him. The sparkly-eyed chatterbox, cooking fish they had caught on the barbecue under a starry summer sky or wrapping her in tweed, to take her on wild, winter expeditions into the mountains. Archie had given her childhood so many memories, indeed Archie had given her a childhood.

  She was gazing into the fire, soft flames fluttering along the peat, as Trixie pressed a glass into her hand.

  “Everything okay? Nothing to report on the Rupert front?” Trixie was pleased they had a quiet moment, the last few days had been hectic.

  “Ancient history, especially with all this going on.” She gave Trixie a smile, the only one who asked how she was now her broken heart had cracked again.

  “Champagne, and not a minute too soon.” Fenella crossed the room to claim her glass. “Alright, darling?” Mia was plucking distractedly at the emerald silk of her gown, her costume for the day.

  “A lot to take in,” Trixie said.

  Fenella nestled into the couch, she raised her glass.

  “Well done, Archie. Making sure your little girl is sorted.”

  Trixie flashed her a look.

  “I will miss him,” the actress said with such sadness they both turned to look at her. “No one loved me like Archie.”

  “And what of the inheritance, heiress?” Trixie kicked Mia’s foot, playfully. Archie had planned every detail, the music, the flowers, the reading of the will, but something was puzzling Mia, there were no special instructions for her.

  “I don’t know. What does he want me to do with it?”

  “Whatever you want. That’s why he left it to you,” Trixie said, laughing her throaty laugh.

  “Advise the girl, Trix,” Fenella prompted. “You’ve plenty of experience in that department.”

  Trixie coughed. “Me?”

  Fenella crossed her legs coquettishly. “Come on, it’s just us girls.” She glanced around the room, cool even though the sun shone, the smell of the sea seeping in through the cracks. She imagined Archie, perched on his chair, eager to hear the gossip; the green-eyed cat sat there instead.“Go on,” Fenella insisted.

  Mia was about to protest, she did not care about Trixie’s experience, it was her own that was troubling her, what was she to do with this huge clunking legacy?

  Trixie poured more champagne, a distraction might help.

  “Okay then. Way back, I had a fervent admirer,” Trixie disclosed.

  Mia sipped her drink. Trixie was also an actress, predisposed to character roles these days, but voluptuously attractive nonetheless, it was no surprise she was pursued in her youth.

  Trixie explained. “A nice, older gentleman with a Porsche dealership in Suffolk wanted me to er … be his girlfriend and offered me things to make it worth my while.”

  Mia grinned, Trixie still deferred to her imagined innocence.

  “Sadly, he died before we formalised the arrangement, but he did leave me something,”

  “A Porsche?” Mia asked.

  “Not exactly.” Trixie drained the bottle. “He left me his entire estate.”

  Mia had never heard this story before. “What on earth did you do with it?”

  “Sold it. What did I know about running a car dealership? I was a glamour model.”

  Mia’s eyes widened. “Glamour?”

  “One of the best.” Fenella gave her friend an admiring glance. “A global porn star.”

  Mia put her glass down. A porn star?

  “It was different then, love,” Trixie told her. “Show them your tits and they were all over you, flash your fanny and most of them proposed to you on the spot, married or not.”

  “Stop it!” Fenella was laughing.

  “But you’re an actress!” Mia exclaimed.

  “That came later, when I hooked up with your mother, she insisted I stopped starving myself and popping pills for the sake of my figure.” Trixie grinned. “I didn’t inves
t the money wisely but we had fun. You could have fun, Mia, lots of fun, it would do you good.”

  Fenella waved her drink at her daughter. “I’m sure that’s what Archie would want. You do take things rather seriously darling, have a few flings, why don’t you?”

  “But I am serious, I don’t want to be a ‘free spirit,’” Mia replied. “You must have been serious about the man with the dealership, Trixie?”

  Trixie shook her head. “Not my scene, if men became emotionally involved that was up to them. Same goes for your mother and the sheik.”

  Mia gave an uneasy laugh. This was a joke, surely.

  “Ah, the rubies.” Fenella gave Trixie a playful shove. “You’ve a memory like an elephant.”

  “Worth at least as much as the Porsche dealership.” Trixie lit a small cheroot, blowing smoke up the chimney.

  “Invested more wisely.” Fenella gave Mia an indulgent smile.

  “You slept with a sheik for rubies?” Mia was aghast.

  “No, that’s the best bit. She wouldn’t sleep with him and he kept sending her gifts ‒ gold, diamonds, camels,” Trixie explained.

  Fenella was chuckling. “He was most upset I couldn’t accept the camels.”

  “So he sent rubies instead. Hundreds of them,” Trixie confirmed.

  “Not quite, but enough to buy Morleigh Lodge, a few acres and give a certain little girl a pony.”

  “Ruby!” Mia exclaimed. “No wonder we called her Ruby!”

  Fenella and Trixie were roaring with laughter at this stage, their raucousness fuelled by champagne. The door opened. The green-eyed cat arched its back, taking the opportunity to exit stage right.

  Bernice scowled into the room. “Ross Power is on the phone, Mia.”

  “How did it all go?” Ross knew the will reading had taken place that afternoon.

  “He’s left me Galty House, the estate, the lot, still not sure why. He made sure everyone else is okay too, you know what he’s like … was like.” She swallowed.