Leaving clare, p.35
Leaving Clare, page 35
Leonora looked down the hallway, then stepped back to get a view into the front part of the kitchen. “No, there’s no one around. Is there something the matter?”
“No, no,” Diana reassured her, “it’s just that . . . well, my period is late. Really late for me. It’s over a week now and that’s never happened before.”
“Oh, Diana . . .” Leonora’s hand came to her mouth. She wanted to choose her words very carefully because she knew that to be too encouraging might add to her daughter’s disappointment. “It certainly sounds very hopeful. Have you spoken to the doctor? Have you told James?”
“No, I haven’t seen the doctor yet, and yes – James knows.”
“Oh, I really hope that it’s a good sign . . . it would just be wonderful.”
“I’m going to give it another few days and then I’m going to go to the doctor. But if anything happens in the meantime, I’ll keep you up to date.”
“Good girl – and I’ll be keeping my fingers crossed for you.”
* * *
As expected, Mrs O’Shea put up a good fight about going away.
“No, no, I’ve far too much to be getting on with around here,” she said, gesturing around the kitchen with her good arm. “And what would Diana want with the likes of me as a visitor? If I can’t be of any help to her then I wouldn’t feel right about going.”
Leonora sat opposite the small, frail-looking Scottish woman at the table and waited in silence until she had got all her objections into the open.
“Now, Lizzie,” she began, in a gentle but firm tone, “are you quite finished?”
“I’m only saying,” the housekeeper blustered. “We’ve got a few days’ work here to get the place back to normal.”
“It’s all organised. I have Tommy Murray coming in to let the workmen in and keep an eye on things and his wife is going to clean up when everything is done.” She gave a little shrug. “It’s a local shop that’s doing the carpets and flooring and the owner said he’ll call up here to make sure it’s all done properly. So there’s really no need for us to be here. We’ll come back next week and everything will be back to normal.”
“And what does Edward think of all this?” Lizzie asked. “How does he feel about us abandoning ship?”
“He agrees with me, Lizzie.”
“Oh, well,” the housekeeper sniffed. “It looks like it’s all done and dusted then, doesn’t it?”
Leonora smiled and shook her head. There was no way that the housekeeper could give in and accept something nice graciously. “You’ll enjoy it – and we’ll all enjoy looking after you for a change.”
On Friday Edward had a meeting with a group of architects in Dublin, so it was agreed that they would leave on the Saturday morning. He was unusually chirpy as he set off for the city which lifted Leonora’s dampened spirits.
“Good luck,” she told him, as he went out towards the car.
“Oh, it’s nothing definite,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “But they are useful contacts and it might just help set me off in the right direction work-wise if I decide to stay in Ireland for a while ” He leaned forward and kissed his mother on the cheek. “Don’t worry – everything will work out fine. The house will be sorted, Mrs O’Shea will be sorted and we’ll all enjoy the trip down the country. I’m really looking forward to our walks along the shore with the dogs.”
As she waved him off, Leonora offered up a little silent prayer of thanks that Edward had decided to let the issue of the flooding drop – and the issue of her drinking. She was also pleased that he was making enquiries about work, which indicated that he was getting over Christopher Hennessey.
While Lizzie O’Shea had a rest in the afternoon, Leonora decided to pay a quick visit down to see Terry Cassidy. She had completed all her commissions and was now experimenting with using different materials and finding it very discouraging. She knew a talk with Terry would boost her confidence. She decided to give her a ring to make sure she was at home.
Just then the phone rang. For a brief moment she wondered whether it might be Edward ringing to say that he had been offered a partnership with one of the Dublin architects but as she hurried to answer it she chided herself for building her hopes too high.
A warm, friendly voice came on the line. “Mrs Bentley?”
Instantly Leonora’s whole body stiffened. She took a deep breath to steady herself. “Yes . . .” she said, her voice sounding strange to her own ears.
“It’s Christopher – Christopher Hennessey. Edward’s friend.”
Leonora’s throat ran dry. She swallowed hard. She would have to be very, very careful here. “Hello, Christopher,” she said, trying to sound the way she had always done with him. “And how are you?”
“I’m very well – couldn’t be better!”
Leonora closed her eyes. “Good . . . good,” she told him. Thankfully, things must be going well with work and with his wife for him to be so chirpy. She wondered if she dared ask him anything. And then she realised that in order to sound normal, she would of course have to. “And how is Theresa and the little one?” she ventured. “Both well?”
“Oh, they’re both very well,” he said. There was a pause. “I don’t suppose Edward is around?”
“No, I’m afraid he’s not. He’s gone up to Dublin . . . some meeting or other to do with work.”
“Have you any idea when he will be back?”
Leonora’s mind worked quickly. She wanted to say that Edward had moved out of the house and that she didn’t have a contact number for him as yet but something stopped her. “I’m not sure,” she hedged. “Later this evening I should think.”
“I wonder, while we’re chatting, if I could ask you a favour?”
“Yes, of course . . .”
“I’m actually coming over to Ireland in a fortnight and I wondered if I could possibly impose on you to stay for a few nights when I’m up in Dublin?”
Leonora’s head started to swim. Had she heard him correctly? “Did you say you’re coming over to Ireland?”
“Yes,” he confirmed. “I have a few things I need to sort out and I thought I could catch up with Eddie while I’m over. I’m actually going to book the flights tomorrow, so I thought I’d have a chat with him before I did to see what dates suited him best.”
“And are the family coming with you?” Leonora asked quickly. “You’re all very welcome . . .”
“No . . . no . . . I’ll be on my own.”
Leonora felt faint now. What on earth was he doing coming all the way over from America to Ireland on his own for? The distance, the expense. He had to be coming for a very good reason. Please, please God, she thought, don’t let him be coming over for Edward.
“Theresa will be staying with one of her brothers who lives near us in New York.” Then, a crackling noise came on the line. “Would you tell Edward that I’ll ring back later? Actually, it could be quite late as I’ve got to go out. With the time difference and everything it could be ten or eleven tonight before I get the chance to ring. You will tell him, won’t you?”
“Yes,” she said. “Yes . . . I’ll tell him.”
“I’ll look forward to seeing you in a fortnight or so,” he said.
When she went to put the heavy black receiver back in its cradle, Leonora’s hand shook so badly that she dropped it with a loud thump onto the wooden floor. She picked it up and, with two hands, put it back in place.
She walked along the hallway and into the kitchen where she went over to stand at the window by the sink. Her mind was numb – blanking out the dark thoughts that she couldn’t bear to acknowledge – and so she just stared out over her colourful, well-tended garden trying desperately to glean some bit of comfort from it.
A while later she went back out into the hallway to the phone and dialled Terry Cassidy’s number. She felt a great wave of relief when she heard the artist’s voice. “Hello, Terry,” she began in a falsely cheerful tone, “I was going to call down for few minutes and I wanted to make sure you were in.”
“Oh, Leonora! It’s lovely to hear from you but I’m afraid I’m tied up with visitors at the moment.” She went on to explain. “My brother and his family are here as it’s the anniversary of my mother passing away and we have the early Mass in the morning. We thought it would make sense for them to stay overnight. Was it anything important?”
“No,” Leonora lied, “it was just to let you know that I’ll be away for the next week or so.”
“Somewhere nice?”
Leonora could hear children’s voices in the background and then some loud laughter. She made a monumental effort to sound cheery. “County Clare – down to Diana’s. Edward and Mrs O’Shea are coming as well.”
“Oh, lovely,” Terry said over the noise. “Some people have all the luck. So I’ll see you when you get back?”
“Yes. I’ll be in touch.”
After hanging the phone up, she slowly walked back towards the sitting-room. She went in, sat on the corner of the sofa and lowered her head into her hands.
* * *
Mrs O’Shea had lain on the bed for the last hour or so, dozing on and off, but unable to drift off into anything more than a light sleep. She eventually decided that it was a wasted exercise and, being mindful of her strapped-up arm, she carefully manoeuvred herself into a sitting position. The hospital routine of the last few days had totally upset her usual time schedule, and she was afraid to keep sleeping now in case she ended up lying awake all night. It was preferable to struggle on now, rather than pay for it later on.
She decided to start sorting out her bits and pieces for going to County Clare.
After ten minutes – although she would never have admitted it to anyone else – it was obvious that even the effort of packing was too much for her. Going back and forth between the chest of drawers and the bed, where she had her small weekend case lying open, caused her to have to sit on the bed on several occasions. And it wasn’t just the physical effort that made her feel dizzy and weak – it was the overwhelmingly dependent situation that she now found herself in.
Lizzie O’Shea had always been a very independent woman and from a young girl she had always worked, even when she was married. But this recent accident had made her look at everything in a different light. And it was a light she didn’t like. For a start, the accident had made her realise that she wasn’t invincible. For a woman who was proud of the fact she had never been in hospital in her life, it had sharply brought home to her the fact that good health could no longer be taken for granted.
And to complicate things further, she had suddenly realised that Glenmore House was now – and had been for a number of years – the place that she actually felt was her real home. In the hospital – in the dead of night – she had also faced the fact that it was her only home.
For years now, she realised she had comforted herself with the fact that if things went wrong at Glenmore House – if she felt that the people and the place no longer suited her – she could always go back to Glasgow. But where would she go? Back to live with one of her married sisters who had families of their own? Back to live with Willie? The thought had made her shudder.
And then, just as the dawn came up over the top of the faded green hospital curtains, the housekeeper had realised just how dependent she was on Leonora Bentley and her family. And that realisation had made her feel both vulnerable and very old.
Now she came down the stairs one at a time, stopping every now and again to catch her breath. She had already accepted that there was no point in rushing things because she couldn’t afford a setback to her recovery. The doctor in the hospital had said to take things slowly and steadily until the arm was fully healed and she knew she had really no other option.
When she reached the bottom she turned towards the kitchen but she had only taken a few steps when an unfamiliar sound stopped her in her tracks. It was the sound of crying coming from the sitting-room. Leonora Bentley crying. The housekeeper stood silently, making sure. Then, when there was no doubt as to what the sound was, she pursed her lips together and shook her head. There was something going on. Something more than just the business with the flooding and her own resulting accident.
Leonora had seemed fine this morning when Edward was setting off and fine at lunchtime. Mrs O’Shea wondered what had brought this latest crisis on. She stood in the hallway for a few minutes listening to her employer’s muffled sobs and trying to decide what to do. Most of the time their relationship worked on the basis that neither of them interfered with the other’s business. And over the years it had worked very well. There were very few instances when they ventured into each other’s territory, and yet they looked after each other well.
Mrs O’Shea had more or less decided that she should go quietly into the kitchen and mind her own business, when Leonora’s crying suddenly turned into a fit of coughing. She stood for another few moments listening to the racking sound and then, unable to stop herself, she went towards the sitting room. Deciding there was no point in knocking or any such formality, she walked straight in.
Leonora was curled up like a child in the corner of the deep sofa, her face buried in two cushions. She either didn’t hear the housekeeper coming in or she was too upset to care. Mrs O’Shea went straight over to sit beside her and place a comforting hand on her shoulder.
“You’ll be all right,” the Scotswoman said, patting her gently as though she were a child. “It’ll work out . . . whatever it is. It’ll all come right in the end.”
“Not this time, Lizzie,” Leonora sobbed. “I’m afraid this time it won’t.”
And since there was nothing more that Mrs O’Shea could say to make the situation any better, they just stayed there together in silence. Eventually, Leonora’s crying ceased and she moved herself into a sitting position.
The housekeeper turned to look at her employer’s red, swollen face. “I don’t think a wee drop of brandy would do you any harm,” she said.
Leonora shook her head vehemently. “No, no . . . not after all the trouble we had last week. I’ve not touched a drop since.”
“Now, now, don’t be so hard on yourself,” the Scots-woman said in a low, soothing voice. “That was only because you’d got into the bad habit of drinking late at night and on your own. Nobody ever suggested that you had a problem with the drink or anything like that. Take it from me, I would know if you had. I’ve seen enough of it over my lifetime. And anyway, this is different, it’s to help you. A small drop would do you good and help to steady your nerves a wee bit.” Mrs O’Shea got up from the sofa now and went over to the drinks cabinet. With her good hand she carefully pulled open the door and lifted out the half-drunk bottle of brandy. She put it on the table and then went back to get a glass. “You can think of it more as a medicine than a pleasure.”
“Get two glasses, Lizzie,” Leonora said. She gave a half-hearted smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “If you join me, at least I won’t be accused of drinking on my own.”
Mrs O’Shea got another glass and the bottle of dry ginger.
“It would do you no harm to talk – and you know you can trust me,” she said as they lifted their glasses. “There’s not a soul I would breathe a word to.”
Leonora took a sip of her drink and then sat back in the sofa, trying to steady her breathing. She was going to have to talk to somebody or she would go mad.
She closed her eyes, wondering how the older woman would react to such a shocking revelation. “We have a serious problem about . . . about Edward,” she began, her voice faltering.
The housekeeper’s eyebrows shot up. “He’s not sick or anything, is he?”
“No. It’s more a situation he’s got himself into.”
Mrs O’Shea took a sip of the brandy and dry ginger and then put her glass down carefully on the coffee table. “And what sort of a situation would that be?”
Leonora felt her throat and chest tighten and she just caught herself before she started off into another fit of coughing.
“Take your time,” Mrs O’Shea said gently, “and take another mouthful of your drink.”
“While he was in America, he was . . . he was involved with another man,” Leonora said. And then, lest she should drag the awful explanation out any longer than need be, she added for clarification, “Romantically involved.”
“Oh, dear . . .” the housekeeper, nodded her head. “Oh, dear . . . dear.”
“Well, Lizzie,” Leonora said in a hoarse voice, “there you have it. I told you it was a dreadful situation – could it possibly be any worse?”
“Indeed it could,” the housekeeper stated. “It could be an awful lot worse.”
Leonora’s eyebrows shot up. “How? How could this bloody awful situation be worse?”
Lizzie O’Shea looked back at her. “Is it that Hennessey lad?”
Leonora’s breath was taken away. “How did you know?”
She shrugged. “They were always close. I saw it when they were teenagers.”
“Are you saying that you knew there was something going on between them? Something unnatural?”
Lizzie nodded her head. “I had a good idea . . .”
“But did you ever see them –” Leonora halted, unwilling to put words to the horrendous thoughts. “Did you know for sure?”
“Well, as good as,” Mrs O’Shea said, giving a little sigh. She leaned forward for her glass again.
Leonora was aghast. “But you should have said something!” she said accusingly. “You should have told me or Andrew. We might have been able to do something about it . . . to stop it long before it reached this stage. We’re his parents – we should have known.”
“I never saw anything that terrible. And I didn’t think it was worth all the trouble that telling would have caused. The way I looked at it is that these things are part and parcel of life – whether we like them or not. I’m not denying that it’s hard when it’s on your own doorstep but these things aren’t as unusual as we would all think – it’s just that nobody talks about them.” Her voice dropped. “Looking back, I probably thought it was something they would grow out of.”
