The Hollow Heart Part 28

"I could exchange it for a hot bath and a nice head ma.s.sage until you feel better?"

"Oh that sounds grand." He had trouble straightening up. She threw a towel at him.

"For me, ya eejit!" They started to laugh, Ryan holding his ribs, clearly in agony.

Smiling at the recollection, Marianne found Paul watching her in the rear-view mirror of the limousine. He smiled back, then put his hand to his lip, trying to prevent it from bleeding again. She shook her head despairingly, dropping her chin to her chest so he could not see her chuckling. She could not remember the last time two boys had fought over her. Grown up boys, at that.

Not unsurprisingly, Oonagh and Miss MacReady knew everybody they encountered at the TV studios. Miss MacReady introduced herself as the Director of Telecommunications for Innishmahon, and Oonagh flirtingly described herself as a close personal friend of Ryan O'Gorman's, and his other close personal friend, Marianne Coltrane. As is the way in Dublin, no-one really cared who they were, they were there and were made welcome whoever they were, and the two ladies made the most of it.

The chat show went according to plan, the conversation was totally focused on the movie and related anecdotes as decreed by Lisa courtesy of the PR machine. But then a surprise was sprung. There was an extra guest on the show. A home coming gift for Ryan. And to a full musical fanfare, his old s...o...b..z touring companion, Inspector Dermot Finnegan, took to the stage. They all laughed and chatted about the old days when they were in the band with George, and then Dermot persuaded Ryan to join him for a rousing rendition of 'You're Such A Good Looking Woman'.

It took only the opening bars, and the audience, led by Oonagh and Miss MacReady, twirling with gay abandon in the aisles, was on its feet as one. Marianne was particularly enjoying the performance, because, although Ryan was a great singer, his dancing was hilarious and he and Dermot were having so much fun it lifted her heart. Especially as he touchingly singled her out whenever he came to the rousing chorus.

Oonagh kept nudging her and nodding at Ryan as she danced. Miss MacReady, meanwhile, had the floor manager clamped to her, in an excruciatingly intimate version of the tango. He just managed to shout 'Roll the credits' before she threw her lips at his mouth in an almighty smacker. It had been a wonderful evening.

Marianne spotted Ryan and Paul having a pint together in the corner of the Green Room after the show. She joined them. Paul offered his right hand. She just looked at it.

"Go on," Ryan said, "make your peace now. It's over, well nearly, anyway."

"Ryan, will you excuse us?" She kept her tone light, flas.h.i.+ng him a glance.

"Good luck," he said to Paul, patting him on the shoulder as he left.

"Marianne," Paul began. She dismissed him with a wave.

"Can you tell me why? That's all. I just want to know, why?"

"You know why."

She shook her head. "Words of one syllable please."

"It seemed like a good idea at the time. Doing a follow-up on the terrorist attack, particularly as Ryan was central to masterminding our escape, and then he landed the part of Thomas Bentley. It was like art imitating life, and there was my first inside take on a superstar, giving me the perfect opportunity to make a name for myself."

"Opportunistic, more like. But how you did it was so cra.s.s, Paul. More like a bounty hunter than a biographer and, why? I still don't know why?"

"You had abandoned me. Jack was gone."

"Abandoned? You sound like a child I was somehow responsible for. I think I did my bit by you, Paul. I don't owe you anything."

"I see that now, but that's not how it felt at the time." He took a sip of his drink. She folded her arms.

"I loved you, Marianne. I was hurt and then when I saw I could stir up some s.h.i.+t for Ryan and get paid for it, I went for it. What was the worst that could happen? Once you found out all about him and his carrying on, you'd get p.i.s.sed off and come back to me and we could be together."

"But there was no us, together."

"I know that now, but I hoped, deluded myself. I thought if I had a glittering career and money too, it would help. Put us on the same footing; make you want me as an equal, a lover, not just a friend."

Marianne could see Ryan looking back at them anxiously. She nodded to show everything was alright.

"I'm really sorry," Paul offered, and they looked into each other's faces.

"So am I," she replied.

"Forgiven?" He gave her his puppy dog eyes.

"Maybe one day. Not yet though, too raw."

He touched her arm as she turned to go.

"He's told me what he's going to do. He's told me he's going to make you happy. I hope it's true, but if..."

She gave him a half-smile.

"We'll be fine. If you would only promise me you'll go off and do some decent work, right a few wrongs, shake things up a bit, make me proud, that would make me happy too."

He grinned back at her, his big, open-faced boyish grin.

"Okay, it's a deal. You have my word."

"I'll keep you to that." And finally she kissed him, swiftly, on the cheek.

It had been hard to unravel herself from Ryan's sprawling embrace in the huge bed that took centre stage in their suite. Their lovemaking the night before had been excruciatingly gentle, due to Ryan's abundant bruising, and she was sorely tempted to see what tantalisingly new techniques they could pursue for their pleasure this morning. But Oonagh had already texted that she and Miss MacReady were ready and waiting to hit the shops, and she knew Ryan had a full schedule before they all met for lunch, ahead of taking their leave of each other.

She was just squirming free, when the telephone buzzed. Lisa confirmed the media had reported only rave reviews of the film following the press showing, and glowing reports of the impromptu performances on last night's TV show. There was no mention of the unseemly brawl in the hostelry. No doubt Inspector Finnegan had something to do with that happy outcome.

Buoyed by all this good news, Marianne was showered, dressed and ready in minutes. Kissing her still-dozing movie star goodbye, she flew down the grand staircase to reception. It was only nine thirty, which by Dublin standards, is early on a Sat.u.r.day morning. Oonagh was in deep 'fan club' conversation with Lisa, as they sat on lavish sofas either side of the huge fireplace; the grate spilling lilies and roses onto the hearth in acknowledgement of the height of summer.

Marianne scanned the room for Miss MacReady, as liveried porters swished effortlessly through the rotating door; gla.s.s, bra.s.s and buckles glinting in the sunlight, the scent of the stirring city drifting in from the street. She looked to the left through a large open doorway and caught sight of a silver gladiator sandal swinging from a stool in the hotel's famous bar. Tiptoeing across the carpet to the marble floor, she found Miss MacReady, dressed in an aquamarine trouser suit, beneath a full length matching trench coat, hair pinned with diamante clips. She was sipping the inevitable c.o.c.ktail. Marianne slid onto a stool beside her. The glittering art deco room was deserted. A lone barman polished gla.s.ses, discreetly.

Miss MacReady did not look up, but sniffed loudly, as a large tear plopped from the tip of her nose into the gla.s.s.

"What's wrong?" Marianne asked softly, touching the woman's hand. It was ice-cold despite the warmth in the room, the purple fingernails trembled. Miss MacReady wiped her nose with the tissue Marianne offered.

"Nothing, I'm grand." She gave Marianne a watery smile.

"It's very early for a c.o.c.ktail and it's not even Monday."

Miss MacReady nodded. "Special occasion."

"I'll join you then if I may?" Marianne nodded to the barman who swiftly produced two more b.l.o.o.d.y Marys. Miss MacReady took a large swig and wiped another tear away.

"We came to Dublin once, we stayed here. It was heavenly, divine, the most glorious time of my life." She looked wistfully into her gla.s.s.

"You never said you'd stayed here before." Marianne waited for an explanation of the 'we'. Miss MacReady blew her nose, stirred her drink and sighed.

"He started the tradition, the Monday c.o.c.ktails. He knew I loved to dress up, so we made it our special day, because people tend to dislike Mondays and we were different, he said, in so many ways. So we had it as our special day and Dublin was our special time. Away from the island, away from everyone who would have disapproved. Just us, lovers in the city, the city that hid us, held us, loved us too." She smiled at the memory and squeezed Marianne's hand as it rested on the bar rail, "I can see when Ryan is away from you, the hollowness of your heart and how it echoes with pain until he returns. I've held a hollowness such as that all my adult life. It's far worse than any heartbreak, that empty love-lost fog. I can see it every time you look at him, your heart bursts with love, and when he is not with you, you carry it around aching and empty. I can see it breaking, tiny little slivers chipping off, when they say things about him in the press. I can feel it all again, as livid an agony as if it were myself, every time I see you together and apart." She wiped her eyes and drew breath.

"Be with him, Marianne, whatever it takes, be with him. He is your love, your life, don't miss your chance, don't lose what's yours. Make it happen, fill that hollow heart with love, because try as you might, nothing else will ever take the emptiness away." And with that, she swung her knees round and jumped off the stool. "Come now." She grabbed her bag, "Let's get moving, places to go, a movie to watch, helicopters to catch." She beamed at the barman, collecting Oonagh from reception as they left.

Ryan commented they needed another helicopter for all the shopping bags as they made ready to leave. He took Marianne in his arms at the safety rail, lifting her chin with his fingers as his eyes scanned her face.

"Nearly there my love, nearly there." He kissed her firmly.

"I hope so, Ryan. I'm tired of waiting, tired of being understanding. I know all the reasons why and why not, but I just want to be with you and we should be together." She said it with a smile on her face, but tears were br.i.m.m.i.n.g. She blinked them away, touched his face with her fingertips, and headed off towards the helicopter. The blades started up, the draught whipped at her hair, pus.h.i.+ng her back. She strode on.

Chapter Twenty Seven .

All The Nice Girls...

Only two weeks later, Ryan picked up an urgent message from Marianne on his new mobile. He was in South America, nearing the end of the publicity tour. He dialled the cottage. He knew if there was no reply, Miss MacReady usually intervened to check who was calling and would see if she could locate the absentee.

"It's yourself, is it?" Her voice was tense. "Looking for herself, I suppose? Well, I've no idea where she is. Headed off with Oonagh and the baby. They were having a picnic. Oonagh had news from the hospital a couple of days ago. No-one's saying very much but I'm not convinced it was positive."

"Ah." He went quiet. Miss MacReady always knew everybody's business.

"Are you still there? Where in the world are you, for heaven's sake? Are you still on the publicity tour for the film? Goodness knows, between the making and the selling of it, it takes an inordinate amount of time. Sure it only ends up an hour and a half. Be quicker just to sit there and read the book."

Ryan was in no mood for the postmistress's philosophical ramblings.

"Just say I'll be there, day after tomorrow. Just say I'm on my way." He disconnected.

He did not sound in the best of form either, Miss MacReady surmised. Trouble brewing in his life too, she did not wonder. There was quite a bit of trouble stirring between one thing and another. The planets were out of sync, weather patterns disturbed and the wind kept changing direction at random, every hour or so. Miss MacReady took some deep breaths and went to light candles at her Buddhist altar, tracing the outline of the crystal wind chimes as she pa.s.sed from the telephone exchange to her inner sanctum.

The couple stood in the freshly painted hallway of the cottage. He let his bag slide from his shoulder to the floor with a thud. She dropped the tea towel she had been using to dry her hands. They did not move for what seemed an age, the only sound the ticking of the newly restored Grandfather clock she had brought out of storage from England. Picking up his scent, Monty bounded in from the garden to greet him. Breaking the trance, he bent to lift the little dog into his arms, nuzzling him in welcome.

"Well, at least you're pleased to see me."

She ran the short distance, throwing her arms around them both.

"I've never been so pleased to see anyone in my life." She buried her face in the collar of his old jacket. He smelled of another place.

"Nor I." He kissed her on the nose, the forehead, then on the mouth. Monty squirmed to be released; they were squas.h.i.+ng him.

Ryan did not display even the merest flicker of shock when he and Marianne joined Oonagh and Padar for supper that evening in Maguire's. He was an actor, after all, but he had never witnessed such a dramatic change in the physical appearance of a human being. Oonagh had not only become shrunken and frail, and half the size she had been the last time he had seen her, but she was now 'Grand Ol Oprey' blonde with a husky new voice three octaves deeper than he remembered. Though nothing could diminish the light in her eyes when she caught sight of him, or the brightness of her smile as she stood with her arms wide open to welcome him.

"Ryan O'Gorman, as I live and breathe, come here to me, me favourite film star, gorgeous as ever." They hugged for a long moment. Padar busied himself behind the bar pouring drinks. Marianne lifted Bridget onto her hip as Ryan, freed from Oonagh's grip, presented trinkets from his travels for his G.o.dchild and her mother.

"We'll take the boat out tomorrow," Padar announced, putting a pint before Ryan on the table.

"Boat?"

"Did Marie not tell you? Oh, it's a fine boat, second-hand, but you'd never know it. Weather's set fair, would be a grand day for it."

Despite living on the island all his life and sailing since a child, Padar had never really owned a boat. He had a share in a couple of dinghies as a child and a small fis.h.i.+ng boat once, but never owned a real boat. Last month he and Father Gregory had travelled to the mainland to return two days later, sailing triumphantly into Innishmahon aboard a forty-foot Moody; instantly the grandest yacht in the harbour. The waiting land lubbers, Oonagh, Marianne and Miss MacReady had waved at them with delight, eagerly directing the Captain and his crewmate to a berth in the newly created marina. All part of the island's development programme.

The two men jumped from the vessel to proudly welcome the ladies on board and, hardly able to stop grinning, Padar guided Oonagh around every inch of the yacht, laughing at her exclamations of surprise and approval, as she flicked switches and opened doors, running her hands along the gleaming galley and chart table, to finally stretch out like a starfish on the double berth in the oak panelled sleeping quarters beneath the c.o.c.kpit.

"G.o.d, Padar it's like something off a film." She smiled, c.h.i.n.king plastic gla.s.ses with the others as they sipped champagne on deck. "And a real bargain."

He nodded. He had lied about the price, choosing not to tell her he had re-mortgaged the pub to buy his dream. She knew he had lied. She had a dream of her own to fulfil and she needed Padar onside if events were to unfold according to her wishes. Oonagh sat back and watched as he took Marianne and Miss MacReady on his far-too-technical guided tour. The only other time she had seen him this happy was at Bridget's christening, when all seemed well and the future looked bright.

Father Gregory was fiddling with the jib. He caught her eye.

"He's thrilled, isn't he?" Oonagh asked.

The Priest nodded. "He needs it, or her I should say."

"Yes, another woman in his life for when this one is gone."

"I don't believe we go, Oonagh."

"Gregory, this isn't the time or place for a debate on the afterlife, but I never took you for a f.e.c.king eejit."

"Didn't you? Well, I'm the bloke who wears a dress to the office, that should have given you a clue!"

Oonagh nearly spilled her drink, laughing.

The next day dawned fresh and bright, a light south-westerly wind scudded puff ball clouds across the early sun. The inc.u.mbents of Weathervane were already up and about. Marianne was busy putting finis.h.i.+ng touches to smoked salmon and cream cheese brioche, chunky cuc.u.mber and feta cheese salad and a hearty seafood chowder, all planned for supper, should they decide, depending on how Oonagh was feeling, to spend the night on the water.

Ryan had gathered together the ingredients for a number of c.o.c.ktails and had stuffed candles, a silver candelabra and a box of matches into a kit bag, having told Oonagh and Marianne to bring a change of clothes for dinner. It was going to be a grandiose affair.

By the time they had loaded the 4x4, fitted Monty into his life vest, collected Oonagh and the baggage of drugs, lotions and potions which seemed to follow her everywhere, kissed Bridget and Miss MacReady farewell, Padar and Father Gregory had the boat s.h.i.+pshape and ready to sail. The sun was blazing as they clambered on board, Padar helping Oonagh as she struggled with the two walking sticks she had come to rely on, refusing point blank the wheelchair he had tried to insist she used, at least around the village. He settled her on cus.h.i.+ons in the shade just inside the c.o.c.kpit. Swathed in layers of purple and magenta, she was wigless and had taken to wearing a turban studded with crystals, and huge, 1960s-style sungla.s.ses, refusing the lifejacket he proffered. She tugged off her pink deck shoes to reveal scarlet toenails, stark against her thin, white feet.

Marianne took up position opposite her. She had not sailed since she was a youngster, so would await instruction from the helmsman. Slightly apprehensive, she was relieved all the men were competent sailors. As this was a big boat and new to them all, she did not want anything to spoil what was to be a glorious and unforgettable maiden voyage. She glanced upwards, not a cloud in the sky. Monty, having completed his inspection of the deck, trotted back to the c.o.c.kpit to nestle beside Oonagh, his chin on her lap.

"Fenders in," Padar shouted.

"Fenders in," Ryan replied.

"Cast off."

"Cast off." Father Gregory jumped from the quayside, onto the boat.

The engine purred as Padar swung the gleaming vessel away from sh.o.r.e, heading boldly out to sea.