by Maeve Binchy
Then Bobby Walsh had taken a turn and been back in intensive care, and everyone there said that he was brilliant because he knew all his medications. Blinded them with information. He was on the mend again and coming in every week.
“That's thanks to Declan,” Clara said.
Kitty Reilly had discovered a new saint called St. Joseph of Cupertino, who apparently was the last word on curing people. She had leaflets about him, which she distributed to everyone in the waiting room. Fiona had said as a joke that poor Padre Pio must be up in heaven feeling very left out now that Mrs. Reilly had moved on, so Kitty had got a whole new stock of Padre Pio medals for fear of causing offense.
Lar had taken to asking the people in the waiting room to learn one new fact per visit, which was irritating them. One of Judy Murphy's Jack Russell terriers had broken his paw when a gate slammed on it, and poor Judy was on her way carrying him to the vet when she met Declan, who put the paw in a splint. And the vet said afterward that he never saw a better job and that if Declan tired of dull, boring, bad-tempered human people, there was always a job for him with dumb animals and man's best friends.
Lavender had got a famous celebrity chef to come and give a cooking demonstration on one of their Evenings of Getting to Know the Heart. Johnny had got a once-weekly slot on television doing cardiovascular exercises. Tim had fallen in love with Lidia, and she was bringing him back to Poland to meet her family.
“And what about you, little Ania?”
“Nothing new with me. I still work hard and I still say thank you to Our Lord every night for making me meet you and change my life so much.”
“And are you still saving for your mother's house?”
“You wouldn't believe how much I have saved, Clara. I work in Declan's mother's launderette, and I do some cleaning in that nursing home where Hilary was thinking of taking her mother. They are so nice there …Mrs. Cotter is a little like you, I think.”
“That's good,” Clara said. “And does Carl Walsh still give you English lessons?”
Ania looked down at the ground. “Yes, yes,” she said. “But there is no hope in it. No hope, I fear.”
“Hey, but your English is great !“ Clara said.
“Oh, yes, I am learning the English. That's fine, that part of it,” Ania said.
And then Clara realized she meant there was no hope for her with the handsome Carl Walsh. Clara would not like to have taken on the formidable Mrs. Walsh herself. Bobby would have been a pussycat, but Mrs. Walsh—why you'd need nerves of steel for her.
“On a level playing field you might have had plenty of hope.”
“Please?”
“It's an expression. It means …”
“I know what it means—it means if all things were equal,” Ania said.
“That's exactly what it means. But because of his mother they are probably not.”
“It's pleasing, anyway, that you think there might have been hope,” Ania said.
Clara had never been one to talk out her problems with girlfriends, analyzing them to the bone. She did like a good gossip with Dervla, but apart from that she kept her difficulties to herself. She had discussed with no one the fact that she was going to marry Alan Casey. Perhaps she should have. And why was she speaking of Alan and Peter in the same breath? Even to herself? They were so utterly different…
Dervla was a good confidante and very astute.
“Did he ask you to marry him?” she asked. They were having a lunchtime coffee at Dervla's golf club. It was one of the few places they would be sure of not being disturbed.
“Yes, on the last night,” Clara admitted.
“Am I going to have to beat it out of you? Are you going to tell me what you said?”
“What do you think of him, Dervla?”
“He hasn't asked me to marry him, and somehow I don't think Philip would like it if he did.”
“Seriously, though, what doyou think?”
“I think he's so suitable it's as if we invented him.”
“I don't have this breathless feeling.”
“Well, God, Clara, look at the age of you! If you were going round with teenage palpitations then it really would be something to worry about.”
“So you think I should?”
“Are you mad? Advise you? Advise you, Clara? But, all right, I think if you settle for Peter, you will have a pleasant, happy, good-tempered companion who loves you. What's wrong with that?”
“The words ‘settle for’; I think that's the flaw,” Clara said.
“Lord, the devil wouldn't please you, Clara Casey.”
“Did you settle for Philip?”
“You know I did. I couldn't have the hopeless guy I fancied. He needed to marry money and so he did. And later I met Philip and I bless every day since then.”
“But no zing zing?” Clara probed.
“I don't know what zing zing is!” Dervla laughed.
“You do know what it is,” Clara insisted.
“Well, I know what it was, certainly, but I think it runs out after the age of twenty-five.”
“So after that we just ‘settle for’ people?”
“It's very comfortable, and a lot less lonely and it's less likely to end in tears,” Dervla said.
“You may well be right,” said Clara, and they didn't talk about it again.
That afternoon she found herself talking to Nora Dunne, who had done so much to help her husband regain his health and strength.
“Dr. Casey, I have come here to thank you for being so helpful,” she said now. “I should have trusted you from the beginning. Aidan and I have a whole new life. I also want to apologize for wasting your time with my worries and complaints.”
“No, no, please. You were in shock.” Clara was soothing.
“It's just that he is the love of my life. I think of him from the dawn every day until I go to sleep that night. I wonder what he thinks of this and of that, I store things up to tell him. I think I went a little mad when I heard the words ‘heart disease.’”
“It's very controllable nowadays. We don't pretend that it has gone away vanished completely but with regular monitoring, great things can be done.”
“I know that now, Dr. Casey, but I'm afraid the possibility of a life without Aidan blew everything out of my mind. You see, I met him so late in my life, the only thing that made sense was if I were to have him for a good many years now.”
“I know, I know.”
“I believe you do know. These people here at the clinic told me that you too had a new love recently in your life and that you had gone to Italy with him. Don't be cross—you see, I was so anxious to apologize to you personally. I had them driven mad. They told me you were on vacation …”
“There's no need for any apology, Mrs. Dunne. I am surprised, though, that they told you I was holidaying with a man friend. It's quite true, as it happens, but they usually never say anything. About my private life.”
“Oh, that's my fault entirely. Please don't blame them. I kept pestering them. I think I wore them down.”
Clara looked at her. Nora Dunne was like a woman in the grip of some great passion. Eventually Nora spoke again.
“I was so glad when I realized that you too had a great love in your life, for then you would know the terror of loss, the need to be with someone that makes you almost insane. If anything happened to Aidan, I would not want to live. I think my own heart would stop beating in sympathy. I couldn't bear a day or a night without him now and without seeing his dear face. And if you, Doctor, were in La Bella Italia with a man you love, then you would find it in your heart to forgive me.”
Clara looked at her—but she didn't see the woman in front of her. Instead she looked through her. She saw a life of settling for Peter, a life of bargains and special offers and cut-price goods, a life with companionship and no loneliness and no risks—and no passion anymore.
“You have done me a great favor by coming here today. I had something to do which I was
putting off, but now it's clear, and it will be done this evening,” she said.
Nora Dunne looked after her, confused, as she left the building and got into her car.
Peter answered the buzzer when she rang the doorbell of his flat. He was delighted to see her.
She went up the stairs with a heavy heart.
“Will I open some wine to celebrate?”
“No—unless you want to celebrate being free of me,” she said gently.
For a moment he was too shocked to respond. Then he sprang to his feet. “But why, Clara, why? We get on so well—Amy loves you, I love your girls.”
“Peter—do you know what I mean by zing zing?” she asked.
“No. No, I don't know. What is it?”
“It doesn't matter.”
“I could learn,” he said hopefully. He was so nice. She was completely mad. Like she had been mad to marry Alan.
But it did exist—mad, passionate love. She had seen it in her clinic not an hour ago. It was there somewhere. There would be no settling for anything. There would also be no rethink. Peter said they should wait before making a decision, but Clara's mind was made up.
“Can we be friends and occasional lovers?” he asked.
“No, that won't work,” Clara said. “Sit here and think of all the good things there are about this, Peter. There are many. And I'm glad we went into it rather than just fencing around; we always regret what we don't do, rather than what we do. …”
“Maybe you'll regret not marrying me, then?” he said.
“You will marry someone, Peter, and you'll be a great husband.” She hugged him as you might a brother as she left the cheerless apartment.
She was down the stairs and out in the busy precinct before he could say any more. In the jeweler's on the corner they had a lot of rings discounted. She knew without having to ask that he must have been in there already and maybe even chosen one. But she put her shoulders back and walked on with more purpose than she had for a long time.
Chapter Eight
When Vonni went to collect her mail, she saw that there was a letter from Fiona. That was odd—she had heard from her only last week. She had been full of news about this boy Declan Carroll who was a doctor in the heart clinic and who had a car crash but was recovering very well. Perhaps this one was saying that they were engaged. Vonni hoped so.
Her little craft shop was empty. She sat down and poured herself a cup of thick, sweet Greek coffee and opened the letter. It was not about an engagement, even though it said the romance continued as wonderfully as ever. Fiona wanted to tell her that these really eccentric seventeen-year-old twins would love a job of any kind for the spring break.
She said that no amount of genealogists and historians could explain who they were. They possibly had real parents somewhere, and they were originally from some toffee-nosed family but for years Muttie and his wife, Lizzie, had given them a home in St. Jarlaths Crescent.
They were bright and funny. The boy was hoping to go into law and the girl was going to be a teacher. They were agreeable kids and they would be well able to carry boxes of things or go with Vonni to market. They could do washing-up for Andreas as well. They didn't want to make real money, just to pay for a holiday and get some work experience.
She ended up, “I hope you'll be able to find something for them, Vonni. Despite all my mad dramas and disasters there I just love the place, and I always think of it and you all with huge affection. Love always, Fiona.”
Vonni thought about it for only a moment, then took out her writing paper and began a letter.
Dearest Fiona,
Bring on the twins! I'd love to meet them. The hens died of old age and I hadn't the energy to replace them so the henhouse, as you used to call it, is empty. We'll have it cleaned up and put two beds in it and they can stay here. Tell them to come on a night ferry— Aghia Anna looks glorious in the dawn—give them directions to my place and I'll look after them …
She would go now and put it in the postbox. But the bell on the door jangled and she looked out to see who it was. It was Takis, her lawyer.
He walked into the shop and looked around. “Are we on our own, Vonni?”
“You sound as if you had secrets of state to tell.”
“No, but it is private business.”
“Fire away, Takis.”
“Your son is in jail on remand in England.”
“My God—what for?”
“Some VAT fraud or other.”
“And what's going to happen now?”
“He can't get bail. It's quite high, you see. They're afraid he'll skip.”
“And how do you know all this, Takis?”
“Well, since you made your will a while back leaving everything to him, I had to keep an eye on where he was. In case you died and I had to get in touch with him. No matter how I feel about this, it is your wish …”
“And Stavros asked you to get in touch with me?” Her face was full of hope.
“No, Vonni, he doesn't even know that I am aware of his circumstances.”
“He didn't ask for me?”
“No.”
“But I will organize his bail. Of course I will.”
“I was afraid that's what you might want.”
“Afraid?”
“My contact says that he will skip.”
“Well, if he does, he does. He must get that chance. I owe him that.”
“You owe him nothing.”
“So you say, but I know different. I was drunk and out of my mind all through his childhood. I owe him more than can ever be repaid.”
“It's a lot to take on, Vonni. You may have to go to England. They won't accept anonymous funds from abroad.”
“I'll go, of course I'll go,” she said. She could count on Maria, the young widow, to watch her store.
Takis bowed to her and left. He would have given the boy a boot up the arse. But mothers were different.
Fiona went to see the twins with the letter from Vonni.
“It's an unusual name,” Maud said.
“For an Irish person,” Simon filled in.
“I think it was Veronica originally,” Fiona explained. “She's from the west of Ireland.”
“You must have said we were great if she's taking us on and giving us a place to stay.” Maud was a bit overwhelmed by it all.
“It's only a henhouse, but you're right, I did say you were very reliable.”
“How do you know we'll be reliable?” Simon wanted to know.
“Because the chief of police out there, Yorghis, is a great mate of mine and he'd lock you up quick as look at you if you weren't reliable.”
“Oh, well then,” Simon said.
“Then we have to be very reliable,” Maud agreed.
“And when you get out of jail, that's if you ever do, I will come round to your house and beat you both with a stick until you bleed for letting me down.”
“Lord!” said Simon.
“Heavens!” said Maud.
“Is Declan very frightened of you?” Simon asked.
“Oh, I do hope so,” Fiona said with a smile. “Are you all set?”
“We fly to Athens first…”
“And you say the ferries go two or three times a day …”
“So we take the bus to Piraeus …”
“And the boat to Aghia Anna …”
“And walk up the Twenty-sixth of March Street…”
“And Vonni's shop is on the right as you go up the hill…”
Fiona looked at them in bewilderment. She wondered what the people of Aghia Anna would make of them.
Vonni and Andreas were having coffee by the harbor.
“I may have to go away for a short while soon,” she said.
He knew better than to ask her why. She would tell him, or she would not tell him. He talked on easily about his son, Adoni, who had come back from Chicago to help his father in the taverna. Now, of course, he wanted to buy up half the town. Andreas shook his hea
d. Nothing was enough for young people nowadays. They always had to have more, more and still more.
“I know, Andreas, I know only too well.” She was very silent then.
He wondered if her trip had anything to do with that son of hers.
“So you want me to keep an eye on the Irish children for you?”
“If I have to go when they are here I would really appreciate it. Just a fatherly eye on them to make sure they're not bringing riffraff into my henhouse, which by the way is lovely. Please thank Adoni again for lending me his men to clean it up.”
“I was glad to see him do that rather than open a fifty-bedroom hotel. Really and truly” Andreas was appalled at such daring and risk-taking.
“I spoke to Fiona. She phoned me last night and said they were looking forward to seeing us. Imagine—to be their age and seeing this beautiful place for the first time …” She smiled around at the view of the harbor and the purple mountains. “Fiona says her young man has asked her to marry him. She's very happy. He sounds like a good man.”
“When you go away Vonni, don't stay away too long,” Andreas said.
It had been good advice to tell them to arrive at dawn. Maud and Simon stood leaning over the rail of the ferryboat as they came into the harbor the next morning. They pointed out the various landmarks that Fiona had told them about. That big long low white building must be the Anna Beach Hotel; the huge building high on a cliff must be the hospital.
Muttie had said they should bring Vonni a bottle of Irish whiskey. Fiona had said absolutely not, it would be the last thing she would like to see. So instead they had brought a porter cake in a tin.
They were slightly fearful of meeting Vonni. Fiona was quite frightening enough, but this woman was much, much older, and probably mad and had painted a henhouse for them to live in.
Fiona said that they must do whatever she told them to do; it might be choosing wool for blind people, or carrying plates from a hillside market. Maybe Vonni might want them to give leaflets about her shop to day-trippers. Fiona had warned them again that she would know every heartbeat of it all because she would be in regular contact with the chief of police, Yorghis.
