Phileas nodded in agreement. “That’s right enough,” he said. “Well …?” he seemed anxious for an answer.
“Can I have a think about it?” Dermot drained his drink; he had needed a beer after all the champagne. He was planning to live on the boat, weather permitting, while the lifeboat project was underway and there was something about Phileas’ request that did not ring true. Dermot decided he might be worth stringing along. “Not sure what I’m doing with it yet, plenty of time. I mean it’s October, you wouldn’t be thinking about hiring it until the spring at the earliest, am I right?”
Phileas looked surprised.
“Well, maybe a bit before that. The wife’s birthday’s soon. I was thinking of a little trip then, a candlelight supper, you know the kind of thing,” he winked.
Dermot smiled. “Oh I get it,” he nodded, “Well, leave it with me Phileas, and I’ll see what I can do. When is the lucky lady’s birthday, just so I know?”
Phileas got up to go.
“Halloween, the bank holiday weekend, I can close the pharmacy and we can head off.” He pulled his cap down over his eyes as he left.
“Fair enough, I’ll drop into you below in the shop, so,” Dermot called after him, “see ya.”
He waited until he heard Phileas clamber down the ladder, and the boat righted itself in the water. Rubbing his hands together he pulled a steel box out from under the berth, clicked the combination lock to release the catch and lifted the lid to reveal a very impressive collection of the latest digital surveillance equipment. Slowly and with relish he unpacked the box piece by piece. There was a selection of the latest cameras, a variety of telephones all with voice recognition, FaceTime and Skype - he loved the idea of being able to see who you were talking to. Then came his favourite: a range of mini-microphones and sat navs disguised as buttons, earpieces, even jewellery, and to top the lot, a good old-fashioned, two-way radio. He hooked this up first, safer than anything digital and far less likely to be hacked.
“Shiptoshoreshiptoshore. Over.” he said into the handset. A sharp crackling sound followed and then a voice.
“Is that you Dermot? Speak Irish for God’s sake,” came the reply.
“Ná bac le hainmneacha, a amadán. Over,” Dermot said into the radio.
“What the feck was that?” came the voice again.
“Irish. I said, don’t use names, you idiot, in Irish. Over,” Dermot spoke slowly, fiddling with the controls.
“No, I meant speak normal Irish, like this.” The voice sounded a lot clearer now.
“I hate to tell you but we’re actually speaking English. Over,” Dermot said.
“Ah fuck off, Dermot, you’re in Ireland aren’t ya? You’re speaking fecking Irish when you talk to me anyhow.” The connection went dead. Dermot shook his head, not entirely convinced the right man had been commissioned to help with the job at all.
Ryan stuffed the papers into a drawer in the desk when he heard the hall door open. He wanted to read Angelique’s proposal with a clear head but every word just fuelled his fury, until he could stand no more, and slung the document aside.
Bridget was in the buggy ready to go. She called to Joey as soon as she saw him. Marianne settled him next to her, clipping him in. They immediately started their chitter-chatter: a giggling gibberish they used all the time. Marianne was convinced they each knew every word the other said, even Monty seemed to understand it.
“How was lunch?” Ryan asked warily.
“Weird,” Marianne said flatly. “Angelique seemed spookily calm, serene almost. But she’s so detached from Joey - she didn’t even pick him up, didn’t seem to want to touch him even,” she sighed. “She thinks we’re incapable of looking after him though, saying he needs professional help, and if you don’t agree to the terms and conditions in her new proposal, that’s what she’ll base her custody claim on. She says she’ll win because she actually is his mother. But I don’t think she wants to win, she doesn’t want custody, she doesn’t want the responsibility, that’s why she keeps spouting on about professional help.”
“Bullshit,” Ryan spat. “Professional help indeed. She’s the one who needs professional help. Where is she now?”
“She took herself off, I don’t know where.” Marianne was disappointed she had been unable to resolve anything.
Ryan frowned. “Look, I’ll take the kids over to Padar as arranged.” He put his arms around her; he could see she was frazzled. “Shall I suggest we put off the menu-tasting session at the pub? I’ll say you’re shattered and I’ll cook us a nice romantic supper here, have a bit of time together, what do you say?” he lifted her chin, twinkling eyes looked into hers. Marianne looked quizzical. “You and Padar were going to try some dishes, thinking about having a bit of a hooley for Halloween, remember?”
“I’d completely forgotten,” she said, and then smiled. “Your idea sounds better. I didn’t have lunch, so can we make it early. I’m flippin’ starving.”
Taking the buggy, he headed for the door.
“Don’t forget the romantic bit; we’re having that as well, aren’t we?” he gave her a cheeky grin, she laughed as he disappeared but she was feeling far from romantic.
Maguire’s was relatively quiet when Ryan arrived with the children. Two of Padar’s cousins were behind the bar, stacking glasses and chatting amiably. Ryan went through into the kitchen to find Padar up to his elbows in vegetable peelings.
“One of the recipes for Halloween,” he explained to Ryan. “A venison casserole with sour cream sauté potatoes, what do you think?”
“Sounds delicious.” Ryan popped a piece of carrot into his mouth. “Look, do you need Marianne tonight, only we’ve seen so little of each other recently, it would be really nice to spend some time on our own.”
“What?” Padar exploded, “I need her here, we’ve a new menu to produce, people are getting fed up with toasted sandwiches, soup and a bowl of chips - there’s only ever anything good on the menu when Marianne’s here.”
Padar saw his friend’s face fall and felt immediately guilty.
“Sorry Ryan, I’m being selfish, youse have a cosy night in, tell her I’ll have a practise here on my own and she can have a tasting tomorrow, see what she thinks. Does that sound like a bit of a plan?”
Ryan clapped him on the back.
“Indeed, and it is,” he said, and kissing the little ones briefly, made to go. “Have you seen Angelique?”
“Not since this afternoon. She went up to her rooms, didn’t have any lunch here anyway. She did send down for another bottle of vodka around five-ish and...”
“She’s drinking?” Ryan interrupted.
Padar nodded. “She’s wasn’t on the wagon for long, started drinking champagne with Dermot yesterday, it’s been vodka since. There’s not a drop of hot water left in the place if that’s any clue as to what she’s up to, up there.” As if his words had summoned up an incarnation, a swirl of blood-red silk appeared in the doorway. Angelique gave Ryan a lazy smile.
“Well, look who it is, The Spy who Loved Me!” she said, exaggerating her Texan drawl, “and you’ve brought the brood.” She pointed at the children, “I just love the way you people have little babies in bars the whole time, what with drinking, and swearing and brawling. It’s just the perfect environment for these little ones, and I shall delight in telling the judge precisely that, should I need to.” She gave them a beguiling smile.
“They’re in the kitchen with their fathers, nothing odd or unusual about that at all,” Ryan told her.
“Well, you just think about it long and hard, Ryan, there’s plenty that’s odd about this whole scenario and plenty that’s perfectly sane and sensible about my proposal.” She turned to swirl away, “You have read my proposal?”
“Of course,” he replied.
“Really? Not shared it with the other woman though, have you?” she studied his face.
“I don’t know what you mean?” he flew back at her.
“You so do! The bit where
it says whatever happens should you marry again, any claim to our son is null and void, custody reverts to me automatically,” she sneered, into Ryan’s face.
Padar stopped chopping vegetables.
“But that’s ludicrous, Angelique, we’re getting a divorce. You have a partner, I have a partner, it makes no sense.” Ryan was mystified.
She stepped into the room, filling it with fury.
“It makes every sense. You are not to marry again. In Joey’s eyes, his mother and father are married and always will be, they might not be together but they are married, they are his parents.” Her voice was rising.
Joey started that strange, intermittent whine he made whenever Angelique was stressing about something.
“Okay, calm down, take it easy.” Ryan made soothing gestures with his hands, he reached towards her.
“Don’t touch me, you bastard!” she snapped, eyes glittering with tears, and spinning on her heel, swept away.
“Bloody hell,” Padar whistled softly, “what was that all about?”
“About herself as usual,” Ryan replied, mouth set in a grim line. “Never about anything else except herself.”
The door swung open and Ryan and Padar braced themselves for another tirade. The red had turned to blue, equally swirling, but satin not silk.
“Ryan, there you are, excellent. Where’s Marianne?” Miss MacReady was in the middle of the room in an instant.
“At home.” Ryan blinked, Miss MacReady always made an effort in the style department, but tonight was something else, she had pulled out all the stops. Was that glitter on her eyelashes?
“Are you two free for dinner this evening?” Miss MacReady fluttered the scary eyelashes.
“Er ...”
“Well, it’s just that Larry is packing to go back to New York. He’s been away from the business far longer than he should have and well, what with it being his last night, I thought it would be lovely for us all to dine together,” she said.
“Oh, where?” Ryan could almost feel her twisting his arm.
“Why, here of course.” She turned to Padar, “What’s that you’re making Padar? It smells divine.”
“Venison casserole, but ...”
“Sounds perfect, we’ll have that then.” She smiled at Ryan. “I tried phoning Marianne but no reply, so guessed you were here, where is she?”
“Probably having a lie-down, it’s all been a bit ...”
“Indeed,” Miss MacReady interrupted, “this is just what she needs, an evening out, with close friends and family, here in the sanctity and safety of the friendliest pub in Ireland. Shall I go and fetch her?”
“No, that’s okay, I’ll go, but we were planning a night in, what with Padar and Sinead babysitting and all.” Ryan gave her a cheeky wink.
Miss MacReady waved her hand, “Ah sure you can do that anytime. No, you must come tonight, we must be here, all together, to say goodbye to Larry and assure him of a warm welcome when he returns. Now, where’s Sinead, I wonder if she’ll join us once she’s settled the children for the evening?”
Ryan knew when he was beaten.
The children were asleep on the sofa with Monty in the middle, looking for all the world like a litter of puppies, arms and legs everywhere, out for the count. Sinead had been unable to stay, telling Padar, “Phileas was not the best” whatever that meant, and Padar had been too busy to enquire further, although he fleetingly thought she looked as if she had been crying again.
Miss MacReady checked on them between courses and with Ryan busy making them all Irish coffees, she and Marianne took the opportunity to transfer them to the nursery created out of the boudoir Oonagh made for herself and Bridget when the Quinn’s precious little girl first arrived.
“Funny, Sinead having to go, she adores minding those babies,” Miss MacReady commented, gently pulling on Joey’s sleep suit. “Mind you, he can be tricky that Phileas and not a bit sociable, while she’s so nice and personable.”
“I don’t think all’s well there, do you?” Marianne asked her. “She comes into the pub most nights now and seems so sad too. She’s such a hard worker and takes her job very seriously. I wonder if there’s something else more than tiredness, what do you think?”
Miss MacReady nodded. “The light’s gone out of her alright, such a shame. Maybe she and Phileas are going through a bad patch, it happens to everyone from time to time.”
Marianne shrugged, standing at the door waiting for Monty to join them, before switching off the light. Monty snuffled the cots in parting and trotted to where his mistress stood. She closed the door and he sat down on the landing in front of it; he had developed the habit of sleeping outside the nursery whenever the children stayed there.
“I don’t know Phileas at all,” Marianne said, as they went down the stairs.
“Don’t think anyone does, not even Sinead, maybe that’s the problem,” Miss MacReady replied, sweeping into the bar to rejoin the jollity. As usual, Kathleen MacReady knew far more than she was letting on, thought Marianne, following her as Ryan, full Hollywood smile lighting up the place, handed them each a deliciously creamy Irish coffee.
“Shame we had to put our plans on hold,” he smiled at her. “Good night though, I haven’t seen Larry this happy in ages.” He nodded at his friend, doing a plausible impersonation of a well-known popular singer on Maguire’s ancient upright.
Leading the applause, Miss MacReady joined him at the piano for an impromptu rendition of ‘The Moon and New York City’. Larry, shirtsleeves rolled up, glasses on top of his head, was having the time of his life, eyes shining, the broadest grin stretched across his face as he tickled the ivories with surprising skill.
“Larry, you look positively glowing, have you lost weight too?” Ryan asked, teasing his portly friend.
“Bound to have,” Larry said. “I’ve walked miles round this island, pushing that buggy-thing whenever Kathleen’s been on babysitting duty. I ain’t never worked so hard.”
Marianne and Ryan exchanged a look.
“Now, now you two,” Miss MacReady smiled, reapplying a flash of fuchsia pink to her lips, “your love story is quite enough to be going on with, Larry and I are just good friends.” And they all laughed, even Larry, whose blush added to his glow.
Despite all the gaiety at their table, it had not gone unnoticed that Angelique was entertaining Dermot in the snug. Padar was ferrying food and drinks backwards and forwards at an alarming rate, and although Angelique ordered everything on the menu, she seemed to eat nothing. Her sassy laugh and Dermot’s deep guffaws gave the impression they were enjoying an evening of unbridled ribaldry until they heard an almighty crash. Angelique jumped up, pushed her chair back so violently it toppled over as she launched herself at Dermot.
“How dare you suggest I’ve had too much to drink,” she snarled. “Who the hell do you think you are? What am I even doing having dinner with you? You’re nothing but a peasant, get out of my sight!” She covered her eyes.
Dermot looked across at the others. Ryan turned his hands upwards. Dermot threw his napkin on the table and left.
“Ryan,” Angelique wailed.
“Here we go,” Larry said.
“You won’t believe what the brute said to me.” She staggered to where they sat, wild-eyed and trembling.
Miss MacReady looked at Marianne and put a finger to her lips.
“Hey, Angelique, easy now, you’re tired, jet lag,” Larry tried.
“I am not tired or jet-lagged,” she screeched. The whole pub fell silent.
“We better deal with this,” Ryan whispered to Marianne, “okay?”
She had never seen Larry move so fast. In less than a minute they had scooped the actress up and deposited her in her rooms.
“You’ve obviously had that little task to perform on more than one occasion,” Marianne said, as the gentlemen rejoined them.
“Too often,” growled Ryan, then raising his glass, “but she’s not going to spoil our evening, oh no, th
ose days are long over.”
“Too right,” agreed Larry, and they all chinked glasses.
Chapter Sixteen
Engaging The Enemy
With Padar’s culinary efforts declared a resounding success and plans for a Halloween Hooley well underway, the two couples were saying their goodbyes as the clock struck midnight. Marianne was just about to go and check upstairs before they left, when Ryan stopped her.
“Finish your coffee, I’ll see they’re okay,” he said.
Music drifted down from the nursery. He stopped. He could hear something else, a high-pitched whining: the noise Joey made when he was with Angelique. Ryan flew up the stairs and burst through the door.
The picture that greeted him would have been one of serene beauty had it not been for the strange sound underpinning the music: Angelique in a nightgown, hair about her shoulders, her child in her arms as they nestled together on a chaise longue; they looked so peaceful sleeping there. But on closer inspection the woman was grey and the child snow-white. Joey’s eyes were closed, lips parted, and from deep within his chest the ear-piercing whining noise. Ryan lunged across the room and grabbed Joey. He was cold as ice.
He called his name, shaking him; the little boy’s eyes flickered and closed. He He
He placed his hand on the woman’s forehead, burning up beneath a film of grey sweat.
“Angelique, wake up,” he shouted, taking her by the shoulders. “What have you done? What have you given him?”
Panic rising, Ryan heard footsteps. Marianne and Miss MacReady ran into the room.
“Oh God,” Marianne gasped, taking in the scene.
“Phileas, get Phileas, stomach pump, hurry.” Ryan tried to shout, his voice strangled in his throat. Miss MacReady kicked off her shoes and fled. Ryan laid Joey on the bed, quickly loosening his clothes. Marianne was examining him for needle marks, bruising, anything. Ryan spotted the plastic beaker and, pulling the top off, smelled it.
“She must have given him this, what is it?” he pushed it at Marianne. Joey had stopped making the noise, his eyes were rolling in his head, spit trickled from the side of his mouth. Marianne pulled him upright.
A Change of Heart (The Heartfelt Series) Page 14
