‘Hello, love,’ her father greeted her warmly as she raised her face for his kiss.
Good God! thought Luke Reilly, his dark eyes narrowing, That’s the girl who was crying her eyes out on the South Wall. He felt a flicker of interest. Several times since she had bumped into him he had wondered why a girl like her would be weeping in broad daylight in such a public place. He had never dreamt he would meet her again.
Devlin turned to find a pair of amber eyes regarding her thoughtfully. Her father said swiftly, ‘Luke, I’d like you to meet my daughter Devlin. Devlin, Luke Reilly.’
Her hand was taken in a warm firm handshake and his deep voice was saying ‘it’s a pleasure.’ Then Lydia was coming in, laughing and talking animatedly, and Devlin was content to melt into the background to sip her soda water. She had turned down the offer of a drink. Now that she knew she was pregnant she might as well abstain.
‘But you’re going to have an abortion, so it doesn’t matter,’ her little voice interfered again. ‘And anyway you’ve probably turned the poor child into an alcoholic already with all that gin you drank.’
How she hated that taunting prying voice that was always there to torment her. It must be the voice of her conscience, she thought, unaware that Luke was studying her unobtrusively as he stood, one hand in his pants pocket, the other holding his whiskey sour, his head bent attentively as he pretended to pay attention to Lydia over the pre-dinner drinks.
The daughter fascinated him. Those darkly lashed eyes of such an unusual shade of blue were staring unseeingly out of the window as if she was deep in some private argument with herself. Obviously she hadn’t recognized him. She was dressed simply in a peach tee-shirt mini dress that hugged her shapely figure and showed off her tan to perfection and he decided she was stunning. And the thing was, she was completely unaware of him too, he mused wryly, not used to being ignored.
The combination of dark, almost foreign looks, thanks to a Spanish mother, powerful personality and considerable wealth ensured that beautiful women invariably fell for Luke Reilly and Devlin’s behaviour was a decidedly new experience for him. Usually he wasn’t attracted to young girls, preferring women to be a bit nearer his own age of thirty-three but there was something different about this cool, distant girl that intrigued him.
Over dinner, Devlin forced herself to join in the conversation. She didn’t wish to appear rude but she was certainly not her usual exuberant self, a fact her mother noticed.
‘Darling, I thought you were ravenous?’ Lydia remarked lightly, noticing Devlin picking half heartedly at the smoked salmon that lay appetizingly on her best fine bone Royal Doulton.
‘Oh! . . . I . . . am,’ Devlin murmured, forcing herself to swallow a mouthful. Her eyes met the stranger’s and as she came under the scrutiny of those heavy lidded amber eyes she felt that the word PREGNANT was written all over her face. Defiantly she lifted her chin and stared back at him. He wasn’t good looking in the conventional sense, his face was too lean and long. Rawboned would be a good word to describe it, she decided. He had the dark swarthy looks of the European, a broad forehead, straight nose and a firm sensual mouth, which now had an amused grin which displayed strong white even teeth. There was an intense magnetic air about him and she felt she didn’t like him or his strange amber eyes that seemed too penetrating. He laughed aloud at the joke Gerry was telling him, a rich deep laugh, and she felt irrationally irritated that he should be laughing while she was in the depths of panic and despair.
Moodily she toyed with the rest of the delicious meal her mother had prepared: the mouth-watering rack of lamb, the sinful baked alaska. She was beginning to feel somewhat nauseous and it was with relief that she heard her mother ask Luke to go and relax with her father in the lounge. Devlin helped Lydia to clear the dishes and stack them in the dishwasher before joining the men for coffee in the gracious pale apricot and cream lounge with its luxurious sofas and chairs and enormous French panelled bevelled mirror. Through it, she caught once again the interested gaze of Luke Reilly upon her.
‘Your father tells me that you are not long back from Portugal. Did you enjoy your holiday?’ he enquired politely.
‘Oh, it was very nice.’ Her tone was polite but offhand. She wished he would leave so she could make her own excuses and go back to the flat.
‘I sailed into Lisbon several times when I was at sea some years back. It’s a lovely city.’
Lydia’s eyes opened a little wider. ‘Oh Luke! Do you have a yacht?’
He laughed. ‘Not at all, Mrs Delaney, I was a seaman for a while.’
‘Oh!’ The disappointment was audible and Devlin nearly laughed. Poor Mother. A sailor! she thought, aware of her mother’s rampant snobbery. Embarrassed, she caught a twinkle in Luke’s eyes as he observed her private smile and she could have sworn that he knew exactly what was in her mind. Then, unfolding his well-built body from the depths of an easy chair, he stood up and she noticed how muscular he was across the chest and shoulders. Although his suit was well cut and looked expensive, it hardly seemed to contain him and she felt instinctively that he would prefer casual clothes.
He was thanking her mother for a lovely meal, shaking hands with Gerry and telling him he would be in touch and then he was standing in front of her, his hand held out. For the second time that evening Devlin felt the strong firmness of his handclasp. ‘I hope we meet again,’ he said suavely.
I hope we don’t, she thought nastily, unable to explain her sudden dislike of this man, for it was not like her to be so irritable and irrational. But he seemed to have sensed that something was wrong with her and it made her feel strangely vulnerable the way his eyes had been watching her all evening. She murmured some non-committal reply even though Lydia, who had been drinking quite steadily, was glaring at her. And then he was gone and the room seemed bigger as if he had somehow dwarfed it with his presence when he had been there.
‘Really, Devlin!’ Her mother’s irritated voice brought Devlin sharply out of her reverie. ‘You might have been a little more pleasant during dinner. That man could become an important client of your father’s.’ She eyed her daughter crossly. ‘Since you’ve gone to live in that flat,’ the word was uttered with utter distaste, ‘you’ve become a different person.’
Oh no, don’t let her get started, Devlin thought wearily, feeling that she couldn’t take much more as Lydia launched into a tirade. Sometimes Devlin felt that her mother begrudged her every moment of her independence. Was it because she had never had any herself? Lydia belonged to an era where women went straight from school to matrimony to motherhood.
‘And what’s more, Devlin, I think . . . ’ What Lydia thought Devlin never discovered because a wave of nausea overcame her and she had to flee to the bathroom. She retched miserably, cursing the day she was born.
When she came out of the bathroom her mother was waiting for her and there was a granite-like grimness about her features that caused Devlin’s heart to sink.
‘I want the truth from you, Devlin.’ She stared at her daughter with eyes as cold and forbidding as a fjord in winter. ‘This dizziness and sickness. Is there any reason for it and the peaky way you’ve had about you lately?’
Shocked into silence Devlin could only stare back mutely.
‘Were you misbehaving in Portugal?’
Misbehaving! Devlin felt a wry amusement at the term. It always brought to mind children playing in puddles or pulling hair and spitting. It was a word of childhood, not a description of the act she had performed with Colin.
‘Are . . . you . . . pregnant?’
Each word was enunciated with a savage intensity that stunned Devlin. The words hung in the air between them like a guillotine ready to descend on her admission of guilt. Speechless, she could only stare at her mother.
‘Jesus! Will you answer me!’
Devlin had never heard her mother use the Holy Name and it gave her a funny little shock. Coming from her mother’s lips it seemed like blasphemy. Swallowing hard, knowing t
here was no point in denying it, she met her mother’s eyes. ‘Yes Mum, I’m pregnant . . . I’m sorry,’ she said inadequately.
Pain, anger, horror, were etched on Lydia’s fine features as she stared at her daughter.
‘Oh Sacred Heart of Jesus!’ she muttered almost to herself, in a voice of such anguish that Devlin felt a lump rise to her throat.
‘I didn’t mean to,’ she whispered, frightened at the expression on her mother’s face.
‘You didn’t mean to . . . ’ Lydia raged at her. ‘Do you know what you’ve done . . . don’t you know how people will talk? My God Almighty, is this the way you repay Gerry and me for all we’ve done for you? Oh my God, the shame of it . . . the shame of it!’ She was sobbing harshly now, her mascara running down her cheeks in black smudgy streaks. Her hands, heavy with jewellery, were grasping each other so tight that the veins in them bulged bluely.
Her father, who had heard the commotion and raised voice of his wife, came hastily up the stairs, puffing a little as he got to the top. ‘Lydia! What’s wrong?’
‘What’s wrong? Ha . . . ask her what’s wrong!’ his wife cried noisily, almost hysterically, her natural restraint gone because of the brandy and wine she had consumed during the course of the evening.
Shaking with reaction, dry-mouthed, her heart thudding so loudly that she was sure it was audible, Devlin told her father and watched and hated herself as his face crumpled in pain and disappointment.
‘Ah Devlin, Devlin,’ was all he could say, shaking his head in disbelief. Gerry had never been able to chastise her; that had always been left to his wife. The pain of her father’s reaction was a memory of guilt she would always carry, the way he had seemed to age visibly before her, his shoulders sagging as he saw his daughter fall from the pedestal that he had so proudly erected for her.
‘I knew something like this was bound to happen when she went to that flat,’ Lydia was sobbing and hiccuping into his shoulder. ‘She’s just like her mother!’
‘Shush! Shush, Lydia, you’re distraught. Go and lie down for a while,’ her husband urged.
Devlin felt icy tentacles of fear curl around her insides, gripping and squeezing. ‘Wait a minute, Mum! What do you mean?’ Her voice became high-pitched as various little memories of past years flashed through her mind, like the time Lydia and Gerry had been arguing and Lydia had been shouting, ‘We should have told her at the beginning,’ and Devlin had run upstairs, her seven-year-old heart beating so quickly and loudly that the noise of it deafened her when she had buried her sobbing little face in the pillow. Tell her what? Instinctively she knew it was something to do with her, something nasty and threatening.
‘It’s all right, Devlin! Your mother doesn’t know what she’s saying. She’s had a shock. Go down and make us some strong coffee like a good girl.’ Gerry Delaney felt as if his world was crumbling around his ears.
‘No Dad! Wait! Why did she say that?’
There was an unconscious pleading in her voice and then Lydia was saying wearily, ‘Oh for God’s sake Gerry tell her, I wanted to tell her long ago, it might have prevented this.’
Through a mist of anguish Devlin heard Lydia’s bitter upset voice tell her she was adopted.
‘No! . . . NO!’ Screaming, Devlin raced down the stairs, grabbed her bag and ran out to the car. ‘Oh Jesus, Jesus, don’t do this to me . . . please God, let it be a nightmare.’ It must be a punishment for committing adultery with Colin. Why else would this be happening to her?
As if in a dream she started up the car and saw Gerry, distraught, calling her back. Ramming her foot down on the accelerator she raised dust as she sped down the drive onto the road. She half-hoped a car coming in the opposite direction would collide with her and send her crashing to oblivion so that she could forget the fear and aching misery that engulfed her.
Adopted! Adopted! Adopted! The sound of the word filled her mind like loud clashing cymbals as automatically her hands and feet operated gears and clutch and brakes and she emerged onto the dual carriageway. Lydia wasn’t her mother . . . Gerry wasn’t her father. Who were her parents? Why had they abandoned her? Were they still alive?
‘I hate you, I hate you,’ she sobbed aloud, great gasping shuddering sobs that blurred her eyes and made her body shake. The car behind her beeped loudly at her erratic driving and becoming conscious of the stream of lights and the busy flow of traffic she pulled herself together and concentrated grimly on just driving.
Four
How long she drove she did not know. She vaguely remembered the turn-off at Bray and then the traffic eased until it seemed she was the only car on the road for long lonely miles. It was with numbed surprise that she realized she was driving into Arklow, a town about fifty miles from Dublin on the main Wexford road. Tired and disorientated she pulled in and rested her head on the steering wheel. How had she got this far? What was she going to do for the night? Devlin checked her watch: it was almost twelve. She knew at the back of her mind why she had instinctively come this way. She needed someone and Katie was the only one who could help her.
Her Aunt Katie had always been close to her and given her the warmth Lydia had never been able to provide. Now she needed Katie more than ever. Although she was pregnant she knew that Katie would never reject her as Lydia had. She’d have to ring home . . . Gerry would be frantic. Even if she wasn’t his daughter he did love her, Devlin thought, torn between bitterness and sadness. She drove until she got to a phone box, praying that it wouldn’t be vandalized. She was in luck and she asked the operator to reverse the charges.
‘Are you all right, Devlin? What in the name of God are you doing in Arklow? Please pet, come home and let’s talk about all this.’ Her father sounded so upset that Devlin felt tears springing to her eyes and her throat constricted painfully.
‘Oh Dad, Dad I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.’ In spite of herself she burst into tears.
‘Devlin, please check into a hotel and I’ll come and collect you. I’ll get Cecilia to come and stay with Lydia.’
Somehow she managed to compose herself. ‘Honestly, Dad, I’d like to go to Katie for a day or two, I think I’ll carry on down to Wexford.’
Her father sighed. ‘Well if that’s what you want, pet.’ He knew how close she and Katie were and he didn’t try to stop her. ‘Will you phone as soon as you get there?’
‘It’ll be late,’ she protested.
‘Devlin, we won’t rest easy otherwise. Oh and Devlin . . .’ He paused as if unsure how to continue. ‘Pet, try not to think too badly of your mother. She’s not herself these days . . . I think she’s going through the change.’
The lump rose in Devlin’s throat again but she swallowed hard and said quietly, ‘Bye Dad, I’m sorry and I do love you.’ She could sense him smiling at the other end of the line.
‘I love you too, don’t forget that. Drive carefully now.’
‘I will,’ she promised and replaced the receiver.
For the next hour she banished all other thoughts from her head and concentrated on her driving and it was with a physical sense of relief that she saw the lights of Wexford in the distance, the twin steeples of the churches seeming to pierce the black star-studded sky. Driving slowly over the bridge, Devlin, despite her trauma, felt her spirits lift as they always did when she crossed the bridge into the town. She loved Wexford: the warmth of the people and the beauty of the place always soothed her. Slowly she drove along the quay, looking at the myriad glittering lights reflected in the water that softly lapped the quayside. Katie lived in Rosslare Harbour, about twelve miles further on, but the road was excellent and she made good time and turned up the winding lane that led to the farmhouse less than fifteen minutes later.
Checking her watch, Devlin saw it was almost one thirty. She reflected that Katie would be long gone to bed. One of the dogs started barking and a minute later Devlin saw the bedroom curtain being drawn back and her aunt stuck her head out the window.
‘Who in the n
ame of . . . ? Merciful hour, is that you, Devlin?’
Minutes later the door was thrown open and Katie stood there, a dainty elf, her soft grey hair tumbling about her shoulders.
‘There’s something wrong, isn’t there?’ she exclaimed, enveloping her niece in a warm embrace. ‘Is it Lydia or Gerry? Is it the drinking?’
Devlin shook her head sadly. ‘It’s me, Katie. I had to come and see you. You’re the only one who can help me.’
‘Well come in, alanna, out of the night. Sure it can’t be that bad. Nothing is ever as bad as it seems.’
Tears smarted in Devlin’s eyes. How typical of Katie to be so loving and reassuring. Katie gave her niece a soft shove into the house and Devlin could feel its peace and serenity envelope her like a comforting eiderdown. Before long she was sitting before a crackling fire, hot chocolate and a plate of fresh homemade scones dripping with jam and cream on her lap. Between mouthfuls she poured out the whole sorry tale.
The relief of unburdening herself was enormous and Katie let her talk, merely interjecting a softly-spoken comment here and there. When Devlin told her about Lydia’s revelation her face turned hard and cold and she said grimly, ‘Typical of Lydia. She was always the most self-centred and selfish person I ever knew and believe me it hurts to say that about my own sister.’
‘Katie?’ Devlin’s voice was raw with pain. ‘Do you know who my mother was?’ Her aunt wrapped a comforting arm around her and rocked the now sobbing girl softly, soothingly.
‘Cry all you want, alanna, and get it out of your system. There’s no point in bottling it all up inside because it will only affect you later.’ She held her for a long time and when Devlin had stopped weeping those long haunting racking sobs, Katie said quietly, ‘Your mother was our youngest sister, Tara. She died at your birth. Robbie and I wanted to adopt you but Lydia wouldn’t have it.’ She looked down at her niece. ‘I wish I’d fought harder to get you but Lydia had just married Gerry and he had money and good prospects whereas Robbie and I only had the few acres. Lydia said we would never be able to give you the opportunities they could.’ She sighed deeply. ‘It’s something I’ve always regretted, especially as Rob and I did well for ourselves.’
City Girl Page 6