by Daniel Kemp
“Let's enjoy yourselves and have fun, people! Smiling faces make happy hands, and happy hands that are busy hands make everything more enjoyable. That doesn't include you, Harry,” she added, turning to face me. “You keep your hands off my girls and in your pockets. Remember you're…” I never allowed her to finish, purposely smudging her crimple lipstick with a big wet kiss. “Awe” — split the din. I had been worried in case she let out our secret, but that was not the case.
“Here as an observer only,” she blurted out as I pulled my lips away, then sucked in a heavy burst of air.
“Phew,” she exclaimed. “That reminds me, Tanta,” she called out, “do you want to wear the same lipstick as me?” I wanted to laugh, but feared for my life. She sensed my awkwardness.
“Harry, go get lost until half an hour before the opening, but remember to wear your pass. They won't let you back here without it. What time are Sophie and George arriving?”
“Be here by one this afternoon, he said. Few things to tidy away before all of our flights tonight, Seri. Don't worry though. They have their reservations in the front all taken care of. Don't envy their backsides in those shining black and gold metal chairs in the hall. Look hard and uncomfortable to me!”
“It's fashion week, Harry. Everything will be too modern for you. Don't forget the Haigs. Rosemary is important. More so than her husband and friends, but don't forget them. Send her backstage as soon as she gets here, not a moment later. Do you hear?”
“Full name, rank and number only. Don't forget the script, Seri. All comedians need one and you're no exception.”
“Shove off, Harry P, before I cut out your tongue and feed it to my hair,” there was a smile but it was difficult to see.
I was on my way to try for a dignified retreat when a beaming small man appeared with silvery grey hair on top of a heavily made up face trying to hide its age.
“Caro Franco, ti adoro. How wonderful to see you,” Serena screeched, waving me goodbye over his shoulder as they embraced. I didn't need telling twice.
I found a phone booth and rang the Bulgari Hotel, hoping George had not already left.
“Yes, Harry, she left a message for you at the desk. It was there after breakfast. You two must have already gone. There was a note for me as well.”
“What did mine say, George?”
“I haven't opened it, it's your name on the front. Mine said that she hopes to see me very soon, but she didn't say where or when, Harry. A bit disappointed, I am.”
“I imagine you are, George, but I have a feeling all will come good. Would you be so kind as to open the one addressed to me, my good friend?”
Chapter Forty-Two: A Mess
Charlie's concern was how the army command would react on hearing of Percy's suicide. That was something he could not hide, nor ignore. He thought he would get in first with the news. On his arrival at Dublin airport, he found a phone box and telephoned the number that was only to be used in an emergency as a way to contact the man in overall charge of the military arm of the IRA. Two hours later they met on a bench in Phoenix Park, high on a hill, overlooking the zoo. Charlie began the conversation.
“I've just returned from London where I went to see that friend of mine. The meeting I attended at Kilkenny worried me, as I got the go-ahead from you know who at my home. My English friend was there when he rang. My friend wasn't in the same room as me. I'd gone into another when I found out who was on the phone, but I may have said his name, although I'm none too sure about that. Anyway last night my English friend admitted to me that he did overhear that telephone call. He said he picked up the receiver that I'd replaced in the sitting room and listened in. At first, so he says, it was because he knew the name that I'd accidentally blurted out. Apparently they had met in Spain when both of them fought in the war there. He heard what the shipment was, and couldn't stomach the results it might bring.”
“Who did he call, Charlie?”
“He waited until the morning of the day, then used a public phone box. Rang a national paper and spoke to a reporter. Never left his name, nor got one in exchange.”
“Did you believe him?”
“I did and told him so. Adding that he'd put both our lives at risk.”
“What did he say to that?”
“Said he'd been careful not to say who he was, who I was or anyone from the brigade. Said he had let me down and he'd kill himself for me, and he did. I left his body swinging from the banisters in his Islington home. Cleaned up after myself and came straight home. No one saw me.”
“Did anyone you know of in London know of his affiliation to us?”
“Not that I'm aware of. He was a photographer. It was from him, if you recall, that I got those incriminating photos of the English politicians, and the man from the newspaper that were useful back in the sixties, and then the one of the civil servant that's still being used.”
The cap-wearing man took out a packet of cigarettes, offered one to the non-smoking Charlie then cupped his hands, lit one himself and sat back in the bench. He unzipped the heavy brown coat that he wore and stared into the distance, spreading both his arms along the back of the seat and crossed his outstretched legs. Just an ordinary man at leisure on a chilly September night, but unknown to anyone other than Charlie, a man with a decision to make.
“This is a fine mess, Charlie. A lot of good people's pride has been hurt. The contributions you have made to this organisation have been immense, and cannot be forgotten. The money you raised abroad allows us to do things that otherwise we might not be able to do without direct conflict with the law. But your neglect has now brought trouble to our door. On the bright side we now know who it was that betrayed us. That will save some painful examination. I've known you since I was six years of age. I can remember your twenty-first birthday party as if it was yesterday, and not the fifty years ago it must have been. It was there that I first tasted one of these.” He drew on his cigarette and exhaled the smoke into the still damp air, watching a circle of smoke slowly fade away.
“My brothers and I nicked one out of dad's packet and took off around the back of his garage with a couple of others. Wouldn't have invited them, but one of them had a box of matches and he wouldn't come without his pal. Said the three of us scared him.” He chuckled, and Charlie knew exactly how that child must have felt. A pause now fell on the conversation. Not an uncommon occurrence when the cap-wearing Irishman spoke, nor was it the stoppage of speech that two intimate people share that causes no embarrassment to either. It was the kind where those unused to being silent want to shout out…'I'm here, waiting for your next word'…but are held back by their own inhibitions of doubt and self-consciousness. Around the thinking man, next to Charlie, doubts were a common addition, and he had his own ways of dealing with them. A weighty sigh eventually broke this pause.
“Some parts of me wish I'd never started smoking, Charlie. Killed dad, and then my eldest brother, did the cancer. But I did, and down the slippery tarred road I must go. I've made it to sixty without a bullet in my back so I might go the way they went myself yet. Not as swift and far more painful and undignified than a bullet, but it's the way I'll probably go. We choose things, and people, in life that maybe are not the best choices to make, but they're choices we make with nobody forcing us into it. We evaluate their worth and either carry on with that tie, or break free. I chose to continue to smoke knowing the consequence that lay ahead. You have chosen to use the word friend in referring to the Englishman. Is he still your friend, Charlie?”
“Most certainly not! I wish he never was.”
“Then we come back to choices again and your choice of a single word that now separates us. Do you know where I'm going with this, Charlie?” stamping on the half-smoked cigarette with his right boot, he asked.
“I think I do. You're saying that smoking can kill you, and my friendship could kill me.”
“Tis true what you say, but no, that's not it entirely. I'm saying choices are all we ha
ve in life. I won't die by a cigarette but I might have the cancer in me when I go. I'll die by someone making a choice and shooting me. You won't die because of your use of the term friend of a person who betrayed your friendship. You'll die by me making a choice.” He sighed again, zipped up his coat and placed his left hand on Charlie's knee. The three diamond rings on his hand caught the rays of the fading sun, shimmering briefly before both died away.
“When Mum died we divided up the six rings she wore between each of us; me, Michael and Sean. Now there's only Sean and me left, so we have three each. Life ends for us all my friend, but the memories we have only die if we let them. That's another choice we make, you see. Do we remember the past or forget it? Leave someone, or thing, to be remembered, or fade like the sun is now doing? Before this meeting there were two things about life that we both shared. Neither of us had chosen to be born, and neither of us had any choice over how we were to die. We no longer share that second choice, Charlie, because I could have you shot the very moment I leave this bench.”
He removed his hand and made a circling gesture with his forefinger, towards the path below. Was it a round-up call, or one of let the show begin kind? Roll the cameras and box the take. Charlie had no idea what it signified, but worried as he saw two men leave the path and make their way laboriously in his direction, covered heads lowered towards the blackened grass.
'Shoot him in the back of his head that way you don't have to look into his eyes!'
“I've reached my decision, Charlie.” He stood, straightened his cap, pulling the collar of his coat closer to his neck, as the north wind started to blow.
“I have no quarrel with you over this or anything else, but I offer you my advice as we part and must go our separate ways. Leave the island of Ireland. Go carve out a little niche for yourself somewhere warm abroad before the life here ends your days. I won't shorten that time, but neither will I seek your support again. Live out your remaining life in peace Charlie Reilly, before the choices we made end the life of us both.”
Gordon Malone, Paul Malone's middle son, eldest of the two remaining sons who used to ride on running boards of cars, walked away, flanked by the two men that Charlie had seen. Over the hill and out of Charlie Reilly's life forever.
* * *
Katherine was balanced with one hand on a street bollard, legs crossed at the ankles, with her bare majestic back towards me staring up at the statues that decorated the behemoth Duomo of Milan.
“You're looking very chic,” I said, as drew alongside. “Your dress is a stunner. Probably steal the whole show,” I added.
“You're looking even smarter than you did in New York, Harry. She's really got to you, hasn't she.” I never answered that indirect question. I wanted to kiss her cheek but it was our lips that touched. Shyly, I drew hastily away.
“Oh, we are coy today, H. Perhaps it's not only your dress sense this lady of fashion has changed.”
“Yours looks expensive.” The smile that lit her face was almost as bright as the morning sun.
“It was! Didn't I tell George that? How are the married couple, by the way?” she asked, as she took my arm, drawing me closer.
“He and I are hoping you will find that out for yourself after we have concluded whatever business we have together today. How is your father, Katherine?”
“You're in for a shock, Harry. He's changed a great deal since the two of you last met. Two years is a long time for someone of his age.”
“Pure luck that I was coming to Italy today then.”
“If it was only luck that we were relying on then you're not the man we both know you are. But you found his clues and I'm pleased for all our sakes you did.” I hadn't missed the 'for all our sakes.'
“Did I find all the clues?”
“How would I know, Harry? Stop looking for compliments as I've no more to give.”
“Shall we go find him then, Katherine?”
“No, not yet. He wants to see if Mr America is here, lurking anywhere in the shadows. If he's satisfied he'll be in the crowd outside the castle for the closing ceremony. We won't be together. It's you he wants to speak to and only you. If you introduce me to your latest then I'll speak to her. I'd enjoy that. Or George and Sophie if you would prefer, for a while then I will disappear. I'm not sure if we will see each other after today. I would like to, if that's possible, but there will be other considerations to take into account. Let's have a coffee with some pastries whilst talking of righting the wrongs in this evil world, before the show, Harry. Might not get another chance.” With more than a little sadness in her voice she declared.
“I don't think Jimmy will make an appearance, Katherine. I've warned him off.”
Even that news could not cheer her. The smile had gone, replaced by the sad look I had seen in New Haven. Not even the sequins of her dress sparkled, as we walked arm in arm across the piazza away from the sun.
* * *
The first thing that hit me was the smell of deodorants mixed with perspiration. If it was a disorganised scrum backstage at the castle when I left, it was now a battlefield of substantial proportion. Added to the throng that was there before, were now the models. There were girls everywhere, in various stages of undress. The old Harry Paterson would have been in his element, but neither he, nor the new version, had earmuffs. It was swelteringly hot and claustrophobically deafening. Lights from overhead, lights from make-up mirrors, lights from flashing camera lenses, the humming drones of hairdryers, the steam from pressing irons, the curling tongs, the piecing shrill of phones and the screams of feet being trodden on, were the least of my worries, Serena's little area had been moved. I couldn't see hair or mane of her. Tanta, on the other hand, was unmistakable. Especially with crimple lip gloss. It was his face that eventually showed through the mass.
“We're over here, your Lordship!” His thunderous shout echoed across the floor. At first I thought he'd suddenly found respect for my title, as almost every head was turned in my direction, including some very attractive faces of the models, but I soon realised it just another of his marking skills.
“We're on the Zabreno stand. The Fulfilled Fusion Of A Fateful Future,” he ungraciously added. I laughed out loud, waving back. Enjoy the day, she'd said, and I intended to do so. Not, however, with Fiona who was finishing Serena's nails. She, and my lust, had been dismissed to an unreachable place in my memory.
“I thought I'd lost you, Seri,” I declared.
“Never,” she replied. Then, as if I could forget, “did you spot the Haigs?” she asked. I hadn't.
“I couldn't see them anywhere.”
“Go look again and find them. And tell Rosemary I need to see her, Harry, but don't be long, as you'll lose that seat of yours in the front row. Come back here if you can't find her, and I'll kill you myself.”
It was a pandemonium of artistry. One that no brush nor lens would adequately describe. I had neither. But I was grateful that Maudlin had sketched a crow to nest alongside those mystifying photographs of his. When, though, had Paulo and my great-grandfather laid out this bewildering escape route and why now did Paulo want to use it?
Chapter Forty-Three: Lions
On his eventual receipt of Percy's legacy, Charlie Reilly became a wealthy man. Thanks to his thriftiness the vast majority of Montague's benevolence had not only remained intact, but accrued considerable interest through wise investments. He sold the Islington home within a week of receiving the deeds, preferring a quick safe sale to a protracted more profitable one, then moved to his Munich home on the banks of the River Isar, bordering the Englischer Garten. His wealth, however, did not only come from the money left to him. Amongst Percy's belongings that he collected from the solicitor's offices on Islington Green, was the sealed ledger of Montague's prurient patrons that no one knew of. There was also the disturbing photograph that presented its own problem. The picture of Rachel brought as much abhorrence to him as it did to her brother. Charlie burnt it, along with other unwanted le
ftovers of a past, now dead and cremated. He kept the ledger though, beginning to wantonly read the meticulously recorded names. One stood out like a country mile from the rest. It was not the instrument of diplomacy he used when meeting the head of Irish Foreign Affairs, but the one so rewardingly used by Percy in extracting the money from Montague; the one of blackmail.
“You had a relative, Sir Edward, who almost brought Home Rule to the whole of Ireland, back in the 1900s. Sad that he didn't. Could have saved countless lives if he had. Mind you, he could have saved countless children's lives had he not abused them at Grange Manor, or at the home in Cork owned by an Oliver Somerset. Oh, yes, sir. I have the evidence that substantiates that. It will never be published as long as I have a job representing in some small way this country in Europe. Invent a post for me or the copy of that evidence, that's lodged in a lawyer's office in Germany, will find its way onto the pages of Der Spiegel.”
* * *
Serena's label had stolen the Milan show, so much so that even the normally shallow kisses and hugs from the owners of rival fashion houses were this time sincere and heartfelt. Tanta's invention of crimple was indeed the new black for the coming year, and several after if her order book was anything to go by! On the red carpeted plinth, outside Castello Sforzesco for the closing ceremony, were the sixteen of her models dressed in the full range of her clothing, from evening gowns to winter coats, that had taken the breath away from the dignitaries inside when shown on the runway. Tanta, with his team of designers, stood at one end and Serena the other, accepting the plaudits, waving in every direction in return. It was then that I saw Rosemary Haig appear on the stage in front. She wore a crimple satin dress, backless and loose-fitting with a delicate ribbon of gold to the lacing against her breast. She was my full-woman model, and looked remarkable.
