Beneath an Irish Sky (Choc Lit) (8 page)

So it seemed a new chapter had started in Emer’s life. And that was a good thing. Except the desire to celebrate couldn’t quite overcome her heart’s reluctance to expose itself to hurt again.

Thursday lunchtime. Rain again. Luke stood propped against the window of his room, watching people getting drenched. At least they could run. He’d never take that for granted again. He’d been here a week, although it seemed much longer, but finally this morning the doctor told him he could leave. Luke had asked a nurse to call Jack and let him know. He couldn’t face having to ask a favour from a man he’d grown up despising.

‘Luke?’

God, here he was now. Jack Stewart, hair plastered to his head and looking a right eejit. All that money and he couldn’t fork out for an umbrella.

‘I heard the good news,’ said Jack. ‘They’re doing the paperwork now.’

Maybe Luke could still change his mind. Go to Wales. Hole up in a bed-and-breakfast somewhere for a few weeks till he was fit again. It’d be bleak but at least he’d be his own man.

Jack dumped some bags on the bed. ‘Got you some clothes. I’m sure you don’t want to arrive in England wearing a hospital-issue tracksuit.’

‘I don’t want charity.’ Jack looked pissed off, but Luke had lived off handouts most of his life, and the last thing he wanted was to feel obliged to a Stewart.

‘You can pay me back later, then. But I know you’ve got no clothes. They had to cut off the ones you were wearing when you were brought in. And there were none in your suitcase.’

Luke’s heart jumped. ‘How do you know that? Why were you goin’ through my things?’

‘I never touched your things. The medical staff did when they needed to identify you. I hope these’ll fit you.’ Jack laid out the clothes on the bed: an Ireland rugby shirt, jeans, tracksuit bottoms, T-shirts, a roll-neck sweater, socks, underwear and a pair of trainers. There was also a simple, but stylish, black leather jacket.

Most of Luke’s gear had been second-hand from charities like St Vincent de Paul. Or Dunnes if he was lucky. This was like several Christmases and birthdays all rolled into one. Judging from the labels, Jack had spent a small fortune. But then, he could afford it. Probably spent nearly as much in a posh restaurant. This was just guilt money. Or maybe he didn’t want to be embarrassed by his
gypo
son. ‘It’ll take me forever to pay you back,’ Luke mumbled, ignoring that small nagging voice which told him he was being unreasonable.

‘Take as long as you like. Just don’t make an issue out of it. You needed clothes, I bought them.’

‘What time’s our flight?’ Luke asked, relieved to be changing the subject. He could give as good as he got in an argument, but right now he was tired and anxious. There would be plenty of time later to tell Jack what he could do with his money.

‘Our flight’s tomorrow,’ answered Jack. ‘It’s the earliest one that could accommodate a … a coffin. We’ll go back to my hotel for the night.’

More delays. And even worse, stuck in a hotel room with Father of the Year.

‘There’s TV and a computer there … you won’t be bored. Luke – is something wrong?’

‘What could be wrong? My mother’s dead, I can’t walk without crutches, and I’m leavin’ my country to stay with strangers. Can’t wait.’

Jack stared at him. Luke jutted out his chin, ready for the inevitable angry response. It never came. ‘You get ready, Luke. I’m just going to make a few business calls.’

That look in Jack’s eyes. Luke had seen it before from social workers, teachers, doctors. Pity, that’s what it was. Usually it made him angry. Now he just felt small and insignificant, and he didn’t want to go to England, where he knew no one and would stick out like a sore thumb.

Jack and Luke were seated side by side in the hospital cafeteria, not talking or looking at each other. Emer watched them for a moment, father and son embarking on a journey far greater than the one across the Irish Sea. Physically, they looked nothing alike. Jack was taller and more muscular, and Luke was dark while his father was fair. Jack’s confident manner and his impeccable clothes also contrasted sharply with his son’s bewildered look and the leather jacket that seemed a size too big for him. Emer’s heart went out to Luke. He had so much to offer, and she hoped Jack and his family would help him realise his potential.

She’d never felt so emotionally involved with a patient – or a relative. She’d spent a lot of last night reliving her dinner date with Jack. The gorgeous restaurant, the delicious food – and their goodnight kiss outside the hotel. Soft and gentle at first, tipping over into passionate, until they’d pulled away from each other as though both sensing a line neither was yet prepared to cross.

And perhaps for Emer that line had something to do with Luke. How would he feel about her getting involved with his father? He assumed she was on his side against the Stewarts – the only ally he felt he had. There was no point in depriving him of that illusion when he had the nightmare of his mother’s funeral to get through. That would be cruel. Plus it was important to see how Jack dealt with his new son. Of course he was upset about Annie, but the kind of man Emer wanted to be with needed to have a big heart and to put family first.

Jack spotted her in the doorway and smiled. Emer moved forward. It was time to say goodbye.

As he stepped through the entrance of the Beaumont Hotel, Luke wanted to turn around and walk back out again. This wasn’t a hotel, it was a palace. Marble columns, a huge staircase and a bloody chandelier. How the other half lived. Jack’s suite was the same. Plush carpet, tapestries on the walls, marble everywhere. Luke wasn’t impressed. ‘The starvin’ millions would love this.’

‘Meaning?’ asked Jack.

‘Well there’s only you in it. Do you spend money just for the sake of it?’

‘Maybe I should have checked into the YMCA and made a donation to Oxfam.’

Jack’s sarcasm was irritating. The man didn’t have a clue how insensitive it was to flaunt his wealth. To show Luke what he’d been missing. ‘Why not?’ he countered.

‘Luke, I’ve got money!’ Jack snapped. ‘Just deal with it – okay?’

How could his mother ever have loved this insufferable bastard? While he was living the high life, Annie would think she was well off when her jam jar was full of small coins. ‘Did you
ever
give a thought to how we struggled?’

Jack threw up his hands and moved forward. ‘For God’s sake … I
never
knew about you. How many more times?’

Luke stumbled back, waiting for the blow. He hit the corner of the table and a sharp pain in his chest made him cry out. Then Jack was there, helping him into an armchair, ignoring the weakened attempt to shrug him aside.

‘Bastard!’ hissed Luke, when he’d caught his breath.

Jack was watching him, frowning. ‘You thought I was going to hit you, didn’t you?’

Luke didn’t answer but held Jack’s gaze.

‘I would never do that!’ Jack said, shaking his head.

‘
Course
not,’ said Luke. Jack was probably no different to Joe. Just wore better clothes.

Jack sat down on the end of the bed and stared at his hands as he spoke. ‘Luke, you make me angry and frustrated – but I would never hit you.’ He looked up. ‘Who gave you those bruises? The ones on your face, your arms – all over your body.’

‘I was in a car crash!’ snapped Luke. ‘Did you miss that bit?’

‘No, you got those bruises before. Someone beat you up.’

‘What do you care?’ He was not about to spill out his life story to Jack Stewart. Sitting there so self-righteous, like all the problems hadn’t been caused by him. His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. ‘Who’s that?’ he whispered. Who knew they were here? Would the hospital have told anyone?

‘Room service, probably,’ said Jack. He had the door open before Luke could hide in the other room. A waiter walked in with a trolley of covered dishes and bottled drinks. Jack tipped him and then they were alone again. ‘I thought it best to eat here.’

‘Are you ashamed of me?’ demanded Luke. ‘I
can
use a knife and fork.’

Jack leaned forward and, with an exaggerated gesture, flicked at Luke’s shoulder. ‘That chip is getting tiresome. Lose it. I just thought it better for you to rest your leg instead of struggling down to the restaurant.’

‘Why don’t you let me make my own decisions?’ Luke saw the corners of Jack’s mouth twitching. The scumbag was laughing at him. ‘What’s so funny?’

‘I thought you were only your mother’s son,’ said Jack, ‘but I was wrong. You’re stubborn and you’re bolshie. You could be more like me than I thought.’

‘Great,’ muttered Luke. Just what he needed.

‘Anything else I should know, Mr Stewart?’

Jack sipped at his coffee. Freshly ground Colombian beans. Nothing better to start the day. He spoke into the phone. ‘Yes. Watch out for the Kiernans, especially Joe. He’s a hard bastard. Quick with his fists.’

‘Don’t worry, I can handle myself.’ And the man probably could. Doyle, ex-Guard turned private detective. Recommended by Flynn. ‘How should I contact you?’

‘Call this number – my mobile,’ Jack told him. ‘Don’t ever ring my office. And put nothing on paper.’

‘Understood. I’ll get to Ennis on Monday. Then give me a while to nose around, see what I can find.’

Replacing the receiver, Jack felt a twinge of guilt. Should he be prying into Luke’s life? But surely he had a right – and a responsibility – to know what he was taking on. There were those bruises for a start. And the police at the hospital had mentioned some trouble. Luke had been acting very suspiciously about his suitcase. There was Matt’s safety to think about. And Maggie’s. Luke, of course, must never find out that a detective had been hired.

Jack buttered a croissant and glanced at the flight details. This was it. Back to Baronsmere with Luke, and Annie’s body. The shit would really hit the fan then. A few weeks of hell ahead. And this week had been bloody torture, too. Well, apart from Emer. She’d been the one highlight.

He couldn’t believe he hadn’t asked her to spend the night with him, but something had held him back, maybe fear of rejection. She wasn’t like the usual women he met, who often fell at his feet. Would she just forget him now? Out of sight, out of mind? There was one way to fix that. He picked up the phone and called the front desk. ‘I’d like to send thirty long-stemmed red roses to Emer Sullivan at St Aidan’s Hospital …’

‘Would you like more orange juice, sir?’

Luke had never been called ‘sir’ so much in his life. He politely refused and the flight attendant moved away. Jack had his head stuck in the
Financial Times
. They’d hardly spoken at all, which suited Luke just fine. He wanted to be left alone. Watching them load Annie’s coffin into the hold had drained any fighting spirit, and right now he didn’t feel he’d ever get it back. Why hadn’t they let him die at the roadside, along with his mother? How very different it could have been if they’d been on that road just a few minutes later, or earlier – they’d be in Wales now, starting a new life.

Luke glanced out of the window at the green fields below. It looked like Ireland. Except it wasn’t. It was a foreign land, and he felt pangs of homesickness. Would he ever be able to return? Had he made the right decision? He wasn’t guaranteed safety in England. Joe was a thug, but he wasn’t stupid. If Connolly or Byrne ever did get hold of Joe, would they mention having met Luke’s father? If they did, Joe would put two and two together and turn up on Jack’s doorstep. Luke’s only hope was that his uncles would dodge the police, like they always did.

‘Sir, please put your seat into the upright position and fasten your seatbelt. We’ll be landing soon.’

He did as he was asked, wincing from the pain in his ribs. Everything was such an effort.

‘Are you okay?’ asked Jack.

Luke nodded.

‘We should be home in an hour once we clear the terminal,’ Jack told him.

Home. That was a laugh. The Stewart family would choke on their caviar when they saw him. He wouldn’t fit in with them, nor did he want to. They meant nothing to him, but he wished it was different. He hated feeling so alone.

As the plane began its descent, Luke closed his eyes and wondered when he’d next sleep beneath an Irish sky.

‘Honey, I’m home!’

Jack was in his study when he heard Matt arrive home, calling out what was now a standing family joke, immediately followed by the sound of claws slithering along the wooden floor as Honey the Golden Labrador raced to greet her master. It was comforting. Jack needed such moments of familiarity now more than ever.

‘There’s someone trying to sleep,’ scolded Maggie. Their voices receded, Matt doubtless following the housekeeper into her domain, the kitchen. The smell of roasting beef wafted along the passageway into Jack’s study, but he had little appetite.

When they’d got home from the airport a few hours ago, Maggie was all over Luke, hugging him and saying how sorry she was about Annie. Luke, probably shell-shocked by this outpouring of affection, had soon retreated to his bedroom in the downstairs guest suite, which was really a self-contained flat, useful when entertaining potential business clients – and useful now for a fiery invalid. He’d said he was tired and would prefer to eat dinner in his room and then sleep.

‘He’s so like his poor mother,’ Maggie had said. ‘Same dark hair, and those blue eyes. I’d have known him anywhere.’ And that was the problem. Luke was too much like Annie and seeing him here in this house brought it all back – the pain her leaving had caused.

It would be so helpful to hear Emer’s calm voice right now. Jack had tried phoning her earlier but the call had gone straight to voicemail. No point in hiding away here in the study – best go and see Matt and make sure he was on side. Maybe enjoy a final father–son chat before the duo became a trio.

In the kitchen, Matt was helping himself to the strawberries set aside for pudding. ‘Ow!’ he yelped, as Maggie rapped his knuckles with a wooden spoon. ‘That’s child abuse, that is.’

Jack smiled. It was good to be back home with Matt and Maggie.

‘Hey, Dad, good to see you,’ said Matt, sneaking another strawberry when Maggie’s back was turned. ‘Sorry I wasn’t here when you got back. Had a meeting about the designs for the nightclub. I can’t wait to meet Luke. Maggie says I can’t go in and say hello because he’s sleeping.’

The ability of the young to adapt to radically altered circumstances never ceased to amaze Jack. Here was Matt, full of enthusiasm at the thought of meeting his newfound brother. Not a cloud on his horizon.

‘Don’t expect too much,’ Jack advised. ‘He’s still grieving. Probably still in shock, too. Maggie – my parents have decided to come over for dinner. Sorry for the short notice.’

‘Shit! Talk about bad timing!’

‘Don’t bring that pub talk home, Matthew,’ warned Maggie, hands on hips. ‘You weren’t raised to be a foul-mouth.’

‘You know, Maggie, I’m twenty-five. I can do whatever I want.’

‘Not in my kitchen, you can’t.’

‘And what are you planning for dinner, Maggie? A fatted calf?’ joked Matt.

‘You’d better get changed,’ she said, brandishing the wooden spoon in his direction. ‘No doubt your gran’ll be done up to the nines. We’ll never hear the end of it if you’re in jeans. I’m glad Luke decided to have dinner in his room. At least he won’t have to listen to her going on about cocktail parties and hats for Ascot.’

Jack grinned at Matt. Maggie and Grace Stewart had been at war for years. Their spats were village legend. It was good that some things never changed.

Jack drew on a Cohiba cigar as he sat in the drawing room, waiting for his parents to arrive. He didn’t smoke often – just when he was stressed. He made a mental note to get in a good supply. How was he going to tell his parents about Luke? Should he come right out with it or lead up to it gradually? It would be so much easier if he was enthusiastic himself but he was far from sure he’d done the right thing bringing Luke home. Matt and Maggie were pleased but Nicholas and Grace were going to react very differently. Jack could handle confrontations in the business world with ease; it was a different matter, though, when it happened in his own home.

‘Aunt Claire called when you were in the shower.’ Matt entered the drawing room, dressed now in grey flannels and white shirt. ‘She wants to meet Luke. We might all take a trip to Manchester on Monday.’

‘Okay.’ Claire and Annie had always got on well. His sister would be in Maggie and Matt’s camp.

Matt sat down on the sofa near the fireplace. He took up a magazine from the coffee table, flicked through it, then tossed it aside. His foot was tapping impatiently. He glanced at Jack. ‘Are you really up for this, Dad? You look done in. I could call and cancel, if you like?’

Surely that would be better all round. A quite dinner and bed, then the grand revelation tomorrow. It would only delay the inevitable, though. ‘Thanks, Matt, but it’s too late for that. Anyway, there’s never going to be a right time. They’ll be very shocked.’

Matt frowned. ‘Well, yeah, at first – but Luke is their grandson. A Stewart. It’ll all be fine.’

If only it could be that easy. ‘I don’t think so, Matt. There’s a lot about the past you don’t know.’

Matt waved a dismissive hand. ‘I know Gran and Annie didn’t get on but that’s got nothing to do with Luke. He’s family, and families stick together. Isn’t that what you’ve always told me?’

Nothing was worse than children quoting back your words of wisdom, especially when those words were going to prove to be untrue. ‘It’s not going to be that easy, Matt. Luke doesn’t want to be here and I think he holds me responsible for everything, including Annie’s death. He hardly talked to me at all in the hospital. And he’s been even more withdrawn since we left Dublin. Of course, it didn’t help when he saw his mother’s coffin being loaded on the plane.’

‘Coffin?’ Matt looked shocked.

Jack rubbed his forehead. ‘I can’t believe I forgot to mention it. Must be more tired than I thought. Luke and I decided to have Annie buried here at St John’s.’

Matt’s expression was approving. Jack silently thanked Emer for her suggestion about the burial. He needed all the bonus points he could get right now.

The doorbell rang.

‘I’ll go smooth the way,’ Matt offered, getting up and going into the hallway to join Maggie who was already clicking her way to the front door.

Matt was the apple of his grandmother’s eye. Just seeing him would spark off her happy daydreams of a big wedding for him to the daughter of some royal. And she’d be more likely to behave when he was present. Keep up the façade of
noblesse oblige
.

‘Matt! Where have you been hiding this past month? Too busy for Sunday lunch now, eh?’

And Sir Nicholas Stewart had entered the building. People said his voice could be heard two fields away. He’d spent his early years booming out commands across noisy construction sites and he’d never really toned it down. From his vantage point in the drawing room, Jack saw his father check his watch against the grandfather clock in the hallway. Probably worried that minutes might be trying to escape. Time is money was his philosophy.

Grace swept into view, holding out her coat to Maggie without so much as a glance at the servant she considered bold and disrespectful, and Jack smiled as Maggie dropped an exaggerated curtsey behind her back.

‘Matt, darling!’ Grace kissed Matt’s cheek and rearranged his collar. ‘We were talking about you today, Victoria McLean and I. Her niece, The Honourable Rosalind Delaney, finishes at Marlborough this summer.’

That was even quicker than Jack had expected. Grace was never going to be happy till she’d married Matt off. As long as it was to someone of her choosing. Someone who knew which sauce to serve with duck but probably not much else.

‘She has plans to study at the Courtauld,’ Grace persevered. ‘Very bright girl. Rides extremely well, too.’

Thankfully Matt managed to resist making a comment on that one. ‘Good for her,’ he said. ‘I’m sure she’ll make someone else a lovely wife. Now – how about an aperitif before dinner? Let’s join Dad in the drawing room.’

That was Jack’s cue. He stood up to greet his parents. Grace moved so smoothly across the Turkish carpet that she could have been on casters. She kissed his cheek, enveloping him in her cloying floral scent, and then draped herself elegantly on the Louis Quinze sofa.

‘So, Jack – what was this secret mission all about?’ Nicholas found his favourite armchair. ‘Lots of links golf courses in Ireland. Or some hotel development, perhaps?’

Jack hadn’t phoned his father once from Ireland, despite Nicholas having left several messages demanding an update. He’d e-mailed to say he’d explain everything on his return. Luke’s arrival was news that should be broken face to face. Right now, though, Jack wished he could postpone it indefinitely.

Matt handed round the drinks. Jack got his usual whisky, which he downed it in one gulp, hoping it would steady him for what was to come. As he lowered the glass, he saw them all watching him. He felt acutely self-conscious and wished they would all vanish and leave him in peace. Including Luke. Especially Luke.

‘Are you all right, Jack?’ asked his mother.

‘I’m tired,’ he said.

Grace’s expression was disapproving. ‘In that case, darling, we won’t stay long.’

As polite as ever, but the word ‘darling’ could drip from her mouth as easily as water from a tap, and just as transparent.

‘So, tell us about Ireland,’ said Nicholas. ‘I’m rather hoping it’s connected to the Macallan Consortium.’

Jack took a deep breath. ‘I wasn’t in Ireland on business.’

For once, Nicholas seemed confused. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you’d scheduled a holiday? The deal with Canalside Leisure is at a fairly critical stage. Not good to keep them waiting …’

Jack held up his hand to stop the flow of criticism. He focused on the French Empire ormolu and marble clock on the mantelpiece, its loud and irritating tick the only sound in the room for several seconds. Best get it over with. ‘I’ve just discovered I have a son. I brought him back with me.’

He watched his parents as the shock registered. He sympathised. His world had tilted, too, when he’d heard the news.

‘What are you saying?’ asked Grace. ‘That you’ve been having an affair, which has resulted in a child?’

‘No, no, he’s—’

‘For heaven’s sake, Jack!’ interrupted Nicholas. ‘What kind of fool are you? A man in your position has to ensure precautions are taken or you could be a prime target for some gold-digger looking for a very nice little income – not to mention landing you with a millstone around your neck for eighteen years!’

They’d got it all wrong. Assumed he was talking about a baby, a new child. Instead, they’d have to meet a belligerent and resentful young man who was the image of the woman they’d rejected.

‘So who is this woman?’ asked Grace. ‘Not another –
diddakoi
– I trust?’

‘No, the same one,’ came a quiet voice behind them.

Shit! Luke was in the doorway, balanced uncomfortably on his crutches. The door to the drawing room was old oak, heavy, and generally left open. Jack could have kicked himself for not thinking to close it.

It was Matt who finally broke the awkward silence. ‘Hi, Luke. I’m Matt. It’s good to meet you.’ His words of welcome got no response from Luke who was staring – no, glaring – at Grace.

Jack was acutely aware how out of place Luke was in these formal surroundings – casually dressed, hair tangled from sleep, cuts and bruising prominent on his pale face.
Are you ashamed of him?
Emer’s words echoed, uncomfortably.

‘Come and sit down, Luke.’ Matt was the only one making an effort, but there was still no response. Jack saw Grace glance at Nicholas. He felt sorry for his parents. He’d had some time to adjust to the revelation; they were learning about it in the very presence of their ‘new’ grandson, who had overheard their harsh words. Why hadn’t Luke just stayed in his room? Why did he always make everything so difficult?

‘He’s … Annie’s son?’ asked Grace.

Jack nodded.

Nicholas got up and stood in front of the fireplace, arms crossed, looking every inch the lord of the manor. ‘Well, I’m sorry, but I’m finding this a bit hard to swallow. We hear nothing for years and then a stranger shows up claiming a family connection. Let’s be realistic here – we can’t just simply take his word for things. We are wealthy, we have prestige. We are a target – for the media, for blackmail, for confidence tricksters …’

‘And that’s what you think I am?’ Luke interrupted.

‘Is it money you want?’

Nice one, Dad. Jack closed his eyes, waiting for the eruption from Luke, which surprisingly never came. It came from Matt instead.

‘Luke’s here because Dad and I want him here.’ Matt’s tone was sharp, his expression angry. ‘He’s my brother. Your grandson. And right now I’m ashamed to be a Stewart.’

Nicholas ignored him, continuing to interrogate Luke. ‘Why now? After so long? How old are you, anyway? Eighteen? Nineteen?’

‘Sorry to disappoint you. I’m twenty.’

‘Still a long time to have made no contact,’ said Nicholas.

‘Not long enough.’

Luke’s temper appeared to be surfacing. Jack cast a wary eye at nearby breakables.

‘How long have you known about this, Jack?’ Grace’s tone was pure steel.

‘I had no idea about Luke’s existence until a week ago.’

‘And is
she
here, too? Did she come with him?’

Such contempt wasn’t pleasant to hear but maybe understandable. Annie had deserted Jack and his mother had witnessed his near breakdown.

‘My mother’s dead!’ spat Luke. ‘Killed in a car crash. Sorry I couldn’t have been more obligin’, but this was the best I could manage.’ He indicated his crutches. There was a brief pause before he continued. ‘Thank you for not bein’ hypocrites and sayin’ you’re sorry. She told me how you wanted rid of her.’

Luke turned and left the room. Nobody spoke. Jack looked at Matt who looked at Grace who looked at Nicholas. It was like a stage farce. And the damned clock still dominated the room with its ticking.

‘Excuse me,’ Matt said, as he followed Luke.

Eventually, Jack spoke. ‘Dad, how could you say that – about Luke probably being a confidence trickster and wanting money?’ He wasn’t going to let him get away with that. It had been cruel and unnecessary. A nagging voice told him he should have taken Nicholas to task when Luke was still in the room.