Scarlet Feather (20 page)

‘Oh, Tom, you were so right to be optimistic. You just kept us all afloat. I’m so happy for you, so very happy,’ Cathy said with a lump in her throat when Marcella passed the phone to him.

I
know
you are,’ he said, and he smiled at Marcella as he said it.

Cathy was early at Quentin’s. ‘Coming to steal our ideas?’ Brenda Brennan asked. Both Cathy and Tom had worked as waiters and in the kitchen here, in what was often described as Dublin’s best restaurant.

‘Oh, we’ve stolen all those already,’ Cathy admitted cheerfully. ‘Those little tomato and basil tarts go down a treat.’

Brenda smiled, she had little to worry about in the way of competition from home caterers. People came to Quentin’s for the atmosphere as well as the food.

‘Where will J put you, Cathy?’ she asked.

‘Where does my mother-in-law like to sit?’

‘Nowhere very much, hard lady to please.’ Brenda Brennan knew the score.

‘Don’t start me off, I’m trying to be nice today,’ Cathy pleaded.

They chose the table least likely to annoy Hannah, and Cathy sat down to wait. She had told nobody about the meeting, not even Neil. They had an armed truce at home now, where normal conversation was carried on and meals were eaten, but the great thing that hung between them was only skirted around. They had agreed to give it a cooling-off period and then they would approach it in a saner way than at two-thirty a.m. in a small town house that was also home to Simon and Maud. Perhaps Hannah knew all about the job. But that was unlikely. She would wait until her mother-in-law showed her hand, and after all, the woman
had
put ‘personal’ on the envelope. Possibly Cathy’s outburst had hit home, and Hannah really did want to apologise. If so then she should have the dignity to do so without thinking that there was an audience out there waiting to know the details. Perhaps it was about Maud and Simon? Apparently there had been some form of contact made with their father. Perhaps one of Hannah’s friends might need a caterer? There had been some talk of Amanda coming back for a visit from Canada. Hannah might need a reconciliation just for appearances’ sake? No point in speculation, Cathy told herself. She would know in just  over an hour when the main-course dishes were cleared away, when they would both refuse dessert and ask for coffee.

In the private booth of Quentin’s James Byrne sat with his guest, Martin Maguire. The great thing about this particular table was that you could see out while others found it difficult to peer in.

‘Lean forward just a little, Martin, and you’ll see her. That’s Cathy Scarlet on her own over there.’

The other man looked in the direction he had been shown, and saw the fair-haired girl reading the
Irish Times
.

‘She’s very young,’ he said in a low voice.

‘They all are these days, Martin.’

‘No, she’s never able to run a business, too much stress and strain.’

‘She’s about twenty-six, that’s not young by today’s standards.’

‘That’s almost the same age as Frankie.’

James Byrne looked at the tablecloth, searching desperately for words. Eventually he just said,  ‘Frankie’s at peace.’

‘How do we know?’ asked Frankie’s father.

‘Because God is good,’ James Byrne suggested.

The Riordans, who had given the christening party, recognised Cathy also.

‘Didn’t think they were up to this kind of place,’ sniffed Molly Riordan.

‘Well they sure as hell know how to charge. Why wouldn’t they be able to afford it here?’ asked the husband, who was still anxious that Tom Feather might blow the whistle on him.

At that moment Hannah Mitchell came in, hair freshly done, new heather-coloured wool suit, carrying parcels in Haywards bags, fussing about her fur coat, wondering very oversolicitously if the table was all right for Cathy. And eventually sitting down.

‘God, that’s Jock Mitchell’s wife, they
do
move in high circles,’ said the husband, very surprised.

‘I’ve always wanted to meet her. Hannah Mitchell runs these charity bridge dos. They’re always photographed in the papers and magazines. I might just drop past the table later,’ said the wife.

‘Oh, leave it out… They’re nobodies, those caterers. We don’t need an introduction
that
badly,’ said the husband, who greatly feared ever having to meet Tom Feather ever again.

‘Mrs Mitchell, Ms Scarlet,’ Brenda greeted them in her calm, measured way.

‘You
know
my daughter-in-law?’ Hannah annoyed as always that she had not been able to make the introduction.

‘It’s always a pleasure to see both of you,’ Brenda murmured as she left them the menus. She had not mentioned that Cathy had washed plates in the kitchen, served tables and was far better known in this establishment than the elegant Hannah would ever be. Mrs Mitchell was special only for habitually changing her table, sending food back or querying the bill. Cathy had carved for the entire restaurant the night that Patrick the chef had burned his hand. Cathy had found fifty pounds in the ladies’ cloakroom and had managed to give it back to the woman who had left it there without letting her husband see. Cathy had been there the night the drains packed up. It was no contest as to who was the favourite customer.

‘It is nice to have time to have a little chat like this,’ Hannah Mitchell began.

‘It’s very kind of you, and a lovely break for me, certainly,’ said Cathy, who had told herself twenty-five times already that there was no point in going to this lunch at all unless she remained calm and courteous. The shouting bit was over, the confrontation had taken place. She had not spoken to her mother-in-law for weeks until she had made the phone call to confirm this lunch date with her. She must listen now, listen and not react.

‘Possibly you work too hard. You should have a few more breaks,’ Hannah said.

‘Possibly indeed.’

‘So you agree you might be overworked, a little tense, ready to fly off the handle, then?’

Cathy saw now where her mother-in-law was coming from. She, Cathy, was going to be cast in the role of screaming neurotic, up to high doh over her little business, unable to control herself at functions. A-ha… It was good to see the way the land lay.

‘Funnily, Neil and I were saying this the other day, at our time of life we all have to work so hard running just to keep up, that by the time we get to your age and Mr Mitchell’s, our life will be so much calmer.’

‘You were saying that?’

‘Yes. We were noting the way Mr Mitchell can spend so much time on the golf course, and you have all these hours to give to charity lunches. Our day, for all that, will come too.’ Cathy smiled broadly.

Mrs Mitchell was put out. This was not the way she had intended the conversation to go. ‘Yes dear, but don’t you think you might be… how shall I put this… directing too much energy into one channel?’

Cathy looked at her, confused. ‘One channel?’ she asked. 

‘Well, this waitressing business.’

Cathy laughed aloud. ‘Yes, that’s what we call it too, like Simon and Maud. They
are
funny, aren’t they. So solemn, and yet total babies at the same time.’

I don’t know what you mean.’ Hannah was genuinely perplexed.

I’m sorry, it’s just that they call our catering company a waitressing business too because they don’t understand… I assumed you were quoting them.’ Her eyes were hard and her voice harder still.

Hannah made a decision. ‘Yes, of course I was,’ she said.

I knew you were, but to go back to your point, Mrs Mitchell, you’re probably right. I am devoting a lot of energy to the new company, and so is Tom Feather, but that’s natural. Once we get it off the ground we hope to relax a little more, have two or three nights properly off a week.’

‘But my dear, that’s ludicrous, isn’t it? What about your life, your real life… With Neil, for example.’

‘Neil’s working almost every night too, either at home or at some consultation. It’s just the way things are.’

‘I think it’s just the way you’ve let things become, dear.’

Cathy remembered that tone. It was the way Mrs Mitchell had spoken to her mother. ‘Sorry, Lizzie dear, I don’t think we were terribly thorough cleaning the bath, were we?’ Cathy had wanted to kill the woman then. The feeling was hardly less strong now. She crumbled some olive bread in her fingers and reduced the substance to a fine powder as she did so.

‘Do explain what you mean, Mrs Mitchell.’

‘It’s just that I’m asking myself,
why
does Neil go out so much for work, why do you not have a social life, give dinner parties, go to clubs? I mean are
you
a member of
any
clubs, tell me? It’s just, I worry when a young couple don’t have a healthy social life. One begins to wonder why.’

‘We both work fairly hard, and I think we can safely say that Neil cares hugely about his clients and about justice being done, so this naturally takes up a lot of his time. I think that must be it, don’t you?’

‘Well, yes, of course, of course, that goes without saying, it’s just that I wondered, perhaps if you were to… Well if you were to try and…’ She seemed to lose the words.

‘If I were to what, Mrs Mitchell?’ Cathy was genuinely interested now. What on earth was the woman going to suggest? That Cathy should learn some new and devastating sexual techniques, or give dinner parties twice a week inviting politicians and the media? She waited with interest.

‘Well, that you should smarten yourself up a little.’ Mrs Mitchell was diffident. But once she had said it she was sticking to it. ‘It’s just that possibly you’ve been so busy with work and everything… that you haven’t had time to stop and take a good long look at yourself.’

Cathy did not know whether to feel humiliated or amused. It was so patronising for one woman to tell another that she needed to clean up her act. Yet this advice was being given by a woman aged sixty, with her hair scraped up into a style that was ten years out of date, squeezed into a wool suit one size too small, wearing a nail colour that had not been seen outside pantomime for decades. Hannah Mitchell whose hard, over-made-up face and mink coat made her a caricature, was daring to offer Cathy advice.

‘And where do you think I should start?’ she asked in a level voice.

‘Well, your hair, of course, and to show you how much I really mean it I’ve got you a token for Haywards.’ Mrs Mitchell pulled out an envelope.

‘I can’t possibly accept this,’ Cathy began.

‘But you
must
. I don’t think I gave you a proper Christmas present, and let this be it. You did such a delightful job catering for our New Year’s Eve party, a lot of people have spoken of it so well since. The very least I can do is start you off on some kind of makeover.’

Cathy stared glumly at the envelope.

‘And do get your nails done at the same time, have nail extensions maybe, won’t you? There’s a good girl. If there’s anything a man likes to see on a woman it’s long, groomed nails.’

‘You know, Mrs Mitchell, I’ll certainly think about the hairdo but if you don’t mind, I think I’ll pass on the nails. You see in our job nail extensions would be a bit dangerous – we could lose them making pastry, for example.’ Cathy tried to be light-hearted. It was the only alternative to doing what she really felt like doing, which was standing up and pushing over the dining table into her mother-in-law’s lap.

‘Well.’ Mrs Mitchell sounded sad and disappointed, as someone who had done her best but failed in the end, thanks to Cathy’s gross stupidity.

‘But truly I am grateful for your kindness, Mrs Mitchell. And for this lunch.’

They had just put the fish in front of them, and Hannah was looking at it suspiciously.  Is it properly filleted?’ she asked the waiter.

I hope so, madam. Very often a tiny bone escapes, but I think you will find great care has been taken.’ Cathy winked at the waiter as Hannah peered at her plate. She knew him well from her nights working here. He kept a solemn face. Brenda Brennan ran a tight ship at Quentin’s. He didn’t want to be spotted mocking the customers.

James Byrne approached the table with an elderly man.

‘Ms Scarlet, I wouldn’t dream of interrupting you, but I hoped you might just meet Mr Martin Maguire, from whom you brought your premises. He is only in Dublin for a few hours.’

Cathy leaped up.  I’m so pleased to meet you. Would you come round and meet Tom Feather there this afternoon? We’d love to show you how happily we’ve settled in, and excuse me, may I introduce Mrs Hannah Mitchell, who is taking me to lunch here?’

Hannah stared. She could never accustom herself to the fact that her maid’s daughter introduced her with ease to two well-dressed men older than herself. Where had this confidence come from? Mr Maguire promised to come to the premises for coffee at four o’clock, and they were gone. Sensing the older woman’s irritation, Cathy changed the subject.

‘I must tell you that my sister Marian is getting married. Do you remember her at all from the old days?’

Hannah Mitchell’s eyes narrowed as the old days were mentioned. ‘No, your mother didn’t bring any of the children except you.’

‘Oh, Marian’s the bossiest of us all.’

‘Out in Chicago. That’s where I think they went. I remember your mother saying.’

‘They love it there. I’ve been out to visit. Have you been there at all, Mrs Mitchell?’

Before Hannah had time to shudder her disapproval of any city where Poor Lizzie’s children had ended up, Cathy saw that they were being approached again, and to her horror she saw that it was the terrible couple who had given the nightmare christening party. Again she made the introductions, but this time Hannah Mitchell offered some information.

‘I’m actually Cathy’s mother-in-law,’ she said. This was a personal first.

‘And is er… Tom… your son, then?’ Molly Riordan asked, gushing.

‘Oh, no, no, not at all. My son is a lawyer, a barrister actually,’ Hannah said.

They left eventually, the couple having given their card to Hannah and assured her of substantial sponsorship at the next charity do.