Elisha had met most of the invited twenty-odd guests, and knew their parents from church or from charity events in the Midlands area. The majority were girls from Madeleine’s boarding school, although the two who had just been dropped off in a hackney car from Tullamore were daughters of a business acquaintance of William’s, whom no one knew very well.
He had invited them on an impulse – during a particularly satisfactory business lunch a number of weeks ago – and had received the sharp end of his wife’s tongue for doing so. There was no room for impulsiveness with regard to Madeleine at the moment, she told him, and whilst the girls at school would make allowances for her unpredictable behaviour – strangers might not be so kind. Bearing that in mind, only ten boys had been invited to the party, and they were sons of family friends or schoolmates of Gabriel’s.
Whatever picture Elisha had painted in her mind of Tara Flynn, the elegant young woman with the flowing Titian hair was most certainly not that. For a moment Elisha was caught off her guard, her brow in a deep frown, as she struggled to remember which of Madeleine’s schoolfriends could possible fit this striking description.
Not one came to mind.
“Good evening, Mrs. Fitzgerald,” Tara said confidently, deliberately relieving her hostess of her embarrassment. “I’m Tara Flynn.”
“Of course . . .” Elisha said, momentarily flustered. She took the girl’s outstretched hand. “Do come in . . . you’re very welcome” And as Elisha Fitzgerald looked from Tara’s well-cut, impeccable outfit up into the piercing green eyes, she instinctively thought to herself: You were wrong, Elisha. Whatever else you have been right about in your life – you were wrong in your judgement about this girl.
Tara lifted her case and followed Madeleine’s mother into the hallway.
“I think,” Elisha said, “that it might be best if we sort out your bags.” She turned and gave Tara a little smile. “You’re staying in the guest bedroom upstairs, so I’ll show you up now, then you can come downstairs and meet the others.”
“Thank you,” Tara replied. “That’s very good of you.”
Then, loud music suddenly blared from the dining-room downstairs, drowning out further conversation. By the time they reached the bedroom at the top of the winding staircase, someone – presumably Madeleine – had turned it down low enough to allow Elisha to explain how to use the bedside lamp and where the bathroom was.
Tara returned her look, appearing more confident than she felt. “I’m sure everything is fine,” she said, giving a smile. “The room is really lovely . . . thank you for having me to stay.”
It would have been too hypocritical for Elisha Fitzgerald to say, ‘not at all’ or ‘you’re very welcome’ – so instead she said: “I’ll leave you for a few moments to let you get sorted out. I’m sure you’ll find your way back downstairs to the dining-room.” As she backed out of the bedroom, she added: “I’m afraid it’s simply a case of following the music.”
“Thank you,” Tara repeated. “I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
When the door closed behind Elisha Fitzgerald, Tara gave a huge sigh of relief and said ‘Thank God’ to herself. She put her case on the bed – pausing to stroke the satin embroidered quilt – and hung her coat on a hanger on the back of the door. Then slowly, her hands folded behind her back, she turned and viewed the room that she would sleep in that night.
A feeling of both nervousness and exhilaration ran through her, as she realised that she had indeed been accepted as a family guest. Madeleine’s mother – although very proper and uppity – had been nice to her. She had really been nice! Mrs Fitzgerald had brought her upstairs, and spoken to her in the polite way she would speak to any visitor. Tara knew it was early in the evening, but it was a start – and a very good start.
She looked now, a relieved smile on her face, at the green velvet curtains with the matching, tasselled pelmet and the creamy-painted windowsills. She studied the dark, polished wooden floor and the floral rug with the long green fringe, which was exactly the same shade of green in the curtains and on the bed. Her gaze wandered to the satin bolster and pillows, and then she gratefully recalled an article in one of her ladies’ magazines, which said to remove the top pillow at night, and sleep on the bottom plainer one. The top pillow – according to the article – was for ‘decorative purposes only’.
Tara gave a wry little smile, as she remembered not so long ago, when she had slept on bleached flour bags for pillows and sheets before she had persuaded her granda and Mick to part with a few shillings every week, to a traveller from Dublin who came in his van selling proper sheets, blankets and quilts. They still had the old rough blankets though, and even her own bedroom – which was the best in the cottage – was still a million miles away from anything in this room.
Tara moved over to the walnut dressingtable, sat down on the velvet chair with the carved legs and looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were gleaming – gleaming with delight and achievement – and a feeling which ran much deeper. A feeling which told her that she was quite comfortable in this magnificent house.
Then, hearing another car coming up the drive, Tara quickly checked her appearance again, making sure that her underskirt was not showing under the burgundy dress. She ran her fingers through her long hair, then took her satin clutch bag from the case, and pulled out a powder compact. Checking carefully in the little mirror in the lid, she patted powder on her cheeks and nose, and then she applied a light coat of lipstick. After giving one last glance at her whole reflection, Tara took a deep breath and opened the bedroom door.
She was halfway down the staircase, when she heard a car door banging and then voices coming towards the house. One voice in particular halted her in her tracks.
* * *
Tara stood, framed against the marble staircase, when Gabriel Fitzgerald opened the front door of Ballygrace House. There was a stunned silence, during which both pairs of eyes locked together. Whatever had attracted and impressed him about Tara that day in Dublin, he could feel even stronger now.
Then the front door opened behind Gabriel, and an older man dressed in a navy cashmere overcoat and pale blue silk scarf came rushing in. He – just as Gabriel had done – halted and stood transfixed as Tara continued her graceful descent of the stairs. Naked admiration, which came from long experience in assessing women, shone in William Fitzgerald’s eyes. He caught his breath as the fine wool dress moved easily with her, outlining the curve of her thighs and her shapely long legs. The shining band of satin and the innocent little bow then drew his eyes upwards to her heavy voluptuous breasts.
Just in time, William Fitzgerald stopped himself from gasping aloud. Instead, he lifted a silk hanky to his mouth and gave a genteel little cough.
“Father,” Gabriel said in a croaky voice, “this is Tara Flynn . . . Madeleine’s friend.”
“My dear,” William Fitzgerald came gushingly forward, “you’re most welcome.” He reached a hand out to guide her down the last few steps. Her slim hand slipped perfectly into his larger smooth hand and the slight nervous tremor was not lost to him.
“Thank you,” Tara replied, hoping that she did not betray how uncomfortable she felt, with father and son still staring at her. As she descended the final step, Madeleine came down the hallway towards them.
“Tara! You came!” She hurtled down the hallway like an excited young colt and almost threw herself on her friend. “Mother said she showed you to your bedroom – do you like it?”
“It’s grand – it’s really lovely,” Tara replied. For a moment she struggled for words – shocked at the drastic change in her friend’s appearance. It had been some time since she had last seen her, but it seemed impossible that someone could change to the extent that Madeleine had. The most striking difference was the loss of her beautiful long blonde hair – and the substantial weight gain. The dress she was wearing made her arms look like two pink sausages, and her eyes seemed to have sunk into the
doughy pale mound of flesh. which covered her delicate nose and finely sculpted cheekbones.
“Come into the dining-room,” Madeleine said excitedly. “Some of my friends have already arrived, and I want to introduce you to them.”
Tara’s hand suddenly flew to her mouth. “Your present,” she said. “I’ve left it up in the bedroom!”
“That’s not like you!” Madeleine laughed and turned to her father. “This is the most intelligent and organised girl I have ever met. When I was at school in Ballygrace, she used to help me with my maths and English. She works in the accounts department in the distillery in Tullamore and she attends evening classes too – don’t you, Tara?”
Tara’s face and neck flushed. “You make it sound much more grand than it is, Madeleine.” She turned back towards the stairs, glad of the chance to extricate herself from the tense atmosphere. “I’ll just go and get your present . . . I won’t be a minute.”
When Tara returned, she was introduced to the two other guests, sisters called Sarah and Fiona from Tullamore, then she handed over the birthday gift.
Madeleine was thrilled with the cameo brooch and the lovely card which Tara had picked for her. “Look, Mother,” she said, holding the little box out, “it matches the earrings that Gabriel bought me – isn’t that a coincidence?”
There was silence for a moment, while Elisha pondered the situation. “Yes,” she finally said, “that certainly is a coincidence.”
Gabriel decided to own up. “It’s not really . . . I actually bumped into Tara in Dublin. She’d just bought the brooch, and I thought it would be a good idea to buy you the matching earrings.” He laughed and ran his hand through his blond hair. “You should have known I couldn’t have picked something as nice as that on my own.”
“Thank you, Tara,” Madeleine said sweetly. “If you hadn’t met him, I would have probably ended up with a riding helmet or another pony book!” She held out her arm. “Do you like my watch? Mother and Father bought it for me.”
Tara moved closer to admire the gold watch with the ruby and diamond face. “It’s beautiful, Madeleine,” she said, “absolutely beautiful.”
The phone rang in the large hallway and Elisha rushed out towards it. She held the receiver to her ear for a few moments then said: “Yes, I perfectly understand. Thank you for ringing.” She turned, then walked back down into the kitchen where William was pouring himself a glass of red wine.
“That’s another guest offering their apologies,” she said tersely. “That’s nearly half the number of guests who were invited.” She looked at her own wristwatch. “It’s eight o’clock, and only three have arrived so far.”
William took a mouthful of his wine. “It’s early enough yet.”
Elisha did not look convinced. “Why were you so late? You promised you’d get back in plenty of time.”
“Business,” William replied, “just business. Anyway, I’m here now, am I not?”
“You are here for the evening,” Elisha checked, “aren’t you? Even Mrs Scully is late. She was supposed to have worked right through until tonight, but apparently her daughter is due a baby at any time, and she had to go home for a few hours. She said she would be back as soon as possible.” She looked at her husband pleadingly. “I need you here tonight – I couldn’t cope on my own.”
William fingered his dark moustache. “Is there a particular problem?”
“A particular problem? How can you ask such a stupid question?” she snapped. “You only have to look at and listen to Madeleine, to know that there’s a problem.” She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. “I’m absolutely dreading tonight.”
“If it doesn’t turn out too well, we can always take her out for a meal in Dublin to make up for it,” William suggested.
Elisha looked at her husband with contempt. “That’s your answer to everything, isn’t it? Just throw money at any problem and that will solve it.”
The doorbell sounded again and then, almost simultaneously, the back door in the kitchen opened and Mrs Scully came bustling through. “She’ll last another night, I’d say,” she said referring to her pregnant daughter, “so I came back as quick as I could.”
William drained his glass then moved towards the hallway. “You sit down and relax for a few minutes,” he said to his wife. “I’ll get the door.”
Elisha turned to Mrs Scully. “I’m glad you could make it back in time for the party starting. Ella has been here all afternoon and she’ll be here as long as you need her tonight. She’s in the dining-room just now, checking the napkins and cutlery.” Ella was Mrs Scully’s help, a young girl who Rosie regularly described as ‘neither use nor ornament’. The housekeeper kept the inoffensive maid’s nose to the grindstone, with the more menial jobs such as emptying ashes from the fire and carrying in the turf.
By nine o’clock, only eight guests had arrived. Less than half the number expected. The three boys and five girls chatted in little groups and listened to the record player, while Madeleine went back and forth, checking on the phone calls of apology that had come consistently all night. According to the messages, a significant number of guests had gone down with a mysterious illness. To Elisha’s relief, Madeleine seemed to accept all the excuses, and was now back in the party room, chatting animatedly to her guests.
* * *
The two girls from Tullamore who had arrived first, Sarah and Fiona, were very shy. They were only fifteen and sixteen, and were obviously younger and less sophisticated than the others. For the first half-an-hour Tara sat beside them, chatting about music and the latest fashions. Whilst doing so, she kept her eye out for Gabriel, who was – on his mother’s instructions – moving around the room chatting to the guests in turn. Tara contented herself to wait, knowing that he would eventually reach her.
Sarah and Fiona admired Tara’s outfit and had said how they wished they were allowed to choose their own clothes. They asked her all about the shop in Dublin that she had bought the costume from, and she described the big stores she had shopped in. The other three girls had been polite but reserved, standing in a corner whispering among themselves. The boys were little better – giving furtive glances at the girls and telling each other mildly suggestive jokes.
Madeleine floated between the guests, asking their preference in records and showing them the gifts she had received, seemingly unperturbed by the large number of guests who had not turned up. Tara wasn’t too sure how many people were actually invited to the party, but judging by the tables of food and drink, she reckoned that Madeleine had been badly let down.
Madeleine’s father had come in to chat for a while and then he had gone round handing glasses of wine to all the guests. The two younger girls Tara had been chatting to had refused, saying that their parents had warned them not to dare touch alcoholic drinks. William had smiled understandingly and brought them glasses of lemonade instead.
Tara accepted the beautiful crystal glass from him – and told herself off for having a vivid imagination when she thought that his fingers had stroked hers when he gave her the glass. She sipped the white wine slowly, acquainting herself with the cool dry taste. She had tasted beer and sherry at Christmas and when she had a cold, her granda had bought a small bottle of whiskey and made her a hot toddy – but wine was a new thing altogether. With every sip it seemed nicer, and holding the crystal glass by its long graceful stem, she felt quite at ease with herself and her surroundings. After accepting a second glass of wine from Gabriel and having a short chat with him, she hardly noticed when Mrs Scully and Elisha came through to serve the buffet.
The food – though beautifully presented and plentiful – was not as ostentatious as Tara’s father had described. Tara positioned herself at the end of the table where Mrs Fitzgerald was serving, keeping her distance from her old adversary. She picked up a cream china plate edged with gold, and silver cutlery wrapped in a pink damask napkin, then waited while Sarah and Fiona picked what they fancied
from the array of food.
Tara gave a casual glance to the bottom of the table, where the other guests were being served by Mrs Scully. She could hear the housekeeper patiently explaining about the sauce the chicken breasts were in, to one of the boys. Her manner was completely different to how Tara remembered and could only be described as grovelling. Tara presumed that the boys were from the ‘better-class’ families and therefore deemed worthy of civility.
When it came to Tara’s turn to be served, Mrs Fitzgerald gave her a pleasant smile. “Please help yourself to any of the dishes that you fancy, dear. If you’re not sure about anything, just ask.”
Tara thanked her and looked along the length of the table at the plates of cold ham, chicken, pork, sausage rolls, vol-au-vents, sausages on sticks, potato salads and several other dishes she had never seen before. Very deliberately, she then set about choosing the dishes she had never tried plus a few familiar selections in case she had problems with the more unusual ones.
As Tara moved away from the table with her modest plate of food, she was acutely aware of Mrs Scully who was standing only feet away. Her first instinct was to quickly turn away and walk to the far corner of the room but she steeled herself, and moved directly in front of the housekeeper.
“Can I get you anythin’, Miss?” the old housekeeper said in a brusque tone as Tara passed.
At the sound of her voice, Tara froze like a moth trapped in candlelight, then, very slowly, she turned to face the old woman. For a moment their eyes locked, then Tara’s gaze moved to scan the food in front of Mrs Scully. “I think,” she said, looking down at the barely touched platters of food, “that I have all I want, thank you.” Then, her eyes moved slowly and deliberately back up to look into the old woman’s face.
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