No Enemy but Time (27 page)

He turned to her briefly, and then back to the road. He was a fast driver, and often took risks unnecessarily. It was her only criticism of him. ‘He's been very good to me,' he said. ‘He's a bit of a rough type, but you'll like him. And he's heard such a lot about you.'

Marie Dempster looked at her watch. Lunch with his sister had meant the whole afternoon. It was past five o'clock and Frank hadn't come back.

She had missed him during the long trip to the States. He had told her to invite friends down, treat the house as her own. He didn't want her to be bored or lonely. He never said that he'd be lonely without her. There were times when she thought of him in the bosom of the Ryan family and forgot that she and they were allies. She hated them for having him to themselves, while she waited in Ireland, hoping for an occasional phone call.

Sean Filey kept in close touch with her. Once or twice she was tempted to sleep with him, as if doing so would punish Frank for leaving her. But she knew Filey would reject her. That was over. All that mattered was the place she had made for herself in Frank Arbuthnot's life. So far as Sean was concerned, she was succeeding past success. And so he would think, she said savagely to herself, with ice water in him instead of blood. He might know every last twitch of sexual behaviour and motivation and be able to analyse its meaning like a toad's reflex, but he knew nothing about love, and love was becoming Marie's problem. Not just the passion that erupted like volcanic fire, but the cruel torment of the spirit that was unrequited love. She grudged the time they spent apart during the day. He had business in Dublin, business about his farms. At least she could busy herself as if she were his wife, running his house, chasing those lazy old servants who'd been used to twisting a man round their fingers.

But when he travelled she was miserable. And when he left her after the wonderful night they'd spent together, and stayed out most of the day with his sister, she was consumed with jealousy. She went upstairs, had a bath, changed into a pretty dress and made her face up carefully. Now she had the use of his money, she bought expensive clothes and scent and went to the best hairdresser and beautician in Dublin. She had been a pretty girl, in a provincial way. Now she was glamorous, even beautiful. He was happy with her, she knew that. He found her highly attractive and satisfying as a lover. She knew that too. But she did not hold his heart. After months of living with him, Marie knew her rival couldn't be fought on ordinary terms. She could have challenged another woman and won. But in no way could she compete with a sister. There was a photograph in his bedroom, showing them together on a beach in the West. Sitting with an arm round each other. She must have been about fifteen. They were laughing. It was a typical holiday snap, enlarged and framed instead of being stuck in an album where it belonged. The studio portrait was a different matter. That had a proud position in the drawing room on the piano. It had a fine silver frame, which Biddy Mahoney forgot to polish. Marie didn't mind it being tarnished. She ate the old woman alive if the brasses and the silver in the dining room weren't squeaking clean. She hated that smooth smiling image, framed in very blonde hair. And yet she longed to see her in the flesh, to torture herself by watching them together and having her suspicions confirmed. Now she was getting married. And going to live in England permanently. Marie pinned her faith on distance. When she wasn't on his doorstep maybe he'd forget about her … But he hadn't forgotten so far, and they'd been apart since he was thrown out of home.

She came downstairs, packaged for him, she thought, like the whore she was in reality. She'd have given her soul to run to meet him and know it didn't matter a damn how she looked. Six o'clock. She swore out loud. He'd come in looking innocent and friendly, unaware of her resentment, which she mustn't ever show him. She wasn't just a jealous mistress who could afford a tantrum. She was part of a conspiracy. Sometimes it consoled her to know that he was being duped, and she was part of that deception. But then when he took her in his arms, nothing else mattered and she would as soon have told him the truth about Filey and his precious uncle Kevin. If only she believed they could go on living together afterwards. But Marie knew that would be the end for her too. By entangling Frank, she kept him. There was no other way.

She opened the drawing room door. The room was blazing with the late evening sun. She caught a breath in rage. How often had she told that old bitch to let the blinds down, before the furniture got faded. She turned and stormed into the kitchen quarters. As she expected, they were at the kitchen table, drinking one of their endless cups of tea. The old man was in his shirt-sleeves, dirty from the garden. Marie'd set him to growing vegetables and he dug and hoed in silent protest at the backache and the rheumatism. Marie addressed Biddy, ignoring him.

‘Why haven't you let the blinds down? Don't you see the sun's pouring in?' She stood with her hand on the door handle and the other was clenched into a fist at her side.

‘I was on me way to do it,' Biddy protested. She pushed herself away from the table and the tea.

‘It was rainin' only a little while ago,' her husband came to her defence. He'd worked for the Arbuthnots and their kind all his life. He'd never heard one of them speak to Biddy like that. Dempster was shouting at her, like a bloody fishwife.

‘Don't tell lies to me! Get on and do it this minute. Next time you forget, I'll speak to Mr Arbuthnot about you!'

There was a pause. She saw their faces upturned to her, and the contempt they didn't dare express except by shirking and disobeying as much as they could behind Frank's back.

‘I'll be drawing the blinds then,' Biddy Mahoney said. She skirted round Marie, moving with maddening slowness, and an even more maddening dignity.

Marie glared. ‘You'd better talk to her,' she snapped. ‘Or I'll have the both of you out!' Then she pulled the kitchen door shut with such force that the teacups rattled.

Mahoney sat still. They were well-paid, and they got on with Mr Frank. It had been an ideal job for them both till he brought this little Dublin whore into the house. He wasn't going to stand by and have Biddy shouted at by the likes of that one. He finished his tea.

Marie heard Frank come in. He opened the drawing-room door and saw her sitting there with a drink in her hand, and all he noticed was the smile.

‘Hallo,' she said. ‘It must have been a good lunch.'

He came and sat beside her. ‘Not bad,' he said. ‘I sorted things out, that's the main thing.'

He looked calm and relaxed. Her hope of a quarrel died. He was angry about the marriage, she knew that much. Filey accepted the reason. Naturally he would hate any member of the English establishment as a brother-in-law. But Marie wondered if there was any man in Ireland he'd consider worthy of that sister …

‘So you'll be going to the wedding then?' she asked.

He glanced at her in surprise, and for an instant saw something in her eyes he didn't like.

‘Of course,' he said. ‘Now tell me what you did today.' The subject of Claire was closed.

‘I had trouble with Biddy again,' she said.

Claudia was at her desk, ticking off replies to the wedding invitations. Nearly everyone was coming. The small contingent from England had to be housed with neighbours. Neil's father would stay at Riverstown. The caterers from Brown Thomas in Dublin hadn't sent the menus in spite of two telephone calls. She heard a tap on the door and said absently, ‘Yes?'

Biddy Mahoney stood there, wearing her Sunday hat and best coat.

‘Good God,' Claudia said. ‘Biddy? What are you doing here? Come in.'

‘I'm sorry to disturb ye, Mam. Jim drove me over; he's in the hall.'

Claudia left her desk. ‘Sit down, Biddy. What's the matter?'

‘We've been thrown out of the house,' Biddy said.

Claudia could see that the old woman was near to tears. Thrown out. They'd looked after that house for nearly ten years, ever since Blanche Arbuthnot died. She went bright red with anger. ‘You've been sacked?' she said. ‘I can't believe it. Why?'

‘There's a woman livin' there now.' Biddy looked embarrassed.

‘I know there is,' Claudia said grimly.

‘She complained of us, Mam. She come in the other day, screamin' at me like a banshee over forgettin' somethin' and the next thing is Mr Frank sends for me and Jim and says we've got to treat her with proper respect or he won't keep us. So my Jim says she shouts at me and nags at him over the old vegetable garden till we can't sleep at night for worryin'. He's a quiet sort of a man, and he put it fairly.'

‘I'm sure he did,' Claudia agreed.

Biddy said, ‘But 'twas no use. She'd put in her poison against us. Mr Frank says he thinks it best we look for somewhere else.'

‘God Almighty,' Claudia exploded. ‘He must be off his head. Surely he didn't just tell you to go like that?'

‘No, he gave us a month's notice and a present. He was generous enough. She was smilin' like a cat with the cream in her all the next day. We did our work and never a word passed. Then he's away for the night and she comes and tells us to pack up and get out be the next mornin'. So we're gone. This very day. Jim wouldn't stay another minute after the way she talked to us. He's got his pride.'

‘Have you anywhere to go?' Claudia asked.

‘My sister'll have us till we find another place,' Biddy answered. ‘I wanted ye to know the truth, before some lie gets told to ye. Divil a reference we'll get either, if I know her. She'll be after tellin' Mr Frank we just walked out and left her flat when he was gone.'

‘Don't worry about that,' Claudia said. ‘I'll give you a reference. You won't need anything more than that. Have you any money, Biddy?'

Biddy said, ‘We have. Mr Frank wrote us a cheque when he sacked us. We're all right for quite a time. I'm sorry about it, Mam. It's her comin' to live there that's the cause. There was never a cross word till she came. She's changed him. He's not the man he was.' She got up, and held out her hand.

Claudia shook it. ‘He certainly has changed,' she said, ‘if he'd be influenced by a creature like that.'

At the door Biddy turned back. ‘There's an old sayin', Mam. If ye lie down with dirt, ye get up with fleas!'

Claudia couldn't have expressed it better.

The Half House was finished. The last curtain had been hung, the pictures were in place, and Mary Rose received her accolade from Kevin. With his arm round her waist he squeezed excitedly.

‘Jesus, it's the grandest house in Kildare! We can give those bastards a run for their money now.' He looked round him and laughed. ‘Who'd a thought old Jack Ryan's son would live in a place like this, eh? I mind when I went to America, the auld man says to me, “Kevin,” he says, “you'll come to no good leavin' your home. I'll have to give your share of the farm to Shamus now …” He didn't want to do it, Rose. I was more his favourite than me brother. But if he can see me now, I wonder what he'd say?'

‘He'd be so proud of you,' Mary Rose said. She thought, it means more to Kev to own this house than to sit in the United States Senate. Irish roots ran deep indeed in native soil. ‘It's all your doing,' she went on.

‘And yours, darlin'.' He seldom used that word outside their infrequent lovemaking. Then it was more of a stimulus than an endearment. ‘You made it look like it does. In spite of me,' he added slyly, and she smiled up at him.

He had questioned the light colour schemes and the foreign-looking furniture with all the gilded brass. He liked a warm red and big handsome mahogany pieces himself. But Rose had taste; so had the queer young decorator she'd brought in from Dublin. Kevin refused to call homosexuals gays on principle.

‘We're going to give a party,' he announced. ‘We're going to show the lot of them round here!'

She said, ‘You won't be inviting those snobs of Protestants, surely. Not to our home?'

His brogue deepened. ‘Sure, an' they wouldn't come. Do ye think I'd pour drink down the throats of Arbuthnot at Riverstown and his sort? Like fuckin' hell I would!'

‘Kevin,' she protested. ‘Not that word!'

‘There isn't a better one for them,' he defended himself. ‘They'll hear about it, but they won't be getting any invitation. Except for Frank. That'll get up their noses enough … and we'll have people from Dublin. I've a whole list, with the bank tied in with it all. It'll be a great party, Rose. And I want you lookin' like the Queen of Ireland on the night!'

Mary Rose chided herself. ‘Oh Kev, I forgot to tell you, I was so excited this morning. Frank called. He wants to bring his sister over to meet you. I didn't know what to say.'

He frowned and said quickly, ‘Why would he do that? Why would I want to be meeting her?' And then he paused and corrected himself. ‘You didn't say anything, Rose, did ye? I don't want to upset him.'

‘Of course I didn't,' she answered. ‘He loves his sister; I told you that. I didn't say anything except you'd call him back.'

Kevin let go of her. He hunched his head forward still further, a sign of anxiety that Mary Rose knew very well. He was remembering his boast to the men of power in Boston. ‘It's a blessing in disguise. This marriage cuts the last link with the Arbuthnots.' It seemed that he was wrong about that. He made up his mind.

‘Let him bring her,' he said. ‘We don't have to be over-friendly, just pleasant. It'll do no harm to show him we've no prejudice against her. You make the call, Rose. Tell him I'm tied up, and suggest they come tomorrow for a drink. That keeps it short.'

Then he excused himself and put in a call to Sean Filey at his consulting rooms. There were two members of the Dail he particularly wanted to come to the party, and Filey knew them well. The more support he gathered for the new banking venture, the easier it would be to attract genuine investment on a large scale. And that meant the sums being channelled through from America would be easier to conceal. There was a large shipment of arms and ammunition waiting for payment in the Middle East. That would be the first clandestine transaction, and he intended that Frank Arbuthnot should be responsible for making the payment. Once he had acted as paymaster for a Provo arms deal, he could never go back on his commitment to the Cause.