The Stone House (4 page)

She was fond of the older woman and hugged her warmly.

‘I was wondering where you were.'

‘I was just in the kitchen checking on things.'

They smiled, both knowing that checking on things meant checking on Poppy and Rachel Belling, the caterers. The girls ran a polished operation from a small shop on the corner of Granville Street, and with word-of-mouth recommendations now needed to be booked almost a month in advance.

‘Everything is in hand and we should be ready to sit down and eat in about twenty minutes or so.'

Moya smiled. Ken Mitchell was a stickler for not eating too late, claiming it caused ulcers, and usually liked to entertain at home rather than in expensive restaurants.

‘Have another glass of champagne,' insisted their host, topping up her glass. ‘You look beautiful tonight, my dear, as always.'

He was a nice man but she wondered if he ever said such nice things to his wife. Patrick had worked with him in the busy accountancy firm for the past ten years, ever since they'd moved from Ireland.

‘Thank you, Ken. You're looking pretty good yourself,' she joked.

He was a short, stocky man with a thatch of almost white hair and in a few weeks' time he would be sixty-five. He had announced his intention to retire from heavy practice work and vacate the position of head partner but would remain on as director.

‘Hilary tells me that you are going to South Africa in a few months,' said Moya.

‘Well we haven't seen Vanessa and her brood for almost two years so we reckon it's high time we made
the trip to Cape Town. It's hard for her to get away now with the four kids.'

‘Hilary's very excited about it.'

‘To tell the truth so am I. We'll play a bit of golf, and Vanessa's organizing a safari trip for us to one of the big game parks. I haven't looked forward to anything so much for years. Retirement might be the best thing ever, it's now time to pass on the baton.'

She smiled. She could see it in his face. He'd worked hard for so many years building a huge practice and list of clients and had more than earned his time off. God knows how many missed dinners and good-night stories and school visits had happened under this roof, Hilary managing somehow to hold the family together. She glanced over to see her husband deep in conversation with Simon Clifford, the head of Tax.

Caroline Clifford looked bored, her mind somewhere else as she chatted with Ruth Taylor, Tom's wife.

She liked the Taylors and always found them good company. Their son Max was in the same school as Gavin, their twelve-year-old.

Moya walked over to join their conversation, Caroline excusing herself as they talked of the forthcoming Easter holidays and the school play.

‘I'm going out to the terrace for a fag. Don't tell Simon where I've gone.' The tightly fitted black sheath dress made Caroline look like a tall whippet as she slipped through the terrace doors.

‘How does she keep that figure?' sighed Ruth, enviously; she'd put on about two stone after her last baby and never managed to get it off. ‘Do you think I should try smoking?'

‘Don't be mad. Smoking would be bad for you and the kids.'

‘I guess so.'

‘You know so,' joked Moya.

There were two other couples due: Susan Owens their corporate finance specialist and her husband James who worked in stockbroking and Dudley Palmer and his wife. Moya loved meeting Eleanor Palmer; the sixty-year-old was a rather well-known crime writer and loved annoying her stuffy husband by regaling those around her with gruesome details of the crimes that the police were working on.

Another glass of champagne and Ken called them in for dinner. Moya was delighted to be sitting near Hilary and Tom. Patrick cast his eyes to heaven when he realized that he was sitting between Caroline and Ruth and would be expected to keep the peace. At least he was near enough to Ken to be included in his conversation, thought Moya. This dinner was more than just a cosy get-together of colleagues and wives. Patrick was convinced that Ken was taking his time and sussing out his future replacement.

‘He wants to leave the place in good hands,' he'd told her on the way over. ‘So remember, tonight is very important.'

Moya could sense her husband was tense and wished he would just relax and enjoy the easy company of those around him and forget office politics for one night. She smiled over at him, rotating her shoulders ever so slightly, which was her secret ‘relax' signal.

The food was excellent, the girls working a treat as
per usual. Hilary was at ease, knowing everything was in the capable hands of professionals as one course was served after another. Moya gave up worrying about Patrick and concentrated on enjoying the night. She was stressed and tired at the moment and a few hours of interesting conversation and a few glasses of red wine would no doubt work wonders.

There was a fillet of lamb with all the trimmings. Ken, not comfortable with newfangled fancy food, had insisted on a simple menu.

‘The lamb is very good, Hilary, just perfect.'

She helped herself to baby new potatoes and minted peas and the carrot and parsnip bake, noting the men were enjoying the good food. There were roasted onions and a piping hot gravy, the smell making her realize just how hungry she really was.

The talk turned as usual to golf and holidays and property. Moya put on a smile, pretending she was interested as Simon and Caroline bragged on about the two new apartments they had just purchased as an investment.

‘They should double their price over the next ten years,' smirked Caroline.

‘Think the property market's overheating, myself,' murmured Ken as he helped himself to more lamb. Moya felt like hugging him for his good sense.

The food and the wine worked and she felt relaxed and at ease, noticing Patrick ditch his jacket on the back of his chair as he unwound. Sometimes she forgot how handsome her husband was. Seeing him every day it was easy to take his six-foot-five-inch height and good looks for granted. It was only the reaction of other
women to his sheer physical presence that reminded her. Looking around at all the other men, there was no competition. Patrick was just Patrick. He smiled at her and for an instant it was as if they were the only two at the table. He was a master at that – turning on the charm and making whatever female he had his eye on feel special. She had seen him do it so often and was conscious of the effect he had on women of all ages. Just because he was playing the adoring husband, faithful and true, in front of his colleagues, it meant nothing. She ignored him and turned her attention to Hilary who was asking about the children.

‘I heard your eldest has just started in St Andrew's. How is he liking it?'

Moya flushed. Gavin going to an expensive private school so far from home was a bone of contention between herself and Patrick. She would have preferred him to be educated at one of the good boys' schools close by.

‘It's taking time, Hilary, but he's settling in,' interrupted Patrick. ‘He played rugby last term and I think next term it will be cricket.'

‘So he's sporty!'

‘Look at your boys, how well they turned out,' he added. ‘Gavin is very privileged to have been accepted by St Andrew's and, all going well, Danny will follow in his footsteps.'

Moya said nothing. She was the one who had dealt with Gavin's pleading to stay with his pals and not to move to a new school where he knew nobody. To her mind there wasn't the remotest chance of sending Danny, their youngest, there. Patrick had notions about
what was the right and correct thing to do without taking their own family needs into consideration. He worked so hard – long hours in the office, after hours, at weekends, entertaining clients, touting for new business – that it was no wonder he was remote from the family, a distant father who expected to control things.

She was relieved when the dinner talk turned to the gory details of Eleanor's new book and the possibility of it being turned into a television series.

‘That would be wonderful,' gushed Ruth, who was a big fan.

‘You never believe those film and TV types till the deal is done,' added Dudley.

‘I was thinking I might be like Hitchcock and ask for a walk-on extra role,' teased Eleanor, deliberately. Poor Dudley cringed at the thought of his wife on TV. The rest of the dinner table was in absolute kinks of laughter.

‘Don't mind her, Dudley,' soothed Hilary, knowing full well that her best friend was quite capable of such an eccentric request.

Moya secretly hoped she would as it would drive the senior partners in the firm crazy.

The plates were just being cleared when Moya was called to the phone.

She jumped up immediately and Poppy showed her to the phone in the hall. Out of politeness, all their mobiles had been either switched off or left at home and she prayed there wasn't some absolute calamity at home.

‘Yes,' she said as she grabbed at the receiver.

‘Moya, it's Kate. I've some bad news about Mum.'

She flushed. She hadn't spoken to her sister for an age and she leaned against the wood panelling as Kate told her about their mother.

‘I'd left a message but you hadn't replied so Fiona gave me your mobile number and the number of where you are. You are coming?'

‘I'll get a flight as soon as I can and hire a car. You just stay with her, Kate, and I'll get there as soon as I can, promise.'

She closed her eyes, unbelieving, getting her breath and trying to think. She dialled the operator and got put straight through to the airline, the words tumbling out as she told them her situation. They could put her on the last flight from Heathrow to Dublin but she would have to be there in just over two hours and fifteen minutes. She booked it and stood trembling at the dining-room door. Patrick came out to join her.

‘Is it the kids? What's happened? Is one of them sick?'

She shook her head.

‘We have to leave right now. Mammy's in hospital, Kate says she's in intensive care, and they are doing everything they can to save her. I've got to go straight away, I can get a seat on the last Aer Lingus flight from Heathrow.'

‘We can't just walk out on Hilary and Ken like that.'

‘It's my mother, for God's sake!'

She could see it in his face. He was torn between staying at the party and getting her to the airport.

‘You bastard!' she screamed at him. ‘You stay here if that's what you want but I'm going home to Ireland!'

Hilary and Ken appeared, and Moya quickly explained the situation. Hilary hugged her close.

‘I remember the day I got word about my mother, Lord rest her. Ken and I drove to Scotland like two maniacs. No, you've got to go and get on that flight, get home as soon as you can.'

‘I'm sorry for ruining your party,' she apologized.

‘Don't even think like that, my dear,' insisted Ken. ‘Family must come first.'

Three hours later she had boarded the flight, a small bag stuffed with essentials by her teenage daughter stored in the overhead rack. Moya closed her eyes and silently prayed.

ROMY STARED AT
the ceiling, listening to the distant hum of traffic from Lexington and 57th Street below and the night sounds of the city as Greg lay snoring slightly beside her, his arm flung across her chest, his naked body close to hers. She stroked his skin: it was soft and warm and she loved the way he smelled. Wholesome and manly, he didn't douse himself with colognes and body sprays and deodorants like some of the guys she'd been with. He didn't need to. She pushed herself into the curve of his shoulder wishing she could snuggle there and drift into sleep. She needed to sleep, forget her aunt's call and the lonesome thought of her mother lying in a hospital bed. Going home was something she didn't even want to think about. Where did Kate and her Aunt Vonnie get off with telling her what to do!

Vonnie had even threatened never to speak to her again if she didn't fly home immediately. She'd had a bellyful of them all and the very thought of returning to Rossmore and seeing the Stone House where she'd grown up made her feel panicked and nervous. She had
no wish to revisit that part of her life, and as far as she was concerned there was no going back.

Guilt tormented her as she tossed and turned, rebuking her, forcing her to confront the possibility of her mother dying without her presence. A sound of utter despair escaped from her.

‘Hey, Romy, are you OK?'

She was too choked to speak, too wrapped up in her own misery.

‘You're thinking about your mother.'

She nodded in the darkness.

He rolled over towards her, and Romy was glad of his comforting warmth as she buried her face against his shoulder, wanting to erase the anxiety and dread within her.

‘You know, I wasn't there when my dad died,' he confided. ‘I was away at college when he had his heart attack.'

‘That wasn't your fault!'

‘I know, but they'd sent word to the dean. But, I'd skipped lectures that day. Took off with a few of the guys and was busy skirt-chasing and downing beers when my old man passed on. He'd been fit and healthy up till then.'

‘You being there wouldn't have changed a thing,' she reasoned. ‘Not a thing.'

‘I know, but sometimes I wonder if there was something he might have wanted to say to me, I can't help myself.'

‘Don't beat yourself up over it,' she argued.

‘Yeah well I sure know about it now. Tom and Julia are always on about it! They get to recall the way he
looked and the last thing he said to them. It still cuts me up.'

‘You're a big softie. Anyways, families are different. My mother's unconscious. She probably won't know who's there or not, and me turning up might even make things worse.'

In the near darkness she could feel his eyes on her.