by Maeve Binchy
'You have lunch there every week and you haven't found a husband yet?'
Rosemary laughed. 'I'm not going there looking for a husband, it's not that kind of a place. But you do see a different world there. Come on. Say yes, you'd enjoy it.'
Her mother agreed. They would go on Wednesday. It would be something to look forward to in a world that held few other pleasures.
In Quentin's Rosemary pointed out to her mother the tucked-away booth where people went when they were being discreet. A government minister and his lady friend often dined there. It was a place where businessmen took someone from a rival organisation if they were going to offer him a job.
'I wonder who's in there today,' her mother said, drawn into the excitement of it all.
'I’ll have a peep when I go to the loo,' Rosemary promised.
At a window table she saw Barney McCarthy and Polly Callaghan. They never bothered with a private booth. Their relationship was known to everyone in the business world. She saw the journalist that she had met so spectacularly at two Christmas parties; he was interviewing an author and taking some scrawled notes which he would probably never decipher later. She saw a television personality and pointed him out to her mother who was pleased to note that he was much smaller and more insignificant than he looked on the box.
Eventually she went to the ladies' room, deliberately taking the wrong route so that she could pass the secluded table. You would have to look in carefully to see who was there. With a shock that was like a physical blow Rosemary saw Danny Lynch and Orla King from the office.
'Who was there?' her mother asked when Rosemary returned to the table.
'Nobody at all, two old bankers or something.'
'Jumped-up people,' her mother said.
'Exactly,' said Rosemary.
Ria was anxious to show off the new cappuccino machine to Rosemary.
'It's magic, but I'll still have mine black,' Rosemary said, patting her slim hips.
'You have a will of iron,' Ria said, looking at her friend with admiration. Rosemary, so tall and blonde and groomed, even at the end of a day when everyone else would be flaking. 'Barney McCarthy brought it round, he's so generous you wouldn't believe it.'
'He must think very highly of you.' Rosemary managed to lay a tea towel across her lap just in time to avoid Annie's little sticky fingers getting on to her pale skirt.
'Well, of course Danny nearly kills himself working all the hours God sends.'
'Of course.' Rosemary was grim.
'He's so tired when he gets home he often falls asleep in the chair before I can put his supper on the table for him.'
'Imagine,' Rosemary said.
'Still, it's well worth it, and he loves the work, and you're just the same; you don't mind how many hours you put in to be successful in the end.'
'Ah yes, but I take time off too. I reward myself, go out to smart places as a treat.'
Ria smiled fondly at the armchair where Danny often slept after all the tiring things he had been doing. 'I think after a busy day Danny regards getting back to Number Sixteen Tara Road as a treat. He has everything he wants here.'
'Yes, of course he has,' said Rosemary Ryan.
Hilary told Ria that one of the girls in fourth year was pregnant. A bold strap of fourteen, and she was the heroine of the hour. All the children envied her, and the staff said wasn't it great that she didn't go to England and have an abortion. The girl's mother would bring up the baby as her own so that the fourteen-year-old could return to her studies. Wasn't it very unfair, Hilary said, that some people could have a child quick as look at you, while others in stable marriages who could give a child everything didn't seem to be so lucky.
'I'm not complaining,' Hilary said, even though she rarely did anything but complain. 'But it does seem an odd way for God to have sorted out the whole business of continuing the human race. Wouldn't you think He would have arranged something much more sensible, like people going to an agency and giving proof that they could bring up a child properly, instead of teenagers getting pregnant from gropings in the bicycle sheds.'
'Yes, in a way,' Ria said.
'I don't expect you to agree with me. Look at what getting pregnant did for you, a marriage to a fellow like a film star, a house like something out of Homes and Gardens…'
'Now hardly that, Hilary,' Ria laughed.
Nora Johnson pushed her granddaughter up and down Tara Road in a pram, getting to know the neighbours and everyone's business. She had settled very well into the compact mews at Number 48A Tara Road. Small, dark, energetic, almost bird-like, she was an authority on nearly everything. Ria was amazed at how much her mother discovered about people.
'You just need to be interested, that's all,' Nora said.
In fact, as Ria knew very well, you just needed to be outrageously inquisitive and direct in your approach. Her mother told her about the Sullivan family in Number 26; he was a dentist, she ran a thrift shop. They had a daughter called Kitty just a year older than Annie, who might be a nice playmate in time. She told Ria about the old people's home at Number 68, St Rita's, where she called from time to time. It did old people a lot of good to see a baby; it made them think there was some continuity in life. Too many of them saw little of their own grandchildren and greatgrandchildren.
Nora brought her clothes to Gertie's launderette for the sociability of it, she said. She knew she could use Ria's washing machine but there was a great buzz in a place like that. She said that Jack Brennan should be strung up from a lamppost and Gertie was that extraordinary mixture of half-eejit half-saint for putting up with him. Gertie's little boy John spent most of his time with his grandmother.
She reported that the big house, Number 1 on the corner, was for sale, and people said it might be a restaurant. Imagine having their own restaurant in Tara Road! Nora hoped it would be one they could all afford, not something fancy, but she doubted it. The place was becoming trendy, she said darkly.
Nora Johnson was soon much in demand as a babysitter, a dog walker and an ironer. She had always loved the smell of clean shirts, she said, and why not turn an interest into a little pocket money?
She seemed to know well in advance who was going to sell, who was going to build. Danny said she was invaluable. His eyes and ears on the road. He had managed to get two sales through his mother-in-law. He called her his secret weapon.
He also pretended a far greater interest in film stars than he really felt. Ria loved to watch him struggling for a name or to remember who had played opposite Grace Kelly in this film or who Lana Turner's leading man was in that one.
'You remind me very much of Audrey Hepburn, Mother-in-law,' he said once to her.
'Nonsense, Danny.' She was brisk.
'No, I mean it. You have the same shaped face, honestly, and long neck, doesn't she, Ria?'
'Well, Mam has a grand swan's neck all right. Hilary and I were always jealous of that,' Ria said.
'That's what I mean, like Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany's.' Nora was pleased but she wouldn't show it. Danny Lynch was a professional charmer; he wouldn't get round her. No way would she fall for his patter. But he insisted. He showed her a picture of Audrey Hepburn with her hand under her chin. 'Go on, pose like that and I'll take a snap of you and then you'll see what I mean… Put your hand under your chin, come on, Holly…'
'What are you calling me?'
'Holly Golightly, the part Audrey plays in the film, you look just like her.' He called her Holly from that day on.
Nora Johnson who wouldn't fall for that kind of patter was totally under his spell.
Rosemary went to the bank on Friday mornings. The girls there admired her a lot. Always dressed immaculately, and it seemed as if she were wearing a different outfit each time until you looked carefully. She had three very well-cut jackets and a lot of different-coloured blouses and scarves. That's why it looked different. And she was so much on top of her business. The man who ran the print shop left everything to her. It was Rosemary Ryan
who arranged the rates for deposit and the loans for new machinery. It was Rosemary who got the statement for the tax returns, and who tendered successfully for the bank calendar.
Young bank officials looked at her enviously. She was only the same age as they were and look at all the power and responsibility she had managed to get for herself. They thought she sort of mildly fancied Colm Barry, but then that couldn't be possible. Colm was the last man someone like Rosemary Ryan would go for. He had no ambition or sense of survival, even in the bank. He never kept from his boss the fact that he didn't really admire the ethics of the bank and that he went to Alcoholics Anonymous meetings. And these kinds of revelations were not the road to promotion. Rosemary would want a much higher achiever than Colm Barry, even if she did always wait until his window was empty and asked for him if he wasn't there.
Rosemary had all her documentation done before she came to the bank each weekend. As she stood in line that Friday she saw to her amazement Orla King in animated conversation with Colm Barry over the desk. Orla had what Rosemary considered cheap and obvious good looks. Too tight a top, too short a skirt, the heels on her shoes too high. Still, men didn't see anything too flashy in it; they appeared to like it. As Oria was leaving she saw Rosemary and her face lit up. 'Well now, it's a small world. I was only talking about you yesterday,' she said.
Rosemary's face was cold and disapproving but she forced her public smile. Orla must know she had been spotted in the private booth of Quentin's. 'All full of praise I hope?' she said lightly.
'Well yes, praise and puzzlement. Why such a beautiful woman like you isn't married. That was one of the strands.'
'What an extraordinary thing to talk about.' Rosemary was very cold.
Orla didn't seem to notice the tone. 'No, you're quite well known now even people who don't know you know of you. They were all interested.'
'What very empty lives they must all live,' Rosemary said.
'You know the way people go on, they didn't mean any harm.'
'Oh, I'm certain that's true, why should they?' Her voice was so disdainful that anyone but Orla would have been put off.
'Well, why is it, Rosemary?'
'Probably like you I haven't found the right person yet.' Rosemary hoped her voice wasn't as glacial as it felt from inside.
'Ah yeah but I'm just a fun girl, you're a serious woman.'
'We're both in our twenties, Orla. Hardly over the hill yet.'
'No, but this man said, and honestly he was out for your good, he wasn't putting you down or anything, he said that you'd want to be looking round soon, the millionaires will be looking for younger models, next year's models, if you don't get in there quick.' Orla laughed happily. She meant no insult. In fact, talking to someone as beautiful as Rosemary you could only assume that saying such a thing was a joke and not to be taken seriously.
But Rosemary's face remained cold. That was exactly what Danny Lynch had said to her jokingly only a few days ago at Sunday lunch in Tara Road. Rosemary hadn't minded then but she minded now. She minded very much that he was saying such things about her to Orla King over lunch the previous day.
Orla was heading off for work without a care in the world. 'Cheers, Colm, see you Tuesday night,' she called.
'I gather that you and the lovely Ms King are going out socially,' Rosemary said to Colm.
'Yes, well that's right, sort of…' He was vague.
Rosemary realised that it must be at an AA meeting. People would tell you of their own involvement but they never told you who else went to the meetings. She was glad in a way that he had not fallen immediately for the tight sweaters and the skirt stretched across the small round bottom. 'Anyway, it's a very small forest, Dublin , isn't it? We all find out about everyone else sooner or later.' She was only making conversation but she saw a wary look come across his face.
'What do you mean?' he asked.
'I only meant if we were in London or New York we'd never know half the queue in the bank, that's all.'
'Sure. By the way, I'm leaving here at the end of the month.'
'Are you, Colm? Where are they sending you?'
'I'm brave as a lion. I'm leaving the bank altogether,' he said.
'Now that is brave. Are there farewell drinks or anything?' She could have bitten off her tongue.
'No, but I'll tell you what there will be. I'm going to open a restaurant in Tara Road. And as soon as I get started I'll send you an invitation to the launch.'
'I’ll tell you what I'll do, I'll print the invites for you as a present,' she said.
'It's a done deal,' he said, and they shook hands warmly. He had a lovely smile. What a pity he was such a loser, Rosemary thought. He would have been a very restful man to have teamed up with. But a restaurant in Tara Road? He must be out of his mind. There was no catchment area there, no passing trade. As an enterprise it was doomed before it began.
Danny and Barney McCarthy were going to look at property very near Danny's old home.
'Will we all go together and take Annie to see her grandparents?' Ria suggested.
'No, love. It's not a good idea this time. I'm going to be flat out looking at places, and making notes, meeting local fellows who are all mad to make a quick killing. There's going to be nothing but meetings and more meetings in the hotel.'
'Well, you will go and see them?'
'I might, I might not. You know the way it's more hurtful to go in somewhere for five minutes than not to go at all.'
Ria didn't know. 'You could drive down a couple of hours earlier.'
'I have to go when Barney goes, sweetheart.'
Ria knew not to push it. 'Fine. When the weather gets better I'll drive her down to see them, we might both go.'
'What? Yes, great.' She knew he wouldn't. He had separated himself from them a long time ago, they were no longer part of his life. Sometimes Danny and his single-mindedness were a mystery and a slight worry to Ria.
'Would you like to drive down to the country with me to see Danny's parents?' Ria asked her mother.
'Well, maybe. Would Annie be carsick?'
'Not at all, doesn't she love going in the car? Will you make them an apple tart?'
'Why?'
'Oh Mam, out of niceness, that's why. They'll be apologising about everything. You know the way they go on. And if I bring too much they get sort of overwhelmed. You bringing an apple tart is different somehow.'
'You're very complicated, Ria. You always were,' said Nora, but she was pleased to make one, and did a lot of fancy lattice-work with the pastry. .
Ria had written well in advance and the Lynches were expecting them. They were pleased to see little Annie, and Ria took a picture of them with her to add to the ones she had already framed and given to them. They would be part of Annie's life and future in spite of their distance and reserve. She had resolved this. They never saw their other grandchild in England . Rich didn't come back. It was hard, they said. Ria wondered why it was hard for a man who was meant to be doing well in London to come home even just once and show his son to his own parents.
Rosemary had said she should leave them to it and be glad that she didn't have nagging in-laws. But Ria was determined that they stay involved.
They had cold ham, tomatoes and shop bread, which was all they ever served. 'Will I warm up the apple tart, do you think?' Mrs Lynch asked fearfully, as if faced with an insuperable problem.
How had these timid people begotten Danny Lynch who travelled the country with Barney McCarthy, confident and authoritative, talking to businessmen and county families that would have had his parents doffing their caps and bending their knees?
'And you were down here a few weeks ago and never told us,' Danny's father said.
'No indeed I was not. I think Danny may have been near by, but of course he would have to stay with Barney McCarthy all the time.' Ria was annoyed. She had known that somehow it would get back to them. He had only been a few short miles away, why couldn't he have come over for an ho
ur?
'Well, now, when I was in the creamery there, Marty was saying that his daughter works in the hotel and that the pair of you were there.'
'No, it was Barney who was with him,' Ria said patiently. 'She got it wrong.'
'Oh well, fair enough,' said Danny's father. The incident had lost any interest for him.
Ria knew what had confused the girl; Barney McCarthy had brought Polly with him on the trip. So that's where the mistake lay.
In September 1987, shortly before Annie's fourth birthday party, they were planning a party for the grown-ups in Tara Road.
Danny and Ria were making the list, and Rosemary was there as she so often was.
'Remember a few millionaires for me, I'm getting to my sell-by date,' Rosemary said.
'Oh that will be the day,' Ria laughed.
'Seriously though, has Barney any friends?'
'No, they're all sharks. You'd hate them, Rosemary,' Danny laughed.
'Okay, who else is on the list?'
'Gertie,' said Ria.
'No,' said Danny.
'Of course, Gertie,' said Ria.
'You can't have a party and not have Gertie,' Rosemary supported her.
'But that mad eejit Jack Brennan will turn up looking for a fight or a bottle of brandy or both,' Danny protested.
'Let him, we've coped before,' Ria said. There were the bedsitter tenants, they'd be in the house anyway, and they were nice lads. They would ask Martin and Hilary who would not come but would need the invitation. Ria's mother would come just for half an hour and stay all night. 'Barney and Mona obviously,' Ria said.
'Barney and Polly actually,' Danny said.
There was a two-second pause and then Ria wrote down Barney and Polly.
'Jimmy Sullivan, the dentist, and his wife,' Ria suggested. 'And let's ask Orla King.'
Both Danny and Rosemary frowned. 'Too drinky,' Rosemary said. 'Unreliable.'
'No, she's in AA now. But still too unpredictable,' Danny agreed.
'No, I like her. She's fun.' Ria wrote her down.
'We could ask Colm Barry, the fellow who's going to open a restaurant in the house on the corner.'
'In his dreams he is,' Danny said.
