The Hollow Heart (The Heartfelt Series) (35 page)

“Marianne, any room for a little one?” Ryan asked.

“Only if she promises not to cause any trouble. No flaunting
herself and breaking hearts up there in the big city!”

“Okay, I’ll sort things this end. That’s my three favourite
women in the world coming to spend a couple of days with me, couldn’t be
better. Have to go, love you.” Ryan clicked off.

“Oh, Marie, that’s fantastic, amazing,” said Miss MacReady,
“I’m thrilled, delighted, he thought to ask me. He’s a darling man. Now I must
go and plan my ensembles, there’ll be at least three changes a day with that
film crowd, I bet.”

“Miss MacReady, you really are incorrigible.” The line went
dead and Marianne had no time to bask in the glorious anticipation of the
forthcoming sojourn into the five star world of her movie star lover. If she
did not get her skates on and rush round to Maguire’s immediately, Miss
MacReady would telephone Oonagh and spoil the surprise.

“Don’t answer that!”
shrieked Marianne, as she charged behind the bar and snatched the phone from
Oonagh’s hand. “Thanks, Miss MacReady, I’m here now, no worries, I’ll fill
Oonagh in on all the details. Leave it with me. Phew!” she exclaimed as she
replaced the receiver, giving Oonagh her broadest grin.

Padar stood holding
Bridget under one arm and Monty under the other, so was incapacitated in the
waving-off department. However, Pat MacReady the taxi man, made up for any lack
of adieu, the three female incumbents of the helicopter may have been
experiencing, by leaping up and down, flapping his arms repeatedly and making
loud, whooping noises.

Marianne glanced back through the helicopter window and
laughed, looking from Pat to his elder sister, Kathleen, seated as close to the
young pilot as she could possibly be without landing in his lap. She wondered
if any of the MacReadys were normal. They seemed to range from slightly
eccentric to barking mad. Miss MacReady immediately engaged the pilot in
conversation and, by the time they had crossed the little stretch of water to
the mainland, knew all about him, where he was from, marital status, the lot.

“Single!” She nudged Marianne indiscreetly. Marianne took no
notice; she was wallowing in the familiar, fabulous deep down rumble of
excitement she felt whenever a reunion with Ryan was on the horizon. After a
while, she noticed Oonagh was unusually quiet, strapped in behind them. She
turned to find her face pink with heat despite her cream linen tunic and silk
blouse, purchased online for the trip. When Marianne gave her a quizzical look,
she expelled the breath she had been holding, explaining she hated flying,
particularly over water for some bizarre reason. She did not know why.

“Why didn’t you say?” Marianne asked.

“What, and miss the trip of a lifetime. Are you mad? Not
only Dublin; not only a live TV show; not only a press reception but
THE
film of the decade, stars, celebrities, media, paparazzi. Oh it’s almost too
much!” She fake-fainted back into her seat.

“Do you think there’ll be a red carpet?” Miss MacReady
wanted to know, as she painted on a beauty spot with an eyebrow pencil in one
hand, a jewel encrusted compact in the other.

“Bound to be,” Oonagh nodded, the pinkness calming as they
passed over the fields below.

“Ladies, here’s the schedule and there are some drinks and
snacks in the cooler box behind your seat,” the pilot indicated to Oonagh, who
immediately dived into the box and emerged exclaiming,

“Look! Champagne, strawberries, croissants and chocolate,
happy days!” Her eyes sparkled, and Marianne felt an inner warmth and deep
gratitude.

“I love Ryan O’Gorman,” she said loudly.

“We know,” Oonagh and Miss MacReady shouted back.

Miss MacReady donned glasses to read out the schedule
bearing the studio’s logo. It was very official and timed to the last minute.

“Arrival Dublin 14:00
hours: Helicopter lands on rooftop of hotel

14.30 – 15.00 hours: Private lunch
with Mr O’Gorman

15.15 hours: Check-in

15.30 hours: Guests meet in foyer
for informal photo-call

16.00 hours: Press reception

18.00 hours: Cars to the TV studio

19.00 hours: Guests reception

21.00 hours: Guests take seats in
the audience

22.00 hours: Show goes Live

23.15 hours: Green Room reception

01.30 hours: Cars depart for the
hotel

02.00 hours: Light supper and
drinks served privately for Mr O’Gorman’s guests”

“How lovely,” Oonagh
cooed, “it all sounds just perfect.”

Marianne could not resist taking the schedule from Miss
MacReady and scan-read the rest.

“Brilliant! Champagne breakfast the next morning, followed
by a preview of the film, shopping, sightseeing and, at half past two, the
helicopter flight home.”

“Gosh! Dublin, Grafton Street, St Stephen’s Green, I haven’t
been there in an age.” Miss MacReady was wistful.

“We’ll even have time to hit the shops, I’m dying to buy
Bridget lots of lovely things. It really is the perfect trip.” Oonagh was
beginning to relax.

In just over an hour, the helicopter swooped over the Dublin
mountains as the city, sitting neatly in its perfect curving bay, lay
glimmering in the sunshine before them. Beyond it, the Irish sea, a sparkling
wrap around the coast.

Marianne gasped, “I’ve never seen it like this. It’s
glorious.”

Miss MacReady, who had been dozing slightly from a little
too much champagne, was suddenly alert. “Will you fly us in along the Liffey
and over the Bank and Trinity College, just so I can get my bearings and make a
proper entrance?” she asked the pilot

“Sorry Ma’am, I’ll come in from the North West and head
straight to the landing zone. Mr O’Gorman wants to see Miss Coltrane as soon as
possible. They’re my instructions.”

“I bet he does,” chortled Oonagh. Marianne looked knowingly
at her friend, who was beaming out of the window. She looked better than she
had in months. Marianne felt sure that, at the very least, the disease was in
remission, and they could look forward to a string of happy times together.

Nipping over the treetops of St Stephen’s Green, Marianne
spotted the large H on the roof of the hotel and, if she was not mistaken, as
they drew closer, a man in faded jeans and an Irish rugby shirt, standing with
his face craned upwards, clutching the rails of the safety zone just beyond the
helicopter landing pad. Her heart leapt, her insides turned to slush, and she
could feel tears behind her eyes. She never missed him as much as when she
first saw him again, the longing to be with him so raw, it hurt. As if sensing
the emotion, Miss MacReady gripped her hand.

“There he is love, there he is waiting, not long now.”

Marianne abandoned everyone and everything as she scrabbled
out of the helicopter. Blades barely slowing, she charged across the tarmac.
The man dived under the railings as soon as he spotted her, and ran towards
her, arms outstretched, the draught from the blades making their clothes flap
and their eyes water.

They flew into each other’s arms and held on tightly.
Marianne buried her face in his chest, breathing him in. He wrapped his arms
around her head, protecting her ears from the noise, turning her face upwards
to kiss her forehead, nose, mouth. Suddenly, all was quiet, all was still,
everything stopped. She was in his arms, lost in his kiss and, together, they
were suspended in an exquisitely perfect moment in time. He broke away from her
lips, hugging her to him.

“God I could eat you,” he said, into her hair.

“And I could eat a horse,” laughed Oonagh, sashaying behind
them as best she could, given the amount of luggage she was carrying. The poor
pilot was still unloading under Miss MacReady’s beady eye. Releasing Marianne
with one arm, Ryan scooped Oonagh to him with the other, kissing both cheeks
and grinning at her.

“You look good, Oonagh. Are you well enough for this? If you
want to stop at any stage, take a break, bow out, no worries, give me the nod.”

“Are you out of your mind? I’m not missing one second of
this. This is a dream come true. Bring it on, Mr O’Gorman, bring on as much of
the ritzy, glitzy, showbiz razzmatazz as you like. I’m ready for it.”

“And so am I!” Miss MacReady joined them, tripping over the
roof in red, frou-frou mules, as the helicopter pilot buckled under the baggage
behind her. Ryan looked at Marianne and raised his eyebrows.

“I know.” She laughed. “We never did do normal!”

After a delicious lunch of
Dublin Bay Prawns, fresh salad and baby new potatoes in butter and chives,
devoured ravenously by all, Marianne, who had been grinning inanely at all
three, relaxed back into one of the restaurant’s sumptuous sofas.

She unashamedly allowed herself to gaze adoringly at Ryan,
who was strutting his stuff, entertaining them with snippets of showbiz gossip
and a roundup of the latest happenings on set. He looked well, better than she
had seen him look in a long time. Calm yet excited, animated and charming,
groomed yet just a little ruffled, taking the edge off the smoothness.

“God but you’re gorgeous,” she said to herself, dreamily
imagining them making love later on, and then realising she had actually said
the words out loud, she joined the others in laughter, as Ryan twirled like a
mannequin, giving them the benefit of a wiggle of his neat bottom in faded
jeans. Lisa arrived, clipboard in hand, mobile phone glued to her ear, and Ryan
indicated it was time to get the show on the road.

“Your luggage has gone ahead. There’s a car outside.” Lisa
nodded down the sweeping staircase to the hotel entrance.

Once outside, Oonagh and Miss MacReady bundled into the
discreet grey Mercedes to take the short journey to the luxury hotel where they
were staying. Ryan took Marianne’s arm.

“Let’s walk.”

“I was just about to suggest the same.” She smiled.

Within minutes, they were
strolling hand in hand along Grafton Street, amid bustling shoppers and buskers
on every corner. Marianne noticed that, although Ryan was recognised as they
passed along the busiest thoroughfare in the city, no-one bothered them.

Dubliners had always been at ease with celebrity, she
surmised. The famous had always found sanctuary in the city’s bars and
restaurants. The natives liked it that way, letting the great and good rub
shoulders with them. Besides, they were usually so busy with their own
colourful lives, the transience of celebrity was accepted for what it was.

“I love this city,” she said. They slowed as they passed a
famous coffee house, to inhale the pungent fragrance of freshly ground beans.
Turning right, the heady scent of lilies and roses filled the air, together
with the flower seller’s shrill cry of bargains to be had.

Despite her protests, Ryan stopped to buy an armful of
blooms, randomly selecting from the buckets on display and, once happy she
could, in fact, carry no more, spun her through the door and into the snug of
her, and as it turned out, his, favourite bar. The very pub where he had
spotted her all those months ago and had assumed she was stalking him for a
story.

“Let’s lay a few ghosts to rest,” he said, settling beside
her and taking her hands. “I remember when I saw you here. Despite thinking you
were on my tail for some sort of sordid expose, I also remember thinking how
stunningly beautiful you were, and wishing you were on my tail for whatever
reason.”

“I didn’t even see you that day.” She pushed his hair back
from his forehead. “Probably wouldn’t have registered anyway. I was pretty
frazzled at the time. No, flat out on the beach, that was the first time I saw
you again, properly. God, you looked rough. I really did think you were
drowning.” They laughed and then he was suddenly serious.

“I was pretty frazzled myself, ‘til I met you. You seem to
smooth that bit out.” He looked at her intently.

“Which bit?”

“The bit that keeps churning away inside. It kind of stops
when I’m with you, it all feels calmer, smoother, safer.”

She held his hand to her cheek and kissed his palm. “Me
too.”

And then a man with a camera appeared from nowhere and stuck
his head around the glass partition. The flash popped and he was gone. There
was a commotion as a barman leapt over the counter, chasing after the
photographer, shouting.

 “Hey, none of that in here, this is where people relax, for
fuck’s sake.”

“Indeed,” came a familiar voice from behind them. “A place
where people can relax, be together, in private.” Paul Osborne was perched on a
bar stool, pint in hand. “Slainté,” he said, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Ryan snapped.

“I’m press, remember? There’s a press reception.”

Marianne jumped out of her seat.

 “How dare you, you’re a disgrace to the profession!”

Ryan stood up beside her.

“Anyway, you’re out of touch Osborne. There’s no story here.”

“Are you sure?” Paul sneered, “seems the goodie, goodie
Hollywood movie star, has yet again abandoned wife and child, for a little
grope under the duvet with his favourite colleen.”

“There’s no story, Osborne. I’ve told you. Not that it’s any
of your business, but Marianne and I are together, and arrangements relating to
our private lives are exactly that. Private.”

Marianne saw a flicker cross Paul’s eyes. Ryan looked from
Paul to Marianne and back. They were all standing now, the barman was hovering
close by. The pub grew quiet.

“It’s not about you, arsehole,” Paul snarled.

Marianne stepped between the men.