The O’Hara Affair (25 page)

‘But she and Finn would be perfect together…’

‘You’ve forgotten something, I think.’

‘Oh?’

‘That little matter of location, location, location. Bethany lives in Dublin.’

‘
Merde!
You’re right, of course.’ Something struck Fleur as being a bit odd, here. ‘How did you know?’

‘That Bethany lives in Dublin? I saw the form she filled in for the casting director. She gave both her addresses, and you’ve just mentioned that the house in Díseart was a holiday home.’

‘What sort of info do extras have to fill in on those forms?’

‘Contact details, appearance, availability. That kind of
thing. They always lie about their riding ability, apparently – to go by the claims on the forms, all extras are excellent horsemen and women.’

‘I remember in the old days, Shane used to lie about that, too.’

‘Well, he can certainly ride now. He’s a natural in the saddle.’

Over on the sea wall, Bethany had swivelled around, and was talking to someone. It was Río.

‘There’s Río now.’ Fleur glanced at her watch. ‘Heavens –

is that the time? I’d better set the table.’

‘What are you cooking?’

‘Bouillabaisse, from my own fish stock.’

‘I’m jealous.’

‘I’ll do one for you when you’re next down. Weekend after next, yes?’

‘Hopefully. Unless something crops up in the meantime.’

‘
Au revoir
, then,
chéri
.’

‘
Au revoir
, Fleur.’

Fleur put the phone down and went into the kitchen. It would be like old times, having Fleur and Shane to dinner. Except in those old times they hadn’t eaten off Bridgewater plates or drunk from John Rocha crystal. In the days when Fleur and Río and Shane had lived in a squat in Galway city they’d often been too poor to afford to buy food. How things had changed! Now Shane was a Hollywood hotshot, Río a woman of some substance, and Fleur a fully-fledged fashionista.

She was uncorking wine when the door bell rang. ‘Come up, darling Río,’ she said into the entry phone, pressing the button that would release the lock.

‘How did you know it was me?’ said Río, as she came up the stairs. ‘I could have been an axe-murderer. Shane always pretends to be a murderer when he calls.’

‘I saw you on the street just now, talking to that little Bethany girl.’

‘Oh, yeah? She’s a sweetie-pie. She’s an extra on the movie.’

‘I know. I got her the gig.’

‘How?’

As Fleur led Río into the kitchen, she told her about the ruse she’d devised to secure a job for Bethany.

‘What a kind thing to do,’ remarked Río.

‘I like to spread a little happiness. And I warmed to her. She’s an unusual kid.’

Río sniffed the air. ‘Hey! Fantastic smell.’

‘It’s bouillabaisse.’

‘It’ll be nice to get some real food for a change.’

‘Aren’t the caterers any good?’

Río shrugged. ‘To call them nondescript would be paying them a compliment.’

‘Go on out to the deck,’ Fleur said, ‘and I’ll bring you a glass of wine.’

The Burgundy in the fridge had been a present from Christian, to say thank you for help in choosing lingerie for Dervla. He certainly knew his wine. She’d have to invite him to dinner next time Corban was in town: being a wine buff himself, they’d have a lot in common. And then she remembered Dervla’s bizarre remark about pink
prosecco
. What on earth had made Dervla think that Corban would ever present her with a bottle of pink
prosecco
?!

She poured two glasses and took them out onto the deck, where Río was sitting with her bare feet up on the railing, looking like a 1940s land girl in dungarees, with a scarf tied around her head.

‘
Santé
!’ said Fleur, handing her a glass.

‘
Sláinte
!’

‘Here’s to the safe return of Finn. When’s he due?’

‘Tomorrow. I don’t imagine he’ll stay long, though. His wanderlust’s bound to get the better of him. He’s really just checking in to say hello to his ma and pa because it’s not often he gets to see me and Shane in the same place.’

‘How do you feel about him and Izzy taking a break?’

Río shrugged. ‘Izzy never really warmed to me for some reason. I think she saw me as a rival for her daddy’s affections. She’s a real daddy’s girl – she’s gone off to work for him in Dubai.’

‘Have you heard from Adair?’

‘We stay in touch via Facebook. He’s doing all right out there.’

‘Any regrets about not going out to join him?’

Río gave Fleur an incredulous look. ‘Hel
lo
, Fleur? Can you
picture
me in Dubai? My heart belongs here in Lissamore. I’ll never leave. I want to be buried in my orchard. That’s where Finn was conceived, you know.’

‘I can’t say I’ve ever been that into alfresco sex.’

‘I’d be into any kind of sex, these days,’ said Río ruefully. ‘Lucky you, to have a lover.’

‘Whom I rarely get to see. That’s the one disadvantage of going out with a Mr Big – everybody wants a piece of him. We’re going to be visiting the location some time this week, by the way. Me and your sister.’

‘What for?’

‘Curiosity. I’ve never been on a movie set before.’

‘If you’re lucky you’ll get a chance to laugh at Shane’s acting.’

Fleur gave her a reproving look. ‘You give him such a hard time, Río.’

‘I’m allowed. He fathered my child and then fucked off to LA.’

‘He did ask you to go with him.’

‘Sure Fleur,
acushla
, I’d be as out of my depth in LA as I would in Dubai.’

‘There he is now.’

‘Who?’

‘Shane. Coming out of O’Toole’s.’

As Río swung her feet off the railing and stood up to get a better look, Fleur clocked her expression. Uh-oh, she thought. Río Kinsella was still plainly smitten with Shane Byrne, even after all these years. She remembered how the pair had larked together, back in the Galway squat days, when Río had been pregnant with Finn and before Shane had ‘fucked off ’ to LA, how the sound of laughter from their bedroom would echo around the cavernous old building they shared with artists and musicians and actors and film makers. They’d all been so carefree then.

The phone rang.

‘Hello?’ said Fleur, picking up.

‘Hello,’ came the response. ‘Am I speaking to Fleur O’Farrell?’

‘You are.’

‘Hi, Fleur. My name’s Jake Malone. I’m an AD on
The O’Hara Affair
, and I was asked to phone and arrange a time that would suit you to visit the set.’

‘Oh! That was quick. Thank you, but I’ll need to check with my friend, to see when she’s available.’

‘No problem. Save my number to your phone and call me when you’ve decided.’

‘Will do. Sorry – did you say your name was Jack or Jake?’

‘Jake. We’ve met, actually. I bought a pair of earrings in your shop the other day.’

‘Oh, yes. I remember you. I hope your mother liked them.’ Fleur recalled the youth’s wicked eyes, the way his hair flopped over his forehead, the interested look he’d given her. She
wondered if he was the AD Corban had told her about – the one who was having the affair with a married woman from the village. ‘Will you be available, Jake, to show us around?’ she asked.

‘I’ll make it my business to be available, ma’am.’

‘Thank you. I’ll look forward to it.’

‘My pleasure.’

Fleur set the phone down with a minxy smile. What an accomplished flirt the boy was, and how good it felt to flirt back! She’d have to check out his profile on Daisy’s Facebook.

Her doorbell rang again. ‘Are you the murderer?’ Fleur said into the entry phone.

‘Yes,’ came the reply.

‘Come on up.’

Fleur opened the door to her duplex, and watched Shane lope up the stairs. He was, if anything, better looking than when she’d first met him, twenty odd years ago – more rugged, a little rougher around the edges, but fit, still.

‘Come on in, Monsieur Byrne.’

‘Thanks, darlin’.’ Shane stooped to kiss her on the cheek, before handing her a bottle in a brown paper bag. ‘I hope I’m not late. I stopped off to get wine in O’Toole’s and my arm was twisted into staying for a pint.’

‘Let me pour you a glass. Río’s out on the deck.’

‘I saw her from the road. She looked like the figurehead on the prow of a ship.’

‘I’m not sure she’d thank you for the comparison. Figureheads tend to have
embonpoint
.’

‘What’s that?’

‘
Embonpoint
means…um…’ – Fleur described an hourglass shape in the air with her hands – ‘curvy.’

‘And that’s a
bad
thing? I can’t agree with you on that one.’

Fleur watched as Shane joined his ex-ladylove, his smile reflected in Rio’s face.

How sad, she thought, that fate had kept them apart. She wondered if there was any way she could encourage a reunion, manipulate it somehow that they might see sense and become an item once again.

No, no, Fleur. Stop it at once! Stop all this nosy-parkering in other people’s business. It was absolutely none of her affair.

She poured Shane’s wine and took it out to him. Río had produced a copy of the
National Enquirer
from her basket, and was leafing through it.

‘What are you doing with that rag, Río?’

‘I had to buy it when I saw the headline. Look.’ She held up the tabloid, and three words leaped up at Fleur. SHANE BURNS OUT she read.

‘Yikes,’ said Fleur. ‘What’s that all about?’

‘I’m having a nervous breakdown,’ said Shane equably, ‘according to the
Enquirer
. Apparently I’m so distraught at working on the same set as my erstwhile lover and mother of my child – flame-haired Irish colleen, Río Kinsella – that I’ve been locking myself in my trailer for hours on end, knocking back whiskey and gulping down painkillers.’

‘Is it true?’ asked Fleur.

‘I was given a present of a bottle of vintage Reserve by Jameson – which I haven’t opened yet. And someone must have seen me going into the pharmacy in Ardmore for a pack of paracetamol.’

‘Listen to this,’ said Río, scanning the article. ‘“The flame-haired temptress refused to comment.” Hello? Nobody even
asked
me to comment. “But the
Enquirer
can reveal in a bombshell world exclusive that according to an insider Ms Kinsella spends a lot of time in Shane’s trailer begging him not to open another bottle of his favourite Special Reserve
Jameson whiskey, which costs a staggering $239.00 a bottle. Shane and Río’s relationship goes back many years – they first met when Shane was a struggling young actor in Galway. Río immediately fell pregnant with their love child, but Shane left mother and baby Finn behind in Ireland to pursue a career in Tinseltown. He first came to prominence as Seth Fletcher in the mega successful TV series,
Faraway
, and since then has gone from strength to strength as an actor. He has won an IFTA (the Irish equivalent of a BAFTA) and owns homes in LA and the south of France. The whiskey-voiced star is also rumoured to be interested in buying a property in his native Emerald Isle in order to be close to his estranged family…”
What
?’ Río looked up from the
Enquirer
. ‘Is that true, Shane?’

‘Yeah. I miss you guys.’

‘Oh.’ Río looked a little nonplussed. ‘Well, Adair Bolger’s house is still up for grabs. Apparently he’s reduced the asking price by half. If you bought it, we’d be neighbours.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Shane.

‘I own the adjoining orchard, remember?’

‘Hmm. I have to say it would give me no little satisfaction to buy out Baldy Bolger. I haven’t forgiven him for trying to annexe you, Río.’

‘I can’t be annexed,’ retorted Río, ‘because I don’t belong to anyone. And don’t you forget it, buster.’ Río returned her attention to the
Enquirer
. ‘And Adair isn’t bald.’

‘Yes, he is,’ said Shane. ‘Turn to page five for the “full and exclusive story” and you’ll see a picture of him.’

‘
What
?’ said Río again, tearing the paper in her haste to turn the pages. ‘Oh, my God! Where did they get this?’ She scanned the column inches rapidly, then dropped the paper onto the tabletop and regarded it incredulously. ‘What on earth makes them think that anybody
cares
?’

‘Show me.’ Fleur reached for the paper. ‘Tousle-haired Río has been linked to millionaire property developer, Adair Bolger,’ she read, ‘and in a bizarre twist, the love child of Shane and Río – Finn Byrne, who is now all grown up and works as a professional scuba-diver (see left) – has been linked to Bolger’s daughter, Irish beauty Isabella Bolger, who is currently working for her father in glitzy Dubai.’ The photograph on the left showed Finn and Isabella larking on a beach, and had clearly been lifted from a Facebook page. The picture of Adair was bog standard picture library. Sweet Jesus, thought Fleur, was there no privacy left in the world? ‘According to a close Byrne pal,’ the article continued, ‘the pair never stopped loving each other. But Shane’s drink problem has triggered an avalanche of concern, and until he kicks the habit, the former love of his life will not consider a reunion.’

Fleur couldn’t help it. She burst out laughing. ‘Who are the “insiders” and the “close pals”? Where do they source all this info?’

‘Beats me,’ said Shane. ‘Maybe I should start doing something to justify all the fuss.’ He reached for his wineglass, and held it aloft in a mock toast. ‘Look, Google Earth!’ he pronounced in stentorian tones. ‘Here I am, whiskey-voiced Shane Byrne, knocking back booze and triggering an avalanche of concern. I am clearly a roaring drunk, and neither can I stay away from the love of my life, flame-haired temptress Río Kinsella.’ He slung an arm around Río, who had started laughing too.

‘Quick, Fleur!’ she said. ‘Take a picture so we can sell it to the
Enquirer
.’

But a flash from the street told Fleur that a tourist had got there first. It was official. There was no privacy left in the world.

The next day Fleur set off for the recycling centre. As she was enjoying chucking her wine bottles into the bins (she loved
the sound of breaking glass), she was joined by her cleaning lady, Audrey. Fleur sometimes felt guilty about having a cleaning lady, but she had inherited her mother’s antipathy for housework. She didn’t mind doing the ironing because she found it soothing, but dusting and Hoovering and polishing bored her senseless. The other plus about having Audrey in from time to time was that she was an inveterate gossip, and gossip in a village as small as Lissamore was a valuable commodity.