Ebb and Flow

by Mary O'Sullivan

  As you never paid me enough for the risks I was taking on your behalf I’ve taken the money from the safe. A nice little nest egg. Thank you.

  One last word of warning. Dirk Van Aken knows too. He’s breaking all links with you. Stay away from him or he’ll fix it so that you can’t implicate him in your mess.

  Goodbye

  Gussie

  PS O’Shaughnessy arrived back last night and handed in these photos – enjoy!

  Shag the photos! They weren’t important now. Gussie’s treason overshadowed everything else. Jason tore the letter into shreds and then kicked the stool. He slammed the door of the safe and thumped the steel locker. His hand hurt and tears of rage prickled behind his eyelids. Closing his eyes he pictured Gussie’s face. Long and woebegone with drooping eyes and mouth. He imagined kicking that face in, running a knife across the scrawny neck, watching blood spurt from the wound, seeing the life drain out of the man who had once been his friend. His only friend. And what the fuck was that about the authorities and Dirk Van Aken? Who was watching? Was he being followed, listened in on, his privacy invaded? No way! Bullshit!

  Jason picked up the phone. The only way to find out about Van Aken was to ring him. Even as he dialled, Jason was certain that he would prove Gussie to be a liar. An opportunist. Just trying to put him off the trail. He must have been planning this rip-off for years. How much had he salted away since they had started working together, Jason the young entrepreneur and Gussie his stooge?

  Thoughts of Gussie were pushed aside as Jason listened to a dispassionate voice on the phone droning on in a foreign language. He tried again with the same result. This time Jason understood. Dirk Van Aken’s number was no longer in service. Logic kicked in then. So Dirk had changed his phone and forgot to let Jason know. He could ring the business number. He did. With as little success. There was no getting beyond the switchboard. After his third attempt, the receptionist explained in reasonably clear English that she was under instruction not to put Jason Laide from Ireland through to the great man himself. Fuck him!

  Jason shoved O’Shaughnessy’s photos into their envelope, thrust it in his pocket and ran through the warehouse, knocking a pallet of boxes as he caught them with his elbow. The forklift driver had to swerve to avoid ploughing through his boss. Jason drove across town and arrived on the doorstep of his accountant at the same time as the man himself.

  “Have they been on to you? Have they asked to see my books?”

  “Who? What are you talking about? Jason? You’d better calm down and come in.”

  “The fucking law. The Revenue. They’re after me. Don’t tell me be calm! Have you got my ass covered or not?”

  Embarrassed, the man glanced around him to make sure nobody had overheard the rantings of the most lucrative but most despicable client he had. Opening the door he ushered Jason inside as quickly as possible. The full story of Gussie’s treachery and the letter he had written tumbled out as Jason strode over and back across the office. The accountant sat back in his chair, watching as the man who prided himself on being a bully dissolved into a quivering mess.

  “Well, that’s it,” Jason said. “Am I covered? I’ve paid you enough to regularise my accounts. Have you done your job? Would my accounts stand up to scrutiny?”

  “Certainly,” the man answered. “As long as you were telling me the truth. I took everything you told me in good faith. If you gave me an invoice for over a hundred grand on a delivery of nappies, I believed you. Why shouldn’t I? Hopefully the tax inspector will too.”

  Jason sat and bowed his head. At that moment he knew his accountant was not going to protect him in any way. If any irregularities in contracts or overseas accounts were uncovered, the man would deny all knowledge. And he would have the paperwork to back up his claims. Jason was on his own. Just as he had started out. The runt of the litter. A small man with big ideas. He could argue with the prick sitting smugly in front of him now. Point out that he had advised on shell companies and overseas accounts, that he knew, and had always known that Jason had unearned income. That he had gladly taken under-the-counter cash bonuses to keep his mouth shut. The biggest mistake Jason had made was in trusting. He had trusted Gussie and he had trusted this stuffed shirt. He had trusted Sharon. He stood up slowly now, fear making his legs feel heavy.

  “You’d better pray that they find nothing to investigate. I’ll drag you down with me.”

  The man laughed into Jason’s face.

  Jason turned his back on him and walked out to his car. He was trying to keep his temper at bay. Be calm. Conserve energy. He had a big battle ahead and he must, he had to, emerge the winner. He headed for the airport. Discretion be damned. He’d get his papers back from those pricks. He’d get everything he needed and more. And then he’d get his revenge.

  * * *

  When Sharon woke she lay very still, listening for the snores, the snorts and snuffles that would tell her Jason was lying on the other side of their giant bed. The room was quiet. Jason-free. A good start to the day. Throwing back the duvet she got out of bed, took her phone out of her bedside locker and dialled Salzburg. She smiled when she heard Frieda’s rich, calm voice.

  “Guten Morgen, Frieda. How are you? How is everyone?”

  Nodding as Frieda spoke, Sharon listened, agreeing to take care and ring again as soon as possible.

  When Sharon had dressed she went to the top press in the dressing room and took down the bundle of files. Today she would be giving them back to their rightful owners. Freeing them from Jason. As soon as she had made contact with the final two, the model and the planning officer, then she herself could also be free of the monster.

  Sharon’s hands began to shake. She would never be free of the lout if she did as Frieda said she must. If she told the truth. He didn’t deserve honesty. Deceit was his way of life. Sharon’s head dropped. She could not meet her own eyes in the mirror, knowing that she had perpetrated the biggest lie of all. An unforgivable deceit. Frieda was wrong though. Jason must never know the truth. The consequences would be too horrific. Not for herself but for the person she loved with all her heart and the part of her soul which had not been contaminated by her stint as Mrs Jason Laide.

  After ringing for a cab, Sharon got her coat and ran downstairs. She tapped her foot impatiently as she waited in the hall for her car. There were so many wrongs to be righted and so little time. Lucky that Jason was preoccupied buying up half the city. How foolish and vulgar was his display of wealth! Did he really think he was going to get away with it? And what were his advisors, those professionals he paid to protect his image, thinking of? His accountants and lawyers. How could they allow him to buy a mansion, a pub and bid for a fifty-acre site all within a few weeks of each other? The answer to that of course would be that Jason paid them to advise him and then went his own way anyhow. If anyone knew how pigheaded he could be, it was his wife. The woman who had gone to sleep with an exciting man and woken up with a monster. A long sleep. But she was awake now.

  The cab beeped outside. Sharon shook her head to clear it of her dark thoughts and then walked quickly outside to the car. She had no time to waste.

  * * *

  Ella was up and had breakfast made long before she heard Andrew stirring. He was pale and shaken when he came into the kitchen. She handed him a mug of coffee as he smiled wanly at his soon-to-be-ex-wife.

  “Some night last night! How are you feeling this morning?” he said.

  Knowing it would be insensitive to tell him how invigorated and hopeful she felt, Ella evaded answering his question, instead asking one of her own. “How was Oliver when you were leaving?”

  “Still sleeping. The longer he sleeps the better. He’ll have to face the music when he wakes.”

  “Did you and Pascal decide what to do? Are you going to the police?”

  Andrew ran his fingers through his hair and swallowed a long draught of his coffee.

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  “I th
ink Jason Laide is a criminal. He must be stopped,” Ella answered without having to consider her reply. She knew immediately by Andrew’s expression that he did not agree. “Surely you don’t want him to get away with blackmail and bribery and God alone knows what else, do you Andrew? It’s not as if we can do business with him now after all this –”

  “Of course we can’t do business with him! And I think the bollocks should have the book thrown at him. But what about Oliver and his family? And Pascal’s son? And of course myself. And Maxine . . . well, more Maxine than anyone else.”

  “Why Maxine?” Ella asked in surprise. “Does he have something especially damning on her. Something more than her affair with you?”

  Andrew looked away, avoiding her eyes. She knew then that it was really Maxine Doran whom her husband wanted to protect. Jason Laide must have been blackmailing her too. For an instant Ella felt sad. Andrew must love his supermodel very much to compromise his principles like this. More than he had ever loved his wife. Andrew stood up and put his mug into the dishwasher.

  “I’m going to the airport to meet Maxine now. The early flight from Amsterdam is due to land shortly. Can I tell her Manor House is hers if she wants it? Do you agree?”

  “I do, but what about Rob Trevor? He’s already made a deal with Jason, hasn’t he?”

  “He’d change his mind if he knew about Laide. If we explained that Jason had blackmailed and bribed his way to prosperity.”

  “I think you’re wrong, Andrew. Rob would be convinced then that Jason and Manor House belonged together.”

  “That’s such a crazy notion!”

  “Not so crazy. It has its own logic. Rob is not very well at the moment. He’s grieving and guilty and he’s looking for someone or something to blame. He believes Manor House in general and Lady Harriet Wellsley in particular are to blame for the death of his wife and child. He thinks Jason Laide is insensitive enough to handle the unseen influences of the house. ”

  “He’s lost the plot!” Then he noticed her expression. “You don’t believe him, do you Ella?”

  Ella looked out the window at the rain-filled clouds. They hung low and black, threatening a downpour as severe as the day she had had her accident. That life-altering, life-ending crash. Turning back to face her husband she struggled for words to describe her feelings.

  “I really don’t know what to believe about Manor House, Andrew. There are so many coincidences, all drawing us towards that house. First my accident and Karen Trevor’s death. Her son’s too. Then your relationship with Maxine who you say is really Harriet Wellsley’s great-granddaughter. Did you know that Karen had developed some sort of obsession with Harriet’s portrait before she died? Rob said she used to spend hours just staring at it.”

  “Really? Is that why Rob got rid of it, I wonder?”

  “Probably. Then there’s the Jason Laide connection. You have implied that he has some hold over Maxine. And, it appears he’s the new owner of Manor House. It just seems like we’re all going around in a big circle and Manor House is at the centre.”

  In two long strides Andrew was standing in front of Ella, holding her arms and peering into her face. “Are you feeling all right, Ella?”

  “Don’t patronise me!” Ella said, angrily pulling away from him. “Just because I suffered from depression doesn’t mean everything I say is off the wall.”

  “You know that’s not what I meant. But listen to yourself. Manor House is controlling our lives. Really!”

  Put like that, Ella had to agree she did sound a bit off. But Andrew didn’t have all the facts, did he?

  “I told you about Karen Trevor. About how she haunted me, waking and sleeping for a year after the accident.”

  “Of course she did. It was a horrible experience for you. It’s just that I thought you were over it.”

  “I am,” Ella said firmly. “You can go off and live happily ever after with your girlfriend with a clear conscience.”

  “So now we’re getting to the truth at last! You don’t love me any more. You’ve even said you never did but you don’t want me to be happy with anyone else. That’s it, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Andrew! I thought we had reached an agreement. Yes, I’m hurt. I’m sad and I’m sure I’ll be very lonely for a while. But jealous or resentful? No. I should be. If our marriage had meant anything, I would be tearing Maxine’s hair out by now.”

  “So, it meant nothing to you. Is that what you’re saying?”

  Ella shook her head. That’s not what she had meant to say at all. “It’s just that it didn’t mean enough. For either of us.”

  Clouds closed in and the first spatter of rain hit off the windows as Ella and Andrew stood in the kitchen of the home they had shared together. They stared at each other. Ella knew she had hurt Andrew with her last remark and he understood how hurt she was by his betrayal. There had been too much hurt. Too much pain. Any words they would say now would be too bitter and too late.

  He put his arms around her and held her close. Eyes closed, she leaned her head on his shoulder. She felt his heart beat and his chest rise and fall with each breath he took. She felt his regret and his guilt, his wish that things could have been different. They both knew they had reached the boundary now. They were about to cross a line which would see their paths divide. Andrew’s lips touched hers. A parting kiss with none of the elemental force of Peter Sheehan’s caress. Ella stood back and smiled at Andrew.

  “You’d better go. You don’t want to miss Maxine at the airport. I’ll call to the office first and then go to the hospital to see Oliver.”

  “Would you talk to Rob Trevor? See if you can persuade him?”

  Ella hesitated. She didn’t want to try to dissuade Rob. He was doing what he believed to be right for his peace of mind. Maybe she would just talk to him, see how he was.

  “Okay. I’ll go to see Rob. But I won’t bully him. You can scoff all you like but there’s something very odd going on with Manor House and I don’t blame him for wanting to escape.”

  “Coincidence. One coincidence after another,” Andrew muttered as he gathered his jacket and car keys.

  Ella went to the front door with him to wave him off. The cold wind whipped around her. She shivered and pulled her dressing-gown close, raising her hand as he drove off. He didn’t see her. He was already leaving his wife behind and focusing on his future. On Maxine.

  Chapter 31

  As Ella waited at the interminably red traffic lights her eyes were drawn to a puddle in the street. A little dint in the tarmac immediately to her right had filled up with rain. The water looked black but something about the way the needles of cold rain broke the scummy surface reminded her of Cuanowen. The ocean would be wild this morning, buffeted by the gales now sweeping the whole country. Dog Rock would be submerged. Pebbles Shorten would be sitting at his desk in his estate agency wishing he was in the city. In Seaview Hotel Beryl Langford would be supervising the cooking of full Irish breakfasts, and all over the little village, from Main Street to the surrounding hills, eyes would be drawn towards the sea, the majesty and power …

  A driver hooted impatiently behind her. The lights had turned green and Ella’s daydream of Cuanowen was holding up the flow of traffic. Waving an apology, she headed off in the direction of the office. When she got out of her car, she made a dash for the door, glancing at the name over it: Ford Auctioneers and Estate Agents. How proud she had been of that sign! She still was but it no longer represented who she was. It was just a signpost to the wrong path on which she had allowed ambition lead her.

  Inside business was running smoothly. The staff were responding well to the challenge of being given more responsibility. Sly little glances and conversations aborted as soon as she appeared. Ella knew that they were all speculating about the unusual comings and goings of their bosses. She smiled to herself as she realised they probably thought she was having yet another mental breakdown. How surprised they would be if she told them the breakdo
wn was of her marriage and that the Fords were embroiled in suicide attempts, blackmail and corruption.

  Phone messages were piled up on both desks. Mostly from the Cox brothers. She had expected something from Jason Laide. Loud, bullying demands that the deal for the Ballyhaven site be closed immediately. There was nothing from him. Maybe the combined charms of his wife and Manor House were civilising him.

  Ella felt the start of a tension headache. She sat at her desk and massaged her forehead, thinking that Andrew should be here instead of dashing off to the airport. Her fingers stopped moving as she analysed her feelings of resentment towards Maxine. Was she jealous? Surely not. Wasn’t she leaving Andrew because she didn’t love him any more? So why the anger? Her frowns eased when she found her answer. She was frustrated, anxious to begin her new life, eager to tie up all the loose ends here and be on her way. All these delays were keeping her from moving forward, sucking her into the mire of deceit and greed from which she so desperately needed to escape.

  Ella sat up straight, pulled her chair forward and picked up her phone. It was time she began to actively put the plans for her future into motion. As she tapped in the Cuanowen number she said a quick prayer to her mother and father. A positive response to this call was vital. Even a maybe or a promise to think about the proposition would do for now.

  By the time Ella put the phone down again she knew her prayers had been answered. Not completely. There would be negotiations, bargains to be struck, conditions to be agreed. But the principle had been accepted. The path to her new life had been forged and this time she knew, in her heart and soul, that her feet would not falter.

  It took longer to placate Gary Cox. He eventually agreed to a meeting in two days’ time on condition that he had a final, and preferably affirmative, answer by then on the Ballyhaven site. Ella agreed wholeheartedly. Everyone concerned needed closure and the sooner the better.