Ebb and Flow

by Mary O'Sullivan

  “Have you done any research? Surely you could trace who your great-grandmother was. Family photos, letters, certificates, that kind of thing.”

  A shiver went down Maxine’s spine as she remembered her recent attempt to get the family history from her father. For a second she could sniff the must and poverty of Mountain View Terrace again. She shrugged her shoulders to rid herself of the memory.

  “I tried with no result. My family were never ones for preserving their heritage.”

  “I could help you. We could go to the Registrar’s office. Find birth, marriage and death certificates for Lady Harriet. It should be easy enough to trace.”

  A closed look came over Maxine’s face and Andrew knew he had gone a step too far. She did not want him to know who she really was. Or rather where exactly she had come from. The vague ‘north side’ of the city in her publicity material gave nothing away. And neither did Maxine.

  “I intend applying for planning permission and selling off most of the estate,” she said, her voice business-like. “I will keep the gardens around the house of course and probably develop the stables as well but I won’t need the thirty acres. When I sell them, I will recoup my investment. And more.”

  Andrew put the photograph back in his top drawer and locked it in. Obviously Maxine wanted to keep this meeting impersonal and her private life very private. Her choice.

  “Well then, I think you should know that the other bidder brought his engineer’s report on Manor House in here today. I haven’t had time to go through it but I understand the house needs extensive renovation. At huge cost. Not that I trust this man much.”

  “Who is he?”

  “You know I can’t say. Unprofessional.”

  Maxine smiled at him and pushed a page across the desk to him. “You don’t have to say a word. Be professional.”

  Andrew wrote the name Jason Laide on the paper and pushed it back across the desk to her just as there was a tap on the door. One of the secretaries came in inquiring about a property which they had recently sold. Andrew went to his filing cabinet to get the appropriate folder. When he turned back, Maxine had gone. Nothing of her left except a lingering trace of her perfume.

  Andrew sat at his desk and put his head in his hands. It seemed to be his fate that the women in his life were highly strung to put it mildly and hysterical to put it bluntly.

  * * *

  By combing her hair down over her forehead Ella was able to conceal the plaster on her stitches. She had only needed four. With any luck she might not scar and, even if she did, it would be easy to hide. She felt much better since showering. Unable to get dressed because the clothes she had worn last night were bloodstained, she got back into her hospital bed. It was only a matter of waiting now for the discharge paperwork to be completed. Peter Sheehan had already made an appointment for her to visit him in his rooms next week. She was just about to ring Andrew to bring in clean clothes for her to wear going home when Jason Laide arrived in the door of her room. He was grinning. Ella pulled the sheets up around her chin, embarrassed by the hospital gown she was wearing.

  “You, Ella, are a disaster area. Are you always falling over?”

  She had to laugh. It did seem ridiculous. He walked over to the bed and handed her a gift-wrapped box, then plonked himself on her bedside chair.

  “These should help,” he said. “You can change them if you want.”

  Ella took the parcel from him and tore away the wrapping. Inside was a shoebox. When she lifted the lid she saw a pair of flat shoes. They were made from beautiful soft, red leather. She looked at the size. Five. Perfect.

  “You can’t fall off them, can you?” Jason asked.

  “They’re lovely, Jason, but I can’t accept them.”

  “Why not?”

  What could she say? That they were an inappropriate gift from someone, a man, she barely knew. That they were expensive and she did not want to be under a compliment. That she did not trust him.

  “How did you know my size?”

  “You look about the same as Sharon. Anyway, how are you? Are you up to talking business?”

  Surprisingly, she was. Ella felt energised. Her forehead was a little sore but nothing she couldn’t cope with. As for the rest, the nightmares, the visions, the ghostly images, they seemed to be at peace. She had some control back and had promised herself that she would never, ever, lose it again.

  “Manor House?” she asked.

  “I brought the engineer’s report in to your husband earlier. My man says that old house is half falling down. I’ll have to spend a fortune on it to fix it up.”

  Ella knew this was blatantly untrue. She was not an engineer but she was experienced in valuing properties and Manor House was in very good condition for a building of its age. The Trevors had spent a lot of money modernising and maintaining. Jason was obviously trying to lower the price. Exactly what she would have expected him to do.

  “I’m sure Andrew will give your report his attention and then talk to you.”

  “When will you be back at work? I started this deal with you and I’d like you to see it through.”

  “Andrew and I are a partnership. We work together on things.”

  “Not on everything.”

  Not wanting to get into a conversation which was obviously about her marriage, Ella thanked him for the shoes. He dismissed her thanks with a wave of his hand.

  “I’m going to Salzburg this weekend to see Sharon. She’ll be delighted to know everything is fixed up with Manor House. What about Ballyhaven?”

  Ella’s head began to throb again as the memory of her promise to Jason returned. Unless her recall was totally screwed up she had agreed to sell the fifty-acre site to him. Without ever talking to Andrew about it. Shit!

  “The fifty-acre site. You walked it with me yesterday and then agreed to sell it to me. Remember?”

  “No. Actually I don’t. The bang on my head must have caused more damage than I realised.”

  Jason narrowed his eyes and moved close to her. Ella instinctively tried to move away from him but she had nowhere to go. He hissed at her and a fleck of his spittle landed on her cheek.

  “Don’t even try to do the smart-ass with me, Ella. I have witnesses to the deal you made. The three old men in the pub all saw you shake hands on the deal.”

  Frightened, Ella picked up the alarm bell and held it in her hand.

  Jason sat back. “There’s no need for that. I won’t hurt you. Not if you keep your word. But nobody reneges on a deal with Jason Laide and gets away with it. Just remember that. You sign the deal and get your husband to do the same and everything will be all right.”

  Jason stood and walked to the door. He stopped there and turned towards her.

  “I’ll be in touch. Take care. No more accidents.”

  For a long time after he had left, Ella just sat in the bed, the alarm bell in her hand. What had she done? Her logic told her she did not have to keep her verbal agreement to sell the Ballyhaven site to Jason Laide. Besides, legally, it was not hers alone to dispose of. Andrew would have to agree too. But her instinct told her Jason had no respect for the finer points of the law. He wanted that fifty acres and would stop at nothing to get it. The instinctive knowledge that Jason Laide would sink to any depths to get what he wanted kept Ella rigid with fear until Andrew arrived into the hospital to bring her home.

  Chapter 16

  For the first time in her career, Maxine found it difficult to find her famous smile this morning. It was never genuine anyway but now the seventeen muscles needed to produce a smile were refusing to co-operate. The sultry pout would have to do.

  “You might pretend you’re enjoying this just a little bit,” her male partner whispered.

  “Passion!” the photographer shouted. “I want to see passion from you two. This perfume is supposed to get you all horny and ready for action. Throw back your head, Maxine. Show us that lovely neck! Look at Clive as if you want to jump into bed with him.”r />
  She did smile then as she felt a shiver of distaste ripple through Clive’s perfect body. She always liked working with him. There was no hidden agenda with Clive. He was gay and required nothing more from her than a professional relationship. This was the fourth series of shoots they had done together for this particular perfume. It was a heavy, cloying scent. The only thing Maxine liked about it was the huge amount of money she got for the promotion.

  Making an effort to put everything else out of her head, Maxine tried to concentrate on her work. She thought she was getting there, beginning to find her rapport with the camera, when the photographer called a halt again.

  “Maxine, you have dark shadows under your eyes. When did you last sleep? Make-up! Where’s the make-up person?”

  The studio began to buzz as people ran around, slapping highlighter under Maxine’s eyes, retouching her hair, rubbing another coat of oil onto Clive’s already slick skin, rushing and racing to avoid the wrath of the temperamental photographer.

  Clive leaned towards Maxine. “Something wrong, Max? Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, Clive, thanks. Just a little tired. Let’s give this guy what he wants. Get it over with. I need to be out of here.”

  Maxine made a huge effort to put Jason Laide, Manor House and Andrew Ford out of her mind. She turned her face to the wind machine and let it blow her mane of blonde hair back from her face. She found the zone. The work zone where only she and the camera existed. After another two hours, everyone was satisfied with the morning’s work and the shoot was wrapped up.

  Looking at her watch Maxine saw that she had an hour to spare before meeting her agent. An hour to relax, maybe do some shopping, a stroll around town, a walk in the park. Something enjoyable, like normal people did. She wanted to ring Andrew, needed to hear his voice. She took out her phone and then put it back in her bag without switching it on. What could she say to him? Sorry I ran away from your office? How could she explain to him that he had given her the worst news possible? That he had destroyed her dream of owning Manor House by letting her know that Jason Laide was the other bidder? That she could never tell him the truth.

  Maxine said a quick goodbye to everyone in the studio and went out onto the street. She began to walk towards the city centre with no particular plan in mind. Her pace quickened in an attempt to outrun her thoughts. They were all Jason thoughts – how much she hated him, how much she wanted to destroy him, to make him suffer. Head down, she forged forward, not noticing anyone, almost knocking people down in her rush to nowhere. Suddenly she ran out of steam and stopped on a broad footpath just off the city centre. People walked around her, some staring at the tall, vaguely familiar figure disrupting the flow of pedestrians.

  Maxine looked around her and suddenly realised her mad dash had not taken a random path. She was standing in front of the Registrar’s Office. The place where Andrew had suggested she go to trace her background. To find the paper trail that could lead to Lady Harriet Wellsley. Or not.

  Without waiting to think any more about it, Maxine turned and went into the building. The lobby was big and draughty and busy with people coming and going. ‘Registrar of Births, Marriages and Deaths’ she read on a signpost pointing to the first floor. A group of people were waiting for the lift. Maxine took the stairs and then followed more signposts until she came to a large room with little tables and chairs dotted around and staff behind a counter at the head of the room. The people at the tables had big leather-bound books open in front of them, heads bowed, turning page after page. The silence was church-like, disturbed only by intermittent coughs and the low mutter of staff as they dealt with customers.

  A queue was snaking its way towards the counter. Maxine joined it. She listened as each person in turn asked for what they needed. Marriages 1949-1954. Deaths 2001. Births 1890-1895. Some were foreign, some Irish. All seemed to know exactly what they were looking for. One by one they each received their big leather-bound volumes of official entries in the Register and found their own table where they could search for the information they had come here to get.

  The nearer Maxine got to the counter, the more she began to panic. What did she want? What should she ask for? What year had Lady Harriet been born, where and when had she married? Should she look for Wellsley or Murphy? There was only one person in front of her now. A girl behind the counter waved her forward. Jesus! Just as Maxine reached the counter, her courage failed. Muttering an apology to the girl, she left the queue and headed for the street.

  What had possessed her to go in there, totally unprepared? She would have to think this through, know approximate dates, names and places. Bottom line, all Maxine Doran knew of her background began and finished in Mountain View Terrace.

  By the time Maxine reached the footpath outside again, she realised she would be late for her lunch appointment with her agent if she did not hurry. Rushing suited her now. It left her no time to think. When she reached the restaurant, Blanche Foley was already seated at the table, a forbidding frown on her forehead. Maxine sat across from her agent and apologised for her lateness. All Blanche’s clients knew that keeping her sweet assured them of work. You upset Blanche at your own risk.

  “The shoot ran a little over time,” Maxine lied.

  “You look tired,” Blanche accused.

  Maxine smiled at her. “You work me very hard.”

  “I hope you’re not complaining about that? And talking of work, how would you feel about doing a show in Amsterdam? Next week. DiAngeli has suddenly decided to launch his new range there. Don’t ask why. You know the man is quite mad. I don’t know how he’s so successful. Top rates for his show as usual. Are you interested?”

  Maxine nodded her head slowly in assent. Yes. She was interested. Very interested. Not in DiAngeli’s fashion show, spectacular as that usually was. No, her interest was in the germ of an idea which was taking root in her mind.

  Yes. Maxine was really looking forward to her job in Amsterdam.

  * * *

  Leaning closer to the mirror Ella added a touch of blusher to her make-up. She was quite pleased by the effect. With her fringe brought low on her forehead and her war paint, nobody would ever guess she had been in hospital only yesterday. Clear hazel eyes looked back at her from the mirror. They seemed calm and trouble free. In fact, the brown-haired woman reflected in the mirror wearing cream suit, coffee-coloured cami-top and tan high heels, was a picture of quiet control. Ella did not know her at all. Inside, where the real Ella lived, she was struggling to find a place for her raw emotions from the past few days. Feelings of confusion, hurt, betrayal and fear swirled around inside her head, blurring her thinking. How could she see the way forward when this fog of emotions was shrouding all escape routes?

  Realising that staring at herself in the mirror was not going to get her anywhere, Ella picked up her bag and car keys, locked up the house and headed for the office. By the time she got there she had the beginnings of a schedule for the day planned. It all revolved around Jason Laide. And Andrew. She must somehow persuade Andrew to sell the Ballyhaven site to Jason and to close the deal on Manor House. It was the only way they could be rid of the frightening, barely disguised thug.

  Her plan began to unravel the minute she opened the office door and saw Noel and Gary Cox sitting across from Andrew. They both looked tanned, relaxed and happy. Andrew’s reaction to seeing her was far from welcoming. In fact, he seemed angry.

  “What are you doing here, Ella? I’ve just been telling Noel and Gary about your accident. You should be resting.”

  “I’m fine, thank you,” Ella said, walking over to her desk and sitting down. Turning to the brothers she asked them if they had enjoyed their break.

  They both nodded but as usual Gary was the one to do the talking.

  “Yeah, we had an interesting, if very short, holiday. As you know my wife is American. We stayed with her family in Vegas. It’s a crazy place.”

  “The gambling capital of the world really,
isn’t it? What do you say we go there for a holiday, Andrew? It would be fun.”

  Andrew didn’t answer her. He was agitated, shuffling papers around on his desk. Ella realised she should not have mentioned them going on holiday together. It had just been a throwaway remark, an attempt at social chitchat but it had obviously upset him. He must think she was trying to publicly force him into a commitment to their future he did not want to make. Fuck him!

  “Anyway, you’ll have to excuse me. I have work to do,” Ella said as brightly as possible.

  “Same here,” Andrew said. “You’ll have to excuse me, guys. I’ve an urgent appointment in ten minutes’ time. I should be gone by now actually.”

  The brothers stood up at exactly the same instant as if they were responding to a signal only they heard.

  “We’ll talk again soon,” Gary said looking towards Andrew. “We must have a decision as quickly as possible on the matter we discussed this morning. We can’t let it drift on much longer. We’re putting a deadline of next week on our offer. Okay?”

  Andrew nodded in agreement and stood as the two brothers drifted towards the door.

  Ella frowned. The “matter” they had discussed this morning. Did the Coxes not want her to know? Had they forgotten she was an equal partner in this business?

  “Hope you’re feeling better soon,” Gary said to Ella as he passed by her.

  She had a gut instinct then that they considered her unfit to handle their business any more. They would, in future, or until she waved a certificate of sanity in their faces, only deal with Andrew on business matters. Ella sat there, barely saying goodbye as the brothers gently closed the door behind them. The implications were huge. If the Coxes considered her unfit, how many other clients would think the same? The one constant in her life was her work. She was bloody good at that. How dare they!

  “What did you say to them about my accident?”

  “Which accident?” Andrew asked sarcastically and Ella knew that he shared the Cox brothers’ low opinion of her competence.