Thus far, because he was unpopular with the Irish and British owners, De La Fuente had been thwarted from achieving his goal. But this was the year he might actually achieve his dream. He’d proposed at the last AGM that the meeting be changed to August when more owners were on site than there were in January. The Madrid contingent would all be down, seeking sanctuary from the intense heat of summer, and they would support him.
Combined with the fact that the presidency had become a poisoned chalice because of the community debt, not to mention feuding among a few factions, and disagreements about the allowing of pets onto the complex, and about whether to allow an area to be set aside for children to play football in, the enthusiasm for the position was wearing off.
Would she even be here this time next year? Constanza reflected despondently. The AGM traditionally would have taken place on the third Saturday of January, and she would have had the relief of knowing that her job was safe for another year, but now it was unsettling to know that for the next nine months, she would have this uncertainty hanging over her.
If the Madrileño achieved his goal, her position would be very shaky indeed. She would have to depend on the loyalty of the other owners to maintain her status.
But she would fight De La Fuente every step of the way, Constanza vowed. She loved La Joya and, for the most part, she enjoyed her work. It was challenging and interesting. A prissy little jumped-up notary from the capital, who had ideas above his station, was not going to get the better of her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
ANNA / AUSTEN
She could hear a shrill ringing rousing her from the deepest depths of sleep. Beside her, Austen stirred. ‘Wha . . . what’s that?’ he slurred, as Anna, realizing it was the phone, and it was the early hours of the morning, shot up into a sitting position, reaching across her husband to grab the receiver.
‘Hello,’ she tried to keep the anxiety out of her voice.
‘Mrs Mac, they’ve decided to do a Caesarean on Tara. Her blood pressure’s gone sky high and they say it’s the best option now because of the pre-eclampsia. I just phoned to let you know. I’ve to go and get gowned up.’
‘Oh! OK. James, will we come in?’ Anna’s stomach gave a sickening lurch.
‘You probably won’t be allowed in. You won’t be in in time for the birth. They’ve done all the pre-op stuff and given her the epidural, they’re doing it in the next few minutes, so I’ll ring you as soon as I can.’ James sounded so flustered and anxious, Anna wanted to race into the maternity hospital and hold his and Tara’s hands.
‘Alright, love. We’re here the minute you need us. I’ll turn my mobile on if you want to text,’ she said reassuringly, moving away from Austen to let him sit up. ‘It will be fine,’ she added but she was talking to thin air. Her daughter’s partner had turned off his phone and was hurrying down the corridor to the operating theatre.
‘What’s happening?’ Austen gazed bleary-eyed at Anna, yawning prodigiously.
‘They’re doing a Caesarean on Tara.’ Anna’s lip wobbled and she burst into tears as every primal motherly instinct she possessed made her want to get to the Rotunda as fast as she could to be by her child’s side during her hour of greatest need.
‘She’ll be OK, sure they’re very commonplace,’ Austen said gruffly, trying to hide his anxiety. He put his arm around Anna and she buried her face into the strong, tanned column of his neck. ‘At least she won’t have to endure labour. Remember yours, with her? Twenty hours that seemed to go on and on,’ he reminded her.
‘I know, but you only have Caesareans if there’s something up, and it takes much longer to get over it.’ Anna wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘Will we have a cup of tea? I can’t see myself going back to sleep.’
‘You stay there, I’ll make it,’ Austen offered, flinging back the duvet.
‘What time is it anyway?’ she asked, groaning when he switched on his bedside lamp, the light causing her to squint.
‘Five-thirty, nearly time to get up,’ he smiled down at her. ‘Will I make you some toast?’
‘I don’t think I could eat. My stomach is tied up in knots.’
‘I’ll make some anyway, you can try and nibble on it,’ he said kindly. ‘And I’ll turn on the heating for a while, it’s nippy.’ He pulled on his dressing gown and fished for his slippers under the bed.
‘Thanks,’ Anna said gratefully, switching on her mobile phone.
It was chilly, and she could hear the rain battering a tattoo against the Velux window in the ensuite, and the faint jangle of a wind chime every so often, when gusts of wind swirled around the apple trees. Snow was forecast. Winter’s grip had taken a firm hold even though it was not yet mid November. Anna pulled the duvet up under her chin and lay back against the pillows, wondering was her first grandchild being born at this very moment. She hoped James would text once the baby was lifted out of Tara and checked over. That should be in the next twenty minutes or so, she figured. If he waited until she was wheeled into recovery it could be an hour.
What a pity for Tara of all people, who was so into natural health and wellbeing, and who had longed to give birth naturally, even planning a home birth before her pregnancy had developed complications. Now she’d to undergo the birthing procedure she’d been dreading all along.
Chloe on the other hand would probably demand a Caesarean, Anna thought wryly, musing that her daughters were chalk and cheese. At least the baby would be born in plenty of time for Tara to be able to undertake her chief bridesmaid duties at her sister’s post-Christmas wedding.
The invitations had to be sent in the next few days. They sat in their baby-blue and cream boxes on her desk, in her home office, reproaching her daily. Miss Chloe could spend one evening this week stuffing them into envelopes and sticking the stamps on them.
A wedding on the day after St Stephen’s Day. Only Chloe could be oblivious to the utter hassle her chosen wedding date was causing her parents, who dreaded the thought of driving to a country house on a day that most people would be lolling around in PJs, watching TV, scoffing chocolates and eating turkey and stuffing sandwiches.
When the five-star hotel in Wicklow that Chloe had her heart set on was unavailable for the May wedding she’d originally wanted, Chloe had been gutted. Anna and Austen had been secretly delighted. The opulent, Palladian-style pile had a minimum spend on food and drink that didn’t include the venue hire. That also had a minimum spend. She’d seen her husband’s eyebrows shoot to the top of his head and the grim set of his jaw when he’d heard that particular snippet of information and only her sharp nudge in his ribs had kept him quiet, if silently fuming, as the venue’s wedding planner explained the costs in detail.
‘Is she serious, Anna? What bloody planet is she on? There’s a credit crunch going on, the economy’s on the slide, and she’s behaving like we’re bloody millionaires,’ he hissed while his daughter listened with rapt attention to the planner’s description of the ‘On Terrace Welcome Reception’ which would add another couple of thousand to the already substantial bill.
Very fortunately for them, the hotel was booked up for May and June and Will was not able to take the chunk of leave from work for a wedding and two-week honeymoon in July. Chloe had had to go back to the drawing board, much to her chagrin. Flicking through some brochures at a wedding fair, a bride dressed in a medieval gown in a country house setting had caught her eye and excitement had taken hold again.
‘Mum, we’ve decided we’re going to have a winter wedding in a country house that has its own church on the estate. It’s going to be gorgeous, lots of candles, and fairy lights, and holly wreaths and trailing ivy and a punch, eggnog and champagne reception. And my dress is going to be pagan style, edged with fur trim on the sleeves. It’s going to be like, so awesome, and so different. And the brilliant thing is, it’s actually available on the twenty-seventh of December—’
‘The day after Stephen’s Day,’ Anna had squawked in dismay.
/> ‘Yeah, they had a cancellation, and they’ll give us a discount if we take it,’ Chloe exclaimed excitedly. ‘It’s perfect, and we’ll have our honeymoon in the Maldives while you’re all shivering in the winter chill,’ she grinned, dancing around the kitchen like a sprite. ‘And – this will cheer Dad up – it’s all in. No minimum spend, and the room rates are very reasonable.’
Anna, when she’d seen the venue herself, had been impressed with the total package, and had decided pragmatically that she should be grateful the wedding was taking place sooner than planned, so she’d have less time to worry about it. Best of all, while Chloe and Will were basking in the sun in the Maldives, she and Austen would be flopping for a month in La Joya, knowing that, duty done in regards to Chloe’s wedding, they would be free agents to finally do as they pleased for their retirement.
A month would be a long time not to see her new grandchild, she thought guiltily. Babies changed so quickly in those early months and Tara might feel a bit isolated if both she and Chloe were away. She might have to rethink. Austen could have some of his golfing pals over the first week and she might stay that week at home. She wouldn’t mention anything to her husband yet. He’d hoped to persuade her to travel to their penthouse as they had the previous year, in November, but she’d been reluctant to leave Tara who had struggled in the last months of her pregnancy.
In the end she’d persuaded Austen to go golfing, but he’d been irritated that she wouldn’t come with him and he’d been uncharacteristically cool with her, much to her annoyance.
Did he not see that she couldn’t waltz off to Spain while her daughter needed her? Or was it guilt perhaps, that he was swanning off leaving her to hold the fort, that made him cantankerous?
Crotchety or not, Anna was glad he was home in time for their grandchild’s birth. A mother’s bond was stronger than any other, even that between husband and wife, she admitted, wishing with every fibre of her being that she was at her daughter’s side right now to encourage, support and share Tara’s most elemental, powerful, spiritual moment.
Anna remembered as though the years had passed in the blink of an eye the moment she’d given birth to her first-born. Exhausted after a long, painful labour she’d somehow found the energy to summon a surge of unexpected force for that last final effort. A calmness, a grace even, she reflected afterwards, had come upon her, and Austen, the midwife and the nurses had faded from her ken, as her focus lasered on the child emerging from her womb. She’d felt a wave of primordial power, reassurance and immense love wash over her as she brought forth her daughter into the world.
Her mother had told Anna that she would discover reserves within herself for childbirth, when she’d confided her fears and apprehension to her. And it had happened just as her mother had promised, when Anna needed it most.
No doubt her mother was with Tara in spirit, Anna thought sadly, tears brimming in her eyes. It was nine years since Anna’s beloved mother had passed, and while the overwhelming grief had lessened and become more manageable, as others who had endured the loss of a parent had promised her it would, she missed her greatly, especially at times like this. As she prayed a heartfelt prayer to her mother a sense of peace washed over her and Anna just knew all would be well.
‘Here you go, and for goodness sake stop crying. Tara will be fine.’ Austen strode into the bedroom and handed her a plate of toast, dripping in butter, and placed her mug of tea on her bedside table.
‘I know she will,’ Anna gulped taking a sip of the hot welcome tea and a bite of toast, crunchy and oozing butter, the way she liked it. ‘Ooohhh this is lovely. You make the best toast.’
‘I know,’ Austen said smugly, getting back into bed beside her and snaffling a slice for himself. They ate their early breakfast companionably, sitting up against their pillows; knees against knees, shoulders against shoulders and Anna thought how lucky she was to have such a strong, loving and affectionate relationship with her husband even after all their years of marriage and the mundane minutiae of everyday life. Some of the couples they socialized with had not been so lucky. Although she and Austen had been tested many times, they had come through with a deep appreciation of each other.
Her phone beeped and she nearly dropped her mug, all fingers and thumbs as she handed it to Austen to hold while she scrabbled to find her phone in the folds of the duvet and open the message.
‘Awww Austen, look, it’s the baby. A photo.’ Her eyes welled with tears again as they gazed at the image of their first grandchild, a baby boy, wrapped snugly in a blanket with a little blue hat on his head.
All well. Tara is fine. Our new son. 8lbs 8 ounces we’ll ring soon when she is in the recovery room.
‘Can you believe it?’ said Austen, handing her back her tea. ‘We’re grandparents. It only seems like yesterday when I was holding Tara and you were eating your tea and toast after giving birth. Where did the years go?’
‘I don’t know, I just don’t know.’ Anna gazed at the image of the peaceful little baby who looked so calm and untroubled as he slept in his father’s arms. May he always be as peaceful. Thank you, Mam, for Tara’s safe delivery and the gift of this new baby. She offered up a silent prayer of immense gratitude, snuggling in against her husband as the tension of the last hour drained away and she began to plan a batch cook to fill Tara’s freezer for the busy but exciting days ahead.
‘Here’s your first grandchild, Mum, Michael Austen Anthony Collins,’ Tara said happily, handing her precious baby to Anna with a look of utter pride. Despite the trauma of the Caesarean and the lack of sleep, she looked radiant.
‘Well done, darling, I’m so proud of you,’ Anna praised, taking the little bundle in her arms and gazing adoringly at the sleeping baby, with his shock of black hair. He was a MacDonald alright, she thought, noting his determined little chin and straight nose, secretly thrilled that her grandchild favoured their side of the family.
‘He’s a fine little chap.’ Austen stood at her shoulder gazing down at him in delight.
‘How are you bearing up, James?’ Anna turned to Tara’s partner, leaning up to kiss him on his stubbly cheek, noting his grey pallor and the dark circles around his eyes.
‘Grand, I’m grand,’ he said stoutly. ‘Sure Tara did all the work—’
‘I’d never have managed without you, love. You were my rock,’ Tara said gratefully. ‘And I think you should go home and go to bed for a couple of hours.’
‘Why don’t you come home with me? I’ll cook you a fry-up and then you can go home and get your head down and Anna can stay here for a while with Tara,’ Austen suggested.
‘Great idea, Dad,’ enthused his daughter. ‘James, you played a blinder but you’re bog-eyed with tiredness. Go with Dad.’
‘Are you sure? I’ll stay if you want me to, no bother,’ James offered.
‘Scoot!’ Tara grinned. ‘I want to go asleep myself. The painkillers are making me drowsy.’
‘Off with the pair of you. And make the most of it, James. Your last hours of freedom.’ Anna gave him an affectionate hug.
‘Listen to her, she speaks the truth. Come on, lad while the going is good.’ Austen patted the younger man on the back before leaning down to kiss Tara goodbye.
‘See you tomorrow,’ her father smiled at her.
‘See you later, babes.’ James kissed Tara and leaned in and kissed his son on his tiny snub nose before following Austen out the door.
‘Well how are you, really? How did it go?’ Anna sat in the chair beside her daughter’s bed, grandchild asleep in her arms, the pale wintry sun emerging from behind sullen clouds to stream down around them like rays from heaven.
‘I was scared, petrified when they said they were going to do the Caesarean, but once it started and James was holding my hand, the strangest thing . . . Mum you probably think I was imagining it but I really felt Nana was beside me. I had her medal around my neck and I could feel her so close.’
‘Of course she was there.’ Anna smi
led at her with a sense of overpowering love. ‘I felt her too.’
‘He’s gorgeous isn’t he?’
‘He’s beautiful. Here, you hold him for a while before we put him in his cot,’ Anna said, remembering how she’d wished her visitors would leave when her babies were born so she didn’t have to share the cuddles with them.
‘Thanks, Mum,’ Tara said, holding her arms out for her son. She lay back against the pillows, a perfect Madonna, thought Anna, taking a photo which she would frame, to remember this most matchless moment.
‘They’ve just left the hospital,’ Anna informed her husband who was setting a match to the firelighters in the stove.
‘Perfect timing. Stick on the kettle and we’ll have ten minutes to ourselves to watch the lunchtime news before pandemonium breaks out,’ Austen suggested. Tara, James and the baby were going to stay with Anna and Austen for a week, while Tara recovered from her Caesarean. Anna was delighted that her daughter was coming home. Every new mother needed help, especially a first-time mum, and Anna couldn’t wait to get her hands on her new grandson.
She made the tea and shucked a few chocolate biscuits onto a plate. She was doing her best to lose a few pounds for the wedding but this was a day of celebration, she reasoned a tad guiltily, longing to dunk the biscuits in her tea and feel the chocolate melting on her tongue.
‘Good God Almighty,’ she heard her husband exclaim as he shot up straight on the sofa where he’d sprawled to watch the news, in the family room that adjoined the kitchen.
‘What?’ she asked in alarm at his tone.
‘Listen,’ he held up his hand, and she heard the newsreader reporting the collapse of a company founded by an ex-Anglo banker. ISTC. What was it about ISTC? Anna tried to focus as she saw the dismay creasing her husband’s face.
A dawning awareness made her mouth suddenly dry. They had invested one hundred thousand euros in that company, just weeks ago, in mid August, at the behest of their stockbroker who had assured them it was a ‘sure fire bet’. Fifty thousand each.
Orange Blossom Days Page 22
