That Gallagher Girl (12 page)

‘I'm familiar with the name, but I can't visualise the style.'

‘It's not unlike the quirky style of Jeffrey Fulvimari – you know, the guy who illustrated Madonna's children's books?'

‘Oh – how lovely!'

Privately, Keeley thought the pictorial style of Madonna's kids' books saccharine, to say the least. Hugo clearly agreed with her, because he brought his hands down so heavily on the piano keyboard that dust motes rose into the air.

‘Hugo! Stop that. Here. Have your whiskey.' Ophelia sloshed a measure into a glass, rather recklessly, Keeley observed. She hoped her hostess wouldn't be quite so liberal when it came to pouring her Jameson, because otherwise she'd be sleeping in her car tonight. ‘And you might have had the cop-on to start the dishwasher for me. There'll be nothing to eat our dinner off this evening, at this rate.'

‘I didn't start it,' said Hugo, ‘because I don't know how to.'

‘It's about time you learned. We've had it for four weeks.'

This had the makings of a minor domestic. Maybe it was time to change the subject. ‘If your stepdaughter really does have a flair for illustration, Ophelia,' remarked Keeley, ‘it could be a very shrewd marketing ploy.'

‘Marketing ploy?' sneered Hugo.

‘Think of the PR opportunities.'

A closed look came over Ophelia's face. ‘I don't think,' she said, ‘that Caitlín and I would work well together.'

Another discordant jangle came from the piano.

Uh oh, thought Keeley. Best not to go there. There was clearly some family disharmony going on between Ophelia and Caitlín Gallagher.

Ophelia returned her attention to the butler's tray, then crossed the room and set Keeley's whiskey in front of her, along with the dish of nuts. ‘Enjoy,' she said. ‘It's Special Reserve. I'm guessing the interview has been well and truly terminated?'

‘Yes. If there's anything else I need to know, I can always email you.'

‘And you have my phone number, don't you? My mobile number? I rarely pick up the landline.'

‘Email sheemail, mobile shmobile,' grumbled Hugo. ‘All you communication-obsessive individuals don't know the meaning of a quiet life. “The world is too much with us; late and soon, getting and spending, we lay waste our powers . . .”'

‘Please excuse Hugo. He's going to start spouting poetry now. He's a complete technophobe, as you may have gathered from his observation earlier about the dishwasher.'

Keeley smiled. ‘Let me just check my contact details.' Retrieving her Nokia from her computer case, she keyed in the PIN code and waited for O2 to welcome her. As the logo shimmered on to the screen, there came a crash from the kitchen.

‘Bugger!' said Ophelia. ‘Lulu's after the remains of the chicken. Excuse me.'

And she raced through the door just as the phone in the hall began to ring.

Keeley glanced at Hugo, but he was concentrating on some tune he was picking out on the piano, with his foot on the soft pedal. It sounded to Keeley like a lullaby. He'd be playing enough of those, she found herself thinking, when the new baby arrived.

In the hall, the answering machine kicked in and Keeley heard Ophelia's OGM. ‘Hello. You are through to the Crooked House. Please leave your message for Hugo or Ophelia Gallagher after the tone.'

The tone sounded and a silence ensued. Then Keeley heard a small voice say: ‘Da? Dada? It's Cat.'

Hugo, still absorbed in his lullaby, played on, oblivious.

And then, from the depths of the shadowy hallway, came a soft click as the phone line went dead.

Chapter Eight

Río was waiting in the Bentley for Adair to arrive. The mobile home was shipshape now, all hooked up to water, electricity and the internet. Río had set a jug of weigela blossom on the dining table, and put a lasagne in the oven and a bottle of champagne in the fridge. Under her jeans and T-shirt she was sporting the fabulous underwear that Adair had bought her half a lifetime ago, and she'd made an effort with her make-up and spritzed herself with Jo Malone grapefruit.

Earlier in the day she'd signed on Adair's behalf for delivery of the spanking new tractor that he'd bought from the Massey Ferguson High Horsepower range. It boasted a six-cylinder AGCO SISU power engine and Dyna-VT transmission – whatever they were – and it came with a matching fire-engine-red trailer. Río was dying to have a go on it. She'd cut some extra weigela blossoms and fashioned them into a wreath with which she'd festooned the steering wheel.

There was, unfortunately, not a lot she could do with the dismal cottage (apart from demolish it and start again) but she had asked Finn to come by at some future stage to help Adair clear the surrounding detritus. She wondered if he would bring his new girlfriend. She wasn't sure what exactly his relationship was with the girl he called Cat, but she could tell that Izzy had been badly fazed by a run-in with her rival. Poor Iz – as if she didn't have enough on her plate without getting grief from her ex's new squeeze. She'd returned to Dublin with the promise that she'd be back in Lissamore at the weekend to lavish TLC on her dad.

In the meantime, she'd left something for him in the Bentley. A rolled-up sheet of what looked like wallpaper stuffed into a loo-roll tube, upon which she'd written the words: ‘A House-Warming Present for the Best Daddy in the World, with All Love from His Darling Izzy-Biz XXX'. Río had resisted the temptation to sneak a look at what was contained therein; she also thought the girl might have gone to a bit more trouble with the giftwrap. And then she gave herself a mental slap on the wrist and reminded herself that she shouldn't be thinking such uncharitable, sarky thoughts.

The sound of an approaching car engine sent Río in the direction of the mirror on Izzy's polished quartz vanity unit. She looked tired, despite the care she'd taken with her makeup. She'd had her fair share of sleepless nights recently. When she'd told Dervla about her decision to marry Adair, her sister had been aghast.

‘But you don't love him, Río!' she'd said.

‘I care for him.'

‘That's hardly a reason to marry the man. I mean, I don't want to sound heartless, given that he's dying, but you could simply draw the line at sleeping with him.'

‘That doesn't show the same level of commitment, Dervla. While I'm married to him, he'll know that I belong to him, and him alone, for the rest of his life. That'll afford him real comfort.'

She had debated whether or not it was kosher to share with Dervla the news that Adair was dying. In the end, she'd decided that the strain of keeping the knowledge to herself would be too great: she would need someone close to confide in and seek advice from over the course of the next twelve months, and who closer than her sister? She'd toyed with the idea of letting Fleur in on the secret, too, but then reconsidered. As a single working mother of a small baby, Fleur had worries enough of her own to contend with, and as a consummate romantic, she would find the notion of marrying a man whom one didn't love profoundly shocking. No. Fleur did not need to know.

Even as she had picked up the phone to call Dervla, Río had had second thoughts about betraying Izzy's confidence. Izzy had sworn her to secrecy, after all. But she knew that she would go to pieces without someone to talk to, and she needed to be strong for both Adair and his daughter.
Keep Right on to the End of the Road. Pack Up Your Troubles in Your Old Kit Bag. You'll Never Walk Alone .
. . This was the music to which Río must march now.

But she hadn't banked on Dervla's reaction. The horror she heard in her sister's voice over the phone line had been palpable.

‘Just think what it's going to do to Shane!' Dervla had said, sounding like some doomy soothsayer.

‘What's Shane got to do with anything?'

‘It'll break his heart.'

‘Nonsense,' returned Río briskly.

‘Jesus! You just don't get it, Río, do you? It's been staring you in the face your entire life.'

‘What has?'

‘The fact that you and Shane were meant for each other.'

‘Ach, that's crap, Dervla. You know I'd never marry Shane. I've told you a zillion times before that I could never go and live in LA.'

‘Doh. Why do you think he's bought the most palatial house in Lissamore?'

‘It's not for him. It's for Finn to turn into a dive centre. Now shut up, Dervla – you're doing my head in. My mind's made up, and there's nothing you can say or do to change that.
Capisce?
'

And Río had put the phone down on her sister, feeling rattled.

Outside the Bentley, the car engine shut off. Río took a last look in the mirror in the state-of-the-art bathroom, fixed a radiant smile on her face, and walked out on to the deck.

‘Hello, Adair,' she said, as he shut the driver's door of his Mercedes. ‘Welcome home!'

He looked up, and Río kept the radiant smile glued to her face with an effort. Adair looked ten years older than when last she'd seen him. The most jovial man she knew was now gaunt and grey, with a haunted expression about the eyes. But those eyes became luminous with love when they lit on Río.

‘Río! Río – is it really you? My dream girl's come to greet me! Come here to me, darlin', and let me give you a hug!'

And Río danced down the red cedar steps of the Bentley and into the outstretched arms of her future husband, laughing and crying both at the same time.

Later, after they'd cracked open the champagne, and eaten their fill of lasagne (‘Lovely grub!' Adair had said, rubbing his hands together with glee), and made very relaxed love in the very comfortable bed in the Bentley's master bedroom, Adair turned to Río and asked the question she'd been waiting for.

‘Río?' he said. ‘I know I'm not a rich man any more, but I know . . . well, I know too that you are not the kind of woman who cares much about material stuff, so this makes me, you know, dare to hope. This is presumptuous of me – Jesus! it's presumptuous in the extreme – but nothing ventured, nothing gained, as they say, and if you find what I'm about to propose unacceptable, well . . . we'll forget I even asked, OK?'

She nodded. ‘Shoot.'

He looked at her levelly. ‘Río, would you do me the honour of marrying me?'

‘Yes,' said Río, unhesitatingly.

‘What?'

‘You heard me,' said Río.

‘Are you serious?' said Adair. ‘Yes.'

‘But . . . but what . . . I mean . . . I . . . Dear God, I never really dared to dream that you'd say yes! I mean . . . why? Why would a beautiful woman like you want to marry an auld eejit like me?'

‘Because I love you.'

‘You do?' Adair looked even more astonished. ‘What's there to love? Like I said, I'm not even rich any more.'

Río smiled straight into his eyes. ‘I love that you make me laugh. I love that you love me. I love that you are one of the most decent, honourable men it has ever been my privilege to know, Adair Bolger.'

‘And you are an angel from heaven, and I am blessed, blessed!' Scooping up her hand, he pressed his lips against the palm and held them there for many moments; and then his demeanour changed abruptly. He laid Río's hand very gently on the counterpane and said, as he traced a finger along her life line, ‘Río,
acushla
. There is something I have to tell you.'

‘I don't want to know,' said Río. ‘I don't want to know any of your secrets. If I am going to marry you, Adair, I am marrying you for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, till death us do part. That's what marriage means. And if you don't agree, then the deal's off.'

He gave her a searching look. ‘You really mean that? What if you live to regret it?'

Río closed her fingers over his hand. ‘Allow me to tell you a story. I had a conversation with Izzy once, when she told me that she did not know a single couple of our age who were not already on their second or third marriage. I found it shocking, and not a little sad. I know your marriage to Felicity wasn't a happy one, Adair, but if you're going to commit a second time round, you are going to have to commit to a woman who will stick by you. For Izzy's sake.'

‘When did Izzy tell you this?'

‘She told me the morning after you threw that birthday party for me at the Villa Felicity. Remember?'

He nodded. ‘How could I forget that party? I was going to ask you to marry me that night.'

‘I thought as much. But then Izzy threw that wobbly and you changed your mind. And you were right. Things would have been complicated if we'd got married then. It wouldn't have been . . . appropriate while Izzy and Finn were an item. But things have changed, and the time
is
right now. And I think Izzy would approve.'

‘I'd like to think she would.'

Río smiled. ‘I've never forgotten the heart-to-heart we had that morning. It was early, before anyone else had got up, and we were swimming in the bay. And two swans passed overhead, and Izzy asked if it was true that swans mated for life.'

‘Is it true?'

‘Yes. They are aggressively loyal. So if we're going to do this thing, Adair Bolger, we're going to follow the example set by the pair of mute swans that flew above the bay the morning I swam with your daughter.'

Río could tell by the expression on his face that she'd nailed it. She released his hand and watched as he traced her life line again, and her head line and her heart line, and then he took her face between his hands, and kissed her.

‘I love you, Río Kinsella,' he said. ‘I love you so very, very much. Thank you. Thank you for making me the happiest of men.'

After they had finished making love for the second time in as many hours (Río was
impressed
!), Adair – back in ebullient form – said, ‘Well, isn't this cause for a celebration! Where did we put that bottle?'

‘We actually finished it.'

He winked. ‘
Arra
, but amn't I the cute hoor? There's a bottle of Veuve Clicquot in the car. I bought it in the unlikely event that you'd say yes,
acushla
, never dreaming that I'd actually be cracking it open.' Throwing off the duvet, Adair reached for a towel and wrapped it around his waist. Then he stopped in his tracks and gave her a doubtful look. ‘Just a thought. I'm guessing you won't want to be called Río Bolger?'

She considered, then shook her head. ‘You're right. Río Bolger is a stupid name. It sounds like a mountain range in Mexico. I'll stick with Kinsella.'

He laughed, and bounded off. She heard the boot of the Merc open and close, and within minutes came the pop of another champagne cork from the kitchen of the Bentley.

Río turned over onto her tummy and laid her cheek on her forearms. It was true, in its own way, that she loved Adair. She didn't love him with mad white-hot passion, the way she had once loved Shane; she loved him in a more measured, mature way, with her head as well as her heart. Did she love him with her whole heart? No. Much of the love contained within the harbour of Río's heart was, and always would be, reserved for Shane, who had fathered the other great love of her life.

She thought again about what Dervla had said, about how she and Shane were meant for each other. Well, yes . . . maybe once upon a time they had been. Back in the days when they'd been young and carefree and irresponsible, before Shane had carved a career for himself as a shit-hot actor in LA, before Río had realised that her son was more important to her than any lover. But she and Shane were worlds apart now. And yet, and yet . . . any time he came to drop in on Finn in Coral Mansion – Adair's erstwhile pride and joy – Shane would be just a stone's throw down the shore. How weird!

She'd hardly seen Finn since he'd arrived back in Lissamore, she realised now: they'd had a quick pint in O'Toole's on Sunday, he had dived into her flat to mend the bolt on the loo seat yesterday, and they'd run into each other on the main street this morning, purely by accident. It was almost as if he was avoiding her. Why? Was it because, if the scuba-dive dream was at last to become a reality, her adjacent orchard would perforce become part of the equation? She remembered the plans he and Izzy had come up with once, the plans he had outlined to her so enthusiastically, about felling some of the fruit trees to make way for a kit room and an air room, and she remembered the relief she had felt when those plans had come to naught, because to have relinquished her orchard would have devastated Río. Was Shane planning to make her an offer for the orchard, in order to make way for
An Ghorm Mhór
– The Big Blue?

Too much speculation! Too many hypotheses! Chief among her concerns now should be Adair, their forthcoming wedding and the state of his health. Shaking the thoughts of Finn and Shane and her orchard and
An Ghorm Mhór
from her head, Río slid out of bed and into the panties and T-shirt that had been unceremoniously discarded earlier.

In the kitchen, Adair had poured champagne into flutes and inserted the bottle in the nifty wine cooler integrated into the kitchen island. He was standing with the scroll of wallpaper in his hand, reading the legend Izzy had inscribed on the loo-roll tube.

‘Listen to this, Río. “A House-warming Present for the Best Daddy in the World with All Love from His Darling Izzy-Biz.” Isn't she a sweetheart?'

Privately, Río thought she would withhold judgement until she saw what the loo-roll tube contained. She watched as Adair slid the wallpaper out of its casing and unfurled it.