“That face would turn milk sour, Fordie!”
Andrew started in fright.
Oliver Griffin was standing over him, a big grin on his face.
“Any sign of McEvoy yet?” Oliver asked.
Andrew shook his head. “No. He was never on time for anything, was he? I’ll get the drinks in. The usual?”
Andrew walked to the bar and took advantage of the few minutes alone to get his thoughts together. He decided his best bet was to wait and see how things developed. He was just bringing the drinks back to the table when Pascal McEvoy arrived.
“Sorry I’m a bit late, lads. Had to drop my son off in town.”
“He must be at that awful teenage stage by now, is he?” Oliver asked.
“Hugh’s thirteen and is convinced the world revolves around him and his social life. Having a Big Mac in town with his friends is the height of his ambition now. Being a parent is more about chauffeuring them around these days than anything else.”
“You can say that again,” Oliver agreed. “That and supplying pocket money.”
They passed over the topic of children quickly, all aware that Andrew could play no part in that particular conversation. Not that it worried him. Or Ella. Probably. They had never really discussed the issue.
“How is Ella these days?” Pascal asked. “I hear she’s working as hard as ever. She had a great escape, didn’t she?”
Andrew just smiled in answer. What could he say? Yes, Ella escaped the accident with her life intact but with her mind in pieces!
Oliver Griffin held his glass up in salute. “To great escapes!” he said.
Andrew noticed that the hand holding the glass had a slight tremor. He examined Oliver more closely. His face was lined and he suddenly realised that Griffin had lost a lot of weight.
“Gym or road-running, Oliver? You seem to be very trim.”
“Just working hard. The best diet ever.”
“Talking of work, I wanted to ask you about Ballyhaven,” Andrew blurted.
As soon as the words were out of his mouth he regretted them. Both other men were looking at him in annoyance as if he had committed some horrible social gaffe. He had. It would have been more acceptable to spit in his drink rather than to so obviously look for inside information like this. He had meant to be much more circumspect. But it was out now and what surprised him most was that Pascal McEvoy’s reaction seemed to be as intense as Oliver’s.
“What’s your interest in Ballyhaven?” Pascal asked sharply.
“Fordie owns a fifty-acre site there, right in the centre of –” Oliver stopped mid-sentence and exchanged glances with Pascal.
That surreptitious little exchange was enough to convince Andrew that his suspicions had been right. There was something going on in Ballyhaven. Both these men knew about it. So did the Coxes and Jason Laide. So why the secrecy? Why had Oliver lied? No longer worried about their opinions, Andrew decided to lay his cards on the table. He cleared his throat.
“Right. I think it’s time I knew what’s going on. In recent weeks I’ve had two exceptionally good offers on my Ballyhaven site. I haven’t put it on the market. They approached me. It’s just fifty acres of poor agricultural land. No residential permission. No planning that I know of, yet two very astute business people have offered me big money for my site. What do you say now, Oliver? Are you still insisting that there are no plans for the area?”
Oliver drained his glass. “Another drink?” he asked.
Both Pascal and Andrew shook their heads. Oliver went to the bar to buy his own drink.
Andrew turned to Pascal. “Does this have anything to do with the new legislation on gambling?”
Before Pascal had time to reply, Andrew reached into his inside pocket and pulled out the newspaper article he had clipped from the business section of yesterday’s paper. He unfolded it and placed it on the table between them.
“This report claims that the new Gambling Bill will allow gaming machines in pubs and more importantly that it will open the way for a super casino or casinos to operate here. I respect this journalist. Finnegan is never sensationalist and never wrong. He asks why all the cloak and dagger and I’m asking you the same, Pascal.”
Pascal leaned back in his chair and, hands in trouser pockets, stared up at the ceiling. Andrew wanted to hurry him up, to demand an answer but knew his best tactic was to sit and wait. Eventually Pascal lowered his gaze and looked directly at Andrew.
“There’s no cloak and dagger. How could there be? You know the way our legislative system works. A Bill has to go through five stages in the Dáil. As well as that it has to be examined in the Senate too. There are so many committees and sub-committees that nothing is secret. Nor should it be. But there is an urgency.”
“What do you mean?”
“All I’ll say is that there is a need to regulate gambling here. You know how the loopholes in the present laws are being used. Private clubs are effectively operating as casinos. That must stop. We must have more transparency. Another factor is that since 9/11 our tourism has taken a big downturn. A super casino would attract a lot of visitors.”
Andrew took his paper clipping and carefully folded it. Pascal had not really answered his question. He was prevaricating, skirting around the real issues of revenue and control. He was talking political-speak. These were reasons for changing the laws, for bringing them up to date, but they were not urgent.
“And why so quickly? Why now?” he asked.
Pascal laughed. “Always the sharp one, Fordie, weren’t you? I won’t go into detail but I’ll just say we are taking this opportunity to pass our own legislation before it’s imposed on us. This way we can have more control over the whole process.”
Andrew nodded, assuming Pascal was talking about EU influence. As he was meant to assume. He did not care what the reason was. His real concern was the connection with Ballyhaven.
Oliver arrived back, splashing his drink over as he parked it on the table.
“Just in time,” Andrew said. “Now tell me what Ballyhaven has to do with the new gambling legislation.”
Oliver looked in Pascal’s direction and raised his eyebrows. The politician nodded.
“Well, after a lot of debate it was decided to grant a licence for just one super casino,” said Oliver. “The real McCoy. A custom-built gambling resort. ”
“In Ballyhaven?”
Oliver nodded, not seeming even slightly ashamed that he had lied so much before now.
“And my fifty acres is bang in the middle of the development area. Am I right? As soon as permission is granted for the casino my fifty acres become a prime site.”
“The whole area will be designated as a custom-built gambling resort,” Pascal said. “Under licence, granted with very strict criteria. It will be, in effect, a little Vegas. We have a raft of legislation to enact first, including some amendments to taxation, finance and planning law but we are confident that tourists will flock there. More tourists, more revenue, more employment. Everyone’s a winner.”
Andrew pushed his beer mat around in circles, occupying his fingers while his mind worked overtime to assimilate the new information. The super casino promised to be one of the biggest projects ever undertaken here. And it seemed like his fifty acres was crucial to its development.
“Why Ballyhaven?”
Oliver shrugged. “Proximity to the city, yet far enough away. Airport nearby and motorway. No major developments there so minimal disturbance to existing facilities.”
“And cheap land for whoever is quick enough to snap it up before development. It seems like I’m sitting on a goldmine.”
“Maybe. Maybe not,” Oliver said. “Yours is just one site in the area. There are others that could just as easily be developed. I’d take the best offer now if I were you.”
Pascal checked his watch and stood up. “I’d better go and collect Hugh. I don’t want him hanging around the city centre. Sorry to cut it short, lads. We must arrange another
night out. A proper one.”
They shook hands and promised to meet again soon. Andrew and Oliver were silent as they watched Pascal walk away. Tall, straight, debonair, Pascal was wearing his age well. Andrew knew he himself was too. Oliver was the one who looked a bit worn, a bit battered and bruised by the passing years. The shaking hand was noticeable again as Oliver raised his glass to his lips. He looked like a man with a lot of worries on his mind. Putting the glass down with a thud, he leaned towards Andrew.
“This development is going to be huge, Fordie. One of the biggest undertakings ever in Ireland. As well as the casino itself, there will be hotel accommodation, amusement park, health spa, retail park. You name it, the Casino Village will have it. It will take someone with huge resources to handle it.”
“Or a syndicate.”
“Maybe. But someone like, say, Jason Laide, just for instance, would be the right person. He could finance the whole thing.”
“He’s in haulage for Christ’s sake! Surely the most suitable person for this project would have to be an experienced developer. Anyway, why are you canvassing for Jason Laide? What makes you think he might be interested in the Ballyhaven site? Do you know him?”
Oliver just sat and stared, his mouth pursed in a tight line as if trying to hold in any more indiscreet words. He looked shifty and uncomfortable. Even a little desperate.
“Are you involved with Jason Laide, Oliver? Are you telling me I should sell to him?”
In reply Oliver gave a little snort. “You know damn well I’m in the Planning Office. I work for the Government. Nobody else. I’m just saying you should take the best offer going now. If you wait you might not do so well under a compulsory purchase scheme.”
Compulsory purchase? No way! The Government might be backing this scheme but they could not be seen to be the prime movers behind a casino. Unless they wanted to turn the whole island into a gambling state.
Andrew looked at the man he had trusted as a friend and for the first time ever that trust was wavering. Griffin was lying about the compulsory purchase. He must be. And no matter how he denied it, Oliver seemed to know that Jason Laide was interested in Ford’s fifty acres. The Coxes obviously knew the Ballyhaven plans too and probably a whole raft of insiders had been informed at this stage. A wink and a nod. Some of them, any one of them, would be more suitable than Jason Laide. Andrew stood.
“I must be off, Oliver. I have a lot of paperwork to catch up on. Maybe draft an ad for my site in Ballyhaven. Put it on the open market and see who comes out of the woodwork.”
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Oliver said quickly.
Andrew heard an unspoken warning in the words.
The two men looked at each other but neither offered a hand to shake. A line was drawn in the sand. Their friendship stood coldly on either side of that line. Both knew that Jason Laide was firmly parked in the middle.
* * *
Anger quickened Andrew’s step. He hurried down the stairs and sliced his way through the noise and packed bodies of the ground-floor bar. Out on the street, he took a minute to breathe in some of the cool air. Where to now? A taxi home to his empty house? He shivered. He could not face it. Not just yet. A quiet pub somewhere seemed like a good idea. A few drinks to help him relax. The streets were busy. Taxis flashed past, all full. He began to walk. Behind him he heard someone laugh. Not just someone. He would know that voice anywhere. He whirled around towards the direction of the voice. Maxine stood on the pavement, just a foot away from him, shimmering, beautiful, another very attractive girl by her side. She smiled but he saw a momentary shock in her eyes. As if he had been the last person she’d wanted to bump into.
“You look like a man in a hurry, Andrew,” she said. “Too busy to join us for a drink?”
He felt his anger from the meeting dissipate as he looked at her. She was wearing a full-length knit coat unbuttoned to show underneath a very short skirt and an even shorter top. His eyes were drawn to the toned and tanned area of her bare midriff. Her skin gleamed in the streetlights. He knew what it felt like to touch and he had to stop himself from reaching out now and running his hands over her glorious body. Her blonde hair was loose and being gently tossed by the breeze. A waft of her perfume blew towards him and robbed him of his last vestige of control. He struggled to find some smart, sophisticated words, a casual remark but the sight of Maxine looking more beautiful than he had ever seen her robbed him of speech.
“My friend and colleague, Natalie,” Maxine said, turning to the girl by her side. “Nat, meet Andrew Ford. He’s an estate agent.”
Andrew offered his hand to Natalie but all the time his attention was on Maxine. He could not, would not let her slip away again. “Yes. I’d love to join you for a drink,” he said.
He caught Natalie’s fleeting frown of annoyance and guessed that he had ruined a girls’ night out. Tough! Back inside The Mills, they found standing space at the back of the ground-floor bar. Andrew battled his way to the bar and bought drinks. When he arrived back at last, Natalie had gone.
“She met some friends. They’re off clubbing,” Maxine explained. “Do you mind?”
Andrew looked into her deep blue eyes and smiled. Her reciprocal smile gave him the answer he wanted.
“Will we go some place quieter?” she asked.
“Ella is away. How about going back to my house?”
Maxine hesitated for just a moment before abandoning her drink and leading the way through the crowds towards the door.
The first taxi they flagged stopped for them, the traffic lights were green all the way, the journey to the outskirts of town was speedy. They held hands in the back of the car and did not speak. Nor did they speak when Andrew opened the front door of his home and led Maxine into the house he shared with Ella. Closing the door, he took her in his arms and they kissed with a passion that did not need words. They both knew they would not go to the master bedroom. That would be cruel, crass. They kissed and caressed on each step of the stairs, littering the steps with items of discarded clothing. When they reached the guest bedroom, they were no longer making choices, no longer in control. Their need for each other had taken over. Andrew took Maxine with all the passion of a man in love and Maxine responded in kind. Their union transcended the physical. It was a meeting of spirits. It was fate.
They lay quietly in each other’s arms for a while, revelling in the closeness. Their heartbeats slowed and their feelings gave way to thoughts.
“I vowed never to see you again,” Maxine whispered.
Andrew held her more tightly. Sadness and guilt tinged the perfection of the moment. He had never wanted to cheat on Ella. She did not deserve that. Nor did he want to offer Maxine the sleaziness of an affair.
“I vowed never to let you go,” he whispered back into the silkiness of her mane of blonde hair.
Maxine pulled herself up and, leaning on her elbow, looked down into his face.
“Andrew, there are things about me you don’t know.”
“I don’t need to know anything except that I love you.”
“No. Bad things. Really bad. I’m not who you think I am.”
“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. You’re intelligent, funny, astute. Do you need me to go on? I love you. If you have secrets, Max, I don’t care. If sharing makes you feel better, go ahead, but there’s nothing you can say that would make me change my mind.”
“Do you really mean that, Andrew?”
He moved to kiss her, to hold her in his arms and reassure her but she sat up and swung her legs out over the side of the bed. Her back to him, she hung her head, allowing her hair to form a veil about her face. Her shoulders were raised and her hands were gripping the edge of the mattress tightly. Some instinct told Andrew to lie still and wait. This was Maxine’s struggle. Her choice. When she turned towards him, there were tears in her eyes.
“My name is Marie Murphy,” she said softly “I come from Mountain View Terrace.”
S
he spoke for twenty minutes, stopping only to blow her nose or brush away the tears that tracked down her face and dribbled over her chin. She gave him the facts. No explanations or apologies. Just the bare unvarnished truth of a deprived, unhappy, ambitious child manipulated into making a pornography video. Of a successful young woman haunted by her past. Of a ruthless man who was blackmailing her with the depraved video. Threatening to publish if she did not do his bidding.
“Now you know, Andrew. I’m not the type of woman you would want to have in your life.”
Andrew cradled her in his arms and gently stroked her back. Her sobs eased until they became no more than soft sniffles. He kissed the tears away from her face.
“Do you want to tell me who that blackmailing bastard is?” he asked.
Maxine stiffened. “No. Don’t ask, Andrew. It’s better you don’t know. I have a plan. I think I can deal with him. But I don’t want you involved. “
“I’ll help you, Max. You don’t have to fight him alone. I’ll always be there for you.”
She smiled wanly at him. “I don’t feel alone any more. But this is a situation I must sort myself. And if I can’t, at least you won’t be hurt by it.”
“But he’s blackmailing you! I can –”
Maxine raised her hand and placed her fingers gently over his lips. She did not want to discuss it any more. They lay together then, both exhausted by the emotion of Maxine’s confession. They slept, arms entwined, bodies close together as if they were afraid to let each other go, even in sleep.
They slept so soundly that they did not hear the front door opening, or the tread on the stairs, or see the flash of the camera as O’Shaughnessy photographed them. He crept quietly away, making sure to close the door gently behind him. A satisfied grin flashed across his face as he sat back into his car. A great night’s work. What a stroke of luck! He had just been returning from taking shots of the politician’s little brat buying some merchandise when he happened past The Mills and saw Maxine Doran getting into a cab with Andrew Ford. The Boss was always interested in whatever the supermodel was up to. He couldn’t believe his luck when the pair went into the house, forgetting to lock the door after them. Yes. Jason Laide would pay him well for this night’s work.
Ebb and Flow Page 25
