Death of Riley (20 page)

“One of the reasons we fell in love with the house,” Gus said. “I had grown up with a large backyard.”

“And she simply couldn't exist without her flowers and shrubs,” Sid added, coming back out with a coffee tray. “So I absolutely insisted she buy the house instantly.”

“You own this house?” I was horrified at my own rudeness but it just slipped out.

Gus didn't seem to be in the least offended. “Fortunately for me, I had a wonderful godmother,” she said. “When my parents cut me off without a penny, she came up trumps and left me a large settlement in her will.”

“Why did your parents cut you off?”

She looked amused. “They didn't approve of my lifestyle, of course.”

“I don't see what is so wrong with wanting to be a painter, and independent,” I said.

“Nor I, but there is only one path open to young women in their kind of society—you make a good match and link the family fortune to that of another family.”

“And disapproving of me probably had something to do with it,” Sid added as she poured thick black coffee into tiny cups. “I hope you like Turkish coffee. Gus and I went through a Turkish fad last year. We were even wearing baggy pants and smoking a hookah for a while, but we've become positively addicted to the coffee and cigarettes.”

I took the tiny cup she gave me. The coffee was almost as thick as milk pudding, and so very strong. I didn't think that Fd ever become addicted to it as they were, but I managed a brave smile as I sipped.

“Have you had breakfast?” Gus asked and indicated the basket on the table. “Luckily the most divine baker in the world delivers to us each morning.”

I took a crispy roll and spread it liberally with butter and apricot jam. The first bite took away the lingering bitterness of the coffee.

“And now we must give you the tour of the house,” Sid said. She grabbed at Gus's arm. “To your feet, lazybones. As mistress of the establishment it is your duty to lead the expedition.”

“Co-owner of the establishment,” Gus said as she got to her feet. “When will you get it through your thick skull that this is your house as much as mine?”

“It was your money that bought it. Get on with the tour.”

Gus shook her head, smiling. “So damned stubborn,” she muttered as she went ahead of us back into the house.

During my time in New York I had been exposed to the worst of tenements, a refined home of the middle class, a palatial home of the very rich, even a gentleman's bachelor apartment, but I had seen nothing like this. All of these had been furnished in conventional style. There was nothing conventional about 9 Patchin Place. The living room was furnished with Turkish rugs, a lot of huge velvet pillows and low tables. There was a sofa at one end, but it looked rather forlorn and out of place.

“This room is a remnant of our Turkish phase,” Gus said, “but we got into the habit of lounging around on the floor and decided to keep it as it was.”

The dining room was more conventional, except for a huge bronze statue of a Chinese goddess in the corner and some very modern paintings on the walls.

“That's one of Gus's recent efforts. Isn't it heavenly?” Sid asked.

It seemed to be a painting of a woman and a dog, but it was hard to tell. I nodded politely. “Interesting,” I said.

Up a flight of stairs and I was shown into a bedroom dominated by a huge canopied bed piled high with an assortment of pillows. The walls were draped with purple velvet and flying cupids. It was the most oudandish room I had ever seen and I only just stopped myself from blurting out, “Holy Mother of God!”

In contrast the other rooms on that floor were a study lined with books, another, more conventional, bedroom and a bathroom with the biggest tub I had ever seen.

“I do a lot of my best writing in the bath,” Sid said, as if this were a normal thing to do.

Then I was led up another flight of stairs. Up here there were just two rooms. The room at the front of the house was an artist's studio, bare-floored, with easel and a half-finished painting. The room behind, with a view out over the gardens, was full of old furniture and boxes.

“What a pity you're not using this room,” I said. “It has the best view.”

“We always intended to do something with it but we've been too lazy,” Gus said. “And as you can see, we've dumped our unwanted clutter in here.”

“What we needed was an impetus to make us clear it out,” Sid said, looking at me. “If you'd like to help us, Molly dear…”

“I'd be happy to,” I said.

She held up her hand. “You didn't let me finish the sentence. What I was going to say was, if you'd like to help us clear it out, you'd be welcome to use it.”

“To use it?”

Gus laughed at my surprised face. “Come and live with us.”

“Oh, but I couldn't think of imposing…”

“Who said anything about imposing?” Sid said. “We talked it over last night. We like you. You need a place to live. We have a spare room that needs cleaning. What better use for it?”

“But—but I'm afraid I don't have a regular source of income at the moment. It might be hard for me to pay the kind of rent you could expect for this lovely room.”

“Who said anything about rent?” Gus demanded. “Bring us a bottle of Chianti from time to time and we shall ask for nothing more.”

“Oh, but I couldn't possibly,” I said but I was weakening.

“Look at it this way,” Gus said. “We need the impetus to clean out our room, and what better impetus than to help a fellow free spirit get her start in the Village?”

“Why don't you give it a try?” Sid added. “If things don't work out, then you can always look for another place.”

“You are too kind,” I said, blushing furiously, “and I would love to live in such a delightful place. I can't tell you what a relief it will be to have a room of my own, with no interference.”

Sid and Gus were giving their benevolent parent smiles again.

“Good, then it's all settled. We'll start cleaning today and you can move your chattels in as soon as it's done.”

Thus, by the end of the week, I had bid farewell to Seamus, Nuala and the O'Hallarans and moved into my own little patch of heaven. Nuala hadn't been able to conceal her delight at seeing me go. “Off to live with your fancy man, I've no doubt,” she exclaimed.

“On the contrary, I'm moving in with two highly respectable women friends who would never dream of entering a room without knocking and where my possessions will be safe from pilfering,” I replied, staring her straight in the eye.

My only concern was leaving Bridie and Shameyboy in the hands of those terrible relatives. I promised to bring them to see my new place as soon as I was settled in and told Seamus he could always send Shameyboy or one of his cousins to fetch me if he needed me. Having thus appeased my conscience and discharged my obligations, I set off into the unknown. And, after all, I reminded myself again, I wasn't family.

I set myself up comfortably in the top-floor room, augmenting my meager possessions with some of Sid and Gus's cast-offs—a fringed lamp with the base in the shape of a nude woman, some luxurious-looking velvet draperies, and a curled-wood hat stand. Gus insisted that I help myself to the despised clothes that hung in the wardrobe in the back bedroom. I didn't like to express too much joy when Gus and Sid so obviously hated them, but there were some lovely garments there.
If
ever I met Miss Arabella Norton again, we could be on equal terms!

I was sitting in the back garden resting after carrying the final load of my belongings up the stairs, when I was reminded with a jolt that I had done no work on Paddy's case for several days now. It was true that I was waiting for a chance to be introduced to Ryan O'Hare, but surely there were other things I should have been doing. Falling into paradise like this had dulled my senses. Living here was like being on a sweet and powerful drug. One had no wish to venture past the front door into the real world outside.

“Next week,” I said firmly to myself, “I will be all business again.”

I had just said the words when the doorbell rang. I waited, then realized that Sid and Gus were not back from the market. They made a pilgrimage there every morning, returning with exotic fruits and armfuls of flowers. I jumped up and ran to answer the door.

I found myself staring up at the beautiful face of Ryan O'Hare.

He looked as surprised as I was. “You're not Sid or Gus. Don't tell me I've come to the wrong address.” He looked around him. “No. I recognize the bay trees. And you can't be the maid. You look most unmaidlike. So what have you done with them?”

“They're—out at the market,” I stammered. “I'm Molly, their house guest.”

“Confound it,” he said, his face falling. “And here am I, about to die for lack of nourishment, desperate for a cup of their Turkish coffee.”

“I don't expect they'll be long,” I said. “Won't you come in and wait?”

“Why not—especially when there is the opportunity to be entertained by such a delightful fresh face. I'm Ryan, by the way, and I've seen you before.”

“In O'Connor's saloon,” I said. “You winked at me.”

“And you blushed. It was quite charming. Lead the way then, Molly.”

I opened the front door wider and he stepped inside.

“I don't suppose you know how to make Turkish coffee?” he asked expectandy as I led him through to the conservatory.

“I'm afraid not.”

“But you could possibly find me a morsel of something to eat before I pass out.” He smiled endearingly. He had the most enchanting smile. His whole face lit up and his dark eyes flashed.

“There are some rolls left from breakfast,” I said. “And I can furnish butter and jam. Will that do?”

I went into the kitchen and came out with a tray for him. As I set it in front of him he took my hand, brought it to his lips and kissed it. “You are an absolute angel,” he said. “I am your devoted servant for life.”

I was annoyed at myself for blushing. How did one learn to become worldly?

“I knew I'd be fed and nurtured here,” he said. “I haven't been out all week, you know, trying to finish the blasted play. I've barely stopped to eat or drink. In fact, if good old Lennie hadn't brought me a pastrami sandwich last night, it might have been too late. My whitened bones would have been discovered on the floor of my hotel room.”

I laughed, making his attempted woeful expression dissolve into a smile.

“So tell me about yourself, Molly. To be sure but you're from old sod itself, begorra and all that sort of thing?”

Still smiling, I told him I was newly arrived from county Mayo.

“And were sensible enough to come straight to the only part of the city worth living in,” he finished for me. “The rest of America is full of boors and philistines who don't know a good play from a piece of trash. Show a few legs, make a few suggestive jokes and they'll call your play a hit. But anything subtle, anything that delves into the true depths of human nature the American public will pronounce boring and suggest it needs a buffalo stampede in Act Two to liven it up.” He leaned back in his wicker chair, studying me. “Lovely hair,” he said. He reached over and lifted a strand. “The color of fire. Dangerous hair. Are you dangerous, Miss Molly?”

“Only to those who betray me.”

“Ah, then I had better profess my lifelong devotion right now. So tell me, Miss Molly, what do you do with yourself, or are you a creature of leisure?”

“I'm hoping to establish myself as a writer,” I said. I was tempted to add that I was currently involved in solving the murder of a dear friend, but lost my nerve at the last minute. Besides, I found it hard to imagine this delightful man leaping out with a knife and delivering one efficient and fatal blow.

“I knew the moment I set eyes on you that we had much in common,” he said, still gazing at me. “A fellow Irishwoman and a fellow writer too. Our paths were truly destined to cross. It was fated in the stars.” He took another bite of roll, wiped the crumbs from his black velvet jacket, then asked, “So is there a great love in your life at the moment, Molly, my darling?”

“None at all, sir,” I said, then, emboldened by his familiarity, I asked, “How about you?”

“Alas not. I am between affaires, as the French say. Unfortunately they never last long with me. I am destined to fall madly in love only to become bored to tears a week later. Of course, if I ever meet my true soul mate, it will be different.”

“I’m beginning to wonder whether soul mates exist,” I said.

“Such cynicism in one so young and lovely. I've been out in the world longer than you have and still entertain the forlorn hope that one day I will find true and lasting bliss.”

I was disappointed to hear the sound of voices in the front hall and Sid and Gus swept down on us.

“What did I tell you?” Sid demanded. “I said he'd only last a couple of days before he was round here cadging food again!”

Ryan turned wounded eyes on her. “I'll have you know that I have written all of twenty-five pages this week, day and night, not stopping for food or water, until I was on the brink of collapse.”

“You and your Irish blarney.” Sid chuckled. “I just met Lennie and he told me he had been supplying you with brandy and sandwiches.”

“I didn't say anything about going without brandy,” Ryan went on. “There are some things without which existence is meaningless.”

“I see you've met our new friend, Molly,” Gus said. “I hope you haven't already corrupted her with your wicked ways.”

“Not at all. I have been most well-behaved and gentlemanly, haven't I, Molly?”

“Most,” I said. “And very charming.”

“I'm always charming.” Ryan gave us a beneficent smile. “Even stone-hearted women like Sid and Gus here can't resist me.”

This was true. They pretended to grumble, but they fussed over him as much as I had done. And by the time he left, later that day, I was already a little in love with him myself.

N
ineteen

On Sunday morning Gus and Sid informed me that it was their custom to go for coffee and pastries to Fleishman's Bakery on Broadway. It was the only thing to do on Sunday mornings. I think the priest back home in Ballykillin might have disagreed with them, but I was not about to argue. Now that I no longer had the responsibility to see that Bridie and her brother attended mass, I was free as a bird and had no great desire to attend mass myself—even if it was supposed to be a mortal sin.