“Any plans yet?” he asked.
“My mother wants us to go to Italy for a break, says I need time to think. I feel as if I just need to get back to work.” Mia’s job grounded her. When everyone else in her life was flung across the globe, her career kept her on an even keel, she knew who she was when she was working. But the more she thought about it, the more she realised this ending had given her a beginning. A new start in her old home.
“You probably don’t need to work quite as hard, at least for a while,” he reminded her.
“Yes, of course, the money. He left money too.” Somehow that did not make her feel any better.
“Maybe taking some time, is good,” Ross said. “Anyway, just checking you’re okay and well, keep in touch, Mia, won’t you?”
“Keep in touch?” It sounded so final. “Why? What’s happening?”
“I’m flying back to New York day after tomorrow. The award we entered, the hotel has been shortlisted, there’s a fancy, what do you say, ‘do’. I’ve to check out Pearl’s school too, family meeting that kind of thing.”
“Oh.” She twisted the cord in her fingers. There was a pause. Archie had been invited to the awards ceremony as an ‘ambassador’, to speak on behalf of the hotel, support the project. Ross was delighted he had accepted, the endorsement of a powerful neighbour would make an impact on the judges, especially as they would all recognise the famous star.
“Found someone to take Archie’s place?”
“Haven’t really thought about it, guess I’ll muckle through.”
“I could always carry your bag.”
Did she just say that?
“I’m sorry?” Ross was unfamiliar with the quip.
“Meaning if you wanted, I could come.” She was embarrassed now.
“Really?” He could hardly believe it. “Yes, please, come, carry my bag, I’ll carry yours, whatever,” Ross boomed down the phone.
Mia found Fenella sitting on her bed, gazing at the door to Archie’s rooms, as if he might breeze through any second, beg her to read with him, help him learn his lines.
“Our trip to Italy, can it wait?”
Fenella wiped her perfect nose with the back of her hand, she had been crying and tears were banned.
“Don’t tell me you’re going back to work?”
“No, but I am going to New York.”
“When?”
“Day after tomorrow.”
“Who with?” It sounded like work.
“Ross Power, the awards do, Archie was booked to speak, he’s asked me to take Archie’s place.” A teeny lie.
This was staggering news.
“But you’ll need a gown, jewellery, shoes, everything.” Fenella lit up. She pushed her daughter eagerly towards the door, tripping over the cat. “Shoo.” She flapped her hand. “Where has that bloody thing come from? Gives me the willies.”
“Leela said it’s been here forever,” Mia told her, giving the cat’s silky head a stroke before she left.
FAMILY AFFAIRS
After playing the role of dresser to the dresser and leaving Mia to pack, Fenella drifted into Archie’s room. It calmed and reassured her seeing Archie’s possessions strewn about the place, clothes piled on chairs, his beloved smoking jacket at the end of the bed. It was as if he might appear at any moment, quoting a line, making her laugh … breaking her heart.
Sometimes he had hurt her deliberately. Archie blamed her for banishing someone they loved. She never admitted to it and, in not admitting had never asked for forgiveness, therefore Archie considered, she should never be forgiven. She had no idea what they had done to save him, so wrapped up in her own heartache she could not see beyond it. Thank God for Mia, that’s what Archie told her time and again, Mia was the only good thing to come out of the whole sorry mess, without her they would have all lost their minds completely.
The green-eyed cat watched the woman in red walk around the room, touching this and that, sighing, smiling. She knelt at the sea chest at the end of the bed, lifted the lid, it was full of pages, Archie’s attempt at following his father’s footsteps.
She held a handful of sheets to her nose; a scent of another time, the echo of another conversation …
“I love Archie,” he said. She felt a flicker of jealousy. “He doesn’t know whether to be an actor or a playwright, not too disparate a choice, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Worlds apart.” She was irked. “What’s really annoying is he could be either, very successfully.”
“Thought you had to loathe yourself to be a great actor, I don’t get that impression from Archie?”
“He’s a red-head, self-loathing is ingrained.”
“But you’re not a red-head?” He lifted a coil of blue-black hair.
“Deep down I am.” She looked at him under her eyelashes, they were in the summerhouse; she had been dared to seduce him. She needed little encouragement, ever since she had first laid eyes on him she wanted him, a weird and wonderful longing she had never felt before, or had she? Sometimes he seemed the most familiar thing in the world, as if they had always known each other, always been in love.
She slipped the straps of her sundress off her shoulders.
“Loads of red-heads in my family, mostly cocky and over-confident.” He stretched out on the couch.
“Just masking their self-loathing,” Fenella said, stepping out of the dress. She was wearing a pale peach camisole and French knickers; Gregory was trying desperately not to notice. “Your hair is beautiful,” she said. “I wouldn’t fancy you with red hair.”
“You fancy me?” He picked up a battered copy of the New Musical Express; David Bowie peering pensively out from beneath a trilby hat.
“I said I wouldn’t fancy you with red hair, I might not fancy you with blond hair either.” She twirled so he could see all of her.
“I’d fancy you if you were bald,” he told her, turquoise eyes glinting.
“You’re going to be a priest, you’d better give up that fancying carry on or I’ll shave my head to tempt you.”
He rolled over to hide his body’s response to all that satin and lace.
She started undoing the buttons of the camisole; he could see her nipples protruding through the fabric. He looked away, feeling hot and cold at the same time.
“I have to go,” he told her.
She shrugged, reaching to reclaim the dress. He was on his feet.
“Don’t go, Gregory, please I was only teasing, I went too far, I’m sorry.” She did not look particularly contrite.
“You didn’t go too far, nothing happened. What was it, a bet?” He looked round; saw something or someone dip beneath the window. “I get it.”
“Just wanted to see if you’re still a virgin.” She was unrepentant.
“Well, you clearly are,” he bit back.
“What do you mean?”
“Because only a silly virgin would behave like that and if I’m going to have sex with anyone, real sex, it needs to be with a real woman!” He breathed the words into her face and dropping the magazine to the floor, left.
“How’d it go?” Archie asked, sliding back into the summerhouse after ‘the dark one’ had stormed out.
“Couldn’t have gone better.” Fenella sat, knees pulled up to her chest.
“Did you shag him?” Archie lit a Gauloises.
“Senseless,” Fenella replied, and although Archie laughed out loud, she just wanted to cry.
Fenella noticed a plastic box file on the floor and opening it took the pages out. He had been writing again. She placed the pages on top of the pile in the chest. Archie would want all his work together, in a safe place. She knew where he kept the key, well hidden. She locked the chest and put the key in her pocket, just in case.
Standing at the window, Fenella watched a young couple stroll at the water’s edge and as she did a desolate sadness enveloped her. They would do what lovers always did, walk up from the shore to lie hidden in the dunes and make love, the sa
nd soft and silky on the skin, she remembered it as if it were yesterday.
“Can love ever be evil?” she had asked, resting her head on his damp chest.
“Not real love. Love only wants the very best for the one who is loved,” he replied, stroking her hair.
“Even if it meant the one who’s loved can’t stay? The best thing is to let them go?”
“That’s sad, not evil,” he told her.
“What about jealousy where does that fit?
“It’s not love.”
“But is it not another side of love?”
“Jealousy is all about the person feeling the jealousy, essentially selfish.”
“Love of self, perhaps?” she pondered, the heat making her drowsy. “I could never feel that.”
“Really? I thought you wanted to be a great actress, you have to feel everything.
She slapped his thigh. “Me wanting to be an actress isn’t love of self, it’s the complete opposite.”
“Hate of self?” He gave an exaggerated frown.
“Even you, with your head full of bullshit theology, should know hate is not the opposite of love, it’s two sides of the same coin.” She rolled her eyes at him. He would dive into those eyes if he could.
“What’s the complete opposite then?”
She thought. “Loathing of self. That’s it. That’s why I want to be an actress, so I can be lots of other people and not me, not the one I loathe.”
He sat up, taking her hands in his. “Don’t say that, don’t you dare loathe yourself.”
“But what about this, us, what we’ve done? Shouldn’t I loathe myself for that, Mr Nearly Priest?”
He pulled her to him, crushing his lips against hers, pushing his tongue inside her mouth, fingers in her hair. She swallowed, she wanted him inside her again, she could feel the heat burning her thighs, tingling between her legs. She twisted her body, pushing the swimsuit down to free her breasts, the soft pale skin brushing his chest. His eyes turned to slits as he looked at her, she wriggled out of the suit, laying down beside him, stretching her arms above her head.
“Stop me loathing myself, Gregory, make love to me now, show me I mean more to you than anything, any vow, any god.”
“You already do.” His voice was barely a whisper, as he dropped his mouth to her breast and started to flick the hard pink nipple with his moist tongue.
She was crying now, unaware of her tears until Bernice sat beside her.
“I’ve news,” Bernice said quietly.
She was wearing a floaty gown of tangerine chiffon, it spread out like petals on a lawn as she nestled conspiratorially beside Fenella crouched at the foot of Archie’s bed. Fenella wiped her eyes; there was something girlish about Bernice today. “I’m going to live with Humphrey, he’s asked me to marry him.”
Fenella looked, uncomprehending.
“I know he’s still married but Isabella has had a partner for years, they’ve just never divorced. Humphrey says we all need to move on.”
“You are going marry a divorced man?”
This was a radical conversion to the twenty-first century for Bernice. She nodded.
“So that’s why you were perfectly happy about the will in the end, why Eamon looked so furious ‒ your plans had changed.” Fenella was genuinely relieved. “What took you so long? He’s been waiting for years. High time you were out of this place for good.”
“Change can be difficult.”
“Change is change, we can’t be protected from it,” Fenella told her, then suddenly a bright smile. “I couldn’t be happier for you, for you both.” And taking Bernice’s hand, she kissed it. “We must tell everyone.”
“Not today,” Bernice shook her head. “Today is Archie’s day, it will do tomorrow, tomorrow is the beginning of a future without him.”
Fenella felt tears rise again.
THE UNDERSTUDY
The next morning Mia woke in her bright yellow bedroom strangely calm, as if a niggling worry had finally been resolved. Last night she decided to put the fact she had inherited Galty House to the back of her mind. Any decisions relating to her change in circumstance would be shelved while she flung herself across the Atlantic to one of the most exciting cities in the world and maybe have some ‒ what was it now? That’s it, fun! Trixie and her mother recounting tales of their romantic encounters had made her laugh ‒ and think ‒ despite yesterday’s solemnity.
“Bet you’re shocked!” she told the photograph on her dressing table. Archie had often accused her of being too cautious. “Me, taking your place in New York with a man I hardly know.” In reality she did not know what to think of it herself.
The phone was ringing, she ran downstairs to answer it.
“Courtney? This is a surprise, what’s up?”
Courtney was also surprised. Mia had just lost someone dear, she sounded almost chirpy.
“I’ve been trying your mobile.”
“Lost it, can’t say I miss it.” She still had not heard from Rupert and for now that suited her.
“That explains it … but hey, so sorry, we all are, you must be devastated.” Despite everything, it was good to hear Courtney’s voice,
“How’re you doing?”
“Okay enough,” she replied.
“It was a boating accident in the end, he drowned, is that right?” Courtney asked.
“That’s right.” The coroner had confirmed what they all suspected, Archie had taken a cocktail of painkillers and alcohol. It was highly likely Archie was dead before his body hit the water but this, like so many Fitzgerald myths, would remain a family secret.
They were quiet for a moment.
“I know it’s early days but any idea when you might feel up to working again?”
“Not sure, things have changed, changed a lot.” The past few weeks had been cataclysmic. Mia had ditched her fiancé, given up her apartment and Archie had died. Yesterday she became heiress to a country estate and today she was packing to go to New York with someone she barely knew. She tried not to think about it, it made her head reel.
Courtney sighed, a lot had changed for him too. “There’s a new movie coming up, same team, Lol’s doing it, we could do with you too. Leading lady’s tricky and the leading man, well ...”
Mia was intrigued. She loved the pre-production process, studying the period, putting costumes together, fabrics, fittings, cataloguing the minutiae of the characters’ outfits. A dresser’s input could help create an icon. The costume designer may come up with the concept, but the wardrobe department made it work, she had always been proud of that.
“I honestly don’t know,” she told Courtney.
“Because of Rupert and Shelley?”
“Rupert? No, he’s out of my life, thank goodness.” Somewhere in her head an alarm went off.
“Luckier than me, then,” Courtney said. Of course … Shelley! Shelley was Courtney’s wife.
“Oh my God, I’ve just realised. I didn’t make the connection until you said her name.” Mia was mortified.
“They’re in total denial, saying they were rehearsing, you’d been drinking, got the wrong end of the stick, made a horrible scene. Rupert’s telling anyone who’ll listen that you threw him out of his home.”
“His home? My apartment,” Mia said. “What’re you going to do?”
“I’ve done it, filed for divorce, going for custody too. I don’t want my daughter growing up without her father.”
Silence.
“I don’t think I’ll be back in London anytime soon.” She had enough demons to face without reliving her spineless reaction to Rupert’s infidelity every time she went through her own front door. She needed time and space, time to rebuild her self-esteem and the space to find it.
“I can’t keep your slot open for long,” Courtney tried. Mia was touched he wanted them to present a united front but Mia was tired of being there for everyone else.
“You’ll have to count me out this time, Court,” she said, replaci
ng the receiver with a solid clunk. Hearing laughter coming from the kitchen Mia looked up at the grandfather clock; she had overslept, another first.
The tarot was spread among the breakfast things, Leela was giving Trixie a reading. Pearl wanted to know if she was going to marry a prince. Trixie said knowing her luck she would end up with a frog. Leela told them if they did not take the cards seriously, she would produce her wand and turn them both into rabbits for the pot.
“Did you hear about the Great Dame?” Pearl asked as she hopped over to greet her favourite mermaid. “Archie left Ross the car. He’s going to use it for collecting guests from the airport, said it will give a classy first impression.”
“It’s gone to a very good home,” Mia told her, taking her hand. “Are you okay?”
“About Archie being dead?”
Mia nodded.
“It’s only his body that’s dead, you do know that don’t you?” Pearl told Mia. “It’s what happens, we borrow a body from God and it wears out or breaks after a while. But we’ve usually finished with it by then.”
“Good way of looking at it,” Mia said.
“The only way. Archie explained everything. And now he’s free to roam about a bit more, I can talk to him all the time. He’s everywhere really. Which is what he always wanted.” She gave Mia her burst of sunshine smile, then ferreted in her pocket. “Ross gave me this for you.” Pearl handed her a card bearing the hotel crest. Handwritten at the bottom it read: Please come, Ross.
Leela was pointing to the Three of Cups. “I like this card, means a family celebration, a wedding, even a christening maybe.”
“What?!” Trixie shrieked. “I hope not!”
“Not necessarily you.” Leela was serious. “But someone close, whose life overlaps yours.”
Mia tapped the invitation on the table. She had been turning over the decision to go to New York in her mind, not wanting the hotelier to misunderstand her motives when the door burst open, Fenella had Bernice by the hand.
“Tell them, Bernice or I’ll burst, I really will.” Her eyes were sparkling.
That Summer at the Seahorse Hotel Page 28