Ellie settled Sam in the warm kitchen in his basket, with the blinds down around the house as she knew he hated lightning and thunder. She left some lights on and locked up while Patrick did a quick final circuit of the verandah and lawn, making sure nothing was left out that could smash into doors or windows, or blow away.
As Ellie waited for him in the gathering dusk, the stiff breeze pulling at her hair and clothes, a low, far-off rumble made her look up. The sky to the south was the colour of a bad bruise. The storm was definitely on its way. She and Mike would not be fishing tomorrow. She pulled out her phone and looked at the Bureau of Meteorology website. The rain radar looked so bad, the storm cell moving inexorably towards them, that she double-checked she was looking at her locality and not the Caribbean.
‘You okay driving out to Craigmore, Poss? We could get the taxi fellow to take us,’ said Patrick as he opened the car door.
‘I’m fine, thanks, Poppy. We’ll be okay in your four-wheel drive, and I’ll only have one glass of champagne,’ she said, smiling, ‘but I think I’ll be pleased to get back home to the fire and a glass of wine later.’
‘You’re not the only one,’ said Patrick with a chuckle. Then, as they climbed into the car, he added, ‘You know, there’s still no sign of Seamus. I tried calling him again this afternoon. He’ll be upset at missing this.’ After a pause he went on, ‘It’s just so odd that he neglected to deal with those letters from council. Not like him at all. He must be getting a bit past it. You’d better boot me out when I start losing the plot.’
‘That’s a long way off. Hey, speaking of parties, what do you want to do for your eightieth birthday, Poppy? We should mark that occasion next year.’
Patrick waved a dismissive hand. ‘I’ll be quite happy to go down to the pub with my mates. Maybe a barbie at the river with the caravan park mob.’
They were silent for a moment, both thinking the same thing – Let’s hope it’s still there!
As Ellie headed out on the coast road, the car was buffeted by a strong wind. The first spats of rain started just as they reached the ornate gates of Craigmore. As
they wound their way up the drive, they saw that an elaborate marquee had been well anchored on the front lawn, sheltered by the solid stone walls of the large house. Oil lamps and flame torches were spluttering as guests milled about inside the marquee.
The caterers had a team of staff on hand to look after parking the cars and to take coats and gifts, as hors d’oeuvres and drinks were offered to the guests on silver trays.
‘Fancy. No expense spared,’ said Patrick as they hurried across the lawn and into the relative comfort of the marquee.
‘What did you expect?’ said Ellie, smoothing her hair and adjusting the strap of Jon’s camera on her shoulder. ‘Oh, there’s Heather.’
‘I hope the unveiling isn’t going to be drawn out. Ronan will be running things as poor Seamus has missed it,’ said Heather after they greeted her.
‘Where’s the portrait?’ asked Ellie.
‘In the main room in the house; we’ll go in there for the speeches, apparently. Susan’s calling it a preview before the actual party begins.’ Heather laughed. ‘Although everyone in town has already seen it,’ she added, winking at Ellie, who grinned.
‘Is Kathryn here yet?’ Patrick asked.
‘She’s inside. Too risky for her to be out here in this weather.’
‘It’s cosy here in the tent. But if a big wind gets up, I’ll be hightailing it inside too,’ said Patrick.
‘Hey, look who’s here,’ said Ellie as a smiling Sally and Ben came towards them. ‘Congratulations, we’re so happy at your news.’
Ben grinned. ‘I’m just moving out of the caravan park over to Sally’s place. But we plan to look for a place of our own when I come back from Queensland.’
‘So you’re doing another carving job up there?’ asked Heather. ‘Are you going too, Sally, or can’t you get time off work?’
‘I could go, I guess. I quit my job.’
‘What!’ Ellie said. ‘Why?’
‘The guy who owns the radio station is such a jerk. I didn’t like my stories being censored because he didn’t want to upset advertisers and the council.’
‘Yeah, that’d be right,’ said Patrick. ‘He has fingers in pies all over the place. In my opinion, he’s only in the media to use it for himself. He thinks it’s a way to get rich. We know better, eh, Ellie?’
Ellie smiled at her grandfather. ‘You do okay, Poppy. And you make more friends than enemies,’ she said, and turned to Sally. ‘Good on you for taking a stand, Sally. So what are you planning to do next?’
Before she could answer, Patrick handed Sally a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and said, ‘Well, if you’re sticking around, Sally, you’d better come back to work at the Chronicle. Unless you’re going on to TV or have some other ambitious plan? That’s if you’d like to, of course,’ he added.
Ben looked at Sally, who was grinning broadly. ‘See, Sal, I told you. That’s where you should be,’ he said.
Ellie reached over and took Sally’s hand. ‘It’s a great idea.’
Sally smiled at her and then turned to Patrick. ‘You’ve already got Jon and Maggie and now Ellie. I didn’t think you’d need another journo, Patrick, much as I’d like to come back.’
Ellie jumped in and said quickly, ‘I’m keen to keep writing, Sal, I’m starting to love it. But I have some other plans too, back in the IT world. Ben’s right – you belong at the Chronicle and the paper needs your skills.’
‘Well, if you’re sure the paper needs me,’ said Sally almost shyly, looking at Patrick.
‘Definitely,’ he said. Then he grinned. ‘I trained you well – think of it as me cashing in on my investment.’
‘You’re on,’ said Sally with a laugh. She looked at Ellie. ‘You’re not thinking of leaving Storm Harbour, are you?’
‘No. Well, not at the moment. I’m still giving it all some thought.’ Ellie looked around. ‘C’mon, let’s go inside. Seems like everyone else is heading in.’
‘Good idea. I want to get a front-row seat to see this painting in the flesh,’ Patrick said.
*
The tall folding timber doors had been slid aside to open the room up to its maximum capacity. Rows of chairs were set out in front of a small dais on which the covered painting on its easel took pride of place. A small table with a bowl of roses, a glass of water and a hand microphone sat to one side. Several chairs were set up on the platform facing the guests.
Tall tables were scattered through the room for people to rest their glasses and small food plates on, and the catering staff circulated as the guests began to file inside. Ellie moved through the room, taking a few photos for the paper.
She had never seen the whole O’Neill clan – with the exception of Seamus – together before. Ronan and Cynthia and their children were with a group Ellie didn’t recognise. When she asked, Patrick whispered that it was Seamus’s daughter Linda and her family. Ellie turned away from Ronan and relaxed her hands, which she realised she’d been holding in a tight grip.
She nudged Patrick as Susan appeared carrying a sheet of paper. She wore a black silk dress sashed with a wide red belt and a dramatic brooch of a glittering spider with ruby-red eyes pinned to her shoulder. She was talking to the head caterer.
‘Bossy Boots is here,’ muttered Patrick.
‘Of course she is. Running everything,’ said Ellie.
Heather excused herself to talk to someone she knew, and Patrick went to move away as well, but suddenly Ellie clutched his arm in alarm.
Walking towards them was Ronan.
She felt hot and cold, then faint, and unable to move. He seemed to come towards her in slow motion and, to Ellie, his smile looked predatory and evil. He was looking at Patrick. Ellie grasped Patrick’s hand beside her a
nd leaned against him slightly, her knees trembling. She dropped her gaze as she heard from some far-off place the sound of Patrick’s voice introducing her . . . ‘Do you know my granddaughter . . .?’
How to avoid him? She wanted to run but was frozen to the spot. Her mind felt as though it was not connected to her body. Don’t touch me! she silently screamed in her head. Her worst nightmare was coming true . . . No, oh no, her hand was lifted and she felt his flesh on hers. She swayed . . .
‘Ellie! Are you all right?’ Patrick was gripping her other arm.
She felt herself go limp, as if her body was melting and she’d just be a puddle on the floor in a second. But then a rush of something surged through her, and Ellie blinked and shook her head, jerking her hand away from Ronan’s to brush her hair out of her eyes. No. No. She did not have to let him touch her. ‘I’m sorry. I just felt faint for a moment.’
Obviously noticing her white face, Patrick said kindly, ‘Go and get some water. I’d like to have a quiet word with Ronan, please, Ellie.’
‘Of course,’ she said, grateful to escape.
As Patrick stepped between them, taking Ronan’s arm, she heard him say, ‘I feel there’s something going on at council. Have you heard anything at all about a proposed development?’
‘What on earth makes you say that?’ said Ronan.
Ellie was shaking as she moved away. She sat down, hoping no one would notice her, and took a glass of mineral water from a tray. After a few sips, she felt calmer. She glanced at Ronan talking to her grandfather. Ronan’s hair was thinning and he looked unfit. This was not the handsome, arrogant youth who had appeared to think he owned the world. Who haunted her nightmares and had scarred her soul.
Slowly she let out her breath, her body relaxing as it released the tension and tightness of their latest encounter. What had brought her back from that precipice, though? She had somehow managed to stave off the panic attack she’d felt coming. What was different?
For a moment Ellie felt she was alone in the room but, like the volume of a radio turning up, the sounds around her filtered back into her consciousness. The chatter and laughter, scraping of chairs, clatter of glasses and bottles, all returned, as if she had stepped outside her body for a few seconds and was now back, somehow renewed.
Ellie turned to look for Patrick, but he and Ronan had both disappeared. Instead she saw Susan making a beeline for her, her lips pursed and her eyes cold.
Ellie gave a tight smile and decided to stand her ground. ‘Hello, Susan,’ she said calmly, rising from her chair.
Susan didn’t bother with niceties.
‘I am very disappointed in the Chronicle,’ she hissed under her breath. ‘So is Mrs O’Neill. Deeply disappointed.’
‘Really? Why might that be?’ said Ellie.
‘For goodness’ sake. Why do you think? You have ruined the highlight of the evening. You took photos of the portrait while it was still in the artist’s studio. No one was meant to have seen it until now.’
‘I don’t understand how that could be a problem,’ said Ellie.
‘You have ruined the unveiling of the painting for everyone. Look: it’s covered. To be unveiled this evening as a surprise. Fortunately, Mrs O’Neill doesn’t read your grandfather’s wretched newspaper. You haven’t spoiled the surprise for her, but you have for everyone else.’
Ellie was going to remark how nice it was to know that everyone else read the Chronicle, but bit her tongue. Should she say Kathryn had encouraged her to take the photos of the painting? she wondered. No. Susan was mad enough. Ellie was rather pleased at getting under Susan’s skin.
‘I believe Mrs O’Neill was aware the article would be out ahead of her big day, so I’m sorry if it doesn’t suit you,’ said Ellie calmly.
‘What you think is not the point. I have arranged this viewing now, before the party gets properly under way, so everyone can see it at the same time.’ Her face was turning red. ‘You saw it before Ronan did, and he commissioned it! And you put it on the front page! It was to be a surprise!’
‘I’m sorry you feel this way, Susan. Heather invited me for afternoon tea with herself and Mrs O’Neill. They were both happy to let me see the painting and photograph it.’ Ellie didn’t add that she had the perfect photo of Kathryn’s reaction to first seeing the painting herself.
‘It seems you continue to deliberately go behind my back to make trouble,’ snapped Susan, her voice rising. A few people nearby glanced her way. Ellie noticed that Susan had balled her hands into fists and her face was flushed a deep crimson now.
‘Well, I’m sure everyone will be thrilled to see the actual portrait now,’ said Ellie. ‘Excuse me, Susan.’
She headed across the room to join Patrick, who was speaking again with Heather.
‘Ellie, I’m sorry about Susan. She saw the Chronicle and she’s as wild as a skinned cat.’ Heather gave a mischievous smile. ‘I’m so pleased.’
‘As long as they all liked it, that’s the important thing,’ said Ellie with a grin.
‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, we have to toe the line. Let’s hope the storm holds off!’ Heather said and, as if on cue, there came the distant rumble of thunder and the sound of heavy raindrops against the window. She sailed over to where Susan was beckoning her to a seat on the dais by the painting.
The room had now filled with party guests, who were greeting friends, eating, drinking and standing around chatting. A few sat down near the front, but Patrick selected a seat towards the back of the room and gestured to Ellie to sit beside him. Perhaps he guessed that she wouldn’t want to sit too close to Susan and Ronan, Ellie thought.
Ronan, Kathryn and Heather were seated by the painting facing the guests. Susan stood to one side. Cynthia and the children sat in the front row, next to Linda and her family. Ellie looked for Ben and was pleased to see him sitting in the front row too, with Sally.
Susan picked up the microphone and waited for the chatter to die away before saying, ‘Welcome and thank you all for coming. To begin the proceedings, Mrs O’Neill would like to say a few words.’
Ronan stood, leaned down and helped Kathryn to her feet. She took the microphone and said warmly, ‘My dear friends and family.’ She paused, looking down at the front row, and smiled. ‘Thank you so much for being here to mark this occasion. We are disappointed Seamus isn’t with us, but I know he would be if he could. However, we shall celebrate with champagne at the conclusion of this little ceremony, and please stay on for the party. Many thanks to my family for commissioning this portrait, and to my dear friend Heathler Lachlan. I am always deeply touched by her insight and talent. It is a wonderful, wonderful gift. Thank you, Heather.’ Kathryn reached towards the tasselled cord that would release the velvet covering from the painting. ‘And so without further ado, I will –’
Before she could unveil the painting, there was an almighty thunderclap at the same time as a massive flash and crack of lightning, and all the lights went out.
There were immediate squeals, gasps and raised voices.
Ronan called out loudly, ‘Please remain seated. Don’t move, we’ll have the generator on in a minute. Please stay where you are.’
Guests took out their phones and small beams of light waved around the room. Ronan was standing next to Kathryn, having helped her back into her chair.
Looking outside, Ellie saw that the rain had become torrential and was pounding against the French doors and windows, so loud that people had to raise their voices to be heard, adding to the pandemonium in the room.
Ellie reached for Patrick’s hand. ‘Hope this doesn’t last long!’ she shouted.
Suddenly, in spite of the noise, they noticed a commotion coming from the front hallway: voices raised and clattering footsteps. At that moment the lights flickered and came on again as the generator started. Everyone turned towards the voices and movement at the back of
the room.
A shout went up and there was an explosion of talk, laughter, cheers and applause. Standing in the doorway, soaked to the skin, was a dishevelled but smiling Seamus O’Neill.
‘Did you swim back, Seamus?’ called one voice cheerfully.
Ellie noticed Ronan, Linda and Ben hurrying through the gathering to reach their father as people clustered around the new arrival. Their voices were drowned out as the rain beat down even more heavily. The windows rattled and shook in the wind. Ellie heard a distant crash, and wondered if the marquee was secure.
‘Oh, my goodness, how wonderful! You made it!’ cried Kathryn, clapping her hands.
Heather leaned over and picked up the microphone from Ronan’s chair. Her voice boomed into the room. ‘Seamus, your mother says to go and put on dry clothes. Ronan will tell us what’s going on. I suggest the caterers bring around drinks.’
There was a loud round of applause and laughter at this suggestion.
Seamus raised his hand in acknowledgement and headed back out into the hall while Ronan strode over to take the microphone, his expression serious.
‘Everyone, please stay where you are. Some of the lights are not working. We’ll continue when my father gets back.’
As Ben made his way out the door, Patrick called out, ‘How’d Seamus manage to get here, Ben?’
‘He flew into Melbourne and hired a car and a driver,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘Just in time. Decided to surprise us.’
Patrick turned to Ellie. ‘Well, the driver of that car is going to get a fat fee. He’ll have to stay the night, I reckon.’
‘Really? What about the rest of us? I don’t want to stay here,’ Ellie said vehemently, her eyes flicking to Ronan on the dais. ‘Besides, Mike’s arriving tomorrow.’
‘We’re not driving anywhere in this madness. Check the BoM website on your phone. Sometimes the fiercer the storm, the quicker it passes.’ He paused, giving her a look. ‘You okay?’
Ellie nodded.
Patrick hesitated, as if searching for words, but seemed to change his mind. ‘Look, Seamus being back changes things,’ he said quietly. ‘I want to talk to him on his own about the caravan park lease before he joins the party. I know the timing isn’t great, but it’s urgent now and we might not get a chance later. I’ll go and find him. Will you be okay here?’
Before the Storm Page 34