This was the heavy artillery.
Brian sat in Peggy’s mother’s kitchen letting the words wash over him and trying to work out where Peggy might be.
‘Don’t start it all up again,’ said the woman in front of him who had not ceased to speak since he entered the house. ‘You’re a bachelor, Brian, stay one. For God’s sake, will you go back out to that hotel and pat it and stroke it and be with it morning, noon and night? That’s what you want.’
‘I can’t go to bed with the hotel,’ Brian said eventually.
‘And as sure as your name is Brian Doyle you can’t go to bed with my daughter either. Sweet talk or no sweet talk. Ring or no ring.’
It hadn’t crossed Brian’s mind that a ring should form part of the proceedings. There was plenty of time for that.
He had left the house disconsolately and on the street run into Seamus Sheehan, the sergeant from Mountfern.
Since Seamus was off duty they went to a pub and Brian explained that he was not a knave or a philanderer at heart, it was just that he was too young to settle down.
Sergeant Sheehan said that basically all men were too young to settle down, his long life in the Guards had taught him that. He cross-questioned Brian about the tunnel behind the bedroom wing, and whether there was any entrance in it under the brambles and briars.
Brian said that he couldn’t bear to think of any more entrances or exits to that hotel than there were already. There had been an unmerciful carry-on about where the drive was going to be at the start, most people thought that it was never going to get off the ground at all.
But Sergeant Sheehan went on and on. Any entrances to old shafts or tunnels or anything they had come across?
Brian Doyle had said that when it was a question of a fairy fort some of the men he had working for him were as superstitious as old shawlies who would go and tie things to a May tree. They had just avoided going anywhere near it and in the end the best thing had been to build a trellis and drape these creepers over it. Made a kind of wall of sorts.
No, he had no idea if there was anything in it. He didn’t give much thought to the fairy world himself, there was too much happening in the so-called real world. If they were there, which seemed highly unlikely, then leave them to get on with it, that was Brian’s philosophy. Oh, the sergeant meant non fairies? No, he could not imagine that anyone with a marble left in their head would want to be burrowing around under all those blackberries and old thorns. But then Brian was always the last to be told anything. The whole Pioneer Total Abstinence Association could be having their annual general meeting in those bushes before anyone would think of telling the poor builder.
But wasn’t it a bloody miracle that the place was finished and none of them were in gaol or up in the asylum on the hill?
Too late Brian Doyle remembered the youngest Sheehan boy was in that very asylum. He looked glumly into his pint. There were some things you could never backtrack your way out of, and it was wiser not to try.
Sergeant Seamus Sheehan woke and made his wife a cup of tea.
‘This is your big day,’ she said sleepily. ‘Is the weather good for it?’
He opened the curtains a little and peered out.
‘It’s bright,’ he said. ‘It’ll be sunny with scattered showers, they said.’
‘Ah well, that’s grand, and they’ll have a tent set up so you won’t notice the showers.’
She was pleased that her husband would be on show and a man of importance today. There were very senior men from Phoenix Park, the Garda headquarters, coming to the reception, and there were local guards from around coming in to help with the traffic and because there would be VIPs coming to the reception. Seamus would have more responsibility than he ever had before.
Seamus Sheehan was glad he hadn’t told his wife about the plan to close in on the tunnel that morning. He had been in the town last night setting it all up with the force there.
He had been praised for the excellent surveillance he had kept, and the superintendent said that he was a model of what an efficient rural sergeant could do by knowing the people of his place and being able to spot anything untoward.
McCann, Burns and Red Molloy were no mean prize to get in one net.
The plan was to take them early and have it wrapped up before the guests started arriving.
Whatever they were up to, that crowd, it must have something to do with the opening. A possible kidnapping.
Guaranteed, of course, to get the worst publicity for Ireland if it took place when a load of American journalists were actually on the spot feeding their faces with salmon and brown bread. They would get them into different cars and take them by different routes to the Garda station in the big town.
Charlie Burns was the thicko, he’d certainly tell them what was going on.
Sergeant Sheehan was glad that it would all be over well before his wife had put on the new suit that was hanging up outside the wardrobe so that it wouldn’t get crushed, together with the frilly white blouse and a handbag so new that it was still in the paper bag from the shop and had tissue paper inside it to make it keep its shape.
Kate felt that the day had started poorly. All that shouting and the upset in the bathroom.
But these were as nothing compared to the fact that Carrie was now almost certainly pregnant. That was the first thing to be coped with.
She called the girl into her room and asked her to close the door.
‘Have a plain marietta biscuit, Carrie, take one there from the tin on the window.’
Carrie’s eyes were huge. ‘I was just going to have a drink of bitter lemon or something, ma’am . . .’
‘No, the biscuit is best. I remember myself.’
Carrie’s eyes were full of tears. ‘It must be definite, ma’am,’ she said. ‘I’m very sorry.’
‘Why are you saying you’re sorry to me?’
‘Well, you’ve been very nice to me, I don’t want to go bringing disgrace on you. That’s the last thing I’d want.’
‘You won’t do that. It’s all a matter of what way we look at it.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Mrs Fine used to say to me that life was all about how you looked at things. If you saw the sunny side then things were sunny . . . You know, the Americans have some book about it.’
Carrie looked at her, bewildered.
‘So what I mean is this, there’s going to be no tears, no apologies, no shame. No saying to Jimbo that you’re sorry. It’s not your fault any more than it is his.’
‘But he could say I’d been with anyone. Jimbo’s going to be a known singer. There’s going to be people here today who will have heard of him.’ Carrie was full of awe.
‘Yes, but he’s your Jimbo, he’s not going to walk out on you?’
‘If I gave in to him, let him have his way, what’s to stop him thinking I let other fellows have their way?’
Kate’s face was very impatient.
‘Loretto Quinn and Jack Coyne are going to announce their engagement today, I wouldn’t be surprised if Brian Doyle might even stir himself to propose to that long-suffering Peggy. What more natural than you and Jimbo too?’
‘But, ma’am, he mightn’t want to . . .’
Kate wasn’t listening. ‘Yes, a big occasion like this, a very good place, we could even get a bit in the newspaper about it. Singer to wed, it’s a good time of year to think of an Easter wedding.’
‘Easter?’
‘Yes, well that’s for Loretto and Jack. But you and Jimbo might find that to fit in with his career you might suddenly get married straight away, before Christmas.’
‘Oh, ma’am, wouldn’t it be great if he’d agree?’
‘Of course he’ll agree. He’ll be delighted,’ said Kate with much more confidence than she felt.
Sheila Whelan woke with a heavy heart.
Patrick O’Neill had been in last night, anxious to talk.
‘You’re about the only one I can really sit down
and talk to.’ He looked tired and lonely.
‘Haven’t you half the country to talk to?’ She smiled.
‘Not really.’ He gave a heavy sigh.
‘You’ll miss Rachel tomorrow?’ Sheila was one of the few people who could speak like this without causing him offence.
‘I’ll miss her, that’s very true. She put so goddamn much into it, I wanted her to see the opening, even if afterwards . . . well . . .’ His voice trailed away.
‘Probably better for her to go at once if she was going to go at all,’ Sheila said.
‘Yes, women see it that way. I’m going to call her tomorrow night. At midnight our time it will only be early evening in New York. She agreed that we would talk on the telephone tomorrow.’
He looked boyish and eager. Not the great O’Neill opening the most talked-of hotel in Ireland, who kept his lady friend in doubt about his intentions all the time she was here. Sheila Whelan thought that men were impossible to understand and that perhaps the less time and effort spent trying to understand them the better.
‘What are you doing tonight? Getting a good sleep for tomorrow, I hope. You’ll have a long day.’
‘I can’t sleep at all these nights. I walk the grounds a lot. I had a few drinks with Doyle. I don’t know which of us is more surprised that he hasn’t ended up in one gaol for fraud and I haven’t ended up in another for attempted murder!’
‘Go on, you’d be lost without Brian to give out about. You’ll miss him, I promise you.’
‘Sheila, you’re very discreet . . .’ Patrick began.
‘Not any longer,’ she interrupted him.
‘What on earth do you mean?’
‘Just that. I’m not discreet any more. If I see something I don’t like then these days I say it. It’s hard to get used to, I keep hoping I’m doing the right thing.’
She had told him no more despite his concern.
Sheila knew that if anyone was going to be hurt by what she had done it would be Patrick. She had discovered that Kerry O’Neill was taking boxes and packages into a disused tunnel which led to Fernscourt.
He was involved with a gang of hoodlums, probably thought they were freedom fighters instead of bank robbers, which was what they were. Sheila knew that on the morning of the hotel opening the tunnel would be closed off, the gang taken into custody and as a courtesy to Patrick O’Neill and to all the employment he was bringing to the area his son would not be questioned until the following day.
There was a belief that Kerry O’Neill, though most certainly some kind of an accomplice, was not involved in the criminal side of things. Or not yet. Sergeant Sheehan said that it was all being done to pay his gambling debts.
She thought of Seamus Sheehan’s son in the home, of Patrick’s son running with bank robbers, of her own husband’s son who couldn’t come back from England for his father’s funeral.
Many times Sheila had wished that she had given birth to a boy. A child of her own who would grow up under her eyes. This morning as she dressed for the day and all it would bring Sheila felt glad that she had no son. She was better off today only worrying about herself.
Dara’s hopes of a long leisurely time to get ready had been dashed. First there was all the work clearing up the bathroom, then Mam wanted to be helped.
Mam looked very pale and even unwell. There was a light sweat on her forehead and she had that distraught look she sometimes got.
‘It’s going to be fine,’ Dara said soothingly.
‘What is?’
‘The opening. The day!’
‘Oh yes. Yes of course.’
Dara looked at her, concerned. Mam hadn’t been at all well of late. Look at the way she had felt after the trip to Dublin. Don’t say it was going to be the same now. Dara held up the navy and white outfit. It had been chosen by Rachel Fine, of course. Hadn’t everything? It was smart, but Dara would have dressed Mam in something less severe. It had a lot of small buttons down the back which would need to be fastened.
Mam smelled of good soap and talcum powder. More gifts from Mrs Fine. Perhaps as the years went by Mrs Fine’s gifts would wear out, and her influence would die away. Mam had said firmly and very briefly that she would not be coming back again to Mountfern.
Dara sat by the dressing-table part of the green room. She looked long at Mam’s face to see any signs of illness.
‘Would you tell me if there was anything wrong, if you felt badly?’ she asked her mother.
‘Yes and no. Yes if we could do anything about it.’
‘Then there is something wrong!’
‘No, I feel jittery today, that’s all, a bit like going to the compensation case. You know the feeling.’
Dara knew the feeling, she had the feeling. She wasn’t at all sure that Kerry would like her dress. She had spent such hours choosing it in Dublin, and spent so much money on it. It looked a simple red silk. In the hand it looked only like a crumpled scarf, but when Dara put it on she looked great! Or she hoped she did. But you’d know with Kerry.
She had fastened the tiny buttons and Mam looked very well, smart and stylish. The dress had a full skirt. Mam never wore clothes that let you see her legs properly, even though they looked perfectly all right.
Dara felt the overpowering sympathy that she sometimes did for her mother, who could not stand up and who knew that she would never be able to stand again.
‘Dara, one little thing about today.’
Dara sighed. It was going to be about not smearing on too much make-up, not disappearing with Kerry, about being understanding to Michael, or keeping an eye on Declan or trying to stop Eddie from alienating the whole parish.
‘Yes, Mam,’ she said dutifully.
‘If I were your age, and I were as lovely as you . . . I would not want to listen to someone saying what I’m going to say now, but it’s only very short and then we don’t have to talk about it again today. All right?’
Dara nodded. What alternative had she?
Kate took her hand. ‘I just want you to know how sad I am that Rachel isn’t here today. She worked on every stone of this place as much as any of Brian Doyle’s men, as much as Patrick ever did. And at this moment she’s in New York City, probably crying her eyes out and thinking of it all.’
Dara had taken her hand away and was moving restively.
‘And the reason that she’s not here is Kerry. She did nothing wrong, nothing bad, nothing that she couldn’t stand up in the pulpit and talk about. She got a little drunk, and she’s not used to drink, that’s all.’
‘Mam, please . . .’
‘I said it’s short. Kerry drove her out, Dara, for these reasons: he didn’t want her to marry his father. He has always been much more fond of his mother than of Patrick, he thought that Rachel should not replace her.
‘Then he got into great debt at a card game and he asked Rachel for money . . . It’s very complicated but he didn’t get it finally, so he let everyone think that he and Rachel were together. You’ve heard that, I know. I just wanted to set it straight in your mind.’
‘Oh, Mam, I heard the real story from Kerry,’ Dara said.
‘You heard a story from Kerry. I doubt if it was the real one.’
Kate’s eyes were far away. ‘You’re a grown girl, Dara, you are sixteen – although I think that’s young, I’ll still think you’re young when you’re twenty-six . . . I am not poisoning you, I’m warning you. That’s all. Of course you’ll be with Kerry today, and he will be charming and lovely and make you feel good. But I felt you had to know that he is dangerous.’
Michael wondered for the fiftieth time was his jacket a bit sissyish. It had looked fine in Dublin. But hadn’t everything? Tommy had said it was great, you’d expect Michael to break into a waltz as soon as he put it on. Grace had been non-committal. She had been slightly annoyed that he had found the time and possibility of going to Dublin with Dara when he hadn’t gone with her. For no reason Michael kept remembering Maggie talking about the hotel op
ening. She said there would be television personalities coming to it and that maybe they would all be introduced to them on account of knowing the O’Neills so well. They had laughed at Maggie for her enthusiasm. And she was dead for over three months when the hotel did open.
Something had gone out of their summer, something more than Maggie. They stopped being a group somehow. They hardly saw Jacinta and Liam now, and as he had feared Grace was a million miles further away now that she was just across the river.
Tommy Leonard wished that he had a new jacket like Michael’s. He wished that he didn’t have skin that looked as if it had been treated with Harpic lavatory cleaner and he wished that he had smooth blond hair that looked good whatever way it fell, instead of spiky awful hair not unlike Eddie Ryan’s.
He had heard there was going to be dancing in the Thatch Bar. His mind went back a year to when the Ryans had that great party in the outhouse that was now the café. He remembered not being quick enough or interesting enough to keep Dara’s attention when Kerry came into the room. He wondered could anyone ever be quick or interesting enough. It wasn’t only looks. Dara wasn’t so shallow that she would go for appearances only. But Kerry was so sharp and clever. He knew when to say nothing and when to smile. He seemed to know what people were thinking, and say it first.
Suppose Kerry was to get a job somewhere else. Would that make everything all right? Or would the whole place still be watching out for him, looking up the road, almost waiting for him to come back?
Whatever Tommy wore Kerry would wear the opposite and he was sure Kerry would look just right today. If Tommy wore his best suit you could be sure that Kerry would be in some pale blue sweater and jeans, and if Tommy wore his corduroys and Aran sweater, Kerry would be in a formal suit and tie. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to see what he was picking out to wear?
Kerry was up very early.
Everything had been neatly stored in the tunnel. They knew to keep well away today of all days.