The Hollow Heart Part 12

"Well," she said, matter-of-factly. "It's a terrible business the bridge being down. Hasn't happened since the Emergency, it was blown-up back then. Some say the islanders did it, so if the Germans invaded they couldn't get to them." She looked wistful and then, smiling, tutted for forgetting her manners.

"Forgive me, Mr Leeson." Larry was impressed; she had remembered his name straight off. "Come into the drawing room and let me fetch you a drink and a seat by the fire. You look half-frozen and dead with the tiredness."

She took his coat and led him through a large door off the hall into a stylishly-furnished room. Two sofas faced each other, as a huge turf fire blazed in the grate. A tall, slim man with a boyish air stood admiring an oil painting above the mantle. He wore designer jeans and a pale blue cashmere sweater, his sandy hair was well cut and gelled to lift it from his skull, in the way that was fashionable.

"Mr Leeson, may I introduce my other house guest, Mr Osborne. Only arrived half an hour before you, so you can have a bite of supper together if you wish. Mr Osborne was heading for Innishmahon too. Going to look up an old friend, I believe."

The young man turned and strode easily across the room to greet the American.

"Hi, I'm Paul. Nice to meet you. What a night. Come far?"

"Nah, only New York." Larry managed a weary grin. They shook hands.

"Don't tell me you're looking up an old friend too?" Paul took a large swig of Joyce MacReady's extremely robust gin and tonic.

"Yes, I am." Larry nearly smiled; relieved the other man's accent seemed easier to understand.

"Bet you're ready for one of these then." Paul indicated his drink.

"Yes I am," Larry repeated, twitching his nose. His nasal pa.s.sages must be clearing, he could smell the peat. The colour was returning to his lips.

"Hope she's worth it," said Paul, raising his gla.s.s.

"It's a he."

"As you like." Paul smiled without innuendo. This was lost on Larry, who had just taken a huge gulp of the drink Joyce MacReady had prepared and was starting to gag as the neat alcohol hit the back of his throat.

"That'll perk you up a bit," Paul advised.

In less than twenty minutes, Larry was unconscious, fast asleep on one of the sofas by the fire. Joyce MacReady put a small velvet cushion under his head and tucked an eiderdown around him.

"He'll wake later and find his way to his bed. I'll leave a light on and the door open." She put the guard against the fire.

When she came down the next morning to begin breakfast, the human-shaped heap under the eiderdown in the drawing room had not moved an inch.

Chapter Twelve .

Near Disaster

The little community gathered in Maguire's, breathed a communal sigh of relief at the news of Mrs Molloy's airlift and the safe return of the rescue team.

As the second front of the storm moved in, Marianne watched those a.s.sembled make themselves comfortable and settle in for the night. She helped cover up the children as they curled together on benches, her heart wrenching as the little ones held up their faces for a goodnight kiss. Some of the men sipped beer as a few of the women chatted over a gla.s.s of wine. A card game was in progress in a corner. Joan sang a lullaby to the baby. People were trying to behave as normally as possible, trying to stay calm, trying not to let the terror of the night take hold.

Marianne worked alongside Oonagh to feed them; Sinead and Phileas served drinks. They were all dead on their feet but quietly pleased with their efforts, as the storm lashed mercilessly around the building.

"Time to batten down the hatches," Padar announced, as he strode over to let Monty in, before he threw the bolt on the door. Opening it a half inch, a wet nose poked in. "Come in little fella, will ya? That's no night to be out in."

Monty straggled over the sandbags, trotting around ankles, sniffing for his mistress. Ryan spotted him and swept him up; the dog's bright black eyes searching the bar until he found Marianne, piling plates with stew. He yapped at her.

"h.e.l.lo monster!" she called. Monty's tail started to wag.

"Me or him?" asked Ryan.

"If the cap fits." She handed Ryan a dish of food. The colour was returning to his cheeks.

"You're turning into a very bad omen, Marianne. Every time we meet it's near-disaster, natural, or otherwise. I bet you're sorry you followed me from Dublin," he said, half-jokingly.

"Come again?"

"In Dublin, I saw you in the pub pretending to read the paper. I didn't think you'd bother tracking me down all the way out here. I mean, what kind of story were you after?"

She laid down the ladle, fearing if she understood what he was intimating, she would club him with it.

"You saw me, in Dublin?"

"Indeed."

"And you think I followed you all the way here for a story?"

"Can't be my charismatic charm can it?"

"No, it b.l.o.o.d.y well can't. It can be a simple coincidence though. For your information I've been drinking in that pub since I was legally old enough and I always call in when I'm in my home town. You vain, up-your-own-a.r.s.e, gobs.h.i.te."

She did not change her tone, or even raise her voice a fraction, but she meant every word, amazed how the vocabulary returned, when riled. He held the plate of food aloft, eyes widening at her in shock.

"I was waiting for my uncle Michael to take me to lunch, which has been his habit every time I return since I left many years ago. So, no, I didn't notice you. The fact that we are both here is, I a.s.sure you, pure coincidence and that, 'Mr World Revolves Around Me', is the truth. I came here for a break, not a compound fracture."

She pushed out from behind the bar, fl.u.s.tered and furious, only to stand on Monty, who yelped, making her jump. She accidently elbowed Ryan, upending his plate of stew, which landed on the stone flags, with a clatter.

"Serves you right!" she snapped, turning on her heel to follow a slightly wobbly Oonagh who was heading for the stairs.

Miss MacReady looked from one to the other.

"That told you," she said, good-naturedly.

"Well, I only thought," Ryan offered, "as a journalist, and me being a bit of a celebrity, only..."

Miss MacReady interrupted, "Is that right? You're a celebrity? What did you do, win the Lotto or something?"

Ryan gazed into her shrewd blue eyes, checking if she was teasing. He turned for her to view his stunning profile, then gave her his biggest Hollywood smile.

"I'm an actor."

"Really? I've done quite a bit of drama myself."

"I seem to have upset her." He watched Marianne disappear.

"Yes, I'd say that's a definite. Marianne's a serious journalist, a campaigner, rights wrongs, names the bad guys. Celebrity t.i.ttle-tattle's not her style and you did more or less accuse her of stalking you." Miss MacReady ferreted in a packet of crisps. "And of causing any amount of disaster every time you meet," she emptied the dregs of the bag into her mouth, "I didn't hear you say thank you for the food she's been slaving over either. No, I'd say you're well in there, alright."

Ryan glared at the gooey splodge on the floor. He felt how it looked.

Marianne's anger dissipated immediately, when she found Oonagh leaning against the banister, beads of perspiration on her forehead, top lip drawn tight over her teeth.

"Oonagh, what is it?"

Oonagh groaned, clutching her abdomen, as she crumbled slowly downwards to the step, a dark stain spreading from her groin through her jeans.

"Fetch Sinead," she hissed.

In no time, they were in the bathroom. Marianne had pulled off Oonagh's sodden clothes. Sinead had given her smelling salts.

"I'm not sure what we are dealing with here," she told Marianne, under her breath.

Oonagh was crouched on the lavatory, groaning. She doubled up in a spasm of pain.

"Oh no." She reached for Marianne's hand. "I'm losing the baby."

Sinead dampened a facecloth to wipe her forehead.

"Take deep breaths, there's a good girl. Take it steady now."

Oonagh groaned again, then whimpered piteously. Marianne looked across at Sinead over Oonagh's bent head. The midwife frowned.

"Let's clean you up love, and get you into your bed. It's a good night's rest you're needing."

Oonagh lifted her chin, her whole face fallen and hollow.

"Don't tell Padar," she pleaded, looking from one to the other as they helped her up.

"Don't tell Padar what?" asked Padar, in a tight voice from the doorway.

The whir of the bar pumps coming alive was the first sign that electricity had been restored to Innishmahon. A flicker of lights and Maguire's was back in business, saving the fact it was only six thirty on Sunday morning but that would not be a first either, Padar considered, remembering his father's heyday. The gathered souls began to murmur and stir.

Father Gregory was up first.

"I think it's best we split, go with a household at a time and see what damage has been done and what emergency repairs are needed."

Ryan and the other self-appointed members of the rescue team agreed. Sergeant Brady arrived with a couple of young Gardai. The Coastguard had brought them, managing to land a dingy and put them ash.o.r.e. Garda O'Riordan was stationed at the entrance to the now-derelict bridge, but the only vehicle he had turned back, had been Pat MacReady's taxi, with an American in it, dressed like an Englishman in an old film. Kathleen MacReady had the radio back on though, so he had a fair idea of what was happening across on the island.

Pat told his sister Kathleen, the flooding had been even worse in Newtownard. A couple of vehicles had been swept away with people in them. The new roof was ripped off the school only minutes after the children had been evacuated, and the rescue services were stretched to breaking point. A fire officer had been seriously injured when a hotel balcony had given way, and his colleague below had suffered a broken arm. It had been a terrible night.

Garda O'Riordan was sucking a mint, listening intently to Miss MacReady's account of Mrs Molloy's airlift to safety, when the television crew hoved into view.

"Ah, here we go," he informed his listener. "f.e.c.king Kate Adie's arrived."

The news editor was only marginally happy. The report from the edge of the derelict bridge was okay, but it was not what he really wanted. Not edgy enough he smiled wryly at his own pun no real drama, and Garda O'Riordan was a lousy interview. He made everything sound like a routine traffic report, not a word of it remotely life-threatening.

The reporter hurried back to the officer, who was opening a fresh pack of mints.

"Any way we can get in among it?" she asked. "The boss wants it a bit more out there." She pushed a blonde curl behind her ear, gazing at him intently through designer spectacles.

Miss MacReady overheard.

"There's a journalist on the island and a webcam up at the marine research unit," she said. "Will that do him?"

Garda O'Riordan looked from the radio to the reporter; he had no idea what they were talking about.

"I'll check if we can hook-up through the OB unit. Can you line it up?" It was the first time the girl had sounded enthusiastic, but it was all still double Dutch to the Garda.

"I'm the postmistress for G.o.d's sake. Isn't communication my job?"

In less than half an hour, Marianne was interviewing Padar about the whole episode, with Ryan on webcam, panning in and out to get the full effect of the dereliction.

"And were there any fatalities, Mr Quinn?"

"No. Thank G.o.d. We got Mrs Molloy away, and I believe she's in a stable condition in Newtownard Hospital."

"So, no loss of life then?" Marianne bit her lip.

"We've all been very lucky." Padar looked steely-eyed, straight into camera.

"This is Marianne Coltrane live from Innishmahon."

"And cut!" Ryan could not help himself. He smiled at Marianne who ignored him, now her professional persona was no longer required. They turned to witness a clatter of heels coming down the main street. Miss MacReady was running towards them, stylishly turned out in a tartan kilt, with a large diamante brooch in place of the traditional pin. She wore a matching tam o'shanter, tilted over the left eye, her trench coat flapping wildly, as she raced towards them.

"Excellent, excellent, the producer said that was perfect; it will go out on the lunchtime news and bulletins throughout the day," Miss MacReady said. The producer had relayed his approval via Garda O'Riordan's radio.