Binchy ( 2000 ) Scarlet Feather

by Maeve Binchy

  'Are we going to have tennis lessons?' Simon asked at breakfast.

  'Tennis?' His mother looked at him vaguely as if she had heard the word before and with time would place exactly what it meant. She poured the cold milk out on the cornflakes, far too much of it so that the cornflakes were soggy and there wasn't any milk left for their tea. 'This is nice,' she said.

  'Yes, Mother,' Maud said dutifully.

  'Sara said there would be tennis lessons,' Simon said.

  'Oh, Sara, yes, poor girl,' his father said.

  'That the lady in boots and a cap on backwards? Dear, dear,' Barty said.

  'I have her phone number. I could ring her,' Simon said. 'She'll know when and where.'

  Kenneth Mitchell sighed. 'I have the address somewhere here, no need to ring her, I think just ring them and start the lessons off whenever you like.'

  'And Father, when I do book the lessons, who shall I say is paying for them?' Simon was worried.

  'Don't concern yourself with that.'

  'I'll ring Sara,' Simon said.

  'Damn it, boy, I'll pay for the bloody lessons. Stop driving everyone mad, will you, we have things to think about here.'

  Kay Mitchell began to tremble. She hated seeing Kenneth upset.

  'I'm sorry, Father.'

  'No, no, that's all right, get your racquets out of the shed and start practising a bit here on the lawn.'

  The twins lowered their eyes. This wasn't the time to tell their father that the shed was locked and they couldn't get into it.

  'Cathy, could we come round to the premises to work today, to polish the treasures and things?' Maud asked.

  'No Maud, sorry, today's not a good day.'

  'We wouldn't want money or pasta or anything,' Maud begged.

  'Sweetheart, if I could I'd say yes. We'll do it another time, okay?' She hung up.

  'She hung up on me,' Maud said alarmed.

  'Did she sound cross?' Simon wondered.

  'A bit. What did we do?'

  'Maybe we should have written to thank her for the pasta,' Simon said. 'It's very hard to know.'

  'Sara, I'm ringing from a public phone on the road, it's Simon. Does Father pay for our tennis lessons?'

  'Yes he does, he knows that.'

  'I think he's a bit short of money.'

  'Not too short for tennis lessons, it's part of his allowance… Start whenever you like, I'll keep an eye on it.'

  'It's just that, you know… he gets a bit…'

  'I'll be very tactful,' Sara promised.

  'And Sara, our racquets are locked in the garden shed.'

  'Walter?' she asked.

  'I suppose so, but they're all in such bad tempers if you ask anything.'

  'You don't have to ask anything, I'll do it…' she said.

  'Was she cross, like everyone else?' Maud wanted to know. 'Yes, she sounded cross, but not with us I think,' Simon said after some thought.

  'Walter Mitchell? I'm Sara, Simon and Maud's social worker.'

  'I know,' he smiled at her warmly. 'We don't get many like you visiting our house or our offices.'

  But he was getting nowhere this time. 'Why have you locked your garden shed?' she asked.

  'And what possible business is that of yours,' he said, smile now totally gone from his face.

  'Look, I don't care if you have two thousand pornographic magazines stacked in there, just get those kids their tennis racquets.'

  'You had to come all the way to my office to deliver that message? Why couldn't they just ask me?

  'Apparently everyone at the home I fought to have them rejoin is in a bad temper. They didn't want to make things worse.'

  'So they rang you,' he sneered.

  'Well at least I did something,' Sara said simply. 'Are you going to give me the key now, and I'll pick up their racquets for them, or…'

  'I'll go back and get them,' he said.

  'But your work?' she said.

  I'm my own boss. I can make my own decisions whether to go or stay.' He got up as if to leave.

  'Thank you, Walter.'

  'Don't mention it, Sara,' he said.

  She noticed that he looked up and down the corridor as he left, and that he didn't go down in the main lift, but ran down the back stairs. Mr Walter Mitchell working in his uncle's office was not at all as secure as he would have people believe.

  St Jarlath's Crescent had never looked so well. Smart new curtains, window boxes, the bedroom for the bride and groom filled with little touches.

  'It's very empty, you know. I miss those children terribly,' Lizzie told her sister. 'And poor Muttie's distracted.'

  'How often do they come over?' asked Geraldine.

  'Every Saturday. They want to come more but it's not on, apparently.'

  'Couldn't Cathy bring them over sometimes? She's able to get what she wants, and she's not afraid of any Mitchell,' Geraldine suggested.

  'I haven't seen or heard from Cathy in days,' Lizzie said.

  'I think she's got a lot on her mind,' said Geraldine, who wondered why Cathy hadn't phoned back to tell her about Neil's reaction to everything.

  There was another rehearsal for the Feather Fashion show. Joe made it his business to talk to Marcella.

  'Tom okay about everything? All this, you know…' He waved his hands at the half-dressed girls around him.

  'Fine,' Marcella said.

  'It's just that—'

  'Just that what?'

  'I haven't seen him recently, and I hope he's not pissed off with me for being part of all this.' He waved his hand around at the scene.

  'No, no. Tom pissed off at you? Of course he's not, he's just very busy with everything, that's all. I hardly see him myself.'

  'Hi Cathy, it's Geraldine.'

  'Oh yes, Geraldine. Oh.' Cathy sounded distracted.

  'Sorry, is this a bad time?'

  It couldn't have been a worse time. The place was full of people and tension. James Byrne, Neil and the man from the insurance company were all walking in circles around the premises. She had been sitting with Tom and June going over it all for the umpteenth time.

  'Not great. Why don't I call you?'

  'I wonder.' Geraldine was terse.

  'What?'

  'I said, I too wonder why you don't call me, I've not heard from you since Freddie's do…'

  'No, no.'

  'And how did it go telling Neil the news?'

  'I haven't.'

  'But it's ages—' Geraldine began.

  'Please, can I ring you back?' Her voice was near breaking.

  'Certainly,' Geraldine said, puzzled, and sat and looked at the phone for a long time.

  '

  'It will be months before they pay,' Neil said when the insurance man had left. 'If we get it out of them by New Year we'll be doing well.'

  'How much do we need, James?' Tom's face was hard.

  'To get back to where you were when this happened, you need just under twenty thousand,' James said. 'Probably more because I'm basing that on a figure that's assuming you can get equipment marked down again, like you did before from the restaurant sale.'

  'How much is that a week?' Cathy asked.

  James Byrne told them what the repayments would cost at the bank. And that was if the bank were to give it.

  'They'll give it because they know the insurance will pay in the end, and they'll get their money, but it's far too much,' Neil said.

  'Neil, we wouldn't make half of that in a week, and we have all the other repayments, you know, on this place.' Tom's face was hard and sad.

  James Byrne spoke. 'Before we make or reject any big decisions, will you give me twenty-four hours to prepare some figures, and then you really can see what your options are.' He seemed to know people wanted time to cool down; the hurt was too raw and the sense of failure too great for either Tom or Cathy to think rationally.

  I'm sorry, hon,' Neil said in the car as they drove home.

  'Neil, are you going to be at home tonight
?' She cut straight across him.

  'You know I'm not, hon, you know I have to go to the homeless group, it will be the last and only chance to give them some points before I go to the conference.'

  The conference! How could she have forgotten that Neil and four other lawyers were representing Ireland at an international forum on refugees, in Africa? He was leaving tomorrow evening.

  'You can't go to that group tonight, I need to talk to you.'

  'Talk to me in the car, hon, I can't let those people down.'

  'Sara will explain to them, tell them what you want to say.'

  'Cathy, be reasonable. Sara's a young social worker, she's not a lawyer.'

  'What time will it be over?'

  'How do I know, hon… When it's over.'

  'Don't go with them to some awful cafe talking and yammering all night, come back. Please.'

  He was annoyed now. 'Cathy, I've spent all day, a day when I should have been getting my papers ready for the forum, down in your office sorting out the mess there. You know I'd do anything for you, but opting out of this thing tonight is not possible. And don't dismiss my work as going to some awful cafe yammering all night. I've never said anything like that about your work.'

  'Neil!' she was aghast.

  'No, I mean it, we made a bargain, we are partners in the very best sense of the word. We both care about the work we do and we help each other. In a few years' time we will settle down and take things more easily.'

  'When?' she cried.

  'Well, not tonight, obviously Cathy… Not until you have your business up and running again… Not until I have done something about all the things I wanted to do.'

  'That could be five or six years,' she said.

  'Well, that's what we always said, isn't it?' Neil Mitchell said.

  There was a silence.

  'I don't want to fight with you Cathy, specially not before I go away.'

  'I don't want to fight with you either.' She spoke in a small voice.

  'We're upset, that's all.'

  'That's all,' she agreed.

  'I'll try to get away as early as I can. Promise.' He smiled at her.

  'Sure.' She forced a smile back.

  'And listen, when I come back from Africa we'll go down to Holly's, that nice hotel in Wicklow where we once went to lunch, and we'll have dinner and stay the night.'

  'Great,' she said.

  When he came in that night, she was lying awake in bed. If he showed any signs of being alert she would get up and tell him. He couldn't go away for nine days and not know. Through her eyelids she saw him pull off his shirt with a weary movement. He went into the bathroom, and through the open door she could see that he barely brushed his teeth and ran a face flannel around his neck and under his arms. She saw his face; he was tired and strained. When he slipped into bed beside her, he spoke.

  'Sorry, hon, there was a lot of yammering after it, as you forecast.'

  'You don't feel like a cup of tea?' she offered.

  'Believe me, I couldn't keep my eyes open long enough to get it to my lips,' he said, and he was asleep beside her. Cathy got up and went to the kitchen. As the dawn came up she still sat there, no nearer a solution. This was a good, strong marriage, a partnership in every way. Was she afraid to tell him? Afraid to give him the best news of anyone's life? She heard him moving about. He had slept for five and a half hours; she had sat at the kitchen table for all that time. Even if he did have an hour to listen now, which was unlikely, she was too confused and too weary to tell him properly. When he had gone to Africa she would go to a doctor and have confirmed what she knew to be true from her pregnancy indicator. What a terrible, terrible piece of timing.

  'You two are so tiresome, you do know that?' Walter said when he got back home to the twins.

  Simon and Maud were sorry. 'We thought it would be easier. She said in any difficulty to contact her.'

  'But you weren't in any difficulty, you could have waited until I got back from work.'

  'We thought you were going to England, you don't tell us what you do,' Maud said defensively.

  'Not that you have to, of course,' Simon said.

  'Oh, shut up, I'll get you the bloody racquets, then you can call her and say you're set fair for Wimbledon.'

  'Can't we go with you to see if there's anything else we need from the shed?'

  'No,' said Walter. 'Sit down and shut up.'

  'But how will you know our—' Maud began.

  'He'll take all the racquets and we can choose,' said Simon, who hadn't at all liked the look he saw on Walter's face.

  'You're learning, Simon,' Walter said. 'Slowly, but at least you're learning.'

  Martin Maguire had gone back to England without discovering the fate that had befallen his old premises. This time James Byrne had not pressed him to go and visit the couple who ran it nowadays. Martin Maguire had known so much sadness in that place he didn't think he yet had the strength to see two young people in such a desperate state

  Geraldine had to ring Joe Feather about his press conference at the end of the next week. She needed copies of his speech.'I prefer to speak off the cuff,' he said.

  'So do we all, but we have to have something that the journalists can write in their papers, some kind of statement of intent, policy, patriotism…'

  'Oh, come on,' Joe laughed.

  'I mean it. How you had to come back to Ireland, how you love Irish women, how much more adventurous they are nowadays, how well they dress… How great the government is, encouraging this and that…'

  'Are you serious?'

  'Never more so.'

  'You wouldn't write it for me yourself, Geraldine, by any chance?'

  'Not today, I have to go out. You have a stab at it, fax it to me, e-mail it whatever you think, and I'll come back to you tomorrow morning.'

  'Sure. By the way, have you seen anything of Cathy and Tom recently?'

  'No, why do you ask?'

  'It's just they seem to have vanished off the face of the earth. I've been trying to get hold of Tom. Marcella says he's fine, so why doesn't he return my calls?'

  If I find out I'll tell you,' said Geraldine, who then left her office and hailed a taxi. She was not going to hang about any longer. It was too much of a coincidence Tom not getting in touch as well as Cathy. Quite obviously something was wrong. She was going right up there to the premises to find out exactly what had happened.

  The broken glass, china and woodwork had been cleared away. Well, more or less.

  They were always finding some frightening reminder, like the broken glass at the back of the cutlery drawer. Like realising that the big platter they had thought was in good shape was cracked all over and disintegrated, taking with it an entire dressed salmon. It was all over the floor, nothing could be rescued; both food and china had to be swept into the bin.

  'Hours of work,' wept June.

  'We're getting there,' said Cathy in desperation.

  But it had indeed been hours of work and now they were left with no main dish for a lunch party. Wearily, Cathy rang the fishmongers. Could they do one for her in two hours?

  'It'll cost you, Cathy,' said the man apologetically.

  'It would cost us more if we didn't deliver,' she replied. She saw Tom looking at her. They spent so much time cheering the others up, keeping the show on the road, they had hardly any time to talk to each other honestly.

  'Will we survive, Tom? Will we?' she asked sadly.

  'I know. There are times I think we won't, too,' he said. They looked at each other, frightened. If they were to panic, the lifeboat might sink. It was only their optimism that kept it afloat.

  'Of course, it looks a lot better now than it did on Monday,' Cathy said.

  'Even than yesterday,' Tom agreed.

  The men from JT Feather's builder's yard had put a coat of paint on the place. Tom had told his father that it was very important that they told nobody about their misfortune; it didn't look good in business when a calamity li
ke this happened. His father had nodded sagely and said he was right to keep his counsel. JT Feather never thought for one moment that it was a secret to be kept from Joe. When his elder son called to Fatima that afternoon, he got every last detail of the robbery.

  'Why did Tom not tell me?' Joe was shocked.

  'He said he wasn't telling business people because it looked badly,' JT said, shaking his head.

  'I see.'

  'But it's odd he didn't tell you, you're not business.'

  'I suppose there's a way he thinks I am,' Joe said thoughtfully.

  'What do you mean, son?'

  'Nothing Da, I'm only rabbiting on to myself. Don't mention to him that you said a word; he'll tell me when he's ready.'

  Geraldine got out at the end of the mews and walked slowly up. She let herself into the courtyard of the premises, through the gate she had oiled herself last January when they were frantically clearing everything up. There was nothing Cathy wouldn't have told her or discussed with her back then. How had it all changed? She looked through the window, where normally you saw the little square table with its silver punchbowl and flowers. The old coloured plates would look down from the wall, and the place was like a little haven before you opened the door into the bright, modern, busy kitchens. Geraldine had always admired how they kept the chintzy, welcoming feel with the deep chairs and sofa. Those two were very bright; they did a lot of things by pure instinct. Today it was totally different. There was nothing on the table, only a lot of broken implemenIs like twisted egg beaters laid out in a line. Peering further in, she could see through the kitchen door that there seemed to be huge renovations going on inside. She couldn't see what exactly, but appliances had been pulled from the wall. What could have happened to this place since she had been here last? Tentatively she rang the bell and saw an exhausted-looking Cathy come to the door.