A Change of Heart (The Heartfelt Series) Page 16

  Oh do you? Marianne thought to herself, well think again, lady! She looked towards the ferry port; lights were coming on.

  “Won’t be long now. Shall I walk you back to Maguire’s? Pat can get the taxi loaded.”

  Angelique struggled to her feet. Marianne thought she was going to be sick, but taking Marianne’s hand, she steadied herself and walked falteringly on.

  “Thanks,” she said, seemingly grateful for a little kindness.

  “Just helping you safely off the island,” Marianne said, with a grim smile.

  Back at Maguire’s, Angelique emerged from the bathroom reading a text. She seemed even more anxious. Were they on to her, Marianne wondered, had the investigators tracked her down?

  “Can I get you a coffee? Would you like something to eat?” Marianne offered.

  “No, I’d like to see my son. I need to see Joey, to say goodbye.” Angelique pushed her cellphone into her bag. Marianne looked her up and down, slowly.

  “Are you completely mad?” she let the question hang in the air for a moment, “There is no way on this planet I’d let you within a hundred miles of that child ever again. You nearly killed him. You put God knows what in his drink to stop him crying, and you nearly killed him.” Marianne walked across the room and gripped the other woman by the arm. “I’ve been extremely patient, Angelique, now I suggest you put your bags in the car and get on that ferry before I call the police and you end up back where you came from. ‘See my son’, indeed!”

  Angelique broke free. “How dare you? You two-bit whore! Who do you think you’re talking to? Why you ain’t even hired help for Chrissakes!”

  Marianne continued to glare at her. Angelique’s eyes filled with tears, hard to tell whether acting skills were coming into to play or not.

  “You have taken everything from me, everything. The man I love, my only child. You’ve lied and cheated your way into my life and all you wanted was to rob me of my own family. You’re a despicable bitch, Marianne Coltrane, and I’ll never forgive you for what you’ve done. Why you’ve killed me stone dead!” Bit too soap opera to be Oscar-winning Marianne thought, but not bad.

  Angelique, hands trembling, reached for her vanity case and, flipping clasps open, began rummaging through its contents, popping pills out of blister packs straight into her mouth. Horrified Marianne pulled the case out of her hand.

  “What are you doing? Stop, Angelique, for God’s sake, you’ve just had your stomach pumped.”

  Angelique pushed a pile of pills into her mouth. Marianne slapped her hard behind the shoulder blades, she spat them out.

  “Stop it!” Marianne shouted.

  “I’ll make sure he never marries you,” Angelique said between sobs.

  “I don’t care about that,” Marianne went back at her. “I only care about them, Ryan and Joey.”

  “But you have everything I want,” Angelique cried.

  “No, Angelique, you have everything I want, everything I have ever wanted, to marry the man I love and to have his child. It’s you, Angelique, who has everything!”

  Angelique threw herself on the bed. Marianne raised her eyes to heaven.

  “But I can’t go on, you’ve ruined my life,” she wailed.

  “I think you’ll find, Angelique, it’s you who’s ruined your life!” Marianne was furious.

  “Then I shall end it,” she screeched, with all the drama she could muster.

  “Then do!” Marianne said, throwing the vanity case and its contents on the bed beside her.

  “You’ll be sorry for this,” Angelique hissed as Marianne left.

  “I already am.” Marianne collided with Larry on the landing. Her eyes swept over him - belted raincoat, hat, holdall.

  “Everything okay?” he asked, nervously.

  “Just peachy,” she said, giving Larry a crooked smile.

  “I’m leaving with Angelique,” he told her. “I think it’s best I go with her don’t you?”

  “Good luck,” she said, heading down the stairs.

  “Is that all you have to say?” Larry asked plaintively.

  “You’ll need it!” Marianne called back, slamming the door as she left.

  Chapter Seventeen

  A Place In The Clouds

  Larry stood in the doorway. “It’s for the best. I can keep an eye on things,” he said soothingly.

  “I don’t need keeping an eye on, thank you,” Angelique retorted, snapping the clasp on her case.

  “Angelique, please,” Larry placed his hands on hers, “you’re not well sweetheart, I’ll be there if you need me is all, okay?”

  She gave him one of her dreamy looks, eyes filled with tears.

  “It’s not in my nature to cause a fuss, you know that, but if you think it’s for the best, okay, I would hate to put you to any trouble.” She clicked her fingers at Pat MacReady, smoking nervously in the porch.

  The rain was relentless: the wind pushing it round the car park in icy swirls. Larry shivered, tucking his scarf inside his coat. He looked along the lane, hoping for a glimpse of colour, someone coming to say goodbye, someone warm and friendly, who would say she would miss him until they met again, but the street remained grey and empty.

  “We’ll have to get a move on sur, if we’re to make that plane,” Pat told him as he put the last of the movie star’s bags in the car. Larry helped Angelique into the back. Balancing luggage on his lap, he squashed into the passenger seat. He pulled the sun visor down. Shit he thought, no vanity mirror, he wanted to keep an eye on her. He shrugged. What harm could she do? Pop a few diazepam, take a swig of vodka from her hip flask. She had been well frisked: anything remotely dangerous removed and flushed away. Pat started the car, the windscreen wipers totally inept against the driving rain.

  “You will take it steady now Pat,” Larry said as the driver revved the engine, spun the wheel and screeched away. Larry was not the most relaxed passenger in the world. Angelique sighed, closing her eyes behind huge designer sunglasses.

  “Driver, you get me as far away from this godforsaken hell hole as fast as you can!” She pulled the fur collar up around her ears.

  Larry’s cellphone bleeped to life as they left the village, he checked it hopefully. It was only a message from his network. She really was mad with him then. Perhaps just as well, he was growing uncommonly fond of her, he thought grimly, gripping the door as Pat swerved to avoid yet another pothole en route to the ferry and the road to Knock.

  Safe within the civilised confines of business class, Larry wrapped himself in a blanket, secured earphones in his ears and pulled the eye-mask down; at last they were on board, next stop New York. Larry loathed flying. He hated being manhandled by security, fawned over by stewardesses and air-conditioned to freezing point. He detested taking off, being suspended in the sky and then plummeting to the ground, but until now he always endured this excruciating discomfort on his own. To have this horrendous experience exacerbated by Angelique’s incessant whingeing was almost unbearable.

  She was complaining about not being in first class, refusing to accept these were the only seats available, and her constant stream of unrealistic demands - asking loudly why did she have to switch her phone off - and general bad behaviour was more than his nerves could stand. When Angelique announced she had spotted an old friend in first class and was going to join them for a glass of champagne, Larry nearly wept with joy.

  “Take it easy,” he said pointedly, as she reapplied lip gloss, ahead of pouncing on her hapless friend, “the airline is very strict about overindulgence.”

  “Oh Larry, you’re such an old woman,” Angelique told him, and with a toss of her hair, flounced up the aisle.

  He was dreaming about Innishmahon: he was in Maguire’s, it was warm, he could hear sweet music playing...someone tapped him on the shoulder, would he like another drink, a big juicy steak?

  “Sir, I’m very sorry sir, but the lady who was with you, she was with you sir, wasn’t she?” Larry pushed his eye-mask onto his
forehead; he gazed glassily into two pairs of very concerned eyes. The male steward was frowning, the female indicated for Larry to remove his earphones.

  “Sir, could you come with me please?” the steward said, gripping Larry’s arm. Larry did not want to be released from the comfort of his blanket. He felt warm and safe there; he could tell that wherever they wanted him to go, it would not be warm and it would be far from safe. The steward gave a furtive look around the cabin. “Please sir, I must insist.”

  Larry grunted, freed himself and stood. Looking down the aeroplane he could see first class was cordoned off, and there were two more stewards on guard at the entrance.

  “Oh dear,” he winced, “has she been causing trouble?” They started to guide him down the aisle. “Is she drunk, is that it?” The stewards kept walking. “Oh no, it’s worse, she’s stoned, gee I’m so sorry.” The stewards outside first class parted to let them through. Another area had been cordoned off with yellow tape. How come they always had yellow tape? Larry thought vaguely. Something bulky lay under the standard-issue airline blanket. Larry could just see a single strand of glossy black hair. He knew immediately that beneath the blanket was one of the world’s most famous movie stars. He stopped and put his hand to his mouth.

  “Oh my God, is it...is it Angelique?” he said, his voice strangled.

  “If you could officially identify the body sir, that would be most helpful,” said the steward who had led him through.

  “Body?” Larry repeated, horrified.

  “I’m afraid your companion is dead sir.” The steward waited for the news to sink in. Larry was blinking rapidly. “She locked herself in the bathroom, sir. When we finally gained access, I’m sorry to say she was beyond help.” The pretty blonde stewardess looked into his face. Larry staggered a little, turning green.

  “Sick bag, quickly,” shouted the stewardess; as Larry relieved himself of the contents of his, already queasy, stomach.

  “It’s a fine boat,” Ryan said, having examined below deck, checked out the cabin, the hold, admired the solid in-board engine. He ran his fingers over the wheel. Dermot was fastening large fenders over the side. “You got it for a good price?”

  “Yeah, the fella I bought it off couldn’t make the repayments, only had it a season, said there was hardly a living in fishing these days. Said he was going to Australia, try his hand at computers?”

  Ryan pulled on a sheet, coiling the end neatly on deck.

  “History repeating itself. We’ve always had to leave to make our way in the world, yet something stays behind, pulling us back, pulling at the heart.” He looked back at the shore. Dermot laughed.

  “Some of us do better than others. I could have stayed in London, trying to be an actor, I suppose, but I needed to eat. Thank goodness my Pa was in the Gardaí and I was young enough to change career.” He handed Ryan a can of beer from the icebox, as the purring engine pushed them out to sea.

  “You were good though,” Ryan said. Dermot shrugged.

  “A struggling thespian only, not handsome enough, not well connected enough,” he shot Ryan a look.

  “I did offer to help, I’d have got you a part in a miniseries, you know that,” Ryan told him.

  “Ah, America, the land of opportunity,” Dermot looked out across the Atlantic. Ryan took a swig from his can, his hands were cold; he rubbed his fingers together.

  “Weren’t you with a girl at the time?” he reminded his friend.

  “Maybe, don’t recall,” Dermot said.

  “Yes, you do. A beautiful girl, well-heeled too, what was her name?” Ryan watched him. Dermot kept his face blank.

  “Annabelle Ellingham, that’s who it was, the singer. Now I remember! You were smitten, that’s why you didn’t follow me to the US. You’d fallen in love, that or you were thinking with your dick!” Ryan laughed. Dermot stayed silent. Ryan zipped up his jacket against the breeze, waves were breaking, it was becoming choppy.

  “What happened?” he said, more gently.

  “The usual,” Dermot tried to smile. “She was in love with someone else.” Dermot put pressure on the throttle.

  “Really? But she was always hanging around with you...us.” Ryan said. Dermot looked him up and down.

  “You’re a right thick culchie at times,” Dermot told his friend. “You, ya fecking eejit, she was in love with you. Ah, sure they were all in love with you.” He forced a laugh, pushing the throttle harder. The boat lurched; Ryan grabbed a rope to steady himself.

  “What’s the plan?” the movie star asked the captain as they bounced through the waves.

  “Let’s go round the island a couple of times. I need to get to know it like the back of my hand if I’m going to make sure the new lifeboat and crew is up to the job,” he said.

  “Do you need me for crew?” Ryan asked.

  “Yeah, I’ll give you a job, if you’re up to it,” Dermot said, then, looking away, “More than you ever gave me.”

  Ryan did not hear his last comment. “I’m up to it, have to keep myself fit don’t I? I’m an international super-spy amn’t I?” he said, flexing his biceps.

  Dermot laughed, more heartily this time.

  “No Ryan, you’re an actor and not a very good one either. You just got lucky. In fact, you get lucky with everything, you ugly son-of-a-bitch!”

  And Ryan laughed with him. He was probably right; the call from the Royal Shakespeare Company would not be forthcoming at this stage.

  They circumnavigated the island, when Dermot finally slowed the vessel and dropped anchor in a small cove, sheltered from the wind. Ryan went into the hold for the fishing tackle while Dermot heated soup. They sat companionably at the chart table, drinking thick creamy soup out of mugs. Ryan produced a lump of cheese and some fruit soda bread out of his backpack. He chopped it into chunks and they ate it between them, mopping the soup dregs out of the mugs with the sweet, fresh bread.

  Dermot opened a cupboard under his seat, pulling out a bottle of whiskey.

  “A tot only,” he said to Ryan.

  Ryan nodded. “Agreed, you have to keep your wits about you handling a vessel like this in unknown waters. Goes like the wind though. We got a fair old speed up out there.”

  Dermot smiled. “Yeah, I’m pleased. She handles well, turns on a sixpence and powers through the waves like a dream. A good steady vessel, up to the job.”

  “What job?” Ryan asked.

  “Anything I ask of her, I suppose, what more could a man want.”

  The sun came out. A bank of cloud like spun cotton drifted away to the east; the island shone like an emerald in the sunlight, the cliffs glinting grey. The men shrugged off their sailing jackets and took up position, throwing their lines over the side.

  “Be a good spot for lobster pots, I reckon,” Ryan said, lighting one of his French cigarettes. The scent of sweet tobacco trickled past Dermot’s nose.

  “I thought you gave up, you being father to a youngster now? You’ll have to be politically correct, environmentally friendly as well as ecologically sound if you don’t want your parenting skills lambasted in the tabloids!” Dermot passed him another tot of whiskey. Ryan raised an eyebrow. “Sustainability,” Dermot said, downing his drink. Ryan laughed. He had forgotten how much he liked Dermot, how close they had once been.

  They were silent for a while, the water gently lapping against the bow, the sun giving the air a soft, heated glow.

  “Are you going to be okay?” Dermot asked as Ryan flicked the cigarette butt into the sea. The actor was the most relaxed he had been since his estranged wife’s arrival on the island.

  “Sure, we’ll be grand. We’ll all be grand.”

  “She’s some piece of work, Angelique. I mean, I can understand you getting involved, she’s absolutely gorgeous, but marrying her, was that a wise move?” Dermot asked.

  “No choice, really,” Ryan replied. “She was pregnant with Joey, he’s my boy, I’d have little or no chance of taking him out of the US if we’d not been
married, though he couldn’t have stayed with her either, with her issues!”

  Dermot nodded. “She is a bit...demanding.”

  Ryan looked at him. “You’ve had relations?”

  “Well yes, or she’s the one who had the relations as you so delicately put it. She’s very forthright.” Dermot had the good grace to look uncomfortable.

  “So I believe. Wasn’t like that with me though, in the beginning. Very much the lady, maybe because I’m a bit older, I had to do all the running.” Ryan looked out to sea, “it was awhile ago now, things hadn’t been good for a long time.”

  “Hey, I wouldn’t have gone there if I’d have thought...” Dermot put his hands up.

  “I know that. Like I said, a long time ago,” Ryan gave his companion a half-smile. Dermot was a red-blooded male, a bachelor, why would he refuse the advances of a stunning, up-for-it female.

  “And Marianne, where’s that going, not just another notch on the bedpost, surely?” Dermot asked, checking his line, no takers.

  “No way, she’s just great isn’t she? Intelligent, gorgeous, funny, she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Ryan’s face broke into a big grin.

  “Hope she knows that. Hope you’re going to make an honest woman of her then, because she’d be the one for me, no mistake.” Dermot slapped Ryan on the shoulder, “Wish she had a sister.”

  They both laughed. Ryan stopped suddenly. “Sadly, no can do the marriage thing at the moment. I haven’t asked her you understand, because even if I did, we can’t get married yet.”

  “What do you mean? You and Angelique get divorced, you and Marianne get married, make a go of it on the island, like you said you would.” Dermot was surprised.

  “Angelique’s managed to get a lawyer to tie me in knots. Not marrying again is one of the terms and conditions of the settlement, part of the custody deal.” Ryan looked at his hands.