Binchy ( 2000 ) Scarlet Feather

by Maeve Binchy

  'He must be quite poor because he sometimes works in Cathy and Tom's waitressing, I mean catering, business as well,' Maud said helpfully.

  'Not recently; he won't have that as a source of income any more,' Cathy said in a tone that left no doubt whatsoever.

  Sara looked up with a smile. She was really pretty when she smiled. Her funny spiky hair and her big boots were outside the frame.

  'You could of course let his room if he weren't here?' Sara's eyes were mischievous.

  'Oh, no, it's the boy's home,' said Kenneth. 'By the way, he left you a note about his room…' He offered her a letter without an envelope, 'One that all were meant to see.'

  Sara read it out. 'Dear Sara, sorry that I can't be here today to meet you. On your last visit my cousin's wife seemed to be suggesting that I was unwilling to show you my bedroom. I would hate it if my little brother and sister's return home were to be delayed by any misunderstanding over something so irrelevant. I have tidied it up, ready for inspection. Please feel free to go in as you please.'

  They all listened as she read. 'No need to, of course, but very courteous of him,' Sara murmured.

  'No need now,' said Cathy, half under her breath. Whatever Walter had been storing in his room, whatever stolen goods he was fearful that they should see, had been moved. They did a tour of the house, checked the bedrooms, saw that the linen had been aired, the bathroom properly cared for. Sara was very thorough; she checked that the washing machine worked and went through the food cupboard and examined the dates on items in the freezer. She asked practical questions about what work Mrs Barry would do, ensured that there were cleaning materials and even checked the garden shed.

  'Nothing to cut the grass with,' she observed.

  'We used to have a big motor mower,' Kenneth was startled. It was quite new, actually. Do you remember it, darling?'

  Kay thought hard. 'Not really, not since last summer… Children, do you remember a motor mower?'

  'Walter took it to be mended,' Simon said.

  'When was that, Simon?' Cathy asked.

  'Ages ago, when we were living here,' he said. 'I think it was a secret.'

  'Why do you think that?' Cathy was gentle.

  'I don't know. I thought he had broken it himself, you see, cutting the grass, and he wanted to get it mended before Mother and Father found out.' Simon's face was so innocent that Cathy wanted to cry.

  'When was this, can you remember at all?' Sara wondered.

  'Oh, last summer, a long time ago,' said Simon, who had never wondered before why the machine had never been returned to the shed, and wasn't even particularly worried now.

  'Will we wait until Neil gets here before we agree that they can come back?' Sara asked as she and Cathy walked through the wilderness of the garden.

  'Neil?'

  'Yes, he said he'd be here.'

  'Oh, sure.' Cathy was actually sure that he wouldn't be here. She had left him back at Waterview still on the telephone about some other crisis.

  'Walter sold the grass-cutting machine. And the kids' things,' she said.

  'We've no proof whatsoever of that, Cathy.'

  'Would you believe it if Neil said it?'

  'But surely he doesn't think… ?' She seemed aghast.

  'Let's ask him, Sara, when he gets here,' Cathy said.

  In her heart she thought, If he gets here.' But she was wrong: when they got back to the house he was there, just as businesslike as Sara.

  'Uncle Kenneth, have you been through the house to make sure that nothing went missing while you were away?' he asked crisply.

  'But how could it have? I mean, Walter was here.'

  'You know how hopeless young people are. Any items like clocks, or maybe any silver?'

  'I did wonder had we put away the little carriage clock so carefully that we couldn't find it,' poor Kay trilled.

  'And I can't seem to see those silver brushes I had,' Kenneth seemed puzzled.

  'Maybe we should make a list,' Neil said.

  'Oh, do you think so?'

  'I do.' Neil was very firm.

  'You see, when we were assessing the value of your estate, we took all the possessions into account. We'll have to assess downwards if some things turn out to be missing, and anyway we'll need to give a list to the police if you're to claim on your insurance.'

  'And to show to Walter also, Neil,' Cathy suggested, 'because quite possibly he may have taken some of these items to have them mended.'

  'Mended?' Neil asked.

  'Yes, Simon here was telling us that Walter kindly got the new motor mower mended, took it off with him at the end of last summer… And it hasn't been mended yet, apparently,' Cathy said.

  He nodded. 'You've understood all this, Sara?' he asked.

  'Totally,' she said.

  'Right, we'll go round the house and see what's not where it should be… Can you help, Maud and Simon? Your sharp young eyes will be terrific, and it will make it into a sort of game.'

  'I think that the marble chess set isn't where it used to be… I can't see it, anyway,' Simon offered as information.

  'Can I have a board like Sara's to write on?' Maud asked. 'Please, if it's possible, I mean,' she added.

  Sara immediately ripped some pages off and handed the clipboard and pad to the child. Neil smiled at her in gratitude, and

  Cathy then saw the look that Sara gave him in return. It was naked admiration.

  'Cathy, it's Geraldine.'

  'People always say this, but I was just thinking about phoning you five minutes ago.'

  'You weren't thinking about Sunday lunch tomorrow, by any chance?' Geraldine asked.

  'No, but you're very welcome. It would force us to cook something instead of just picking, and we'd love to see you. That would be great.'

  'I meant here, it's a working lunch… I really think it's time someone did something about Marian's wedding. Their hotel accommodation is booked, but nothing else… We should have a council of war.'

  'Well, we have the hall. Should Tom come too, do you think?' Cathy asked.

  She hated breaking into his weekend as she did into her and Neil's. There was so little free time for any of them these days. She was relieved when Geraldine said not to disturb him during his weekend.

  It isn't necessary now, not at this stage… This is really only talks about talks. Shona's coming, she's a great help at things like this, and Joe Feather will be here about something else, it's a fashion show he's setting up but he might have a few ideas about the Chicago party as well.'

  Cathy felt tired. There was too much to think about. Her mind felt full of problems, like swarms of bees.

  'That would be great, Geraldine. Can I bring something with me?'

  'No, no.' It didn't sound convincing.

  'I can go into the premises, take something out of the freezer,' she said.

  'Well, if you did have a dessert… I certainly wouldn't say no.'

  'Chocolate roulade?' Cathy suggested; she had plenty of those in the freezer.

  'Great, see you tomorrow, notebooks at the ready.'

  Cathy wondered whether Tom knew that his brother was setting up a fashion show, and more importantly, whether Marcella knew. But it was a Saturday night, let it go, let it go. Enough drama in her own family. Why get involved in other people's?

  'That's twice in a month Joe came to see us, Maura, the boy's heart must be in the right place,' JT said as they had their Sunday lunch.

  'I did offer him a dinner today, but he had somewhere fancy to go.' Maura was not yet totally won over.

  'He's setting up a fashion show, Maura; he has to have lunch with the people who will help him.'

  'They shouldn't be working on the Sabbath day,' she said.

  'I don't imagine it's working as such, more talking, I'd say.'

  'What would you know, JT, about fashion shows, and whether they're working or talking?' she asked.

  'What indeed? But don't I have a proper life for myself, a great wife, a fine h
ome, a decent business and a grand Sunday dinner on the table? Isn't that better than anything Joe has?'

  He was rewarded. Maura returned to the kitchen and cut him an extra slice of beef off the very overdone roast which had been in the oven for several hours. She was gradually coming round to the son who had hurt her so much over the years by ignoring his family and abandoning his faith.

  'No love, I can't go,' Neil said.

  'Okay.'

  'No, Cathy, don't be like that…'

  'Neil… I said okay. I suppose I'm disappointed not to have you there, and I thought we might go to the pictures afterwards… But if you have too much to do then I understand.'

  She called Geraldine to tell her there would be one less, but the number was engaged. What the hell, she'd tell her when she got there.

  But when she got to the Glenstar apartment the table was only set for four.

  'Joe not coming then?' Cathy asked as she placed the roulade on one of Geraldine's plates.

  'No, he's on his way. It is set for four, isn't it?'

  'Yes, of course.' Cathy was puzzled.

  'You, me, Shona, Joe?' She came out of the kitchen and counted, and looked surprised that Cathy had thought it would be otherwise.

  'Did Neil ring you then?' she asked, surprised.

  'Neil? No, why?'

  'To say he couldn't come. He was very sorry…'

  'I didn't expect him to come…' Geraldine said. 'Well it turned out all right. My mistake, I thought…' 'Of course he was invited, but he never turns up at things, does he?' Geraldine said, going back to the kitchen.

  'Ah, he does, Geraldine, he was marvellous out with the twins yesterday, you'd be amazed at him. He was just like a dog with a bone, nothing would deter him. He does go to things.'

  'And if I wanted a lawyer for any cause whaIsoever, he'd be first on my list, that's without a doubt.' 'But this wasn't a case, it was family.' 'His family, Cathy. He's too busy for other things.' The buzzer went and Shona had arrived, followed minutes later by Joe. They were sitting down making plans. Cathy had to drag her mind back to the conversation. Why hadn't she forced Neil to come today? He would have if she had told him that she needed him. Cathy wondered was she getting flu; she had been feeling tired and slightly weepy for a few days now. Suddenly a terrifying thought came to her. There was no wild possibility that she could be pregnant? She grabbed her diary to see where she had put the little x's to show when she expected her period. It was three days late. But it often was, Cathy told herself firmly, and forced herself to listen to ways they could publicise a fashion show. As soon as this was over they would help her to organise her sister's wedding. And she'd think about the other thing later. There was no problem.

  Hannah stood at the hall door of Oaklands and looked on with annoyance as Jock Mitchell put his golf clubs in the back of the car.

  'I didn't know you were going to play on Sunday as well,' she complained.

  'You haven't arranged anything?' he asked. Jock was a sociable man; he didn't like to think that guests would arrive at Oaklands and find him missing.

  'No, but…' Hannah bit her lip.

  'That's fine then. See you when I see you.'

  'When will that be?'

  'I wish I knew.' He was vague.

  'But food, Jock? Will you be back for lunch?'

  'Lord no, it's a competition. Sometime in the evening. Bye now, dear.' He was gone.

  Hannah went back into the house. She would get the Sunday papers and sit in the garden and read. She got little joy these days from sitting under a tree on the well-kept lawn at Oaklands. She hated to admit it to herself, but she was very lonely. What had happened to this house where once Lizzie had been polishing and scrubbing, and Neil tumbling in and out with his friends, Amanda bringing girls home from school and all Jock's colleagues and friends dropping in for a drink? If she had invited people to lunch, Jock would not have run off to the club. But he wouldn't stay at home if it was only Hannah. Perhaps she should ask Cathy about simple things to have ready in the freezer. Yes, she'd do that tomorrow. She thought about Jock's brother Kenneth and his unstable wife. Hannah was glad that she had kept out of all their messy affairs. She could well have been landed with those children. She looked around the big, empty garden.

  'Neil? It's Simon. Do we have any money of our own anywhere, you know, pocket money or anything like that?'

  'Don't you get something every week?'

  'Yes, but it's only a pound and that's not enough.'

  'Enough for what, actually, Simon?'

  'We wanted to buy a present for Muttie and his wife Lizzie to say thank you when we leave.'

  'Oh, they don't want that at all…' Neil reassured them.

  'That's not it, it's that we'd like to give them a present, they've been very nice and they bought Hooves and he cost real money, all Muttie's winnings one week.'

  'Yes I know, but they realise you don't have any money…'

  'We've got much more money than they do, haven't we got a huge house, Neil? And money in the bank and everything. St Jarlath's Crescent is very small.'

  'Simon, you're not going to buy them a new house, are you?' Neil laughed.

  'No, they like this house. We wanted to buy Muttie a good pen for his work at the bookmakers', it would be about two pounds, and we wanted to get Muttie's wife Lizzie leggings.'

  'Leggings?'

  'She has pains in her knees and she thinks it's the cold and damp, so if she had red woolly leggings they would keep her warm and stop the pains.'

  Neil gulped a bit. 'The leggings cost four pounds, and then we'd like to get a present for Cathy too, she did an awful lot of driving us around. Maud says she needs hair lacquer, it's a kind of glue that holds your hair together. They're different prices. We'd like a kind of middle-price one, about two pounds.'

  'So that's about eight pounds altogether. Is this what we're looking at?' Neil asked.

  'About that, yes.' Simon sounded doubtful.

  'You sound as if there's something more. Let's have it.'

  'We'd like to leave a tin of dog food for Hooves, and to give you something too. I know you didn't do all that much, but we thought you should have a present, a small one.'

  'Well, that's very nice indeed,' Neil said, trying not to be annoyed.

  'So what do you think?' Simon wasn't going to lose the main clause.

  'I think twelve pounds should see you right, with some over.' Neil said firmly.

  'That sounds just right, thank you, Neil.' Simon, who would have settled happily for ten, was delighted.

  'So it's a question of transferring the funds.' Neil took it all very seriously.

  'What does that mean, exactly?'

  'Well, you don't have bank accounts, so I can't send you a cheque. It will have to be a cash transaction, I'd say.'

  'An envelope of money, do you mean, Neil? That would be great.'

  'No problem, it's owing to you. I'll get it to you today.'

  'Will Cathy drive it over? You see, we don't want her to know…'

  'She's not here. I'll tell her nothing and I'll drive it,' he promised.

  He hung up the phone and sat thinking about them for a while. They were funny little things, certainly, and Cathy had done wonders with them. But they were a full-time job. It had made them both realise what a wise decision they had made about their future. Be marvellous to other people's children, but don't have any of your own.

  Joe Feather was very focused at the lunch. He never lost sight of what they were trying to do, not for one moment. He had a very quick mind, which was good in business but he said that he lacked broad sweeps of imagination, and also he was totally out of touch with the clothes scene in Dublin. First he needed to know the rivals in his field, then where they were succeeding and failing. He needed to identify trends in the ready-to-wear market, which might be different in country towns from Dublin. He wanted to be sure why Haywards thought it a good idea to go downmarket when they had designer rooms and a very wealthy c
lientele. He listened intelligently while Shona explained that Haywards was busy encouraging the younger shopper, women in their twenties who would buy three or four outfits for summer or a whole holiday wardrobe rather than those who paid a fortune for two items. Geraldine went through different types of PR plan, one very expensive indeed, involving lunches with fashion journalisIs and buyers and interviews with the financial press on the mechanics ofgetting the clothes to Ireland.

  'Too expensive and too many awkward questions asked.' He grinned at her.

  'You're right,' Geraldine agreed.

  'But I had to show you what could be done. Right. This is what I suggest.' And she reeled through plans for a press party before the fashion show, advance photographs taken by Ricky and sent to papers and magazines so that each would have a different one, models, make-up, hairdressing. Joe Feather took quick notes, agreeing to this, arguing that. It took half an hour and one glass of wine each.

  'You have my yes please on that at this moment, but I'm only a third of the company on this lot so could you bear to talk to my two partners if they were to call you?' Joe said.

  'Of course I'll talk to them,' Geraldine said, 'but let me do out a proposal and e-mail it to them first so that we all know what it is we are talking about; it will take less of everyone's time. They'd have this tomorrow by eleven. Is that all right, Joe?'

  'Super-efficient.' He raised his glass to her.

  'Oh, and Joe, you should put yourself all out to talk to the press. Very difficult prima donnas, some of them are. A personable man like yourself, with an Irish accent and well able, would go down a treat.'

  'Me?' He was genuinely surprised.

  Cathy smiled. The Feather brothers had no idea how good-looking they were; it added to their charm.

  'She's right, Joe, I don't go for your kind of looks at all, but you have that superficial, attractive charm that makes them fall off their branches and roll over for you,' Cathy said, laughing.

  'Ah, Cathy, you wound me… I'm superficial… You don't go for my looks, what else are you going to hit me with?' He pretended to be offended.