A Change of Heart (The Heartfelt Series) (14 page)

“Sure he is,” Angelique did not seem convinced, “but you can’t take care of him twenty-four seven, it’s too big an ask. Neither you nor Ryan really know what you’re doing. Be honest honey, this is not a job either of you are qualified to undertake.”

“But that’s what people do in this part of the world. It’s called being a family,” Marianne said coldly.

“Don’t patronise me, Marianne,” Angelique spoke slowly. “If it comes to a custody battle I will win because I will demonstrate how much better my son will be cared for with me. His welfare and education will be paramount and he’ll have the best of everything, including the one thing you cannot give him, the love of his mother, because that’s me.”

Marianne took a deep breath; she would not be bated. She placed Joey back on the rug, moving him out of Angelique’s range. “But I thought you wanted him out of your life. I thought you wanted Ryan to take care of him. I thought that was part of the deal,” she said.

Angelique rolled her eyes. “Precisely, but it’s all or nothing. I do not want one of these flimsy arrangements. Poor Joey needs to know where he stands, so if Ryan is not prepared to agree to every aspect of the arrangement, the deal is
off
and I will go for custody and I will win, hands down!”

She stood to leave. Marianne reached over and caught her by the sleeve. Angelique jumped, as if she had been bitten by a snake. She looked down at Marianne’s hand.

“He has told you, hasn’t he?” she asked.

“Told me what?” Marianne said.

“Told you what the deal is,” Angelique looked into Marianne’s eyes. “No, he hasn’t. Typical Ryan, head in the sand, hoping it will all go away, somehow everything will sort itself out, so he doesn’t have to get his pretty
movie star
hands dirty. Well you ask him what it is I want, and you tell him from me that he has to agree every single detail and then see if you
still want him, because if you do I feel sorry for you, sorry you’d stay with a man who can
never, ever totally
commit.”

Angelique shrugged Marianne’s hand off and swept out of the room. Joey, who had been silent all the time his mother was present, gave a little sigh. Marianne picked him up. Padar appeared from the cellar.

“Why don’t you leave him with me, Marianne? Ryan will drop Bridget off soon enough, I’ve a great new game for them,” he said.

But Marianne was halfway through the door, the little boy clamped tightly to her.

Chapter Fifteen
Ship To Shore

Dermot Finnegan was standing on the deck of the boat he had acquired within days of arriving on the island. He bought it from one of the locals who decided between the weather and EU regulations, he could no longer make a living from the sea and was heading to Australia to join his brother working in IT for a massive conglomerate. Dermot bought it for a good price. It was in pristine condition, kitted out with two well-appointed cabins, galley, good sized heads with a power shower - all very stylish and compact. It was more than comfortable enough to live on, especially in the summer.

 He was looking forward to that: long, lazy days with the anchor dropped just off a little bay, fishing line draped over the side, barbecue to cook whatever he caught. He pictured a pretty woman stretched out on the deck, sipping a cold glass of white wine while he prepared lunch. The wind caught the tarpaulin he was folding; it flapped into his face, dissolving his daydreams.

He went below, the debris of the night before splayed about the cabin - an empty champagne bottle, discarded clothing, pasta dishes thrown in the sink. He started tidying, running water into the basin to wash up. He curled his lip at the soggy butt end he found on a plate. The remnants of the weed he and Angelique shared ahead of “getting down and dirty” as she called it. He had been amazed at the energy and variety of his guest’s sexual prowess. He thought he knew most of the tricks of the trade, having been seconded to Vice at one stage in his career, but Angelique was
very
imaginative. And when she produced the phials of amyl nitrate, dripping it onto her breasts, before presenting them for him to lick clean, it confirmed what he had suspected: sexual antics such as this were a well-practised hobby for the actress. He remembered the gleam in her eyes as, after he was spent, she brought herself to climax after climax, each orgasm more frenzied and desperate than the last.

Dermot dried his hands, and, replacing a cushion on the couch, found the silk scarf she had tied his hands with while she dug her nails into his throat. He checked in the mirror, the livid marks still evident. He shuddered at the memory. Although aspects of it were far from unpleasant, Dermot had just been doing his job, trying to discover if Angelique, a known substance abuser, knew anything about the shipment destined for the island. If she did, she gave nothing away, and by the time he delivered her back to Maguire’s it was Dermot who felt he had been well and truly had.

“Ahoy there, anyone aboard?” a voice cut through his thoughts, bringing him back to the present. Dermot went on deck. A man, he vaguely recognised, in a sailing jacket and cap stood looking up from the quayside.

 “Phileas, Phileas Porter,” the man said. “Myself and the wife have the pharmacy below in the town.”

 Dermot broke into a smile. Phileas had served him when he had been in for razors and toothpaste.

 “Come aboard. Dermot Finnegan, good to meet you.” The men shook hands. “What can I do for you?” Dermot continued in his easy way, checking the other man out: weak handshake, weasel-like face, shifty eyes sweeping over the boat as Dermot watched him.

 “It was more me wondering what I could do for you?” the other man said, attempting a smile.

 “Really?” Dermot was intrigued, “Listen, I was just about to have a beer, care to join me?”

 “No thanks, I don’t drink,” Phileas replied, “Have you something soft?”

 “Sure,” answered Dermot, beckoning the man to follow him down below. Funny, Dermot thought, he was sure he could smell alcohol or some sort of chemical on him.

 They sat down at the chart table, a can a piece. Phileas was distracted, eyes everywhere.

 “You were saying?” Dermot prompted.

 “Oh yes, I was wondering if you’ll be using the boat the whole time, or whether or not it might be available to hire out now and again,” Phileas said.

 “Hadn’t given it much thought,” Dermot replied, looking into the man’s face, Phileas did not look the seafaring type – quite wan for an islander. “Why, what would you want it for?”

 “Ah, just fishing trips, picnics and such. We don’t have much time off, me and the wife, so when we do, we like to make a day of it, head out to sea, maybe swim off one of the bays north of the island. We’re from the city, you see. One of the reasons we came here was to enjoy the ocean when we can,” he gave Dermot that smile again. “I used to hire this off the fella you bought it from. I was just wondering if we could have the same arrangement. It would help with the running costs, I was thinking, it’s not cheap keeping a boat afloat.”

 Dermot laughed, “Yes, what’s that saying, owning a boat in these parts is like standing in a cold shower, peeling off fifty euro notes and flushing them down the plughole.”

 Phileas nodded in agreement. “That’s right enough,” he said. “Well …?” he seemed anxious for an answer.

 “Can I have a think about it?” Dermot drained his drink; he had needed a beer after all the champagne. He was planning to live on the boat, weather permitting, while the lifeboat project was underway and there was something about Phileas’ request that did not ring true. Dermot decided he might be worth stringing along. “Not sure what I’m doing with it yet, plenty of time. I mean it’s October, you wouldn’t be thinking about hiring it until the spring at the earliest, am I right?”

 Phileas looked surprised.

 “Well, maybe a bit before that. The wife’s birthday’s soon. I was thinking of a little trip then, a candlelight supper, you know the kind of thing,” he winked.

 Dermot smiled. “Oh I get it,” he nodded, “Well, leave it with me Phileas, and I’ll see what I can do. When is the lucky lady’s birthday, just so I know?”

 Phileas got up to go.

 “Halloween, the bank holiday weekend, I can close the pharmacy and we can head off.” He pulled his cap down over his eyes as he left.

 “Fair enough, I’ll drop into you below in the shop, so,” Dermot called after him, “see ya.”

He waited until he heard Phileas clamber down the ladder, and the boat righted itself in the water. Rubbing his hands together he pulled a steel box out from under the berth, clicked the combination lock to release the catch and lifted the lid to reveal a very impressive collection of the latest digital surveillance equipment. Slowly and with relish he unpacked the box piece by piece. There was a selection of the latest cameras, a variety of telephones all with voice recognition,
FaceTime
and
Skype
- he loved the idea of being able to see who you were talking to. Then came his favourite: a range of mini-microphones and sat navs disguised as buttons, earpieces, even jewellery, and to top the lot, a good old-fashioned, two-way radio. He hooked this up first, safer than anything digital and far less likely to be hacked.

 “Shiptoshoreshiptoshore.
Over.
”
he said into the handset. A sharp crackling sound followed and then a voice.

 “Is that you Dermot? Speak Irish for God’s sake,” came the reply.

“Ná bac le hainmneacha, a amadán. Over,” Dermot said into the radio.

 “What the feck was that?” came the voice again.

 “Irish. I said,
don’t use names, you idiot,
in Irish. Over,” Dermot spoke slowly, fiddling with the controls.

 “No, I meant speak normal Irish, like this.” The voice sounded a lot clearer now.

 “I hate to tell you but we’re actually speaking English. Over,” Dermot said.

 “Ah fuck off, Dermot, you’re in Ireland aren’t ya? You’re speaking fecking Irish when you talk to me anyhow.” The connection went dead. Dermot shook his head, not entirely convinced the right man had been commissioned to help with the job at all.

Ryan stuffed the papers into a drawer in the desk when he heard the hall door open. He wanted to read Angelique’s proposal with a clear head but every word just fuelled his fury, until he could stand no more, and slung the document aside.

Bridget was in the buggy ready to go. She called to Joey as soon as she saw him. Marianne settled him next to her, clipping him in. They immediately started their chitter-chatter: a giggling gibberish they used all the time. Marianne was convinced they each knew every word the other said, even Monty seemed to understand it.

 “How was lunch?” Ryan asked warily.

 “Weird,” Marianne said flatly. “Angelique seemed spookily calm, serene almost. But she’s so detached from Joey - she didn’t even pick him up, didn’t seem to want to touch him even,” she sighed. “She thinks we’re incapable of looking after him though, saying he needs professional help, and if you don’t agree to the terms and conditions in her new proposal, that’s what she’ll base her custody claim on. She says she’ll win because she actually
is
his mother. But I don’t think she wants to win, she doesn’t want custody, she doesn’t want the responsibility, that’s why she keeps spouting on about professional help.”

 “Bullshit,” Ryan spat. “Professional help indeed. She’s the one who needs professional help. Where is she now?”

 “She took herself off, I don’t know where.” Marianne was disappointed she had been unable to resolve anything.

 Ryan frowned. “Look, I’ll take the kids over to Padar as arranged.” He put his arms around her; he could see she was frazzled. “Shall I suggest we put off the menu-tasting session at the pub? I’ll say you’re shattered and I’ll cook us a nice romantic supper here, have a bit of time together, what do you say?” he lifted her chin, twinkling eyes looked into hers. Marianne looked quizzical. “You and Padar were going to try some dishes, thinking about having a bit of a hooley for Halloween, remember?”

 “I’d completely forgotten,” she said, and then smiled. “Your idea sounds better. I didn’t have lunch, so can we make it early. I’m flippin’ starving.”

 Taking the buggy, he headed for the door.

 “Don’t forget the romantic bit; we’re having that as well, aren’t we?” he gave her a cheeky grin, she laughed as he disappeared but she was feeling far from romantic.

Maguire’s was relatively quiet when Ryan arrived with the children. Two of Padar’s cousins were behind the bar, stacking glasses and chatting amiably. Ryan went through into the kitchen to find Padar up to his elbows in vegetable peelings.

 “One of the recipes for Halloween,” he explained to Ryan. “A venison casserole with sour cream sauté potatoes, what do you think?”

 “Sounds delicious.” Ryan popped a piece of carrot into his mouth. “Look, do you need Marianne tonight, only we’ve seen so little of each other recently, it would be really nice to spend some time on our own.”

 “What?” Padar exploded, “I need her here, we’ve a new menu to produce, people are getting fed up with toasted sandwiches, soup and a bowl of chips - there’s only ever anything good on the menu when Marianne’s here.”

 Padar saw his friend’s face fall and felt immediately guilty.

 “Sorry Ryan, I’m being selfish, youse have a cosy night in, tell her I’ll have a practise here on my own and she can have a tasting tomorrow, see what she thinks. Does that sound like a bit of a plan?”

 Ryan clapped him on the back.

 “Indeed, and it is,” he said, and kissing the little ones briefly, made to go. “Have you seen Angelique?”

 “Not since this afternoon. She went up to her rooms, didn’t have any lunch here anyway. She did send down for another bottle of vodka around five-ish and...”

“She’s drinking?” Ryan interrupted.

Padar nodded. “She’s wasn’t on the wagon for long, started drinking champagne with Dermot yesterday, it’s been vodka since. There’s not a drop of hot water left in the place if that’s any clue as to what she’s up to, up there.” As if his words had summoned up an incarnation, a swirl of blood-red silk appeared in the doorway. Angelique gave Ryan a lazy smile.

“Well, look who it is,
The Spy who Loved Me!
” she said, exaggerating her Texan drawl, “and you’ve brought the brood.” She pointed at the children, “I just love the way you people have little babies in bars the whole time, what with drinking, and swearing and brawling. It’s just the perfect environment for these little ones, and I shall delight in telling the judge precisely that, should I need to.” She gave them a beguiling smile.

 “They’re in the kitchen with their fathers, nothing odd or unusual about that at all,” Ryan told her.

 “Well, you just think about it long and hard, Ryan, there’s plenty that’s odd about this whole scenario and plenty that’s perfectly sane and sensible about my proposal.” She turned to swirl away, “You have
read
my proposal?”

 “Of course,” he replied.

 “Really? Not shared it with the other woman though, have you?” she studied his face.

 “I don’t know what you mean?” he flew back at her.

 “You so do! The bit where it says whatever happens should you marry again, any claim to our son is null and void, custody reverts to me automatically,” she sneered, into Ryan’s face.

 Padar stopped chopping vegetables.

 “But that’s ludicrous, Angelique, we’re getting a divorce. You have a partner, I have a partner, it makes no sense.” Ryan was mystified.

 She stepped into the room, filling it with fury.

 “It makes every sense. You are
not
to marry again. In Joey’s eyes, his mother and father are married and always will be, they might not be together but they
are
married, they are his parents.” Her voice was rising.