Tara turned towards him, a look of alarm on her face. “What do you mean?”
He laughed loudly. “Relax! I’m paying you a compliment – you’re a very beautiful young lady.” There was silence for a few moments as he negotiated a bad bend in the road. “I want you to enjoy a nice day out of the office, to have the chance to look at a charming, very desirable property.” He paused again. “The sort of property an elegant young lady like yourself might think of buying in the future.”
“Me?” Tara looked at him quizzically. “You’re codding me, aren’t you?”
“Not at all,” he said coolly. “Who knows what circumstances you might find yourself in.”
Tara turned away towards the window, so that he could only see her lovely red hair rippling down over her shoulders. “It would be way out of my reach,” she said in a deliberately offhand manner, “and any other ordinary person.”
“But that’s the whole point, Tara. You could hardly be described as an ordinary person.”
Tara’s face coloured up. “I know exactly what I am, Mr. Fitzgerald,” she said quietly, “and I’m not ashamed of my background. My family might be ordinary, working-class people – but they are good and decent people. My grandfather brought me up with proper manners and instilled in me the necessity of a good education. He brought me up as well as an old man in his circumstances possibly could . . .” Then to her embarrassment, a lump in her throat stopped her saying any more and tears started pouring down her face.
As soon as they rounded the next bend, William Fitzgerald stopped the car with a screech of brakes. “Tara . . . Tara,” he said in a strange voice. “I never meant to upset or insult you.” He delved in his coat pocket for a handkerchief, then, putting one hand under her chin, her turned her face towards him and carefully dabbed her eyes.
“I’m so sorry for upsetting you,” he said kindly. “I really did mean it as a compliment.”
Tara took the handkerchief into her own hand, and rubbed her eyes hard with it. “No . . . no,” she protested, “it’s me who should be sorry . . . sorry for being so stupid, crying like this.” She paused and swallowed hard. “It’s just that . . . things are difficult at home just now – and I suddenly remembered how nice it used to be with my granda.” Then, to her horror, the tears suddenly came again – this time overwhelming her in sobs. She was so upset that she hardly noticed when William Fitzgerald’s arms came round to comfort her.
Eventually, when the tears and sobs had subsided, William reluctantly released his hold on her. “Are you all right, Tara?” he enquired gently.
Tara nodded. She took a few moments wiping her tears away, and then she took out her compact and checked her face in the mirror. “Oh, God!” she whispered, dropping her head so that her hair fell down in two rippling curtains. “Look at the state of me – and we’re meeting those people shortly.”
“Take your time,” he said reassuringly. “We’re not meeting them until half past eleven. We’ll be there long before them.”
Very quickly and with trembling hands, Tara applied a layer of powder on her face, which she hoped would conceal the huge blotches which had spread all over it. She didn’t know which had unnerved her most, the fact that she had broken down and cried in front of her boss, or the fact that he had put his arms around her.
When she felt composed enough, they continued on their journey, arriving a good ten minutes before the prospective buyers. The stud farm was every bit as impressive as William Fitzgerald had described, and the house was outstanding – even bigger and grander than Ballygrace House.
“Have a look round before they arrive,” William suggested, as he sorted through the documents he had brought with him. “The rooms upstairs are fascinating.”
Tara went upstairs in search of a dressingtable, grateful for the chance to check her face again before the people arrived. She found a large gilt mirror at the end of the wide hallway, and was relieved to see that she didn’t look as bad as she thought. A light application of lipstick and a quick brush of her hair made an immediate improvement. Thank goodness she had worn one of her better suits today – a heather-coloured skirt and jacket, with a roll-necked cream blouse. Hopefully, it would take the attention away from her blotchy face.
As she wandered from one elegantly decorated room to another, she pondered over the situation in the car with her boss. He had been very kind with her when she got upset – and had been most apologetic when she had accused him of mocking her. A wave of embarrassment washed over her when she thought of how she had spoken to him.
Then Tara heard William Fitzgerald call her name, and say that the people who were coming to view the property had just pulled up outside. Giving one last glance at her reflection in the hall mirror, she turned and walked smartly along the hall and down the stairs to where her employer was waiting. Waiting, with a little smile on his lips – which Tara noticed. And stark admiration in his eyes – which she did not.
The business was over and done with in under an hour, and William was pleased – confident that the people would put in a good bid at the auction later in the week. “I think,” he said as they drove through Kildare town, “that we’ll celebrate with a nice lunch. I know a hotel outside the town that has a good wine list.”
This was a place William frequented on a regular basis when he came over to the races. It was also a place his wife knew nothing about, because as far as she was concerned, his gambling days were long gone. It was very convenient for him to have property in outlying districts, as they gave him the perfect excuse to disappear to the odd race, when the excitement in the property business was not enough to quicken his pulse.
“What about Patricia and Madeleine?” she asked, feeling uneasy again. “What about their lunch break?”
“I’ll ring from the hotel but I’m sure it won’t be a problem. You obviously forget, Miss Flynn,” he said raising his eyebrows in a humorous manner, “that I am the boss.”
As soon as they were settled at a table in the restaurant, William went off in search of a telephone. He returned five minutes later with a satisfied smile. “They’ll have separate breaks for today,” he informed her. “I explained that the business was taking a little longer than expected – so you’ll have to back me up on that when we get back to the office.”
“I feel very guilty,” Tara told him, “sitting in this lovely place, while the other two are stuck in the office.”
He leaned across the table and patted her hand. “You will have to get rid of those sorts of feelings, if you’re going to be a successful businesswoman. There will be many occasions when you’ll have to tell a white lie. In fact, it’s a beneficial, nay – an essential talent to be able to lie properly in business.”
He laughed, and Tara suddenly noticed how the corners of his eyes crinkled in a very attractive way. Not as attractive as Gabriel – but attractive, nevertheless, for an older man. Then, ashamed of her silly thoughts, she bent her head and concentrated on the menu.
They chatted lightly through the meal and wine, and around two o’clock set off back to Tullamore.
“I’m sorry about the conversation we had coming in this morning,” William said, as they left Kildare town, and drove through the quiet country roads. “I’m afraid I came across as rather insensitive, when really –”
“No,” Tara hastily interrupted, feeling more confident after two glasses of Beaujolais. “It was childish of me to get so upset.”
“What I was trying to say,” he went on, “is that I really admire you – the way you’ve educated yourself out of your class. It may surprise you to know that my own background is not dissimilar to yours.” He paused for a moment. “My own family were good, God-fearing people, but they had no ambition. They knew their place, and were happy to stay put in it. But I wasn’t. I suppose I’ve always wanted more.”
Tara looked at him, amazed at what he’d told her about his ordinary background – and even more amazed as to why he should tell her all this personal
information.
“The thing is,” he continued, “there’s a price to be paid for ambition . . . and there’s a price to be paid for all the things that ambition brings. I’ve paid dearly for all the things I’ve had in my life.” He came to a halt as a flock of sheep crossed the road from one field to another, checked by a black and white collie and a farmer wielding a large stick. “My wife’s family were much wealthier, of course,” he said, putting the car into gear again when the last sheep was safely across. “They were highly suspicious of me at first.” He gave a little laugh. “Some of them have never stopped being suspicious of my business dealings throughout the years, but I’ve managed to outwit them all. They thought we were finished when we moved to Offaly, that I’d be happy playing the country gentleman – but they were wrong. My businesses are nearly as profitable as they were in Dublin. Despite what many people think – I reckon that in the future, people will prefer to live in the country as opposed to the city.” He turned to Tara. “What do you think?”
She considered his words carefully. “I’m not sure,” she replied. “It’s not something I’ve ever thought about.”
“Take my advice – think ahead! In this sort of business, you have to look at what might happen in the future, as opposed to what is happening right now. England is a good example to follow in the property and building field.”
When they returned to the office, Patricia was in a fluster.
“Everything all right?” William asked in a light manner, hopeful of avoiding any sort of fuss.
“Everything in the office is fine . . . it’s Madeleine I’m worried about. She went out for a walk round the shops at one o’clock,” Patricia explained, a panicky note in her voice. “She said she would only be gone half an hour and then she would come back to relieve me. Of course, I had no intention of going out and leaving her on her own, but I knew you would prefer her to be back in the office.” She looked down at her watch. “It’s nearly three o’clock. She’s been gone two hours.”
“How did she seem?” William asked, his brow furrowing.
Patricia bit her lip. “She seemed a bit agitated all morning . . . and I . . . I heard her talking to herself . . . as though there was someone with her.”
“Shall I go and look for her?” Tara said quickly. “I know the shops we usually look around when we’re together.”
William looked grateful: “If you wouldn’t mind . . .”
Tara found her friend outside a shop that sold holy statues and pictures. Madeleine was holding a picture of the Sacred Heart high above her head and talking out loud. People were staring at her from a distance, while others were crossing to the opposite side of the street.
“Jesus spoke to me, Tara!” Madeleine gasped. “He showed me the wounds in his hands and in his side. He told me that he wants me to be his special messenger . . . He’s got lots of plans for me. And so have all the other saints. They don’t want me to be a nun in the Missions straight away, they say that there’s work to be done in Ireland – and I’m the person to do it. Do you know what I replied, Tara?”
“What?” Tara managed to make her tongue say.
“I said: ‘Thy will be done!’” She looked anxiously at Tara now. “Do you think I was right to say that? Do you think it was all right to quote the scriptures? Do you think it was a good answer to give?”
Tara took the picture from her, hoping Madeleine did not notice her trembling hands. “Yes, I think that was a very good answer.” She tucked the picture under her arm, and caught Madeleine’s hand in hers. “We’d better get back to the office now . . . Patricia’s waiting to have her lunch.”
“I can’t believe that I’ve been chosen . . . like Bernadette in Lourdes and the children in Fatima!” Madeleine whispered as they walked down the street together hand-in-hand. “I never thought I was so special. I never felt that something like this was going to happen to me.”
William Fitzgerald was waiting outside the office door. His jaw sagged when he saw the glassy look in his daughter’s eyes. “The car’s outside,” he said quietly. “I think it might be best if we went straight home.”
Shortly after they arrived home, a doctor came out to Ballygrace House to see Madeleine. He spoke to her for a while, and after giving her an injection and some tablets, he said to William Fitzgerald: “That lot should quieten her down. I should imagine she’ll sleep for the rest of the day. If by any chance, she reacts against the medication – or if you notice any deterioration in her behaviour – phone me straight away.”
William nodded and handed the doctor some notes. “Thank you for coming out so quickly.”
The doctor stuffed the notes in his pocket. “It’s an unfortunate business for any family to have to handle – but they’re making great strides in the medical field with regards to psychiatry. Who knows what the future holds? There are new drugs being developed every day.”
William closed the door after the doctor with a heavy feeling in his chest. Thank God Elisha was not at home for this latest episode, otherwise he would have had a bigger problem on his hands. One female with nervous problems was quite enough at a time.
“Is she going to be all right?” Tara asked when William came back into the sitting-room.
“I hope so, but we’ll have to wait and see.” A thought suddenly struck him. “Do you mind staying here tonight? While Madeleine is not . . . not quite herself. I should think she’ll sleep for the rest of the evening and night. Will you be bored?”
“Not at all,” Tara said agreeably. The circumstances at Ballygrace House with Madeleine might be bad, but they were still better than going back to the cottage to play gooseberry with Mick and Kitty. “I’m happy here. There’s plenty to keep me busy.”
“What will you do?” he asked curiously, coming over to sit on the armchair opposite her.
She shrugged. “The piano – or I might do some studying or reading.”
“There’s the gramophone or radio,” he suggested lamely. “I’m afraid I have a meeting with a solicitor in Tullamore in an hour, and I’ve got to go to the office to pick up some documents first. I’ll have to leave you here alone.”
“That’s okay,” Tara reassured him. “I’ll be fine, and I’ll keep checking on Madeleine every so often.”
He looked at his watch. “It’s half-past four. Mrs Scully or Ella should be in shortly to make the evening meal. I don’t think Madeleine will be up to eating, but you can ask them to leave out something cold for her and me.”
“I’ll do that.”
William got to his feet and made for the door. Then suddenly, he swung back round, and came to stand in front of her chair. “Tara . . .” he said in a funny hoarse voice, “I’m very grateful for everything you’ve done. Both in the office and especially for all the help you’ve given Madeleine.”
“She’s my friend,” Tara replied, feeling slightly unnerved by his closeness. “She’s been my friend for a long time.”
He reached out and took her hand in his. “You’re a beautiful young woman and very kind.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “I’ve enjoyed having you around the house. It’s been very difficult for me lately with Madeleine’s illness and her mother’s condition.”
“Mrs Fitzgerald?” Tara was confused, and more than a touch disconcerted by the fact he was still holding her hand.
“Yes,” he said solemnly, nodding his perfectly Brylcreemed hair. “She suffers from a nervous condition, too. Different from Madeleine . . . but there’s definitely a weakness there. It comes on every now and again, and I could see the signs recently. That’s why I insisted she had a break away for a while. She’s not really a strong person.” He gave a little smile, and squeezed her hand tighter. “Not like you. I know you’re still young – but you’re mature in many ways. An old head on young shoulders. I couldn’t imagine anything ruffling you. You seem so single-minded and determined about your life.”
“I’m not too sure about that.” At that moment, Tara realised she felt more so
rry for her boss than intimidated by him. “I was very shaken when my granda died. And now I’m very confused about whether I should move to Tullamore.”
“I think,” he said, lightly kissing her hand, “that would be a very wise move.”
Before Tara had a chance to pull her hand away, a deliberate cough at the sitting-room door suddenly alerted her and William Fitzgerald to the fact that they were not alone. He moved quickly to his feet.
“I knocked,” Mrs Scully stated, her beady eyes dancing, “but ye were so busy that ye didn’t hear me. She looked from Tara’s burning face to William Fitzgerald who was bristling with suppressed anger. “I’m very sorry if I burst in on ye both,” she added, not sounding in the least sorry at all.
“You burst in on nothing,” William retorted in a loud voice. “But if you knocked, you certainly didn’t knock loud enough.” He lowered his voice. “We’ve had a very difficult afternoon with Madeleine, and Tara’s feeling rather upset after it all. If you would be so kind as to prepare her a meal, I think it might help matters.”
“Whatever you say,” Mrs Scully said, turning on her heel. She had seen and heard all she wanted, and was not going to stand around while William Fitzgerald thought up some ridiculous lie to cover up what was going on. She must have been blind not to notice it before! Why else would the likes of the Fitzgeralds bother with Tara Flynn? And to think they were using that poor lunatic upstairs as an excuse for their shenanigans. She only hoped she could get away early enough this evening to cycle into her second cousin in Ballygrace, to make sure that this juicy bit of scandal was spread around before the morning.
“I’m sorry,” William said when the housekeeper had closed the sitting-room door behind her. “I was only trying to show you my thanks for all you’ve done for Madeleine . . . I would pay no attention whatsoever to Mrs Scully. She saw nothing which could be misconstrued. If I hear she has been gossiping – she’ll be dismissed immediately.”
Tara Flynn Page 25
