The Hollow Heart Part 16

That weird crowd carrying on again, Sean Grogan thought to himself, from his usual vantage point.

Ryan clambered free and pulled her upright.

"For G.o.d's sake woman, there is always some sort of disaster underway when you are around." They brushed sand off each other. "Larry will kill me if I get messed up. The image, you know, smooth and sophisticated from now on."

"I know." She smoothed his hair back. "It is only an image though, remember? Keep it like that, and you'll be fine."

He caught her hand and kissed her wrist.

"Thank you," he said into her skin.

Pat MacReady's taxi pulled into the lay-by above them on the road. The ferry was waiting to leave. The horn sounded and Larry appeared, making hurry-up gestures with his arms. Paul was already in the taxi, he had spent the night in the pub, managing to avoid Marianne, completely.

"I'll call you," said Ryan. "We'll meet up, get the script finished, we can do that, can't we?"

"Of course, love to. Now go, before Larry gives himself a hernia and has to be airlifted to hospital."

"Goodbye, fair maid, until we meet again." He put his fist to his heart, in salute, and strode dramatically away.

"Er, Ryan?" She called after him. He turned. She was pointing at his head.

"Looks like it's starting to go already," she said, patting her crown. His hand flew to his hair.

"f.e.c.k!" he said, running towards the car, "no time to lose then. I would have liked longer," he called back, heading towards what looked like a demented dancing earwig in the distance.

"Me too," she shouted, but the wind took her words away.

Monty sat down at her feet and watched him go; Ryan waving through an open window as the car sped away. He busied himself with some seaweed and, finding a stick of driftwood, took it to his mistress for a game of throw and fetch. She lobbed it half-heartedly into the water. He lunged in to fetch it and charged back to her, tail wagging, but she had turned away and was making for home. He dropped the stick and, giving himself a good shake, headed after her. The wind had quickly turned quite bitter.

Chapter Sixteen .

Light At The End Of The Tunnel

The period following the storm was a strange time to be cast adrift on the island with its inhabitants. Although still an outsider, Marianne felt her survival of the disaster and the role she played in the rescue operation, had given her some standing in the community. She and Monty were a regular sighting on the beach, in the village, in the pub, and popular with everyone. Well, nearly everyone.

Marianne embraced this new sense of belonging, it filled a hollow, a dull emptiness she had been vaguely aware of since George had died and, was even more acute, since Ryan had left the island. She joined teams of residents helping to dry out the cottages of those less fortunate; she took her rota as one of the Handy Hot Meal Crew, Oonagh's brigade of cooks, preparing wholesome meals for those without a kitchen. She also found herself behind the bar, doing regular afternoon shifts while Padar took a nap and Oonagh prepped the evening menu.

Padar had a.s.sumed a daily check-run of all the elderly in the village who had been able to return to their homes. With power still intermittent, he made sure they had paraffin for heaters or peat for the fire to boil a kettle. A few were in a sorry state, but would not hear of taking up residence in the community hall with those whose homes had been destroyed, terrified that if they left again they would never return. Marianne thrived on the busyness, filling every minute of the day supporting the community, then falling each night into an exhausted dreamless sleep with Monty snuggled at her feet.

Padar was unpacking boxes of peanuts when Marianne arrived in for a pint and a chat, having enjoyed a long walk with Monty.

"Peanuts? We haven't had those for a while," she said.

"Thank G.o.d supplies are beginning to filter through, but it's a slow business. Small wonder though, with the storm hitting a thirty mile stretch of coastline and so many other towns and villages ravaged, a little community like ours can't be considered a priority," Padar mused. "I don't know how we're going to survive without the bridge."

"I know how we're going to survive. We're going to rebuild that bridge," cried Miss MacReady, as she sailed through the door. "We need publicity to get things done. Sure we'd be easily forgotten, flung all the way out here in the sea."

Miss MacReady and Father Gregory had already had an in-depth discussion about people's pensions. Many of the elderly honoured the age-old Irish tradition of stashing money under the mattress and, with mattresses and slush funds literally washed away, pecuniary considerations were a further worry for his flock.

"You're dead right, Miss MacReady. Sure, our lives have been transformed over the past decade by the new bridge and the upsurge in the tourist trade, we should not be prepared to accept any inertia; we've already managed to attract the attention of national telly, we need to keep the pressure on." Father Gregory was eyeing a clipboard. It all looked very official. Padar and Marianne were intrigued.

Immediately after the storm, their efforts to keep the media interested in the island, paid dividends. Marianne had given a follow-up report via the video-link, ingeniously hooked up by Miss MacReady, and once the danger had subsided, a reporter and cameraman arrived by boat to carry out a series of interviews. With Marianne as acting editor, they made sure the news team focused on areas where the community needed urgent action and, between them, managed to keep the national spotlight well and truly on the villagers' plight.

That very day, the full power supply to Innishmahon was reinstated. The whole town breathed a huge sigh of relief, things were slowly returning to normal. There literally was light at the end of the tunnel. The return of electricity though, only ignited the debate surrounding the reinstatement of the bridge to the mainland.

Unconfirmed estimates for the repair of the damage, ranged from ten million to twenty-five million euro. Innishmahon's local councillor, Bryan Crosbie, who had been at his holiday home in the Canaries throughout most of the crisis, realised this was a vote-winning scenario and busied himself with public meetings and local consultations. Miss MacReady was unimpressed, whether he was for or against the rebuilding of the bridge, depended on who he had been speaking to immediately prior to his opinion being sought.

"We need a committee, a campaign," Miss MacReady said to Father Gregory, who was already writing a list of names on his clipboard. Marianne and Monty finished their drinks and slipped quietly away.

"What do you think, Marianne, as an outsider?" Oonagh asked her friend, as she watched her pack her bags to leave the following day. "Bridge or no bridge?" Marianne was shocked by the comment, she did not feel like an outsider, her six week stay had been so full of drama, and she had become so close to people in such a short time, that she felt she belonged.

"I don't think the bridge made Innishmahon any less charming or desirable a place to visit. The twenty-first century will find you anywhere, there's no point in doing a King Canute. Though I can understand people wanting any funding to be spent on other things they consider more important. The storm was a disaster on a grand scale, Oonagh. The sums required are colossal. No Government will have that sort of revenue in reserve, it will have to be borrowed and essentials paid for first. It could take years to re-establish the bridge, even if it were decided that's what's to be done. You might get used to not having it, mightn't want it back."

She watched Oonagh thinking this through.

"No, we'd be too dependent on the weather for the ferries bringing visitors and supplies. If the sea is rough, they don't come. We're too used to having things handy. Mine and Padar's fathers fought long and hard to get that bridge built."

Marianne remembered the picture of the men in their Sunday best, laying the ceremonial foundation stone. It hung in pride of place, over the bar.

"We need the bridge back for business. Padar says the romantic notion of the island community unconnected to the mainland is a load of ole b.o.l.l.o.c.ks."

Marianne smiled. Padar had a point, he was at the sharp end and, in today's economic climate, how could Innishmahon survive if it were not a thriving, tourist destination?

"Talking of romance," Oonagh patted the bed beside her for Marianne to sit.

"Any word of himself at all?"

"Who?"

"Ah go and s.h.i.te, who? You know who. The film star, that's who."

"No." Marianne ignored the offer of a seat and busied herself in the bathroom, throwing creams and lotions into her toilet bag. "Didn't expect to. Don't expect to."

"Really?" Oonagh was incredulous, "Miss him though, don't you?"

No response.

"Sure that's why you've been running around like a thing possessed helping everyone, and doing ma.s.ses to keep your mind off him and fill the hole he left in your heart."

The chestnut head popped back into the bedroom, she flashed her friend a look.

"Is it? Is that what I've been doing?"

"Isn't it?" Oonagh's eyes met Marianne's full on.

They say fortune favours the brave and this was certainly true for Paul Osborne, aspiring biographer. It was Mary, from the local supermarket, who spotted the story in the English Sunday newspaper first, and mentioned it to Miss MacReady, who had called in for a tin of tobacco and some 'skins', as she called cigarette paper. Miss MacReady swung by the pub, to be nodded on to Weathervane, by Padar.

Monty greeted her enthusiastically. Miss MacReady was always a heady concoction for the canine's sensitive nose. She picked him up, rubbing her chin between his ears as she carried him upstairs, following voices coming from the bedroom.

"Your friend didn't waste much time," she announced, dropping the Sunday Globe on the bed beside Oonagh, "the real life drama of an all-action hero, I ask you?"

Marianne picked the newspaper up, a huge photograph of Ryan covered nearly half the page. He was resplendent in a white tuxedo, perfectly styled hair, lightly tanned skin, slightly arrogant chin tilted at the camera, his super-sleuth scowl captured perfectly, glinting out from the page, revolver in hand, aiming straight at her. The article, a mere couple of paragraphs, announced the Irish actor's new role as the leading man in one of the world's most popular film series. He was to step into the shoes of a huge star, who had bowed out gracefully after making the role his own over many years. Ryan had beaten off tough compet.i.tion for the part and was preparing to start filming at an undisclosed Indian Ocean location that month.

Miss MacReady pointed further down the page, "Read that bit. Not a mention of that while he was here."

Marianne read out loud, "Ryan's long-time girlfriend, American actress, Angelique de Marcos, had an announcement of her own this week; she is pregnant with the actor's second child. Ryan, who has a grown-up son from a previous relationship said: "It certainly has been an amazing year so far. This latest news has made everything just perfect." Ryan and Angelique were survivors of the 'Power 2 The People' bombing attack in London last year." Her voice trailed off to a whisper, she gave the paper to Oonagh, letting her hands fall to her lap.

"And then it advertises Paul Osborne's series of articles, starting next week. Excerpts from his, no doubt, hastily completed book," said Oonagh, reading on. "I hope he's cleared it with Ryan's agent, the Larry fella, or there'll be h.e.l.l to pay."

"You're very up on all this Hollywood stuff, Oonagh," Marianne said quietly, picking at a fingernail.

"Huge fan. Addicted, Padar says. All the mags, online stuff, love it. Sure anyone'd need an escape from this place."

"Wasn't Paul what's-his-name at the Awards with ye all too?" asked Miss MacReady.

"Yes, Paul and I took Larry's place at the table. We were all together." Marianne sounded distracted.

"Paul's sister is married to Ryan's son. That's the connection," Oonagh confirmed.

"So, he'll have insider knowledge then, having the family connection, know all about it, so," said Miss MacReady.

"Not necessarily." Oonagh was authoritative. "Ryan was only twenty when Mike was born. Mike was brought up by his mother, an American, in the theatre. He and Ryan only met up again about ten years ago. But that Angelique one, she's a real piece of work, I'm led to believe. Still, the book will be a bestseller no doubt and rattle a few cages, official or no. Don't you think, Marie?"

"And how do you know so much about it all?" asked Miss MacReady, expertly rolling them each a cigarette, whether they smoked or not.

"Research," said Oonagh emphatically. The others were intrigued. "You know I take all the celebrity magazines every week never miss an issue. Then there's all the online stuff, blogs and things."

"Pure tosh, Oonagh Quinn," barked Miss MacReady as she lit up.

"What do you think, Marie? Are you disappointed?" Oonagh looked into Marianne's face.

"Not really. Paul told me he'd written the articles and was turning them into a book. I suppose running into Larry, and what with Ryan's new role, it would make sense to publish now."

"She didn't mean about the book," Miss MacReady inhaled languidly.

"Miss MacReady, you're as bad as Oonagh. There's nothing between Ryan and me. I'm delighted for him, all of them. Perfect timing, I'd say."

"Good timing for all concerned." Oonagh was re-reading the article. "Especially for Angelique, put her right back in the spotlight, hasn't it?"

"And a baby, sure a baby changes everything," Miss MacReady was wistful, blowing smoke rings over the bed.

"If it's his." Oonagh waved the smoke away. "The Angelique-one is a bit of a girl, so they say."

"Were you close?" Miss MacReady asked gently.

"Yes, we were," Marianne answered, not really sure who she was talking about. Then she grabbed her bag and started downstairs, Monty hot on her heels.

"Come on. It's my last day let's have a drink together at least."

The two women jostled at the doorway.

"Age before beauty," Miss MacReady pushed ahead, puffing like a train down the stairwell.

"You shouldn't smoke in the holiday cottages, Miss MacReady. What about the visitors?" Oonagh coughed.

"What f.e.c.king visitors?" The older woman replied.

They piled down the stairs and out into the lane.

Chapter Seventeen .

The Honeytrap

Marianne gazed through the French doors of the garden room at seventy four Oakwood Avenue. The preened Chesterford landscape was in sharp contrast set against the wild, unfettered hinterland of Innishmahon. The room, which was meant to open the house to the changing seasons, only seemed to reinforce her claustrophobia. Beyond the boundary of the oak tree, Georgian railings blended into Victorian terraced houses, which faded in the distance like rows of uniformed soldiers. She had always loved Oakwood Avenue, the garden and the tree lined cul-de-sac, but now it looked bland, uninteresting, somehow it disappointed her.

Clipping his lead on distractedly, she took Monty on their daily const.i.tutional to the park. The weather was unseasonably mild for December. Marianne sat on a bench, re-reading the letter suspending her from duty while the Board decided whether she had broken the terms of her contract by taking six weeks consecutive leave. It was a vacuous ploy to be rid of her.

She grumbled under her breath, she had never been a day out of work since leaving college, and although it had not been a conscious decision, she could certainly be called 'a career girl', even if that definition just meant a female without the demands and needs of a family to impact on her professional life. She was, as her CV stated, diligent and loyal; creative yet practical; willing to learn from those who were more experienced and a fine example to up and coming professionals. How dare they?

"I don't deserve this." She stood up abruptly, beckoning Monty to abandon the rear of a friendly spaniel, and follow her homewards, as she waggled her disabled mobile in the air. She dropped the phone on the hall table and grabbed the landline to dial Jack's number. Isabelle answered.