Ebb and Flow

by Mary O'Sullivan

  “Are you looking forward to –?”

  “Will you be –?”

  They laughed and the weight of silent guilt and treachery disappeared. They chatted easily about Maxine’s assignment and she told some amusing stories about the more famous excesses of DiAngeli.

  “How can he be so off-the-wall yet so successful?” Andrew asked. “Everyone who is anyone wears his designs, don’t they?”

  “It’s his eccentricity that gives his designs their flair. Besides, most of his odd behaviour is for the media. He’s really a very shrewd man. His designs, especially his bags, are a good investment too. They’ll increase in value a lot because he produces very few of any particular line. He signs some of his work randomly. It’s just a matter of looking out for a signed piece and waiting for DiAngeli to die.”

  Andrew was impressed yet again by Maxine. When it came to shrewdness she seemed to be a match for DiAngeli or anybody else. Maybe he should have more faith in her plans for Manor House.

  “Do you want me to up your offer on Manor House? Are you willing to go head to head with Jason Laide?”

  Maxine turned towards him and Andrew took his eyes off the road for long enough to see anger flash in her eyes. “Yes. I want Manor House and I intend to have it. But wait until I come back to make any increased offer. I’ve instructed my accountant to act on my behalf if necessary but I’d prefer to handle it myself. I have other things on my mind now. Just leave it for a while, okay?”

  Andrew wondered if she understood how close Jason Laide was to closing the deal. Laide too intended to be the owner of Manor House. Ella seemed to be representing Laide’s interests pretty well. He would just have to stall things until Maxine was ready. Besides, Laide must be spreading himself thin between Manor House, the new pub, his interest in Ballyhaven and the proposed casino. Unless he had limitless resources.

  The control towers appeared on the horizon. Soon it would be time to say goodbye to Maxine. That, as far as Andrew was concerned, was the most important item on the agenda now.

  “You’ll ring me?” he asked.

  “Every day.”

  “You’ll take care?”

  Maxine laughed. “How can you ask me that after all I’ve told you? I’m from the toughest part of the tough side of the city. I’ve been making my way in the world since I was fifteen. I can take care of myself.”

  “You don’t have to any more. I’m here to look out for you.”

  Maxine reached her hand across and laid it on Andrew’s. The contact brought warmth and security. She smiled at him and sighed with relief and contentment. She felt young again. Strong. Not yet proud but she would be. She had someone who believed in her, someone who knew her most humiliating secrets but still loved her.

  “You’ll talk to Ella?” she asked as the car came to a halt in the short-stay car park of the airport.

  Andrew nodded his head. Yes. He must talk to Ella. He should have last night but she had been very tired after the drive back from Cuanowen. An excuse. He could have told her while they were making supper, or when they were going through their routine of locking up the house, or even as they had lain side by side on their bed, not touching but each very aware of the other. He had not had the courage. He looked at Maxine now and found all the courage he would need.

  “Yes. I’ll tell her. ”

  Maxine leaned across and kissed him, not caring now who saw. Everyone would know very soon that Maxine Doran, supermodel, and Andrew Ford, estate agent, were an item. A commitment. A real relationship. A partnership for life.

  * * *

  When Ella woke, she heard the sound of the tide echoing in her head. She sat up and smiled. She must have been dreaming about Cuanowen. She shook her head to clear it. The sleepy coastal village of Cuanowen had no place in her head this Monday morning. It would have to wait in line with all the ‘to be decided’ issues.

  Beside her the bed was empty. Andrew had told her last night that he had an early start this morning. Important negotiations to prepare for. He had looked shifty, uneasy, as if he was lying. She had lied too when she told him that she’d had an uneventful weekend in Cuanowen. Near drownings, heroic rescues and new perspectives on life were not mentioned.

  Ella threw back the duvet and padded into the shower. When she was dressed she would think about her marriage. Must think about it.

  Showered, she put on her dressing-gown and went back into the bedroom. Standing in front of the full-length mirror, she stared at her reflection. A dark-haired woman stared back at her, wet hair curly, a scar visible on her forehead, hazel eyes bright and observant, lips full and softly pink without lipstick. There was a vulnerability about the reflected image. Maybe it was the way the big white towelling robe dwarfed her or maybe it was just the fact that she looked younger, more innocent, without make-up. Ella took a step towards the mirror, so close that her breath formed little patches of condensation on the shiny surface. She peered over the shoulders of the image. Above, beneath, left and right. The two-dimensional image was alone in the mirror. No spectre looming. No wide-eyed terror or mouth open in silent screams. No Karen Trevor.

  Ella winked at her reflection and laughed out loud as she saw a flash of the Ella that used to be. She dressed carefully, choosing a white lacy cami-top, pink, cropped jacket, jeans and very high heels. Twirling around, she admired her choice. She looked vibrant, sexy, her hair now sleek after straightening, the scar hidden by her fringe. The antithesis of the solemn businesswoman image she usually portrayed. Going to her jewellery box she searched through the discreet pieces until she found the earrings she was looking for. She had bought them in Greece on one of the rare holidays she and Andrew had taken. They were bigger and brighter than she normally wore but had seemed right for the sunshine and blue skies of Athens. They seemed right now too. She popped them on and shook her head. The gold hoops jangled. The happy sound, redolent of sunshine and lazy days on the beach filled Ella with energy and the return of the confidence she had not known she had lost. Her step was light as she went downstairs to grab breakfast before going into work.

  * * *

  For the first time ever Jason Laide felt that he was not fully in control of his life. His waking-up thoughts were ones of anger. Sharon! Bitch! He felt, somewhere deep inside, that Sharon had somehow outmanoeuvred him. He leaped out of bed but the thoughts of betrayal stayed with him. Why in the fuck had she removed the tapes and papers from the Junkergasse vault? He didn’t believe her cock-and-bull story about the cellar, even though he had seen for himself that it was being cleared out. He didn’t like the close relationship between Sharon and that grey-haired battle-axe called Frau Henner either. They were on first-name terms. Sharon and Frieda when they thought he wasn’t listening.

  Stepping into the shower, he turned it on full. He did his best thinking with gallons of hot water cascading over him. He had been careless. Too trusting. Thinking back over his weekend in Salzburg now, he realised that Sharon had shagged him to exhaustion, nearly killed him climbing bloody hills with those poncy friends of hers and then managed to get him blind drunk on that stuff she called Sturm. She had done everything to avoid a face-to-face confrontation and to muddle his thinking processes. And she had succeeded. He should never have left without his tapes and papers safely back in his hands. He had behaved the same way he had always done – he had trusted in the fact she wouldn’t dare step out of line. Now he wasn’t sure. Why had she done it? What in the fuck was she up to? The thought that Sharon might want to leave him crept into his mind again. Again he blanked the thought. Not acceptable. Not allowed.

  Squeezing some shampoo onto his hand, Jason carefully rubbed it into his hair and gently lathered it. On top of everything else he was going bloody bald. Maybe he should consider hair implants? Annoyed with the pettiness of this thought in the face of real problems, he stuck his head underneath the shower and rinsed. A fistful of faded red hair swirled down the plughole. Fuck! Even more insecure now, he got out and dried himself off.<
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  When he was dressed he sat at the kitchen table with a cup of tea and ran through the inventory of the Junkergasse vault in his mind. There were videos. The first one he had made of Maxine Doran and that junkie girl. The one who had OD’d. And plenty of the high and mighty with their trousers down around their ankles. Those tapes were worth their weight in gold. They had ensured licences, contracts, attention when it was needed and a blind eye when that had been called for. The documents were priceless too. Amongst them Oliver Griffin’s IOUs and details of his offshore accounts. His stash was irreplaceable so why had he been so stupid as to allow anybody else, even his wife, especially his wife, to have control over them? Trusting was for fools.

  Sharon said she had put them in a safety box in their Swiss bank. Jason stirred his tea as he thought about this. He could check. He could contact the bank. He dismissed this idea. They would not deal with his query on the phone. He would have to go there himself.

  Well, at least O’Shaughnessy would be watching her movements. Nobody could hide from that man or his telescopic lens. If Sharon had any secrets, they would soon be uncovered. Jason’s mouth tightened. Sharon should never have put him in this position. It wasn’t easy knowing that O’Shaughnessy would probably see Mrs Jason Laide with one of her young studs. But O’Shaughnessy knew it was more than his life was worth to ever repeat what he saw. Jason glanced at his watch. O’Shaughnessy should be landing in Salzburg just about now. Finding his way to Junkergasse, watching the comings and goings of Sharon and her po-faced housekeeper, focusing his lens, reporting back.

  Jason stopped stirring the tea which was by now lukewarm. Standing up he went over to the sink and emptied the cup. He had no appetite for breakfast. He must go to the warehouse depot and talk to Gussie. He began to feel a little better as he thought of Gussie. Now there was a man he could trust. With him since the early days, Gussie had served his interests well, never asking questions, never doubting. He needed to go to the depot anyway to check that the latest delivery of merchandise from Dirk Van Aken had gone smoothly. Jason looked over his shoulder as he thought about the packets which had been hidden in the gaming machines. Then he smiled at his own paranoia. Did he really believe there could be someone in his kitchen reading his mind? That operation – the Holland-Ireland shuttle as he liked to think of it – was foolproof. This was only the third run but already he regretted not setting it up years ago. It was the backbone of his organisation, the goose which laid so many golden eggs for him. And would continue to do so.

  The swagger was back in Jason’s step as he locked the house and went out to his car. He would talk to Gussie. And then he would call to see that crazy estate agent, Ella Ford. Mad as a hatter that woman was. Always falling over and having accidents. Back in control again, Jason revved up the car and sped towards town.

  * * *

  The sight of his depot completely restored Jason’s battered self-confidence. It was operating smoothly, lorries coming and going, loading, unloading. The public face of Laide Transport. Respectable, hardworking and very profitable.

  Having made his customary visit to the front office pricks in suits, Jason crossed the yard to warehouse six. As he approached he straightened his shoulders, knowing that Gussie would be sitting on his high stool, watching his boss through those hooded eyes. He went into the little office and closed the door behind him.

  “Morning, Gus. Everything okay?”

  Gus just nodded his head and waited for Jason’s next question. This was one of the qualities Jason liked most about his old friend. He knew his place.

  “The gaming machines. Were they delivered?”

  Another passive nod. Jason glanced around before going on. He peeped through the glass panels on the office door into the warehouse beyond. It was empty of people and not even Jason suspected the boxes and crates of listening in on his conversation. It was safe to talk. He turned back to Gussie.

  “The merchandise. Safely distributed?”

  Gussie got up off his stool and walked over to the grey steel locker where he kept his coat, lunch box and flask. With one powerful heave he pulled it forward and disappeared behind it. Jason listened to the soft clicks as Gus entered the code that would open the wall safe hidden behind the locker. Turning his back on the office, Jason kept watch out into the warehouse until he heard the scrape of the locker being pushed back into place.

  “All there minus the lads’ payouts,” Gus said handing Jason a bulky envelope full of money. “And this too,” he added, pushing a camera into Jason’s hand.

  Switching on the camera, Jason scanned the digital images. He smiled. O’Shaughnessy had done well. The images told the story of that politician prick, McEvoy, dropping his son off in town and then the same boy with his friends, handing over money to a dealer in exchange for a tiny plastic bag of white powder, then the TD picking his son up again. Properly edited, this series of pictures could show that Pascal McEvoy had deliberately set up his thirteen-year-old son to buy a few hits for him. Dynamite! Pascal McEvoy was in Jason Laide’s hands now.

  And to add to the triumph, O’Shaughnessy had also captured some great pics of Maxine Doran and that snotty bastard Andrew Ford. Jason laughed out loud as he examined the images of Maxine asleep, one hand thrown back up on the pillow, the other around Andrew Ford’s neck, cradling his head on her bare breasts. Fuck!

  This was better than sex. In his hand Jason held the key to getting the licence for the super casino. He had them all over a barrel. Oliver Griffin could not help himself. He would never be in a position to pay Jason back what he owed him now and yet he kept on gambling, kept putting his faith in one huge win to get him out of trouble. Idiot! That was planning sorted. Almost. It would be as soon as he got Griffin’s IOUs back from Sharon. Bitch!

  Pascal McEvoy would have to protect his son and his reputation. He would do anything to keep these pictures away from the media. He would willingly ensure that licensing conditions contained nothing which could prevent Jason Laide’s name being considered. The only one to be considered.

  And Andrew Ford, that snobby prick with the mad wife, he would be more than happy to sell his Ballyhaven site to Jason as long as these pictures of him with his bit-on-the-side stayed out of public view. And out of his wife’s view too.

  A hot flush of excitement had spread over Jason’s pale face. Reaching into the envelope, he took out a bundle of notes and handed them to Gussie.

  “Good work, Gus. Here’s a bonus for a job well done. And put that camera back in the safe.”

  As Gussie was stowing the camera away Jason’s expression changed. He looked from the camera to Gussie.

  “What in the fuck is this doing here? Why isn’t it in Salzburg with O’Shaughnessy? I want pictures. Proof! And I want all my wife’s movements logged. I hope he knows I’m not sending him on a bloody holiday!”

  “He took his other camera with him. Said it was better. I warned him like you told me to. And he’ll ring in with reports.”

  “Good man, Gus. Get those pictures you have of the politician and the estate agent printed out for me now.”

  Jason relaxed again. Back in control. He was grinning as he left the warehouse and crossed the yard. He was still smiling as he left the depot to make his way to Ford Auctioneers.

  * * *

  Ella parked and then through force of habit stood still at the front door of Ford Auctioneers. On the third step. In the very spot where she had spent an entire year sloughing off the mantle of Karen Trevor before facing work. Before facing reality.

  She held her breath and listened to the sounds. Traffic noise, snatches of conversation, a siren wailing in the distance, busy footsteps. A breeze swirled around her, tossing her hair and jangling her earrings. She let her breath out in a long sigh. It was an exhalation of relief. No black cloud chilled her skin or froze her mind. The fog had lifted and in the clearness she could see the wasteland of the past year. A whole year of her life spent hiding behind the spectre of a dead woman.

/>   Sure now that she had returned from her self-imposed exile into terror, Ella closed her eyes and dared Karen Trevor to appear, dared her to scream and bleed and plead and refuse to die. Squeezing her eyelids tightly shut she looked into the darkness and saw nothing but vaguely swirling patterns of blacks and greys. No open mouth, no terrified eyes. No Karen Trevor. Karen was dead. Long live Ella.

  A hand crashed onto her shoulder.

  Ella’s eyes flew open and she jumped with fright.

  “What in the hell are you up to now? Is it this Chinese exercise thing or what?”

  Beside her Jason Laide’s face was distorted in a grin that was both cruel and mocking. Ella blushed and failed to find an answer to his question. What could she say? I was just trying to see if Karen Trevor had really gone back to her grave?

  “I must say you’re looking well,” he remarked, flicking his pale blue eyes from the top of her head to the pointed toes of her high-heeled shoes. His gaze came to rest on her breasts.

  Ella self-consciously pulled the edges of her jacket together and raised her chin defiantly.

  “Good morning, Jason. How was your trip to Salzburg?”

  The grin faded as his lips tightened into a straight line. “Fine,” he said abruptly, then turned to climb the steps ahead of her and hold the front door open.

  Head held high, she preceded him into her office.

  When Andrew looked up from the papers he was examining, his expression was cross and tufts of his hair stood up ominously. Harbingers of a bad mood.

  “So you decided to come into work at last,” he greeted her before he noticed Jason Laide trailing in her wake. Andrew’s expression changed to one of guarded welcome and his hand went instinctively to his hair to tidy it. Ella waved Jason to a seat in front of her desk while she settled herself into her chair. Then, feeling more in charge now that Jason was in her domain, she smiled at him.