The Glass Lake (78 page)

Everyone wanted to go, Maura to see her sister, Father to see his friend Peter, Emmet to see the beloved Anna…only Kit didn't want to go.

But go she must. “I'll follow you up there,” she called as she heard them getting ready to leave. She needed just a little time to compose herself, get herself ready for the Kellys.

She splashed cold water on her face and left the house. Her heart was like lead on this Christmas morning.

“Hey, wait for me.” Stevie Sullivan had seen Kit leaving her house and he ran after her. She turned around to look at him. His smile was broad, his delight to see her was written all over his face. “You didn't call to say happy Christmas,” he accused her.

“I thought I'd see you at Mass.”

“Oh, I was at the back of the church, humble you know, not putting myself forward.”

“Talking, doing deals I imagine,” she mocked him.

He looked at her closely. “You've been crying,” he said.

“Does it show? I couldn't bear the third degree from Clio.”

“Only to me, I know every little bit of your face. Why were you crying, Kit?”

“I can't tell you.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“No thank you, Stevie. No.”

“Will you ever tell me?”

“I might someday.”

“You'll have forgotten.”

“No, I'll never forget why I'm crying today.” She sounded very serious.

         

“Michael and Kevin are having the time of Reilly over in London,” Clio said. “He rang last night.” Clio was pleased at this.

“What's she like, the sister?” Kit asked.

“I don't know, I met her only once.”

“And the fellow she's marrying?”

“Oh, he's as old as the hills apparently. Michael says he could be her father.”

“But nice?”

“Apparently.”

“Is he a sugar daddy sort?”

“No, the total reverse, he hasn't a penny according to Michael.”

“But he's going to be admitted to the ranks?”

“Yes, apparently he's a dynamo in the hotel industry over in London.”

“Why isn't he rich then?” Kit wondered.

“Search me,” Clio said. “But she's very stuck on him. Michael thinks that she might be pregnant.”

“No!” Kit's eyes were round with excitement.

“Well, the marriage is very speedy apparently, speedier than one would have thought.”

“What's his name?” Kit didn't care very much, but anything was better than answering Clio's questions.

“Louis. There, isn't that romantic? Louis Gray.”

         

On the day after Christmas, Kit asked Stevie to drive her into the big town.

“Nothing will be open,” he said, puzzled.

“That doesn't matter.”

“Of course it matters. What's the point of going into Tombstone City in the rain? Why don't we stay here in the rain?”

“Please Stevie, I don't ask much.”

He considered this. It was true, she didn't ask him favors. “Okay, fine,” he said.

He didn't ask her why she wanted all the change to make a phone call from a hotel in the town. He sat and had a pint in the hotel bar and looked at her from a distance as she stood in the phone booth at the far end of the hall. Kit McMahon was running her hand through her hair and talking earnestly. Stevie realized the point of the journey through the rain was so that she could phone someone who would have been impossible to phone from home. She could have used the phone in the Central Hotel but it would still have meant going through Mona Fitz.

He wouldn't ask her. She would tell him when she was ready.

“Ivy Brown?”

“Yes, yes, who is this?”

“Mrs. Brown, I'm Kit McMahon. I met you once, do you know who I am?”

“Yes, yes of course I do.” Ivy sounded worried. “Is anything wrong?”

“Could I talk to Lena do you think…? I got the number from Directory Inquiries…”

“But love, she's not here…” Ivy said.

“Look, Ivy, I have to talk to her, I have to. I have some terrible news I want to give her.”

“I think she's had all the bad news she can take.”

“I know who he's marrying, he's marrying someone else, the bastard. The bastard out of hell.”

“Kit, stop…”

“I won't stop. I've no money, Ivy. I can't leave here, we have a huge thing I'm up to my neck in. I can't walk out on it, but I have to talk to Lena. You must tell me where she is.”

“She was in Brighton, but she rang me from a coin box in London. She said she'd be away for a few days and she'd ring me on New Year's Day.”

“Where?”

“She wouldn't say.”

         

They had bookings for one hundred and fifty-eight people. The most the Golf Club had ever catered for was eighty-six. Philip O'Brien told Kit that he hadn't slept since Christmas Eve, not more than two hours at a time.

“It'll be great,” Kit said.

“You're not sure, you're only encouraging me, you're only being nice.”

“Jesus, Philip, you really piss me off at times. I'm saying what I mean, why do you accuse me of just being nice?”

“Because your mind is miles away,” he said. “Since Christmas Day you've been thinking of something else entirely.” Kit was silent. “Isn't that right?” Philip asked.

“I have a lot on my mind that's true, but I do think the dinner will be great.”

“Will you tell me what's worrying you? I might be able to help,” Philip said.

“I don't know,” she said truthfully. “I don't know if I'll tell you.” Why did she feel that she might be able to tell wild Stevie Sullivan all about her mother and the tragedies of her life, but that she wouldn't be able to explain them to good, loyal Philip O'Brien?

“I'll always be here,” he said.

“You're a great and good friend,” she said truthfully.

“Tell me again it won't be a disaster,” he said.

“Philip, it'll have them talking about it for a year. Now, back to business.” She took out her clipboard and got back to the countdown.

They agreed that they would have big tables, set for anything from sixteen to twenty. And even though there would be guests from Dublin, the O'Connor brothers, Matthew (who was going to be watched by Kevin O'Connor all night in case anything untoward happened), Frankie, and more, the committee would all have to keep hawklike eyes out in case anything went wrong.

Kit was to be in charge of the food and training the group of girls from the convent in their waitress duties. Philip was responsible for the entire drink side of things, the opening and pouring of wine, the pulling of pints, the trays of alcohol being brought with speed to tables. Emmet was in charge of furniture. They had identified this as a possible problem, chairs and tables too close together, not leaving access for waiters, people wanting to join up with other tables. Emmet would appear miraculously when people started heaving and dragging things.

Anna was in charge of decoration. If bits of holly separated themselves from curtains, from the wine bottles holding candles, it was Anna who must replace them. She was to be forever vigilant and move around from table to table. Anna liked this. Stevie Sullivan was not going to be sitting at their table. This would give her a chance to mingle.

Patsy was to keep an eye on the ladies' room, make sure there were tissues and clean soaps. One of the downstairs rooms had been transformed with pink drapes and pink-and-white-striped Regency-style coverings on the furniture and artistic floral sprays. The two new lavatories that had been badly needed for the hotel were installed and functioning. The job had been done by Kevin Wall's brother, who had worked even on Christmas Eve to get everything finished.

Philip's parents had severe doubts about the expenditure, but they were so pleased by the attention the hotel was getting from Lough Glass and the entire surrounding countryside, they didn't protest too much. “It's about time that people took us seriously as a hotel,” Mildred sniffed when she heard more and more bookings coming in from landowners whose patronage they had never known before.

“I always said that this place would be recognized for what it was in the end,” Dan O'Brien assured her, giving absolutely no credit to his son and his son's friends who had made the whole thing possible.

Clio had no specific responsibility, it was generally agreed that she should look after the guests from Dublin, keep everything going smoothly at the table, and cover over the fact that the others would be coming and going all night.

“We won't just dance with people at our own table, will we?” Anna asked.

Kit couldn't bear to see the look on Emmet's face. “No, I think it should be open plan,” Kit said. Of course it was going to be open plan. Stevie Sullivan had booked a table for some of his customers. There were going to be more men than women in the party.

         

In the afternoon Kit and Philip looked around. “We've done it,” she said.

The tables were so festive, and the walls draped in greenery looked as if the whole place were out-of-doors. They would light the candles just before the people arrived. The convent school girls had come to show their uniform, every single one of them in white blouses and navy skirts and each wearing an embroidered badge with the letters CHL for Central Hotel Lough Glass. Kit had seen to it that those with hair flopping over their faces wore barrettes or ribbons.

She had rehearsed over and over what to do in the case of accidents. If somebody let a plate fall there was to be no giggling and no fussing, dustpans and brushes were stashed under some table, hidden by the long tablecloths. She asked them all to repeat the names of the dishes and drummed it into them—hors d'oeuvres—say it after me, no, say it again, each one of you.

“What are these starters called?”

“Hors d'oeuvres.”

“That's much better.”

“Go home now,” Philip said. “You all look terrific and be back here looking just like that at six-thirty.”

They were giggling as they left.

Kit shouted at them suddenly. “What are the starters called?”

“Hors d'oeuvres,” the six girls chanted.

“And what are the main courses?”

“Chicken with tarragon, or beef in red wine.”

“Great. What are the desserts?”

“Sherry trifle or apple tart and ice cream.”

“Can people come back to the tables as often as they like?”

“Yes, as much as they want.”

“Don't giggle as you say that,” Kit said. “They want to feel welcome, they don't want to feel stupid.” The girls looked at her respectfully. “Philip and I spend all our time at college learning this kind of thing.” Kit wanted to take some of the harm out of her direction.

“You're getting it all for free,” Philip added.

The girls smiled from one to the other. He would never be able to thank Kit for all her support over this.

“I got you a little corsage,” he said. “It's in the fridge to keep it nice and fresh. Just to thank you, from one friend to another.”

“You're a dear good friend,” she said, and put her arms around his neck to hug him.

He felt her breasts against him and it was all he could do not to hold her to him tightly and kiss her on the lips. “So are you,” he said in a voice that struggled to be casual.

The Dublin contingent came in three cars around six o'clock. The bar was bright and welcoming. Philip had the first round of mulled wine ready for them to sample. “If it lays you lot out then we'll know not to serve it to the real people,” he said.

Kevin O'Connor looked at him with interest. This wasn't the mousy Philip he knew at college. This hotel was certainly not the dump Michael had said it was when he drove past it before. It was an elegant creeper-covered building with a lot of attractive greenery in barrels around the entrance. The decorations for the New Year's Eve celebrations were stylish.

Their rooms were much more comfortable than he had been led to believe. Kevin was sharing a room with his friend Matthew. He had promised to watch Matthew's behavior. And anyway there was no point in sharing with his twin; Michael O'Connor would be entertaining Clio Kelly as the night went on. Kevin wondered how his brother had got so lucky with the Lough Glass girl he had chosen.

“Hell of a nice place this, Philip,” Kevin said. The others agreed.

“Thank you.” Philip seemed confident. He had kept his parents off the scene, saying that they should be there to greet guests in the bar at seven-thirty, when it all began. But not before. He felt a surge of excitement like he had never known before. It was all going to happen. Tonight his career and his long-term plan of marrying Kit McMahon were all taking off.

Kit had asked her father and Maura to be among the early arrivals.