Quentins Page 18

  "I do hope she's all right. She's been through a really terrible summer," Brenda said to herself as she creamed away the last traces of the stylish makeup that always took ten years off her age.

  Derry King was right. They did get on well together. Ella told him no lies, and exaggerated no aspect of Firefly Films.

  "What's in it for me?" he had asked early on, and she had tried to tell him as truthfully as she could. He would be part of something fresh and new, made with high production values, which could

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  well win prizes at film festivals, that would be shown on television in many lands.

  "How is it new and fresh?" he wanted to know.

  "It's not going to be full of shamrockery," she said and he had laughed.

  "What's that?"

  "Oh, you know, the how-are-things-in-Gloccamora, top-of-the morning approach. There's nobody doing leprechaun duty on this movie."

  He was interested. "Warts and all, then?"

  "Well, yes ... we'd want to make fun of everything pretentious," she said.

  "Give me an example."

  "Patrick's very funny about the way Irish people often pretend they know things when they don't, like they don't want to look foolish. He says that you should never drink the second cheapest wine on the menu. It could be any kind of old rubbish, because it's the one people go for so they don't look cheap or shabby by buying the very cheapest on the list."

  Derry was smiling at her. "And he'll say all this?"

  "Certainly."

  "Not afraid of losing his clientele?"

  "No, he'll walk a fine line. You'll like him when you come over. I'm actually amazed you were never in Quentins when you were in Ireland before," Ella said.

  "I was never in Ireland," Derry said flatly.

  "I'm sorry?"

  "I was never there," he said, and though his smile did not leave his face, his eyes looked hard. "And I never intend to go."

  Cathy Scarlet and Tom Feather had only lost a small sum when Rice and Richardson had gone to the wall. Compared to others, they had been very lucky. Only an outstanding bill for 700 euros: One catered function unpaid for.

  It was the one afternoon a week when Maud and Simon were in to polish what were called Tom and Cathy's 'treasures", and to discuss in detail the forthcoming baby. What would it be called? Where would it live? Would it be grown up when Tom and Cathy finally got around to getting married? Could they teach the baby to do step-dancing?

  It was almost a relief when the bell rang in the front office and

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  they could escape the children's questions for a few minutes. It was someone enquiring about brochures and price lists. He was a well-dressed man who didn't seem to have any precise idea about what he wanted. There was something about the vagueness of his request that made them suspicious.

  "I believe you know Ella Brady," he said, out of the blue.

  "Yes," Tom said, giving nothing away.

  "Slightly," said Cathy, making sure that she was even more distan t. They knew where Ella was, but that it had to be kept a secret.

  "Would you have any idea where she is now?" he asked politely.

  "None at all, I'm afraid," Tom said.

  "Not a clue," Cathy said.

  "Now, that's a pity .. . I've been asked to give you some money for a debt that was overlooked. Inadvertently, of course. Around seven hundred euros, I think."

  Tom and Cathy looked at each other, astounded. "You're from Rice and Richardson?" Cathy said, stunned.

  "No, alas, I'm not, but let's say I'm a friend of one of the people involved, and he felt bad that there had been this misunderstanding and shortfall."

  "I'm sure he did," Cathy said.

  The man opened his wallet. "He asked me to get it to you personally. He's not a man who likes to leave bills unpaid." The man paused as he laid the seven notes on the small table. "And he'd be very grateful if you could ask Ella to call him at this number."

  "Well, this is great to get the money," Tom said. "But we don't have any idea where Ella is."

  "So if one depends on the other," Cathy began, 'then we shouldn't take the money."

  "No, keep it. It might remind you of where she is."

  "We know where she is," came a clear voice. Tom and Cathy looked in horror at Maud.

  Was there a possibility that Ella might have been so foolish as to mention anything to those children?

  "Go back to the kitchen, Maud, please," Cathy begged.

  "You don't know anything about Ella's whereabouts," Tom said.

  Simon was stung by the unfairness of this. "We do know," he said mutinously.

  "And where is that, exactly?" the man was interested.

  "She's gone to hospital," Simon said triumphantly.

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  "She's having a piece of her head put back on," Maud added. "It will take two weeks, altogether."

  The man looked at Tom and Cathy as if for confirmation. They both shrugged.

  "Could be, I suppose," Cathy said.

  "Quite possible," Tom agreed.

  The man turned and left without saying a word. As he went down the cobbled lane they saw him pause and take out his mobile phone.

  I guess he's calling Spain," Cathy said.

  Ts that where the hospital is?" Simon said. I thought it might be in America, from something Ella said."

  Tom let his breath out slowly. "And why didn't you share that view with the gentleman when he was here?"

  I wasn't sure. It's just she said something about spending her last dollar on something but it could have been just an expression."

  "It could," Cathy said, holding Tom's hand in relief.

  "Will you be mating again when the baby is born?" Maud asked.

  "Probably. If we have the energy," Cathy said.

  "Does it take a lot of energy?" Simon was interested.

  "Back to the kitchen, everybody," Tom suggested.

  From the corner of the road, the man phoned Don Richardson. I'm not having much luck, Don. Nothing from the filmmakers, her parents, that restaurant; and nothing from the caterers."

  He listened for a while and then nodded. "All right. Plan C then, as you say."

  Ella looked at Derry King open-mouthed. "You're never going to Ireland!" she said, astonished.

  "Not if I can help it, no."

  "Then what are you doing, talking about making a movie there?"

  I'm not making it, you are." He spread out his hands to show how simple his argument was.

  "But what have we been talking about if you don't ... if you never intend .. . I'm sorry, Derry. I don't understand." She looked hurt and annoyed.

  I don't have to love Ireland to invest in a movie about it. Anyway, from what I see it's not a hymn of praise to the place . . . it's showing up all its weaknesses, all this new money, greed, so called style."

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  "We didn't say that .. ."

  "Well, that's what it came over like, people imitating Europeans."

  "But we are Europeans!" Ella cried.

  "No, you said it was warts and all ... just a minute ago."

  "Derry, there's something very wrong here." She looked down at her notes. "I've been talking to you in this coffee shop for hours and I must have been giving you completely the wrong message."

  "I have, for personal reasons of my own, no love for Ireland," he said. "The legacy of my father is not one that would make me go and look for my roots. I was interested in this project because I thought you were sending them up."

  "But you have the initial notes from Nick."

  "He said it would be frank and groundbreaking. That's why I'm here ... to learn how."

  "And what have you learned so far?" Ella felt a cold lump of disappointment in her chest.

  "I've learned that we have stayed too long in this coffee shop. We should have a break now, then I'll send a car for you and take you to a meal. All this talk about food has made me hungry."

  She was afraid to let hi
m out of her sight. "They have a restaurant here ..." she began.

  "No, they don't, not a real restaurant. Car will be here for you at seven. Okay?"

  "One thing before you go."

  "Sure, fire away."

  Til be talking to Nick. Will I say it was all a misunderstanding, the whole thing?"

  "Why would you say that?"

  "From what you said, I thought that it had been."

  "Hey, we're only into talks about talks so far. The real talks are way down the road."

  "But I couldn't betray this restaurant, none of us could. I mean, we'd have to cancel the project if that's what you wanted."

  I understand, and I respect you. Seven p.m."

  It was an awkward telephone conversation. "I'm not getting the whole picture," Nick said.

  "Neither am I, to be honest. Could I leave it that we're in talks about talks?" ;

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  "Not really, Ella. We've invested all we can in this; we're both in a bit of a panic."

  "That makes three of us, or possibly four. Derry could be in a bit of a panic as well. It turns out that he hated his father and he hates Ireland."

  "I don't believe you."

  "That's what he told me. Will I ring you when I get back? It will be about three or four a.m. your time."

  "Don't bother, Ella. Leave it till tomorrow."

  Ella wore Deirdre's black dress and red jacket. She had taken a large handbag, which was big enough to hold papers and photographs without looking like a briefcase. A chauffeur collected her.

  "What restaurant are we going to?" Ella asked chattily.

  The chauffeur pronounced the name of the place with awe, and as if it were the only possible place to go if you were the guest of Mr King.

  He was waiting at the table. He wore a dinner jacket. In a way he looked quite as formal as he did in the photographs in those clippings she had read so carefully on the flight over to New York. Yet those interviews and articles told very little about him. They gave no hint of his enthusiasm and willingness to work at something until it "was achieved. They didn't speak of how his face lit up when he thought they were getting somewhere. He was a very keen businessman, out of her league.

  Suddenly Ella felt a wave of inadequacy. "I hope I'm dressed enough," she said.

  "You look very nice," he said.

  "Your wife was not able to join us tonight?"

  "Not for many nights," he smiled.

  "Sorry, that's another thing I got wrong," she apologised.

  "No, you looked up your files perfectly correctly. You just didn't get to the bit where it says "Marriage Dissolved"."

  "Was that a long time ago?" Ella tried to be as cool as he "was being.

  "Oh, ten years, I'd say, but it's hard to remember because we meet every week at the foundation, you see."

  "Does that work? Well, obviously it does because otherwise you wouldn't both be able to do it."

  It does work, remarkably well as it happens, and Kimberly is

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  remarried and goes out a lot at night. I don't, so we rarely meet in the evenings. But we met this afternoon. She was most interested in the project, and she will join us tomorrow."

  "There will be a tomorrow, then?" Ella was almost tearful in her gratitude.

  "Of course there will, Ella. Now look at this menu and tell me. Do your pals in Quentins match up to this place?"

  "I wish they could see me now. I wish everyone could see me now." She looked confident and happy for the first time since she had come to New York.

  Kimberly looked as if she were twenty-two, but Ella knew she must be almost forty. With a perfect, glossy hairstyle that had to be freshly done at a salon every day, a perfect smile with even white teeth, a pale, peach-coloured designer outfit and high black heels, she was dazzling. She was also as smart as anyone Ella had ever met. She was totally on top of the project, and realised what Firefly Films was trying to do. She told them of other movies they had underwritten, one about a young songwriter who had believed so mightily in her own career that she overcame all the rejections and obstacles en route. Another was about a woman who arranged a social club for mentally handicapped children to give their parents a break, but was closed down by the authorities because she did not have the necessary official qualifications. There was another about the stress of being police wives, and another about a woman who had kept a cat for thirteen years in a No Pets Allowed condominium without anyone finding out.

  Ella couldn't find any common thread amongst them. Derry and Kimberly seemed pleased. They didn't want to be predictable. Tomorrow they would get down to the nitty-gritty, Kimberly said, and plan out a tour for Derry to make when he got to Ireland. Ella looked up, startled. "But I didn't think you were going to Ireland, Derry?"

  "Of course he is. That's only nonsense," Kimberly said.

  "No way, Kim, forget it." Derry smiled lazily.

  "Would you come instead, Kimberly?" Ella pleaded.

  "Yes, Kim, you'd love it." He was teasing her.

  "Derry knows I am not going to stir from New York and leave my very young and suggestible husband to all the temptations of this city."

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  "Oh, Lorenzo wo uldn't stray," Derry said. "Not in a million years."

  "His name is Larry, Ella, which Derry very well knows, and he is not being left alone to test out any theory."

  Ella looked back at Derry. He didn't seem at all annoyed.

  "It will all be sorted out eventually. Kim likes to play games. Always her little weakness." He spoke without malice, affectionately in fact.

  "Lord, someone has to play games around this place," she laughed, ruffling his hair.

  "Now less of this wasting time doing a re-run of an old argument."

  "Derry has to go to Ireland sooner or later. He "will leave when he's ready. Why don't you tell us your stories, Ella? Tell us all about these people who will make up the movie."

  It was time now, time to convince them that this restaurant was filled with people's lives. She took out her notes and began to tell the stories.

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  The Short Fuse

  Martin went back to sleep after he had switched off his alarm. He dreamed a troubled, complicated dream about having the wrong change and being refused service. He woke shaking with irritation about it all and became even more annoyed when he realised it was seven o"clock and that he "would now be twenty minutes late for work. Today of all days. He tried to hurry and naturally that made him slower than ever. He got into a shower that was too hot and had to leap out again, knocking down the contents of a shelf. He lost a button off his best shirt, spilled the orange juice in the fridge. He remembered that he had intended to drop clothes off at the dry cleaners, now there would be no time. This meant that he would not have a freshly cleaned suit for tomorrow. It was the day to put out the rubbish and he had literally no time. He ran out and realised it was raining, went back for an umbrella, and heard the phone ring. Before eight o"clock in the morning, it must be urgent. He answered it and discovered to his great irritation that it was his son.

  "Hi, Dad, it's Jody. Just wanted to make sure you hadn't forgotten."

  Why did the boy think that he might have forgotten a lunch arrangement made over a month ago?

  "It's just that you're always so very busy. It could have slipped your mind."

  "No, Joseph, believe me, busy people don't forget things like longstanding arrangements. I'm afraid that the luxury of forgetting

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  is only for those who are not busy, don't have anything important to do. Those who have nothing important in their lives."

  Why did he do it? Anger the boy further, widen the gulf between them still more. Delay himself still further. And now Joseph was twittering on about the menu, saying his father must choose whatever he wanted to eat. "Yes, yes, I think that's what one usually does in restaurants," Martin snapped.

  But Jody heard no coolness in his father's tone. "I just want
ed to make sure you knew you didn't have to keep to the fixed menu or anything," he tried to explain.

  "Joseph, I have to go." Martin hung up. Outside in the wet street, everyone else had managed to put out rubbish. Other people had got up in time and gone to their dreary little jobs and yet he, Martin, hadn't managed it. Martin, who ran the biggest advertising agency in the city, a man known all over the country. Today they were making a pitch for the biggest corporate client ever. Something they had been preparing for three months and now that the day was here, he had to have this tedious anxiety dream and go back to sleep. There were other things that had to be done today too. Kit Morris, his secretary, must be smartened up. She was too old for the job, her face didn't fit and she wasn't up to speed on all the new technology. Perhaps he should put off talking to her until much later in the day. The thing about Kit was that she never watched the clock, she worked very hard. She had been with him a long time. Probably had no other life outside.

  On any day of the week it wasn't going to be easy telling her that she didn't give the image he wanted by appearing in a shapeless skirt and long cardigan. But today was a tense day and it wasn't going to be an early night, either. They were having a reception for their American partners at 5 p.m. with dinner to follow. The timing could not have been worse. If they didn't get the new corporate account, they would not feel at all like entertaining the Americans. Martin sighed as he hastened along the slippery pavement. This of all days to have to meet Joseph for lunch. But the boy had been adamant. It was the anniversary of Rose's death. His wife had been dead for fifteen years. Martin had thrown himself into work since it happened. But tragedies affect people in different ways. Joseph had dropped out of school only weeks after the funeral. It had been impossible to talk to the boy about anything since then.

  Martin arrived wet, out of breath and bad-tempered at his office.