by Tyler, Anne
“Yes and no. Michael is still very down. I hate people not to be good-tempered.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Oh, he’s being silly, he’ll get over it. When can we go back into the tunnel?”
Kerry laughed suddenly. “Anytime you like,” he said, then he stopped. “Hey wait, don’t go back there; there’s been a subsidence. It’s dangerous now, some of those old posts have given way.”
“They couldn’t have—”
“They have,” he said curtly. “And anyway, no fooling around, you hear. You’re not to be just anyone’s. You’re Grace O’Neill, you’re very important.”
She hugged him. “Oh, Kerry, it’s nice that you’re all cheerful again. Maybe today … maybe Father …”
“Yes, it could happen. Why not?” Kerry left her room and ran lightly down the stairs, through the hall filled with sprays and blooms and people from the florist’s. As he was going down the steps of the hotel to his car, he saw Jim Costello coming up.
“Your big day,” Kerry said pleasantly.
“Yes, great beginning with a butcher in a dentist’s chair,” Jim said ruefully.
“I heard. Is it okay?”
“Look at it this way. I don’t think he loosened too many of the others, and I’ve wiped away most of the blood.”
Kerry laughed. He used to think Costello an arrogant little guy. But he did have a sense of humor. And a great sense of command. Kerry stood and watched while he managed to restore order to the huge hall in moments.
Jim Costello looked back at Kerry too. The fellow seemed high or excited. He laughed too readily, like people do when they are in the middle of something dangerous.
Kate had sought the moment to tell John their news. She had not been able to find it.
She had thought that last night when the bar closed, they might sit in the garden and she would tell him then.
But the bar just wouldn’t close. The sense of excitement about the opening was everywhere.
Mary Donnelly had worked like an automaton. She said it might be the last good night’s business they ever had. Keep serving, keep pouring, keep clanging the till.
There was no danger of a raid. Sergeant Sheehan wouldn’t be so discourteous. And even if some of his superiors would be here for the official opening of Fernscourt, none of them would arrive the night before, so a little after-hours drinking would not be anything to come down on too heavily.
There was no time last night. They were both too tired. She had been going to tell him this morning, until all the drama in the bathroom and Carrie’s predicament had intervened. It almost seemed like a surfeit of pregnancy to tell John about hers!
Perhaps this evening, in the peace and quiet. Perhaps that would be a good time.
She settled herself in her finery, and waited for him to come and wheel her across the footbridge and to the party.
The music was marvelous. Tales from the Vienna Woods, a selection from The Gondoliers and some rousing Sousa marches. Jim Costello had known the right band to hire, and the right repertoire for it to play.
On all sides of Mountfern they smiled when it struck up. The gala opening was under way.
For ages Dara sat on the window seat looking at the crowds gathering.
She could see cars coming down the big drive that led from the main road to Fernscourt. Local people walked up River Road and were crossing by the footbridge.
She saw Dad wheel the chair across, and a little lump came in her throat. Mam would so much have liked to have walked. Poor Mam, missing Mrs. Fine in spite of everything.
Dara had not been upset by her mother’s remarks. That was what Mrs. Fine would have said, after all. All that about Kerry being dangerous.
She stood up and smoothed the red dress. It did look very, very good. And nobody had said anything about the make-up, which meant that she didn’t have quite enough on. She would put on more lipstick and go across. Kerry would be waiting for her.
Mary Sheehan couldn’t understand it. Her husband had said that he had to do one simple job, which would put him in great standing with the lads and the superiors today. He had brought guards in early from the big town, saying that there was a cache of stolen goods in some hole or tunnel over on the towpath.
The guards arrived early in order to have it all cleared by the time any festivities began. They had gone in and found nothing but children’s playing things.
Seamus Sheehan had looked in disbelief at the clay and the splintered wood. This hadn’t been heaped like that last night. The tunnel had stretched farther. Surely it had?
But then he hadn’t followed it. He hadn’t needed to. The boxes and crates had been here in this room. This room now with nothing but children’s tables, chairs, and a broken sofa.
Sergeant Sheehan stared in front of him as he sat stupefied in his chair. It was no use that Sheila Whelan backed him up. What did people from the big town make of Sheila except to think she was the local postmistress? They weren’t to know that she was the soundest person in the place.
He had been a fool not to have gone in straight after McCann had left last night. He had thought it would be better to do the thing by the light of the day.
He had been wrong.
One of the men from the tourist board stood near Patrick and told him who the people were. This was the Protestant bishop arriving now, a very big gesture; people would talk of this for a long time. There were TDs from all political parties and one cabinet minister. There were other hoteliers there, and the man from the tourist board said that their faces were forty shades of green. They muttered from one vista to the next about the size of the grant O’Neill must have gotten, the money he must have sunk in it, the hopelessness of trying to compete with anything like this, the folly of believing that there could ever be a return on such expenditure.
Patrick loved it. Every moment of it.
And he loved it when Mr. Williams, the vicar, introduced him to the Walters and the Harrises. People of substance, who had estates near Mountfern. Mr. Walters said his father used to come here a lot in the old days, and Colonel Harris said that he had old pictures of the place in its previous existence. It was wonderful to see it rise again.
They spoke as if a mere half century of being a ruin had been a slight inconvenience and that it had been no trouble for Patrick to get the place started again.
Patrick gave several grateful looks at Jim Costello. The man was a wonder. He managed to be everywhere and yet unobtrusive. Small, handsome, and efficient, courteous and determined. What he would give to have had a son like that!
His own son was behaving well for once. His face looked flushed and excited. He was the center of attention as he moved easily among the crowd.
But while Costello moved about seeing that people were all right, that no one was alone or feeling outside things, Kerry moved like a glorious light that has no purpose except to be looked at and admired.
The twins crossed the footbridge together, as they had done so many times.
In the days when their lives were full of fantasy and imagination they could not have dreamed up anything as splendid as this.
“You look terrific, Dara.”
“Thanks, Michael. So do you. Very very smart.”
Dara wanted to hold his hand for some reason, to reassure him. They walked up through the laurels. The marquee for lunch was by the dock and the barge. But the drinks and welcoming party were around the steps and the main hall.
They came into the crowded forecourt and Dara saw him. There stood Kerry in his new white jacket that he had told her about, his pink-and-white shirt. He looked like a hero, not a man. She saw him laughing and bending a little to listen, then he threw back his head and laughed again.
He was with Kitty Daly, who looked stunning. Her long hair hung loose like a huge halo around her, almost like a cape over her magnificent dress.
Kitty was wearing the copper-colored dress that had been made for Maggie. On Maggie it had been a big
flowing dress. On Kitty, who was tall and leggy, the copper dress was a mini-dress.
She looked at Kerry O’Neill with all the confidence of a beauty who doesn’t need to wonder if other people are looking at her.
She would expect them to be looking. And liking what they saw.
“Are you all right?” Jim Costello spoke to Dara Ryan, who was holding on to one of the huge urns near the steps.
“Yes. Yes, why?”
“I thought you looked dizzy for a moment.”
“No. No, I’m fine. Thank you very much.”
Jim looked at her appreciatively. “You look very well, I must say, Dara, really very smart.”
“Thanks, Mr. Costello.”
He wondered why her voice was so dead. She really did look well in that red silk. Unlike Grace, who looked like a meringue in all that pink linen and broderie anglaise.
But Dara Ryan had no life in her eyes; she had hardly heard the compliment.
Michael came back with two glasses of orange. They had sugar around the edge and a slice of real orange cut so that it was fixed to the glass.
“Have this,” he said.
Dara took it silently.
“She can’t know; she wasn’t here for the dress and everything.”
“I know, I remembered that.”
“She must have just found it at home.” He was trying to take the pain out of Dara’s eyes.
“Yes. Yes, that must have been it.”
“And I’m sure he doesn’t like her really, it’s only with all that hair and everything …” His voice trailed away.
Papers Flynn and Mary Donnelly raised their glasses to each other as they sat in the warm autumn sunshine outside Ryan’s pub.
Mary produced soda bread and slices of ham.
“Much better fare here than we’d get across there,” she said.
“It’s that, all right.” Papers ate happily.
“I never go for salmon all that much,” Mary said.
“Full of bones, it would have your throat in ribbons,” said Papers, who had never tasted salmon in his life.
Eddie saw Leopold crossing the footbridge.
He remembered his mother’s advice: do nothing, nothing at all, without careful thought. He stood there and tried to think carefully. What would a normal person do? Would they ignore Leopold? Or would they take him home? Would they offer him a plate of salmon? The more he thought, the more Eddie realized that careful thinking helped him not at all.
He watched the dog go around the hotel and out toward the back.
The action moved down toward the marquee. Luncheon was being served. The band had started to play lunchtime numbers like songs from The Student Prince and The Merry Widow.
Dara watched as Kerry’s arm guided Kitty toward the huge lunch tent. He had never even looked for her.
She stood high on the steps of Fernscourt and watched them. Why had he not looked for her? Why had he said he loved her only short days ago; why did he hold her and say she was precious and beautiful beyond all imagining, if he was going to be with Kitty Daly? Did he know all the time that Kitty was coming, that she had turned out to be so beautiful?
Dara didn’t believe that he could have held her in his arms and thought of Kitty. It was impossible. Kerry was so good, so true, and he wanted the best for her. For everyone.
Suddenly it made sense to her. He did want the best. And up to now she had been the best in Mountfern. She had been young and not bad-looking, and she had loved him. But now there was a better best. There was Kitty, and he had to have her. The way he had to have that jacket which had cost a fortune. And he had to have the car. And money for gambling.
With a shock she realized that he might have had to get Rachel Fine out of Mountfern. He hadn’t liked her and she might have married his father and become a person of importance. She shook her head. All this and seeing Maggie’s dress. It made her feel dizzy, as if she were going to fall.
She sat down on the steps, and to her astonishment Leopold came and laid his head on her lap.
“What in the name of God are you doing here, Leopold?” she asked him, and he looked up at her from an awkward angle, trying to explain that he thought there might have been a bit of fun and he had come because everyone else was there.
Eddie appeared at that moment, looking anxiously around from behind an urn.
“Can I take it that you’ll be responsible for him now, could we say that I handed him over to you?” Eddie said.
“Wouldn’t you know that you’d have to let us down by bringing Leopold?” Dara said.
“I didn’t, he came across all by himself.”
“Yeah, carrying his invitation in his teeth.”
“What’ll we do, Dara?”
“We’ll take him home. Come on,” she said.
“But it’s not over. There’s lots more to go.” He was disappointed.
“Wouldn’t it be safer to go, Eddie, before you do anything dreadful that’ll be remembered for years, like the confession box?”
Eddie was philosophical. “I suppose it would be best,” he said.
They made a funny little threesome, Eddie with his spiky hair, Dara in her magnificent red silk dress, and Leopold, happy now that he had seen all there was to see.
Kerry O’Neill was coming out to look for Dara, and he saw them reach the footbridge. She had probably been sent to take that awful brother and awful dog home. She would be back later. He would see her then.
Michael found Grace with Tommy and Jacinta and Liam.
“She didn’t know,” he said. “That it was a special dress for Maggie.”
They agreed. Grudgingly. Kitty couldn’t have known.
“It looks quite different on her, anyway,” Grace said. Grace was very disappointed with her own outfit. She wished that Mrs. Fine was still here; she was great at advising people. Mrs. Fine had been so nice to them that time, that short time at the beginning of the summer.
Marian Johnson could look wonderful, Mrs. Fine had said, if she wore tailored clothes. She needed well-cut almost mannish garments, not the soft fly-away things she usually wore.
Today Marian looked very smart in a dark blue and white suit and a blouse with a cameo brooch like Mrs. Whelan wore. She was with a very shabby big untidy man that people said was a barrister. Grace heard them say that he was Marian’s escort. Imagine having escorts at that age.
She went over to her father who was standing momentarily alone.
“Do you miss Mrs. Fine, Father?” she asked unexpectedly.
Patrick put his arm around his daughter. “It’s funny you should say that. I was thinking of her this very moment. She’s going to call tonight. Or I’m to call her. Anyway, when it’s over, we’ll talk.”
“So you’re still good friends with her?” Grace looked pleased.
“No, sadly not. But tonight is special; she and I will talk tonight and then not again for a long while.”
Jim Costello toured ceaselessly. He found smears on some glasses. They were dealt with effortlessly, not by any shouts and roars but by a quick quiet word with someone and the use of the phrase “this minute, please” on almost every occasion.
He ensured that the rooms where valuable antiques were kept had people watching them, and he checked that the revelers had not got into the conservatory. He frowned slightly at the boxes which had been stored there. He looked at the top one. Whiskey.
It was probably some fail-safe idea of O’Neill’s. He was determined that nobody in the county would go dry. He must have ordered a few more crates put in this morning.
At least they were out of the way; nobody would think they were meant to come and carouse in here.
“Where’s Dara?” Grace asked Michael.
“I don’t know. I’ve been looking for her.”
Michael was afraid that Dara might be crying somewhere.
“Do you think she’s upset about Kitty being with Kerry?” Grace asked.
“I don’t know. Do you think he r
eally likes Kitty, or what?”
“I expect he just wants to have fun with everybody,” Grace said.
“Isn’t that what everyone wants?”
Michael saw Grace look around as Jim Costello passed by. A feeling of sadness came over him. Having fun with everybody. Yes, that probably was what everybody wanted. It was what the O’Neills wanted anyway.
Everyone was in the marquee now listening to the speeches. The band was silent and respectful as the dignitaries spoke. All of them praised the courage and foresight of Patrick O’Neill, to come back to this spot and build his monument. They said that faith like his was needed more and more. They looked forward to the day when Americans who came to stay in his hotel would themselves come to build in Ireland and put stone on stone in friendship as their ancestors had done. There was hardly anyone in the main house to see the curtains move in the breeze that came in the open window. And there was nobody there to see when the curtains flapped against the ashtray and knocked it over. The cigarette smoldered on the carpet for a long time before the breeze fanned it into a flame and the flame caught the curtains. The long blue drapes that Rachel Fine had worked on so long to get the right texture, the right shade, and the right look for Fernscourt.
The kitchen staff were far away from it, Jim Costello was hearing himself praised in the marquee, the staff who would serve in the Thatch Bar were busy setting up the place for the onslaught they would have descending on them as soon as the speeches were finished. There wasn’t a man in Mountfern who wouldn’t prefer a pint to the glasses of champagne which were on offer in the big tent.
There was nobody to see the way the singeing became a flame and the way a breeze carried the flame to the top of the curtains. The residents’ lounge burned discreetly and thoroughly behind the closed doors.
By the time the door burned down, the blaze was out of control.
“Did you see Dara?” Kerry asked Tommy Leonard. “I’ve been looking for her all day.”
“Yeah, I can see you have.” Tommy’s eyes were fixed pointedly on Kitty Daly’s arm, which Kerry still held.
