‘You said enough.’
‘I’m still in Ardbawn,’ she said. ‘Should I come back and talk some more?’
‘Sure. We can get it all done and dusted today.’
‘I’ll be there in a few minutes,’ she said.
Taking the plunge, she said to herself as she switched on the wipers and headed back towards the commercial centre. Fulfilling my destiny. Getting a job, at last.
Chapter 11
Having her umbrella ripped out of her hand by the wind and almost freezing with terror in front of a moving car hadn’t done Nina’s nerves much good. Her mind had been totally fixed on the letter from Sean’s solicitor when she’d stepped out on to the main street, her view of the oncoming traffic partly obscured by the umbrella that was now being carried downstream by the fast-running river. She’d been lucky that the driver of the car had reacted so quickly. Nina felt a wave of sympathy for the woman, who, she was sure, had received just as much of a fright as she’d done herself. She’d walked home quickly, alert for oncoming traffic, although the road to the guesthouse was relatively quiet. As a method for sorting out her jumbled thoughts, the walk hadn’t been very successful, but at least her tiredness was now of the physical rather than the mental kind.
She removed her coat and hung it on the rack inside the kitchen door, pulled off her boots and then made herself a cup of tea before sitting down at the table and opening the most recent copy of the Central News. Nina always bought the local paper, because she liked to know what was going on in the town, even though she didn’t always bother to read it.
She flicked through the paper and stopped at the home page. She read the latest recipe for barm brack (something she was famed for: she added a touch of ginger to it which anyone who tasted it loved) and scoffed mentally at a tip for chopping onions so that your eyes didn’t water. She’d never been able to do that, and as for Sean . . . he used to wear a snorkelling mask whenever it was his turn to chop them. She couldn’t help smiling at the memory, even though she wanted to cry too.
Her horoscope was mildly encouraging, telling her that a new arrival would have a positive impact on her life. She wondered which new arrival that might be. Although bookings were slow, she had a fisherman coming early the following week and a couple of overnighters for Friday. The overnighters would be in the main house but the fisherman was staying in one of the studios. The studios, two self-contained apartments separate from the rest of the house, had been Sean’s idea and were very popular with the fishermen because there was plenty of room for their gear.
She turned to the crossword page and began filling in the answers. It was restful, she thought, to have the house to herself today, even if the battering rain and howling wind was making the atmosphere eerily like a horror movie in which the lone woman is terrorised by—
The sudden shrill of the front-door bell startled her so much she knocked her teacup on to the floor.
The woman standing on the step seemed vaguely familiar. And she was looking at Nina as though she knew her too. Both of them remembered at exactly the same time.
‘You were in the road . . .’
‘You were driving the car . . .’
‘I’m so sorry I made you stop like that,’ said Nina. ‘I was just so taken aback when my umbrella flew out of my hand, I didn’t think of where I was.’
‘It’s OK,’ Sheridan told her. ‘I got a terrible fright, though.’
‘Sorry,’ said Nina again.
‘No harm done. Um . . . are you Nina Fallon? Can I come in and talk to you?’
The first thought that came into Nina’s head when she realised that the woman wasn’t here to harangue her for stopping in the middle of a main road was that she was a reporter from one of the national newspapers. They’d camped outside the guesthouse for a while, wanting to get a photograph of the woman that Sean Fallon had left. (None of the papers had printed the truth. That she’d told him to go. So much for checking the facts, she’d thought grimly.) They’d abandoned their stakeout after she hadn’t emerged for a few days and when they realised that she was getting all her supplies delivered. Apparently they’d also tried to get some information from the local shops about her, but the Ardbawn people had clammed up, which she appreciated very much.
‘It’s about a room,’ Sheridan added.
Nina nodded and beckoned her into the residents’ lounge. It was bright and airy, with spectacular views over the Bawnee River, although those views were obscured by the day’s driving rain.
‘We have eight guest rooms,’ she told Sheridan. ‘How long did you want to stay?’
‘Actually, I’m coming to town for a while,’ said Sheridan. ‘I was wondering about a studio room. For three months to start with?’
When she’d gone back to see DJ Hart again, she’d agreed to join the Central News at a salary significantly less than she’d been paid by the City Scope. She realised that the money didn’t matter to her. Having the job and being able to tell her parents that she’d succeeded was far more important. DJ had shaken her hand in delight (she hoped there’d be no more need for him to do that; she was pretty sure that eventually he’d break every bone in it) and told her that she could start the following week. Work with Myra before she leaves, he said. Get a feel for what she does.
Sheridan had nodded her agreement, and then broached the subject of where she might stay.
‘Somewhere not too expensive,’ she said, and DJ nodded thoughtfully before suggesting the Bawnee River Guesthouse.
‘I can’t afford to live in a guesthouse!’ Sheridan was aghast, but DJ had told her about Nina’s studio rooms and said that he was sure she’d be interested in a long-term rental in the low season. And staying with Nina for a few months would give her the opportunity to look around the town for something else, depending on how long Myra decided to take for her maternity leave. He’d shown her a picture of one of the studios from an ad Nina had placed in the paper the previous year, telling her that it would ideal for her. Sheridan agreed with him.
She explained this to Nina, who looked thoughtful.
‘It’s quiet enough now all right,’ she agreed. ‘I’m sure we could work out something until the busy season starts.’
‘DJ reckoned you might do a decent price for me,’ Sheridan told her.
Nina smiled. ‘That’s DJ for you. Always looking for solutions to problems his way.’
‘Does that mean you’re not interested?’ Sheridan was worried. The studio had sounded ideal to her.
‘It’s just something I’ve never thought of before, but I don’t see why it wouldn’t be possible.’
‘I’ll be working,’ said Sheridan. ‘I won’t be in your way if you have other guests.’
‘I wasn’t thinking that,’ Nina said. ‘And to be honest . . . well, it would be nice to know that there was someone around.’ She was surprised to hear herself say that. She hadn’t really wanted anyone to be around since Sean had left and she’d been secretly relieved when the flow of bookings had eased up, even though it impacted on her cash flow.
‘Excellent.’
‘D’you want to have a look at a studio before you make your mind up?’ asked Nina. ‘They’re not exactly huge, you know.’
‘Can we get to them from the house? DJ said they were totally separate.’
Nina shook her head. ‘They’re both independent of the main house. But they’re very comfortable,’ she added quickly. ‘Just not big.’
‘Oh, look, I don’t want to drag you out in the rain again. The photo DJ showed me looked absolutely fine,’ Sheridan said. ‘If the price is OK, then I’m not going to worry.’
‘All right then.’ Nina thought for a moment, and then named a price that was a third of what Sheridan was paying for the apartment in Kilmainham. Given that her salary had been downsized too, it needed to be. However, she was relieved that she could afford to pay Nina and keep on the Beetle for the time being, and so she agreed to the deal.
‘DJ wants me to sta
rt work next week,’ she said. ‘Does that fit in with the availability of the studio?’
Nina nodded. ‘It’s perfect. There’ll be one free from next Monday.’
‘Great,’ Sheridan said. ‘In that case – I look forward to seeing you.’
Nina shook the other girl’s outstretched hand. It suddenly occurred to her that the horoscope in the Central News had been spot on for today. She wondered who they got to do them. A local psychic, maybe? Now that she had an inside track to the local paper, Nina thought that she might be able to find out. Maybe get something more personalised done for her. She’d often thought about visiting a psychic, especially since Sean had left. But she’d never had the nerve to try.
Chapter 12
It was ridiculous, Sheridan told herself, to be so excited about the job in Ardbawn, but knowing that she had something to do again filled her with a sense of purpose. Over the weekend, after she’d phoned her parents, who told her it was a good start and to seize the moment, she’d abandoned Wii soccer in the pursuit of her quest to find out more about Paudie O’Malley. After surfing the net without discovering any more than she already knew, she rang Alo Brady at the City Scope to ask him about the businessman.
‘Why?’ Alo’s antennae were finely tuned. He knew it wasn’t a casual enquiry about the paper’s biggest shareholder.
Sheridan told him about her job offer at the Central News. She could hear Alo’s muffled splutter of astonishment that she’d fallen so low, but she ignored it. She wanted to know more about her new boss, she told him calmly. She was interested.
Alo didn’t have very much more for her, but he pointed her in the direction of further information she could access.
‘Thanks,’ said Sheridan. ‘Have you seen anything of him at the paper?’
‘He dropped in to give a bit of a pep talk,’ admitted Alo.
‘Did he say that it was going to be great now that all the dead wood is gone?’ she asked.
‘He apologised for that comment,’ said Alo.
‘Oh really?’ Sheridan was unimpressed. ‘He didn’t apologise to the people he got rid of, though, did he?’
‘Ah, Sheridan, you know that was Ernie and the team. They picked who went, not Paudie.’
‘Don’t tell me he’s managed to charm you, of all people!’ Sheridan knew that Alo was as hard nosed as they came.
‘He was polite. Respectful.’
‘Huh.’ She snorted.
‘I’m really sorry you were let go,’ said Alo.
‘Thanks. I’m using the Central News as a backstop,’ she added. ‘I’ll be working on a few other stories in the meantime. Freelancing.’
‘Good idea,’ said Alo. ‘Sports stuff?’
‘All sorts.’
‘Well, if you hear anything juicy in the business world, don’t forget to call me.’
‘Right.’
They said goodbye and she hung up. Don’t forget to call me: she repeated Alo’s words under her breath. Not a chance, she thought. Any good stories, no matter where they come from, I’m keeping for myself!
She checked out the information Alo had given her, and then trawled through some the articles she’d downloaded. Despite Paudie’s fearsome reputation, he certainly kept a much lower profile than many lesser businessmen. The Slash-and-Burn moniker had been given to him after he’d acquired an ailing printworks, laid off most of the staff and sold off some subsidiary businesses. The redundant staff had picketed the plant and their placards had urged him not to slash and burn the company, but it had been futile. Sheridan knew how they felt, although the piece about Paudie noted that the printworks had returned to profitability two years later, which meant that his strategy had paid off. Nevertheless, the name stuck, and he was known as a ruthless businessman who didn’t suffer fools gladly. The word ‘abrupt’ appeared a lot of times when describing his personality.
She’d gone through half a dozen more business stories before she found the one she was really interested in: ‘Millionaire’s Wife in Death Plunge’.
Quite suddenly she remembered the incident herself. It had been a long time ago, but she was surprised it hadn’t come to her straight away. She’d read about it when she was living at home. Alice had walked into the room and tut-tutted about it saying that it was a terrible thing and that the man must be devastated. And then, later, there was a report on the investigation into how Elva O’Malley, the wife of businessman Paudie O’Malley, had fallen to her death (from a window according to one report; from a balcony according to another). There were some pictures of Paudie and his family at the graveside that had been taken from a distance, along with a statement he’d made saying that their hearts were broken and appealing for privacy.
The acquisition of the printing works had happened before Elva’s death, but almost all of his aggressive takeovers and restructuring had happened afterwards. There were few pictures of Paudie in these reports, which never referred back to the family tragedy. A story some time later showed a picture of the businessman with another woman on his arm, but she seemed to have faded from the scene, as did the increasingly rare photographs of Paudie himself. The business stories grew drier and drier too, simply noting that he’d bought a company or sold a different one, although each time saying that he’d made money from the deal. They spoke about his diversification from print and packaging into more media enterprises. It seemed that everything Paudie O’Malley touched turned to gold although nothing, Sheridan assumed, could possibly take the place of someone you loved who’d fallen out of a window.
Unless it was life assurance. There were references in the early reports to the policy that had paid out a large sum on Elva’s death, along with further speculative comments about the state of their marriage. But the stories petered out and Sheridan didn’t know if this was because there was no real substance to them or because Paudie O’Malley was influential enough to suppress them.
There was no question that he was a man of influence. His companies donated funds both to political parties and to popular charities. But as more and more was written about his various business ventures, there was less and less information about the man himself. There was also very little information about his family, although Sheridan found a brief story and photograph of his elder daughter, Sinead, on her wedding day, with Paudie standing behind her and her new husband, Michael. Paudie looked pleased and proud, while Sinead was smiling at her husband.
Eventually she learned that Paudie’s elder son, JJ (what was it with people in Ardbawn and initials? she asked herself. Could they not have proper names like everyone else?), had followed his father into the business and managed one of the subsidiary printing companies, while the other son, Peter, raced motorbikes in the UK – although she had to assume he wasn’t very successful, because she’d never heard of him. There was nothing at all about the youngest child, Cushla.
Was there a proper story in Paudie, she asked herself, or was it simply wishful thinking on her part because she blamed him (however irrationally) for losing her her job? After all, if she’d been kept on at the City Scope, she’d probably be thinking of him as a saviour. Nevertheless, it was worth questioning if everything about the businessman was totally above board. Why was he bankrolling the Central News when everyone knew that it could be a licence to lose money? Why had he invested in the City Scope? Was he a benign businessman or a Machiavellian monster?
Lots of questions, she thought. It would be interesting to get the answers. And at least it would give her a focus for her time in Ardbawn. Because, despite her delight at getting the job, she wasn’t entirely looking forward to spending her days writing about beauty, horoscopes and recipes. She needed something more exciting to keep her interested.
She didn’t have a lot of stuff to bring with her. She was surprised at that because she thought she was a hoarder, but then she realised that most of the things she hoarded were newspaper articles, and those she kept on her laptop – either downloaded from the internet or scanned to the har
d drive. She didn’t have folders of files with her own stories or cuttings; they, too, were all stored on the laptop.
As for non-work-related items, they were mostly clothes, and Sheridan’s wardrobe was patchy in that regard. She had plenty of fleeces, tracksuits and jeans and more T-shirts and trainers than she could possibly need, but there wasn’t much by way of dresses, skirts or smart outfits. All her clothes fitted into her suitcase, while the contents of the bathroom cabinet, as well as the rest of her make-up, were easily contained in the elegant Estée Lauder bag that Talia had given her the previous Christmas. There wasn’t much else – her City Scope mug, some family photos in click frames, a small selection of books (mainly sporting biographies and autobiographies) and a shocking-pink teddy bear that Griff had presented to her on her last birthday.
She was going to leave the bear behind – after all, she’d split with Griff, and pink wasn’t her favourite colour – but she’d got used to it on the chair in her bedroom, and abandoing it suddenly seemed like a heartless thing to do. She couldn’t quite believe she was feeling emotional about a pink teddy bear she hadn’t even bothered to name. When Griff had given it to her (thankfully also with a box of her favourite chocolates) he’d remarked that she didn’t seem to have many cute things in her bedroom, which was why he’d thought it was appropriate.
Sheridan had nothing against soft fluffy toys, but even when she’d first moved out of the family home and had resolved to have a few more feminine things around the place, she couldn’t bring herself to load up with stuffed animals and fairy lights. She didn’t understand why grown women would find the need to festoon their bedrooms with them; even though she agreed that Talia’s arrangement of pink lights trailing around both her mirror and her bedposts was kind of cute, she knew it was a feminine step too far for her.
She hadn’t said any of this to Griff, but simply thanked him for the chocs (telling herself that she’d ration herself strictly to one a day, something she utterly failed to do) and plonked the teddy on the bedroom chair, where it had remained ever since.
Better Together Page 12
