A Change of Heart (The Heartfelt Series)

by Adrienne Vaughan

  “You’ve heard of ‘The Lynx effect’, well this is the ‘movie star-effect’. Your woman, Angelique de Marcos is staying here,” Padar said.

  “Really, so she’s as attractive in real life as she is on screen then?” Father Gregory asked.

  Shay overheard, “Attractive? She’s red hot, Father, and the shape of her.” Shay demonstrated Angelique’s womanly curves. “Jaysus, you wouldn’t mind having a bounce off that yourself, Father, and we wouldn’t say no to you giving us a go too.” The men laughed. Father Gregory scowled at Shay and was just about to reprimand him, when the door flew open and Angelique appeared like a vision in the midst of them. A wan-looking Dermot closed the door behind her. All mouths dropped open. Hair wild and flowing, Angelique wore a see-through blouse, leather shorts and thigh-high boots. Her lips and nails were ruby red, perfectly matching the fur draped across her shoulders.

  “Well hello boys,” she called, sashaying up to the bar. Those who could find their voice mumbled a greeting.

  “Parrdaar,”she dragged out Padar’s name seductively, “could you be a real sweetie and find me some of that fine French champagne? Put it on ice and bring it over to the fire for me, will you? Dermot gave me the most delicious breakfast...” she licked her lips, and half the men in the bar licked theirs, “...but we ran out of champagne. If there’s one thing that little old boat needs, it’s a bigger icebox.” She turned on her heel and strutted across the room to the fireside chair. Dropping her fur on it, she nestled in, crossing her long legs and smoothing the silk on her thighs with her palms. Dermot stared at the men at the bar, until each and every one of them went back to their beer. He took the champagne bucket and glasses off Padar.

  “Celebrating something?” Padar asked, eyes twinkling.

  “Yeah, surviving a night with that one!” Dermot replied under his breath.

  “No way,” Shay overheard, “you lucky dog!”

  Dermot shrugged, “One man’s meat...” Shay frowned.

  “Is another man’s poison,” Father Gregory finished the quotation for him as he went to join Sinead, and Dermot pulled up a stool at Angelique’s feet.

  Larry walked with Miss MacReady up as far as the priest’s house at the top of the village and turned left towards the coast road, which ran a complete circuit around the island. He had some thinking to do. It was Lena’s phone call the previous evening that set the cat among the pigeons and what she had to say was so disturbing Larry had been awake all night.

  Lena was aware Angelique was in Europe but only just found out she had been arrested at Heathrow, and following her overdose taken to a special unit awaiting further investigation. News that the movie star had made it to Innishmahon was as much a shock to her, as it had been to everyone else. Realising Angelique had the jewels with her, it was Lena’s idea to set up the heist.

  “But I can’t do that!” Larry barked into the receiver, “it’s illegal, we’ll all end up in gaol.” They were speaking on the landline, as he dusted the hall table in the cottage he was renting from Padar Quinn. But Lena talked him round, explaining Innishmahon was the ideal place to enact the perfect crime. He would be doing them all a favour, taking the jewels away from Angelique, preventing her from becoming embroiled in a scandal when it came to light what she had been up to, and by ensuring Rossini received the insurance money, he would also be helping to prop up the franchise and keep them all in business.

  Larry had to smile. Lena really was the sharp end of the operation, a real tough cookie, with a heart of gold, however deep she hid it. She always looked out for them and he loved her for that.

  Larry stopped dusting and thought for a minute.

  “I’ll have to get the postmistress on side; the jewels are in the strong box there.”

  “Do whatever you need to. I’ll handle the heist, a couple of professionals, in and out in a flash. You just gotta make sure the cops turn up when it’s all over.”

  “That should be easy, there isn’t even a traffic cop on the island, they’ll have to come by sea,” Larry said.

  “Good and you need to be as far away from the action as possible, preferably back here in the US, not a hint of suspicion. We’re all squeaky clean, okay?”

  Larry’s heart was pounding in his chest; he needed one of his pills.

  “No-one is to get hurt, Lena. I can’t be involved if anyone gets hurt.”

  “Don’t worry, it’ll be a slick operation, over and done with, but this is between you, me and whoever else you have to involve. Don’t let on to Ryan or anyone else. This can’t go wrong, okay?” Lena said. “Look, Larry, I have to go, I’ve a meeting with Rossini’s publicity people. Whatever else happens, we still have a movie to make. How is our client by the way?”

  “Ryan’s good, all things considered. Angelique turning up was a bit of a shock but he and Marianne seem to be dealing with it. He’s so grounded here, I see the best of Ryan when he’s with Marianne,” Larry told her.

  “True love,” Lena laughed, “a rare and wonderful thing.” She hung up, and so did the other person listening on the line.

  Pleased he had Miss MacReady on side, Larry was going over the plan for the heist when he spotted Ryan and Monty running along the beach. It was a mild, bright day and even though the sun, hanging low in the sky, was streaked with the merest trail of cloud, it did little to cheer him; he felt chilled to the bone.

  “Morning Larry, out for a walk? Your physician back in New York will think you’ve had a miracle cure at the shrine at Knock, you look so well,” Ryan called as they ran towards him.

  Must look better than I feel, Larry thought, forcing a smile. Ryan stopped. Monty greeted Larry with a rub against his legs, Larry bent to scratch his ears.

  “It’s the air don’t you think? It kind of energises you. I feel better here, about everything,” Ryan said. Larry could see that, Ryan looked fit: shiny slate-blue eyes, thick black hair with touches of silver, sculpted cheekbones, determined chin.

  “I know that look, Larry, my agent checking the stock. Don’t worry, I’ll be ready when the call comes. No crash dieting or intensive gym programme for me. I’ll be there, good to go.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Larry picked up a stick and threw it for Monty. They started to walk back towards the village.

  “Decided how long you’re staying? Marianne and I wanted to ask you over for dinner,” Ryan said.

  Larry stopped and looked out to sea. “I’m gonna need to get back pretty soon.”

  “Shall we invite Kathleen to dinner too? You seem to get along?” Ryan watched Larry’s face.

  “Aw, come on now, no matchmaking, I ain’t her type,” Larry blushed.

  “A little birdie tells me she thinks you are,” Ryan teased.

  “Hey, stop with that, don’t be making something out of nothing,” Larry said.

  “I’m not. Think we’ll invite her anyway, she’s great company, always a yarn or two to spin, not sure how much truth there is in Kathleen’s version of things, but for someone who’s spent most of her time on the island, she seems to have had an exciting life.”

  “It’s about to get a whole heap more,” Larry said, into the collar of his coat.

  “What was that?” Ryan asked.

  “She certainly ain’t no bore,” Larry replied, stomach twisting.

  Ryan and Monty returned from their run with Larry in tow, who went into spasms of ecstasy because they had pastrami and pickles in the fridge, insisting he made lunch for everyone. He raised an eyebrow when Marianne said she would leave them to it - she and Joey were lunching with Angelique in Maguire’s.

  Marianne had been in the pub for over an hour and there was still no sign of Angelique. She sat quietly with Joey as locals drifted in and out. Padar made Joey a boiled egg, chopped up with butter for lunch, but Marianne was not hungry. The bar was empty when the vision appeared. She strolled in wearing a perfectly fitted cream trouser suit, ivory polo neck and elegant courts. Her hair was tied and wrapped in a coffee coloured silk
scarf, pearl studs in her ears. If anything, the classic simplicity of the ensemble made her appear even more beautiful. She looked disappointed there was no public to greet her and, bringing a glass of clear liquid with her from behind the bar, joined them.

  “Hey, really glad you could make it,” she said, smiling too brightly. I live two minutes away, I can easily make it. Marianne thought, smiling back at Angelique, who clearly had no idea she was remotely late. Marianne was in no mood for feigned niceties.

  “Look, we’re never going to be in love with each other, so let’s not even try,” Marianne said. Angelique registered mild surprise. Marianne continued. “But we can be sensible for Joey and Ryan’s sake, all our sakes really.” Angelique’s smile stayed fixed, she pulled up a chair.

  “I so totally agree, honey. We both want what’s best for Joey, and Ryan’s basically a good guy, if a little screwy.”

  Marianne gave her a look.

  “In a nice way screwy, he really thinks he’s doing the right thing, dragging my poor child to this god-awful place and setting up home in, well, in nothing more than a cottage.” Angelique waved her hand.

  “It is a cottage,” Marianne said.

  “Anyways,” Angelique continued with the spooky smile, “I’m hoping you’ll be the voice of reason and get him to agree to my little package an’ all. That way, hey presto it’s all done, everyone’s gotten what they want and I’m outta here.”

  Marianne let that go; it was too early in their conversation to begin negotiations. She lifted Joey from the rug where he was playing and looked at Angelique to see if there was even a glimmer of longing to hold her son, feel his skin against hers. Marianne loved to watch the light glint on his eyelashes, stroke the perfect smooth of his cheek, smell his hair. Angelique watched Marianne with her son, but her beautiful, dark eyes remained dark.

  Safe in Marianne’s arms Joey looked up at his mother - eyes bright, questioning. Angelique touched his hand briefly. He went to grasp her shiny, ruby nails but she snapped her fingers back. She gave a nervous laugh. Marianne folded her hand over Joey’s.

  “You can probably tell, I’m not that great with kids,” Angelique said, “I never planned...”

  “That’s okay,” Marianne was dismayed at the woman, she had just lumped her one and only child in with the rest of the kids on the planet. “I’m not sure I am. I think the best tactic is just to be as natural as you can, they know if you’re forcing things.”

  Angelique gave her head a little shake. “I’m sure you’re right honey, but it ain’t for me. Of course I’d give anything to have my boy with me the whole time, and I’m looking forward to spending time with him – eventually - but he needs care, a nanny, au pair, you know, professional help.”

  Marianne frowned. “He’s a normal little boy.”

  “Sure he is,” Angelique did not seem convinced, “but you can’t take care of him twenty-four seven, it’s too big an ask. Neither you nor Ryan really know what you’re doing. Be honest honey, this is not a job either of you are qualified to undertake.”

  “But that’s what people do in this part of the world. It’s called being a family,” Marianne said coldly.

  “Don’t patronise me, Marianne,” Angelique spoke slowly. “If it comes to a custody battle I will win because I will demonstrate how much better my son will be cared for with me. His welfare and education will be paramount and he’ll have the best of everything, including the one thing you cannot give him, the love of his mother, because that’s me.”

  Marianne took a deep breath; she would not be bated. She placed Joey back on the rug, moving him out of Angelique’s range. “But I thought you wanted him out of your life. I thought you wanted Ryan to take care of him. I thought that was part of the deal,” she said.

  Angelique rolled her eyes. “Precisely, but it’s all or nothing. I do not want one of these flimsy arrangements. Poor Joey needs to know where he stands, so if Ryan is not prepared to agree to every aspect of the arrangement, the deal is off and I will go for custody and I will win, hands down!”

  She stood to leave. Marianne reached over and caught her by the sleeve. Angelique jumped, as if she had been bitten by a snake. She looked down at Marianne’s hand.

  “He has told you, hasn’t he?” she asked.

  “Told me what?” Marianne said.

  “Told you what the deal is,” Angelique looked into Marianne’s eyes. “No, he hasn’t. Typical Ryan, head in the sand, hoping it will all go away, somehow everything will sort itself out, so he doesn’t have to get his pretty movie star hands dirty. Well you ask him what it is I want, and you tell him from me that he has to agree every single detail and then see if you still want him, because if you do I feel sorry for you, sorry you’d stay with a man who can never, ever totally commit.”

  Angelique shrugged Marianne’s hand off and swept out of the room. Joey, who had been silent all the time his mother was present, gave a little sigh. Marianne picked him up. Padar appeared from the cellar.

  “Why don’t you leave him with me, Marianne? Ryan will drop Bridget off soon enough, I’ve a great new game for them,” he said.

  But Marianne was halfway through the door, the little boy clamped tightly to her.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ship To Shore

  Dermot Finnegan was standing on the deck of the boat he had acquired within days of arriving on the island. He bought it from one of the locals who decided between the weather and EU regulations, he could no longer make a living from the sea and was heading to Australia to join his brother working in IT for a massive conglomerate. Dermot bought it for a good price. It was in pristine condition, kitted out with two well-appointed cabins, galley, good sized heads with a power shower - all very stylish and compact. It was more than comfortable enough to live on, especially in the summer.

  He was looking forward to that: long, lazy days with the anchor dropped just off a little bay, fishing line draped over the side, barbecue to cook whatever he caught. He pictured a pretty woman stretched out on the deck, sipping a cold glass of white wine while he prepared lunch. The wind caught the tarpaulin he was folding; it flapped into his face, dissolving his daydreams.

  He went below, the debris of the night before splayed about the cabin - an empty champagne bottle, discarded clothing, pasta dishes thrown in the sink. He started tidying, running water into the basin to wash up. He curled his lip at the soggy butt end he found on a plate. The remnants of the weed he and Angelique shared ahead of “getting down and dirty” as she called it. He had been amazed at the energy and variety of his guest’s sexual prowess. He thought he knew most of the tricks of the trade, having been seconded to Vice at one stage in his career, but Angelique was very imaginative. And when she produced the phials of amyl nitrate, dripping it onto her breasts, before presenting them for him to lick clean, it confirmed what he had suspected: sexual antics such as this were a well-practised hobby for the actress. He remembered the gleam in her eyes as, after he was spent, she brought herself to climax after climax, each orgasm more frenzied and desperate than the last.

  Dermot dried his hands, and, replacing a cushion on the couch, found the silk scarf she had tied his hands with while she dug her nails into his throat. He checked in the mirror, the livid marks still evident. He shuddered at the memory. Although aspects of it were far from unpleasant, Dermot had just been doing his job, trying to discover if Angelique, a known substance abuser, knew anything about the shipment destined for the island. If she did, she gave nothing away, and by the time he delivered her back to Maguire’s it was Dermot who felt he had been well and truly had.

  “Ahoy there, anyone aboard?” a voice cut through his thoughts, bringing him back to the present. Dermot went on deck. A man, he vaguely recognised, in a sailing jacket and cap stood looking up from the quayside.

  “Phileas, Phileas Porter,” the man said. “Myself and the wife have the pharmacy below in the town.”

  Dermot broke into a smile. Phileas had served him when
he had been in for razors and toothpaste.

  “Come aboard. Dermot Finnegan, good to meet you.” The men shook hands. “What can I do for you?” Dermot continued in his easy way, checking the other man out: weak handshake, weasel-like face, shifty eyes sweeping over the boat as Dermot watched him.

  “It was more me wondering what I could do for you?” the other man said, attempting a smile.

  “Really?” Dermot was intrigued, “Listen, I was just about to have a beer, care to join me?”

  “No thanks, I don’t drink,” Phileas replied, “Have you something soft?”

  “Sure,” answered Dermot, beckoning the man to follow him down below. Funny, Dermot thought, he was sure he could smell alcohol or some sort of chemical on him.

  They sat down at the chart table, a can a piece. Phileas was distracted, eyes everywhere.

  “You were saying?” Dermot prompted.

  “Oh yes, I was wondering if you’ll be using the boat the whole time, or whether or not it might be available to hire out now and again,” Phileas said.

  “Hadn’t given it much thought,” Dermot replied, looking into the man’s face, Phileas did not look the seafaring type – quite wan for an islander. “Why, what would you want it for?”

  “Ah, just fishing trips, picnics and such. We don’t have much time off, me and the wife, so when we do, we like to make a day of it, head out to sea, maybe swim off one of the bays north of the island. We’re from the city, you see. One of the reasons we came here was to enjoy the ocean when we can,” he gave Dermot that smile again. “I used to hire this off the fella you bought it from. I was just wondering if we could have the same arrangement. It would help with the running costs, I was thinking, it’s not cheap keeping a boat afloat.”

  Dermot laughed, “Yes, what’s that saying, owning a boat in these parts is like standing in a cold shower, peeling off fifty euro notes and flushing them down the plughole.”