A Taste for It

by Monica McInerney

  Maura decided she didn’t mind in the least. Today was going to be a very hectic day, and if she was honest with herself she found travelling in such close proximity to Dominic quite exhausting.

  Rita was very enthusiastic about the day ahead. “I’ll be with in you in less than an hour, and then we can head off to County Clare. There’s been fantastic interest in your talk – we’ve had to move the venue yet again. And I’ve arranged another radio interview for you in Ennis this afternoon.”

  The idea of it made Maura very anxious. A few people in a council meeting-room she could handle. A hall full of expectant faces was a different matter. And she had a whole day ahead of her to feel nervous.

  She decided to wile away the time before Rita arrived with another walk around Galway’s streets, and a quick visit to one of the jeweller’s to choose a Claddagh ring for Fran.

  She found a nice, old-fashioned-looking shop and spent a pleasant half an hour looking over the different versions of the design, before finally settling on a slim, gold version with a tiny gemstone embedded in the heart.

  Walking back to the hotel, she looked across the road and noticed one of the off-licences she and Dominic had visited the evening before. The winter morning sunlight was shining right on it, and she decided to take another quick photograph for Nick of the Lorikeet Hill display in the front window.

  Walking up close and focusing her camera, she suddenly stopped and looked around, puzzled. She was sure this was the same off-licence – she certainly recognised the revolving sun-lamp – but there wasn’t a single bottle of Lorikeet Hill wine in the window. The only Australian wine on display was Sylvie and William Rogers’ Glen varieties. She rummaged in her bag and found her itinerary and rechecked the address, in case there happened to be two revolving-sun displays in Galway. No, it was definitely the same store.

  Taking a deep breath, she climbed up the steps. From the back room she heard a small cough, and seconds later the old gentleman came out, the pipe still clenched in his teeth.

  “Good morning, Mr O’Shea,” she said hesitantly. “I hope you remember me, I’m Maura Carmody from South Australia, I was here yesterday . . .”

  “Of course I remember you – you’re going to make sure I win the trip, aren’t you, Maura?” he asked, coughing again.

  “Well, I’ll do my best,” she said nervously. “I’m sorry, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but can you tell me what happened to the Lorikeet Hill display you had in the window?”

  He looked surprised. “Oh, I thought you would have known about it. The gentleman you came in with yesterday called in, very bright and early this morning. I wasn’t officially open, mind you, that would be against the law, just in here doing a bit of stocktaking, you know the way.” He winked. “Anyway, your friend said he had to take all the Lorikeet Hill wine away. But he made sure we put another Australian wine in its place – look! Don’t want to miss out on a chance for that trip, now, do I?” he grinned.

  “No, I’m sure you don’t,” she smiled back, still very confused. Dominic had come in here this morning? An awful thought struck her but she tried to dismiss it. “Thanks again,” she said hurriedly, heading for the door before the man struck up conversation again. “And best of luck with the competition,” she called, as she hurried down the steps.

  Out on the pavement, she looked again at her itinerary. She found the address of the final off-licence she had visited yesterday, where a customer had come in and bought the Lorikeet Hill wine. This time trusting her sense of direction, she retraced her steps and came across the shop. The young man who had been behind the counter was on the pavement, cleaning the front window. The glass was covered in a soapy film and she couldn’t see in to the display. She hurried up to him.

  “Good morning, do you remember me?”

  He looked a little surprised at her question, but smiled nevertheless. “Of course I do, my memory lasts at least twenty-four hours. How are you, Maura?”

  “I’m well. I’m sorry to go right to the point, but can I have a look at your window display?”

  “Of course you can,” he said. “Hang on a second.” He wiped away the soap bubbles with a quick movement.

  As a clear porthole emerged, Maura looked closely. The front of the display was now devoted to all the other Australian wines, with a bottle of The Glen Cabernet Sauvignon perched in the front row. There was no sign of Lorikeet Hill wines. She suddenly realised her hunch was right.

  The young man continued to wipe away the soap from the window. “Your guide – Dominic isn’t it? – came around this morning and took all your wine away. He said there was some sort of a problem with it. To be honest, I wasn’t quite awake myself. He said we should display these other Aussie ones instead.” He looked concerned at her suddenly pale face. “Are they terrible wines? Dominic said they were all good.”

  Maura clenched her jaw. “Oh, he did, did he?” she said aloud. I bet he bloody did, she thought.

  She had a clear mental image of Dominic talking to Sylvie in the pub the night before. What had Dominic said she was doing? That’s right – ‘just trying to drum up business’. And drumming up an absolute storm by the looks of these two store displays. And Maura would bet a thousand dollars the other Lorikeet Hill displays in Galway had miraculously disappeared too, in favour of The Glen wines. It was obvious. Sylvie had struck a deal to get Dominic to replace all the Lorikeet Hill wine in Galway with The Glen wine. That had probably been her on the phone the night before too.

  Maura couldn’t believe it. She had been completely taken in. That was why he had been so charming, to disarm her. Once a mercenary, always a mercenary. In the pub Sylvie had mentioned her conversation with Carla. That little brat was probably in on it as well.

  She looked at her watch. She’d have to get moving, Rita would be waiting. She said goodbye to the puzzled young shop assistant and walked briskly back to her hotel, her thoughts racing. Would she tell Rita what she had discovered? No, she’d have it out with Dominic first. Rita was so grateful to Dominic for stepping into Bernadette’s shoes she probably wouldn’t dare upset him anyway. Maura would have to handle it herself tonight in Ennis when she saw Dominic again.

  She pasted a smile on her face as she saw Rita waiting in the foyer of the hotel, and greeted her warmly. It was a relief to immerse herself in Rita’s chatter and to hear all the news about the other winemakers’ trips around the country. Maura mentioned that Sylvie and Dennis Rogers had turned up suddenly the night before, and watched Rita carefully to see if she had already heard as much from Dominic.

  Her face gave nothing away. Rita just gave a merry laugh. “Didn’t I warn you she would be trying to poach your territory? Really, that woman is incredible. I’m expecting her to pop up in Belfast or Longford any day now too!”

  As long as Dominic has been there first, Maura thought grimly. He was probably on his way now, ready to sweet-talk some more innocent winesellers.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The rain started to fall as they left Galway and the swish of the windscreen wipers acted as a soothing rhythm to Maura’s troubled thoughts. They had been driving for half an hour when she noticed with a start that they were passing from County Galway into County Clare, a fact marked by a simple roadside sign. As Rita slowed down so she could easily read the wording, Maura saw the last line on the sign: Twinned with Clare, South Australia.

  “Do you want to stop and take a photo?” Rita asked, smiling at Maura’s interest.

  Maura shook her head, using the heavy rain as an excuse. “I’ll wait for a fine day,” she said.

  “You’ll be waiting,” Rita said wryly.

  The truth was Maura was too distracted. She had hoped to be clear-headed and rational today, not in this jumble of emotions.

  She took a deep breath, and looked around, trying to calm herself.

  She was in County Clare.

  In a village somewhere near here her birth mother Catherine Shanley had grown up. Gone to school. Lived wit
h her family. And then said farewell as she joined the emigration trail to America and Australia.

  Maura’s senses heightened. She gazed at the scenery around them, not sure if she was expecting it to look different or feel different to the other counties she had travelled through. It wasn’t as if it was her home, she challenged herself. Her home was Australia. Was she expecting to suddenly feel a connection to this landscape that she hadn’t felt in the other parts of Ireland?

  Rita had gone silent, listening to a radio programme. Maura leant back against the headrest, throwing her mind back years.

  She had always known that she had been adopted. Her mother Terri had been honest with her. When Maura was old enough to understand, Terri had gently explained that she had been unable to get pregnant again after Nick’s birth, but had dearly wanted another child. “You were the answer to my prayers, Morey,” she’d often said.

  Maura didn’t really remember Terri’s husband – he’d deserted the family when Maura was only three – but her memories of Terri were vivid enough to fill the space he had left behind.

  The idea of being adopted hadn’t had much impact on her when she was young. But as a teenager she had become more and more curious.

  On the morning of her sixteenth birthday Terri had come into her bedroom, given her an envelope, and then hugged her close.

  “This is about my mother, isn’t it?” Maura had asked Terri softly.

  Terri had nodded gently, holding Maura’s hand tightly. “She asked that you have this on your sixteenth birthday.”

  Terri had left her alone then, but it was some time before Maura had opened the envelope.

  She read the short note from Catherine Shanley very slowly, taking in each word bit by bit. It was an apology, a wish that Maura might one day want to find her, and that she hoped Maura understood what a difficult decision giving her up had been. Catherine had written the telephone number of a priest in Adelaide who would always know how she could be contacted. There were other pieces of paper in the envelope. A copy of her birth certificate – father unknown. Maura had read the words slowly. A handwritten family history, explaining that Catherine Shanley and her parents John and Rosa were from a small village in the west of County Clare in Ireland. There was even a roughly drawn map, with the Shanley’s house marked carefully on it. Maura couldn’t pronounce the name of the village.

  God knows what reaction Catherine Shanley had expected. But Maura could remember clearly the all-consuming rage she had felt as she read the letter. How dare this woman write to her? How dare she think she would want to find her? She had a mother. Terri was her mother. Who did this woman think she was?

  Her fury had risen in seconds, powered with all the rage of a sixteen-year-old. She had stormed into the kitchen and, in front of Terri’s amazed eyes, ripped the letter in four and thrown it onto the floor.

  “I have a mother. I don’t want some – some slut to try to claim me, with these pathetic words!” Maura had shouted.

  In hindsight, Maura recognised that Terri must have been as pleased as she had been shocked at Maura’s reaction. She must have always worried that Maura would rush to her birth mother, leaving her behind. In the fog of her anger, Maura had half-realised Terri’s anguish. It had made her rail against the letter even more strongly.

  “I don’t want it – here, give it to me again, I’ll burn it in front of you!” she had shouted.

  Terri had quickly picked up the torn paper from the floor and pushed the pieces into her pocket, slowly shaking her head at the fierce look on Maura’s face.

  “No, that is a bit too dramatic, even for you, Morey,” she had said, calling her by her pet name. “Let’s forget about the letter, and you come here and give me a hug instead.”

  The sixteen-year-old had suddenly become the little girl again. Her tears this time were those of a child and not the she-devil of moments before. Maura still remembered the feeling of Terri’s warm arms around her, soothing her with nonsense names.

  They had never spoken of it again. Maura didn’t want to, and Terri had never raised the subject. But after Terri had died, Maura and Nick had found Catherine’s letter in her personal effects. The pieces had been stuck together with sticky tape. Terri hadn’t added any note – she had just written Maura’s name in strong letters across a new envelope, and placed the mended, folded letter inside. Maura knew Terri had wanted her to find it, and maybe in the calm of adulthood do something about it.

  It was too late. By the time she had tracked down the path of clues laid down in the letter, it was only to hear from a very brusque matron in a rural hospital near Melbourne that the Irish nurse Catherine Shanley had died two years previously.

  Maura’s heart had been very heavy for months. She wasn’t fanciful enough to think she had lost two mothers. Terri had been her mother. She hadn’t known Catherine at all. She was mourning the idea of Catherine, she realised. Nothing more, nothing less.

  But maybe that grief explained the strange few years that had followed. And explained why she had been powerless against Richard’s ill-treatment of her. She hadn’t known what her own place in the world was, let alone how to defend it.

  Maura was glad the route she and Rita were taking through County Clare today did not pass Catherine Shanley’s village. She was still fighting with herself about whether she wanted to seek out any of Catherine’s family. They probably had no idea Maura existed. And she wasn’t sure if she wanted them to know she did. “And what would I say to them anyway?”

  “Say to who?” Rita’s question interrupted her musing.

  Maura gave her a puzzled look, not realising she had spoken aloud.

  “I thought you’d asked me a question, something about saying something to somebody,” Rita explained.

  Maura blushed slightly. “Oh, I was rehearsing my talk for tonight, trying out some new commentary to the slides, don’t mind me,” she improvised.

  She was glad of Rita’s interruption, and pleased to see they were on the outskirts of Ennis, the main town in County Clare. Rita pointed out landmarks as they drove in, and Maura gently eased her mind back to the job at hand.

  Within a minute of driving into the winding streets of Ennis, Maura realised what might have sparked all the interest in her talk that night. As they drove down the main shopping street, she noticed that almost every second shop had a poster with an Australian flag stuck to their window.

  Free wine tonight, each poster blared. No wonder Rita had been forced to keep changing the venue, with promises like that being made. She only hoped the audience wouldn’t be too disappointed with the few sips that she had to offer.

  Rita drove on to the first off-licence on the itinerary, a small shop in the middle of the town with a remarkably wide range of Australian wine. She had three shop visits today and then the interview on the local radio station. She was looking forward to that, having been told it would be as much about the Clare Valley as Lorikeet Hill Wines and tonight’s tasting.

  The visits and the radio interview went well. Maura was pleased her research into the origins of Clare hadn’t gone to waste. She talked quite knowledgeably about Edward Gleeson, a wealthy landowner from near Lake Inchiquin in County Clare, who had settled in a valley in South Australia in the 1840s and named it after his home place.

  The announcer finished the interview with another enthusiastic invitation to everyone to attend Maura’s talk, cheerfully ignoring Maura’s attempts to play down the wine-tasting part of the evening.

  Maura had hoped to have a half an hour to herself to check through her notes and slides for that evening. But she fell into conversation with a producer at the radio station, who had been in South Australia the summer before and was keen to reminisce on her trips to the Flinders Ranges and Kangaroo Island. Rita whispered a reminder that it was nearly five o’clock and she had less than an hour to shower, change and get to the hall to set up.

  Maura decided not to panic – she’d rehearsed her speech many times, and the slide
show was a carbon copy of the one she had presented in Westport.

  But even so, she felt the butterflies start up in her stomach when she and Rita arrived at the hall to find it absolutely jam-packed. She looked around to see if Dominic had arrived. If she had a moment, she wanted to get to the bottom of the wine-switching before she gave her talk. But there was no sign of him.

  “Wow,” Rita breathed, “there must be nearly two hundred people here.”

  One of the local County Councillors, Gerald Ramsey, greeted her effusively at the door, proudly walking her through the seated audience with his arm around her. She had met him the previous year, when he and a group of other Councillors had visited the Clare Valley as part of the twinning arrangements.

  “It’s a great pleasure and an honour to welcome you to Clare, Maura. As you can see, I’ve done all I can to promote the best wine in all of Australia,” he said proudly.

  She smiled nervously, thinking with alarm of the one dozen bottles of Lorikeet Hill wine on hand for the tasting that would follow her talk. At this rate, everyone would be lucky to smell a cork, let alone have a decent taste. And there’d be no chance of any sales, unless there were some empty bottle collectors in the audience tonight.

  She tried to get Rita’s attention to express her alarm, but she was busy talking to a young man with a camera and a notebook who was obviously from the local paper. She overhead him saying something about having the ideal headline for his story – It’s a long way from Clare to here. She grinned to herself – she and Nick had used the same song title in their advertising a number of times.

  Looking toward the door, she noticed with a start that Dominic had just arrived, carrying a cardboard box full of bottles. As she watched he handed the box to a young man dressed in a Wine Society T-shirt, then took out a mobile phone and made another call.

  She was taken aback. Now what was he up to? She was about to approach him and have it out, but at that moment Rita came beside her and whispered good luck. Maura was led up the stairs onto the small stage and sat, a mixture of nerves and excitement, as Gerald Ramsey went to the microphone and heartily welcomed everyone.