The Kinsella Sisters (36 page)

Izzy was in a tizzy of excitement. She was wandering through the Villa Felicity, ignoring the caterers and florists who were setting up for tonight’s party, visualising how the place would look as a state-of-the-art dive centre. The guest suite had six bedrooms with interconnecting bathrooms en suite, so a dozen or so guests could be accommodated there. She could sleep in her own bedroom, and there were two extra bedrooms for…for whatever. She didn’t want to pre-empt anything. While she and Finn were clearly compatible, she wasn’t going to hex herself by making any assumptions about their sleeping arrangements.

Downstairs, her father’s study could be converted into an office. The library could serve as a classroom, and the atrium was easily big enough to accommodate a reception area. The dining room would remain just that, and the catering kitchen–with its Poggenpohl appliances–would be a fantastic workspace for a chef. The sitting room would become a bar and lounge, and the ever-changing view from the massive window would provide an added attraction for Coolnamara-philes.

As Izzy crossed the deck on her way to the pool, she saw that the massive dining table had been carted out and covered with a pristine white cloth. A stage had been set up for the musicians, and a sound engineer was going, ‘One two, one two,’ into the mic.

A man in overalls was stringing bunting along the railings, and a banner bearing the legend ‘Happy Birthday Río’ had been strung up above the picture window. There were flowers and candles everywhere.

Izzy’s lip curled. Her father was making a monumental fool of himself, but that was his look-out. Izzy had warned him that, instead of presenting the munificent mine host image he was so determined to forge, he might end up looking like the village idiot. But he had simply said that he didn’t care what people thought of him. He was clearly going through a midlife crisis, and Izzy hoped to God that he wasn’t going to get a tattoo or piercings, or take up Formula One racing. But if she was going to get her mitts on the Villa Felicity, she was going to have to humour him and do as she was told. She was also going to have to work very, very hard indeed at turning her business idea into a success. But hadn’t she inherited her father’s work ethic as well as his business acumen? The word ‘difficult’ didn’t exist in Adair’s vocabulary: he used the word ‘challenge’ instead.
Challenge. Adrenalin. Danger.
The same words Izzy loved, the words that had spurred her on to become a master scuba-diver.
Experience intense adventure. Take it to the edge…

Strolling past the hot tub to the pool area she saw that the cover of the pool had been rolled back, and flower petals had been scattered on it. It really was ridiculous to get the pool heated for just one weekend, Izzy thought. And as for all those gas-guzzling patio heaters! The more eco-conscious of the guests would have things to say about Adair’s carbon footprint.

The pool was easily deep enough for novice divers, Izzy knew. They could do all their confined-water training there. And maybe the changing area could be extended? The garage could house RIB and DPVs, and they could build a kit room and an air room in the old orchard. They’d have to cut down trees to make space for them, but loads of the trees were practically falling down anyway.

It was all so ideal! It was all so utterly perfect that it should have been staring her in the face–when Adair had first announced his intention to sell–that the Villa Felicity would make a fantastic scuba-dive centre. When she and Finn had been dreaming up silly names for their dive outfit that day on his mate Carl’s boat, they had suddenly looked at each other in awe and said simultaneously, ‘The Villa Felicity!’

Except Izzy didn’t want her mother’s name appearing on the letterhead of her brand-new business. She knew it was pettish of her, but her mother had become even more of a pain in the arse since Izzy had told her she’d decided to give up college and move to Lissamore. Felicity’s plans for her daughter did not include her knocking around with boggers and culchies: she wanted her to make a good marriage with some well-to-do barrister type and settle down in leafy Dublin 4, where Felicity would be able to visit her 2.4 grandchildren whenever it suited her.

No. The Villa Felicity was
so
not a good name for Izzy’s business venture. She’d dream up a lovely name–something in Irish, maybe.
Gorm Mhór
had a nice ring to it. The Big Blue.

Rounding the boiler house, beyond which a barbecue area had been set up for the post-dinner party-goers, Izzy saw her father’s car roll up under the
porte-cochère.
How lucky that the joint even had a
porte-cochère
, to keep guests dry while they unloaded their scuba gear! Or would she need a porter for unloading? Hm. There were several matters niggling at her that needed her attention. They were, of course, the practicalities that obscured the grand vision of her dream. She was going to need staff: there was only so much she and Finn could do themselves. And once the business was up and running they’d need one or two more qualified instructors–not just transient dive masters who would work in exchange for free diving.

Izzy meandered down the path that led past the orchard. Yes, there was plenty of space for kit room and air room. She knew
there was an ancient right of way across this tranch of land, but hardly anyone knew about it, and more sheep than people used it. She was bound to get permission, wasn’t she? If her clever daddy had swung it for the Villa Felicity, he could do it again for her.

‘Hey, Dad!’ she said, turning back to the house, where Adair was unloading the boot of his car. ‘Let me give you a hand.’

On joining him, she saw that the boot was full of presents. Lots and lots of gift-wrapped presents. Some of them were wrapped in paper with the discreet Fleurissima logo embossed on it, some of them were encased in expensive gift-wrap, and yet others were shrouded in HMV and Hughes & Hughes bags.

‘These aren’t all for Río Kinsella?’ Izzy asked, incredulity scrawled large on her face.

‘No. There’s something there for Dervla too, to say thank you for her time.’ Adair smiled happily, and hefted the carrier bags out of the boot. ‘I can manage these on my own, princess. You probably want to go and get ready, don’t you? People will be arriving in an hour.’

‘How many are coming for dinner?’

‘Me, you, Río, Dervla–and Dervla’s new husband, mother-in-law and stepdaughter. She’s around the same age as you, I think. Who else? Fleur and her latest man. And Finn, of course.’

‘But, Dad, we’ve way too many women.’

Adair swung through the atrium into his study, and Izzy followed him.

‘What about that nice chap I met with you and Finn? With the crutches. What was his name?’

‘Carl. I could ask Finn to bring him along, I guess. I’ll text him.’ Izzy grimaced. Oh God. How humiliating to be asking last-minute guests to her father’s dinner party. He was going to look like a complete Norman-No-Friends. ‘Um. Don’t you think it’s scraping the bottom of the barrel a bit, Dad, to be inviting people we hardly know?’

‘I told you I owed Dervla for her time, and she specifically requested that she be allowed to bring her new in-laws. And it’ll be nice for you to have young people at the table to talk to. Though there will be lots more young people coming to the afters.’

‘Any idea how many?’

‘The word in O’Toole’s is that there’ll be around a hundred.’

‘Fun,’ said Izzy, trying not to sound unenthusiastic. She didn’t want to talk to ‘young people’. The only young person she wanted to talk to was Finn.

And yet, and yet…that wasn’t quite true. She so wanted this evening to work for her dad! He’d put so much effort into the event–it would be tragic if no one turned up. She determined to light a candle in her room and pray to Aphrodite, who was her favourite goddess.

‘Are you sure there’s nothing else I can do, Dad?’

‘Not a thing, Izzy-Bizz. You run along and have your shower. Wow! What’s that smell? It’s amazing!’

There was a fabulous smell coming from the kitchen, of garlic and basil and something Izzy couldn’t identify. And she thought again as she climbed the cantilevered staircase, of how she was going to need someone to cook as well as everything else if she was going to do this big thing, and suddenly she wondered if turning the Villa Felicity into a dedicated scuba-dive outfit wasn’t way too ambitious a project after all.

In her room, she lit a plain white candle and prayed for several minutes. She so wanted her daddy to be happy! But how could he be happy with that grim gold-digger, Río Kinsella? She wanted him to find love with someone who would make him laugh.
Please, Aphrodite, make it happen for him. Make my lovely, generous dad a happy man. He deserves it. He has too many worry lines around his eyes these days, and he’s starting to look gaunt. Please, Aphrodite, make it happen…

When she’d finished praying, Izzy went to her closet and took
out the frock she had chosen to wear tonight. Finn had told her that she sometimes behaved more like a boy than a girl. Huh! Well, tonight she wasn’t going to
look
anything like a boy. No Comme des Garcons quirky stuff for her! Tonight she was going to look as deliciously, quintessentially girly as she had that time he’d rescued her from the potty-mouthed lager louts.

And as she moved to the bed and laid the confection of white chiffon on her counterpane, she remembered the last time she’d lain there, with Finn’s arms around her, and she felt a little rosebud of anticipation in her tummy. No matter how tempting the aromas wafting up from downstairs, Izzy knew that she would not be able to eat anything tonight until she had kissed her beautiful boy.

Dervla was on her way to Adair’s party in Christian’s car. She had relinquished her claim to the front seat. Daphne was ensconced there now, and Dervla was travelling in the back with Megan, who was plugged into her iPod, and scowling out of the window.

In the front of the car her mother-in-law had forgotten about her fellow passengers, so Dervla didn’t have to partake in any riveting conversation.

‘Where are we going now?’ demanded Daphne.

‘We’re going to a place called the Villa Felicity for dinner, Mum.’

Daphne started to sing ‘’S Wonderful. ’S Marvellous’. Christian joined in for a few bars, even though it was clear that he didn’t have a clue about the words other than ‘S wonderful’ and ‘S marvellous’. Then: ‘Where are we going now?’ asked Daphne again.

‘We’re going to a place called the Villa Felicity.’

‘What for?’

‘For dinner.’

‘Oh. Do you like my trousers?’

Daphne had been dressed in trousers in case it got too cold for her out on Adair’s deck this evening. The Indian summer they’d enjoyed was well and truly over.

‘Your trousers are very nice, Mum. They’re herringbone, are they?’

‘What?’

‘I said, “Are they herringbone?’”

‘I don’t know what sort of bone they are. Dum de dum de dum de dum…’ she went, to the tune of How Much Is That Doggie in the Window?’

‘Wuff wuff,’ said Christian, obligingly.

‘I think I’ll get a dog. I’m going to get a dog.’ A pause, then: ‘Where are we actually heading for?’ asked Daphne.

‘The Villa Felicity, Mum. In Lissamore.’

‘Are you going to stay there?’

‘No. We’re going for dinner. Yum yum. Yummy dinner. Shall we listen to the radio?’ Christian flicked a switch, and some muthafucka came on, rapping about slapping his bitches and hos, so Christian switched it off immediately before his mother could pick up the chorus and start singing along.

‘Where did you say we were going?’ asked Daphne.

‘The Villa Felicity’

‘Will we be able to get anything to eat there?’

‘Yes. We’re going for dinner.’

Where are we going now?
Dervla decided it was like that refrain so beloved of small children.
Are we there yet? Are we there yet?
Except in Daphne’s case it was
Where are we going now?
You could record this pointless conversation, she thought, and play it on a loop. You could cut and paste it, cut and paste it, cut and paste it, over and over again.

Daphne’s final pearls of wisdom before they pulled up under Adair Bolger’s
porte-cochère
consisted of: ‘I love not knowing where I am,’ and ‘If I’d been the one who was driving we would have been there by now.’ And then, ‘This is a lovely place!’ she
announced, as Christian pulled on the handbrake and killed the ignition. ‘I’m going to buy this place.’

A silence fell. And suddenly Dervla knew that they’d been wrong to come this evening. They should have stayed in the hotel, where at least the staff had been savvy enough to make allowances for her mother-in-law’s outré behaviour.

‘Will we get out now?’ Daphne asked.

‘No. Let’s stay in the car and chat,’ said Christian sarcastically, and Dervla could tell by his tone that he was tired.

‘I love this car,’ said Daphne. ‘I love being here with you.’

‘Oh God, Mum. I love you too,’ said Christian. And then he slumped and rested his head against the steering wheel in an attitude of utter despair.

Río had splashed out on a dress from Fleur’s shop for her surprise party this evening. She had decided, since she had inherited a prime piece of real estate, that she should celebrate, and she knew that Fleur would give her the dress at a discount rate. The dress was of slippery red bias-cut silk and felt as fluid as if she were wearing water. The way it moved against her bare legs made her feel like dancing. Río hadn’t felt like dancing in years.

When she’d announced that it was her intention to buy a gúna for tonight’s party, Fleur had raised one of her perfectly waxed eyebrows and looked at Río askance. ‘You do know that this party’s supposed to be a surprise for you?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ Río had answered. And I just hate, hate, hate surprise parties. ‘But I’ll do my best to look–er–suitably surprised.’

‘Why is he doing this for you, Río?’ Fleur enquired of her friend as she left the shop, swinging her glossy Fleurissima bag.

‘I honestly have no idea,’ Río had replied.