A Change of Heart (The Heartfelt Series) Read online

  The young man with the rucksack was writing in a notebook. Ryan had barely thanked him for saving his son. He watched him as his teeth started to chatter. The man looked up, Ryan raised a hand in acknowledgement, too embarrassed to do more. Muttering to himself, he gathered his expensive luggage, and with shoulders back, squelched after the disappearing cluster: Marianne Coltrane: their goddaughter, baby Bridget, his infant son Joey and Monty the dog. In fact, all he loved in the world.

  “Wait for me,” he called, pointlessly.

  If Marianne was shocked by his arrival, she hid it well. By the time Ryan reached Weathervane, the cottage was warm and welcoming as ever, peat fire in the hearth, lamps lit, cushions and throws everywhere. He dropped his bags in the hall and stood at the kitchen door, taking it all in, feeling as if a very long journey had finally ended and he was home.

  Marianne was stirring soup, the children on the rug, gurgling at each other. He shivered.

  “Go and shower for heaven’s sake, you’ll catch your death,” she said, barely looking up, “I’ll settle these two once they’ve eaten.”

  “You seem annoyed with me,” he said.

  “Ha,” she whooshed water into the kettle at full throttle.

  “I thought you’d be pleased.” He went to stand beside her.

  “Did you now?” she moved away from him, heat burning a rash on her chest. She buttoned her shirt to the neck.

  “I thought this was what you wanted, me, us, together?” he was bemused. She banged the kettle on the range. “Have I done the wrong thing?” he asked.

  She was at the dresser, taking down mugs.

  “You most certainly have,” she replied, crashing open a cupboard in search of teabags.

  “You mean you don’t want me here,” his voice was harsh in his throat. He laid a hand gently on her shoulder. It branded like an iron. She swallowed. She could smell him. He moved closer, his musky sea-scent filled her nostrils. She could not breathe. She ducked under his arm and found sanctuary by the kitchen door. She opened the top half, letting the breeze cool her. He came to stand beside her, following her gaze out past the little windblown garden, the gate to the lane and the sliver of sea beyond. Grey clouds broiled above the Atlantic.

  “Marie,” he whispered, “tell me you want me back.” She did not answer. He stayed there, looking out to sea. She stole a glance at him as he watched the horizon, the breeze lifting his hair, thumb prints of tiredness stamped beneath his eyes. He caught her looking at him, and moved to block her view, lifting her chin with a finger, eyes burning into her.

  “Well?” he lowered his mouth to hover over hers, she tasted his breath. She stepped back, slamming the top of the door closed.

  “You’re wet. Go and shower, we’ll talk later,” she dismissed him.

  “Did I do the wrong thing?” he asked again.

  “Yes, Ryan you did,” she replied.

  “Don’t you love me then?” he spoke quietly.

  “Yes, Ryan I do,” she told him, avoiding his eyes.

  “Gotcha!” he shouted, making them all jump. “Knew I was still in with a chance, can’t resist me, mad about me, that’s obvious.”

  She picked a cushion up and threw it at him.

  “Don’t get carried away, boyo, we’ve a lot to discuss, things we should have agreed before now, before this.” She made a gesture encompassing them all.

  He gave an involuntary shudder.

  “Shower!” She pointed at the door.

  He left, attempting a sort of squishy samba, she rolled her eyes as he sashayed up the stairs.

  “God loves a trier,” she told Monty, who was waiting patiently for his soup.

  Padar Quinn was delighted to see him. He ran from behind the bar and clamped him in a huge hug. Ryan loved Maguire’s - it was a proper pub, a real home from home, blazing fire, flagstone floor, glasses polished, brass gleaming.

  “It’s great to see you. Look at you, you’re looking grand altogether, I have to say,” came the burbling diatribe of welcome from the nowadays recalcitrant landlord. Padar had not seen Ryan since Oonagh’s memorial service, so long ago, yet raw as yesterday. “Have you seen Marianne? Did you see Bridget? Do they know you’re here?” A barrage of questions, from a man who had said less than a sentence in weeks.

  “Hold your horses,” pleaded Ryan, now in clean, dry clothes and warmed with soup and tea, “how can I discuss anything without a pint of your finest inside me?”

  Padar grinned and pushed back behind the bar to draw his friend a pint. It was early, but Padar had never bothered with official opening and closing times.

  “You landed off the first ferry then?” he asked, waiting for the two-thirds to settle in the glass.

  “Came straight from Dublin after the TV show. Spent last night in Joyce MacReady’s bed and breakfast. I thought she’d be dying to see me, thought she’d be pleased.”

  Padar shrugged.

  “Did she not see the show? Is she the only person in Ireland who doesn’t watch it? I even asked Miss MacReady to tip her the wink I’d be on it, making an announcement, telling the whole world how I felt. Talk about wearing my heart on my sleeve!” Ryan said glumly.

  Padar handed him the pint. He took a grateful slurp.

  “I don’t understand,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Padar guffawed.

  “Ah, sure if you understood, well that would make you the only man on the planet who did.” He smiled at his friend, “Didn’t welcome you with open arms then?”

  Ryan’s turn to shrug.

  “Hardly. She told me to go, sort out my lodgings and she’d see me later. Joey fell asleep once he’d something to eat. She insisted I left him there, shooed me out of the house and here I am. I hope you have somewhere for us to stay, Padar?”

  Padar nodded enthusiastically.

  “Here, stay here with me. Loads of room, no women, we’ll have a gay old time, if you take my meaning,” said Padar, turning pink.

  “Not too gay, I hope,” boomed Father Gregory, swishing through the door, his cassock brushing the stone flags, as he strode up to take a stool. He greeted Ryan warmly, taking his hands in his.

  “Welcome home,” he smiled, “we’re delighted to have you back, for good is it?”

  “For good or evil,” Ryan grinned back, “but I intend to stay.”

  “Good man.” Father Gregory pumped his hand, as Padar placed a bottle of Budweiser before the priest. It was early for him too, but this was a special occasion.

  “Delighted are we?” Sean Grogan slid into the bar. “Yeah, we’re desperate for out-of-work actors and their kidnapped offspring here, agog with all the glamour and good fortune your presence will bestow upon the place. Can’t wait to see what you and that crazy woman, setting up holiday homes for rapists and vandals all over the shop, are planning to do next.”

  “Hello Sean,” Ryan laughed, “good to see you too.”

  “Better make mine a large one,” Sean told Padar.

  Father Gregory scowled at Sean, who was concentrating on his drink, “Not much has changed while you’ve been away.”

  “Oh, but it has, there’s loads going on,” called Miss MacReady from the doorway, hanging up a midnight-blue velvet cape and twirling so they could all get the benefit of her multi-coloured maxi dress and wellingtons painted with flowers. Padar checked his watch. He had not been busy this early since the storm, when the pub had proven sanctuary for half the village. Things were looking up.

  Ryan smiled as Miss MacReady approached, news of his arrival had spread like wildfire, no change there then. She threw her arms around him and kissed him lusciously on each cheek, leaving a fuchsia-pink imprint.

  “How’s my sister Joyce? Did she take good care of you? I told her not to charge you too much, famous film star or no, you’re practically my son-in-law and family’s family,” Miss MacReady gushed at him.

  “What?” Ryan exclaimed. The postmistress was famously ebullient, but after a long journey and at this hour
of the morning, she had Ryan completely flummoxed.

  Father Gregory put a restraining hand on Miss MacReady’s shoulder.

  “Take it steady Kathleen. He’s only off the boat and not even finished his pint yet,” Father Gregory said.

  Miss MacReady beamed at the priest.

  “You’re right, Gregory. One thing at a time,” she smiled broadly at Ryan. “Did you know I’m Marianne’s mother?”

  Ryan coughed, splattering her dress with what remained of his drink.

  “I probably wouldn’t have started with that,” Father Gregory reprimanded gently.

  “Leave while you still can,” Sean advised, giving Ryan a look as he slipped from his stool, “I would.”

  Miss MacReady ignored him. “Now, where shall I begin?” she asked of those gathered.

  By the time Miss MacReady recounted the story of a frightened young girl in a home for unmarried mothers, where she had just been told her newborn baby had died, the bar was silent. Miss MacReady explained that the girl, desperately ill and confused, had no choice but to accept her child was lost, yet knew deep down she had not been told the truth. She paused for breath. Ryan grasped her hand.

  “The ‘Babies for Sale’ scam. Marianne’s campaign.” Ryan was shocked, “No way, it can’t have happened to you?”

  “The very same,” Miss MacReady nodded gravely. “I was one of those unfortunate young women and Marianne is my little girl. The photo of her as a newborn exactly matches the one on my baby’s birth certificate, the picture I’ve treasured all these years. When I showed Marianne the paperwork relating to my baby’s death, she realised it was forged, just like those she’d been uncovering throughout her campaign. The pieces started to fit together.”

  “That’s an amazing story,” Father Gregory touched her shoulder, “but forgive me, it seems so far-fetched.”

  Ryan looked into her face. He could see a likeness, he was sure of it.

  “Not so far-fetched,” Miss MacReady continued, taking a quick sip of her Buck’s Fizz. “Marianne was adopted by the Coltranes - a couple who knew the island well, they often came to do research at the Marine Biology Unit. Maybe they heard about the young, unmarried mother, maybe someone knew they wanted a baby, maybe my baby was already earmarked for them.”

  Padar plonked a glass on the bar, “Ah Kathleen, now that is far-fetched, that’s like the Dark Ages.”

  Ryan pushed his glass forward, indicating another pint.

  “Padar, you’re wrong. I’ve read some of Marianne’s case studies, mothers and babies split up, the babies sold and I’m sorry to say Gregory, the church is often involved,” Ryan confirmed.

  “I know,” Father Gregory agreed, “that’s why Marianne’s work is so important. But how did you know your baby wasn’t dead, Kathleen?”

  “I think I’ve always known in here,” Miss MacReady thumped her chest, “but Marianne never researched her own background. A typical journalist, more interested in other people’s stories. Strangely enough, it turns out they were all her story. She was uncovering precisely what happened to her.”

  “But why were you sent to that place? Why couldn’t you stay and have your baby at home, your home? Who would put a frightened young girl through that?” Ryan was mystified.

  “My own family,” Miss MacReady replied steely eyed.

  Chapter Two

  Come Fly With Me

  New York: seven a.m. Larry dragged the eye-mask off his face and poked about for his ear plugs. Then sitting up, took a sip of water from the glass on the nightstand. His mouth was like a desert. He looked at the clock and checked the phone. The last call logged was his business partner, Lena, who also happened to be his sister. According to the machine she had called six times. This was a lot, even for Lena. Larry, a chronic insomniac, drugged himself so heavily at night he could not hear the phone. There were messages on the answer machine too: it flashed up at him urgently.

  Larry hauled himself out of bed and padded to the bathroom. He peed, put the seat back down, washed and dried his hands, then cleaned his teeth. The whir of his electric toothbrush made his head ache. He eyed himself in the mirror: teeth not bad, not good either. He could afford to have them fixed, there was money in the bank, the agency was doing well, successful even, especially as this season’s hottest movie star, Ryan O’Gorman was one of their long-standing clients.

  Should he call Lena back or shave first? He decided to shave first. Who knew what state he would be in after they spoke. Who could guess what was so goddamn urgent it required so many calls in the middle of the night? It was highly likely the impact of her communication would cause his hand to shake, rendering a safe shave impossible. Maybe their conversation would traumatise him so badly he would want to use the razor to end his own life. I must cut down on the sleeping pills, he thought, reaching for the bristle brush, hand already shaking.

  He dialled her number.

  “Larry, jeez how can you sleep at a time like this, haven’t you heard?” Lena sounded as if she were in the next room, not two and half thousand miles away in Los Angeles.

  “Heard what?” Larry tried to keep his voice calm. Lena was excitable at the best of times.

  “That friggin’ halfwit, O’Gorman, your beloved client,” she spat the words down the line, “he quit!”

  “Quit?” Larry repeated. “What do you mean, as in resigned?”

  “Yep, right there on TV, in front of millions, he told a chat show host he’s giving up his role as Thomas Bentley and moving to that godforsaken island he’s so friggin’ fond of.”

  “What?” Larry was on his feet now. “He can’t do that, it’s a three-movie deal, none of us gets our cut until he completes the movies.”

  “Tell me about it,” Lena said. “And the kid, he’s got the kid with him.”

  “I knew he had the kid. I heard Angelique’s up to her old tricks, on tour with some young rock star,” Larry told her.

  “Yeah, I heard that too, but she’s gonna hit the roof when she finds out Ryan’s taken the kid out of the US,” Lena confirmed.

  “Hell, but you’re right,” Larry groaned, his head buzzing. “I’m guessing this could get messy.”

  “It’s already messy. So here’s what to do, you get your sorry ass on an airplane quick and go bring Boy Wonder back immediately. I’ll do what I can to calm things down here.” Lena had clearly been thinking things through.

  “What’re you gonna tell Rossini?” Larry hissed into the phone.

  “Aliens have invaded Ryan’s body and infiltrated his brain, is probably the most plausible explanation I can come up with.” She hung up. Larry dialled another number.

  “Yes Mimi, you heard, a flight. I know it’s the weekend but I need you to get me on a flight. Yes, right now,” he spoke slowly and calmly into the phone, as if Mimi were somehow retarded. He waited.

  “Yes Mimi, that’s right, Ireland.” He waited again, “Yep, same trip as before.” He waited a long time. “Of course it’s goddamn urgent, why the heck else would I be ringing you on a weekend to get me on a friggin’ airplane!” He screeched, and then pleading, “No Mimi, don’t come over, my blood pressure is fine, just fine, okay?”

  In less than thirty minutes, Mimi was in his bathroom.

  “Please don’t touch anything in there, I told you I can manage already,” he called to her.

  “I can’t believe it!” She popped her perfect black bob into the bedroom. “Live on TV, in front of millions, he just quit, said it was over, his contract, his marriage, no explanation, no nothing?”

  Larry took his Donegal tweed coat out of the closet, changed his mind and put it back.

  “Hey, a publicity stunt is all. Judges on reality TV shows do it all the time, cranks up the ratings, you know that,” he told her.

  Mimi was sorting through bottles.

  “Does he want more money?” Mimi always worried about the pocketbook, one of the reasons Larry liked her.

  “Who knows?” he thought for a minute, “nah,
not his style, but if he’s spoken to Angelique about a divorce, who knows what she’s demanding?”

  “Yeah, I hadn’t thought about that,” Mimi said. “But surely that was all agreed before they got hitched?”

  “Yeah, divorce was always on the cards, everyone knew it was a marriage of convenience, it had to be done at the time.” Larry was in a closet looking for his bag, “But whatever about the prenup, Angelique could cut up rough, he should never have taken the boy out of the country without her permission.”

  “She might know all about it,” Mimi tried to soothe.

  “No-one knew anything about it! That’s the whole point. I doubt Ryan knew about it himself until he said it right there on TV,” Larry was close to shouting now.

  “I’m sure it’ll all be fine,” she said, placing Larry’s plethora of medication on the bed. “What will you need?” she indicated what looked like the entire contents of a large pharmacy.

  e tH “All of it,” he said, wrestling with his holdall. He felt nauseous.

  “Did you book business class?” he asked.

  “Did you tell me to book business class?” she replied.

  “Tell me you booked business class?” he said.

  “I booked business class,” she told him.

  “What would I do without you?” he said, with relief.

  “Stay home, you can’t even book your own airplane ticket.” She gave him a smile. Larry admired her straight white teeth; they had been fixed, they looked good. He checked his reflection, he looked dreadful, there was already a line of perspiration on his top lip.

  Marianne, still seriously off-kilter following Ryan’s surprise arrival, was sipping a glass of wine in Maguire’s chaotic kitchen. They sat opposite each other at the large oak table, a child each in their arms: Bridget with Ryan and Joey with Marianne.

  “She’s amazing,” Ryan watched fascinated, as Bridget gurgled at him, gesticulating to Joey.