It Was Only Ever You (14 page)

Dermot loosened his grip on the small box. He had arranged with Joe for this particular singer to be here tonight. He knew how Ava loved Irish ballads and she had been so impressed with him at the wedding.

‘It’s the singer from the first day we met,’ he said, leaning across. The box was out of his pocket, ready to press into her palm.

‘Shhhh,’ she said. She closed her eyes, ecstatic. Dermot thought she had never looked more beautiful than in that moment. He got a glimpse of how womanly she was. A promise of what the future might bring. He felt so emotional that he had to gather himself. He put the ring back in his pocket. Now wasn’t the time.

As soon as the song ended, Dermot reached for the ring again but just then their host appeared at the table.

‘Now here’s my favourite lawyer!’

Joe Higgins was wearing a sharp, shiny blue suit with a broad-shouldered jacket and slim, straight trousers. A real spiv. ‘And this is the beautiful lady you keep tellin’ me about?’ He took Ava’s hand and, before she had fully extended it to him, kissed it.

‘This is Ava,’ Dermot said somewhat nervously.

‘Ain’t you going to introduce me?’

‘Ava – this is Joe Higgins, he owns this establishment.’

‘And several others.’ Joe patted Dermot’s shoulder. ‘Thanks to this character, who got me out of a tight spot last month. I hope you know your fella is a kind of genius when it comes to getting guys like me off the hook?’

Dermot shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Ava smiled. He was inviting her to ask what kind of a guy he was. She wasn’t stupid. She could see straight away he was a gangster. She could also see that Dermot was a little afraid of him. Ava wasn’t. Her father had always taught her that if you looked a man straight in the eye and told the truth, the Lord would protect you.

‘That singer you had tonight was very good,’ she said.

‘You think?’ Joe gave Dermot a conspiratorial wink. It looked terrible. This evening was not turning out as Dermot had envisioned. Joe took a big cigar out of his pocket and clipped the end of it.

‘I dunno, I’m not big into the serious Irish ballads. Give me Sinatra any day.’

‘He’s got a strong voice,’ Ava said. ‘I reckon he could do a pretty good Sinatra if he was given the chance. Seems to me all he needs is a break and a decent band behind him.’

Dermot stepped in then. ‘Did you notice, Ava, he was the guy my father booked for my sister’s wedding?’

‘Really?’ she lied. ‘I hadn’t noticed.’

Mention of Judge Dolan’s name immediately altered Joe’s aspect.

‘The judge is a man of great taste. Would you like to meet the kid? I can bring him out to you.’

Ava’s heart did a small leap. She looked at Dermot, shrugging as if she did not care one way or the other, but implying with a flash of her eyes that Joe might not like it if they refused his offer.

‘That would be grand, Joe, thanks. Me and Ava would be happy to have a drink with him.’

That was the engagement off the table. Maybe as he dropped her off? They could go in and celebrate with her folks? Perhaps God was telling him not to try to be such a romantic klutz. Don’t try and be something you’re not, Dermot, he said. Be yourself. That’s always the best way.

Joe went off and came back with Patrick Murphy. His green velvet suit was gone and he was now wearing a pair of shabby brown trousers and a white shirt that looked in need of pressing.

Ava felt a little sick. He had the same slightly lost, down-at-heel look of the poor young Irish men her father helped. The stage suit had been borrowed, she now realized.

‘These folks want to meet you,’ Joe said rather abruptly, then clicking for a waiter to bring over another bottle of champagne he went off, leaving Patrick standing there.

‘Won’t you sit down?’ Ava said. ‘It’s Patrick, isn’t it?’

Patrick sat down, next to Dermot. In his shabby clothes he seemed diminished.

‘You are a great singer,’ Ava said.

‘Thanks,’ Patrick replied, then looked down at his hands. He clearly didn’t want to be here and Ava was sorry she had called him out. He was completely different from the charismatic figure she had seen on stage. He seemed ordinary and out of place. ‘Straight off the boat’ was how her father described these boys.

‘Where are you from in Ireland?’ Ava asked.

‘A place called Foxford in County Mayo,’ he said. ‘It’s very small, you’ll hardly know it.’

‘Is that the place that has the woollen mills?’

His face lit up. ‘It is surely.’

‘Well would you believe it? This suit I’m wearing is made from fabric woven in Foxford Woollen Mills.’

‘Get away out of that,’ he said, and he leaned over and touched the arm of her jacket. Ava shivered, despite herself.

Patrick’s hand lingered, his fingers stroking the fabric, until Dermot let out a small cough.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, but Ava could see from his eyes that he wasn’t sorry at all and she felt excitement unfurl deep in her stomach.

‘Somebody belonging to me would have woven that tweed – it could even have been my father.’

‘What a coincidence,’ Ava said. ‘I was told by the designer that this tweed was a match for the wild hedgerow roses of Mayo, the most beautiful roses in the world.’

‘They are that surely and more,’ he said. ‘And if I hadn’t moved over to this wretched hole of a country six weeks ago there is a good chance that’s where I’d be working myself.’

‘You don’t like New York then?’ Ava asked.

‘Let’s just say it wasn’t what I was led to expect,’ he said.

Dermot began to feel uncomfortable. He patted his pocket. The ring was still there.

‘Why don’t you order Patrick a proper drink, Dermot? That champagne is awful. Patrick, what would you like?’

‘I’ll have a pint, thank you.’

Dermot’s eyes narrowed slightly. A small pellet of rage began to flicker inside him, although he could not say why.

‘I thought we were having dinner,’ he said.

‘Dinner can wait,’ Ava said, firmly, matching his stare. ‘I’m sure we are both interested in hearing what brought Patrick to America.’

Dermot was not interested. He should be – but he wasn’t. Was this lad moving in on his girl? No. That was preposterous.

Over the next twenty minutes or so Patrick told them his story.

How he had been invited over to New York by a contact he had understood was a man of influence in the world of music, but who, in fact, was just the manager of a golf club that occasionally held functions. He was given a job in the kitchen and after a few weeks of pot-washing was finally given the ‘opportunity’ to sing on stage at a society wedding, where he might be discovered. Or not. That was the wedding they had seen him at. Joe, the boss of this place, had requested he come down here specifically tonight, to sing that ballad. He had no idea why. With no car, it was impossible for him to get into the city. If one of the chefs was coming into town, he was able to get a ride in with them. Otherwise, he was stuck out in Westchester County.

‘Where are you living?’ Ava asked.

He blushed. For the first time since she had mentioned Foxford he looked uncomfortable again.

‘Patrick – where are you living?’

Ava knew that unscrupulous employers exploiting young men from Ireland often put them sleeping on the banquettes of their restaurants. They were paid their fares over from Ireland but once they arrived they found themselves doing manual labour and sleeping in their workplace until their fares were paid back. Her father had explained it was not simply a way of the bosses saving on rent money, it also ensured that the young men stayed under their control. They ended up being henchmen or pot-washers: slaves to their own people. These young men were usually too ashamed to tell their families back home the circumstances they found themselves in and pretended they were doing grand.

Dermot looked at his watch. ‘I’m sure Patrick has to be getting back.’

This was an absolute disaster. He felt bad for the boy and everything, but it seemed that his carefully executed plan for romance was built on a human rights violation. If Ava found that out, well – it just didn’t bear thinking about. He would sort it out in the coming week. Have a word with Joe and make sure that the boy was found something better in the city. In the meantime he just wanted to get this evening over and done with as quickly as possible.

‘And perhaps we should head downtown for something to ea—’

Ava cut him off. ‘Are you sleeping in the golf club?’

Patrick nodded. ‘Just until I pay back my dues – then I plan to get something better.’

‘You are coming home with us,’ Ava said.

A look of panic washed over Dermot’s face and as Ava reached under the table for her bag and began to stand up, he leaned over and held her wrist.

‘Do not make a scene, Ava,’ he said. His voice was an angry whisper.

Dermot felt terrible, but he had no choice. He let go of her hand and whispered, as kindly but firmly as he could, ‘You don’t mess with these people, Ava. They are dangerous gangsters.’

Ava felt suddenly furious.

‘Do you mean to tell me that you are going to let this injustice continue because you’re afraid of some two-bit hoodlum?’

‘He is not some two-bit hoodlum; he is much more powerful than that. Also, he is one of my clients and it will be the height of bad manners to make a fuss in one of his establishments.’

Dermot knew that sounded bad, but he was clutching at straws. Also, it was true. Sort of.

‘Bad manners?’ Ava snapped. ‘Your client – the gangster – is clearly taking advantage of Patrick and goodness knows who else. Making them work for a pittance with not even a proper bed as payment? Well, if you won’t help him, my father certainly will. My father,’ she said, pointedly, to Patrick, ‘is Tom Brogan. He helps young men in your situation all the time. If you go and get your coat I’d be happy to take you home with me now, this very minute, to meet him...’

This was worse than Dermot thought. Not only did he look dreadful in Ava’s eyes – but would her father think less of him as well?

Patrick was confused as to what to do for the best. On the one hand he had not met anybody since he came to New York who would help him move on from the situation in which he found himself. On the other hand, this warring young couple did not seem like the best option. The girl was one feisty creature, that was for sure. Nice eyes. She was kind – but a handful all the same. The man, Dermot, was right – Joe was a very nasty piece of work. Patrick had been told as much by his workmates; he would shoot a man, or have him shot, for looking at him sideways. Everyone working out at the golf club and here in this dive in town knew not to upset their boss. Patrick sensed that Dermot would be able to look after himself but he worried about the young woman. Joe didn’t like women too much.

‘My lift is leaving soon,’ Patrick said, ‘so I’ll go back to the golf club, if that’s all the same with you. But it was nice to meet you and thank you for the drink, and your company.’

As he stood up to go Ava felt she had failed him. Had she humiliated or embarrassed him in some way?

‘You are a wonderful singer,’ she said, ‘and if you can ever make it into the Emerald Ballroom in Yonkers, I am there most Saturday nights. I know everyone in there. I can introduce you to some people I know, if you’d like. And remember my father’s name is Tom Brogan, 175 York Avenue, Yonkers. We’re in the book.’

‘Thank you for your kindness, ma’am.’ Then he bowed slightly, turned to Dermot and said, ‘And thank you for the drink. You and your wife are very kind.’

When he was gone, Dermot smiled nervously at Ava.

‘Sorry for losing patience with you,’ he said, reaching for her hand. ‘Let’s just get out of this place and head downtown for some spaghetti?’

Ava smiled back but barely heard him. She realized her heart felt a little broken. Patrick had thought she was Dermot’s wife. He had not checked her finger and seen that she was not wearing a wedding ring.

N
ESSA
HAD
got herself into such a fluster organizing this engagement lunch, she began to wonder how she’d ever cope with organizing the wedding itself. Ava was being utterly useless. She had showed no interest in finding a dress to wear and seemed to feel that the lunch menu and choice of flowers were of no importance. How she was ever going to adapt to being an important lawyer’s wife was beyond her mother’s comprehension.

‘Should we put canapes on the coffee table? Or up here with the corned beef?’ she said, balancing a tray of pineapple and cheese cocktail sticks elaborately arranged around a radish centrepiece.

‘You’re making way too much fuss, Mom. Really – it’s not like it’s the wedding.’

‘It is a dry run,’ Nessa insisted. ‘It sets the tone.’

‘We’ve already had dinner with the Dolans. Wasn’t that enough?’

Dermot had proposed to Ava while dropping her home from their disastrous date in Hell’s Kitchen. They had agreed to hold off on telling their parents, and make an official engagement announcement over dinner in the Law Society Club. Dermot, not wishing to appear fusty or old-fashioned to Ava, secretly approached Tom at work and asked formally for Ava’s hand. He told Tom that he understood his beautiful daughter was extremely precious and that he intended to respect and honour her, and their family.

Tom was as happy as any doting father could be, having his daughter taken away by another man, and agreed not to tell Nessa before the ‘official’ announcement. Both sets of parents had guessed, when they received the invitation, and all were thrilled, except for Dermot’s mother Donna, a rather snooty and very beautiful Italian woman with a contessa somewhere in her family background.

Over cigars in the smoking room after their meal, Dermot’s father, Judge Dolan, said, ‘I was delighted when Dermot told me he had decided to settle down with a nice, sensible Irish girl. So easy for men like us to land up with some pretty, money-grabbing flibbertigibbet.’ Tom smarted at the inference that his daughter was not pretty, but he let it go. Ava seemed happy. She had adopted a serene sort of elegance lately, a smarter way of dressing, and seemed to have calmed. Tom was not entirely convinced by this ‘new’ Ava – he liked his wild dancing, joke-around girl, but he supposed this is what happened to daughters when they matured. You lost them.