Stand by Me (38 page)
‘It’s simple enough,’ said Colin when she asked him to summarise everything. ‘The banks will get back some money when they break up the business and sell the properties. They’re not involved in the Barbados deal. That’s all down to local investors and has nothing to do with you, Mrs Delahaye. But as far as the properties go . . . well, your house will be sold and the truth is that you won’t get anything from it.’
Dominique stifled a despairing gasp.
‘I tried to persuade them that you didn’t know what was going on and that as you weren’t a director of the company you weren’t aware of the borrowing structure. You might be able to sue them for advancing money against the house. But it could be a tortuous process. Nevertheless, it might be worth doing, because that way you could retain your home or perhaps get a portion of the value.’
‘No,’ said Dominique after she’d sat in silence for almost a minute.
‘If you don’t do anything, you’ll lose the house,’ said Colin. ‘I really think you should consider—’
‘I love this house,’ said Dominique shakily. ‘But it’s never going to be the same again, even if Brendan does return.’
‘It’s possible that the banks might make a settlement with you. They don’t want to be seen to be throwing people on to the streets.’
‘There’s a lot of people who probably think I deserve to be thrown on to the street.’
‘You have to live somewhere.’
‘No,’ she said again.
‘You can also apply to have funds made available to you from Brendan’s assets.’
‘Like I’m someone else he owes money to?’
Colin nodded.
‘I can’t.’
‘You haven’t done anything wrong, Dominique,’ he said. ‘You should—’
‘I don’t care!’
‘But—’
‘I did do something wrong. I didn’t ask any questions. I believed everything was great. So I don’t want anything. I don’t want people saying that I came out of it all right when they’ve lost everything.’
‘Really, Domino ...’ He’d never called her that before. Always Dominique. Sometimes Mrs Delahaye. It sounded strange coming from him.
‘I wouldn’t feel right,’ she said stubbornly.
‘You’re entitled to—’
‘Absolutely nothing.’ Her voice was fierce. ‘I was a fool. Brendan was a fool. I don’t want anything from the mess.’
‘You have to think about your daughter, too.’ He glanced over at Kelly, who hadn’t spoken as Colin had outlined their position.
‘I can get a job,’ she said.
‘And you will, I hope, when you graduate,’ Dominique told her. ‘But in the meantime, you can keep on with your studies. We’ll find somewhere else to live and
I’ll
get a job. We’ll be fine.’
I’ll
get a job. We’ll be fine.’
‘What sort of a job?’ asked Kelly.
‘I’m a good organiser,’ said Dominique. ‘I’ll find something. ’
‘Maybe nobody around here will give you a job.’
‘I’ll get a job,’ repeated Dominique firmly. ‘And I’ll sell my damn jewellery. And Colin, I was thinking that maybe we could sell the contents of the house, too. After all, the bank doesn’t own the plasma TV or the Waterford glass or anything else and they could bring in quite a bit of money.’
‘You’re being incredibly strong,’ said Colin. ‘You know that at one time you were worth millions, and now ...’
‘I never felt as though I was worth anything like that,’ said Dominique. ‘So it doesn’t really matter in the end. And I’m not being strong at all. This is my worst nightmare. I’m faking it, that’s all.’
Chapter 20
Dominique felt as though she was living in another world. Every day when she woke up, the sun had risen and the sky was blue (or at least blue for part of the day; it was summer in Ireland after all, and so grey clouds also featured prominently); and every day she did ordinary things like taking a shower and cleaning her teeth and sometimes even having breakfast. In the first few days following Brendan’s disappearance she hadn’t been able to eat at all, but it shocked her that now she was, at least occasionally, beginning to feel hungry again. Yet even as she did these ordinary, everyday things; even as she listened to the radio or filled the kettle or loaded the washing machine with laundry, she would suddenly stop and tell herself that her husband had gone and she didn’t know where. That her house was about to be sold. That she didn’t have a job. That she was practically broke. That their family’s name was mud. At that point she would begin to tremble and would have to sit down and take deep breaths to steady herself.
She would tell herself that eventually people would forget about Delahaye Developments and that she wasn’t totally penniless; she would try to convince herself that she would find a job and that Brendan would come back. But she was never sure about any of these things and when they might come to pass. And when she stood in her beautiful garden with its wonderful views of the Atlantic Ocean, she couldn’t quite bring herself to believe that all of this had really happened and that she would have to leave. This was her home. This was where she had felt the happiest in her whole life. And, despite what she’d said to Colin Pearson, this was where she wanted to stay.
She’d hoped that the bank would struggle to sell the house. After all, it was a trophy home, not within the financial reach of the average house-hunter, and although its location was superb, it was a little remote for some people. Maybe, she thought, she’d be here for a lot longer than she expected.
But when Jerry Kavanagh, the local estate agent, arrived at the door and told her that he had people lined up to view the property and that he also wanted to put a For Sale sign up in the garden, she realised that everything was real and not part of some dream that she could simply forget.
‘I’m sorry, Domino,’ said Jerry.
‘That’s all right. You have to do your job.’
She knew Jerry and his wife Melody well. Jerry’s agency had been involved with the selling of some of Brendan’s developments and Melody was on one of the same charity boards as Dominique herself. Or one of the boards that Dominique had been on. Because after the phone calls from Stephanie Clooney, she had resigned from that board and from the others she was involved with, including Melody’s. A part of her had hoped that the women she knew so well would contact her and say not to be silly, that none of this was her fault and that they’d love to have her stay on. She’d pictured a girlie get-together in which they’d down a few glasses of wine and the women would offer her loads of support and tell her that they’d always be there for her. There had been a couple of awkward phone calls from the people she’d been closest to. But nobody wanted to be seen with Dominique Delahaye these days. She wasn’t good for the image of the charities. And it seemed that the women concerned were afraid that somehow her misfortunes would rub off on them too. The husbands of some of them, she knew, had also invested in the Barbados project, which made it hardly surprising that they didn’t want to see her. She received a selection of cards thanking her for her work in the past and wishing her well for the future, but no invitations to lunches. And certainly no invitations to girlie get-togethers.
‘Melody asked me to pass on her best wishes,’ said Jerry.
Melody had been at Dominique’s final garden party. She’d laughed and joked with Dominique and told her that her garden was looking particularly lovely and that her polka-dot dress was stunning and that she did the absolute best events in the county. Both Jerry and Melody had also been to dinner with Brendan and Dominique a week before that. Brendan had picked up the tab for a memorable meal at Ballymaloe House, which had been accompanied by the most expensive wines the restaurant had to offer.
‘I hope she’s well,’ Dominique said in response.
‘Ah, you know Melody.’
‘Yes.’
Melody considered herself to be a very sensitive person. She complained regularly of being stressed and upset, although as far as Dominique could see, there was little in her life to stress or upset her. Actually, Dominique thought, Melody was as sensitive as an old boot.
‘What are you planning to do, Domino?’
Dominique wondered which of the two of them was the more embarrassed by her current situation.
‘I haven’t decided yet,’ she said.
‘Is it true that all your money is gone?’ There was a note of incredulity in his voice.
‘If I had money, I’d keep the house,’ she said.
‘It’s hard to believe that he did this.’
She was working very, very hard not to cry. It was ridiculous, she told herself, to want to blub every time she had to talk about it. But she was damned if she was going to let Jerry Kavanagh see her sob.
‘Well he did. And Kelly and I are dealing with it.’
‘I saw Kelly in town the other day. She seems in good spirits.’
‘Like me, she’s doing her best.’
‘Well, lookit, I’ll just go and put up this sign, and I hope it makes a good price,’ said Jerry.
He wasn’t the worst in the world, thought Dominique, as she thanked him. It was hard for people to take in. She knew that.
It was especially difficult for her when people started making appointments to view the house. She was sure that half of them only wanted to poke around and check it out so that they could say that they’d looked over the place. She imagined them prodding her comfortable squishy sofas, criticising her choice of tiling in the bathrooms and saying that Atlantic View wasn’t up to much after all. She pictured them peering at the paintings on the walls, wondering how valuable they were. (Not very. She’d bought most of them in local galleries, and although they were lovely, none of them had cost a lot.) Her stomach churned when she thought of people standing at the door to her bedroom, looking at the enormous bed with its expensive linen and saying to themselves that she was sleeping alone in it now. She told herself that she was being paranoid, but she knew that she wasn’t really. Everyone loved nosing around other people’s houses. And everyone loved seeing pride come before a fall.
She couldn’t stay there any longer. So the day before the first open day, when the house was free to all and sundry to look at, she and Kelly packed their bags and moved in with Lily and Maurice.
Lily welcomed her warmly and told her to go to her usual room. Dominique couldn’t help smiling a little at that; she hadn’t stayed at Lily’s since the days when Brendan’s main business had still been house extensions and attic conversions and they’d been living in Terenure.
Kelly, who’d had plenty of sleepovers at her grandmother’s even after they’d moved into Atlantic View, knew that she’d be sleeping in Roy’s old bedroom. Brendan’s youngest brother was now the captain of a cargo ship and currently somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic and well away from the family drama, though still keeping in touch with them all.
‘I thought we might send out for food tonight,’ said Lily. ‘I don’t feel like cooking and Maurice likes the local Indian, even though he says it gives him shocking heartburn these days and the doctor is always telling him to go easy on the spicy food. Still, he’s lasted this long, so I don’t think a few chillies will kill him.’
This time Dominique smiled properly. She got on well with Maurice who, in his eighties, was still a fun-loving man. Though not so fun-loving these last few weeks.
I could kill you, she told Brendan mentally. I could kill you for what you’ve done to me and what you’ve done to them. I don’t care how terrible things were for you. Running away wasn’t the answer.
Living with her parents-in-law was harder than Dominique had expected. More people called there than had to Atlantic View, and she was constantly having to put on a brave face when one or other of Lily’s elderly friends knocked at the door. They would smile at her and ask how she was and then go into the kitchen or living room or garden for a chat with Lily. Dominique couldn’t help thinking that Lily’s friends were a lot less judgemental than her own and considerably more forgiving. But then Lily had grown up here with all of them. They were friends for life. Hers hadn’t been.
Lily had resumed going to her weekly bingo nights, and although she invited her daughter-in-law to go along with her, Dominique said that she preferred to stay home with Maurice. She admired Lily’s strength in socialising again. But she couldn’t do it herself. She still thought everyone was pointing fingers and talking about her.
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