The Hollow Heart (The Heartfelt Series) (37 page)

 “Okay, it’s a deal. You have my word.”

“I’ll keep you to that.” And finally she kissed him,
swiftly, on the cheek.

It had been hard to
unravel herself from Ryan’s sprawling embrace in the huge bed that took centre
stage in their suite. Their lovemaking the night before had been excruciatingly
gentle, due to Ryan’s abundant bruising, and she was sorely tempted to see what
tantalisingly new techniques they could pursue for their pleasure this morning.
But Oonagh had already texted that she and Miss MacReady were ready and waiting
to hit the shops, and she knew Ryan had a full schedule before they all met for
lunch, ahead of taking their leave of each other.

She was just squirming free, when the telephone buzzed. Lisa
confirmed the media had reported only rave reviews of the film following the
press showing, and glowing reports of the impromptu performances on last
night’s TV show
.
There was no mention of the unseemly brawl in the
hostelry. No doubt Inspector Finnegan had something to do with that happy
outcome.

Buoyed by all this good news, Marianne was showered, dressed
and ready in minutes. Kissing her still-dozing movie star goodbye, she flew
down the grand staircase to reception. It was only nine thirty, which by Dublin
standards, is early on a Saturday morning. Oonagh was in deep ‘fan club’
conversation with Lisa, as they sat on lavish sofas either side of the huge
fireplace; the grate spilling lilies and roses onto the hearth in
acknowledgement of the height of summer.

Marianne scanned the room for Miss MacReady, as liveried
porters swished effortlessly through the rotating door; glass, brass and
buckles glinting in the sunlight, the scent of the stirring city drifting in
from the street. She looked to the left through a large open doorway and caught
sight of a silver gladiator sandal swinging from a stool in the hotel’s famous
bar. Tiptoeing across the carpet to the marble floor, she found Miss MacReady,
dressed in an aquamarine trouser suit, beneath a full length matching trench
coat, hair pinned with diamante clips. She was sipping the inevitable cocktail.
Marianne slid onto a stool beside her. The glittering art deco room was
deserted. A lone barman polished glasses, discreetly.

Miss MacReady did not look up, but sniffed loudly, as a
large tear plopped from the tip of her nose into the glass.

“What’s wrong?” Marianne asked softly, touching the woman’s
hand. It was ice-cold despite the warmth in the room, the purple fingernails
trembled. Miss MacReady wiped her nose with the tissue Marianne offered.

“Nothing, I’m grand.” She gave Marianne a watery smile.

“It’s very early for a cocktail and it’s not even Monday.”

Miss MacReady nodded. “Special occasion.”

“I’ll join you then if I may?” Marianne nodded to the barman
who swiftly produced two more Bloody Marys. Miss MacReady took a large swig and
wiped another tear away.

“We came to Dublin once, we stayed here. It was heavenly,
divine, the most glorious time of my life.” She looked wistfully into her
glass.

“You never said you’d stayed here before.” Marianne waited
for an explanation of the ‘we’. Miss MacReady blew her nose, stirred her drink
and sighed.

“He started the tradition, the Monday cocktails. He knew I
loved to dress up, so we made it our special day, because people tend to
dislike Mondays and we were different, he said, in so many ways. So we had it
as our special day and Dublin was our special time. Away from the island, away
from everyone who would have disapproved. Just us, lovers in the city, the city
that hid us, held us, loved us too.” She smiled at the memory and squeezed
Marianne’s hand as it rested on the bar rail,

“I can see when Ryan is away from you, the hollowness of
your heart and how it echoes with pain until he returns. I’ve held a hollowness
such as that all my adult life. It’s far worse than any heartbreak, that empty
love-lost fog. I can see it every time you look at him, your heart bursts with
love, and when he is not with you, you carry it around aching and empty. I can
see it breaking, tiny little slivers chipping off, when they say things about
him in the press. I can feel it all again, as livid an agony as if it were
myself, every time I see you together and apart.” She wiped her eyes and drew
breath.

“Be with him, Marianne, whatever it takes, be with him. He
is your love, your life, don’t miss your chance, don’t lose what’s yours. Make
it happen, fill that hollow heart with love, because try as you might, nothing
else will ever take the emptiness away.” And with that, she swung her knees
round and jumped off the stool. “Come now.” She grabbed her bag, “Let’s get
moving, places to go, a movie to watch, helicopters to catch.” She beamed at
the barman, collecting Oonagh from reception as they left.

Ryan commented they needed
another helicopter for all the shopping bags as they made ready to leave. He
took Marianne in his arms at the safety rail, lifting her chin with his fingers
as his eyes scanned her face.

“Nearly there my love, nearly there.” He kissed her firmly.

“I hope so, Ryan. I’m tired of waiting, tired of being
understanding. I know all the reasons why and why not, but I just want to be with
you and we should be together.” She said it with a smile on her face, but tears
were brimming. She blinked them away, touched his face with her fingertips, and
headed off towards the helicopter. The blades started up, the draught whipped
at her hair, pushing her back. She strode on.

Only two weeks later, Ryan picked up
an urgent message from Marianne on his new mobile. He was in South America,
nearing the end of the publicity tour. He dialled the cottage. He knew if there
was no reply, Miss MacReady usually intervened to check who was calling and
would see if she could locate the absentee.

“It’s yourself, is it?” Her voice was tense. “Looking for
herself, I suppose? Well, I’ve no idea where she is. Headed off with Oonagh and
the baby. They were having a picnic. Oonagh had news from the hospital a couple
of days ago. No-one’s saying very much but I’m not convinced it was positive.”

“Ah.” He went quiet. Miss MacReady always knew everybody’s
business.

“Are you still there? Where in the world are you, for
heaven’s sake? Are you still on the publicity tour for the film? Goodness
knows, between the making and the selling of it, it takes an inordinate amount
of time. Sure it only ends up an hour and a half. Be quicker just to sit there
and read the book.”

Ryan was in no mood for the postmistress’s philosophical
ramblings.

“Just say I’ll be there, day after tomorrow. Just say I’m on
my way.” He disconnected.

He did not sound in the best of form either, Miss MacReady
surmised. Trouble brewing in his life too, she did not wonder. There was quite
a bit of trouble stirring between one thing and another. The planets were out
of sync, weather patterns disturbed and the wind kept changing direction at
random, every hour or so. Miss MacReady took some deep breaths and went to
light candles at her Buddhist altar, tracing the outline of the crystal wind
chimes as she passed from the telephone exchange to her inner sanctum.

The couple stood in the
freshly painted hallway of the cottage. He let his bag slide from his shoulder
to the floor with a thud. She dropped the tea towel she had been using to dry
her hands. They did not move for what seemed an age, the only sound the ticking
of the newly restored Grandfather clock she had brought out of storage from
England. Picking up his scent, Monty bounded in from the garden to greet him.
Breaking the trance, he bent to lift the little dog into his arms, nuzzling him
in welcome.

“Well, at least you’re pleased to see me.”

She ran the short distance, throwing her arms around them
both.

“I’ve never been so pleased to see anyone in my life.” She
buried her face in the collar of his old jacket. He smelled of another place.

“Nor I.” He kissed her on the nose, the forehead, then on
the mouth. Monty squirmed to be released; they were squashing him.

Ryan did not display even
the merest flicker of shock when he and Marianne joined Oonagh and Padar for
supper that evening in Maguire’s. He was an actor, after all, but he had never
witnessed such a dramatic change in the physical appearance of a human being.
Oonagh had not only become shrunken and frail, and half the size she had been
the last time he had seen her, but she was now ‘
Grand Ol Oprey’
blonde
with a husky new voice three octaves deeper than he remembered. Though nothing
could diminish the light in her eyes when she caught sight of him, or the
brightness of her smile as she stood with her arms wide open to welcome him.

“Ryan O’Gorman, as I live and breathe, come here to me, me
favourite film star, gorgeous as ever.” They hugged for a long moment. Padar
busied himself behind the bar pouring drinks. Marianne lifted Bridget onto her
hip as Ryan, freed from Oonagh’s grip, presented trinkets from his travels for
his godchild and her mother.

“We’ll take the boat out tomorrow,” Padar announced, putting
a pint before Ryan on the table.

“Boat?”

“Did Marie not tell you? Oh, it’s a fine boat, second-hand,
but you’d never know it. Weather’s set fair, would be a grand day for it.”

Despite living on the island all his life and sailing since
a child, Padar had never really owned a boat. He had a share in a couple of
dinghies as a child and a small fishing boat once, but never owned a real boat.
Last month he and Father Gregory had travelled to the mainland to return two
days later, sailing triumphantly into Innishmahon aboard a forty-foot Moody;
instantly the grandest yacht in the harbour. The waiting land lubbers, Oonagh,
Marianne and Miss MacReady had waved at them with delight, eagerly directing
the Captain and his crewmate to a berth in the newly created marina. All part
of the island’s development programme.

The two men jumped from the vessel to proudly welcome the
ladies on board and, hardly able to stop grinning, Padar guided Oonagh around
every inch of the yacht, laughing at her exclamations of surprise and approval,
as she flicked switches and opened doors, running her hands along the gleaming
galley and chart table, to finally stretch out like a starfish on the double
berth in the oak panelled sleeping quarters beneath the cockpit.

“God, Padar it’s like something off a film.” She smiled,
chinking plastic glasses with the others as they sipped champagne on deck. “And
a real bargain.”

He nodded. He had lied about the price, choosing not to tell
her he had re-mortgaged the pub to buy his dream. She knew he had lied. She had
a dream of her own to fulfil and she needed Padar onside if events were to
unfold according to her wishes. Oonagh sat back and watched as he took Marianne
and Miss MacReady on his far-too-technical guided tour. The only other time she
had seen him this happy was at Bridget’s christening, when all seemed well and
the future looked bright.

Father Gregory was fiddling with the jib. He caught her eye.

“He’s thrilled, isn’t he?” Oonagh asked.

The Priest nodded. “He needs it, or
her
I should
say.”

“Yes, another woman in his life for when this one is gone.”

“I don’t believe we go, Oonagh.”

“Gregory, this isn’t the time or place for a debate on the
afterlife, but I never took you for a fecking eejit.”

“Didn’t you? Well, I’m the bloke who wears a dress to the
office, that should have given you a clue!”

Oonagh nearly spilled her drink, laughing.

The next day dawned fresh
and bright, a light south-westerly wind scudded puff ball clouds across the
early sun. The incumbents of Weathervane were already up and about. Marianne
was busy putting finishing touches to smoked salmon and cream cheese brioche,
chunky cucumber and feta cheese salad and a hearty seafood chowder, all planned
for supper, should they decide, depending on how Oonagh was feeling, to spend
the night on the water.

Ryan had gathered together the ingredients for a number of
cocktails and had stuffed candles, a silver candelabra and a box of matches
into a kit bag, having told Oonagh and Marianne to bring a change of clothes
for dinner. It was going to be a grandiose affair.

By the time they had loaded the 4x4, fitted Monty into his
life vest, collected Oonagh and the baggage of drugs, lotions and potions which
seemed to follow her everywhere, kissed Bridget and Miss MacReady farewell,
Padar and Father Gregory had the boat shipshape and ready to sail. The sun was
blazing as they clambered on board, Padar helping Oonagh as she struggled with
the two walking sticks she had come to rely on, refusing point blank the
wheelchair he had tried to insist she used, at least around the village. He
settled her on cushions in the shade just inside the cockpit. Swathed in layers
of purple and magenta, she was wigless and had taken to wearing a turban
studded with crystals, and huge, 1960s-style sunglasses, refusing the
lifejacket he proffered. She tugged off her pink deck shoes to reveal scarlet
toenails, stark against her thin, white feet.

Marianne took up position opposite her. She had not sailed
since she was a youngster, so would await instruction from the helmsman.
Slightly apprehensive, she was relieved all the men were competent sailors. As
this was a big boat and new to them all, she did not want anything to spoil
what was to be a glorious and unforgettable maiden voyage. She glanced upwards,
not a cloud in the sky. Monty, having completed his inspection of the deck,
trotted back to the cockpit to nestle beside Oonagh, his chin on her lap.

“Fenders in,” Padar shouted.

“Fenders in,” Ryan replied.