The Hollow Heart (The Heartfelt Series) (36 page)

“What do you want, Paul?”

Paul moved closer. Towering over her, he bent his head to
hers, his forehead grazing her hair.

“He doesn’t deserve you. He’s a liar and a cheat and
basically an arrogant, vain tosser, who keeps dangling you on a string so he
can drop by for a decent meal and a good shag every now and…”

There was a faint whistling sound as Ryan landed a left hook
to Paul’s jaw. The crowd gasped as one.

“Owww!”
Paul put his hand to his chin, turning away
from his assailant slowly, then, in a flash, he whipped back and landed Ryan a
full punch to the stomach.

“Ugh!” Ryan bent double, winded. As he went down, Paul
smacked him on the back of the head. Ryan lost his balance and fell to his
knees.

“Stop!” Marianne screamed, lunging at Paul. At the same time
the barman expertly scooped her up, placing her neatly behind the bar out of
harm’s way, as the usually genteel and rarefied atmosphere exploded, and a
full-on brawl ensued.

 A drinker from a neighbouring table walloped Paul across
the shoulders with an umbrella. Ryan, regaining his composure, used Paul’s
distracted state to climb onto a chair, leaping onto his back and securing him
in a headlock. Paul relieved the man of the umbrella and was using it to fend
off Ryan’s attack. As Paul twirled round trying to free himself of Ryan, the
barman tripped him up and they all fell to the floor in a swirling squirm on
the dark, red Turkish carpet.

“Doesn’t show the blood,” the barman told Marianne,
helpfully. Horrified, she broke free and was just about to join the writhing
mass in an attempt to knock some sense into her lover and former colleague,
when a long shadow fell across the room and, bit by bit, the warring factions
quietened, gradually peeling away to the walls. Even the tall, brass gas lights
standing on the marble bar seemed to quiver as an eerie silence descended.

“Well, well, well, what in heaven’s name is going on here?
This is usually such a civilised part of the city. I mean, really!” The words
hung in the air, the soft Cork accent menacing in its lightness. Ryan and Paul
staggered to their feet. Ryan’s right eye was half-closed and there was a
bloody gash above his brow. Paul’s nose was bleeding and his bottom lip had
split.

Marianne groaned as she surveyed them, and the devastated
snug. She glanced nervously at the huge, dark figure filling the doorway. The
man in uniform gave her a slight salute, as shrewd bright eyes flashed around
the room. “
Well?
”

“A minor disagreement, Inspector. Is all it was. All over
now, forgotten,” offered the barman, busily wiping the marble top and setting a
couple of glasses under the taps.

Ryan pushed his shoulders back, stood forward, hand
extended.

“No harm done, sorry to trouble you, Inspector.”

The Garda eyed him suspiciously, not moving, and then, “Well
lookat, it’s yourself, Ryan. Ryan O’Gorman, how the divil are you? Sure I’d no
idea it was you.” The inspector shook his hand heartily. Ryan winced, and then
as recognition dawned, grinned as the officer removed his hat.

“It’s me, Dermot. I always liked dressing up, so opted for a
uniform when the acting offers dried up.” They hugged like long lost brothers,
and the whole pub breathed a sigh of relief.

“Marianne, meet Dermot Finnegan, he was in drama school with
me. Better actor than I ever was.” Ryan saluted the Garda.

“Yeah true enough. Trouble was, he was better looking than
all of us. Some break!”

Marianne, bemused by the whole episode, was irritated Ryan
and Dermot seemed suddenly so relaxed about everything. She turned to go and
freshen up and found Paul standing beside her. He wiped his bloody nose with
the back of his hand and gave her a sheepish glance. She sighed.

“Sorry,” he mouthed, then put his hand urgently to his lip.
She rolled her eyes and shrugged. The inspector resumed his authoritative
stance.

“Now.” He took his notebook out of his pocket, pencil
poised. “Anything to report?” The incumbents of the bar mumbled and shuffled
back to their seats. The Inspector looked at Paul.

“You sir, what’s your name?”

Paul looked anxiously from Marianne to Ryan.

“It’s alright, Inspector, it genuinely was a
misunderstanding,” Marianne said softly, praying this would be the end of the
matter. Inspector Finnegan looked from one to the other. Ryan gave him a nod.

“Ah, fair enough so.” The Garda put his pencil and pad away.
“Any apologies required?” Silence. “If we’re drawing a line under this, I think
the air should be cleared once and for all,” he said wisely.

Ryan looked at Paul. Paul looked back. Their faces were
bloodied and bruised, hair standing on end, clothes torn. Paul held out a hand.
He was trembling. Ryan stared at it for a long moment, then he took it.

“Behind us?” Ryan asked.

“Yes.” Paul held his gaze.

“All of it? Everything?”

“Finished. End of.”

“I have your word?”

“You have my word.”

They shook hands, both wincing in pain, as Marianne blinked
away tears.

The door flew open and a flurry of colour burst into the
room. Oonagh and Miss MacReady were dressed to the nines, and breathless.

“I told you there’d been trouble.” Miss MacReady nudged
Oonagh as they surveyed the scene. Oonagh beamed at the officer.

“Alright?”

“All sorted here, Madam. No bother.” He beamed back.

“The cars are waiting to take us to the studio. Lisa’s put
the press reception back until after the show, said you’d been unavoidably
delayed. No-one was that bothered, they’d all had champagne and were going to
the show anyway,” Miss MacReady told them.

“Ah, yes, the TV show, you’re on this evening.” Dermot
reminded Ryan.

“Inspector, if we get these guys cleaned up and ready, would
you mind escorting us?” Marianne asked, all eyes on the Garda. A police convoy
would surely speed things up.

“Just about to suggest that myself,” grinned Dermot.

The makeup team did a
superb job disguising evidence of Ryan’s brawl. The bruising hardly showed, and
the floor manager thoughtfully turned his chair sideways on, so that his
gently-swelling left eyelid could not be seen by the camera.

Paul had also been skilfully patched up by Oonagh and Miss
MacReady, using a combination of their makeup bags
.
To Paul’s relief,
Ryan issued instructions for him to travel to the studios with the rest of his
party and, although Marianne knew Paul wanted to talk, she was not quite ready
for a conversation with him, and had been happy to leave him to the care of the
‘Innishmahon’ fan club.

“What on earth were you fighting about?” Miss MacReady asked
as they settled into the back of the car. She had insisted Paul sit between
herself and Oonagh. Although Oonagh was uncomfortable, she had not minded
patching the poor man up but she was unsure if he was to be treated as a fellow
guest on their trip. Had Ryan and Marianne forgiven him, made friends, even?

“Something and nothing I suppose,” Miss MacReady continued.

“Probably more like everything,” Oonagh interjected. Paul
looked out of the window in silence.

Meanwhile, Marianne’s fury with Paul and, indeed, Ryan, had
subsided slightly, as she bathed the gash above Ryan’s eye in the bathroom of
their suite. Particularly when he had given her his mournful, gooey-eyed
pity-me face. She looked away, amused that he imagined for one second, she
would fall for his awful performance. She pretended to ignore him, tutting
loudly, as she dabbed his brow with a makeup pad drenched in face tonic. The
astringent made him whine. She resisted the urge to kiss it better.

“Not very clever, eh?” he whispered. She carried on without
comment. He was sitting on the loo, she reached over to find a tissue to dry
the wound off and, needing more attention than he was receiving, Ryan threw his
arms out to grab her and pull her to him. Marianne made a skilful swerve to
avoid him, tripped over the toilet brush and, as he lunged to save her, they
both ended up in an inevitable pile on the bathroom floor.

“Ugh!” Ryan was winded. Marianne was sitting on top of him.
She gave him a scathing look.

“You’re making it up, it’s not that bad.”

“I’m not. I really hurt, honestly.”

“Your own stupid fault.”

“Hey, I was provoked.”

“You’re not in the playground.”

Marianne squirmed about a bit, deliberately.

“Ach, ouch.” His eyes were watering. She relented.

“Looks like our night of passion is out of the question
then.” She took hold of the side of the bath and hauled herself up. He took a
deep breath.

“No way, I’ll take loads of painkillers, I’ll be fine.” He
struggled to his feet.

“I could exchange it for a hot bath and a nice head massage
until you feel better?”

“Oh that sounds grand.” He had trouble straightening up. She
threw a towel at him.

“For me, ya eejit!” They started to laugh, Ryan holding his
ribs, clearly in agony.

Smiling at the
recollection, Marianne found Paul watching her in the rear-view mirror of the
limousine. He smiled back, then put his hand to his lip, trying to prevent it
from bleeding again. She shook her head despairingly, dropping her chin to her
chest so he could not see her chuckling. She could not remember the last time
two boys had fought over her. Grown up boys, at that.

Not unsurprisingly, Oonagh and Miss MacReady knew everybody
they encountered at the TV studios. Miss MacReady introduced herself as the
Director of Telecommunications for Innishmahon, and Oonagh flirtingly described
herself as a close personal friend of Ryan O’Gorman’s, and his other close
personal friend, Marianne Coltrane. As is the way in Dublin, no-one really
cared who they were, they were there and were made welcome whoever they were,
and the two ladies made the most of it.

The chat show went according to plan, the conversation was
totally focused on the movie and related anecdotes as decreed by Lisa courtesy
of the PR machine. But then a surprise was sprung. There was an extra guest on
the show. A home coming gift for Ryan. And to a full musical fanfare, his old
showbiz touring companion, Inspector Dermot Finnegan, took to the stage. They
all laughed and chatted about the old days when they were in the band with
George, and then Dermot persuaded Ryan to join him for a rousing rendition of ‘
You’re
Such A
Good Looking Woman’
.

It took only the opening bars, and the audience, led by
Oonagh and Miss MacReady, twirling with gay abandon in the aisles, was on its
feet as one. Marianne was particularly enjoying the performance, because,
although Ryan was a great singer, his dancing was hilarious and he and Dermot
were having so much fun it lifted her heart. Especially as he touchingly
singled her out whenever he came to the rousing chorus.

Oonagh kept nudging her and nodding at Ryan as she danced.
Miss MacReady, meanwhile, had the floor manager clamped to her, in an
excruciatingly intimate version of the tango. He just managed to shout ‘Roll
the credits’ before she threw her lips at his mouth in an almighty smacker. It
had been a wonderful evening.

Marianne spotted Ryan and Paul having a pint together in the
corner of the Green Room after the show. She joined them. Paul offered his
right hand. She just looked at it.

“Go on,” Ryan said, “make your peace now. It’s over, well
nearly, anyway.”

“Ryan, will you excuse us?” She kept her tone light, flashing
him a glance.

“Good luck,” he said to Paul, patting him on the shoulder as
he left.

“Marianne,” Paul began. She dismissed him with a wave.

“Can you tell me why? That’s all. I just want to know, why?”

“You know why.”

She shook her head. “Words of one syllable please.”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time. Doing a follow-up
on the terrorist attack, particularly as Ryan was central to masterminding our
escape, and then he landed the part of Thomas Bentley. It was like art
imitating life, and there was my first inside take on a superstar, giving me
the perfect opportunity to make a name for myself.”

“Opportunistic, more like. But how you did it was so crass,
Paul. More like a bounty hunter than a biographer and, why? I still don’t know
why?”

“You had abandoned me. Jack was gone.”

“Abandoned? You sound like a child I was somehow responsible
for. I think I did my bit by you, Paul. I don’t owe you anything.”

“I see that now, but that’s not how it felt at the time.” He
took a sip of his drink. She folded her arms.

“I loved you, Marianne. I was hurt and then when I saw I
could stir up some shit for Ryan and get paid for it, I went for it. What was
the worst that could happen? Once you found out all about him and his carrying
on, you’d get pissed off and come back to me and we could be together.”

“But there was no us, together.”

“I know that now, but I hoped, deluded myself. I thought if
I had a glittering career and money too, it would help. Put us on the same
footing; make you want me as an equal, a lover, not just a friend.”

Marianne could see Ryan looking back at them anxiously. She
nodded to show everything was alright.

“I’m really sorry,” Paul offered, and they looked into each
other’s faces.

“So am I,” she replied.

“Forgiven?” He gave her his puppy dog eyes.

“Maybe one day. Not yet though, too raw.”

He touched her arm as she turned to go.

“He’s told me what he’s going to do. He’s told me he’s going
to make you happy. I hope it’s true, but if…”

She gave him a half-smile.

“We’ll be fine. If you would only promise me you’ll go off
and do some decent work, right a few wrongs, shake things up a bit, make me
proud, that would make me happy too.”

He grinned back at her, his big, open-faced boyish grin.