True Colours (36 page)

‘
Peter?’ for a moment her eyes opened in amazement, ‘Peter!’

Half-tripping, half-running she headed towards him. He stood up to meet her, catching her before she stumbled into him. She was obviously still sloshed.

‘
I thought you were in New York.’ Before he could answer she thumped him hard on the shoulder with her fist, ‘How could you go to New York, how could you?’

‘
Peter?’ Unimpressed with the interruption, O’Hanlon sat poised with his fingers over the computer keyboard, ‘Surname?’

‘
No that’s a nickname. I was in the forces, Royal Marines. Name’s Jackson, Jackson Blake.’ O’Hanlon crooked an eyebrow, waiting for Peter to explain, ‘Michael Jackson, Neverland, Peter Pan..? I was a Green Beret, Peter Pan has a green hat, flies – like we jumped out of planes. It made sense to some bastard.’

Caroline tittered and nestled her head on his shoulder, ‘Michael Jackson? I know someone called Moonwalker; I bet you’d get along famously.’

O’Hanlon looked sceptical. Glancing over the top of Caroline’s head, Peter said,

‘
I’ve ID, driving licence, whatever you need. Sebastian will tell you who I am.’

FORTY THREE

Alex turned over and opened her eyes and for a moment wondered where on earth she was. And if that wasn’t bad enough, she had absolutely no idea what day it was. Or what she was supposed to be doing now. Several possibilities careered through her head all wrapped up in a surge of panic that started somewhere around her toes and bounced off her stomach, lungs and heart before it connected with her brain. But none of them matched with the starched white pillow, the irritatingly mid-blue nylon curtain that was pulled around the bed. Alex moved her head fractionally. It was like her brain had stopped processing information sometime during the night. Usually, she woke up focused, alert, after the initial realisation that it was time to get up, knew exactly what her first task of the day was.

But not today.

Today, Alex felt like she’d had razors surgically embedded in her throat, like she’d caught the worst cold of her life and it was clogging up her head, blocking her nose, fugging her up. And her back ached, and the muscles in her legs were sore. Very sore. Like she’d run ten miles…

Then it hit her, the memories spiralling back like the tornado in The Wizard of Oz but in reverse. Sebastian. Supper. Her car. The wine. And then the bedroom. Fine as a bee’s wing. Alex curled up, pulling her knees to her chest, a hole opening in her stomach, aching, the pain worse than anything she had ever experienced, tears pricking her eyes. The fire. The house.

‘
Goodness, this place is like an oven.’

Alex’s heart stopped for a split second. Who the? Pulling the sheet to her chin, Alex turned over to find…Jocelyn Blake…Joss? What on earth was she doing here? …Fighting her way through the blue curtain.

‘
Whew. How do those poor nurses put up with the heat? It’s like a sauna. How are you feeling my dear?’

‘
I…’ For once in her life Alex had absolutely no idea what to say. But it didn’t seem to worry Jocelyn. Grabbing the grey plastic chair from beside the bed, she sat down with a bump, settling the layers of her cape and dress like a broody hen, pulling several bulging carrier bags onto her lap.

‘
I couldn’t believe it when I heard it on the radio. Kilfenora on fire.’ Jocelyn sighed, grimaced, her face grief-stricken. ‘I still can’t believe it. Thank God you’re all all right.’

Alex tried to speak, but it took huge effort. She winced as her mouth formed the words, the sound rasping in her throat.

‘
Is Sebastian okay?’

Jocelyn smiled benignly, ‘I spoke to him very briefly this morning; they took Lord Kilfenora into Beaumont Hospital, only place they had an ICU bed, Sebastian went with him. He’s a bit shaken not stirred, but fine.’ Something dark passed across Jocelyn’s face, but Alex was focusing on turning herself over properly in the bed, her aching muscles protesting as she fought the tightly wrapped sheet. She realised she was wearing a hospital gown, dark blue, patterned and hideous and trying to tie itself in a knot around her hips. Eventually she completed the manoeuvre and fell back against the pillows, exhausted.

‘
And Lord Kilfenora?’ Alex’s voice was barely more than a whisper. She wanted to explain, to pour it all out, to tell Jocelyn about the puncture, about the alarm going off, how Sebastian had led her through the smoke to the ballroom, how they’d seen the nurse from the window, assumed she had helped Guy Wingfield to safety, then, when they’d finally got out, had been told that he was still inside. And how Sebastian had gone with the fire crew to find him. But her throat wasn’t up to it, any of it.

As if she could tell that Alex needed to talk, Jocelyn laid her hand on her arm, ‘Tell me later love.’ Then, ‘I want to hear all the details as soon as you’re up to it,’ she winked, a smile flicking the corners of her mouth. She’s trying to cheer me up, jolly me along, just like Dad always does, ‘making the best of a bad job’ – it was one of his favourite phrases. But, Alex realised, Jocelyn hadn’t answered her question.

Jocelyn patted her arm again, ‘A fire, I can’t believe it. Of all things. My goodness, I couldn’t bear it if…’ She smiled again, but not before Alex had caught something in her eyes, something buried deep, something raw and painful. But it was only there for a second. As if she knew she’d revealed too much, Jocelyn smiled,

‘
I bought you something to change into – it’s only a tracksuit from Dunnes, but I think it’ll fit. I’ve spoken to the doctors, they’re happy to release you but you need to go home and spend a day in bed. You blacked out last night, you need to rest. I can drop you home.’

Alex smiled weakly. She had so much to do, needed to get her phone, her briefcase. But Jocelyn was right she did need to rest. She felt suddenly incredibly grateful to the woman beside her – it was lovely to let someone else do the thinking, to be mothered. Curling up on her squishy sofa in Dalkey with a mug of honey and lemon and daytime TV had never sounded like a better idea. She felt rotten. Then another thought hit Alex: her dad. If Jocelyn had heard about the fire on the radio, her dad would have done too. He’d be going spare with worry. A look of panic fluttered across Alex’s face.

‘
Need…to talk…to my dad.’ The more she spoke, the worse her throat was getting. Jocelyn nodded reassuringly, ‘I’ve spoken to your dad love, told him you and Sebastian are fine. He’s upset obviously, but delighted you two are okay.’ Alex exhaled, relief washing over her, but how did she know who her dad was? Before she could puzzle it out, Jocelyn continued, ‘And the good news is that they’re letting him out tomorrow so you can convalesce together…’

Letting him out, already…Alex felt her stomach knot…She wasn’t ready, hadn’t got the study in Dalkey sorted out yet, and she needed to move his stuff from the cottage – whatever he said about wanting to pack himself, he wasn’t up to it. She’d planned to do it herself, but it would take a day at least…Alex closed her eyes, despair washing over her, pushing her perilously close to the edge of her endurance. She’d be a screaming wreck if anything else went wrong…

In the cold harsh light of morning, things weren’t looking much better at Kilfenora.

Standing on the lawns in front of the house, the stink of the fire still strong, Sebastian ran his hand over his face as he took in the scene. All around him the once immaculate grass was churned up, scarred and furrowed by the wheels of the emergency vehicles, flattened by the dozens of feet that had tramped over it. Somewhere to his right a blackbird called, its cry strong and clear in the eerie silence. After so much confusion and activity, the place felt empty, abandoned, not like his home at all, more like a long-dead ruin, taken over by nature.

At some stage during the night, the entire Palm House had collapsed, the cast iron structure now twisted and bent like knitting, lying in a dense layer of ash and rubble. But the fire brigade had been as good as their word, had succeeded in containing the flames, beating them back from the inside of the house where they had threatened the billiard and morning rooms. Sebastian was sure they were soaked in water, but they could be dried out, redecorated. Outside, the eastern wall was blackened right up to the roof. Thank God the guest rooms were at the rear of the building, far enough away from the seat of the fire to give them time to get out before the entire house filled with smoke. Sebastian shuddered, thoughts of what could have been whizzing around his head again like a racing car on a Scalextrix track. How had it started? The blaze at Windsor had been caused by a spotlight on a curtain; almost forty years before Powerscourt House had been gutted by a chimney fire.

He ran his hand over his face again. He knew he should feel lucky, lucky that they still had four walls standing, that the interior of the house appeared intact, but a demon of dread still clutched at his stomach. Delayed shock perhaps, but the fear felt real, even this morning, very real. And one thing he knew for sure, he never wanted to smell that smell again, knew he couldn’t move back in until every trace of the fire had been eradicated, until the whole place had been redecorated.

Hands thrust in his pockets, his feet unnaturally loud on the gravel, Sebastian began to walk towards his car, still parked where he had left it last night. Beyond it the front door hung open, the darkness of the hall yawning now like a gaping tooth, great weals hewn in the door’s oak panelling where the fire fighters had attacked it with their axes, desperate to reach those inside. Behind him a burst of static sent the blackbird across his path. Joe Griffin was half in half out of the patrol car, relaying his position to Control. Sebastian waited for him as he fitted the radio back into its holder on the dashboard, stood up and stretched. It had been a long night for all of them.

They’d hardly spoken on the way down, Bizet’s Carmen filling the interior of the patrol car, saving the need for words. Sebastian had been surprised to see Joe this morning, had been putting down the phone to Jocelyn when there had been a brisk knock, rapidly followed by Joe’s peaked cap appearing around the door of the private room allocated to relatives beside Beaumont Hospital’s Intensive Care Unit.

‘
Sebastian Wingfield?’

Hauling himself up, wincing as he moved, his bare shoulder strapped where he had wrenched the muscles hauling open the ballroom window, Sebastian nodded.

‘
Joe Griffin, from Kilfenora. We met a few weeks ago when Tom was shot.’

Sebastian nodded again, a sinking feeling grasping at his gut. How could he forget?

‘
Come in, please come in.’ There would have to be an investigation, questions. Questions Sebastian wanted answers to as well. Joe Griffin’s handshake was firm, capable, somehow comforting. ‘Sorry… about all this. Any idea how it started?’

Sebastian shrugged, wincing again, shook his head.

‘
Need a lift home? I brought you a clean sweatshirt and jeans in case you needed a change.’

Sebastian hadn’t been sure what to say, where to start, thank you seemed a bit weak.

Waiting while Sebastian washed and dressed, Joe stood in the corridor, chatting easily through the bedroom door as if they’d known each other forever, ‘Hope this lot fits, they belong to my son. When I got in last night he was glued to the news.’ Sebastian could hear Joe’s radio sparking into life.

‘
You must thank him for me. My jeans are pretty much history.’

‘
You can thank him yourself at some stage. He’s an architect with the Office of Public Works, historic buildings and the like. Quite a good one actually although I don’t know why on his salary he’s still living at home, but there you are. He’s in a right stew about your conservatory and the stairs.’ Sebastian could tell from the tone in Joe’s voice that he’d never seen the Grand Staircase, still less knew anything about it. Joe continued, ‘the deal is I have to fill him in on the damage, in exchange for the kaks.’

‘
I think that can be arranged.’ His voice still weak, rasping, Sebastian felt a wave of gratitude towards Joe and his architect son, ‘tell him to come up whenever he likes. I’d say I’ll be needing his help. The Palm House wasn’t looking good last night.’

Now, coming to stand beside Sebastian on the edge of the lawn, Joe Griffin looked up at the house. A flock of rooks lifted from the roof, cawing, black shapes stark against the cloudless blue sky. It was a perfect day, unseasonably warm, like summer was paying a flying visit. Standing here, looking at the blackened walls, Sebastian suddenly felt dislocated, like they were in Greece or Italy, on a bus tour of the historic sites. How could the sky be so blue today of all days?

His hands in his pockets, Joe stepped out onto the gravel and walked around the two cars parked there. Standing with his back to the house, he took a long look at the two vehicles like he was going to make a purchase, his brow knotted.

‘
You’re going to need a re-spray.’ Joe nodded towards Sebastian’s Jaguar, the midnight blue paint was blistered from the heat, the bonnet dented, a deep scratch running along its passenger side. Sebastian walked around to join Joe, and came back to earth with a bump.

Shit. His car. It needed more than a re-spray. It must have been hit by something… scratched by a hose being dragged past?

Joe glanced at Sebastian. ‘The insurance company are going to love you. It is all insured isn’t it?’

Sebastian nodded, silent for a moment. Then, ‘my secretary called them as soon as she heard what had happened. Apparently, the assessor will be down this morning. And a team of builders to check that the external walls are safe, to start clearing the mess.’