Scarlet Feather (13 page)

He lived in what he called the garden flat of one of the big Victorian houses in Rathgar. He had been an accountant in a large provincial town for most of his life, and had only come to Dublin in the last five years. He was now retired. They couldn’t ask him what he did all day, and if time was heavy on his hands these days. They didn’t dare ask him had he any family. Their conversations, though warm and relaxed, were always professional. One day Tom had asked whether he might know someone who would act as a bookkeeper for them. They told him that they assumed that maybe one morning a week would be enough at this early stage, or possibly they didn’t even need that. Perhaps he might have come across someone.

‘I’d be very happy to do it,’ he said.

‘To find someone?’ Cathy wasn’t sure what he meant.

‘No, I mean to act as your bookkeeper, if that would suit you. Two hours a week should be adequate at the start.’

‘But Mr Byrne… I mean James… we couldn’t ask
you .
..’ Tom began.

Cathy sensed he was lonely and had nothing else to do. ‘But of course, if you would take us on a trial period we would be delighted,’ she had said firmly. And an unaccustomed smile came across James Byrne’s face, making him look handsome. Still grave, despite the smile, but definitely very handsome.

‘I’ve got your mother a dress,
and
I’ve booked a hairdo for her,’ Geraldine said.

‘You’ll be bankrupt,’ Cathy protested.

‘Not on the kind of place your mother insists on going to have her hair done in, that’s when she does go at all.’

‘But the dress?’

It came from Oxfam.’ Geraldine looked at her with clear, lying blue eyes.

‘It didn’t. It came from Haywards.’

‘And what makes you think that?’

‘Shona Burke told me she met you getting it.’

‘Busybody,’ Geraldine said, laughing.

If my mother knew she was wearing a dress from Haywards she’d have to be in the next bed to my one in the nervous hospital, as Maud keeps calling it. Oh, Geraldine,
what
am I going to do with those children?’

‘There must be someone in St Jarlath’s Crescent, some neighbour.’

‘Of course there are a dozen people, but Ma has reservations about all of them, and I don’t want her like a hen on a hot griddle all night wondering are they all right.’

‘All right, all right, give them to me,’ Geraldine said. ‘I’ll get them into the child-sitting service at Peter’s hotel.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘In their case, chicken nuggets and chips, suitable video and a swim in a heated pool if they want one.

‘Would you really?’

‘Of course I would, and remember that I do have to protect my investment tomorrow night, don’t I?’

‘It’s nothing to do with an investment, it’s a lifeline that you’ve given us and always have,’ Cathy said.

But Geraldine would hear none of it. ‘It’s just that you’re overtired, but tomorrow will be a roaring success, believe me,’ she said. ‘And if the backers are confident, then everyone is confident. Take me through the menu again.’

‘You’re going to a hotel tomorrow evening,’ Cathy told Simon and Maud.

I’d be just as happy to go to the do,’ Simon said.

‘To help you,’ Maud explained.

I know, and I do appreciate it, but honestly there’s not all that much room in the premises, and you’ll have a great time there.’

Is Walter going to your party?’ Maud wanted to know.

‘Yes, I think he is. He didn’t reply, but I’m sure he will be there.’

‘Will he be working for you and Tom?’ Simon asked.

‘Not if all the guests were lying writhing on the ground parched with thirst, pleading and roaring for a drink will Walter Mitchell ever work for me again,’ Cathy said cheerfully.

It doesn’t sound much of a party, Simon said to Maud.  I think we’d be better off in the hotel, to tell you the truth.’

Neil was up and dressed when Cathy woke with a start. ‘God almighty, what time is it?’

‘Relax, it’s not even seven yet.’

‘Why are you up?’

‘This is the big day,’ he said.

Lord, she had forgotten. Today Scarlet Feather would be a reality, the launch party, the brochure out, the whole company up and ready for business.

I know, I can hardly believe it.’ Cathy stood there in her stripy nightshirt. She rubbed her eyes and shook her hair back.

I know he’s only a junior minister, but it’s very big for him to come to the breakfast, and he’s crazy about publicity so it’ll give the whole thing some attention.’

She realised that it was a big day for Neil because a group of them had managed to get a government minister to meet them about prisoners of conscience.

‘I hope it’s a great success, anyway,’ she said in a flat voice.

He looked at her, startled at the tone, but she said nothing by way of explanation. ‘So I must run…’ he said eventually.

‘See you tonight,’ she said.

‘Oh yes, of course, the do. It will be great, honey, don’t have a worry in the world about it.’

‘No, of course not.’ Still the same flat voice.

He came back and gave her a quick hug. ‘I’m very proud of you, you know,’ he said.

‘I know, Neil,’ she said. But she wished that it were much more important to him than a quick hug and a pat on the back.

Ricky sent one of his photographers down to the premises an hour before people were expected. Just to do a few food shots, to see the buffet before it got all clogged up with people. Cathy’s friends June and Katy were well kitted out in their white shirts with the scarlet feather logo. They all posed beside the plates of dressed salmon, long, oval dishes of roasted peppers, colourful salads and baskets of bread.

One moment there seemed to be nobody except the staff standing around nervously, and the next the place was teeming with people. The front room, which would later be their little reception office, looked terrific tonight. How right they had been to have old-fashioned sofas and chairs. Their new filing system was cleverly hidden in elegant drawers. It was a peaceful place where they hoped that customers would sit and discuss menus. Nothing of the precision shining white and steel of the kitchens here: that was all beyond the door, and they had cleared spaces for people to stand and later to dance. Tonight the front room was acting as a cloakroom with two great rails. And a ravishing-looking redhead who worked in Geraldine’s office but did not think helping at a party was beneath her, gave people tickets for their coats and hung them neatly on the rails.

Then June and Katy, her two great friends through everything from schooldays long ago, stood with trays of welcoming drinks leaving Tom and Cathy free to greet and welcome and to listen to the praise and admiration for their new premises.

Neil was not among the early arrivals. Cathy planned to place him very near to the door, so that he could cope with his mother whenever Hannah chose to make her entrance. Cathy’s own parents were there, totally amazed by it all, awkward and out of place. Her father twisting his cap that he had inexplicably refused to surrender at the cloakroom, and roaming the room with his eyes looking for someone he might talk to. Her mother in a soft, flattering green wool dress that had set her sister back a small fortune at Haywards and with her hair nicely styled, had no idea how well she looked. Instead, her eyes scanned the room for somewhere to hide.

‘Mam, you look beautiful,’ Cathy said, and meant it.

‘No indeed I don’t, Cathy, I’m a disgrace. I shouldn’t be here with all these people at all. I wonder, is…’ Why did they feel so ill at ease, as if somehow they were going to be found out, pronounced unacceptable and sent home? Cathy had been down this route, had asked herself these questions so often that she knew it to be totally fruitless. But of course Tom had to put up with it too. JT and Maura Feather didn’t look as if they were having fun either. Now there was an idea. She excused herself from talking to a pleasant man who ran a house-cleaning service. They had been saying that there were ways in which they might well work together, one would recommend the other. Expertly Cathy made the introductions. In one way it didn’t really work: instead of being moral support to each other, they made each other more nervous. But they each drew some strength and solidarity from realising that the other couple was also full of doubts. Tom’s father said that if anyone wanted to know what he thought, then he thought that it wasn’t worth spoiling the ship for a ha’porth of tar, and they should have given it more time. And Lizzie Scarlet said she was afraid they had bitten off more than they could chew. Maura Feather said there was a perfectly good living for Tom in his father’s business and he needn’t even get his hands dirty – he could have sat in an office and brought in clients. Like these people who were all dressed to kill, and would have plenty in the bank to build extensions and maybe even second homes. Muttie said that if his Cathy and their Tom were such great cooks, then if they went to work for other people without putting their money at risk they would save a small fortune in no time, but of course nobody ever listened to the voice of experience.

The mood was getting more relaxed by the moment. Cathy caught her aunt’s eye and in seconds Geraldine was in there talking and enthusing and broadening the circle. The noise level was much higher now. Cathy noticed, and she allowed herself to take a couple of normal breaths and to accept that it was all going very well. She even looked around her at the guests. James Byrne had phoned at the last moment to say he couldn’t come. Marcella looked just exquisite in a beautifully cut silk jacket and long black skirt. She wore no jewellery, even though anything at all around that long, slim neck would have looked good. Somehow she had great style the way she was. She was the centre of admiring glances, and Tom looked on proudly. Cathy was glad that this was not one of Marcella’s rather over-sexy nights; she had seen Tom’s face too often on such occasions.

In and in they came, and then she saw Neil’s parents arrive. Jock with his handsome if marginally vacant face had the slightly affected manner of always appearing to think he should be somewhere else. Good-natured and bewildered, but not entirely convincing. And beside him was Hannah. She wore a harsh, dark purple dress that somehow drained the colour from her face. She looked affronted before she even came in the door. There was nothing here that she could fault, Cathy thought triumphantly. Nothing at all. There were even a few minor celebrities from the stage or television. But in general it was just a well-dressed, well-behaved crowd of people who might form a pool of future clients. She had, however, known Mrs Mitchell since her early childhood, for too long not to be able to read her face. The woman was spoiling for a fight. She would not have one with Cathy.

They all seemed to love the food: it had been worthwhile showing off their wares. Cathy noticed her father deep in conversation with a sports journalist, and her mother sitting happily with Mrs Keane, a neighbour of theirs from Waterview on two chairs a little away from the general throng. To Cathy’s surprise, Hannah Mitchell approached them.

‘Ah, good to see you, Lizzie; give me that chair, will you, like a dear, and get me a plate of mixed bites, nibbles, whatever they call them…’ She spoke imperiously, as someone who knew she would make it happen. And it would have happened, had Cathy not been near at hand. Poor Lizzie Scarlet stumbled to her feet and apologised. She was still Mrs Mitchell’s cleaner, and she had been caught sitting down and talking in an overfamiliar way with the quality.

‘Yes, Mrs Mitchell, sorry Mrs Mitchell, what exactly would you like, a little of everything?’ Cathy’s resolutions were out of the window. She had never been so angry. This woman had now crossed over every boundary of behaviour and good manners. In an icy voice, she ordered her mother to sit down and not to abandon Mrs Keane in mid-conversation. Out of sheer shock Lizzie did just that, and with a combination of shoulder and arm Cathy moved and manipulated Hannah Mitchell to the other side of the room. Out of the corner of her mouth she hissed at June that she needed a stool, and at Kate that she wanted a plate with a small selection. Then she seated her mother-in-law in an area where she could see everyone.

‘There was no need to push me across the room, Cathy, really.’

I know, isn’t it just terrible when places become so crowded? But you wanted a chair and I wanted to make sure you got one.’ She smiled until the sides of her face hurt.

Hannah Mitchell was not fooled. ‘I had a perfectly good chair where I was.’

‘Sadly no, that was my mother’s chair, but can I leave you for a moment? I do hope you like the premises.’ And she was gone trembling and shaking.

Neil, who had noticed nothing amiss, was talking to his cousin Walter, jumpy and restless as ever. Cathy saw Joe Feather come in; he had brought them a kitchen clock with pictures of old-fashioned cooking utensils on it.

‘Figured you didn’t need any more food and drink in this place. What a great, great job – you’ve done it, I smell success everywhere.’ Tom and Cathy beamed at him, he had such a knack for saying the right thing, and was a strange magnet immediately for people. He didn’t even have to move towards them, they came to him.

They turned the background music level down slightly. It was time for the speeches. Tom and Cathy gave each other the thumbs-up sign. They had rehearsed these for ever. No long Oscar-style lists of thank-yous. No boasting of how successful they would be. Even before they had got the premises they had been trying them out on each other. It would be an absolute maximum of two minutes each, and then fade up the music. People could continue their conversations without feeling seriously interrupted, and it worked just as they’d planned. It was much too good a party to interrupt for more than four minutes, plus applause. When it was over, they looked at each other. Had they really said what they meant to? Neither could remember. They were congratulated on all sides, and could hardly take it in. Some early leavers were beginning to get their coats, but the hard core would be there for much, much longer.

‘What a pity we didn’t think of having a tape recorder!’ Cathy said.