Ebb and Flow

by Mary O'Sullivan

  Secret looks were exchanged between the staff as Ella left the office again.

  “Will Mr Ford be in today?”

  Ella hesitated for a moment before answering. Then she decided.

  “Actually he’s collecting his girlfriend from the airport. He’ll be in later.”

  She turned her back on the shocked faces and, head held high, walked out into the rain and wind. She was smiling.

  * * *

  All eyes were on Maxine as she emerged through the Arrivals exit. Women looked in envy and men in awe. She had eyes only for Andrew Ford. He hovered anxiously by the exit, grabbing her luggage, leaning forward to kiss her on the cheek as soon as she reached the barrier. He seemed tense, his hair ruffled, his face pale.

  “Why did you not answer my calls?” Maxine asked as they walked towards the car park.

  Andrew stood, his hands on the luggage trolley. He stared at Maxine as if he couldn’t think of a convincing answer to her question. She began to walk away. He chased after her, standing in front of her, deliberately blocking her view so that she could not see Jason Laide as he rushed towards the airport doors, pushing people aside as he stormed along. Andrew wondered if the bastard had been going to meet Maxine, to torture her again. Jason disappeared into the airport building, leaving a trail of disgruntled people in his wake. Maxine began to walk ahead again.

  “Wait!” Andrew said. “You’ve no idea what’s been going on. It’s been chaos here. And I’ve found out something you need to know.”

  “Likewise,” Maxine answered. “Let’s go to my apartment and exchange the need-to-knows.”

  They were silent as they loaded the luggage into Andrew’s car, as they drove along the motorway, as they pulled up outside Maxine’s apartment and unlocked her front door. Inside, there was an awkwardness between them, a lack of trust they had not experienced before. They sat in the lounge, one on the couch, the other in an armchair and regarded each other cautiously.

  “You first,” said Maxine.

  “I’ve been to the Registrar’s Office. I traced your family tree. The Murphy line.”

  He thought Maxine flinched. That her mouth twitched, her eyelids blinked. He must have been mistaken. Her voice was very cool.

  “And?”

  “And Harriet Wellsley is your great-grandmother. There’s no doubt. Her marriage certificate shows that in 1901 Harriet Wellsley of Manor House married a stable lad named Thomas Murphy with an address at 6 Mountain View Terrace. Your great-grandfather Thomas. She was sixteen at the time. They had a son John who married Eileen Shaw. Your grandparents. John and Eileen had a son Paddy. Your father. Am I right so far?”

  There was no mistaking her reaction now. Maxine was white-faced and looked close to tears. Andrew went to sit beside her on the couch. He held her close and felt her body shake.

  “I knew it,” she muttered over and over. “I always knew it.” Suddenly, she pulled away from him. “When did she die? Where?”

  “That’s the peculiar thing. I searched and searched but there’s no record of her death. Harriet Murphy is registered as the mother of John born in 1902. Nothing after that. No more children. No death certificate. No paper trail at all. She just disappeared. From official records anyway.”

  “According to my father she upped sticks and left one day. Why would she do that? Especially since she had a son. John. My grandfather.”

  “You’ve spoken to your father about this? Did they search for her or report her missing?”

  “I think they were just glad she was gone. That’s the impression my father gives anyway. My father was born in 1935 and he never met Harriet. Not that he can remember anyway. His memory is a bit impaired. To be honest it’s pickled in alcohol so I can’t rely on what he says.”

  “Did he know she was Harriet Wellsley?”

  “I don’t believe so. Though he seemed to recognise her in the photograph of the Manor House portrait. The one you gave me.”

  Andrew put his hands on Maxine’s face and gently turned her so that they were looking directly at each other. “Manor House, Max. I have two things to tell you about it and I don’t think you’ll like either. Firstly, Harriet’s father died shortly after she left Manor House. I looked up his will. Luckily there was a copy in the National Archives. She’s not mentioned in it at all. He had obviously disinherited her. I’m sorry, but you have no rightful claim on the property.”

  “But I –” Maxine began before Andrew interrupted her.

  “The second thing is that Jason Laide has made an agreement with Rob Trevor. They went behind my back. It seems Mr Laide is set to be the new owner of Manor House.”

  “He most certainly is not!” Maxine said and this time Andrew could not stop her talking until she had told him all about her meeting Dirk Van Aken.

  “How could you put yourself at risk like that, Max? He could have killed you.”

  “I had to. I must stop Jason. I wanted to find something to threaten him with. He can’t keep ruining my life like this.”

  She stopped then, her eyes huge in her pale face. She was perfectly still, waiting for Andrew’s reaction.

  “I know he’s the one. I figured it out,” he said quietly. “The blackmailer. The one with the video of you.”

  Maxine nodded. “Yes. He’s held that cursed video over my head since I was fifteen years old. People look at me and think I’m a success. Now you can see, Andrew, what I really am. Just a tramp who made good. Jason Laide’s tart.”

  Andrew moved to draw her close to him. The intercom buzzed. He looked at Maxine, eyebrow raised.

  “Are you expecting someone?”

  She shook her head. In fact her whole body shook. What if it was Jason? No. It couldn’t be. He’d just barge up. Her relief was short-lived. When she picked up the intercom she heard Sharon Laide’s husky, cultured voice asking to be allowed up.

  Maxine heard herself agreeing, found herself buzzing Sharon up, opening the door for her, offering her a seat.

  Assured, beautiful, so well dressed and elegant, Sharon sat into an armchair and coolly regarded Andrew and Maxine.

  “It’s nice to meet you again so soon, Andrew,” she said, “but would you mind excusing us for a moment. I have something private to discuss with Maxine.”

  “I have no secrets from Andrew. He’s staying.”

  Sharon looked from one to the other of them and then smiled. “That’s good, Maxine. There have been too many secrets. That’s why I’m here. I can’t explain it all to you but I’ve recently discovered that my husband has some property which rightly belongs to you. I’ve come to return it.”

  Sharon reached into her bag, took out a padded envelope and offered it to Maxine. She sat there, hand outstretched while Maxine just stared, afraid to take the packet, terrified to open it, to find out if it really contained the video. The video.

  “Take it. It’s yours.”

  Maxine stood and walked slowly towards Sharon. Taking the padded envelope she squeezed it gently all over, feeling the hard outline of a rectangular box inside. A video? Fingers shaking, she ripped the paper and dropped it on the floor. In her hand she held a video labelled in Jason’s childish handwriting: Marie Murphy aka Maxine Doran.

  “Have you seen it, Sharon? Do you know what’s on it?”

  Sharon lowered her head. She seemed ashamed to meet Maxine’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I did see it. Not all of it. Just enough to know you were very young and very drugged when it was made.”

  “Drugged?”

  “Yes. Didn’t you know? It’s obvious. Isn’t that usually how these despicable things are done?”

  “You should know that. You’re his wife.”

  “Did he make copies?” Andrew asked.

  “No. My husband likes to control everything himself.”

  Sharon stood. She seemed less tall, less assured than when she had come in. She picked up her bag.

  “I understand how you must feel, Maxine, but please believe me, I knew nothi
ng about this. As soon as I found out I arranged to return it to you. And you can be assured this is the only copy. Destroy it. Keep it. Give it to the police. It’s up to you now.”

  “Wait!” Maxine said as she walked over to the television set and switching it on, slotted in the video.

  All three pairs of eyes were riveted to the screen as the tape rewound and then flickered into life. The camera panned around a small untidy bedroom before focusing on a double bed which seemed too big for the space available. Two young girls, dressed only in underwear, lay on the bed, one dark-haired and painfully thin, the other with blonde, cropped hair and a stunningly beautiful face. The young Maxine. Already the figure of a full-grown woman but the vulnerability of a child in her smile. The girls were giggling, drunk, or maybe, as Sharon had suggested, drugged. A male voice, unmistakably Jason’s, muttered something. The dark-haired girl reached her hand towards Maxine.

  The screen went blank. Maxine had switched it off. She looked at Andrew, searching his face for signs of rejection and disgust. All she saw was anger glittering in his eyes.

  “You’re sure this is the only copy?” she asked Sharon.

  “Certain. He wouldn’t trust anyone but me with his ‘insurance policies’ as he called them. This is why I had to ask you not to say anything. When Jason finds out about this and the others too . . . Well, I think you know how he’ll react.”

  “Why in the hell did you marry him?” Andrew asked.

  Sharon looked solemnly at him, speaking slowly as if she was just finding the answer to the question herself. “I married him because he was the most exciting man I had ever met. He was different, stronger, more vital, than anyone else I had known. Marrying him wasn’t the problem. The mistake was staying married to him. But I had my reasons.”

  “Money,” Andrew spat. “Properties and holidays. A jet-set lifestyle. And now Manor House. But he’s not getting that. I won’t allow it.”

  Maxine laid her hand on Andrew’s arm to calm him.

  Sharon was standing by the door now, tears visible in her eyes.

  “What are you going to do, Sharon?” asked Maxine. “You know he’s dangerous.”

  A brave smile flitted across Sharon’s face. “I’ll be all right. I have just one more person to see and then I can settle affairs with my husband.”

  Maxine crossed over the room and stood in front of Sharon. “You do know you’re not alone, don’t you? Other people want to see your husband get his just desserts too. I’ve been given to understand the Revenue Commissioners and the Criminal Assets Bureau are interested in exactly how Jason is making his money. Jason’s partner in crime, maybe you know him, a Dutchman named Van Aken, has abandoned him. Van Aken masquerades as a gaming-machine supplier but, like Jason, his real source of income is drug-dealing.”

  “Drug-dealing!” Sharon’s face was drawn with shock.

  Maxine leaned towards the elegant woman and hugged her warmly. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but it’s true. And I’m very grateful to you for giving me back the video. For giving me back my life. Thank you, Sharon.”

  Sharon just stared at Maxine, her eyes still glazed with shock. Everything was beginning to make a cruel type of sense to her now. Jason’s recent uncontrolled spending, his vulgar display of wealth. Her own utter stupidity. How had she not known that Jason would inevitably get involved in pedalling drugs?

  In one fluid movement Sharon had opened the door and closed it gently behind her. Maxine turned to Andrew. “I’m going into the bedroom,” she said. “Watch that video and then tell me if we have a future together.”

  “Stay just where you are,” he said.

  Maxine stood and watched as Andrew walked into the kitchen. She didn’t know why he had gone there or why he had told her to stay. She just knew that the future course of her life was about to be decided. She moved to the kitchen door.

  Andrew glanced at her standing in the doorway, watching him. She looked young and very vulnerable. Just like the little girl in the video. Her eyes were gazing steadily at him. Questioning. Going to the knife block, Andrew picked out a sharp carver and brought it into the living-room. He picked up Jason Laide’s video and began to prise open the casing.

  “What are you doing?”

  Andrew looked up at Maxine. There were tears in his eyes. “I love you, Maxine Doran. I don’t care what’s in this video. It would make no difference to how I feel.”

  “No, Andrew! I need you to watch it! Y-you don’t realise –”

  “It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except the fact that you’re the woman I’ve waited all my life to meet. I love you whether you’re Marie Murphy or Maxine Doran. I always will.”

  “B-but if we’re to be together I need you to know everything about me!”

  “I know everything. Everything that matters.”

  The cover loosened now, he began to unwind the tape from the spools. It slithered snake-like over the tiled floor. He went to the kitchen again and poked around until he found a scissors. Then he came back and carefully began to chop the tape into tiny sections.

  “Do you want to help?” he asked Maxine.

  She walked slowly towards him. He held the scissors out to her. Her hands shook as she snipped and cut. After five minutes the floor was littered with tiny fragments of tape. Fragments of Maxine’s nightmare. She sank to her knees and cried like the baby she had been when Jason Laide destroyed her life. Andrew stooped down beside her and put his arms around her. He stroked her hair and kissed her wet face. They cried together for the hurt Maxine had suffered, for Andrew’s pain of knowing and for the joy of having found strength and forgiveness in each other.

  * * *

  Ella scanned the hospital car park anxiously. She suddenly laughed at herself. Not only was she looking for Peter Sheehan’s car in the public parking area when he would obviously have a reserved space in front of the hospital but she was silly enough to be looking out for him in the first place. He probably kissed women all the time, held them in his strong arms, drowned them in his clear green gaze. He most likely had forgotten their kiss last night. Hopefully he had forgotten that Ella Ford had trembled in his arms, that her heart had beaten wildly against his chest. “Silly cow!” Ella muttered to herself as she found a space and parked her car.

  The main entrance to the hospital was five minutes’ walk from the car park, so Ella was composed by the time she reached the building. She caught a lift to the third floor. Oliver’s room was right at the end of a long corridor. As she approached it, the door opened and Sharon Laide came out. Head down, she walked past Ella, apparently without even seeing her. Feeling slightly taken aback, Ella continued down the corridor and entered the room. Naturally, Oliver and Sharon had met socially but Ella had not realised they were on hospital visiting terms.

  Oliver was asleep. He still had a greenish pallor but some of the frowns on his face had softened. They did not seem as deep as they had last night. Ella had to fight the temptation to lie down on the bed beside him. She was suddenly exhausted, all the drama of last night beginning to catch up with her. Andrew must be worn out by now.

  Easing the newspaper and book she had brought for Oliver out of her bag she tiptoed across and put them on his locker. She took one last look at him and crept out of the room.

  Knowing that a duty roster would be on display in the lobby, she deliberately went out a side door. She would not lower herself to reading the roster, spying on Peter Sheehan, trying to find out if he was in the building. Anyway, he was most likely in his private clinic, making pots of money and charming his female patients out of their neuroses. This growing obsession with him must stop. She was nothing but an ex-patient to him. Angrily, Ella kicked a stone ahead of her. How could Peter Sheehan ever take her seriously? He had seen her at her most vulnerable. At the time when Karen Trevor had been her constant companion. Besides he hadn’t cured her. Not really. She had done that herself. On her own. Just like she was going to organise the rest of her life. No more depending
on anyone else, no more trusting and being vulnerable. Catching up with the stone, she gave it another kick.

  “Therapy?”

  Ella jumped when she heard the voice coming from behind her. She did not have to turn around to know that Peter Sheehan’s green eyes were regarding her with professional interest, wondering about her stress levels. She twirled around to face him.

  “Yes! I’m angry, Peter. I’m tired and hurt and fed up of being around here. I want to go. To get out.”

  “And why don’t you?”

  “I have things to do first. People to see. Arrangements to make. Then I’m going home. To my real home. Cuanowen. I should never have left there.”

  “Are you running away?”

  Ella opened her mouth to answer. To shout at Peter Sheehan. To tell him how she resented his remark. How wrong he was. The energy suddenly drained out of her as she realised she was angry at herself and not at him. Angry because she had wasted a whole year of her life in a self-induced cocoon of depression. She smiled at him.

  “No. I’m running towards, not away. How is Oliver doing?”

  “I’m just going on duty now. I’ll let you know as soon as I see him. I was going to ring you anyway. Would you like to come to dinner some evening? “

  Ella looked down at her shoes and saw a scuffmark where she had kicked the stone. She wanted to see Peter again. Just once before she went away. No harm in that. Except of course that it would be pointless and she didn’t need any more complications in her already convoluted life.

  “Sure. I’ll ring you sometime, Peter.”

  “The brush-off? Well, if you change your mind, you have my number.”

  They turned and walked in different directions. Away from each other.

  Ella was pleased with herself, knowing she had made the right decision. Peter Sheehan was a very attractive man and she had no business around attractive men until her life was back on track. Which reminded her of Andrew. She rang him and reported on her visit to the sleeping Oliver and the arrangement she had made with Gary Cox.

  “I’m meeting Pascal shortly. We’ll be going to visit Oliver then. Trying to sort out the mess.” He sounded tired. Down.