'How did she earn enough to be able to give us a whack like that?' Tom wondered.
'No idea. I used to think once that she was old Mr Murphy's fancy woman, but apparently not. Just invested it well, I think.'
'Up to now, anyway,' Tom had said, touching wood.
Joe Feather had written from London.
'Why does he never stay at home with your parents, they'd love to have him…' Cathy asked.
'I don't know,' Tom said. 'Selfish, I think.' There was something in the way he spoke that made Cathy look at him suddenly. The world was full of mystery, Cathy told herself sadly as they began to make the list for their launch party.
'Ricky knows good contacts,' Cathy began.
'I behaved like a horse's arse to Ricky on New Year's Eve,' Tom said sheepishly.
'If you did, and it's unlike you, I don't suppose he'll remember,' Cathy soothed.
'He might.'
'Go on, if I were the one that had said that, you'd tell me I thought the whole world revolved around myself.'
Tom laughed. 'Yes, you're quite right, of course we'll ask Ricky for contacts, and Shona, of course, and a couple of the guys we knew back at college. But mainly I think we should have friends and family, don't you?'
'Of course I do, though it has to be said hardly any of my family and friends will put any business our way, not much demand for caterers down on the morning shift in the bookies, with my dad's betting associates, as he's inclined to call them.'
'Nor mine,' Tom said. 'But that's not the point.'
'Can we do a quick deal, the pair of us? If you don't ask your in-laws, I won't ask mine,' Cathy pleaded.
'I don't have any in-laws, as you very well know, and you have to ask yours, as you also very well know.'
'It's just a wish,' Cathy sighed. 'She'll make it a misery for everyone there if she does come, and she'll sulk for six months if she's not asked.'
'And what does Neil say?'
'What do you think he says? He says it's up to me. As if that was any proper answer at all.'
'So we ask her?'
'I'm afraid so. Does Marcella have any hateful people who might destroy the evening for us?'
'No, not that she's mentioned.'
'Okay, then I'm the only one inviting a big bad wolf,' Cathy said. 'Let's get on with the list. Will we ask any famous people? They just might come.'
'Definitely let's ask famous people.' Tom was eager, and the shadow of Hannah Mitchell hung over them no longer.
'What will we do at the party?' Maud asked.
'I don't think you'll be there,' Cathy said.
'But where else would we be?' Simon asked, as if it were all arranged.
'You see, Simon, it's really for older people.'
'Yes, well, people of all ages I'd say.' Simon had thought about it.
'Sure, but not people who are just nine, actually,' Cathy said, trying to keep her voice steady.
'But where would we go? You're going, Neil's going, Muttie and Lizzie are going, Aunt Hannah and Uncle Jock. There won't be anyone left to look after us.'
'Muttie was saying when he picked us up from school that we'd be going.'
Cathy felt yet another urge to give her father a very hard kick for his helpfulness. But then she remembered that he did walk up to those school gates and wait for the children, which was more than any Mitchell seemed to be prepared to do. She must think, she must not panic.
'Walter, your big brother Walter will look after you.' Cathy felt very pleased that she had pulled this rabbit out of the hat.
'No, he's talking about going skiing,' Maud cried triumphantly.
'We could take the coats. Muttie thought that might be a good job for us,' Simon said.
'Did he now?' Cathy asked. 'And did he also by any chance suggest what I myself should do during the party, or was it only your work he had planned out?'
'No, he didn't say,' Simon answered solemnly. 'I think he thought you would probably know what to do, what with it being your own waitressing business and all.'
'Catering business,' Maud corrected primly.
And Cathy heard a sudden hysterical tinge in her own laughter.
The Feathers had wondered to Tom whether they should have replied formally to the invitation.
'Did you keep your temper?' Cathy was working on the choux pastry.
'With extreme difficulty,' Tom admitted. 'And it's so stupid, I could hear the sarcasm in my voice, asking them did they think they wouldn't be let in.'
'They're not used to parties, any more than mine are,' Cathy soothed.
'Well at least yours won't be fingering the walls and telling people that everything really needed another coat, but it was such a rush job that there wasn't time…' Tom wouldn't be consoled.
'No, but my mother wanted to wear a yellow nylon coat and wash up in the back kitchen. We've had three scenes about that, and my dad says that he's bringing his own beer because fancy wines give him a headache.' Cathy had finished the tray of little pastry cases and was setting the timer.
'But then you have got Geraldine working the room for us, and talking us up to everyone.' Tom was jointing the chickens expertly as he spoke.
'And you've got that sexy brother of yours to keep all the women happy. Let's hope he goes into one of his charm routines, I love to watch him in action, it's amazing the way they lap it up.'
'I was always afraid at the start that Marcella would fall for him when she met him, but mercifully she didn't,' Tom said.
'Marcella? Fall for Joe when she could have you?' Cathy laughed.
'He is very smooth, though.' Tom had a hint of worry.
'Very obvious, you mean, and your Marcella's too bright for that.' Cathy was confused by Marcella in these last days before the great launch. She had been extremely helpful behind the scenes, coming on from her work at Haywards, changing into jeans and taking out her rubber gloves to protect her hands: she did all the menial jobs anyone could give her. But she utterly refused to serve and help at the party. She had what seemed to her very good reasons.
'Listen, Cathy, you should understand about having a dream and a goal. You and Tom have got yours now. I haven't yet. I want to be a model. I know I can do it, I believe I'm as good as anyone else, I've spent a fortune on courses and portfolios. I just can't be seen in public as a waitress or that's all I'll ever be, a manicurist and a waitress.'
'You could be worse things.' Cathy had been curt.
'And you could have been a typist or a shop girl, but you wanted more,' Marcella had answered with spirit. She had refused to take the coats. She would be there only as a guest. She would work with them afterwards, clearing up, she promised, but her public face was to be an invited person. There was no moving her so Cathy didn't try. After all, she had yet to explain to Tom that the terrible twins might be part of the night. Partnership was all about give and take.
James Byrne said yes, he would come to the party. Cathy was somewhat surprised, but pleased.
'And of course if there's anyone else that you'd… um, like to… um, bring with you,' she said hesitantly.
'Thank you, but I'll come on my own.'
They were finally on first-name terms with each other, not that it seemed to sit easily with the older man. He was so courteous and old-fashioned. And so extremely reticent. The business with the Maguires seemed to be almost concluded now. Yet Cathy and Tom knew as little about the family of printers who had sold them the premises as they had known on New Year's Day. They did, however, know a little more about James.
He lived in what he called the garden flat of one of the big Victorian houses in Rathgar. He had been an accountant in a large provincial town for most of his life, and had only come to Dublin in the last five years. He was now retired. They couldn't ask him what he did all day, and if time was heavy on his hands these days. They didn't dare ask him had he any family. Their conversations, though warm and relaxed, were always professional. One day Tom had asked whether he might know someone who would
act as a bookkeeper for them. They told him that they assumed that maybe one morning a week would be enough at this early stage, or possibly they didn't even need that. Perhaps he might have come across someone.
'I'd be very happy to do it,' he said.
'To find someone?' Cathy wasn't sure what he meant.
'No, I mean to act as your bookkeeper, if that would suit you. Two hours a week should be adequate at the start.'
'But Mr Byrne… I mean James… we couldn't ask you . ..' Tom began.
Cathy sensed he was lonely and had nothing else to do. 'But of course, if you would take us on a trial period we would be delighted,' she had said firmly. And an unaccustomed smile came across James Byrne's face, making him look handsome. Still grave, despite the smile, but definitely very handsome.
'I've got your mother a dress, and I've booked a hairdo for her,' Geraldine said.
'You'll be bankrupt,' Cathy protested.
'Not on the kind of place your mother insists on going to have her hair done in, that's when she does go at all.'
'But the dress?'
'It came from Oxfam.' Geraldine looked at her with clear, lying blue eyes.
'It didn't. It came from Haywards.'
'And what makes you think that?'
'Shona Burke told me she met you getting it.'
'Busybody,' Geraldine said, laughing.
'If my mother knew she was wearing a dress from Haywards she'd have to be in the next bed to my one in the nervous hospital, as Maud keeps calling it. Oh, Geraldine, what am I going to do with those children?'
'There must be someone in St Jarlath's Crescent, some neighbour.'
'Of course there are a dozen people, but Ma has reservations about all of them, and I don't want her like a hen on a hot griddle all night wondering are they all right.'
'All right, all right, give them to me,' Geraldine said. 'I'll get them into the child-sitting service at Peter's hotel.'
'What does that mean?'
'In their case, chicken nuggets and chips, suitable video and a swim in a heated pool if they want one.
'Would you really?'
'Of course I would, and remember that I do have to protect my investment tomorrow night, don't I?'
'It's nothing to do with an investment, it's a lifeline that you've given us and always have,' Cathy said.
But Geraldine would hear none of it. 'It's just that you're overtired, but tomorrow will be a roaring success, believe me,' she said. 'And if the backers are confident, then everyone is confident. Take me through the menu again.'
'You're going to a hotel tomorrow evening,' Cathy told Simon and Maud.
'I'd be just as happy to go to the do,' Simon said.
'To help you,' Maud explained.
'I know, and I do appreciate it, but honestly there's not all that much room in the premises, and you'll have a great time there.'
'Is Walter going to your party?' Maud wanted to know.
'Yes, I think he is. He didn't reply, but I'm sure he will be there.'
'Will he be working for you and Tom?' Simon asked.
'Not if all the guests were lying writhing on the ground parched with thirst, pleading and roaring for a drink will Walter Mitchell ever work for me again,' Cathy said cheerfully.
'It doesn't sound much of a party, Simon said to Maud. I think we'd be better off in the hotel, to tell you the truth.'
Neil was up and dressed when Cathy woke with a start. 'God almighty, what time is it?'
'Relax, it's not even seven yet.'
'Why are you up?'
'This is the big day,' he said.
Lord, she had forgotten. Today Scarlet Feather would be a reality, the launch party, the brochure out, the whole company up and ready for business.
'I know, I can hardly believe it.' Cathy stood there in her stripy nightshirt. She rubbed her eyes and shook her hair back.
'I know he's only a junior minister, but it's very big for him to come to the breakfast, and he's crazy about publicity so it'll give the whole thing some attention.'
She realised that it was a big day for Neil because a group of them had managed to get a government minister to meet them about prisoners of conscience.
'I hope it's a great success, anyway,' she said in a flat voice.
He looked at her, startled at the tone, but she said nothing by way of explanation. 'So I must run…' he said eventually.
'See you tonight,' she said.
'Oh yes, of course, the do. It will be great, honey, don't have a worry in the world about it.'
'No, of course not.' Still the same flat voice.
He came back and gave her a quick hug. 'I'm very proud of you, you know,' he said.
'I know, Neil,' she said. But she wished that it were much more important to him than a quick hug and a pat on the back.
Ricky sent one of his photographers down to the premises an hour before people were expected. Just to do a few food shots, to see the buffet before it got all clogged up with people. Cathy's friends June and Katy were well kitted out in their white shirts with the scarlet feather logo. They all posed beside the plates of dressed salmon, long, oval dishes of roasted peppers, colourful salads and baskets of bread.
One moment there seemed to be nobody except the staff standing around nervously, and the next the place was teeming with people. The front room, which would later be their little reception office, looked terrific tonight. How right they had been to have old-fashioned sofas and chairs. Their new filing system was cleverly hidden in elegant drawers. It was a peaceful place where they hoped that customers would sit and discuss menus. Nothing of the precision shining white and steel of the kitchens here: that was all beyond the door, and they had cleared spaces for people to stand and later to dance. Tonight the front room was acting as a cloakroom with two great rails. And a ravishing-looking redhead who worked in Geraldine's office but did not think helping at a party was beneath her, gave people tickets for their coats and hung them neatly on the rails.
Then June and Katy, her two great friends through everything from schooldays long ago, stood with trays of welcoming drinks leaving Tom and Cathy free to greet and welcome and to listen to the praise and admiration for their new premises.
Neil was not among the early arrivals. Cathy planned to place him very near to the door, so that he could cope with his mother whenever Hannah chose to make her entrance. Cathy's own parents were there, totally amazed by it all, awkward and out of place. Her father twisting his cap that he had inexplicably refused to surrender at the cloakroom, and roaming the room with his eyes looking for someone he might talk to. Her mother in a soft, flattering green wool dress that had set her sister back a small fortune at Haywards and with her hair nicely styled, had no idea how well she looked. Instead, her eyes scanned the room for somewhere to hide.
'Mam, you look beautiful,' Cathy said, and meant it.
'No indeed I don't, Cathy, I'm a disgrace. I shouldn't be here with all these people at all. I wonder, is…' Why did they feel so ill at ease, as if somehow they were going to be found out, pronounced unacceptable and sent home? Cathy had been down this route, had asked herself these questions so often that she knew it to be totally fruitless. But of course Tom had to put up with it too. JT and Maura Feather didn't look as if they were having fun either. Now there was an idea. She excused herself from talking to a pleasant man who ran a house-cleaning service. They had been saying that there were ways in which they might well work together, one would recommend the other. Expertly Cathy made the introductions. In one way it didn't really work: instead of being moral support to each other, they made each other more nervous. But they each drew some strength and solidarity from realising that the other couple was also full of doubts. Tom's father said that if anyone wanted to know what he thought, then he thought that it wasn't worth spoiling the ship for a ha'porth of tar, and they should have given it more time. And Lizzie Scarlet said she was afraid they had bitten off more than they could chew. Maura Feather said there was
a perfectly good living for Tom in his father's business and he needn't even get his hands dirty—he could have sat in an office and brought in clients. Like these people who were all dressed to kill, and would have plenty in the bank to build extensions and maybe even second homes. Muttie said that if his Cathy and their Tom were such great cooks, then if they went to work for other people without putting their money at risk they would save a small fortune in no time, but of course nobody ever listened to the voice of experience.
The mood was getting more relaxed by the moment. Cathy caught her aunt's eye and in seconds Geraldine was in there talking and enthusing and broadening the circle. The noise level was much higher now. Cathy noticed, and she allowed herself to take a couple of normal breaths and to accept that it was all going very well. She even looked around her at the guests. James Byrne had phoned at the last moment to say he couldn't come. Marcella looked just exquisite in a beautifully cut silk jacket and long black skirt. She wore no jewellery, even though anything at all around that long, slim neck would have looked good. Somehow she had great style the way she was. She was the centre of admiring glances, and Tom looked on proudly. Cathy was glad that this was not one of Marcella's rather over-sexy nights; she had seen Tom's face too often on such occasions.
In and in they came, and then she saw Neil's parents arrive. Jock with his handsome if marginally vacant face had the slightly affected manner of always appearing to think he should be somewhere else. Good-natured and bewildered, but not entirely convincing. And beside him was Hannah. She wore a harsh, dark purple dress that somehow drained the colour from her face. She looked affronted before she even came in the door. There was nothing here that she could fault, Cathy thought triumphantly. Nothing at all. There were even a few minor celebrities from the stage or television. But in general it was just a well-dressed, well-behaved crowd of people who might form a pool of future clients. She had, however, known Mrs Mitchell since her early childhood, for too long not to be able to read her face. The woman was spoiling for a fight. She would not have one with Cathy.