A Change of Heart (The Heartfelt Series) Read online

  Shay was flirting shamelessly with Miss MacReady.

  “God you look fucking gorgeous tonight Kathleen, you really do. I could eat you, you’re like a candy floss.” Shay raised his glass to her, then noticed Father Gregory reading the paper.

  “Oh Jesus, I’m sorry, Father,” he said, “ah shite, I’m sorry again.”

  “I don’t think God’s that bothered how many times you use the F-word in front of me,” Father Gregory smiled, taking a swig of Budweiser.

  “I don’t want to be disrespectful, Father.” Shay turned puce. Father Gregory smiled at the young man, he seemed genuine enough.

  “Ah, respect is earned, we all know that. Anyway actions speak louder than words. Tell me Shay, do you think you act in a Christian-like way?” the priest asked, the bar fell silent awaiting the reply.

  “I do me best, Father,” Shay looked into his pint.

  “Sure what more can any man do?” said the priest. “I’m Gregory, by the way, far too young to be your father.” And they all laughed.

  Shay spotted Father Gregory’s newspaper. “Do you like the gee-gees, Gregory?” he asked, intrigued.

  “With a passion. I come from a long line of horse breeders and trainers. Why the ‘Big Man’ called me to this profession, I sometimes wonder.” Father Gregory’s eyes turned skywards.

  “Must have thought you were a good bet!” laughed Shay. “Mind if I join you?”

  They were deep in conversation when Sinead Porter slipped in to the pub, taking a seat in what would have been the ‘snug’. Padar had long since removed the walls, erecting a small half-glazed partition, affording privacy off the main bar.

  Shay looked up from studying the form.

  “Who’s that little cracker?” he asked the priest, grinning over at the young blonde, dressed in navy slacks and a pink cashmere sweater wrapped softly around her neat curves. Father Gregory looked up.

  “Our lovely midwife,” he said.

  “Why have I never seen her before?” asked Shay.

  “Runs the pharmacy with her husband, Phileas, works part-time at the hospital on the mainland,” Father Gregory told him, smiling at Sinead, who was chatting easily with Padar.

  “I dunno, why are all the best ones always taken?” Shay asked dourly.

  “I’d have thought a good-looking lad like yourself would have a wife, a girlfriend at least,” Father Gregory said.

  Shay shrugged.

  “I did once. But with me working away the whole time, I came home from a job in England and she’d run off with a Polish fella - pregnant, the lot,” Shay said flatly. “That’s why I’m here, nothing at home for me.”

  “I’m sorry.” Father Gregory went back to his paper.

  “Where’s her husband? A gorgeous girl like that shouldn’t be out on her own,” Shay could not take his eyes off her.

  “Phileas is not much for the pub. Sometimes Sinead comes in for a quiet glass of wine. Her job is very stressful, I’d imagine,” Father Gregory explained. Shay was still staring at her. “I’ll just go and check she’s okay,” said the priest, tapping the newspaper to avert Shay’s gaze.

  Although whatever Larry and Ryan had to discuss would have serious ramifications on her own life, Marianne thought it wise to leave the men to themselves for a couple of hours. Now with the babies settled, not too far from where Padar was doing his paperwork, she decided to make an appearance at May Cottage.

  After greeting Larry warmly, she busied herself arranging the vast quantity of chemicals and concoctions, so lovingly packed by Mimi on the other side of the Atlantic, in the pretty blue bathroom. Oonagh had decorated all three cottages in fresh, gypsy-bright colours and although Marianne totally remodelled Weathervane when she bought from the Quinns, she delighted in her friend’s flamboyant legacy. She missed Oonagh every day, and never more than when she unexpectedly came across little flashes of her ebullient personality. Closing the bathroom cabinet with a sigh, she went back into the room.

  Larry, in grey trousers and beige turtle-neck, looked like a character in an old movie shot half in black and white, waiting to turn into colour for the fantasy dance routines. Fidgeting with his spectacles and smoothing his hair, he looked like he was on the wrong set completely.

  Despite outward bonhomie, Larry was wary of Marianne. He watched her organise groceries in the yellow kitchen, then taking the cafetière from the dresser he started to make coffee, fussily. Ryan was smoking a cigarette in the garden. He allowed himself one a day, after dinner. It was still mid-morning. Marianne waited for Larry to speak, while he waited for her to say something. They spoke together.

  “I er ...you ...”

  “No, you first.” Marianne watched his hand shake slightly as he put coffee into the pot.

  “I’m sorry, Marianne, really I am, but I’m gonna have to take him back. He can’t just quit like this. There’s too much at stake.” Larry avoided her eyes.

  She handed him the kettle. As he poured the water, she could see his usually beautifully manicured nails were chewed. She placed a hand on his shoulder. He jumped, splashing the work surface.

  “Crikey Larry, relax. You’re wound up like a spring.” Marianne was careful not to give any hint she knew what was on Ryan’s mind. The last thing she wanted was for Ryan to return to America. Now she had him home, they needed to build a life for themselves and their little mismatched family. She had been strong alone for long enough, waiting yet pretending not to wait. Now she had him back, she wanted him to stay.

  Larry mopped the work surface with kitchen towel, glancing at her under hooded lids. She was leaning against the sink, arms folded, eyes full of steel. Ryan appeared at the door, still tanned from his sojourn as the world’s most famous super-spy, streaky ebony hair swept back, the aroma of exotic tobacco filled the kitchen briefly. He looked like he was in the wrong film too.

  “You guys okay?” he asked, feeling the frost.

  “Sure,” Marianne beamed at him.

  “Yeah, I’m making Marianne’s day here by telling her you gotta go back and sort this mess out before it goes too far. We still have time to say it was a crazy publicity stunt - you were in Dublin, partying, thought it was funny, a prank,” Larry offered.

  Marianne blinked at Larry, then looked at Ryan.

  “Do you really want to say that?” she asked. “You’d look a bit of a prat.” She turned to Larry, “It’s not true anyway, he meant it, he has resigned.”

  Ryan kept his tone light.

  “She’s right, my friend. It’s a decision I had to make, so I’ve made it, end of.”

  “No!” Larry slammed a mug down, “It’s not end of. Act quickly and we can save the situation, continue with this madness and we’re all done for.”

  “Larry, calm down,” Ryan said softly. “My contract’s with the studio, they deal with this sort of thing all the time. They’ll wheel their lawyers out, we’ll wheel our lawyers out, they’ll haggle a bit, go through the small print and come up with a solution, that’s what they’re paid for.” He gave Larry an encouraging smile.

  “Any normal contract, with any normal studio, yes. But your contract is with WonderWorld - Franco Rossini’s studio - Rossini, the godfather of the movie industry. No-one says no to Franco, especially when it looks like the franchise you happen to be starring in is going to make him yet another fortune. Get real, Ryan, he ain’t gonna let it go,” Larry told him.

  “He’ll have to,” Ryan was adamant.

  “Your resignation, live on TV, was more than foolish. It made a fool of him - dangerous territory. We need a picture in the press of you two hugging each other like long-lost brothers, saying your differences are resolved and you’ll be back working on the next movie in six months’ time, as per your contract.” Larry was glaring at Ryan.

  Marianne looked from one to the other; these men loved each other. She saw fear in Larry’s eyes. There was something he was not telling them, something he did not want Marianne to hear.

  “Hey, hey,” she s
oothed, “come on, we can work this out, you two just need to talk things through.” She took her jacket off the back of a chair, the men were silent. “I’m going to wrap the babies up and take them for a walk around lunchtime, shall I see you both then, or aren’t you staying that long, Larry?”

  Larry continued to stare grim-faced at his client.

  “I’m staying as long as it takes,” Larry said.

  Marianne pushed the plunger down in the coffee pot.

  “Sort it then,” she said, flashing Ryan a look as she left.

  Ryan was standing on the shore gazing out to sea the next time she saw him, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, leather jacket open, flapping wildly in the wind. The mist had lifted and a watery sun bathed the beach in cool, peachy light. Monty charged across the sand to greet him, not having had their usual rough and tumble since Ryan arrived. Ryan bent down and lifted the little dog into his arms, burying his nose in the coarse white fur between his ears. He smelled of the sea. He turned, and placing Monty on the ground, ran with him to greet Marianne and the children.

  He bent and kissed both babies, then taking Joey out of the buggy, wrapped him in a huge hug. Marianne smiled, as Bridget raised her arms to him. He handed Joey to Marianne and tucked the little girl under his jacket, jumping up and down in the sand making her laugh. She chortled loudly and Joey turned at the sound, his dark eyes sparkling at his new found-friend. With his free arm, Ryan pulled Marianne to him and kissed her, a hard, dry kiss on the mouth.

  “Okay?” he asked.

  “We’ve had a great time. Sinead popped in for a catch-up on the project, promptly fell in love with Joey, so we ended up playing games on the rug, all morning,” she laughed. He loved to hear her laugh. She looked younger than he remembered. The grief of losing Oonagh eased away with the joy of Bridget growing and marvelling at every new thing. Now he was spending more time with Joey, he knew what that felt like. It was a wondrous feeling, alright.

  “Larry?” she asked.

  “Having a lie-down before he has a heart attack,” he replied. She raised her eyebrows. “He’s exhausted, worked himself into a right state. I worry about that guy.”

  “He worries about you; he’s worried sick,” she said.

  “I know. I spoke to Lena, she’d just come back from an emergency meeting with Rossini’s team. Not good,” he gave his head a little shake.

  They walked along the shore. Monty trotted at the water’s edge. The waves seemed to rush suddenly, then stop to whisper into the sand, waiting to hear what was being said.

  “Oh dear, was she hysterical?” Marianne asked.

  “No, not at all, very consolatory for Lena, quietly spoken, scary in a way,” he said.

  “Really?” Despite her layers, Marianne shivered.

  “Yeah, she said Rossini’s seen the tape of the show and while he fully understands I’ve been under a lot of pressure lately, the announcement was not a good move. I need to get over there, put out the press release and get back on track. No more will be said about it.” He put Joey back in the buggy. Marianne was quiet. It took the best part of two years to make and promote one of Rossini’s super-spy blockbusters. Even though filming was not scheduled to start for at least six months, the role was a huge commitment. With the third film following the same pattern, they were looking at least five years ahead before they were free. Bridget would be nearly making her First Holy Communion by then, most of her young childhood passed.

  “What about Joey?” she asked, eventually.

  “She didn’t mention him, so neither did I.” He pulled the little boy’s hood up.

  “Does she know he’s with you?”

  They stopped. Bridget and Monty were digging in the sand.

  “Not sure. Why do you ask?” Ryan was smiling at his son.

  “He’s Rossini’s nephew, that’s why.” She sounded tense.

  “Great-nephew,” he corrected, “anyway, I have custody, his mother’s unfit, you know that.” He was dismissive. She took his hands and turned him to face her, looking him straight in the eye.

  “I’m just saying be prepared for the worst. He’s a rich, powerful man. Joey is the son of his favourite niece. When she finds out what’s happened it could get nasty. I can see where Larry’s coming from.”

  Ryan swallowed hard.

  “No way, they can’t take him away from me, us. They can’t.” He knelt down, drawing Bridget and Monty into his embrace. “This is where we belong, all of us, together.”

  “You have filed for divorce and custody of your son haven’t you?” she asked. A wave crashed against a rock. “Haven’t you, Ryan?” He sat down in the sand with a bump, head in his hands. The water trickled up to him, wetting the hem of his jeans.

  “Come on,” she called, grabbing him by the collar of his jacket. “Let’s go, sort the paperwork out at least, get something in writing. Honestly Ryan, you’re hopeless.”

  He staggered to his feet as she gathered up the gang.

  “I’m an actor. Reckless and impetuous, yes, but surely not hopeless.” He gave a quick, swashbuckling move and, twirling an imaginary cape, took her by the waist and drew her to him. Monty rushed to her aid, running between Ryan’s legs. He turned, tripped, and they both tumbled, arms and legs flailing, wrestling in a pile of sand. Bridget started to giggle, her tinkling laugh ringing out and then Joey started to chortle too. Marianne stopped wrestling with Ryan. It was the first time she had heard the little boy laugh.

  “Hopeless!” She punched Ryan in the chest. He fell backwards laughing, moving his arms to make angel wings in the sand, much to the children’s delight.

  From his usual vantage point high on the cliff Sean Grogan tutted. Mad shower of interlopers carrying on as usual, he thought, probably on all sorts of drugs. Those poor children, did Padar and the other child’s mother know what was going on at all? A disgrace, that’s what it was!

  Chapter Five

  Rules Of Engagement

  Despite Padar’s constant fiscal concerns, the destruction of the bridge during the storm had brought some good fortune to the island. When Shay and the building team arrived in September, Padar negotiated with the contractors to provide bed, breakfast and evening meal, offering special rates for those who stayed behind at the weekend to go fishing or play golf on the island’s blustery course. So Maguire’s, which had never been busy on Mondays, even at the height of summer, was bustling with drinks and meals through to closing time, if there was such a thing.

  Marianne was on duty at the pub that evening, so it made sense for Ryan to feed and bathe the children and put them to bed there. Padar had a baby alarm in the bar so they could keep an ear out for any problems. She was putting the finishing touches to a lamb casserole and because a lot of the building team were ‘Jackeens’ that famous Dublin dish, Coddle, when Ryan announced Larry had arrived.

  Hanging his French trench coat next to Father Gregory’s wax jacket and Kathleen MacReady’s fur stole, Larry walked slowly up to the bar. He was concentrating, he had a job to do and he was damn well going to do it.

  Miss MacReady gave him her usual zealous welcome, introducing him to Padar and Father Gregory. She ignored Sean, who was desperately craning his neck towards the gathering, hoping Larry would prove to be an over-generous American and buy the whole bar a drink. He was disappointed when the quietly spoken New Yorker ordered a soda and lime, taking his drink to a table as far away from the bar as possible. Taking a pint of stout as he emerged from the kitchen, Ryan joined him.

  “Feeling any better?” he asked, as he sat down.

  “A little,” Larry replied, “I’ll feel a lot better when I’ve talked some sense into you though.”

  Ryan sighed, “Shall we eat first? I’m starving.”

  Larry rolled his eyes.

  “Eat? How can you think about food at a time like this? The world is falling apart and you want to eat! Nothing has passed my lips since Lena rang me and told me about your TV appearance. I’m fading away.” Anx
iety had clearly erased the memory of the sumptuous feast Larry enjoyed at Joyce MacReady’s. Ryan eyed Larry’s portly frame. A bit of fading away would not do any harm, if the truth be told.

  “Well, I’m going to finish my pint and have a plateful of Marianne’s Moroccan Lamb, with a very large glass of Rioja. Are you going to sit there and watch me eat?” Ryan asked archly.

  Larry sipped his soda water.

  “I might try a morsel,” he said, lips pursed. “Just to keep you company, you understand.”

  “Good, first we eat, then we talk and then you decide whether you want to stay on for a few days or am I to take you to the airport in the morning and send you on your way.” Ryan said sternly.

  Larry took another sip of his drink, smiling briefly as Marianne delivered two steaming dishes of the food Ryan had already ordered. She raised her eyebrows at Ryan as she left. They agreed Ryan should speak with Larry alone first. He was his agent, business is business, he owed Larry that. Ryan knew they were discussing the future of her whole world, but it was a conversation she could not be part of at present, she had to trust him to make the right decisions for all of them.

  “Have you had a chance to review your contract?” Larry asked, dicing lamb with the side of his fork. Ryan shook his head. “No, I didn’t think so,” Larry continued.

  “That’s your department,” Ryan told him, helpfully.

  “Precisely. That’s why I’m here, it’s a rolling contract, a three-movie agreement – there’s a clue there, Ryan. None of us get the full deal until that which has been contracted is delivered, geddit.”

  “Money, it’s always about money with you,” Ryan said, they had this discussion often. It was a joke.

  “Ryan, this is more than a dive-in, dive-out mini-series. You can’t just walk away. You can have a compassionate break, that’s why it’s called a ‘break clause’ but that’s all it is. The contract has to be completed, the box office returns filed and then we’ll all be paid. Deal done. Then and only then can you walk away.”

  Ryan put his knife and fork down.

  “Are you sure about that? Can’t I get out of it?” he asked.