A Change of Heart (The Heartfelt Series) (2 page)

“You landed off the first ferry then?” he asked, waiting for the two-thirds to settle in the glass.

“Came straight from Dublin after the TV show. Spent last night in Joyce MacReady’s bed and breakfast. I thought she’d be dying to see me, thought she’d be pleased.”

Padar shrugged.

“Did she not see the show? Is she the only person in Ireland who doesn’t watch it? I even asked Miss MacReady to tip her the wink I’d be on it, making an announcement, telling the whole world how I felt. Talk about wearing my heart on my sleeve!” Ryan said glumly.

Padar handed him the pint. He took a grateful slurp.

“I don’t understand,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Padar guffawed.

“Ah, sure if you understood, well that would make you the only man on the planet who did.” He smiled at his friend, “Didn’t welcome you with open arms then?”

Ryan’s turn to shrug.

“Hardly. She told me to go, sort out my lodgings and she’d see me later. Joey fell asleep once he’d something to eat. She insisted I left him there, shooed me out of the house and here I am. I hope you have somewhere for us to stay, Padar?”

Padar nodded enthusiastically.

“Here, stay here with me. Loads of room, no women, we’ll have a gay old time, if you take my meaning,” said Padar, turning pink.

“Not too gay, I hope,” boomed Father Gregory, swishing through the door, his cassock brushing the stone flags, as he strode up to take a stool. He greeted Ryan warmly, taking his hands in his.

“Welcome home,” he smiled, “we’re delighted to have you back, for good is it?”

“For good or evil,” Ryan grinned back, “but I intend to stay.”

“Good man.” Father Gregory pumped his hand, as Padar placed a bottle of Budweiser before the priest. It was early for him too, but this was a special occasion.

“Delighted are we?” Sean Grogan slid into the bar. “Yeah, we’re desperate for out-of-work actors and their kidnapped offspring here, agog with all the glamour and good fortune your presence will bestow upon the place. Can’t wait to see what you and that crazy woman, setting up holiday homes for rapists and vandals all over the shop, are planning to do next.”

“Hello Sean,” Ryan laughed, “good to see you too.”

“Better make mine a large one,” Sean told Padar.

Father Gregory scowled at Sean, who was concentrating on his drink, “Not much has changed while you’ve been away.”

“Oh, but it has, there’s loads going on,” called Miss MacReady from the doorway, hanging up a midnight-blue velvet cape and twirling so they could all get the benefit of her multi-coloured maxi dress and wellingtons painted with flowers. Padar checked his watch. He had not been busy this early since the storm, when the pub had proven sanctuary for half the village. Things were looking up.

Ryan smiled as Miss MacReady approached, news of his arrival had spread like wildfire, no change there then. She threw her arms around him and kissed him lusciously on each cheek, leaving a fuchsia-pink imprint.

“How’s my sister Joyce? Did she take good care of you? I told her not to charge you too much, famous film star or no, you’re practically my son-in-law and family’s family,” Miss MacReady gushed at him.

“What?” Ryan exclaimed. The postmistress was famously ebullient, but after a long journey and at this hour of the morning, she had Ryan completely flummoxed.

Father Gregory put a restraining hand on Miss MacReady’s shoulder.

“Take it steady Kathleen. He’s only off the boat and not even finished his pint yet,” Father Gregory said.

Miss MacReady beamed at the priest.

“You’re right, Gregory. One thing at a time,” she smiled broadly at Ryan. “Did you know I’m Marianne’s mother?”

Ryan coughed, splattering her dress with what remained of his drink.

“I probably wouldn’t have started with that,” Father Gregory reprimanded gently.

“Leave while you still can,” Sean advised, giving Ryan a look as he slipped from his stool, “I would.”

Miss MacReady ignored him. “Now, where shall I begin?” she asked of those gathered.

By the time Miss MacReady recounted the story of a frightened young girl in a home for unmarried mothers, where she had just been told her newborn baby had died, the bar was silent. Miss MacReady explained that the girl, desperately ill and confused, had no choice but to accept her child was lost, yet knew deep down she had not been told the truth. She paused for breath. Ryan grasped her hand.

 “The ‘Babies for Sale’ scam. Marianne’s campaign.” Ryan was shocked, “No way, it can’t have happened to you?”

“The very same,” Miss MacReady nodded gravely. “I was one of those unfortunate young women and Marianne is my little girl. The photo of her as a newborn exactly matches the one on my baby’s birth certificate, the picture I’ve treasured all these years. When I showed Marianne the paperwork relating to my baby’s death, she realised it was forged, just like those she’d been uncovering throughout her campaign. The pieces started to fit together.”

“That’s an amazing story,” Father Gregory touched her shoulder, “but forgive me, it seems so far-fetched.”

Ryan looked into her face. He could see a likeness, he was sure of it.

“Not so far-fetched,” Miss MacReady continued, taking a quick sip of her Buck’s Fizz. “Marianne was adopted by the Coltranes - a couple who knew the island well, they often came to do research at the Marine Biology Unit. Maybe they heard about the young, unmarried mother, maybe someone knew they wanted a baby, maybe my baby was already earmarked for them.”

Padar plonked a glass on the bar, “Ah Kathleen, now that
is
far-fetched, that’s like the Dark Ages.”

Ryan pushed his glass forward, indicating another pint.

“Padar, you’re wrong. I’ve read some of Marianne’s case studies, mothers and babies split up, the babies sold and I’m sorry to say Gregory, the church is often involved,” Ryan confirmed.

“I know,” Father Gregory agreed, “that’s why Marianne’s work is so important. But how did you know your baby wasn’t dead, Kathleen?”

 “I think I’ve always known in here,” Miss MacReady thumped her chest, “but Marianne never researched her own background. A typical journalist, more interested in other people’s stories. Strangely enough, it turns out they were
all
her story. She was uncovering precisely what happened to her.”

“But why were you sent to that place? Why couldn’t you stay and have your baby at home, your home? Who would put a frightened young girl through that?” Ryan was mystified.

“My
own
family,” Miss MacReady replied steely eyed.

Chapter Two
Come Fly With Me

New York: seven a.m. Larry dragged the eye-mask off his face and poked about for his ear plugs. Then sitting up, took a sip of water from the glass on the nightstand. His mouth was like a desert. He looked at the clock and checked the phone. The last call logged was his business partner, Lena, who also happened to be his sister. According to the machine she had called six times. This was a lot, even for Lena. Larry, a chronic insomniac, drugged himself so heavily at night he could not hear the phone. There were messages on the answer machine too: it flashed up at him urgently.

 Larry hauled himself out of bed and padded to the bathroom. He peed, put the seat back down, washed and dried his hands, then cleaned his teeth. The whir of his electric toothbrush made his head ache. He eyed himself in the mirror: teeth not bad, not good either. He could afford to have them fixed, there was money in the bank, the agency was doing well, successful even, especially as this season’s hottest movie star, Ryan O’Gorman was one of their long-standing clients.

Should he call Lena back or shave first? He decided to shave first. Who knew what state he would be in after they spoke. Who could guess what was so
goddamn
urgent it required so many calls in the middle of the night? It was highly likely the impact of her communication would cause his hand to shake, rendering a safe shave impossible. Maybe their conversation would traumatise him so badly he would want to use the razor to end his own life.
I must cut down on the sleeping pills,
he thought, reaching for the bristle brush, hand already shaking.

He dialled her number.

“Larry,
jeez
how can you sleep at a time like this, haven’t you heard?” Lena sounded as if she were in the next room, not two and half thousand miles away in Los Angeles.

 “Heard what?” Larry tried to keep his voice calm. Lena was excitable at the best of times.

 “That friggin’ halfwit, O’Gorman,
your
beloved client,” she spat the words down the line, “he quit!”

 “Quit?” Larry repeated. “What do you mean, as in
resigned?
”

 “Yep, right there on TV, in front of millions, he told a chat show host he’s giving up his role as
Thomas Bentley
and moving to that godforsaken island he’s so friggin’ fond of.”

 “What?”
Larry was on his feet now. “He can’t do that, it’s a three-movie deal, none of us gets our cut until he completes the movies.”

 “Tell me about it,” Lena said. “And the kid, he’s got the kid with him.”

 “I knew he had the kid. I heard Angelique’s up to her old tricks, on tour with some young rock star,” Larry told her.

 “Yeah, I heard that too, but she’s gonna hit the roof when she finds out Ryan’s taken the kid out of the US,” Lena confirmed.

 “Hell, but you’re right,” Larry groaned, his head buzzing. “I’m guessing this could get messy.”

 “It’s already messy. So here’s what to do, you get your sorry ass on an airplane quick and go bring
Boy Wonder
back
immediately
. I’ll do what I can to calm things down here.” Lena had clearly been thinking things through.

 “What’re you gonna tell Rossini?” Larry hissed into the phone.

 “Aliens have invaded Ryan’s body and infiltrated his brain, is probably the most plausible explanation I can come up with.” She hung up. Larry dialled another number.

 “Yes Mimi, you heard, a flight. I know it’s the weekend but I need you to get me on a flight. Yes, right now,” he spoke slowly and calmly into the phone, as if Mimi were somehow retarded. He waited.

 “Yes Mimi, that’s right, Ireland.” He waited again, “Yep, same trip as before.” He waited a long time. “Of course it’s goddamn urgent, why the heck else would I be ringing you on a weekend to get me on a friggin’ airplane!” He screeched, and then pleading, “No Mimi, don’t come over, my blood pressure is fine, just fine, okay?”

In less than thirty minutes, Mimi was in his bathroom.

 “Please don’t touch anything in there, I told you I can manage already,” he called to her.

 “I can’t believe it!” She popped her perfect black bob into the bedroom. “Live on TV, in front of millions, he just quit, said it was over, his contract, his marriage, no explanation, no nothing?”

 Larry took his Donegal tweed coat out of the closet, changed his mind and put it back.

 “Hey, a publicity stunt is all. Judges on reality TV shows do it all the time, cranks up the ratings, you know that,” he told her.

 Mimi was sorting through bottles.

 “Does he want more money?” Mimi always worried about the pocketbook, one of the reasons Larry liked her.

 “Who knows?” he thought for a minute, “nah, not his style, but if he’s spoken to Angelique about a divorce, who knows what
she’s
demanding?”

 “Yeah, I hadn’t thought about that,” Mimi said. “But surely that was all agreed before they got hitched?”

 “Yeah, divorce was always on the cards, everyone knew it was a marriage of convenience, it had to be done at the time.” Larry was in a closet looking for his bag, “But whatever about the prenup, Angelique could cut up rough, he should never have taken the boy out of the country without her permission.”

 “She might know all about it,” Mimi tried to soothe.

 “No-one knew
anything
about it! That’s the whole point. I doubt Ryan knew about it himself until he said it right there on TV,” Larry was close to shouting now.

 “I’m sure it’ll all be fine,” she said, placing Larry’s plethora of medication on the bed. “What will you need?” she indicated what looked like the entire contents of a large pharmacy.

e tH
“All of it,” he said, wrestling with his holdall. He felt nauseous.

“Did you book business class?” he asked.

 “Did you tell me to book business class?” she replied.

 “Tell me you booked business class?” he said.

 “I booked business class,” she told him.

 “What would I do without you?” he said, with relief.

 “Stay home, you can’t even book your own airplane ticket.” She gave him a smile. Larry admired her straight white teeth; they had been fixed, they looked good. He checked his reflection, he looked dreadful, there was already a line of perspiration on his top lip.

Marianne, still seriously off-kilter following Ryan’s surprise arrival, was sipping a glass of wine in Maguire’s chaotic kitchen. They sat opposite each other at the large oak table, a child each in their arms: Bridget with Ryan and Joey with Marianne.

 “She’s amazing,” Ryan watched fascinated, as Bridget gurgled at him, gesticulating to Joey.

 “She’s asking you all about him. Who is he? Where’s he from? Is he staying?” Marianne stroked the boy’s head.

 “You’re probably right,” Ryan said, as Bridget turned to burble at Joey, stretching out towards him. The boy’s lips parted in a near smile. Marianne caught Ryan’s anxiety.

 “They’ll be friends, you’ll see,” she said. They locked eyes. He looked tired. She tried a smile. “You okay?” she said. He nodded.

“Just a bit of a rough ride,” he replied, “and things haven’t been so smooth here either, I gather. Miss MacReady told me about the forged death certificate and you and she having matching photos of you as a newborn. Can it be true? Is she really your mother?”

Marianne nodded. “It would seem so, bizarre or what?”

“But in a good way?” Ryan was unsure, so much had happened in such a short space of time.

Marianne’s smile warmed. “In a great way really, just going to take some getting used to, for both of us.”

 Padar pushed open the door.

 “I’m desperate for a hand out here,” he glanced behind him towards the bar. “Word’s gone round yer man’s back.” He nodded at Ryan. “So the whole island has piled in to see the prodigal son returned for themselves. There’s stuff on the telly, you know the showbiz bit, photos of himself sopping wet down at the jetty and you walking off in a huff.”

 “Great,” Ryan groaned. “Smart phones and the internet, nothing’s sacred.”

 “You’re hot news at the moment Ryan, what did you expect? We can handle this, we’ve been through a lot worse.” Marianne stood and handed Joey to Ryan, he took the boy in the crook of his arm. “Can you get these guys settled for the night,” she indicated the children. “I’ll give Padar a hand. If you don’t appear they’ll soon get bored and drift away.”

 “I’ll have to face my public at some point,” Ryan said.

 “In your own time, when you’re ready,” she touched his hand briefly. “It’s been a long journey.”

 He gave her a weary grin, “In more ways than one.”

 “Right, let’s see the whites of their eyes,” she laughed, following Padar back out to the bar.

 “There’ll be questions,” Padar warned.

 “Yes there will,” she said, more to herself. Then, emulating Padar’s late wife, she painted on a streak of lipstick and her biggest smile.

Larry knew his journey to Innishmahon would take the best part of two days. He hated flying, loathed travelling and usually refused to leave New York full stop, but he had broken all his own rules when Ryan won the blockbusting film role for which he was now famous. When the offer came through, Ryan was nowhere to be seen. His relationship with the actress Angelique de Marcos was over and his career was on the slide. Larry finally found him languishing on the remote isle of Innishmahon, the wild Irish landscape providing the perfect setting for retreat and contemplation. Now Larry was heading there again, to negotiate another deal with his client and hopefully prevent them all from being sued to within an inch of their lives.

Running the past few months’ dramatic events through his mind as the cab headed for John F. Kennedy Airport, Larry marvelled at how much mayhem one, very handsome, quite talented, yet totally unpredictable actor could cause. Larry rubbed at his temple, remembering Ryan’s initial disbelief at being offered a film part which would make
him
world-famous, and them
all
rich. What was even more unbelievable, Larry had to convince Ryan to take the job.

And now this. Reneging on a contract with Franco Rossini was more than bad form, it was downright stupid. Rossini might be one of the world’s most influential film producers, but it was not how the family fortune had been amassed. To say the Rossini’s had ‘underworld’ connections was putting it mildly. Franco Rossini was no pushover, and the fact that Angelique, Ryan’s estranged wife, was also Rossini’s beloved niece, gave the whole scenario a sinister veneer.

Larry felt the bile rise in his throat. He rummaged in his holdall for his stomach medicine. He may not be looking forward to the journey, but if he did not achieve his objective he would probably decide not to bother with the return trip at all, choosing instead to throw himself off the nearest cliff, helpfully eradicating the need for the movie mogul to commission a hit man.

It was one o’clock in the morning when Padar finally bolted the huge oak door of the pub. The locals, disappointed not to welcome Ryan, their adopted superstar, back into the bosom of the island clan, accepted Marianne’s explanation of weariness, resolving to catch up once he and the other new celebrity on the island, his baby son, were rested. In time-honoured Innishmahon style, there had still been a session, with songs and tales, as Marianne and Padar pulled pints until way past midnight.

Finally jaded with tiredness, Marianne wiped the last of the pumps as Padar called from the landing to say the little ones were fast asleep and he was going to his bed. Dragging on her coat, she poked her nose through the kitchen door. Ryan was out cold, stretched the length of the settle, legs dangling over the end with Monty nestled snugly under an arm.

Picking up her scent Monty’s black snout appeared. She nodded at him and he leapt over Ryan, trotting towards the door. Ryan stirred, a flop of shiny grey-black hair fell across his forehead and his lips parted in a half-smile. She took a step towards him, longing to push the hair from his eyes and brush his warm mouth with her lips. He moaned, flung himself onto his side and pulled a cushion to his chest in a warm embrace.
Lucky cushion,
she thought, and driving the desire away, swept Monty up and headed for the door leading to the lane and Weathervane’s gate. All was still.

“Feels like the quiet before a storm,” she said to Monty, wondering if this was indeed the last peaceful night they would enjoy for some time.

Larry was dreading the journey, the memory of his last trip to the Emerald Isle seared on his brain like a brand, the six-hour flight to Shannon, followed by the connection to Knock, a windblown airfield in the middle of nowhere. The stewardess, alternating between heavily accented English and an ancient foreign language, pointing out local attractions: a white sausage made of offal, apparently delicious when fried; a drink allegedly made of red lemons and a nearby miraculous shrine where the Virgin Mary had made an appearance in the late eighteen hundreds. Larry sighed, these people seemed nice enough, but sometimes came across as either insane, inbred, inebriated or all three. By the time they landed, he was badly disgruntled.

Based on his last experience, he also knew he would be so weary from the journey, if he continued straight to Innishmahon, he would make little or no sense and would probably end up bawling out his client and achieving absolutely nothing. So he had Mimi telephone ahead and book him into Joyce MacReady’s comfortable bed and breakfast. The guesthouse was a long drive from the airport but only a short distance from the ferry and although Larry hated boats, the bridge to the island had been washed away in a storm, so ferry it had to be. Further proof, if any were needed, that if a person wanted to remain cut off from civilisation for the foreseeable future, Innishmahon was yet again the perfect destination.