by Maeve Binchy
'A stripper!' screamed one of the women happily.
'Sadly no,' he said hastily. I've hurt my back. I wouldn't be able to give you a proper performance at all, but I did come with a gift of petits fours and chocolates to thank Mrs Riordan for using our food… So here's a box to divide among you.'
They thought this was wonderful, and even though they said he was terrible to be giving them things that contained four hundred calories a bite, they ate them all the same.
'And while I'm here, why don't I give you more room to enjoy things?' Adroitly he started to clear the table. The women rushed to help him, and they scraped the plates. In the kitchen, they saw him begin to stack them in the crate.
'We must wash them first,' Mrs Riordan said.
'No, no, we do that back at base, all part of the service,' he said.
But they insisted. A sinkful of hot, soapy water, another for rinsing, two ladies drying. The party was in the kitchen now.
'Your back doesn't look all that bad to me,' said the woman who had hoped Tom was a stripper.
'Wait till I'm on real form,' he said to her roguishly, and she blushed with excitement.
They helped him carry the boxes down to the van, where Cathy leaped out in disbelief and began to stow them away. At that moment Mr Riordan's car came into the drive.
'Thank God the place isn't looking like a bomb-site, you're a pair of angels,' said Mrs Riordan, pushing two twenty-pound notes at them. 'Go on, go out and have a drink on me.'
Mr Riordan nodded at them. 'Looks as if it was all a good lunch,' he said grudgingly.
'Oh, the food was all right but I think they rather liked me as a stripper for most of the afternoon.'
'You're making this up,' the man spluttered.
'Well, you're never going to know, are you, Mr Riordan? After all, they're obviously going to say it didn't happen, aren't they?' Cathy and Tom laughed all the way to the city.
'Will we drop in on the reception after Neil's lecture? There'll be warm white wine and cold sausages provided by one of the faculty wives,' Cathy said.
'Sure, will I call Marcella? She should be home by now, we could pick her up on the way, she might like an outing too.'
'Great idea.'
They spent the forty pounds in a Chinese restaurant. Cathy noticed that Marcella had three prawns, no rice, no stir fry, no sweet and sour pork. Tom noticed that Neil was concerned because the Chinese waiters were probably not in trade unions. They told the story of Hooves.
'Isn't The Beeches a big house with a garden?' Marcella asked. 'They might be able to have it with them there.'
'Not until it's trained, it would run straight out on the road and be killed,' Cathy said.
'But maybe they won't be going back there for ages.'
Neil said that it would be much sooner than anyone thought; the law actually did move quickly in restoring children to their homes.
It seems a pity if they're happy where they are,' said Tom, who had been touched by the family scene in St Jarlath's.
'That's not the point.' Neil was very strong on that. 'Years ago, children were always being taken from their homes and given to people who would so-called improve them… At least nowadays the importance of the birth parenIs is actually recognised.'
Cathy thought that this was being over-recognised in this particular case. But she said nothing. There were so many other things to be discussed with Neil, and a rare meal out for the four of them was not going to become a battleground over Simon and Maud.
The Hayes household was up to high doh when they arrived at six-thirty. Two discontented sons who lived at home were hanging around, unsure of what to do. An equally discontented daughter attached to what looked like a young man mightily disapproved of by her parents was saying that it was inconceivable and intolerable that there was no way she could use the ironing board in the kitchen, where it had always been used. Mrs Hayes said they were to call her Molly, and her husband was Shay. He was a plump, somewhat anxious man, who was obviously a hard taskmaster at the business he ran, and felt the need to bark out orders on this occasion as well.
'Shay, can I make us all a quick cup of coffee and briefly run through the agenda with you?' asked Tom.
Meanwhile, Cathy had switched on the kettle, asked June to help get the ironing board and iron up to the spare room, got the boys to put the two Persian cats into a place with a litter tray and a bowl of food, a place from which they could not emerge and eat the trifle or shed hairs on the salmon. By the time the kettle had boiled Cathy had persuaded Molly that the main thing was for her to go upstairs and rest with her feet slightly raised. Cathy had even brought her a cold mask for her eyes, it worked wonders, she said.
'But setting everything up… ?' Molly begged.
'Is exactly what you are paying us well to do, and believe me we will do it,' Cathy said firmly.
She heard Tom telling Shay that they had a chain of command, a checklist, a routine to follow and it was wise if they were left to themselves to do it. He had always thought it good for the family to come down at seven-thirty, half an hour before the first guesIs arrived, so that they could examine everything and check it was all in order. Shay nodded, it made sense. And soon the Hayes family, fuelled with coffee, had all gone to their rooms. Tom and Cathy got into action, the food was unpacked, the conveyor belt for canapes was under way with June and her friend Helen. The buffet tables were set up. The ashtrays were placed in the conservatory where smoking was allowed, the cake was unwrapped and placed on a silver stand. The creamy dessert which needed to have the number 25 written on it with toasted almonds was produced, the salads were filling up the great glass bowls that had been rescued last night from the Riordans. It was all going according to plan. At exactly seven o'clock the two barmen arrived. Con, the cheerful redhead they had spotted in a pub, and Walter, sulkier and moodier than ever.
'They'll be having champagne cocktails to start,' Cathy explained.
'How naff,' Walter said.
Cathy's face was hard. 'I'm never sure exactly what that word means. You know how to do them, and fill them up very shortly before the guests arrive with champagne.'
'Or what passes for champagne,' said Walter, lifting up a bottle and letting it slip back again into the case.
Cathy now addressed herself entirely to Con and not to Walter. 'I'd like you to get forty glasses ready in this way, and can you see that Walter opens twelve bottles of white and twelve bottles of red, the white goes into the big ice box outside the kitchen door, and after they're down to four then open the bottles in fours from then on, and…'
'Excuse me, Cathy, do you have a problem talking to me? Perhaps you don't want me here. Should I leave?' He looked so supercilious she wanted to hit him. He knew that she couldn't let him go now. Not just before the guesIs arrived. He could be as rude as he liked. Or could he? Neil was at home tonight—in a real emergency he would certainly come and help. She moved slightly away so that Con, the new boy, would not hear every word of the family row.
'Either change your attitude or get your coat,' she said crisply.
'I don't think you are in a position—'
'I'm in even position, I'm hiring you.'
'And where will you get a replacement at this hour?'
'Your cousin,' she said simply, and took out her mobile phone.
'Neil? You wouldn't.'
She began dialling.
'Okay, sorry, I was out of order.'
'No, I'm sorry, Walter, I can't rely on you. This is a big job for us.'
Suddenly he realised that she meant it. She really was going to ask Neil Mitchell the barrister to put on a dinner jacket and serve booze to these people. His uncle, who was also his boss, would kill him. His recent returned father, who was also his only other means of support, would kill him.
'I beg you, Cathy, you have my word,' he said.
'It had better be a very good word,' she said, and went and left him.
'Walter's actually doing some work
for once,' Tom said admiringly, watching the vine bottles moving swiftly as requested.
'I put the frighteners on him,' Cathy said, with some satisfaction. 'The other boy's good, isn't he, we'll have him again. This is the last of Walter.'
'Will that not cause family strain?' Tom asked.
'No, probably prevent it, in that it will stop me killing Walter with my bare hands and messing up the kitchen,' Cathy said.
'Cooking is meant to have great elemenIs of patience and calm about it,' Tom marvelled. 'You haven't a calm, patient cell in your body.'
'Cooking is also meant to have a certain fire about it, and I'm full of that,' said Cathy.
Just then the Hayes family all appeared downstairs. The fussing was going to start again.
'We have a little tradition, which is to take a family photograph before everyone comes, while the whole place is peaceful, and coincidentally when the food looks at its best,' said Tom, and he posed them next to the cake by the buffet table, accepting their first champagne cocktail of the night.
They saw the hosts beginning to relax, and by the time the first visitor arrived they had agreed that the house looked beautiful, and the food, and that it would be a good evening. Only an hour in they knew it was going to be a roaring success. Even Walter was moving swiftly from group to group, topping up drinks and talking pleasantly. 'Fantastic, these things,' said Shay to everyone about the trays of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. It was in fact little choux pastries each filled with horseradish sauce and cream and a small slice of cold rare beef. People couldn't stop eating them.
'Did you invent these, Cathy?' a man asked her.
It was Freddie Flynn, her aunt's friend. Mrs Flynn was there, small and jewelled. Cathy looked at the woman's wrist; her watch was plain compared to Geraldine's. She smiled at them both.
'Mr Flynn, Mrs Flynn, thank you so much, no, alas I didn't invent them, but I did see them somewhere and remembered them! Is that as good?'
'Certainly,' he said. He had a nice smile. 'Darling, this is Cathy Feather, she's a sort of cousin of Geraldine, you know, who does our PR. Be nice to Cathy and she might just do more work for us, and Cathy, this is my wife Pauline.'
'You might do our silver wedding when the time comes,' the woman said.
'Oh indeed, we'd be honoured. It was wonderful to meet you, now excuse me, I must see that everyone…'
She moved away, seething. He was darlinging his wife at every opportunity. They were going to have a silver wedding party. And according to Geraldine, this was meant to be a dead marriage. So poor Freddie was perfectly entitled to have his fun elsewhere, since there was nothing for them at home. God, it would make you sick.
The party went better than anyone could have hoped. Molly had said wistfully that she thought they would all feel too old to dance, but Tom had brought the Best of Abba, for them just in case. First he put on Leo Sayer 'When I Need You' and then, 'Don't Cry For Me Argentina' and 'Mull Of Kintyre'. Nice and low but insistent in the background, and when he heard people humming and joining in the choruses and when the desserIs had been cleared away, he let rip with 'Mamma Mia' and they were all on their feet.
Tom and Cathy paused to have a coffee in the kitchen. Around them the dishes had been collected and stacked. The two barmen had skilfully retrieved the Scarlet Feather glasses and replaced them with those that belonged to the house. Soon it would be midnight, time to pay them their five hours. Shay Hayes had also left an envelope for the staff, so there would be good pickings tonight. Cathy had brought a silver polish cloth with her to shine up the four solid-silver ladles that Molly Hayes had insisted on using. They had been a wedding present, she said, they must be shown off.
The van had been filled, the ashtrays had been emptied, open bottles left on the tables, the kitchen was immaculate and only a hard core of ten people remained to celebrate still further. Tom could pick up the CDs when he came round tomorrow to finalise things and present his account. Con asked if he could speak to Tom for a moment. The boy drew him away a little.
'Very awkward, this,' he began.
'What?' Tom hoped that Con wasn't going to ask for more money; he had been such a good waiter all night. They need never have that young pup Walter again.
'It's just that… This is a hard thing to say… but I think you should have a look at that sports bag over there if you know what I mean. God, I hate saying this… but I have to.' The boy looked really distressed. Without pausing to ask more, Tom unzipped the bag. There on top of Walter's sweater and jeans were four silver ladles, two silver cruets and an ornate photo frame. His throat constricted with fear.
'Thanks,' he said. 'You go off now, quick as you can. I found this bag myself, do you understand, and thank you again, we'll be in touch.'
I'm sorry, Mr Feather.'
'So am I,' said Tom.
Cathy came back into the kitchen and took off her Scarlet Feather apron. 'Tom, you're a genius, how did you know that was the kind of music they wanted. It's working like a dream, look at them all leaping about to "Dancing Queen". God, I hope we'll be able to do that at their age.'
'Cathy, Walter stole the silver. His sports bag there, filled with their stuff, look for yourself.'
The colour left her face. He hated to do this to her, but there was no other way. He couldn't act until he knew what she would do. Walter was part of Cathy's family set-up, not his.
'Where is he?'
'Still in the dining room, chatting up Molly and Shay's daughter, being glowered at by the girl's boyfriend.'
Cathy took out her mobile.
'What are you doing?' he asked.
'Getting a taxi for June and Helen, there's a taxi rank a couple of minutes away, I took its number.'
'And then?'
'We sort this out here, get the guards if necessary, if he denies it.'
'What would Neil say?'
'I don't know, but I'll let Walter ring him, he's going to need a lawyer over this.'
'You're not going the distance on this?' Tom was amazed at her courage.
'If I can I will.'
'Walter, can I interrupt you for a moment? I need you in the kitchen.' Tom spoke in a low voice.
'Hey, my hours of servitude are over, I'm here on my own time now.'
'Straight away, please.'
When he saw the open bag, Walter began to bluster. 'How dare you root in my private things…' he began.
'An explanation, Walter.'
'I didn't put them there, you did. You both hate me.'
'We haven't touched them. The guards will be here shortly and will tell us whose fingerprinIs are on them.'
'You're never going to call the guards?' His face was white, but he still thought they were bluffing.
'It's what you have to do in a case of theft.' Cathy lifted her mobile phone again.
'You're going to call them now?'
'No, I'm going to wait for you to call your cousin first because you're going to need someone to speak for you, Walter. It might as well be Neil, that's if he takes you on.'
He looked at her, unbelieving.
'Go on, make the call.'
'I don't know the number.'
'It's pre-set. You just dial one.'
They sat and watched him as he waited until Neil answered. The kitchen door was closed; they could hear both ends of the conversation.
'Neil, sorry… sorry for ringing you, it's Walter.'
'What is it? Is Cathy all right, what has happened? Was there an accident?'
'No, actually I'm in a bit of trouble.'
'Where's Cathy?'
'She's here beside me… Do you want to talk to her?' Cathy shook her head. 'No, sorry Neil, I have to talk, apparently.'
'Talk then,' the voice said crisply.
'Well there was a bit of a misunderstanding… We're still at this house, you see, and Tom went rummaging in my private bag and he found or he says he found some silver there… belonging to the house, as it were…' Walter paused but there was no respo
nse so he had to go on again. 'And now, Neil, they're talking about calling the guards, Tom and Cathy are. Uncle Jock will kill me, you have to help me…' Still silence at the other end. 'What will I do?'
'Take off your jacket.'
'What?'
'Take off your jacket and hand it to Tom.'
'I don't think that's going to be any help. What's the point… ?'
'Do it, Walter.'
He did it. There was a rattle as he struggled out of his dinner jacket and passed it over to Tom. Tom shook it again. There were silver teaspoons in the pocket, a watch and a paper knife.
'Is it done?' Neil asked.
'Yes, there seem to be…'
'I was sure there might have been,' Neil said.
'What happens now?'
'Not up to me, I'm afraid.'
'Who is it up to?' Walter asked fearfully.
'Cathy and Tom and the people whose silver you stole. Do they know yet, by the way?'
'No, and I didn't really steal it, you know.'
'Of course not. Good luck, then.'
'What do you mean, good luck, aren't you going to help me?'
'No, I most certainly am not.'
'Neil you have to. I'm family.'
'No, listen to me… Cathy's your employer, you stole from her. You could have had her prosecuted, you stupid little shit.'
'Cathy's here, Neil, let me pass you over to her… Please, Neil, beg her, beg her.' There were tears running down his face.
'Cathy and Tom run their business, Walter. They had the bad luck to employ a thief. Anything they do is fine with me.' And he hung up.
Tom and Cathy looked at each other. 'Your trouser pockeIs,' Tom said.
There was a cigarette lighter and some more spoons. He wept and begged, but they spoke as if he weren't there.
'You call it, Tom.' She was very calm.
'No, I won't. I'm not taking on that emotional stuff. Truly I'm not. You wouldn't want to do it if he were Marcella's cousin.'
'That's fair.' There was a silence.'I want him done for this, every bit of me wants that. There are just two things against it.'
'I'm family,' Walter begged tearfully.
