The O’Hara Affair (53 page)

‘Yeah. I should have filmed it and put it up on YouTube,’ said Finn. ‘“Fashionista Kick-boxes in Jimmy Choo Stilettos and Tight Skirt.”’

Across the room, Fleur saw Jake and Bethany arrive. Bethany looked a little shy as her date took her by the hand and led her to their table, and she watched as Jake held out her chair for her. He had manners! How sexy was that! Then he bent to say something in Bethany’s ear before taking the seat next to her, and Fleur felt a little nostalgic for the lost last love of her life. But no, no! Nostalgia was unnecessary. She was just happy – truly happy – that Bethany seemed to have sorted her life out.

And then she saw that the animal wrangler – who was at the same table as Jake and Bethany – was sending her interested signals. Fleur arched an eyebrow a fraction, bit her lip and pushed a stray tendril of hair back into her chignon, then lowered demure eyes to her place setting. The waitress was just about to pour wine into her glass, but Fleur put her hand over it. ‘No wine for me, thank you,’ she said.

‘No wine?’ exclaimed Río, sliding her glass in the direction of the waitress. ‘Woah – what’s the matter with you, Ms O’Farrell? Are you pregnant?’

What the hell. She was going to have to come clean sooner or later.

‘Yes,’ said Fleur.

Later, after the dancing had started, Dervla took the seat next to Fleur. ‘You’re really thrilled about this baby, aren’t you?’

Fleur nodded. ‘It’s what I’ve always wanted.’

‘And you’re adamant about not telling the father?’

‘Absolutely. It would just succeed in messing up his life big time.’

‘It’s Corban, of course.’

‘No,’ Fleur told her, ‘as a matter of fact, it’s not. And I’m not prepared to divulge any more than that.’

‘So you’re going to do this all on your own?’

‘I’ll get by,’ Fleur said with a serene smile, ‘with a little help from my friends.’

Reaching for Dervla’s hand, she held it against her belly. On the dance floor, Shane and Río were swaying together to the rhythm of ‘She Moves Through the Fair’.

‘I hope those two come to their senses soon,’ remarked Fleur.

‘I hope they do, too,’ said Dervla. ‘Just look at that body language.’

‘Río’s been in denial all her life.’

‘What’s Ma been in denial about?’ Finn had plonked himself down beside them.

‘None of your business, godson,’ Fleur told him. ‘This is private girl talk.’

‘Yeah! Let me join in! I’ve always wanted to know what girls talk about in private.’

Fleur gave him an arch look. ‘We talk about things that are of no interest to smelly boys. We talk about kittens and roses and frilly underwear.’

‘Frilly underwear’s of interest to me,’ said Finn, happily. ‘I could spend hours in your shop riffling through the ruffly stuff.’

‘I don’t have a problem with that, as long as you have no intention of buying it for your own use.’ Fleur returned her attention to the dance floor.

There, lost in the music, a blissed-out look in her eyes, a girl was dancing on her own, barefoot. Dressed in a short denim skirt that boasted ragged tulle petticoats and with a bandanna wrapped around her head, she was beautiful in
an unconventional,
jolie-laide
way, and she was very, very sexy.

‘Who’s that?’ asked Fleur.

Finn looked in the direction Fleur had indicated. ‘Oh, that Gallagher girl! She worked as a scenic artist on the film. She scares me. There’s something feral about her.’

‘She
scares
you? But she’s lovely!’ protested Dervla.

Finn shrugged. ‘She doesn’t seem to like people much. I think she prefers animals. She spent most of her coffee breaks talking to the horses.’

‘What’s her first name?’

‘Catriona. Cat for short.’

‘Here’s a challenge for you, Finn!’ Dervla drew a couple of bank notes out of her evening purse. ‘I’ll bet you twenty euros that you don’t have the nerve to ask her up for a dance.’

Finn gave Dervla an incredulous look. ‘Are you out of your mind, auntie dearest? Twenty euros for an auld dance? Nothing scares me
that
much.’

Dervla and Fleur exchanged amused glances as Finn got to his feet and pocketed the cash.

And as he made his way across the dance floor, the Gallagher girl seemed to sense that Finn was coming, because she turned to him in slow motion, put her hands on her hips, and smiled.

Fleur was reclining on her chaise longue, her laptop on a tray in front of her. She knew her days of reclining
con
laptop were numbered since – as WikiAnswers had warned her – the further her pregnancy advanced, the less expanse of lap she would have. One of the first questions Fleur had Googled when she’d discovered she was pregnant was how safe it was to use her MacBook Air. The answers were all reassuring.

She was just under seven months pregnant now, and loving it. It was wonderful to have an excuse to laze like a big cat, and she adored the fact that she was allowed to. She spent her days reading, eating comfort food, knitting, and watching vintage movies. Now that she was to be a mother, Barbara Stanwyck in
Stella Dallas
made her weep harder than ever.

She’d decided to close the shop completely for the winter, apart from the fortnight before Christmas when it would have been cruel not to allow her patrons access to last-minute purchases. Río was going to take over when the season started up after Patrick’s Day, and Fleur would come back to work only when she felt ready. It might take some time, for she was under no illusions that her situation wasn’t the easiest. She would have less energy than your average first-time mum, and she had no partner to help her. But Fleur simply thought,
Je m’en fou
. She was now in proud possession of her heart’s desire
– a baby girl (she’d been told she was carrying a girl), and that was all that mattered to her. She didn’t even care that in a few months’ time her pristine chaise longue would doubtless become a nappy-changing station, or that there’d be puke stains on her peignoir and on her lace-trimmed Irish linen sheets. In fact, she rather fancied her white walls would be a perfect canvas for her precocious infant’s first finger paintings.

The Eircom home page shimmered onto her screen. Among the recent headlines was the following:
The O’Hara Affair Premieres in Dublin
.

‘With searchlights blazing into the cold night sky and a battery of digital cameras capturing every moment,’ Fleur read, ‘the most expensive film ever to be made in Ireland premiered at Dublin’s Savoy cinema last night – with a good dose of Hollywood razzmatazz to add va va voom. When Galway garsoon-made-good Shane Byrne, and his co-star Elena Sweetman, emerged fashionably late from their chauffeur-driven limo, the crowd went wild. Ms Sweetman was wearing vintage Sorelle Fontana: a strapless cerulean satin gown with bead-encrusted bodice, accessorized by a sapphire and diamond necklace and matching earrings.’ Channelling Ava Gardner in
The Barefoot Contessa
, Fleur surmised, with a smile. ‘Next up was Hollywood’s favourite ingénue –’ (Ha! thought Fleur) ‘– Anastasia Harris, who stars as Shane’s daughter in the film. Anastasia – accompanied by her new husband, veteran star of the
DevilCop
series, Jay David – was looking ravishing in barely-there Roberto Cavalli, and swathed in ropes of pearls. Then came the turn of up-and-coming Irish actor Doncha Hennessy – who plays the eponymous hero of
The O’Hara Affair.
Doncha was accompanied by his girlfriend, Ida O’Doherty, who is the newest – and possibly most glamorous – cast member of Ireland’s favourite soap opera,
Fair City
. Ida was wearing a dress which, she told reporters, had been made
specially for the occasion by her brother, Central London fashion design student, Gerard Doherty. Awwww!!! Don’t we just love our home-grown talent!

‘After the showing of the film (watch this space for a review!), cast and crew danced and drank champagne until the early hours at a glittering party in Dublin Castle. Other guests included Gabriel Byrne, Colin Farrell, Ciarán Hinds, Liam Neeson and Bono.’

Fleur wondered if Río had danced until the early hours. She’d been invited along with Finn, and – being Río – she would have dumped the invite in the bin without a second thought if Finn hadn’t blackmailed her into going. He’d told her that if she didn’t attend, then neither would he – and think of the headlines this would provoke!
Shane’s Son Boycotts Premier! Lovechild Finn-ishes with Shane! The Byrne Affair: Río Ashamed to Show!
It had been this final chimera that had proven to be the red rag to Río’s bull. She had driven up to Dublin in her beat-up hackney with Finn in the passenger seat and an overnight bag in the boot that contained a hired tux (Finn had never worn one before), a pair of eBay Louboutins, and an emerald-green Vivienne Westwood drape dress on loan from Fleur.

Had Bethany made it to the premiere? Fleur wondered. She’d been keeping tabs on her young friend, but these days Bethany didn’t seem to be spending much time on Facebook. Fleur knew that her application to the Gaiety School had been successful, and that shortly before Christmas she had moved into Jake’s city-centre apartment– where they’d hosted a New Year’s Eve party on the roof garden. Fleur had been very pleased to have received an invitation from Bethany, but had turned it down, citing the icy roads as an excuse. She rarely received personal messages from her former protégée any more, and she was glad of this because it meant that Bethany had found her feet at last, and was moving on.
After the event, Fleur had looked at all the Facebook photos of laughing young people, dressed in seasonal winter woollies and drinking hot toddies, but the one she loved most was of Bethany and Jake smiling to camera with their arms wrapped around each other. Bethany was wearing a festive red tinsel bow in her hair, and the caption read:
Jake giftwraps his Christmas present.

Now that Fleur ventured out less frequently (it was bitterly cold in Coolnamara this winter), she was becoming more dependent on the internet for gossip. She missed her chats
en français
with Peggy in Ryan’s, but Facebook notifications kept her up to speed. As for Second Life? With robust real life kick-boxing and turning somersaults inside her, Fleur had no need of a vacuous vicarious existence.

From her online surfing, she had learned that the Bolgers’ place – the house that Río had christened ‘Coral Mansion’ – had finally been sold at a vastly reduced price to an unknown buyer. Speculation was rife as to who the new owner might be. Some said it was a hugely successful chick lit writer, others that it was a disgraced archbishop. Some said it was a former Taoiseach, others that it was a boy band member. Even Dervla – despite all her connections in the property business – did not know who had bought the house.

Dervla had finished her book, and hadn’t been surprised to see that it had barely crept into the first top fifty Irish nonfiction titles before disappearing without a trace after charting for just one week. It would appear that people were still waiting for property values to rise before they sought advice about selling their homes. But – Dervla had told Fleur – she really didn’t care: she was just so damned relieved to see the back of the bloody thing and move on. She and Christian had moved into the cottage and were working hard on converting the Old Rectory into a state-of-the-art retirement home.
They’d managed to get a bank loan and a decent tender from a construction company, but Dervla had still been obliged to sell her Galway apartment, and Christian had leased out his shop. He was happy to do this: it gave him more time to work hands-on on the Old Rectory while Dervla pursued her fledgling career in politics. She couldn’t afford yet to run as an independent, but she was testing her wings in what she hoped would prove to be a brave new world: ‘Enfranchizing Old Farts’, as Christian – politically incorrect as ever – put it.

As well as messing about on the internet, Fleur had invested in a pair of binoculars so that she could while away time on her deck. Towards the end of last summer, she had been pleased to see a ‘For Sale’ sign go up outside Corban’s penthouse, and late last autumn she’d been even more pleased to see it replaced by a ‘Sale Agreed’ sign. The
Lolita
had mysteriously disappeared one night after a force ten gale, and had been washed up on Inishclare, but when Fleur had asked Finn if he was responsible, he had widened his eyes at her and said: ‘Godmother! Would you – who are after all responsible for my spiritual upbringing – countenance such behaviour? Naughty Fleur! Shame on you for even thinking such wicked thoughts.’

Fleur flexed her fingers, then fired off an email to Río, asking her if she’d met Bono last night. Then she typed in her password and accessed her Facebook home page. She hadn’t updated her status for months, and none of her Facebook friends – apart from Daisy – even knew she was pregnant. But before she could dream up a status update, her phone alerted her to a text.

Hey, Flirty!
she read.
On my way now with cake & NO wine

Fleur smiled, and rose to her feet to put the kettle on. Minutes later, Daisy was bounding up the stairs. She’d put on weight,
her skin was bronzed, her riotous hair had been bleached by sea and sun and was inches longer. She looked astonishing, as if she’d been kissed all over by King Midas.