Ebb and Flow

by Mary O'Sullivan

  Chapter 29

  It seemed to Ella that Manor House was in a different time zone to the world outside. Glancing through the narrow window of the study where she, Andrew and Rob were sitting, she could still see traces of daylight in the sky. It was not yet night out there. But in here, behind the three-foot-thick walls it was already dark. The desk lamp which Rob had switched on bathed the three of them in an eerie greenish glow. The corners of the room were solidly black, hiding bookshelves and secrets. Harbouring the undead. Ella shivered.

  “Are you cold, Ella? I’ll turn up the heating,” Rob, ever the gentleman, said.

  Ella shook her head and smiled at him, noticing his gauntness. Rob was becoming a pale unkempt shadow of the man he had been a year ago.

  She glanced at Andrew. Her husband had the stubborn set to his chin she recognised all too well.

  “Okay,” said Andrew. “Let me get this clear with you, Rob. You signed some piece of paper this morning agreeing to sell Manor House to Jason Laide. And you won’t reconsider, even though I’m sure my client would top the offer. Is that about right?”

  “Yes. That’s it. Done and dusted. Even if I wanted to consider Maxine Doran’s offer, I couldn’t now. But I don’t want to anyway. The sooner I leave this place, the better.”

  “If the offer was from someone other than Maxine would you be thinking differently? Are you afraid of any rights she might have?”

  “What are you talking about?” Rob asked, apparently bewildered. “Rights to what?”

  Andrew studied Rob Trevor’s face, the paleness of his skin and the haunted darkness of his eyes. He looked sick. Troubled. But not shifty. This was not the demeanour of somebody trying to deceive. Could it be possible that Rob, like Maxine herself, had not known of the bloodline which stretched from Lady Harriet Wellsley all the way down to Marie Murphy? That’s what Ella believed. Besides, Andrew could not really talk about it without Maxine’s permission. Why did she have to be in Amsterdam now of all times? And why hadn’t he thought to contact her before coming here? Andrew felt his pocket for his phone and realised he had left it in his office. He must somehow stall this sale without telling Rob what he knew. He smiled at the gaunt man sitting in front of him.

  “I mean, maybe the fact that Maxine so resembles the portrait of Lady Harriet is an omen. Don’t you care about what happens to Manor House after you have left? How do you think Jason Laide will fit the role of Lord of the manor?”

  “I really don’t care what happens to this mausoleum after I escape. Ask your wife about it. Ask her about the hold this place exerts over fragile minds. She’ll tell you. I can’t take any more of it and I’m sure Jason Laide is a match for the powers that be in Manor House. It should be a good battle.”

  Ella sat back and observed Rob, from the nerve which ticked underneath his eye to the bony shoulder-blades visible through the thin fabric of his fine cashmere sweater. She had to draw on all her newfound mental resources not to be dragged into the maelstrom of fear, anger and depression which surrounded him. She could so easily fall back into the clutches of her nightmare year. Wallow in the powerlessness of it all. And how much worse must it be for Karen Trevor’s husband? He had lost both wife and child. He had lost his future. She leaned towards him.

  “I understand what you’re talking about,” she said softly. “But you can’t get through this by just selling off Manor House and you can’t do it alone. I was helped by a doctor. I don’t see Karen any more, Rob. I’m free. Why don’t you talk to him? Dr Peter Sheehan. I can give you his number.”

  “No! No, thank you. I’m sure your doctor is very proficient at what he does but I don’t need him or any doctor. I just need to get out of here. Out of this house, this country. That’s all I need.”

  “You can’t run away from what’s inside your head, Rob. Think about what I said.”

  Ella understood exactly where Rob Trevor’s mind was at the moment. It was in the dead and dying world of Karen Trevor. In the place where Ella had found herself trapped for over a year. Until Peter Sheehen had helped her free herself. Handsome, green-eyed Peter Sheehan. Broad-shouldered, tanned, well-muscled, Peter Sheehan . . . Ella blushed guiltily as if the two men in the room could read her thoughts. She picked up her bag and stood. Andrew stood too but he was not yet ready to give up on convincing Rob to change his mind.

  “Maxine Doran is out of the country at the moment but she will be back tomorrow. Would you at least wait until I’ve spoken to her?”

  Rob was very still as he appeared to consider Andrew’s request. The sound of a car engine disturbed the quietness. Headlights pierced the darkness of the garden. Gravel crunched and brakes squealed as a car was driven at speed towards the house and then parked opposite the front door.

  Going over to the window Rob peered out into the darkness.

  “Jason Laide,” he said. “His wife is with him. I’d better let them in.”

  “Have you met Sharon Laide?” Ella asked.

  Rob shook his head.

  “You’ll like her. She’s a very nice lady.”

  Andrew raised an eyebrow and smirked. Ella frowned at him as Rob excused himself to go open the front door.

  “I know what you’re thinking but you’re wrong,” Ella whispered.

  “How could you describe Sharon Laide as a lady? In the first place she’s married to Jason which says a lot and secondly what about all the boyfriends she’s supposed to have abroad? Toy boys by all accounts.”

  “You should be the last one to believe rumours,” she said sharply and regretted the words as soon as they were said. If there had been rumours, which there must certainly have been, about her husband and a certain supermodel, they had been true, hadn’t they? Closing her eyes for an instant, she struggled to recover the state of understanding and forgiveness she and Andrew had reached yesterday.

  “I’m sorry Ella. Really sorry.”

  When she opened her eyes again she smiled at him. “Let’s not fall out over Sharon Laide. Anyway, maybe you’re right.”

  Voices echoed in the hall outside, Jason’s being the loudest and roughest. Ella glanced around at the ageless study. A place of mahogany bookcases, solid oak bureaus and quiet culture. Jason’s crudeness was a travesty. She caught Andrew’s arm.

  “Let’s go,” she whispered. “I don’t really want to be here with the Laides.”

  She was too late. Jason came barrelling into the room, pushing ahead of his wife and Rob.

  “Ah, the Fords!” he said and managed to make his words sound as insulting as if he had cursed them. “What are ye doing here? This is my property now and I don’t remember inviting either of you. Unless of course my lady-wife did? Well, Shar, are you issuing party invitations already?”

  Sharon walked forward and held her hand out to Ella. “Nice to meet you again, Ella. Thank you for selling our other property so quickly.”

  Ella glanced from the beautifully tailored navy suit to the pink blush of embarrassment on Sharon’s cheeks and knew her assessment had been right. Sharon Laide was a lady. What in the hell was she doing married to this corrupt thug?

  “You’re welcome, Sharon. How did your ski trip go?”

  “Keep the chit-chat for the party,” Jason interrupted. “I want to know about Ballyhaven. When are ye going to sign it over to me?”

  “We’re not,” Andrew said firmly and even Jason heard the note of anger in his voice.

  Jason walked across the study to stand in front of Andrew, having to bend his head back to look up at the taller man.

  “What in the fuck do you mean? Your dozy wife agreed to sell it to me. It’s mine every bit as much as this house and the pub.”

  “What pub? You never mentioned buying a pub,” Sharon said.

  Jason rounded on her. “Since when do we tell each other everything? I don’t ask you about all the arty-farty things you spend my money on, do I? Mind your own business.”

  “Excuse me but –” Rob said feebly.

  “Shut up,
you, too!” Jason shouted. “I’m talking to Ford. Well? The Ballyhaven site? Is it mine? I’ve played fair up till now with you and your cronies but I could get dirty, you know.”

  “You mean you could have photos of my husband and his girlfriend delivered to our office, is that it, Jason?”

  Jason turned to stare at Ella. The room was quiet except for the creaks and groans and whispers of the old building. He seemed confused, not quite sure how to respond.

  “You know about Maxine Doran then?”

  “Maxine Doran?” Rob and Sharon chorused together.

  “I do,” Ella replied. “So what were you saying about playing dirty? You’ll have to do better than that.”

  “And I fucking can! I could send the photo to the papers. How would you like that? And what about your poncy friends, Ford? The politician and the planner. I could destroy them. And I will unless they do what I want.”

  “You mean unless you get the casino licence?”

  “So you know about that too. A cosy little old boys’ club. Keeping it for one of your own, are you? We’ll see about that!”

  Sharon went to Jason’s side and caught him by the arm. “Why don’t you show me around the grounds of our new home, Jason? And while we’re walking you can tell me about pubs and casinos and whatever it is about Ballyhaven that’s upsetting you so much.”

  There was a tension-filled moment as Jason seemed to waver between blowing up or collapsing. Sharon smiled at him. He went for the quiet option and allowed himself to be led out into the hall. Sharon threw an apologetic look in Andrew and Ella’s direction and signalled to Rob to follow them.

  “I’ll just show Mr and Mrs Laide out first,” Rob said to Ella and Andrew. “Then I’ll join you.”

  “Well, do you still think you made the right decision?” Andrew asked Rob when he came back to the study.

  “Perfect.” Rob smiled. “You can tell Maxine Doran sorry but Manor House is sold.”

  Ella smiled too. She understood Rob’s reasoning. Only someone of Jason’s insensitivity could live in this house of ghosts. But Sharon was different. Though if her past history was anything to go by, she would just be a visitor here.

  Rob escorted them to the front door.

  Before getting into the car, Ella looked back at Manor House. It was towering over them in the darkness, watching them. She stared at the front door where Rob stood framed in the light spilling out from the hallway. Squinting her eyes, she dared Karen to appear. Just as she had before. Rob remained the only one standing forlornly in the huge doorway.

  “C’mon,” Andrew said impatiently. “I must contact Pascal McEvoy and Oliver Griffin. They need to be warned about Jason Laide.”

  Ella gave a last glance at Manor House. All she saw was an imposing old house and a very lonely man. Peter Sheehan had done his job well.

  * * *

  Oliver was on autopilot. Being led along. Just sitting quietly in the passenger seat of Pascal McEvoy’s car. Not putting up any protest. Weak and snivelling, welcoming the numbness which was beginning to invade his overwhelming self-loathing.

  “Where in the fuck is Ford?” Pascal fumed, throwing down his phone as he failed to contact Andrew yet again.

  They were parked in front of the darkened offices of Ford Auctioneers and Estate agents. Looking at the man sitting beside him, Pascal knew he would have to make a decision soon. Oliver had the appearance of someone about to go into a catatonic state. An easy escape from responsibility. Tricia Griffin would have to be told what was going on. What had gone on without her knowledge. The police should be informed. Jason Laide should be hung drawn and quartered. A public hanging. A washing of all their dirty linen in public . . .

  Pascal put the key in the ignition of the car and quickly did a U-turn.

  “We’re going to Fordie’s house. He must be there even though he’s not answering his phone,” he told the semi-comatose figure slouched in the seat beside him.

  There was no response from Oliver, no reaction as they approached the tree-lined road where Andrew and Ella lived, no objection until Pascal parked the car in Ford’s driveway.

  “I’m not going in,” Oliver said, glancing at the lights in the front windows. “I need to go. There’s something I must do.”

  Pascal opened the door on the passenger side and caught Oliver by the arm. “Get out,” he said. “We’d all like to run away from this but we can’t.”

  There was no fighting the anger in Pascal’s voice. Oliver reluctantly got out and allowed himself to be led towards the Ford’s front door. For more humiliation, more recriminations. The call of the river was loud in his ears. The pull of the coldness and nothingness unbearable. He would have run if he had the strength. His leg muscles twitched but his feet remained planted as he watched Pascal ring the bell. The door was opened by a very agitated-looking Andrew Ford. So much upset, so many people, scared, angry, desperate. And all because Oliver had allowed Jason Laide to pay his gambling debts. All because of Jason Laide. All because of Oliver Griffin.

  Andrew ushered them into the kitchen where Ella was making coffee.

  “Tea? Coffee?” she inquired and the normality of her question seemed incongruous in the suddenly tension-filled room. She looked from one to the other of the men. The three friends. The students who had gone their separate ways but had never cut the bonds of their college friendship.

  “I was just about to ring you both,” Andrew said. “You should be warned. Jason Laide has tried to blackmail me. He has a photograph of me in a – in a pretty compromising position. I think he may try to get at both of you as well.”

  “Tea for me, please,” Pascal said. “And coffee, strong and black, for Oliver.”

  Andrew stared, taken aback by Pascal’s calm. “You knew?”

  “Yes.”

  Ella busied herself making tea and coffee and putting a precooked pizza on to heat. She listened as Pascal and Andrew spoke, noticing that Oliver was staying very silent. By the time she had placed drinks and slices of pizza in front of each of them she had heard the whole sorry saga of Oliver’s gambling addiction, his indebtedness to Jason Laide, his rash promise to ensure the proposed casino licence for Laide. Jason Laide seemed driven by his need to be the sole owner of the casino. At any cost. He was determined to buy the Ballyhaven site. As he had bought the pub there. But Manor House didn’t fit into that picture at all.

  “Where’s he getting all the money?” she asked, doing a quick mental calculation on just how much Jason was spending now and how much he had pledged to spend in the future on the development of the casino project. “I know he has a very successful haulage business but he seems to be able to lay his hands on huge amounts of money without any problems. Who’s backing him? He couldn’t be in this alone, could he?”

  “Some pretty unsavoury people, I’d say,” Pascal answered. “You just have to look at his modus operandi – blackmail, bullying – to know that. I made a few discreet enquiries today from Revenue. It seems our pal Jason has his fingers in a lot of pies. For one thing, he’s a majority shareholder in the Eureka Club. So, you see Oliver, he lent you money to pay back a debt you owed to him anyway. And probably claimed tax relief on it. He had all this planned well in advance.”

  “How could he have known about the Casino Village?” Ella asked. “Isn’t that legislation very recent?”

  “He didn’t,” Pascal answered. “He just knew that having an executive of the Planning Board in his pocket was bound to come in handy at some stage. And he was right, wasn’t he?”

  A sound came out of Oliver’s mouth. It was halfway between a sob and a laugh. Then he sealed his lips again and looked down at the pizza he had not touched.

  “So these are our options as I see them,” Pascal continued on, ignoring Oliver’s little outburst. “We can go to the police with the photographs both you and I were sent, Andy. The one of my son and the one you got of . . .”

  Ella smiled first at Andrew and then at Pascal. “It’s okay. You can say
it. Andrew’s mistress, girlfriend or whatever he wants to call her. Maxine. Maxine Doran. I know about them. And I wish them luck. You may as well know now too that Andrew and I have agreed to divorce. But Maxine is only one of the reasons. Breaking up our marriage is not one of Jason Laide’s triumphs.”

  They were all silent, nobody else as comfortable with Ella’s announcement as she herself was. Oliver muttered an “Excuse me” and asked for directions to the bathroom. When he had left the kitchen Andrew immediately leaned towards Pascal.

  “What in the fuck was Griffin thinking about? It’s his fault we’re all in this mess.”

  “Not so quick with the condemnation, Andy. Laide would have come after us anyway to try to get this casino licence. You have the land he wants, he thinks I have the political clout he needs. And of course Oliver’s addiction made him vulnerable.”

  “It’s made us all vulnerable, hasn’t it?”

  “Enough of the blaming. We’ll have to decide where we go from here. How are we going to handle this?”

  Bravo! thought Ella as she listened to Pascal, disappointed that it was not her husband showing some sympathy for the addiction which obviously had totally ruined Oliver Griffin. She cleared off the table and put fresh coffee on to percolate as Andrew and Pascal debated their options. To go to the police or not. To go public or not. To take the excruciating embarrassment of having Andrew’s affair, Pascal’s son’s dabble with drug-dealing and Oliver’s gambling become public knowledge.

  “That’s what Laide is depending on,” Ella pointed out. “He believes you will all put your public image ahead of principle.”

  “Even if we did feel like that, and I must admit my instinct is to protect my son, I still can’t and won’t get that licence for him. Oliver should never have pretended that I could. If only . . .” Pascal stopped speaking. “Where is he? Where’s Oliver?”

  “He went to the bathroom,” said Ella.

  “He should be back by now.”

  Ella went to check. A blast of cold air hit her when she went into the hall. The front door was open.