Larry shook his head, dabbing his mouth with his napkin.
“You can, but we’d lose everything, everything we’ve worked for all these years. Bow out when it’s done, go with the world applauding, begging you to stay. Leave at the top of your career,” Larry squeezed Ryan’s hand, “make us all proud.”
“But Marianne, Joey, my life here...” he raised his hands, encompassing the bar.
“They are your life, you’ve made the grand gesture. We’ve just got to be pragmatic and work round it. Besides you don’t start work on the next movie for six months, plenty of time to put down roots, plan things for the future. And that’s what you need to do, look out for everyone’s future: you, Joey, Marianne, the whole damn lot.”
Ryan sipped his wine, pensively.
“And if I bow out now?” he asked.
“You owe them big time. Not worth it.” Larry had finished his lamb and was tucking into cherry pie. Ryan pushed his plate away. Marianne, who had been hovering behind the bar, appeared at his elbow.
“Okay? Lamb not to your liking?” she asked. Ryan’s plate was still full; Larry was finishing dessert.
“Delicious, the chef here is amazing,” Larry said.
“Thank you,” she replied, not sure if Larry realised she was the cook.
“Can I have a few moments of your time?” he asked politely, looking her in the eye. “This is important.”
“Of course,” she said, relieved. She needed to be part of this conversation, she needed Larry on side. Larry gave Ryan a look. Ryan shrugged and headed for the kitchen, plates and dishes precariously stacked in his arms.
Larry folded his napkin and took another sip of soda water. Marianne pulled her chair up, fists clenched beneath the table.
“Ryan can’t just resign Marianne. He can’t walk away from the movie deal. Lena went to see our lawyer as soon as she got wind of the TV stunt. The compassionate break clause, to which Ryan so blithely refers, only kicks in if the actor, meaning Ryan, is terminally ill or has an untreatable psychotic condition. Now, much as we both love him and know he’s slightly off the wall, an untreatable psychotic he ain’t!” Larry said.
“I don’t get the impression Ryan has ever looked that closely at his contract,” Marianne had to concur.
Larry nodded. “True, he’s always left that side of things to me, which is fine, that’s my job.”
“Are you saying there’s no getting out of it?” Marianne asked sadly.
Larry felt a pang of guilt. He liked this young woman. He had never seen Ryan happier with anyone in his life. But he had a job to do, he had to deliver.
“It’s a rolling contract. Ryan is barely on wages until fees from the box office returns kick in. Even then, money is placed in a client account until all three movies are made and released. If he walks away now, he not only walks with nothing, the film company will sue him for loss of earnings - he’ll be broke. It is highly unlikely he’ll ever work again. He’ll be blacklisted. Not officially, but that’s how it works,” Larry said.
Marianne looked up at Ryan who was keeping up the pretext of helping Padar behind the bar. He flipped a mixer like a professional cocktail waiter. Padar burst out laughing. Padar did not laugh much these days, tears pricked the corners of her eyes.
“But he doesn’t care about the money, it’s not important to him, to us,” she said.
“That’s blatantly obvious, but incredibly naive – there are too many powerful people in this particular food chain. You’re an intelligent woman, Marianne, surely you know how these things work?” Larry kept his voice even.
“The main reason he took the role was to sort his finances out, wipe the slate clean. You’re saying if he doesn’t complete the contract that’s not going to happen?” Marianne was also speaking quietly.
“It’s not too late, but time’s running out. He must go to New York and talk to Rossini. I’ve no need to tell you how important PR is in this game. We need to get the machine rolling again, assuring everyone, everything is back on track. It’s not just about making a movie, it’s a multi-national business. There’s an awful lot at stake, people have invested a lot of money in the franchise and they have to see a return.”
Marianne sat back, watching Larry carefully. “The backers, the money-men you mean.”
He nodded.
“Everyone Marianne, it’s a big deal. Ryan staying with the franchise guarantees the return. He’s gone public saying he’s chosen you and a life here, so make it happen. Give him a home, something to come back to. Be a family, it’s what you both want, but he must do as I ask and I need your support, none of us can do this without you behind him, behind us, take it or leave it, that’s the truth of it.” Larry looked her in the eye.
Marianne’s mouth was set in a grim line. She let out a breath and nodded briefly. Ryan took the fact they stopped talking as his cue to reappear.
“All okay over here?” he gave a slight smile.
“I think we’re getting somewhere,” Larry said, not taking his eyes off Marianne. “Any bourbon in this place, I could do with a drink?”
“Couldn’t we all?” laughed Ryan, trying to gauge the mood, “but you’ll have Irish whiskey and be glad of it.”
Larry nodded, “Make it a good big one!”
Marianne had been rolling and re-rolling a napkin between her fingers.
“Marie?” Ryan said, bending towards her, brow creased with concern.
“I’ll think I’ll go and check the children,” she said, and left.
Chapter Six
A New Career In A New Town
Dermot Finnegan was classically good-looking: tall, broad-shouldered with slim hips, a mop of sandy blond hair and greenish eyes. He laughed easily, with a robustness about him that left whoever he was talking to with a feeling of confident heartiness. Dermot was a man to be trusted, leaned upon. Dermot got things done and, it had to be said, Dermot had an awful lot of things to do.
He pulled the door of his neo-Georgian south Dublin apartment shut and threw his holdall into the boot of the 4x4. Punching a code into the sat nav, he put his phone on speaker and swung out of the cul-de-sac heading for the motorway going west. He had a good three and a half hour drive ahead of him and as dawn was breaking behind him, he would have a pretty clear run out of the city and on towards Mullingar.
Trying to suppress the bubbling excitement in his stomach, he flicked on the radio to catch the early morning news. He wondered if a large haul of cocaine, recently discovered in a disused warehouse near the airport had made the news yet. It was his dogged thoroughness that uncovered the packets of white powder, hidden in the miniature suitcases of a consignment of dolls dressed as air stewardesses; a clever ploy but Dermot had it sussed. He was keen to know if his boss had managed to keep the story under wraps, holding it in reserve for when the Gardaí needed a PR boost or a minister wanted to give the recession-battered populace of Ireland a little respite.
The clipped vowels of the newsreader rang out. The lead story was a visiting South Asian diplomat promising a new technology factory, followed by a motorway pile-up in the north and the Lotto rollover. He smiled to himself, Chief Superintendent McBride was still keeping a lid on it then, buying a bit more time for Dermot to pick up the thread on the far side of the country and see what he could uncover. It was his job to unearth the ringleader, the gangland bigwig co-ordinating shipments in through a number of ports.
Dermot had been integral in the Dublin sting; first in line when they burst upon the gang, bold as brass, loading the consignment into a fleet of illegal taxis, the perfect decoy to speed unchallenged through the city streets and out across the Dublin county border. He was damn good at his job, but he wanted a change, a bit more out of life. He sped along the motorway, making good time; it was still too early for rush-hour traffic to impede his escape.
Dermot’s father had been a policeman, but Dermot had railed against the concept of a job for life and ‘ran away to join the circus’ as his father put
it. He became an actor, much to his father’s dismay and his mother’s quiet pride, but when he returned, out of work and broke, still young enough to join the force, he decided to make a career of it after all, winning his father’s approval at last when he was named the force’s top marksman. But Dermot wanted to work undercover, using his acting skills to pull off a big job, and now this was his chance. An opportunity to make his mark, go out in a blaze of glory, before finally hanging up his badge.
Musing as he drove, Dermot was looking forward to this new assignment. One of the drug runners had cracked under interrogation, letting slip the next consignment was coming in via an island off the west coast, where a large construction project meant workers coming and going could disguise any extraneous activity. Dermot hit on Innishmahon. It had to be.
Tenacious as ever, Dermot discovered the island had been granted a lifeboat station, and a lifeboat station needed a coxswain, a captain to take the helm and run the show. As a fully qualified yacht master, first aider and serving officer of the Gardaí, Dermot was the perfect candidate.
In no time, Dermot was digging out his sea-boots, defrosting the fridge and kissing a handful of admirers goodbye. Innishmahon beckoned, a friendship needed rekindling, a lifeboat needed launching and a drugs ring needed busting. He switched off the radio and put his foot to the floor. He could almost see himself, scorching a trail across the map of Ireland Indiana Jones style.
Marianne drove Ryan to Knock Airport with the two youngsters in car seats behind them and Monty sitting happily on guard in-between. They giggled and gurgled for a while and then dropped off to sleep. Monty curling up into a ball as soon as he was satisfied his wards were slumbering. Marianne remembered Oonagh telling her a run in the car around the village was a sure way to get Bridget off when she was fractious. Marianne was impressed the ploy worked with Joey too.
She told Ryan he should take the trip to New York alone. It was business after all. But he was to be under no illusion, as soon as the agenda was settled, future trips would include all four of them, five if Monty could be accommodated, she wanted him clear about that. Initially he had been stubborn, refusing to even discuss going to New York, arguing with Larry that what was done, was done and let the lawyers to deal with the fallout. But when Marianne, fully appraised of the situation by Larry, backed up by a lengthy telephone call with Lena, told him he should go and get things straight with the studio, Ryan finally conceded and arranged to meet Franco Rossini in Central Park, two days later.
“They’re fast asleep,” Ryan said, watching her profile as she drove, turned-up nose, the sprinkle of summer freckles fading, her expression impertinent, even when she was concentrating.
“Good, I’m sure Kathleen wouldn’t have minded babysitting but when she told me she was having dinner with Larry, I didn’t want to impose,” she said.
“I know,” Ryan laughed. They were surprised when Larry said he was staying on for a while and would not be joining Ryan on the flight back to Shannon and on to JFK. “What’s that all about, surely not a romantic encounter? I mean I love Kathleen but she’s years older than Larry, I’d have thought...”
“About the same age difference as us. Are you suggesting he’s a toyboy? Why wouldn’t he be attracted to a charming, intelligent older woman? She’s quite a catch, with all those post office savings accounts at her fingertips.” Marianne alluded to the fact Larry was ‘careful’ with money, one of the reasons Ryan said he never married: too scared a wife would make inroads into his bank account.
“Well, if you put it like that,” Ryan smiled, “but has she no love interest of her own. I mean she’s still a sexy woman, and definitely sends out all the signals.”
Marianne slapped his thigh.
“Ryan, that’s my mother you’re talking about.”
“Well, only just your mother,” Ryan replied. He was still getting used to the idea. A strange story of coincidence alright, but one that explained why Marianne felt instantly at home on Innishmahon.
Ryan too, had always felt a strong connection to the island. Brought up by his maternal grandmother nearby, he spent holidays fishing with her brothers, until he won the scholarship to the School of Performing Arts and, after that, hungry for success, joined a rock band, returning two years later to find his grandmother dead and the brothers estranged.
Looking back at the babies and the little bundle of white fur, he squeezed Marianne’s knee.
“It’ll be alright,” she said, sensing his mood of foreboding, Ryan was not looking forward to the trip.
“You’re right, I need to eyeball Franco and talk it through with him, face-to-face. Larry’s a drama queen, we know that, but Lena’s level-headed and she seemed, not stressed exactly, but more, well fearful,” Ryan told her.
They picked up the signs for the airport; only a few miles to go and they would be parted again. A sense of sadness hung between them.
“There’s a lot at stake. See what he has to say, take it all on board. We can discuss it, chew it over, make the best decision we can, what more can we do?” she said as they turned into the car park.
Sensing they had reached their destination, Monty awoke and placed his paws on the console between the driver and passenger seats. Ryan took him in his arms and cradled him against his jacket, nuzzling the dog’s wet snout.
“You take care of the family while I’m away little man,” he told him. The sharp dark eyes stared back into Ryan’s. Monty knew what his job entailed; he wanted Ryan assured of that.
Realising Monty, their comfort blanket had moved, the two toddlers started to stir.
“Shall you just drop me off? No need to disturb Joey and Bridget, do you think?” he asked her.
“Airports and goodbyes are likely to be a big part of their lives, the sooner they accept that the better,” she said, matter-of-factly.
“But we don’t want them upset,” Ryan offered.
“That’s why they have to get used to it. Then they’ll know when and what to get upset about,” she smiled, trying to ease his concern, “they’ll soon love airports as much as I do. They mean someone is going on an adventure or someone’s coming home. Who doesn’t love an airport?”
He laughed and leaned across to kiss her.
“You’re so Love Actually sometimes,” he said, referring to her favourite film.
“All the time,” she grinned.
They arranged the children in their new double buggy, clipping Monty’s lead onto the frame, as Ryan slung his bag over his shoulder, taking charge of the steering. Bridget was wide awake and gurgling at Joey, explaining the sights and sounds all around them. Joey sat, white-faced, looking from one adult to the other. Marianne, sensing his anxiety, took him up in her arms and Monty promptly jumped into the spot beside Bridget, who carried on her conversation regardless. Ryan and Marianne laughed. Ryan covered Monty up with a rug as they trundled through the entrance, ignoring the No Dogs Except Guide Dogs sign.
“You’re nearly boarding,” Marianne said, pointing at the screen. The next flight to Shannon boarded in five minutes, ahead of an arrival from Dublin.
“I won’t be gone long,” he assured her.
“You need as long as it takes,” she replied, unnecessarily fixing the collar of his jacket with her spare hand. He touched the necklace at her throat, the exquisite weathervane, studded with diamonds he had commissioned for her, to remind her that wherever he was in the world, she was his world and he would be coming back to her.
“Love you,” he said, slate-blue eyes glinting. The doors slid open. A tall, fair-haired man led a small conga of passengers out into the main hall.
“Well, look at that! Ryan O’Gorman and Marianne, all the gang come to meet me. Hello, hello.” Arms flung wide, Ryan and Marianne looked up into the beaming face of Dermot Finnegan.
“Sure I was all loaded up and heading across country when the car gave up the ghost. I’ve fair battered it over the past few months to be honest, so when the recovery man towed it away, I
grabbed what I could carry and headed to the nearest airfield. One of my buddies on the force keeps a couple of light aircraft. A quick phone call, slight diversion and here I am,” Dermot laid his cup back in the saucer. The crockery looked like a toy tea-set beside his huge hands. Marianne sipped her coffee.
“A happy coincidence then,” she smiled back at one of Ryan’s oldest friends. “How long have you known about the lifeboat station?”
“Not long. If I’m honest I kind of manipulated the appointment. I fancied a change of scene and you guys seemed so taken with the island and your life there, I thought, what harm, could be a fresh start?” he said.
“I thought you were happy in Dublin, in the guards,” she said.
“I am, was. But I’ve been in the job a long time. Very stressful, and you and Ryan seemed so, well together. I thought, do you know what Dermot, maybe it’s not too late for you after all, maybe there’s a happy ever after for me too,” he gave her a half-grin.
Marianne touched the large, calloused fingers.
“No-one special in your life?” she asked, gently.
“There was,” Dermot tapped the table, “complicated, wasn’t to be, you know how it is.” He looked away, nodding at the babies dozing in the buggy beside them. “Little pets, God bless them,” he whispered, “Will Ryan be gone long?” he asked, looking towards the doors they had watched Ryan pass through, waving a hurried goodbye, bemused by his friend’s appearance but seemingly happy to leave all he loved standing at his side.
“Take care of my gang till I get back then.” Ryan’s parting shot as he kissed them all farewell, including Dermot. He was an actor, after all.
“As long as it takes,” Marianne replied.
“Trouble?” Dermot asked. Marianne was not sure how much Dermot knew about Ryan’s situation, or how much Ryan would want him to know.
“Just business,” she answered brightly, gathering the wherewithal to get the show on the road. “Would you like a lift? I need to catch the next ferry. I know they would come for us if we were stranded, but I don’t want to use all our favours up too quickly.”
A Change of Heart (The Heartfelt Series) Page 6
