A Week in Winter (39 page)

Eva hoped that this romance would settle down soon so that Freda could concentrate on other things apart from Mark Malone. She did seem besotted with the fellow and in a way, Eva could understand why. He was such a charmer, such an enthusiast. In many ways very suited to Freda. But Eva thought they were also very different. Mark was tougher, and he was going to get there, wherever it was, taking no prisoners. Freda was happy with life the way it was now.

He had got off on the wrong foot with Lane, but that would sort itself out in time. Lane had taken against Mark in a big way; she complained that Freda had lost interest in everything – her work, her friends, her whole life. ‘It’s as if a sort of mist or fog or something settled on her,’ she had said. ‘He controls her every move.’

They’d met him a number of times now but Lane still didn’t trust Mark.

Silly, foolish Agony Aunt, Eva told herself. Useless trying to work these things out logically, rationally. Still, it was a worry, all right. There was a possible storm gathering. Lane didn’t like him and didn’t trust him. He was the first man who had threatened such a solid friendship. Usually they encouraged each other about boyfriends and gave enthusiastic, supportive advice.

Freda would say that Lane had an army of brooding young men who fancied her. Lane would laugh, and say that these were all out-of-work actors; all they fancied was two weeks’ work in her theatre. Lane said that she knew of at least three people who went in to that library just to talk to Freda rather than to open a book. They were always wanting to ask Freda out, but she never seemed to understand this and kept finding books for them instead . . .

This strong reaction both for and against Mark Malone had been so out of character for both girls.

Due to the success of Joe Duggan’s ‘Don’t Fear Technology’ lecture last week, the Friends of Finn Road Library have decided that there should be twice-weekly sessions on this topic
.

Freda called to Eva to borrow a black beaded jacket. She had been invited to a drinks party at Holly’s Hotel in a couple of weeks’ time. Mark had gathered some journalists and tour operators for what he called a social drink. It was really part of his long-term plan to get the press on board over the plans for the hotel.

Eva had hoped Freda would stay for lunch.

‘You see, Eva,’ said Freda, guiltily, ‘I don’t really have all that much time . . . I have so many things to do just now.’

Eva looked at her directly.

‘What, exactly?’

‘Oh, you know, all the stuff at the library; this Friends thing has really taken off due to Joe Duggan, and they can’t get enough of him.’

‘No thanks to you, though.’

‘What do you mean?’ Freda was startled.

‘Well, you weren’t there to show him round the library, Lane and I did that. And then you took off for a weekend with Mark the actual night of his talk.’

‘Yes.’ Freda looked at the ground.

‘So he had an elderly twitcher like myself, and the manager of an experimental theatre to help him set up. Lord knows what he would have been able to achieve if he’d had a real librarian on the case.’

‘You were great, you and Lane, I thanked you, you did brilliantly.’

‘You weren’t there.’ Eva was stern.

‘Look, you know . . . you know the way things are.’

‘No, I don’t, actually. Why don’t you come looking for woodpeckers with me? And why don’t you ask Mark along too?’

‘Thank you so much, Eva, but when I said I was busy, I really am. I have a few fences to mend, if you know what I mean.’

‘I know what you mean.’

Freda knew Aunt Eva was right. As far as Lane was concerned, it was as if a curtain had fallen over their friendship. She would put on her polite face, which was more unsettling to Freda than her angry face. It was so distancing, so chilly.

Lane had not forgiven Freda for disappearing the night of Joe Duggan’s talk.

To Freda, it was really most petty and unfair of Lane to take this attitude. Joe had been a huge success; he was going to have his own series. In all her years at the library, Freda had never taken any time off like this before. And this was not even real regular library hours: this was something she had arranged as a volunteer, for heaven’s sake.

And Joe had understood. He had said that she was very kind to have arranged such a pleasant person to greet him. It wasn’t as if she had abandoned him or anything.

Such a fuss over nothing.

Mark had to be in London for a few days, so Freda felt easy about inviting Lane and Eva to have dinner at Ennio’s. She hoped that they would understand how she felt. It would be all right.

It was a happy evening as Freda, Lane and Eva sat in Ennio’s restaurant eating pasta and catching up.

Eva was organising her next birdwatching trip to the West of Ireland. There was a new hotel opening in a couple of weeks’ time, up on the cliffs above Stoneybridge. Perfect for birdwatchers. Eva was already planning her visit.

She paused dramatically and then proposed a toast. ‘You two are not to have a fight,’ she announced, ‘I won’t allow it. Especially over something as foolish as a man.’

By this stage, both Freda and Lane were laughing.

‘You’re such a stirrer, Eva, there’s no row,’ Freda said.

‘I’d never fight with Freda,’ Lane promised.

‘Great, that’s sorted, then.’

Lane and Freda looked at each other helplessly.

‘My aunt, the drama queen!’ Freda said.

‘Whatever made her think that we were going to have a row?’ Lane asked.

‘My saying I love Mark Malone, you saying he is a shit . . . that might have given her food for thought.’

‘I’ll never say anything like that about him again. I just thought you would have wanted to be there for Joe and his talk. But as it happens, it has worked out – he has asked me out on a date, so I forgive you,’ Lane said.

Freda leaned over and patted her on the wrist. And then, right in the middle of the meal, Freda was called to the phone. The waiter led her to a little desk which had the reservations book and handed her the phone.

‘Hallo?’ Freda had no idea who knew she was here.

‘
Ciao, bella
,’ the voice on the phone said.

‘Mark!’

‘Just wanted you to know I miss you, and it is quite ridiculous that I am at one boring dinner and you are at another when we could be together.’

‘Mine’s not a boring dinner, I told you – it’s friends,’ she said. ‘And anyway, you’re back tomorrow, aren’t you?’

‘No, sadly not. I have to stay on here. More meetings. It won’t take much longer; I’ll get away as early as I can.’

The smile vanished from her face. ‘Oh no, but I’ve booked to have some time off!’

‘Well, I won’t make so many arrangements in future. Is that OK? Would you like me to cancel my business meetings?’ He sounded angry.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything.’ Freda was confused.

There was a pause.

‘All right,’ he said eventually. ‘I’m sorry, I’m under a lot of pressure here. We’ll speak tomorrow. I’ll know more then.’

‘Tomorrow, then,’ she agreed, shaken. And then as a thought just struck her, she asked, ‘Mark, why didn’t you call me on my mobile?’

‘I didn’t bring mine with me so I don’t have the number,’ he said smoothly. ‘I remember you said Ennio’s, so I looked it up in the book.’

‘Tomorrow, then,’ she said.

Back at the table, Lane asked her, ‘Was that him?’

Freda smiled. ‘It was, as it happens.’

‘Why didn’t he ring you on your mobile? Was he checking up to see if you were really where you’d said you’d be?’

Eva looked up sharply.

Lane’s tone had been light, but Freda found herself feeling very tense. After all, she had asked Mark the very same question herself. But she would admit none of this to Lane.

‘Oh, definitely, that’s it, a martyr to jealousy he is,’ she said with a very insincere little laugh.

‘What’s worrying you?’ Eva asked.

‘Nothing,’ Freda said. ‘He’s just having to stay on in London.’

For the very first time since she had gone to work there, Freda didn’t want to go in to the library. There were too many calls on her time. Lane still didn’t understand Mark; even Eva had lost patience. They just didn’t understand. Miss Duffy was being so demanding about categories. ‘A misfiled book is a lost book,’ was her great mantra.

There was that bossy woman who had complained that some book was sheer pornography and that she had mistakenly recommended it to her book club up in Chestnut Court. Someone else had thrown a tantrum about the lack of Zane Grey books. She needed to find Joe Duggan, and apologise again for not being at the library for his talks.

And she could deal with it all if she didn’t feel so uneasy after their conversation the night before. She had dreamed about the blonde again, and now she was sure Mark was married. But she didn’t care. He loved Freda. He told her so many times.

She straightened her shoulders and walked slowly up the steps that normally she took two at a time when she went into work.

A few days later, Eva invited Lane to come for lunch with her.

‘There’s a report of a great flock of Common Scoters over the other side of Howth, and there might be some rare ones among them.’

‘Uncommon Scoters?’ Lane suggested.

‘Well, Velvet Scoters, they’re called actually.’

‘Velvet? Sounds good.’

‘They’re sea ducks, the males are all jet black with yellow bills, the females have white necks and dull grey bills. Winter visitors. Come with me in the car and we’ll have a sandwich in a pub out that way,’ Eva suggested.

‘And what will I wear?’

‘Nothing too bright that would alarm them. Don’t know what the weather’s doing but, you know, lots of waterproof anoraks and scarves and sweaters and maybe a backpack or lots of pockets.’

It was the best offer Lane had had. Freda was like a weasel, with Mark making plans and then cancelling them at the last moment; when he wasn’t around, she just sat staring at her phone waiting for him to ring. Lane said she’d love the drive.

As they left the main roads behind and headed towards the sea, Eva pointed out the migrating birds newly arrived: flocks of white-fronted geese as well as the ducks, swans and wading birds that came down from the Arctic. Now they would have plenty of things to see.

Eva concentrated hard on the busy traffic.

‘Will we go somewhere there’s easy parking?’ she suggested, and that was why they chose the dark wine bar near the sea.

Which was where they saw Mark Malone, who was meant to be in England at a conference.

He was sitting at a table over by the window. Opposite him was a blonde woman in jeans and a thick Aran sweater. Between them was a little girl. She looked very young and very happy. They were the perfect happy family, as if there was nobody but the three of them in the place.

Mark and the woman were feeding each other forkfuls of pasta and then laughing after each mouthful. The little girl was laughing at them gleefully. The three of them shared such affection and closeness, there was no doubt that they all belonged together.

Eva and Lane looked at them, stunned.

They were unable to back out of the restaurant before being seen. As Mark looked up and caught sight of them, his face froze into an angry mask.

Eva and Lane looked at each other and at exactly the same moment they both said, ‘The bastard!’ Then without another word they walked out, got into Eva’s car and began to drive back to the city.

As they drove off, Lane asked, ‘Do birds do that, you know, cheat all round them?’

‘It’s complicated.’

‘I bet it is.’

‘Do we say anything?’ Eva wondered aloud.

‘Of course we do. The question is, to which of them? To Freda or to Mark?’

‘If we hadn’t gone in there . . .’ Eva began.

‘That’s no use – we
did
go in. And we saw him. She can’t be made a fool of like this.’

‘But it would humiliate her if we said—’ Eva was protective.

‘Well, it would humiliate her more if we didn’t say,’ Lane countered angrily.

‘We don’t actually know . . .’

‘Of course we know. That wasn’t his office colleague or his sister. That child was his. Let me tell you that if you saw my lover with his wife and daughter, I’d say you were a poor friend not to tell me.’

‘You say that now, but you might think differently if it really
was
the case.’

‘Well, I’m glad we cleared
that
up, anyway, because I would most definitely want to be told. That puts the ball back in my court, gives me the right to make a decision.’

‘But we can’t tell her, Lane. Come on, think about it.’

‘It’s important enough for him to lie about it, tell her that he’s in London, and be holed up in a wine bar where he’s not going to meet anyone.’

‘Or so he thought,’ Eva said. ‘Don’t tell her, Lane, it would destroy her.’

‘She should be told. Let her take him back if she wants to, but she has the right to know.’

‘Leave it, just for a bit, anyway.’

In the end, neither of them had to tell Freda. Mark got there first.

It was the night of the reception at Holly’s. She hadn’t heard from Mark all day but she knew he was busy. She hoped she would be a credit to him tonight. Eva’s black jacket looked very well on her; she would wear a scarlet silk skirt and her good black and red shoes. She knew Mark would have to circulate and that she would have to manage on her own, but later they would be together.

The reception was in full swing when Freda arrived at the hotel. There was a buzz of conversation, and trays of elegant canapés were being passed around.

She slipped in without acknowledging Mark. He was at the centre of a laughing group near the window. Freda moved to the other side of the room and watched him talking. He was animated and able to include everyone around him in whatever it was that they were talking about. His easy smile rested on one person and then the next. And then he moved on seamlessly to another group.

She must not stand here like part of the furniture, looking at him. She was an invited guest.

She recognised a few faces. A man who ran a TV chat show, a woman columnist, a well-known television reporter. He had certainly the kind of people he needed. He would be in good form later on.