The Matchmaker (3 page)

Sunday lunch. Maggie Ryan was a great believer in the tradition of Sunday lunch. Some considered it old-fashioned, but she clung firmly to the tenet that gathering around the table for a good meal at the end of a busy week was the best way to keep a family together. It ensured time with her children, kept her in touch with relations and was a relaxed way to entertain friends. Leo had always enjoyed it, carving up beef or lamb or turkey or pork loin into slices as he sipped a glass of red wine and put the cares of the week behind him. When he’d died she had abandoned the whole idea of entertaining, hating Sundays with a vengeance because they highlighted his absence, making it an awful day. Gradually, however, over the past few years, as her anger and grief had subsided, she realized that she hated being on her own Sunday after Sunday and had reinstigated the tradition.

Today the smell of roasting lamb and potatoes pervaded the kitchen and she had just added a tray full of peeled onions to the dish at the bottom of the oven. She had a large rhubarb crumble ready to pop in the oven later for dessert and some sticky toffee ice-cream in the freezer that she knew her little granddaughter adored.

The big mahogany dining table was set and she had lit the fire in the drawing room as there was still a nip in the air. Satisfied with progress in the kitchen, she decided to have a read of the papers, putting her feet up for a few minutes before the onslaught of visitors. Podge, her aged marmalade tabby cat, snoozed beside her in the chair.

Sarah and Evie were naturally the first to arrive, having only to make the short trip from the basement apartment up the stairs to the main part of the house. Sarah was wearing her usual jeans and T-shirt, topped by a pretty pink tapestry waistcoat.

‘Imagine! I found it in the Oxfam shop,’ she beamed as Maggie hugged them both, Sarah’s long straight fair hair such a total contrast to her granddaughter’s cascade of dark locks. Evie made a beeline for Podge who was lost in some cat reverie.

‘How old is he, Granny?’ she asked.

‘About twelve, I think.’

‘Will he die soon?’

Maggie cast a look of alarm over at Sarah, not wanting to upset her granddaughter. Maybe they’d been talking about death in school?

‘Don’t worry, Evie,’ she reassured her. ‘I hope that Podge will live for another few years.’

Sarah shot her a grateful glance, offering to help with the food as Evie’s attention strayed from the family cat. She certainly was a live wire and full of chat as she bounced around studying the table.

‘Granny, why are you using the special plates?’ she quizzed, scrutinizing them.

‘That’s because I’ve extra visitors coming,’ she replied, ‘and I thought they might like these plates with their pretty pattern.’

‘She’s full of questions about everything at the moment.’ Sarah laughed. ‘It’s non-stop.’

‘There’s nothing worse than a quiet child,’ teased Maggie. ‘Parents are always worrying about them. At least you don’t have that problem!’

The doorbell went and Maggie watched as Sarah ran to open it. Her neighbours Gerry and Helen Byrne and their son Barry, who was home on a visit from London, had just arrived, Gerry carrying a bottle of expensive-looking red wine and Helen a bunch of purple and yellow freesias, to give her hostess.

Barry almost lifted Sarah off the floor in a bear hug. The two of them laughed and chatted as Sarah took their coats and offered to put the flowers in water; Barry followed her down to the kitchen in search of a vase. Sarah had known the Byrnes all her life: they had been good friends to Maggie over the years and a tower of strength when Leo had died.

‘This is just like old times,’ Gerry exclaimed, warming himself in front of the fire.

‘Can I get you a drink?’ Maggie offered.

‘A glass of wine for me, and Helen will have her usual gin and tonic.’

Maggie hoped that there was lemon in the fruit bowl in the kitchen as Helen was fussy about adding a slice of lemon to her drink.

Grace arrived next. She looked amazing in a pair of slim-fitting cream cords and a beige cord jacket, smelling of that expensive American perfume she always wore.

‘I’ve just had a lovely walk along Sandymount Strand.’ She smiled and hugged her mother.

‘Where’s that boyfriend of yours?’ Maggie asked. ‘I thought you said he was coming too.’

‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ she apologized, ‘but Shane couldn’t make it. It was a last-minute thing.’

Maggie said nothing. She could read the disappointment in her eldest daughter’s eyes.

Why Grace had got herself tangled up with someone so self-centred was beyond her. Shane O’Sullivan worked in the same architectural firm as Grace. She wasn’t sure it was at all wise for her daughter to get romantically involved with a colleague, especially one who seemed so unreliable. They’d been going out for almost a year but she had to admit she just couldn’t take to him. Grace on the outside might seem composed and direct but underneath she was sensitive and caring. She deserved a boyfriend who was a lot better than a handsome heartbreaker like Shane. Maggie had to bite her tongue on her opinion of him but to her mind he seemed to be constantly letting Grace down; today was only another example of it.

‘Who else is coming?’ Grace asked.

‘I’ve asked Detta and Tom. You know, I’m going to really miss them. They’ve been such good neighbours over the years, and when I think how kind they were when your father died and I couldn’t even think straight . . .’

‘I heard their house was sold,’ Grace said, all interested. ‘Who bought it?’

‘I’m sure they’ll tell us. Oscar of course is coming. He loves a good Sunday roast. Anna should be here soon.’

Grace smiled; her mother loved having people around, cooking and entertaining and chatting. Her parents had always been a social couple but now her mother had to work hard to fill the void left by her father’s death.

‘Can I do anything?’ she offered.

‘No, you relax,’ urged Maggie. Her eldest daughter worked far too hard. At the top of her profession, her job in one of the city’s busy architects’ firms consumed her. She went from one project to another, constantly putting in long hours and overtime, with scarcely any time for a personal life. Maggie’s motherly worries were interrupted by the arrival of Detta and Tom O’Connor bearing two rather ancient bottles of champagne.

‘We found them in that old wine cellar under the stairs. We felt we must celebrate, Maggie. Can you believe it, the house sold and us upping sticks and starting over at our age,’ declared Tom, beaming like an overweight schoolboy in his usual navy blazer, his round face flushed with excitement.

‘When are you moving?’ asked Gerry, congratulating him.

‘The removal people are coming on Thursday,’ answered Detta, full of emotion, her double chin wobbling. ‘All the boxes are already there and we’ve so much to pack and label correctly but they’ll help us, and then on Thursday evening we’re getting the car ferry over to Holyhead. We’ll stay the night there and the next morning drive down to Bath.’

‘Next Sunday, God willing, we’ll be with Cormac and Lynn and their three boys. We’ve bought a small cottage only about a half-mile from their house.’

The bottles of Moët were well chilled and Gerry helped Maggie to open one. Maggie was just passing a glass to Detta when Oscar from next door appeared. He moved slowly, his arthritis obviously troubling him again, his long thin frame cushioned by a heavy tweed jacket. Anna arrived just a minute after him.

Maggie welcomed them both but asked no questions, taking in the black T-shirt and unironed olive-green skirt and boots, and the dark circles under her middle daughter’s eyes and her pale skin as she hugged her.

‘You OK, Anna? Do you want some champagne?’ offered Sarah, not surprised when her sister demurred.

The enormous leg of lamb was done to perfection, the potatoes nicely roasted when Maggie called everyone to sit down. Sarah and Grace helped her to carve and serve the food.

‘A toast to Detta and Tom,’ she called. ‘It’s sad saying goodbye to the best of neighbours but we all wish them good fortune in their new home in England.’

Gerry and Helen nodded in agreement and seventy-five-year-old Oscar made a small speech of his own.

‘May the road rise to meet you,’ he said softly. ‘The square won’t be the same without such dear friends. How I’ll manage in O’Brien’s on a Wednesday night without Tom along for our regular pint of Guinness beats me.’

‘Gerry will have to buy you one instead,’ said Helen, squeezing his arm.

Talk around the table flowed full of stories about the antics of the neighbours and their various offspring over the years.

‘I used to be so embarrassed by our five boys,’ admitted Helen. ‘They must have broken more panes of glass around the square than anyone else. They destroyed flower beds and planters and window boxes and Lord knows how many times the park people were on to us about the goalposts they set up in the square. Not to mention the bike races . . . and do you remember that big tree house they made?’

‘We weren’t that bad,’ protested Barry, ‘we just had a bit of a wild streak and you and Dad were softies!’

Sarah laughed. She had always been great pals with Barry. She’d had a crush on him for a while when she was a teenager but then realized that she’d much rather have him as a friend. He lived in London with a beautiful girl called Melinda and their baby boy Daniel. He was only home for a few days this time so it was lovely to get together and catch up.

Maggie noticed that Evie was being very good at the other end of the table and eating her lamb which Sarah had disguised with gravy as Barry and she chatted away.

‘I heard it was a heated auction,’ Oscar said, ‘and that there were four or five bidders for the house?’

‘We couldn’t face going to it ourselves,’ admitted Tom. ‘Detta was worried it would drive her blood pressure through the roof.’

‘The house went for far more that we’d hoped,’ she confided excitedly. ‘Who’d have believed it with our clunky heating and the bathroom that needs tiling and our rattling windows and the leak in the laundry room, but we’ve got a nice little nest egg for going away.’

‘Did a family buy it?’ asked Sarah hopefully. ‘Maybe they might have a little girl around Evie’s age. It would be great for her to have someone so near to play with.’

‘We would have liked a family to buy it too,’ admitted Detta, ‘but it was some wealthy businessman. As far as I know he’s not even married. It’s a pity.’

‘An eligible bachelor moving to the square, how interesting!’ said Maggie, suddenly curious about this new male neighbour.

‘Maggie!’ teased Helen.

‘He’s not married, has just bought an expensive piece of property and will be living literally a few doors away from us. You and Gerry would be the same if you had daughters!’

‘Mum!’ remonstrated Grace. ‘You know nothing about him!’

‘Are all girls’ mothers like that?’ Barry asked Sarah at the far end of the table.

Sarah, who was putting a few more peas on Evie’s plate, cast an embarrassed glance at her mother.

‘Bachelor or not, apparently he has great plans for the place,’ Tom added. ‘Great plans.’

‘Who is this fellow?’ asked Oscar. ‘Did they tell you?’

‘Mark McGuinness. That’s the name Billy King mentioned, apparently he’s a big noise in the property world.’

Grace most certainly had heard of him. He’d recently outbid one of their clients on a valuable site over in Malahide. They’d hoped to develop rather expensive apartments on it while he had gone for planning permission for town houses and a small retail scheme. ‘Mr McGuinness has a reputation for buying up old properties and derelict sites, knocking down and stripping houses and buildings and refitting them and selling them on at a large profit,’ she warned.

‘Well, hopefully whatever his plans he will do the necessary repair work to restore number twenty-nine to its true glory.’ Gerry smiled. ‘These are such beautiful old houses.’

‘Oh, I hope he doesn’t knock too much of the old house down,’ said Detta, worried.

‘No, he’ll have to keep within the planning restrictions for a Georgian house,’ Grace added firmly, feeling slightly alarmed at the thought of an investor like him buying a house on the square.

Maggie smiled to herself, as she watched Grace talk about houses. Ever since she’d been a little girl she’d found structures, walls, roofs and windows fascinating. Leo and herself had always shared a love of old buildings and there’d been plenty of family outings to see Big Houses across the country.

Anna Ryan sighed, ignoring the conversation going on around her. She could do no more than play with the food on her plate: she felt so awful. She should have stayed home in bed. She wasn’t hungry and had no interest in what some property type did to the O’Connors’ house, which, truth to tell, had been falling down around them – or so she’d thought, the last time she’d gone to a drinks party there. Shabby chic, Dublin auctioneers called it. Whoever had bought the place was going to have to sink a load of hard-earned cash into it to bring it up to scratch.

‘Anyone for coffee or tea?’ asked Maggie as she passed around servings of the piping-hot rhubarb crumble – not forgetting to give Oscar an extra big helping.

‘Nothing like home-cooked food,’ her elderly neighbour thanked her. He seemed to exist on a diet of microwaveable meals and fry-ups ever since his wife Elizabeth had died.

He was one of the sweetest men she knew and Leo and he had been firm friends. Elizabeth and Oscar had been like benevolent godparents, always ready to help out in a crisis as their three girls were growing up, and had always been part of Ryan family occasions. Now that Oscar was on his own Maggie made even more of an effort to keep an eye on him and ensure he regularly ate at their table.

When the meal was over and emotional farewells had been said, the girls had helped Maggie load their old dishwasher. Maggie had promised Detta a hand in the morning with packing up her good china and selecting what could go to St Vincent de Paul. Gerry and Helen had promised a return lunch in their place in two weeks’ time, something she would look forward to.