| |
––––––––
The evening before I left for West Cork, I called on Jules to ask her to mind Jake while I was away. I walked into the warm, cosy kitchen and found not Jules, but Rory.
I stopped dead, Jake under my arm. “Hi. What are you doing here?”
“Having tea with Jules.” Rory filled the kettle at the sink. “But she’s feeding the horses and talking to the film crew. She’ll be here in a minute.”
“I thought she was out. There were no dogs outside.” I let Jake onto the floor, where he soon joined Nellie on an old cushion in front of the Aga. “Have you seen the top yard? Looks like the back lot of Universal studios. Trailers and equipment and props everywhere.”
Rory turned on the kettle. “I know. I had no idea you needed so many people to make a movie.”
“They have a catering tent as well. You’d think it was some kind of military campaign.”
“It’s going to be a little busy around here this summer. I hope Jules won’t mind too much.”
I looked at his glum face. “What’s up? Problems at the farm?”
He shrugged. “Nothing worth mentioning. A bit of a tiff with my mother, that’s all.”
“About what? You didn’t do your homework?”
He shot me a pale smile. “Yeah, right. I suppose it sounds a bit childish to you.”
I suddenly noticed he was more than a little stressed. Dressed in crumpled corduroys and a faded blue sweater with holes at the elbows, his hair ruffled by the wind, he looked young and vulnerable and far from the confident country gentleman farmer he had appeared at first.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Didn’t mean to sound flippant. I’ve been a little preoccupied myself, with...er, stuff.”
He nodded. “I know. I saw the piece in The Irish Times this morning. So, you’re dating this movie star?”
I squirmed. “No, I’m not. He’s just trying to annoy me. And I don’t want to talk about it if you don’t mind.”
“So he succeeded?” A teasing smile made his face a little less glum.
“Yeah, sure. He annoyed me big time.” I sat down at the scarred wooden table. “But let’s not go there, okay? I’m trying to forget it. No big deal. I’m more interested in your tiff with Breda. You feel like talking about it?”
He shrugged. “I don’t mind. It’ll be all over town soon, anyway. That and your fling with your man. The tongues will be wagging in the pubs tonight.” He put three teabags in a teapot. “I presume you won’t mind a cup of tea.”
“I’m gasping for a cuppa. I thought you’d never ask.”
He took out mugs and a milk jug from a cupboard. I couldn’t help noticing how at home he was in Jules’s kitchen. I got the feeling they were close. But why not? Both farmers, both passionate about horses and dogs, they’d have a lot in common. Maybe they were even involved romantically? Jules was attractive in a wind-blown outdoorsy way. With her toned figure from all that riding and a very cute smile, maybe she was the kind of woman Rory was drawn to? That thought was oddly disturbing.
When we each had a mug of tea in front of us, Rory started to talk. “Okay, so here’s the source of the argument—my plans for a wildlife sanctuary on our land. I want to plant trees and bushes to attract bats and bees and birds and make an area that’s free from pollution and chemicals.”
Bewildered, I looked at him. “But that’s a wonderful idea. What’s the problem?”
“Twenty acres of good grazing land. Mam thinks it’s a huge waste of fields we should use for grazing cattle. And she’s annoyed that I won’t build a cesspit and use slurry instead of the old muck spreader.”
“Oh God. Doesn’t she know anything about protecting the environment?”
Rory snorted. “Environment? She wouldn’t know it if she slipped in it.”
I had to laugh. “I know what you mean. But you...that’s truly wonderful what you’re doing.”
He shrugged. “I’m not doing it to be wonderful. I love nature and I read about what’s happening to this world, how bees are disappearing and land’s being poisoned by farming methods. I’d rather live frugally than make money while wrecking the habitats for bees and birds and other wildlife. In any case, if we don’t have bees, we won’t be able to grow things. I wish that was better understood.”
“So do I. Would you like to write an article for the paper about this? We’re actually planning a nature-watch section in the next month or so. It would be great to kick it off with something like this. Local farmer’s amazing initiative or something...” I trailed off while I imagined the page with a picture of Rory with his dog on the part of the farm that would be the wildlife sanctuary.
“Not so fast,” he protested. “I haven’t got the go-ahead from my mother to do it yet.”
I blinked. “But it’s your farm!”
Rory looked into his mug. “No. Most of it belongs to her.”
I stared at him. “What? How’s that possible?”
He met my gaze, his eyes troubled. “My dad didn’t make a will. So, according to Irish inheritance laws, my mother got two-thirds of the farm, and my sisters and I got the remaining third.”
“So you only own a third of a third?”
“That’s right. And here’s the twist—she’s said she’ll give me her part of the farm if I marry a woman she approves of.”
“And that’s not likely to happen any time soon, I suppose.”
“No. So far she has not only disapproved but has also wrecked any relationship I got into.”
“I see. What a dilemma. You love the farm, and you don’t want to leave it. But if you fall in love with someone she doesn’t like, you’ll either have to leave or break up.”
“That’s it. She has me by the short and curlies.” Rory gave me a wry smile. “Sometimes, I’m tempted to tell her I’m gay and my partner will be moving in, just to see her face.”
I laughed. “I’d like to see a picture of that. But, bloody hell, what a mean bitch.”
Rory sighed. “She’s not that bad. I mean, she doesn’t realise how it’s affecting me. She’s scared of losing control.”
“I know, but...”
The kitchen was silent while I considered the problem. Rory stirred his tea, the dogs snored, basking in the warmth from the Aga, and a thrush landed in the old apple tree outside the window and started to sing.
I was going to reach across the table and take Rory’s hand, but the peace was broken by the arrival of the other dogs ahead of Jules. Jake jumped up and started to bark, and Nellie joined in. Jules, dressed in tattered jeans, a wax jacket and wellies, marched into the kitchen.
She kicked off her boots and threw the jacket on a chair. “Tea,” she panted and sank down on a chair. “And bread and marmalade.”
“Coming up.” Rory went to fetch bread, butter and a jar of marmalade from the counter beside the Aga.
Jules homed in on me. “Hi, Finola. How’s tricks? I saw you’ve become the talk of the town.”
I sighed. “Yeah, but it’s all lies.”
Jules winked at Rory. “That’s what they all say.”
“Very funny,” I muttered into my tea.
Jules put her hand on my arm. “Not to you, I’m sure. Sorry. Didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Thanks.”
Jules nodded and took the mug of tea Rory handed her. “I was just in the front rooms talking to the production team. It’s going to be a huge hit, they think. So that could be the reason Colin’s making a big thing out you and him. Any publicity is good publicity, especially if it involves Colin Foley and his love life. It’ll really put the movie on the map even before it’s made.”
“What about that Caroline O’Hara?” I asked. “Isn’t she the up-and-coming star? What about her love life? Why aren’t they making up some kind of affair between her and Colin?”
“Have you met her?” Jules enquired.
I shook my head. “No. I’ve seen a few photos in various newspapers. Very beautiful in that intense, intellectual, Vanessa Redgrave way.”
“I was introduced to her just now,” Jules said. “Not exactly a laugh a minute. Cold as a fish. Keeps herself to herself. Never leaves her trailer. She just won’t play ball, the producer said. She won’t even give an interview or appear at parties. It isn’t in her contract, she told him. I doubt you could even pretend there’s something between her and Colin.”
“But...but,” I stammered. “What about the love scenes? How can they look as if they’re star-crossed lovers if she’s like an ice cube?”
“I think it’s called acting,” Rory said. “Unlike that photo that said more than a thousand words.”
I got up. “Crap. I was screwing up my face and closing my eyes.”
“As if in ecstasy,” Jules said, her mouth quivering.
“Burton and Taylor,” Rory filled in. “Everyone remembers their love story. The movie was awful but made millions because of them. It’s movie history, not to say a legend. This will be another one.”
“Oh please.” I threw a piece of soda bread at him.
Jules burst out laughing. “I’m sorry, but it’s funny. Finola McGee, the hot-shot crime reporter and the Hollywood star. I couldn’t have made that up even if I was drunk.”
“Neither could I,” I remarked. “And I don’t give a shit what people think. I’ll just keep my head down and wait for something else to come up that’ll take the spotlight off me. In the meantime, I’m going away for a few days. Could you keep Jake for me until Monday?”
“Of course,” Jules replied. “No problem.”
“Where are you going?” Rory asked.
“Away. Thanks Jules,” I said over my shoulder as I left, closing the door behind me to stop Jake following me.
Rory caught up with me when I was nearly at the cottage.
He took my arm. “You’re going to look for Johnny, aren’t you?”
“How did you know?”
He shrugged. “Just a hunch.”
I resisted a strong urge to lean against his solid chest and tell him everything, even ask him to go with me. Not a good idea. “I’m not going to lie. But I’m not going to tell you anything, either. Not yet.”
He let go of my arm. “Be careful, Finola.”
“I’m always careful.”
“Call me if you need help. At any time, wherever you are.”
I looked into his earnest grey eyes. “I will.”
“Promise?”
I nodded.
“When are you leaving?”
“Early tomorrow morning.”
He stepped away. “Okay. Have a good trip. It should be a nice break, anyway. West Cork is lovely this time of year.”
Before I could say anything, he walked away, leaving me looking at his broad back, wondering what else he knew.
***
I left early the next morning, deciding to head first to Kinsale at the start of the Wild Atlantic Way, which runs from the southwest all the way up the coast to Donegal in the north. Where had I been the past ten years? I asked myself as the motorway took me through stunning countryside with rolling green hills, steep mountains covered in heather and fields dotted with sheep and cattle. I’d been in Dublin chasing stories, trying to crack down on corruption and lying politicians. Exciting work that had kept me away from discovering the beauty of this small and vibrant country.
I didn’t regret the years of hard work, and I was proud of what I’d achieved, but as I drove down the M50, with the gravelly voice of Van Morrison wafting from the loudspeakers, I had a sense of freedom and peace I’d never experienced before.
I drove through the tangle of roads at the Cork City intersection and took a left, past the airport and onto the Kinsale road, through all the little villages with weird names like Riverstick and Inch. Then I arrived at the top of the hill above Kinsale and caught my first glimpse of the ocean. It was a blustery day with dark clouds rolling in from the west. I could see sailing boats leaning over in the strong wind, and little sailing dinghies in the calmer waters of the sheltered harbour. The sun appeared now and then, changing the light from grey to blue, making the waves glitter, then back to grey again. The sky seemed much vaster here, the sea so powerful, crashing onto the rocks below the imposing mass of Charles Fort.
I wondered fleetingly what would have happened if the Spanish had succeeded in beating the English at the end of the sixteenth century as they escaped to Kinsale after the demise of the Spanish Armada. We’d probably all be speaking Spanish. I shrugged and drove on. All so long ago, even if this little fishing-sailing town still bore the marks of that visit by the Spanish navy.
I decided to spend an hour or two there before I continued further west. I had the time, as it would only take two hours to get to my destination. Lunch, I thought, and it had to be seafood. I parked by the harbour wall and made my away along the walkway skirting the waters of the harbour towards Charles fort. The wind whipping my hair around my face and the smell of sea mixed with turf smoke took me back to childhood holidays at the seaside. It made me think of sand castles and ice cream, of sunburnt skin and sausages for tea.
At the end of the walk, I climbed the steep hill and then down a narrow street lined with fishermen’s cottages and found what I was looking for: The Bulman, Kinsale’s oldest pub with a distinguished culinary reputation. It had even got a mention in the latest Michelin guide.
As I was early, I got a table in a nook by the window, where I could look at the view of mouth of the harbour and the ocean beyond. I ordered a lobster salad, sat back and finally relaxed, letting my thoughts drift, to the past few days: to Colin, to the paper that was shaping up so well, but especially to Rory. He knew where Johnny was all along. Why hadn’t he told me? What else did he know? My phone rang at the same time as my salad arrived.
It was a very breathless Audrey. “Hi, sorry to disturb you. You’re not driving?”
“No. Having lunch in Kinsale.”
“Oh, lovely.” She paused for breath. “I wasn’t going to bother you during your weekend away, but I’ve just had a call from the publicity woman of the movie company. She told me they would be willing to sponsor the glossy mag and will also get some high profile companies to buy ads. They want this to be part of the publicity campaign and a kind of teaser for the movie. And they will let us handle the production and distribution in Ireland, but they’ll take care of all international publicity. So this will also be sold in the US. Isn’t it fab?” she twittered.
My jaw dropped. “Wow, yes. Amazing. How on earth did you manage that?”
“Oh, well...you know the producer? He asked me to have a drink with him at that cute little pub around the corner...and I kind of threw this idea at him. Didn’t take him long to agree.”
“I see. Hmm...what did you wear?”
She coughed. “Boots and a skirt.”
I laughed. “You mean the thigh-high suede boots and the micro-mini?”
“Yeah, yeah, okay. So I compromised the whole feminist movement. But the end justified the means, big time.”
“I agree. I don’t have your looks, but if you’ve got it, flaunt it. What else are assets for?”
Audrey let out a long sigh. “Gee, I thought you’d be annoyed. But hey, it worked. Tough luck on the men who fall for it, right?”
“Audrey, you’re one hell of an operator. You’ll go far. I only pity the poor men who cross your path.” I was still laughing when I hung up. Audrey hid a very sharp brain under that wild blonde head of hair.
I picked up my phone to read the latest news in The Irish Telegraph while I ate the rest of my salad. I noticed the new editor had a decidedly meek tone in her leader. Trying to hang on to her job and not make any waves to annoy the establishment, I supposed. After I’d read the main news, I turned to the rest of the articles, especially the political column, written by Brendan, my ex assistant and confidant. He’d also turned his ass to the wind and took the road of the mainstream. No controversy there, except in the last paragraph, where he cast aspersions on the new party, The Irish Democrats, wondering if they were really serious about the racist slant in their politics.
While it’s true that Ireland isn’t a rich country, we can ill afford to be negative in our approach to the refugee crisis in Europe. Is this country not better off if we allow integration and open our borders to the less fortunate? The Irish Democrats are out of step with the times. The Irish people need to embrace immigration, not fight it. Weren’t we refugees of a kind not so long ago? It’s shameful that this party, with its neo-Nazi undertones, is gaining in popularity. Where’s the famous Irish welcome?
“Good on ya, Brendan,” I said to myself. He was doing it by stealth. The best way to sow discontent.
I paid the bill and set off for West Cork to do my own bit against racism.