That Summer at the Seahorse Hotel

by Adrienne Vaughan

  “I’m getting married,” Bernice announced, hoping to shock but everyone had suspected things were developing quite rapidly with Humphrey.

  Mia went to hug her, she had never seen Bernice look so happy.

  “And the lucky man?” Leela prompted, not taking her eyes off the cards.

  “Why, Humphrey of course, he’s always been the only one for me.”

  Trixie gave Fenella a look.

  “About time,” Leela said, gathering up the tarot and placing the deck in its special velvet pouch.

  “Champagne, I think.” Fenella decreed.

  “Is there any left?” Bernice asked; the wine had flowed freely at the wake.

  “Are you joking? Archie ordered caseloads just last week,” Leela confirmed, more evidence that Archie knew exactly what was going to be required and when.

  “Do I have to go back to the hotel with you?” Pearl asked. All eyes turned on Mia. “Or can I stay here?”

  Mia ignored the stares. “Best I drop you back later.” So dinner with Ross it was.

  Mia was grateful Ross sent a car for them and once Pearl realised Mia was staying for dinner she seemed unusually keen to leave the adults alone.

  They were quiet over the meal, having been through so much in so short a space of time there seemed little need to talk; it was good just being together eating, sipping wine and looking at each other, they did a lot of that. For some reason, tonight of all nights Mia felt an unfathomable draw towards him, as if he understood the ache in her heart. But it was only grief playing tricks, she told herself, the shouty stressed-out businessman was still so not her type, so very not.

  However, the beguiling, black-eyed pirate with the artistic soul was. He gave her a curious look, his mouth in a half-smile, she had been gazing at his lips … wondering.

  Ross watched her now, the candlelight making her hair glow like burnished copper, the pale pashmina slipping to reveal smooth shoulders dusted with freckles; thumbprints of tiredness pressed beneath her eyes.

  “You doing okay?” His hand rested on the white tablecloth, fingers only millimetres from hers.

  “There’s a lot to take in.”

  “Give it time.” His voice was gentle, dark eyes soft.

  She looked out to sea, through the vast glass wall, the lights of vessels echoing the starry sky above. Everything felt detached and distant and she … just a tiny, insignificant, grain of sand on the shore.

  “Let me show you around.” He held out his hand. A late night private tour would be a distraction.

  Ross escorted her through the magnificent presidential suite, cinema, kids club and luxurious tranquil spa. He took her behind the scenes via the kitchens then onto the terrace and over a bridge, twinkling with lanterns. All the time outlining this, highlighting that, explaining how a pipe dream had become his father’s life’s work.

  She stopped when they reached the paintings she had been so taken with that first night.

  “Your work?” she asked.

  “I just dabble,” he replied.

  “I admired them when I was last here, there’s real passion there.”

  “You have to be careful with passion, don’t you think?” He slid her a look. “It can become an obsession and then where are you?” He turned away from the paintings.

  “And is art your passion?” The wine had made her bold.

  He gave a sad smile.

  “Was. Then life kicks in and you’ve to bundle it away, get on with the real stuff.”

  “Sometimes the real stuff is the only way to stop the passion becoming obsession and obsession can be very destructive.” She looked at her hand, recalling the makeshift ring she had worn for months.

  “Wise words.” He gave her a smile, trying to push the dull ache of loss momentarily aside. “You look done in.”

  “Nothing a drop of the sea air won’t cure.” Another of Archie’s sayings.

  They had reached the beach bar, an oasis built into the rock. Mia hopped onto a stool. Ross flicked a switch; music played, a trickle of water spilled from the cliff into a pool of light.

  “Smooth,” Mia said, then hiccupped.

  “Something warming?” he asked. There was a nip in the air.

  “Gaelic coffee please. You do know how to make it?”

  “Ma’am, I’m a bartender first and last.” He gave a grin.

  She watched him work, strong arms, broad shoulders, slick dark hair bending into curls the longer he spent outside. He hummed to the music, Billie Holiday singing Summertime, Archie used to play it on the piano. She could smell the coffee.

  “Nice here, cool little beach bar,” she said.

  “Will you stay?” He looked up from his task.

  “Only till you throw me out.” She laughed.

  “Here, in Rosshaven?”

  “Jury’s out. What about you?”

  “I’ve a contract.”

  “Just a job then?” He seemed so proud of what had been achieved, determined to make the project a success. “Someone waiting for you back home?” Too much wine, she thought fleetingly.

  “Not now.”

  “Someone break your heart?” Definitely too much wine. Mia stifled another hiccup.

  “A lucky escape. I could have ended up with someone I thought was right for all the wrong reasons.” Mia was surprised, Ross struck her as the type who made a decision and stuck to it. He gave a brief smile. “Can we change the subject?”

  Mia flushed. “Pearl definitely wants to go to Mary Magdalene, mind you people often want to stay when they come here on holiday.”

  “I’m going to need your help there at some stage, if that’s okay?”

  Mia was listening to the waves, letting them soothe the sadness that had seeped back in. “Poor Pearl, I can’t believe she wants to go to that awful school.”

  “She’s fascinated by it, thinks the sisters will miraculously make her a star pupil. A bit like insisting someone is a mermaid so her fear of water is cured instantly too.”

  Mia thought back to all the things she had been scared of, the instant cures she wanted to believe in; Leela’s voodoo, her grandmother’s rosary beads, Archie’s legends. Her head started to throb.

  “Do you mind if I skip the drink?” She slid from the stool. “I’m really tired, and we’ve a long journey tomorrow.” Had she really agreed to go to New York?

  “Not changing your mind, are you?” He looked into her eyes. “I need someone to endorse what we’re doing here, and it needs to be someone outside the hotel, someone real who can validate what we’ve achieved.”

  Someone real, not dead, she thought, her throat beginning to constrict. She needed to go.

  “Of course not, I’m doing this for Archie, don’t forget.”

  He held out his hand.

  “Shake on it, neighbour?”

  “Okay, neighbour,” she replied, turning away, tears welling up. He could not see her cry, tears were not allowed.

  THE CITY THAT NEVER SLEEPS

  Mia Flanagan had been to New York before, when she was at college studying costume history. She had had a ball, typical student stuff, staying in a hostel, picnicking in Central Park – the highlight, working backstage at a Broadway show ‒ it had been a blast. Today, dressing for a major awards ceremony at the Waldorf Astoria, was a completely different experience. Her hand trembled as she fixed the drops in her ears.

  A tap on the door. “How’re you doing?”

  “Nearly there,” she called out. Funny, she dressed people for special occasions on set all the time; brides for royal weddings, officers going into battle, fantasy heroes saving the world but preparing herself to appear on stage, in what she hoped would be only a minor role, was terrifying.

  She turned in the mirror, relishing the blood-red fishtail gown, scooped at the back to reveal creamy skin. Her copper hair was coiled high and twisted, loose tendrils softening the look, her only adornments crystal earrings and Archie’s dress watch ‒ a sliver of platinum ‒ she had borrowed f
or luck. She sprayed perfume, gathered her notes and went to meet her host.

  Walking along the sumptuously furnished corridor, she could see Ross fiddling with his tie by the elevator. He stopped to watch her.

  “Need a hand with that?”

  “Damn thing, should be able to tie one by now.” He leaned down. She created a perfect bow in seconds. He looked at himself admiringly. “Nice to have a professional on the job.”

  “I doubt you’ll be saying that when I make my speech.” She gave a nervous smile.

  “You’ll be perfect.” He tapped Archie’s watch. “We’re all rooting for you.”

  It had not occurred to Mia that in New York, she too was considered something of a celebrity and was totally unprepared for the warmth that emanated towards her, the daughter of a favourite actress, representing someone they all adored; Archie had been a darling of Broadway long before his movie career.

  Heads turned as Ross guided her past the piano; cocktails were being served in the Silver Corridor next to the Grand Ballroom – excitement was building. People kept stopping to greet them, Ross knew all their names, effortlessly introducing her to everyone they met.

  “Okay so far?” he asked, as a waiter appeared with champagne.

  “You know everybody.”

  “They’re all here, this is a big deal. But listen ...” He placed his hand on hers. “Just be yourself, they’re thrilled you’re doing Archie’s gig, it means a lot.”

  “Can I just have water, please?” Her stomach was churning.

  “Sure,” Ross smiled. “The champagne can wait.”

  “And now, ladies and gentlemen, the finalists of the Best New Resort in the World Award.” The list was read out. Rapturous applause. “But before we announce the winner, each resort has brought a special guest to speak on their behalf, no corporate bull.” Everyone laughed.

  Mia swallowed as an usher arrived to take her to the stage.

  “Break a leg,” Ross whispered.

  Holding her gown, Mia focused on the floor, trying not to trip. Standing at the podium, she was relieved to see only lights, faces were obliterated. The notes for her speech appeared on the teleprompter ‒ all good ‒ then the image of herself filled the vast screen. She swayed, gripping the stand, terrified she would collapse as a wave of panic rushed up from her toes, turning her legs to jelly. I can do this, I can do this, she told herself.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, unlike certain members of my family, centre stage is not my natural habitat.” A ripple of laughter. “So please bear with me as a wobbly novice tries to represent one of the greatest actors the world has ever known.” The applause was deafening. As the room hushed, she tried again.

  “These are his words …”

  And she read, in a calm, clear voice Archie’s eloquent and heart-warming speech, recounting how the Powers had been welcomed back by the local community and how the Harbour Spa Hotel was a landmark for the east coast of Ireland and a flagship for the whole country, the homeland of so many Irish-Americans.

  “…the Harbour Spa was the vision of the late Anthony Power, who never saw his dream come to fruition but believed in his heart it always would.”

  Mia looked into the crowd and without notes continued.

  “It was something of which Archie Fitzgerald was inordinately proud, you see Archie believed in the power of dreams and I should know. When I was little I was scared of my dreams but Archie told me dreams could move mountains, change the world for the better and keep the human spirit alive even in its darkest days. So, although the Harbour Spa Hotel and the Power Corporation would be delighted and thrilled to win this award, it doesn’t matter, it really doesn’t matter at all … because the dream came true and that’s what really counts.” She gave a small bow. “Thank you.”

  Mia did not hear the crowd as she turned to leave the stage or see the audience standing to applaud, she kept her eyes fixed on the floor, worried she had said the wrong thing, gone off piste. Ross was at the steps waiting for her, his broad smile beamed gratitude as he squeezed her hand.

  “He’s so proud of you,” he said. “And so am I.”

  It was a beautiful evening, a warm breeze shimmered the trees with moonlight as they approached the park.

  “Do you mind not winning?” Mia asked, as Ross helped her into the carriage.

  “Not in the least, the other finalists were amazing, some better, some not as good but you managed to put it all into perspective. The Harbour Spa is a dream come true, what more could I ask?” He gave her a slow smile as she arranged herself and her dress opposite him.

  “Even though you didn’t win, you definitely smile more in New York!”

  “Really? But I love Ireland.”

  “Maybe it’s the job you don’t like?” He gave her a look, she had gone too far. She felt a blush rise. “I’ve always wanted to do this, when I see it in movies I think, that looks lovely.”

  The driver moved off, the feathered headdress on the horse fluttering.

  “I’ve never taken a carriage ride around Central Park either.”

  “Are you serious?” She was shocked.

  “Yep, we rarely came to Manhattan and this is rather er …”

  “Touristy?”

  “If you say so.” He smiled again, a dark strand of hair fell across his forehead. She felt the urge to smooth it back. She sat on her hands, dragging her gaze from his face.

  “You were the only one who got a standing ovation, that counts as first place to me,” he leaned forward, she turned to face him, his lips were so close; the horse faltered and Ross almost fell into her lap. He gripped her thigh to steady himself, then quickly sat back.

  “Sorry.”

  The spot where his hand had rested tingled. Embarrassed Mia smoothed her dress, looking away to watch the silhouettes of leaves fluttering above, moonlight playing on the lake and all around towering skyscrapers keeping the oasis safe, protecting the park, a haven for generations to come.

  “I knew it would be like this,” she whispered, relishing the reassuring sound of horse’s hooves, the scent of roses mixed with laurel as just beyond the tranquillity, sirens wailed, traffic jarred and the city shrieked itself alive. “It’s wonderful but I don’t think I could live here. It’s such a full-on city.”

  “And London isn’t?”

  “Doesn’t seem so. And I’m not always there, work often takes me away.”

  “And now? Would you make Wexford your home, being the proud owner of such a fine property?”

  “No idea.” She had deliberately shelved any decisions for the time being for fear her head would explode.

  “Might you stay, even just for a while?”

  “Haven’t a clue.”

  Ross was disappointed, he was hoping for an indication of what she was planning to do with her inheritance.

  The Powers wanted to buy Galty House but if it was not for sale, if Mia decided to keep it, so be it. But Ross would rather know, decide if he was going to work through his contract or bring Pearl home and start again. Whether she realised it or not, Mia’s future was now inextricably linked with his and part of him quite liked that. The more he was around her, the more he liked her around.

  “Maybe you have someone in London to go back to?” He was looking at her intently.

  “A rather personal question.”

  “Sorry, I sort of assumed …”

  “I was engaged.” She looked at the space on her hand where the wire ring had been. “There again, maybe I wasn’t. And you?”

  “I’m sure you’ve been told my hapless story.”

  His voice was gruff.

  “I only know what you told me.” She blinked at him. “I leave tittle-tattle to others with more vivid imaginations.” Mia had been the subject of gossip ever since she could remember, it was a pastime she had come to loathe.

  Ross was immediately sorry he had been curt but the memory stung, more raw because he was back in New York.

  “I’m well out of it,” he
told her. “It wasn’t to be.”

  She gave him a smile. “I know what you mean, I’m well out of it too.”

  Silence.

  “Not for you then?” he asked. “Marriage, kids, all that?”

  She folded her arms. “I’ve enough going on. I need a job, somewhere to live …”

  “You have somewhere to live,” Ross reminded her.

  “But I’ve given up my flat, all my things are in storage ...”

  “Surely they’ll fit into Galty? It could certainly do with some new furniture.”

  Mia thought for a second. “True.”

  “And do you need to work, right now? You could just take some time, see what’s what as you guys say.”

  Mia shrugged. “What about you, will you stay?”

  “Like I said, I have a contract.” His turn to sound unsure. “And Pearl needs her education.”

  “The school’s not that bad in Rosshaven, honestly.” Mia felt guilty for disparaging the Good Sisters of the Mary Magdalene.

  “Maybe not, but the Harbour Spa is more or less on its feet, I get hotels up and running, then I move on.” He failed to mention the problems he was encountering on a daily basis, hoping in the back of his mind they could somehow be sorted out quickly, discreetly.

  “Oh, so you’ll move on then.”

  “Guess so.”

  The carriage came to a halt.

  “Do you want to go round again, sir?” the driver asked, disappointed the attractive couple had not been more romantic, they were sitting opposite each other, more like a business meeting.

  “Thanks but I’m rather tired and we’re flying back tomorrow.” Her eyes were sad again.

  “Of course.” He paid the driver.

  “It was lovely though, just how I imagined.”

  A half-truth, she had envisaged champagne, a giggling flirtation, passionate kisses from a handsome suitor. She sighed. Ross sensed her disappointment, he felt it too, all the uncertainties of the future cluttering their evening. He had so wanted to give her a good time, put the smile back, even just for a while.

  “Shall we walk, it’s a lovely night …”