“How far is it?” Mia’s heels were high and her dress tight.
“Only about fifteen minutes.”
“With your legs maybe.”
He laughed and slowing his stride, pointed out landmarks as they walked.
“Shame we’re not here for longer.” She was wistful, looking skywards at the buildings towering over them. He took her arm to avoid a fire hydrant. She stumbled, caught her heel, it snapped.
Ross held the neat satin court in his hand, Mia handed him the heel.
“Hmmm, don’t think I can fix that here and now, Cinderella.” They were leaning against a railing, Mia put her shoeless foot to the ground, he dwarfed her.
She started to giggle. “It’s fine, I’ll hop back.”
“Well, being a mermaid if we were nearer the river, you could swim.” He gave her a look. “Or I could …” He bent to pick her up. “Hear that?”
Music. The strains of a jig drifted up from below. Ross looked over the rail.
“Care to dance?” He held out his arm.
A full-on ceilidh had burst into life in the cellar of an Irish bar just a stone’s throw away.
“Like this?” She looked down, bemused.
“You don’t need shoes if you can really dance.” He challenged.
Those gathered in the bar barely raised an eyebrow at the glamorous red-head in the evening dress, dancing barefoot with the handsome man in a dinner jacket. Soon they were clapping and swaying, swirling and smiling.
Taking her by the waist, Ross pulled her close twirling her round and round, her eyes shining as she laughed. The pair could certainly dance, anyone watching might even have thought they were a couple, more than just neighbours anyway.
Ross was pleased her smile was back, only temporarily he knew but the sadness had eased and Mia was having fun, good old fashioned fun. How long it would last, well, who could say?
SCARE TACTICS
Mia had been awake through the night, and little wonder. The awards ceremony, followed by Central Park and then wild Irish dancing till late, meant she spent the whole night tossing and turning, too disturbed for sleep. She greeted the hazy New York morning with bleary eyes and a blinding headache.
Her escort was not helping. Although Ross had been pleasant and courteous throughout the trip she could sense a bristling tension; he was on his cell phone when she arrived in the lobby of the hotel that morning. The charming companion of last night, unrecognisable as he paced the floor.
“Runner up is good, it’s an international award after all.” He listened. “No, too soon, anyway might not sell at all.” He listened again. “No way. Strictly business.” A tight laugh. “Someone’s coming to assess things, may not be as bad as we think.” He rubbed between his brows. “I am doing my best, just tell them leave me to it, eh?” He finished the call as the limousine drew up, barely acknowledging her, he looked so preoccupied.
“How did the family meeting go?” she asked, as they drove out of the city en route to Kennedy airport.
“We met at the school before breakfast.” He looked very tired.
“And?”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” he said, unconvincingly, pulling his shades down over his eyes.
They hardly said a couple of sentences throughout the whole journey, Ross had been so engrossed in the contents of his briefcase it was a relief to find Driscoll waiting in the VIP area of Dublin airport; if they appeared strained, their ebullient driver failed to notice, yattering inanely all the way from the capital to Wexford.
Leela was sitting in the sunshine on the bench facing the sea, magazine in one hand, glass of wine in the other. The green-eyed cat was curled up on her lap, she had her stockings rolled into her slippers, daisies still in her ears; a welcome sight.
“There you are,” Leela exclaimed. “God help you, flung over and back from America in a flash, you must be jaded tired.”
Mia kicked off her loafers, breathing in the soft sea air. “I bet you’re tired too. Anyone here?”
The driveway was empty as Driscoll pulled up, Ross having been dropped at the hotel for an urgent meeting. Fair enough, she thought, she had completed her side of the arrangement, job done. Time to get her own house in order, literally.
“All gone.” Leela gave a sad smile, dazzling teeth barely visible. “Bernice is staying with Humphrey, planning a holiday, I believe. She’s quite buoyed up by it, tough old time for her with Archie ill for so long, do them both good.” She looked away at the mention of Archie, as if imagining him striding up from the summerhouse, hair awry, grinning mischievously. “Your mother and Trixie flew back to England yesterday, Fenella’s filming next month, she could do with a rest too.” She handed Mia the glass, who promptly drained it. “What can I get you?”
“I’d love one of your picnics, I’ll make the coleslaw and we could open another bottle of wine, just like the old days?
Leela blew her nose. “Lovely idea, a nice lunch together before I go.”
“Go?”
“I’m having a break myself. You know, with my inheritance and all.”
Archie had left Leela a few thousand euro and a provision that Galty House was her home for as long as it remained in the family. “Myself and my sister are going to Torremolinos. You know sun, sea and sangria … not sure about the sex though,” she laughed.
“Oh,” Mia said.
The green-eyed cat jumped from Leela’s lap, stretched and strolled off; it probably felt like a holiday too.
The following morning Mia awoke completely alone. In all her years there had always been someone else in residence: it had always been a busy, happy house. Now they had all left, one way or another. She wandered through the upstairs rooms; Fenella and Archie’s adjoining suites, his extravagant bathroom, Bernice’s neat bedroom with balcony looking out to sea, the four guest rooms ‒ only one fit for guests these days, the others damp and in desperate need of renovation.
She took the back stairs, from her room on the top floor to the landing, all eyes – the formidable Fitzgerald portraits – following as she walked. She stopped to look out across the garden to the beach. The weather was turning, blue-black clouds hovered in the distance. She zipped her fleece, drawing the curtains against the draught.
Collecting a pile of post from the hall, she headed to the kitchen. Sitting at the table she trawled through bills for Archie, brochures for Bernice, cards of condolence and a letter for her, stamped with the name of Eamon’s practice. She opened it.
Without prejudice – Ref: Last Will and Testament of Aloysius Fermoy Fitzgerald late of Galty House, Rosshaven, County Wexford, Ireland.
Dear Miss Flanagan
We hereby give notice, in relation to the above, that everything contained therein, all monies, estates, properties and possessions have been formally registered as Contested. All bequests, inheritances and other legacies are herewith suspended and any that have been removed are to be returned forthwith to be held under probate by the State while investigation into the contest is undertaken and until the outcome of the contest is resolved.
The Contest of the Will is in the name of Miss Bernice Mary Fitzgerald, the late Mr Fitzgerald’s sister and only living relative, in relation to Undue Influence; showing there was coercion, manipulation, deception or intimidation by another party to put pressure upon the person making the Will to influence its content to their advantage at the time the Will was made (Succession Act 1965).
You and all other persons present are to quit the property, namely Galty House and all other properties within the estate perimeter upon receipt of this letter. Under no circumstances are any contents, fixtures or fittings to be removed from any property/building/outbuilding on the estate.
Please contact this office with a forwarding address. You and any other interested parties will be informed of the results of the investigation in due course.
Yours faithfully
Messrs. Degan, Daly & Partners
She re-read it. It couldn’t be true; Bernice would
never do such a thing. Mia tried to recall at what stage Eamon had left, after the will reading. It was definitely before Bernice announced her engagement to Humphrey. She wondered if Eamon even knew his cousin and his arch-enemy were now betrothed. Surely this was a try-on, Archie’s will was watertight.
Mia put the letter back in the envelope and took her coffee outside. Eamon no doubt was hoping the correspondence would scare her off, and being the good girl she always had been, she would just disappear, conceding that Archie, fueled with wine and awash with sentimentality had agreed to sign the whole estate over to Fenella’s poor, fatherless child. With a scorch of anger burning her chest, she stomped across the lawn and back into the kitchen, slamming the door.
“Well, you can’t intimidate me!” she announced, letting the cat in and closing the window. “No way! This is my house, Archie left it to me. It’ll be over another dead body if they try to take it.”
She swigged her coffee back. A loud banging on the door made her jump. “The bastards,” she cried. “They’re here already!”
Storming out to the hall, Mia grabbed the stick with the fox’s head and threw open the door. Pearl stood there, face wet with tears. Mia dropped the stick and fell to her knees.
“They’ve … they’ve decided …” Pearl stuttered. “I’ve to go back … they’re making me go.”
Mia wrapped the child in her arms. “Now, now. Come and tell me all about it.” Mia looked left and right, hoping Ross had brought her, so they could talk things through. “Did you get a lift?”
“No, I ran … all the way.” Pearl was panting heavily. “They’re sending a giant to kidnap me, I heard them talking about it, I had to come here, where it’s safe.” She turned huge eyes on Mia, who quickly turned the key in the door and bolted it for good measure, cursing the fact one of the gates was off its hinges at the entrance; she must make a list of repairs.
After milk and emergency fruitcake, Pearl had calmed a little.
“I’ll ring Ross and see what the plan is, you could have it all wrong, especially if you’ve been listening in on conversations again, you know that’s never a good thing,” Mia told her guest.
“Caroline’s leaving at the end of the month,” Pearl said between mouthfuls of cake. “And Ross has been in meetings with lots of men, school governors over from the States, I heard him shouting this morning, saying lessons should have been learnt.”
She swallowed. “And then he said, it’s only a matter of time before the bell tolled and the game was over.”
Mia scratched her head. Pearl could have overheard anything. A management meeting, Ross laying down the law to his team, Caroline leaving might be totally unconnected.
“I’ll speak to him,” Mia stood.
“Please don’t!” Pearl cried, tears bubbling again. She was white as a sheet and had not let go of her schoolbag since she arrived. Mia knew what was in it, she had an idea.
“Tell you what, why don’t we go over to Mary Magdalene and see if we can hand your project in?” she suggested, trying to distract her.
“It’s not ready yet.” Pearl was anxious to keep hold of her connection to the school no matter how tenuous.
“Let’s find someone to discuss it with, maybe help you finish it? We can check when term starts at the same time, so we know what to talk through with Ross.” Mia was clutching at straws, someone at the school might know whether Pearl was scheduled to attend come September.
Mia knew she was interfering, but the child had thrown herself on her mercy and if someone had not fought her corner all those years ago, she too would have been flung from pillar to post. Of course, she had been bullied at first, new kids with strange accents usually are, especially if the whisper of scandal comes with them but it had been her school, her choice and anyway Leela put spells on all the bullies, which of course had worked a treat at the time.
“Shocked I’m still here, young Flanagan?” The old nun lifted her glasses; poor thing, still masses of that awful red, crinkly hair. At least the coif she wore under her wimple hid what remained of her ginger mop.
“I am a bit Sister, didn’t think you’d stay in the business.”
Where was all this honesty coming from? Mia wondered.
Sister Agnes laughed, a deep husky sound Mia remembered well. “I don’t have a problem with God, it’s the guys running the administration I could do without. Besides who’s going to give me a job at my time of life? Or a home? No, I’m happy to stay here and cause as much mayhem as I can opening minds … what’s not to like?” Mia gave the nun a grin, she did that alright. “I hope you’ve taken this delightful young lady under your wing?” She indicated Pearl, piously studying a painting of the Sacred Heart.
“Oh, she has, Sister, I’m not afraid of water or anything these days,” Pearl confirmed.
“Thinks I’m a mermaid,” Mia stage-whispered.
“Of course she does, isn’t imagination a great thing altogether, I often thought you clamped yours down, held yourself back, on quite a few fronts.”
“Really?”
Sister Agnes had never pulled her punches.
The nun nodded.
“Think big, stretch the old grey matter. Isn’t that the way, Pearl?” Pearl gave the nun a beguiling smile. Mia could see she was besotted. Understandably, Agnes had an aura about her, she glowed positivity. She had always loved to turn everything upside down, making you think and rethink every single idea you ever conceived. She was so bad she was brilliant and she had frightened Mia. Correction … she had made Mia frighten herself.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t make the funeral, I’m only back from holiday myself. I heard it went well, everything okay with you?” She peered at Mia over her glasses.
Mia nodded.
Sister Agnes and Archie had always been matey, a shared love of music and sport, they both liked a bit of controversy too, especially if they had instigated it.
“Well, what can I do for you?” the nun asked.
“It’s about my project,” Pearl explained. “It’s not quite finished and I don’t want to hand it in until it is, but Mia thinks you’ll remember stuff.”
“Give it a go,” said the nun, folding her arms.
“I found this.” She produced the plastic bag containing the turquoise and silver beads she had found in the well. Mia saw the nun’s eyes narrow. “Could you date it?”
“Hmm, where did you find it?”
“On the island. Is it old?” Pearl was hopeful.
“Old enough, I guess. But not antique, love beads I think they called them.”
Pearl was disappointed there was not a more intriguing explanation, she changed tack. “Mia says priests were trained as spies on the island, is that true?”
“Yes, during the Second World War, a scheme set up by the Irish Army in partnership with British Intelligence. Priests were good candidates for the job; they could travel freely throughout Europe you see, serving the church as opposed to any particular government. But the beads aren’t from that time, there are very few records from then.”
“No movies or pictures?” Pearl was disbelieving.
“Intelligence has to be secret by its very nature,” Sister Agnes told her.
“Can I study history if I come to school here, Sister?” Pearl almost pleaded.
“Of course, I’m hoping you are coming, your name is down,” Sister Agnes said, warmly.
“Is there anything to give me a head start, like if Uncle Ross asked did I know anything new having been to see you, is there anything?” Pearl was determined, manipulative too it seemed.
Sister Agnes tapped her pen against her chin. “Let me see … well, I believe there was a Nazi plot to kidnap the Holy Father, Pope Pius the Twelfth. The plan was for troops to occupy the Vatican City and steal all its treasures. Hitler considered the Holy City a nest of spies, a centre for propaganda. One of the priests from the island was definitely involved in spoiling that little plan but he was betrayed and they caught him.” Pearl was stari
ng at the nun transfixed; spies and treasures, two of her favourite words. She glanced at Mia; she just had to go to school there.
“Did he survive?” Mia did not remember this story.
“He did, thank God. They tortured him and left him for dead but an English army doctor, also a prisoner, managed to save him and he made it home.”
“Here?”
“Yep, home to the Seahorse Hotel. Never the same though, poor man.”
“What about my necklace, do you think he brought it from the Vatican City?” Pearl pressed.
“No, Pearl. It’s far too modern.” The nun confirmed.
“Weren’t they fashionable around the time the seminary closed?” Mia recalled photographs, young men lined up in the sunshine, her elderly Head Mistress declaring the world’s finest priests had been trained close by, before being sent out to the missions. “I’m sure I’ve seen pictures.”
“Before my time.” Sister Agnes shrugged. “Well, if there isn’t anything else, I’m in charge of the Children of Mary class tonight.” She rose and swished towards the door.
“One more question sister, the guy with his chest open, Jesus, right?” Pearl said, pointing at the picture she had been studying earlier. “What’s that all about?”
“Showing he died for us, giving us all eternal life.” Sister Agnes was keen for them to leave now.
“Ross always says you shouldn’t wear your heart on your sleeve, that’s how you get hurt. I guess outside your chest counts too.”
“Wise words,” Sister Agnes agreed. “Jesus got hurt. Tortured and crucified. Ross talks a lot of sense. Sometimes it’s worth it though, I’m hoping Jesus thought it was.”
Mia guided Pearl to the door. “Thanks Sister, you’ve been a great help.”
At last the nun smiled. “Glad to be of service.”
Mia was anxious to leave too; something was beginning to niggle. Sister Agnes seemed far from keen to acknowledge the seminary’s final era, as if that bit of the island’s history held little glory in the retelling. She was wondering why, sure she had seen pictures of those heady days of love beads and beach parties. And if she had they would still be around, no one ever threw anything away in Galty House. Maybe she was the one who could help solve Pearl’s mystery, answer a few of these fathomless, unanswered questions. Who knew what she might discover? Who indeed.
That Summer at the Seahorse Hotel Page 30