The Runaway (34 page)

But that had been a month ago, and Polly had been her cheerful self ever since, singing around the house, joking with the staff at work and telling anyone who would listen that if war came she would do her bit. Now she joined Dana in the kitchen and began to peel a mound of potatoes, left ready for her on the draining board.

‘You told me it were half past ten ages ago, and it’s not even quarter past,’ she said reproachfully. ‘Still an’ all, I guess it were fair enough. When he arrives, old Ern
will give a hand wi’ the spuds.’ She giggled. ‘If there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s spud bashing.’

‘And looking after his pals,’ Dana observed. Ernie had brought Polly home the previous evening and had left a large bag of cooking apples on the kitchen table, saying that they’d been ‘give me by a pal’, and suggesting that she, Dana, might like to make the apple crumble for which she was famous. ‘So if you and Ernie get going on the vegetables I’ll start preparing the apples. Oh, and I’ll need a packet of custard powder. Have a rummage in the cupboard, Polly my love, because Mrs Barker at the corner shop hates being disturbed on a Sunday, especially for a sixpenny packet of Bird’s best.’

Both girls were engaged on preparation when Dana glanced at the clock and hurried across the kitchen to turn on their wireless set. ‘It takes a while to warm up,’ she reminded Polly. ‘Hope Ern doesn’t come bursting in just as Mr Chamberlain gets to the crux of the matter,’ she added, for Ernie was an erratic timekeeper to say the least. And sure enough just as the solemn introductory music drew to a close he burst into the kitchen. ‘Has he started? Whass he said?’ he demanded breathlessly. ‘The bloody tram were late; I’ve had to run like a perishin’ rabbit all the way from the Pier Head …’

‘Shut up!’ both girls screamed in unison and were thus in time to hear the most important part of the prime minister’s speech. The British ambassador had given the German government an ultimatum, he said: if Germany did not confirm by eleven o’clock that they were prepared to withdraw from Poland immediately, their two nations would be at war. ‘I have to tell you now, that no such
undertaking has been received, and that consequently this country is at war with Germany.’

For a full minute Dana, Polly and Ernie just stared at one another, even Polly speechless for once, and typically it was she who broke the silence. ‘Well, I guess we all knew it was coming, it was just that we didn’t know when or how,’ she remarked. She glanced sideways at Ernie and saw, with a mixture of relief and dread, his little nod. Ever since they had returned from Ireland they had been waiting for the right moment to tell Dana that they believed her father had not died as a result of the hunting accident but had actually got better, and was now in full command at Castletara again. They had tried to persuade Dana to go back, believing that if she did so she would discover far more naturally that her father lived, but Dana had foiled every attempt to persuade her to return to her ancestral home. Every time either Polly or Ernie had so much as mentioned Ireland she had either walked out of the room or positively snarled at them to shut up.

‘What I do and where I go is of no concern to anyone but myself,’ she had told them. ‘I shall go back one day, of course, but as yet, I’m just not ready. When I am you may be sure I’ll return, but no amount of nagging will make me go one day sooner.’ She had seen Polly’s dismay and had laughed and given her friend a warm hug. ‘I know you mean well, Poll, but it’s as I say: when the moment comes you won’t have to persuade me because I’ll be on that ferry and heading for Castletara before you can say knife. And now let’s change the subject please.’

Right now it seemed that Ernie thought the time had
come to share the knowledge they had gleaned from Enda and the blacksmith: that Mr McBride was alive and still breeding wonderful horses, and was well respected as a leader in the small community.

But Dana was bustling around the kitchen, still preparing their Sunday lunch, saying that though the war would affect everyone nothing much would happen for several weeks. ‘Knowing the British, Hitler’s storm troopers will have to be on our doorstep before the armed forces swing into action …’ she was saying as she dropped into a chair and began to peel a cooking apple. Polly heaved a sigh and interrupted.

‘Dana McBride, stop blathering on and listen to me for once! Every time Ern and I have tried to tell you about our visit to Castletara you’ve cut us off short. But now you’re going to listen if I have to sit on your chest and gag you with that there tea towel you’ve been flapping around. We don’t think your father’s dead at all. We saw him – though not close, I admit. We’ve tried and tried to tell you that he must of recovered from his awful injuries, but—’ Polly stopped, not because she wasn’t determined to have her say but because Dana had jumped to her feet and actually hurled the apple she was holding at Polly’s head.

‘You stupid, stupid, stupid little halfwit!’ she shouted. ‘As if I wouldn’t know that my own father was dead! Why, I went to his funeral – the committal, the wake, everything. Where the
devil
has your so-called brain gone? I slaved with my mother and the others to see that the stud didn’t go downhill. For three long years I worked as hard or harder than anyone on the estate to keep the name of McBride at the top of the list of breeders in
Ireland. It was only when – when – oh, but why should I tell you? Where on earth did you get the idea that I was the sort of person who would leave my family in the lurch? I left because – because …’ And Dana, who never cried, burst into tears and rushed out of the room slamming the door resoundingly behind her.

There was total silence in the kitchen. Polly and Ernie stared at one another, appalled. Dana had always made it clear that she did not wish to talk about her home or what had happened to send her flying over to England, but this was something entirely different. Polly ran across the kitchen and cast herself into Ernie’s arms, fighting back tears. ‘What’ll we do?’ she wailed. ‘If that good-lookin’ bloke weren’t Mr McBride then who was he? Everyone we spoke to talked about the McBrides as though there were more than one of them. Oh, Ern, what’ll I do?’

Ernie gave her a quick hug then turned her round to face the kitchen door and gave her a small shove. ‘Go to her,’ he urged, ‘tell her we’re both very sorry and ask her very humbly if she’ll explain what really happened. Dana’s your best pal, as I’m sure you are hers, and best pals shouldn’t have secrets from one another.’

‘But I’m scared she’ll turn on me, stop being me best pal and tell me to gerrout,’ Polly snuffled. ‘Won’t you come with me, Ern?’

Ernie shook his head. ‘No, queen, this must be betwixt the pair of you,’ he said gently. ‘I’ll get on wi’ cookin’ the dinner. And don’t worry; Dana’s far too generous to blame you for trying to help her, which is what you’re doing.’ He gave her another shove, a slightly harder one this time. ‘Off with you, my brave girl.’

In the bedroom, Dana lay on her bed, dry-eyed now and no longer angry. She knew that Polly had only been trying to help her, understood how the misunderstanding had come about. And she knew, too, why her friends had decided to break what they thought was the good news at last. When Polly entered the room looking scared half to death she got off the bed, and held out her arms, and Polly flew into them. ‘I think we’ll leave Ernie to prepare dinner, Poll, because he’s just as capable as we are,’ she said. ‘I’ve never told you why I left Castletara because it hurt too much, but one thing I will tell you right now: I inherited my temper and my bright red hair from my father. I would take a bet that the man you thought was Mr McBride was dark-haired. Am I right?’

Polly nodded dumbly, and Dana sat down on the bed and indicated that her friend should sit beside her. ‘Right!’ she said. ‘Now I shall tell you everything, just as it happened.’ She grinned rather lopsidedly at her friend. ‘So pin back your ear’oles and listen hard and for goodness’ sake don’t interrupt.’

Dana slid off the back of the bay hunter, landing alongside the would-be customer, and pushed her hair off her wet forehead, for it was a hot day and she and Elvira, the mare, had spent most of the morning together. The customer was an American eager to buy horses of Irish stock to build up his stable, for though everyone kept telling everyone else that the Depression was as bad in America as it was in England there were clearly still people about with plenty of money. Dana raised her eyebrows at the customer but before he could reply to her unspoken question Johnny Devlin came up, a big
smile on his face. ‘Well, Mr Fitzgerald, what do you think? She’s a grand little mare so she is, though perhaps a trifle light. You’ve taken two of our best stallions, however, so why am I encouraging you to take our best mare as well?’ He struck his forehead, grinning as he did so. ‘It’s mad I must be!’

‘Oh, come on, Mr McBride. You’ve many better critters than this ‘un, though she’s a grand little mover and your daughter makes her look an easy ride, though I doubt a beginner would find her so …’

The two men moved off, leaving Dana to rub the mare’s velvety nose and lead her towards the stables. Ever since Donovan McBride’s death Johnny Devlin, at Feena’s request, had taken the name McBride, for they all knew well that it was the name which brought customers flocking to Castletara to see the McBride horses for themselves, and men, they knew, liked to deal with other men and not with women, however efficient and knowledgeable.

Dana had not liked it at first and even now preferred to refer to him as Johnny, but so far as the business went Johnny and Feena, working like dogs, had more than equalled Donovan McBride’s attainments. Dana knew her father had been over generous, over easy in fact. If he liked someone he would sell them a horse for perhaps a third of its worth, laughing at Feena when she tried to explain that he was being a fool to himself. ‘You never take into account the money we spend on feeding, grooming, shoeing and vet’s bills for that same horse,’ she had told him. ‘And ’tis the same with all sorts. When a man comes to mend the roof and goes wit’ the work only half done you pay him the full amount for the sake
of his wife and children, not reckoning that he’ll spend the money on porter and never complete the job.’

But Johnny Devlin had been brought up in a hard school and workers and customers alike soon realised that he was a very different proposition from the easy-going Donovan, and by and large they appreciated this and acted accordingly. At first they thought that pretty, gentle Feena would be a soft touch, until she proved them wrong by being, if anything, keener to get value for money than her husband had ever been.

And gradually, so gradually at first that Dana was unaware of it, everything began to improve. The castle itself, though always structurally sound, had needed many repairs and these were done whenever money was available, but now Feena had begun to clean up and refurbish the interior, long neglected, in order that they might let rooms to parties of tourists, many of whom came from the United States. Meanwhile the stables had doubled in size, so that sometimes it hurt Dana to see how her father’s death had improved his property, but she comforted herself with the thought, often repeated by Feena, that Donovan McBride had been a wonderful, charismatic person, but no businessman. He had left Feena and herself – and the Devlins, to an extent – a wonderful inheritance. The fact that they could now improve it was not a criticism of her father but merely an acknowledgement that he had been above anything so petty as making money.

So Dana, who still loved her father dearly and adored her friend Con, had no intention of changing her way of life. She meant to live at Castletara, ride the wonderful horses they were producing, help her mother in the house
when the tourists came – but only if no one else was available – and generally carry on in the same way, which was very little changed by her loss.

Then into the even tenor of her days had come an event so shocking that at first she had not believed the evidence of her own eyes. She had got up early one bright autumn morning to long-rein a colt, not to tire him out exactly, for he was a bright and energetic two-year-old, but to calm him a little so that when she rode him later in the school, where they showed off the youngsters to customers, he would not start bucking and showing off. Right now he was too full of energy for the gentler paces most customers wished to see. She had gone down to the kitchen by her usual route, expecting to find it deserted. The door at the foot of the spiral stair had opened quietly – under the new regime the hinges did not squeak – and she had padded barefoot on to the kitchen tiles, to stop short, frozen with horror. A man and a woman tightly clasped in each other’s arms were leaning in the corner by the back door. The woman was murmuring softly but Dana could hear they were love words, and the man was kissing the woman with a restrained violence which made Dana’s stomach clench. Even as she recognised Feena and Johnny Devlin she also understood that this was something they had done often; that they were lovers.

As though the little gasp she gave was enough to alert them to the fact that they were not alone, the couple broke apart. Feena gave Johnny a little push in the chest and turned to face her daughter. To Dana’s disgust her lips were swollen from his kisses and her eyes were shiny. She came swiftly across the kitchen and caught hold of
Dana’s hands. ‘It’s all right, alanna, we’re doing nothing wrong,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Johnny and I are going to get married. Oh, I wanted to tell you weeks back, when we first realised we were in love, but Johnny said it was too soon. He’s not told Con yet, though I think your pal has guessed something of the sort is on the cards. I’m sorry you had to find out like this, but we meant to tell you in a few days anyway. You see—’

Dana had interrupted, her voice cold yet shaking. ‘How – how long has this been going on? Did Daddy know? First you steal his name, and now you plan to steal his wife. Well, I won’t have it, do you hear?’ She glared at Johnny Devlin, hovering uncertainly behind her mother’s shoulder. ‘And you needn’t bother to tell Con, because I shall do so. We won’t let you do this. Castletara is half mine …’