“Nothing will be open,” he said, puzzled.
“That doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters. What’s the point of going into Tombstone City in the rain? Why don’t we stay here in the rain?”
“Please Stevie, I don’t ask much.”
He considered this. It was true, she didn’t ask him favors. “Okay, fine,” he said.
He didn’t ask her why she wanted all the change to make a phone call from a hotel in the town. He sat and had a pint in the hotel bar and looked at her from a distance as she stood in the phone booth at the far end of the hall. Kit McMahon was running her hand through her hair and talking earnestly. Stevie realized the point of the journey through the rain was so that she could phone someone who would have been impossible to phone from home. She could have used the phone in the Central Hotel but it would still have meant going through Mona Fitz.
He wouldn’t ask her. She would tell him when she was ready.
“Ivy Brown?”
“Yes, yes, who is this?”
“Mrs. Brown, I’m Kit McMahon. I met you once, do you know who I am?”
“Yes, yes of course I do.” Ivy sounded worried. “Is anything wrong?”
“Could I talk to Lena do you think…? I got the number from Directory Inquiries…”
“But love, she’s not here…” Ivy said.
“Look, Ivy, I have to talk to her, I have to. I have some terrible news I want to give her.”
“I think she’s had all the bad news she can take.”
“I know who he’s marrying, he’s marrying someone else, the bastard. The bastard out of hell.”
“Kit, stop…”
“I won’t stop. I’ve no money, Ivy. I can’t leave here, we have a huge thing I’m up to my neck in. I can’t walk out on it, but I have to talk to Lena. You must tell me where she is.”
“She was in Brighton, but she rang me from a coin box in London. She said she’d be away for a few days and she’d ring me on New Year’s Day.”
“Where?”
“She wouldn’t say.”
They had bookings for one hundred and fifty-eight people. The most the Golf Club had ever catered for was eighty-six. Philip O’Brien told Kit that he hadn’t slept since Christmas Eve, not more than two hours at a time.
“It’ll be great,” Kit said.
“You’re not sure, you’re only encouraging me, you’re only being nice.”
“Jesus, Philip, you really piss me off at times. I’m saying what I mean, why do you accuse me of just being nice?”
“Because your mind is miles away,” he said. “Since Christmas Day you’ve been thinking of something else entirely.” Kit was silent. “Isn’t that right?” Philip asked.
“I have a lot on my mind that’s true, but I do think the dinner will be great.”
“Will you tell me what’s worrying you? I might be able to help,” Philip said.
“I don’t know,” she said truthfully. “I don’t know if I’ll tell you.” Why did she feel that she might be able to tell wild Stevie Sullivan all about her mother and the tragedies of her life, but that she wouldn’t be able to explain them to good, loyal Philip O’Brien?
“I’ll always be here,” he said.
“You’re a great and good friend,” she said truthfully.
“Tell me again it won’t be a disaster,” he said.
“Philip, it’ll have them talking about it for a year. Now, back to business.” She took out her clipboard and got back to the countdown.
They agreed that they would have big tables, set for anything from sixteen to twenty. And even though there would be guests from Dublin, the O’Connor brothers, Matthew (who was going to be watched by Kevin O’Connor all night in case anything untoward happened), Frankie, and more, the committee would all have to keep hawklike eyes out in case anything went wrong.
Kit was to be in charge of the food and training the group of girls from the convent in their waitress duties. Philip was responsible for the entire drink side of things, the opening and pouring of wine, the pulling of pints, the trays of alcohol being brought with speed to tables. Emmet was in charge of furniture. They had identified this as a possible problem, chairs and tables too close together, not leaving access for waiters, people wanting to join up with other tables. Emmet would appear miraculously when people started heaving and dragging things.
Anna was in charge of decoration. If bits of holly separated themselves from curtains, from the wine bottles holding candles, it was Anna who must replace them. She was to be forever vigilant and move around from table to table. Anna liked this. Stevie Sullivan was not going to be sitting at their table. This would give her a chance to mingle.
Patsy was to keep an eye on the ladies’ room, make sure there were tissues and clean soaps. One of the downstairs rooms had been transformed with pink drapes and pink-and-white-striped Regency-style coverings on the furniture and artistic floral sprays. The two new lavatories that had been badly needed for the hotel were installed and functioning. The job had been done by Kevin Wall’s brother, who had worked even on Christmas Eve to get everything finished.
Philip’s parents had severe doubts about the expenditure, but they were so pleased by the attention the hotel was getting from Lough Glass and the entire surrounding countryside, they didn’t protest too much. “It’s about time that people took us seriously as a hotel,” Mildred sniffed when she heard more and more bookings coming in from landowners whose patronage they had never known before.
“I always said that this place would be recognized for what it was in the end,” Dan O’Brien assured her, giving absolutely no credit to his son and his son’s friends who had made the whole thing possible.
Clio had no specific responsibility, it was generally agreed that she should look after the guests from Dublin, keep everything going smoothly at the table, and cover over the fact that the others would be coming and going all night.
“We won’t just dance with people at our own table, will we?” Anna asked.
Kit couldn’t bear to see the look on Emmet’s face. “No, I think it should be open plan,” Kit said. Of course it was going to be open plan. Stevie Sullivan had booked a table for some of his customers. There were going to be more men than women in the party.
In the afternoon Kit and Philip looked around. “We’ve done it,” she said.
The tables were so festive, and the walls draped in greenery looked as if the whole place were out-of-doors. They would light the candles just before the people arrived. The convent school girls had come to show their uniform, every single one of them in white blouses and navy skirts and each wearing an embroidered badge with the letters CHL for Central Hotel Lough Glass. Kit had seen to it that those with hair flopping over their faces wore barrettes or ribbons.
She had rehearsed over and over what to do in the case of accidents. If somebody let a plate fall there was to be no giggling and no fussing, dustpans and brushes were stashed under some table, hidden by the long tablecloths. She asked them all to repeat the names of the dishes and drummed it into them—hors d’oeuvres—say it after me, no, say it again, each one of you.
“What are these starters called?”
“Hors d’oeuvres.”
“That’s much better.”
“Go home now,” Philip said. “You all look terrific and be back here looking just like that at six-thirty.”
They were giggling as they left.
Kit shouted at them suddenly. “What are the starters called?”
“Hors d’oeuvres,” the six girls chanted.
“And what are the main courses?”
“Chicken with tarragon, or beef in red wine.”
“Great. What are the desserts?”
“Sherry trifle or apple tart and ice cream.”
“Can people come back to the tables as often as they like?”
“Yes, as much as they want.”
“Don’t giggle as you say that,” Kit said. “They want
to feel welcome, they don’t want to feel stupid.” The girls looked at her respectfully. “Philip and I spend all our time at college learning this kind of thing.” Kit wanted to take some of the harm out of her direction.
“You’re getting it all for free,” Philip added.
The girls smiled from one to the other. He would never be able to thank Kit for all her support over this.
“I got you a little corsage,” he said. “It’s in the fridge to keep it nice and fresh. Just to thank you, from one friend to another.”
“You’re a dear good friend,” she said, and put her arms around his neck to hug him.
He felt her breasts against him and it was all he could do not to hold her to him tightly and kiss her on the lips. “So are you,” he said in a voice that struggled to be casual.
The Dublin contingent came in three cars around six o’clock. The bar was bright and welcoming. Philip had the first round of mulled wine ready for them to sample. “If it lays you lot out then we’ll know not to serve it to the real people,” he said.
Kevin O’Connor looked at him with interest. This wasn’t the mousy Philip he knew at college. This hotel was certainly not the dump Michael had said it was when he drove past it before. It was an elegant creeper-covered building with a lot of attractive greenery in barrels around the entrance. The decorations for the New Year’s Eve celebrations were stylish.
Their rooms were much more comfortable than he had been led to believe. Kevin was sharing a room with his friend Matthew. He had promised to watch Matthew’s behavior. And anyway there was no point in sharing with his twin; Michael O’Connor would be entertaining Clio Kelly as the night went on. Kevin wondered how his brother had got so lucky with the Lough Glass girl he had chosen.
“Hell of a nice place this, Philip,” Kevin said. The others agreed.
“Thank you.” Philip seemed confident. He had kept his parents off the scene, saying that they should be there to greet guests in the bar at seven-thirty, when it all began. But not before. He felt a surge of excitement like he had never known before. It was all going to happen. Tonight his career and his long-term plan of marrying Kit McMahon were all taking off.
Kit had asked her father and Maura to be among the early arrivals.
“I was hoping I might have a pint in Paddles’ with Peter,” Martin said.
“No, have it in the bar.”
“It’s a bit of a gloomy place…” he began.
“Wait until you see it tonight,” Kit promised.
Maura looked very well, she had on a black dress with black chiffon sleeves. “I hate wearing my coat over it but I suppose I’d freeze walking down without it…”
“It’s only a few yards,” Kit said. “You look so nice it’s a pity to spoil it.”
“Put on your coat, Maura, like a good woman, and don’t be catching pneumonia.”
“Lilian’s wearing a stole, but I always look like a washerwoman in one.” Maura’s face seemed disappointed.
“Father, can I ask you something?” Martin looked a little surprised. “Do you remember the little fur stole that Mother had, it was like a little cape?”
“Yes, I think I do, why?”
“You probably don’t remember because she hardly ever wore it. It’s in my wardrobe in a box, in case I’d ever wear it. I don’t think it suits me, why don’t we give it to Maura to wear?” It was a risk, she knew this. They had never mentioned anything of Mother’s before.
“That’s very nice of you, Kit, but I really don’t think…”
“Let me get it…I can, can’t I, Father?”
“Child, it’s yours and I’d be delighted if Maura would like it. Delighted.”
Kit was back in a moment. It was in tissue paper in a box. There was a faint whiff of mothballs. The little cape had a fastener in the front. It was old-fashioned, dated almost, but it might look smart on Maura. Kit draped it around her stepmother’s shoulders and stepped back to look at the effect. “It’s lovely on you…come and look in a mirror.”
It was indeed splendid. It could have been made for Maura around the shoulders but the fastener didn’t meet. “This needs to be held together with some black ribbon,” Kit said quick as a flash. “I have some in a drawer.”
When she came back her father and Maura were holding hands, there were tears in Maura’s eyes. She hoped nothing had gone wrong. “I was just saying that perhaps I shouldn’t wear it. Someone might remember Helen wearing it on some other occasion…”
“I never saw Helen wear it, not in all my life.”
“Did you buy it for her, Father?”
“I don’t remember that I did. No, she must have had it already, but I can’t ever recall seeing it on her anywhere. I’d love you to wear it, Maura dear.”
“It might have been special to her.” Maura was still doubtful.
“No, it couldn’t have been or else she’d have…” Kit stopped, horrified. She nearly said she would have taken it with her to London.
“Or else…?” Maura looked at her.
“Or else we’d have seen her wear it…Here, let me thread this ribbon in, you’re the belle of the ball.”
“When are you going to put on your dress?”
“I have it down at the hotel, I didn’t want to put it on until I’m through in the kitchen.”
“Does the chef not mind you taking over?”
“I don’t think by any stretch of the imagination you could call Con Daly a chef…a cook is even stretching it a bit. He’s so relieved that we’re all there he’s nearly licking our shoes with gratitude.”
Emmet came in wanting his bow tie tied. “A girlfriend should be doing this for you,” Maura said as she tied it expertly.
“Oh, I’ve no time to be interested in girls for a few years yet,” Emmet said.
Kit caught his eye and smiled.
“Very sensible,” Martin McMahon said. “The country would be in a better state if everyone thought the same.”
“I’ll see you down there.” Kit ran off.
Stevie Sullivan knocked from an upstairs window. “Will you come on up here and help me dress?”
“Sadly no,” she called back. “I’m on duty five minutes ago, and the battle orders are very strict. I made most of them myself.”
“You’re not exactly gussied up yourself,” he said, disappointed.
She was wearing her duffel coat and her hair still in big loose rollers was under a headscarf. “‘Gussied up’…what a marvelous phrase…see you later.”
He watched from the window as she ran into the hotel, the Central, which you wouldn’t recognize with its smart barrels of greenery, its trimmed creeper, its glittering new sign perfectly illuminated by some fixture which also showed the old oak tree to its best.
Funny that Kit didn’t see the naked longing in Philip O’Brien’s face. She was not an unkind girl, she wouldn’t play games with him. She simply didn’t see that the young son of the hotel was head over heels in love with her.
Kit slipped into the kitchen, she didn’t want to join the loud voices that were coming from the bar, she could hear Matthew booming away. She must remember to warn Kevin that very strict control should be exercised over Matthew.
The kitchen was too hot, she opened a window but the draft blew things from a shelf. “Hold the back door open with a chair,” she ordered.
“I’ll do it, that’s the very thing,” said Con Daly in his spotless whites. There had been a time when Con always looked as if somebody had spilled the contents of thirty-five dinner plates over him.
The young waitresses were standing in a little group, giggling with excitement. Kit frowned. How many times had she tried to tell them…but then when she and Clio were young they did nothing but laugh and giggle for about three years. Suppose they had been asked to help in O’Brien’s.
“Listen,” she said to the girls. “I know you think we’re all quite old and probably mad, but I want to tell you what we’re doing. We’re trying to show that we can be a
s good as and better than the grown-ups. And the grown-ups think we’re still children…so we need to look desperately polished. We need to be able to pronounce starters.”
“Hors d’oeuvres.”
“We need to know what tarragon is…”
“It’s an herb in the sauce,” they said.
“But most of all we want them to think you are real waitresses, not schoolgirls. For some reason laughing and enjoying yourself make you look amateur. I don’t know why, so I can’t let you do it. We can all laugh our heads off when it’s over. And Philip has said that if there’s no laughing there’s going to be an extra four shillings each for all of you.” This was serious money. They looked at each other in disbelief. “But that’s everyone. One giggler and nobody gets the four shillings extra. Okay?”
They nodded, faces solemn, afraid to meet each other’s eyes.
“Great,” Kit said. “Now, what else was I going to do?”
“Get dressed, I think,” said one of the girls. The others reddened but managed not to laugh. Kit had them well frightened into earning their extra wage.
She took the scarlet dress from its hanger. Philip had told her she could change in his room. He had tidied it and left around it all kinds of things that would make her think better of him. Books he hadn’t read, clean towels and a kind of soap that he had never used but it was expensive.
The dress fit perfectly, it was an off-the-shoulder model so there would be no bra. But again it was so perfectly molded that there would be no need. As she stood in her half slip and washed herself at Philip’s handbasin Kit studied her face in the mirror. Her heart was not in tonight’s festivities. If only she had been able to ring Lena and talk to her.
She was tired from all the work involved. She looked pale, she thought. She must be sure not to waste tonight’s opportunities. That’s what it had all been about. She mustn’t grant an inch to the poisonous little Anna Kelly, who had bought a lime-colored dress in Brown Thomas. Reports were that it looked a knockout. Kit hadn’t killed herself getting this hotel off the ground just so that Philip’s parents could sit back and take all the credit. She had wanted an arena, a public place to allow Stevie Sullivan to be seen to fall for her.