Binchy ( 2000 ) Scarlet Feather

by Maeve Binchy

  'Oh, Geraldine,' she said without enthusiasm, and with no attempt to invite her in.

  'That's me,' Geraldine said, about to step inside.

  'It's not a good time, as it happens,' Cathy began.

  'It never is these days, which is why you always say you'll call me and never do.'

  'Please, Geraldine, please. I'll come round to your place tonight and we'll have a chat. There's a lot to talk about.'

  Geraldine looked past her. Everything seemed to have tilted somehow. And Cathy was doing everything except actually bar the door to her. Gently but firmly Geraldine pushed her way in.

  'Excuse me Geraldine, aren't you the one who says nobody should ever invade anyone else's space… You said that. I was never to call into Glenstar without telephoning in advance… What's happened to all that now?'

  It was too late, Geraldine was inside looking at the wrecked premises. 'Oh, my God,' Geraldine cried. 'Oh, my God, you poor child, you poor, poor child, who could have done this to you?' Cathy just looked at her, stricken. 'When did it happen? How long ago… ?'

  'The night of Freddie's do.'

  'He never said.'

  'He doesn't know, Geraldine, no one does.'

  'Why on earth not?'

  'We have to sort out what to do first, then I was going to tell you.'

  'But Cathy, I'm your friend, you have no closer friend than me.'

  'I know.'

  'So why couldn't you tell me about this terrible thing?'

  'You know why…' Cathy hung her head.

  'I don't know why… If someone had come in, done over my house or my office, I'd have told you immediately… not keep it all a stupid secret.'

  'I didn't pay for your office, you did pay for mine,' Cathy said, still looking downwards.

  'But that's got nothing to do with anything. Who did this, Cathy, who could it have been? Do they have any idea?'

  'They think we did it, Geraldine, that's what they think. That we trashed this place just to get the insurance money.'

  Marcella put some special oil in Tom's bath. It was meant to take the ache out of tired muscles and bones, she said; a lot of her customers swore by it.

  'Most of them don't get up at five o'clock to make bread in Haywards, then spend the day shovelling away great sacks and boxes of broken things in their place of work,' Tom said grouchily. As he spoke he heard his own tones, whining and self-pitying, the kind of person he normally loathed. He felt Marcella recoil a little too.

  'I know,' she said. 'It's very hard on you, but I thought it just might make you feel a bit better.' She had spent her hard-earned money on this gift for him, and all he had done was complain.

  'Is there any hope you might massage it into a boy's shoulders?' he asked.

  'Of course I will, but the boy is actually meant to lie for ten minutes soaking it up first.' She was all smiles now.

  'I have no problem with that.' He smiled back at her, and went to lie down in the bath.

  Marcella came in and sat on the edge of the bath to rub his shoulders. 'Now you've had a quarter of an hour it must have done you a lot of good,' she said, and he prayed she would never know that he had lain there clenched for fifteen long minutes, wondering how he was going to bear all that lay ahead in his home life and his work life without actually cracking up.

  'I think you'd like tennis,Muttie,' Simon said the following Saturday.

  'Tennis isn't for the likes of me,'Muttie said.

  'But can't everyone do everything?' Maud asked.

  'I'm not sure. They should be able to, but it doesn't always work out.'

  'Cathy used to say it did,' Maud explained.

  'That one thinks she can do anything, fly off the top of Liberty Hall,' said Lizzie disapprovingly.

  'Sure Cathy could move mountains,'Muttie said.

  'We think Cathy's cross with us,' Maud confided.

  'What on earth would make her cross with you?' Lizzie said. 'Cathy's mad about you, didn't she bring you here in the first place?'

  'But she never brings us anywhere now,' Simon said.

  'It could be because you're meant to be above in The Beeches big house,'Muttie explained. 'They've laid down all kinds of rules and regulations about where you're to be and not to be, she doesn't want to butt in.'

  'We never see her. I think we did something to annoy her,' Maud decided.

  'We hardly see her ourselves these days, child,' Lizzie said. 'That job she's taken on is huge, you know, she and Tom will be worn to threads by the end of the year if they go on like this much more.'

  'Joe, have you heard about this business in Tom and Cathy's?'

  They were working on his press release.

  'Well, I heard, yes, but I wasn't told, if that's what you mean.'

  'Neither was I… I think it was something to do with not wanting to involve us any further. Financially.'

  'Yes, I got that vibe too. But I'm perfectly prepared to go in with a bit more myself. Are you?'

  'Certainly I am, but they're very prickly, both of them. I think we have to wait to be asked.'

  'Cathy's always on an even keel; I don't see her as being prickly.'

  'She has her own problems, Joe, believe me.'

  'That's rather bad news, because my little brother is as high as a kite about Marcella in this show. Honestly, sometimes I wish I'd never put in a word for her with those guys at all.'

  'You can't say that, isn't it her big break?'

  'Big nothing, Geraldine. Marcella's twenty-five years of age. She's far too old now to be a model. If she were going to make it she should have been out there at sixteen.'

  'Does she know that?'

  If she's got an ounce of sense she must.'

  'Come in tomorrow and see a rehearsal, Tom,' Marcella begged.

  'No, I don't want to be in the way,' he said.

  'You wouldn't, lots of the other girls have their friends in to watch. Eddie and Harry think it's good for us to have an audience.'

  Tom didn't want to go. It would be bad enough to see it all on the night; he couldn't bear to go in and watch, an extra peep show. 'Love, if I can I will, but it's going to be a desperate day tomorrow.'

  'But Tom, you'll actually be in Haywards anyway with the bread, all you have to do is come up to the fourth floor. I'd love you to be there.'

  She was very anxious that he be a part of it. He was going to have to see it all on Friday next; why not please her? 'You're right, I'd love to get a sneak preview,' he said, and her eyes shone with the excitement of it all.

  Shona came up to him next morning in the kitchen. 'Do you know that you really are Mister Popular here, Tom?'

  'What did I do now?' Tom asked, alarmed, assuming that she was being sarcastic. But apparently not. The staff had been saying that it was great to get in to a kitchen that was already up and running each morning. Tom had coffee ready on the stove for them, and a loaf of his own bread to start their day. The restaurant staff had at first been a bit doubtful about letting an outsider into their territory, but it had worked out better than they could have dreamed.

  'That's good to hear, Shona.' Tom's mind wasn't really on it; he knew he had to go to the fourth floor now and watch Marcella at what she saw as her new work. Shona hesitated.

  'It's just that… Well, I don't know how to say this, but if you and Cathy sort of don't get back on the rails after this burglary, I thought you should know that there could well be a full-time job for you here.'

  He swallowed hard before he spoke. Shona had no idea what she was saying. She was putting into words the great fear that Scarlet Feather might not survive. Something he and Cathy hadn't even dared to consider. And what was more, a lifeline was being thrown. Not to both of them, just to Tom. He scarcely trusted himself to answer.

  'Shona, you are so good, and it would be a great honour, but you know how we're killing ourselves to try and get the show on the road back there.'

  'And I'm sure you will,' she murmured diplomatically.

  'You s
ee, it's all to do with having this dream. I don't think you survive without one.'

  'I don't know,' Shona said.

  'Do you have a dream too?'

  'I had once.'

  'And did you get it?'

  'Yes I did, I wished for my apartment in Glenstar,' Shona said in a small voice.

  It seemed an odd, bleak thing to wish for. But then to other people his wish to run a catering company might not seem all that exciting either.

  'And what about love?' he asked lightly.

  'I gave up on that a long time ago,' she said equally lightly, but he thought she meant it.

  A section of the fourth floor had been curtained off for the rehearsal. Tom hung around at the edge, unsure whether to go in. There were a lot of other people milling around equally vaguely. Some of them were involved in setting up lighting, a music track was starting and stopping, Ricky was there advising photographers about where to stand. There was no sign as yet of the girls or the garments. They must be in that area at the end, and would come out of that arched doorway each time. His stomach lurched again at the thought of his Marcella being part of this. He saw Joe in the distance but couldn't catch his eye. Then they were called to order for a run-through with music.

  'We want a lot of hush now,' Joe was saying. It has to be timed fairly exactly, so if anyone falls or a light doesn't work just keep on going… Right, we're going in ten seconds from now.'

  Two men sat down beside Tom. He smiled and moved to make room for them. 'Thanks, mate,' said one. They must be Joe's associates from London, and there was also a man who owned a model agency who was looking in this week. Marcella had talked of little else. 'Mr Newton himself,' she kept saying, with a reverence that set Tom's teeth on edge. Maybe one of these guys with their London accents was Mr Newton himself. 'Mr Newton?' he asked. 'Over there, mate,' one of them said, nodding towards a small man leaning back in the kind of chair that movie directors used to sit in in studios over forty years ago. Tom Feather felt pleased to notice that Mr Newton himself looked like a disagreeable little pig. Tom sat and watched as one by one the girls came out, young and unformed many of them, almost schoolchildren in bathing suits. They danced along, hitting a beach ball one to another in time to the music, and there was Marcella bringing up the rear. Not dancing with the others, but walking haughtily through them as if she had tired of childish games. She wore a white bikini shaped like three shells one cupping each breast and one as a tiny G-string. Her flat, tanned stomach and long, tanned legs looked so familiar and yet so alien in this setting. He wanted to do nothing as much as cry. She had told him that Joe insisted she should have a starring role, that she wasn't part of any chorus line, and this seemed to be true all right. When the halter-top beach dresses were shown, there were rainbows full of pastel shades for the line of dancing youngsters, but Marcella was there in black with a cleavage that came down to her navel. The men beside him seemed to watch her with admiration. Tom had to say something.

  'I know her. She's good, isn't she?'

  'Gorgeous,' said one of them.

  'Some guys get all the luck,' said the other.

  'Do you think she might make it, big time?' Tom asked, trying to keep his voice neutral. He wanted so very much for this to be a success for her; he wanted that much more than the base wish that she be a spectacular failure and give up the dream.

  'Aw, she's not in this seriously, she's only doing it for fun,' said one of the men.

  'She's a friend of Joe Feather, he got her the gig,' said the other.

  'I think she's hoping to do it as a career,' Tom said.

  They shook their heads.

  'No way,' said one.

  'She's far too old,' said the other.

  'She's twenty-five,' Tom said.

  'Exactly,' said the man, and looked back at the catwalk where the girls were coming out now in nightdresses. Marcella could not have looked more naked if she had stood in front of them without a stitch of clothing on. The wispy garment that hit and missed her artistically just pointed up all the beautiful parts of her, as if she had been coloured in with dayglo pen.

  He left her a note saying that she was marvellous, the show was a winner and he was so proud of her. Then he drove the van to the canal and sat and watched two swans for about ten minutes as they sailed up and down and arched their long, beautiful necks. He didn't realise that he was crying until he went to start the van again, and felt his tears splash on his hand. He must be going totally mad. At the premises he found that two envelopes had been delivered by hand. Geraldine had sent a letter to Cathy; it was short and factual. She wanted to make another investment in the company, and believed Cathy to be short-sighted and not looking after the good of the investors by refusing it. However, if that was her intent, she enclosed some details on renting equipment, china and cutlery. It would be expensive, but at least there would be no initial outlay.

  Cathy rang her aunt and left a thank-you message on her machine. 'Tom and I both think that's a great idea. If we only have to rent it for a few months it will all make sense. Thanks again, Ger. You're great.'

  The other was from Joe Feather to Tom. He had heard by devious means that they had had a break-in and he wished to offer his condolences and some cash in hand. This was not a time to be filling in forms and VAT returns. Take this thousand now, and of course he'd pay the bill for the catering for the press reception in the handy folding money too. Tom rang his brother and left a thank-you message on his machine.

  'Cathy and I want to thank you from the bottom of our hearts, we will take that thousand pounds joyfully and lodge it as a further investment, but alas, everything else has to be done straight up, and right through the books. If you knew our accountant you'd realise we are more afraid of him than anyone on earth. Thanks again though, Joe, you're great. Oh, and I went to the rehearsal this morning, show looks really good.'

  'Does the show look really good?' Cathy asked.

  'Why do you ask that?'

  'Well, everything else you said to him was lies, you're not afraid of James Byrne, it's just we don't want hot money floating around.'

  'It was okay, the show,' Tom said slowly. 'That's what it was.'

  'But presumably you found a better word to describe it to Marcella?' Cathy laughed.

  'I did, a few,' he grinned ruefully.

  'Listen, how in the name of God are we going to do that reception with no equipment?'

  'We start renting,' Cathy said, phoning the company. 'This will be our first real do inside Haywards. We don't want to borrow a plate or a glass from them; we gotta show them.'

  'Did you really think it was good?' Marcella asked when she got home.

  They had been having drinks, Joe and his partners, about finer points, and Mr Newton had joined them.

  'Was that Mr Newton himself?' Tom asked, regretting his sneer the moment he had said it.

  Marcella however had noticed nothing amiss. 'Yes, he's as nice as anything, and very easy going to talk to. When you consider all the kinds of people he has handled in his career! He's just very normal and ordinary, it's like talking to anyone.'

  'Imagine,' Tom said.

  'I know, and he was very praising of everything about the show. Joe was thrilled.'

  'Good, great.'

  'It's all kind of unbelievable to think that it's all going to happen on this very Friday,' Marcella said.

  He looked at her, mute with the fear that those two business associates of Joe might be right, that Marcella was far too old even to think about beginning a modelling career. 'And there's a real possibility that Mr Newton might get you a contract?' he asked her.

  'Well, I don't want to be too hopeful, but it looks like it. Still, he's only seen two rehearsals today, and apparently it all depends on how you do on the night… People can be fine in front of a handful of people and yet go to pieces in front of an audience.'

  'You didn't go to pieces today, and there were lots of people there.' He was begging her to have confidence in herself.


  'But there'll be three hundred and more on the night,' Marcella said, hugging herself. 'Still, I think I can do it, all those younger ones there in the group give me great confidence… It's been great working with them.'

  'Are they younger than you, then?' Tom asked, wide-eyed.

  'Oh, Tom, will you shut up. Of course they are, some of them are at least eight or nine years younger than me, stop playing the fool.'

  I didn't see that they were, you looked so much the best… But would Mr Newton not be looking for them, then, or are they too young?' he asked.

  Marcella frowned. 'You know, I thought that too, that maybe he'd go for the younger ones for his books, but he said to Joe that he thought I'd be suited for a lot of stuff he has on hand.' Marcella hugged herself. 'It's all so wonderful, Tom, really, I can hardly take it all in.'

  The letters, faxes and e-mails were coming in thick and fast from Chicago. Each one was headed simply Wedding.

  'Nobody ever got married in the world before Marian Scarlet,' Cathy grumbled, looking at the latest message.