Better Together (29 page)

‘It’s good to be here with you,’ said Nina when they were sitting at the pine table, which was covered by an old-fashioned oilskin. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been around, but I haven’t felt like talking. Or, to be honest, listening to other people’s advice. But since I’ve been forced into conversation with the girl who’s staying with me, I felt the time had come to chat to people who are really my friends.’

‘The journalist.’ Peggy poured the tea. ‘Sheridan Gray. What’s she like?’

‘Friendly, if a bit too curious and gossipy,’ said Nina. ‘I think she’s in shock at being in Ardbawn, to be honest. I’m sure the
Central News
is a bit on the quiet side for her.’

‘Oh, people always think country towns are quiet,’ Peggy said. ‘But all life goes on here.’

‘She’s stressed about having lost her job,’ Nina continued. ‘And of course she’s only at the
Central News
as cover for Myra.’

‘Speaking of whom, she had her baby last night.’ Peggy shared the latest news, knowing that they’d eventually start talking about Sean but aware that it was difficult for Nina to launch into what she wanted to say. ‘I was in the newsagent’s today and Eleanor told me. A girl. Seven pounds two. A little early, but I’m sure Myra won’t mind that, better than being overdue.’

‘That’s great news.’ Nina knew and liked Myra. ‘I must send her a card.’

‘And your journalist can do an interview with her about being a new mum.’ Peggy grinned.

‘She keeps asking me about Paudie O’Malley,’ said Nina, tapping her finger on the rim of her cup.

Peggy looked at her friend enquiringly.

‘She thinks he’s hiding a dark secret.’

‘Does she indeed?’

‘I’m not sure how convinced she is about that,’ admitted Nina. ‘But she was talking about his desire to keep himself to himself. She thinks there’s a reason for it.’

‘We don’t need reasons not to want to be public people,’ said Peggy.

‘Hmm.’ Nina sighed. ‘I understand how Sheridan’s mind is working. Paudie has a fearsome reputation for being ruthless in business and inaccessible in private. It’s not usual. Those hard-core businessmen are usually all over the finance pages in the papers. And often on the social pages too with their trophy wives.’ Her voice hardened.

‘And are you worried about what she’ll uncover? Is Paudie?’

‘I haven’t spoken to Paudie in years,’ said Nina. ‘It’s not that I’m worried, or that there’s anything to be worried about in that context. It’s just . . . she knows nothing about us and it’s weird having someone nosy and gossipy around the place asking questions that nobody else thinks to ask any more. Though I guess it’s just an occupational hazard with all journalists.’

Peggy smiled. ‘You could hardly call DJ gossipy.’

‘No,’ agreed Nina. ‘God love him, but he’s far too sweet to be running a paper. If Sheridan was in charge, she’d be investigating all sorts of stuff going on in this town that we try to pretend isn’t happening. Like Donie Ferriter taking backhanders for re-zoning decisions, which was an absolute disgrace.’

‘Sometimes it’s easier to let things slide,’ said Peggy. ‘I don’t have the energy to fight those battles any more.’

‘Nonsense. You’re fit as a fiddle,’ said Nina.

‘Maybe for some things,’ conceded Peggy. ‘But there’s times you think you’ve argued the toss before and you just can’t summon up the will to do it again. We did the re-zoning thing ten years ago. I can’t face a repeat of it.’

‘That’s how I feel about Sean,’ said Nina. She pressed her fingers to her eyes. ‘Here we are all over again. A mess.’

‘All over again?’

‘You know there was a . . . lapse before.’

‘I’ve never asked about it and you don’t have to tell me.’

‘Which I’m grateful for. For your unconditional support. I can always depend on you, Peggy.’

‘I’m your friend,’ said Peggy simply.

‘Anyway, that’s all water under the bridge, but he swore on my mother’s grave he’d never do anything like it again. If we were in a horror movie – which sometimes I feel I am – she’d come back to haunt him.’

Peggy laughed and then apologised. ‘I know it’s not funny. But the image of Dolores haunting Sean is a very powerful one.’

‘Isn’t it,’ agreed Nina. She told her friend about the letter from Sean’s solicitor.

‘D’you think he’s serious about selling the house?’ Peggy sounded shocked for the first time.

‘I don’t know.’

‘It’s the family home,’ said Peggy.

‘And the family business. God knows, Peggy, if I had to sell the house because of Sean, my mother would probably come back to haunt
me
!’

‘Is there much of a mortgage on it now?’ asked Peggy.

‘It’s manageable,’ replied Nina. ‘We’ve repaid most of what
we took out for the renovations. It was something my mother drilled into me, and I’m glad she did. It meant that when the bad times came, we weren’t struggling with mountains of debt like some other people. But still, it hasn’t been easy the last few years.’

‘Who are you telling?’ Peggy shook her head. ‘We’ve never had such a bad time here. Larry is demented every time he looks at the accounts.’

Larry and Peggy had been married for over thirty years. He was a man who was happy to stay in the background, but Peggy always said she’d be lost without him.

‘For the first time ever he talked about selling up, but Tina threw a fit at the idea,’ she told Nina.

Nina wasn’t surprised. Larry and Peggy’s only daughter had worked at the riding school all her life.

‘I suppose it’s her inheritance,’ said Peggy. ‘But I can’t help thinking we’re bequeathing her a millstone.’

Nina suddenly wondered what would happen when she was too old to run the guesthouse herself. Neither Alan nor Chrissie had any interest in it as a business. She supposed they’d sell it. The idea of the house passing out of the family hurt, yet she wouldn’t blame her children for letting it go. They had their own lives to lead. It took her a moment or two to realise that she hadn’t thought of Sean as part of this picture. Even after she realised it, she still couldn’t quite figure out where he was in the grand scheme of things.

‘I guess it’s fortunate for me that Tina wants to take over,’ continued Peggy. ‘Just like you did from your mam. But times change. Our kids aren’t always interested in the same things as us.’

‘I know,’ said Nina. ‘I’ve always known that about mine. I just never thought about it before.’

‘But you’ve got a good few years in you yet, woman!’ Peggy guffawed. ‘You’re only a young one yourself.’

‘Nearly fifty,’ said Nina. ‘In mam’s day, that was old.’

‘And these days it’s not.’

‘Not when the government doesn’t want us to retire until we’re seventy plus,’ observed Nina. She frowned. ‘I’ve always thought that the guesthouse was my life, but now I’m imagining another twenty-odd years dishing up a full Irish to people every morning, and suddenly it seems less appealing. All the same,’ she added, ‘I don’t want to be forced into selling it yet. Not because of Sean.’

‘D’you think he genuinely wants a reconciliation?’ Peggy glanced at the solicitor’s letter, which Nina had brought to show her.

‘They probably have to say that,’ said Nina. ‘To make it seem like he’s the wronged party.’

‘If it was just a fling . . .’ Peggy looked at her thoughtfully. ‘You know what men are like, Nina. They’re so damn easy to flatter. A young girl, a few drinks . . . they think they’re young and virile and handsome again.’

‘I’m quite sure it’s just a fling, no matter what Lulu Adams might think. What I don’t know is whether I should forgive him for it just because he’s decided he wants to be forgiven.’

‘D’you
want
to forgive him?’

‘Almost from the moment I told him to go. And yet now that he’s asked to come back, I’m not so sure.’

‘Maybe you should go for counselling or something,’ suggested Peggy.

‘Ah, no.’ Nina shook her head. ‘I’m not into that, really I’m not.’

‘It could be useful.’

‘I don’t want to sit and talk about my problems,’ said Nina. ‘I know exactly what they are.’

Peggy grinned. ‘Which is a start.’

‘And I suppose the question I need to ask myself is . . . how many chances should someone get before you realise that you’re the fool after all?’

Peggy looked at Nina in silence. Then she poured them both another cup of tea.

The driveway that led to March Manor was long, with a gentle curve. Sheridan was almost certain that another car would come hurtling down from the house to the open gates, and she was ready to swerve out of the way, but nothing appeared in front of her and soon she was gliding to a halt in front of Paudie O’Malley’s home.

It was a beautiful building, Georgian in its styling, with wide steps leading up to a glossy white-painted door with an overhead fanlight window. There were two sash windows either side of the door and five across the top on the upper storey. In front of each of the upper-floor windows was a narrow wrought-iron balcony, painted black. Sheridan stared at them for a moment, wondering from which, if any of them, Elva had fallen to her death. The thought made her look at the gravel outside the car, as though she might have stopped in a pool of blood. It was an uncomfortable feeling.

Just as uncomfortable, from Sheridan’s point of view, was what she intended to do now that she was here. She’d acted impulsively, without a plan, and she was beginning to regret it.
Normally, when she was interviewing somebody, she’d already done buckets of research and worked out her questions in advance. She would also have made an appointment to see them. She didn’t know what had triggered the sudden impulse to turn in to Paudie O’Malley’s driveway. And now that she was here, she had no idea what to do next.

The best thing, without a doubt, would be to turn around and drive out again. Which was exactly what she was going to do. Right now. Before she got into a situation she couldn’t retrieve.

And then the front door was suddenly opened. The woman standing at the top of the steps was tall and slender, wearing an elegant black dress and black heels, her dark hair pinned back from her face, a short string of pearls around her neck. She reminded Sheridan of photos she’d seen of Jackie O, although without Jackie’s signature sunglasses. She gestured to Sheridan, who slowly got out of the car.

‘You’re early,’ said the woman. ‘How did you get in?’

‘The gates were open.’ Sheridan looked at her in confusion. ‘Someone was leaving as I drove in.’

‘Peter should’ve closed them behind him. He’s dreadful like that.’ The woman sighed.

Sheridan recalled that Peter O’Malley was the younger of the two O’Malley sons. This woman, she thought, must be the elder daughter. Sinead. Who seemed to have mistaken her for someone else entirely.

‘I think you’ve made a mistake . . .’ she began, when there was the sound of a phone trilling.

‘I’ve got to answer that,’ said Sinead. ‘Come in and wait for me.’

Sheridan thought of getting back into the car and speeding
down the driveway again, but an inexorable force was drawing her to the house despite her better judgement. So she followed Sinead up the steps and into March Manor.

Paudie’s daughter opened the door to a room off the hallway. Sheridan remained just outside.

It was an impressive hallway. The parquet floor was gleaming. The walls were painted in a deep maroon above a dado rail, and a buttermilk white beneath. They were hung with a number of paintings in gold frames, most of which seemed to be of the local area. Sheridan recognised one of the bridge over the Bawnee River. An enormous chandelier hung from the ceiling.

‘Swarovski.’ Sinead had come out of the room again and seen Sheridan staring at it. ‘Personally I think it’s a bit vulgar, but it’s lovely when it’s lit.’ She smiled warmly. ‘Sorry about that. I’m trying to organise about a million things all at the same time, and I’m the world’s worst planner.’

Sheridan was relieved that the other woman didn’t seem to be as chilly as she’d first imagined, although the chill might reappear when she found out that she was making a mistake about Sheridan’s reason for being here.

‘You’re still a bit early,’ Sinead said. ‘Peter will only be gone for a few minutes, but I have to wait till he comes back before we go. Would you like to sit in the drawing room?’

‘I’m sorry, Sinead, isn’t it?’ Sheridan knew she had to come clean straight away, although she was aching to check out more of the house. ‘I’m not your taxi driver, if that’s what you thought.’

‘Oh.’ Sinead looked startled. ‘In that case, why on earth are you here?’

‘I’m an employee of the
Central News
.’ Even as she said
the words, she couldn’t help thinking it might have been better to have lied. To have said that she was a tourist who’d got lost or something and was looking for directions. Although why a lost tourist would turn up the driveway of a private house would be almost as difficult to explain as her real reasons for being here.

What were you thinking? she asked herself again.

‘Is there a problem at the paper?’ asked Sinead. ‘DJ didn’t call.’

‘Does he usually?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Sinead. She frowned. ‘Who are you? I don’t remember seeing you before.’

‘Sheridan Gray. I’m Myra’s maternity cover.’

‘Of course.’ Sinead nodded slowly. ‘DJ told me he’d got someone in. Pleased to meet you.’

‘You too.’

‘My father isn’t here,’ said Sinead. ‘Did you want to talk to him about something? I’d offer you coffee, but, like I said, I’m going out shortly and—’

‘No. No.’ Sheridan shook her head. ‘I . . . Well, truthfully I didn’t entirely intend to come here, it was a bit of a mistake on my part.’

‘Oh?’ Sinead was looking at her curiously.

‘I . . .’ Sheridan wanted to phrase her intentions carefully. Sinead was still being polite and reasonably friendly, and she didn’t want to alienate her. ‘I’d been thinking of talking to your father about his business success.’

‘But what’s that got to do with the
Central News
?’ asked Sinead.

‘Nothing really,’ conceded Sheridan. ‘I just thought it would be interesting to talk to him.’

Sinead still looked puzzled. ‘I don’t understand . . .’