A Change of Heart (The Heartfelt Series) (33 page)

 Joyce thought about this briefly. “For your birthday.”

 “Thanks, but you’re either six months late, or six months early, depends on how you want to approach it.”

 Joyce looked a little uncomfortable. “Do I need a reason?”

 “Of course you do, I’ve never known you do anything without a reason,” Miss MacReady smiled at her sister to take the sting out of her words. Joyce fiddled with the collar of her neat tweed.

 “Well, I haven’t seen you for ages, you being in America and all, I just thought ...” Joyce surveyed Miss MacReady’s inner sanctum in dismay. If she were to stay, where would she even sit. “... ah sure, I needed a break.”

 Miss MacReady cut to the chase.

 “You know who I saw in New York don’t you?” There was a short silence.

 “I believe so,” Joyce did not meet her sister’s eye.

 “And you believe so because he told you so, because you have always known he was in America, right there in downtown New York!” She threw her drink down her throat.

 “Now Kathleen,” Joyce said, crossing the room to where her sister sat, “it’s not what you think. I wasn’t doing anything behind your back.”

 “What, for over twenty years you stayed in touch with him and never mentioned or even hinted at it. Did you not think you should tell me, your own sister, for God’s sake! That treacherous, spineless, two-faced bastard ruined my life and you’re pen pals?” Miss MacReady was livid.

 “Ah, Kathleen,” Joyce made soothing gestures as her sister’s voice rose.

 “Ah nothing, it’s unbelievable, and then our child, the daughter I was told was dead, is here and still you didn’t think I should know about him and he about her. What are you, the Secret
fecking
Service?” Miss MacReady stormed into the kitchen.

 “Kathleen, you’re angry, I can see that, I understand why, but it’s not what you think, it was pure coincidence. Brian and I were put in touch by accident. I didn’t know it was him for years, we both operated under code names,” Joyce tried to explain.

 “Jesus Christ, don’t tell me you’re still at that, playing bloody
freedom fighters
in this day and age, at your time of life. I’ve heard everything now.” Miss MacReady flung herself back on the sofa.

 Joyce arched an eyebrow. She may have been lax, insensitive even in the communication department as far as her sister and her estranged lover were concerned, but she would not have her political beliefs, indeed her life’s work, mocked!

 “Kathleen, you have no idea what you’re talking about, the
movement
is strong, gaining momentum, there’s work to be done, there’s a new dawn on the horizon,” Joyce refrained from putting her clenched fist to her breast.

 “New horizon, my arse! About time you losers got a grip and concentrated on making today’s reality work, instead of clinging to a past that never did have a lot going for it in the first place,” Miss MacReady scoffed.

 “You’re a fine one to talk about clinging to the past,” Joyce said. Then, when she saw her sister’s eyes fill with tears, she ran to kneel beside her. “I’m sorry Kathleen, I didn’t mean that.”

 Miss MacReady looked away. Joyce continued.

 “I didn’t know who my contact was, I’m not supposed to, but a few years ago I was sorting out some new IDs for the ‘couriers’ and I recognised him. He’s not changed at all really, goes under the name of Mac now I believe.”

 Miss MacReady wiped her eyes and nodded, “Runs a very smart bar in uptown New York, a pillar of the establishment. Don’t tell me that’s all a front for your crowd?”

 Joyce shook her head, “Not that I’m aware of. Brian was a negotiator, a go-between, I can’t say anymore than that.”

 Miss MacReady sniffed.

 “Oh, so he’s not actually a mass murderer on top of everything else. That makes me feel a lot better.” She stood up. Joyce sat down.

 “Kathleen, this is about you and Brian now. When I did find out it was him I had many sleepless nights about whether I should tell you or not. Why stir all that up again, you both had your own lives, we’d no idea Marianne even existed, he could have been married, had a family, so I thought the best thing to do was let sleeping dogs lie.”

 “You were protecting him, siding with the enemy, that’s what you were doing.” Miss MacReady headed back to the kitchen for a refill.

 “I was protecting you. I couldn’t bear to see your heart broken again.”

 “But can’t you see Joyce,” Miss MacReady reappeared, eyes blazing, “my heart is still broken. Your betraying me has not made an ounce of difference.”

 Joyce stood up and sighed, “And now you’ve seen him, he’s been here and met Marianne, are you not reconciled? Is there hope?”

 “Hope? How can there be hope, I’m here, he’s in New York, so much time has passed. We could have been together. We could have had a life, instead of two, separated, broken hearts.” Miss MacReady continued to glare at her sister.

 “I can see you’re very upset Kathleen and very annoyed with me and I apologise if you think I did wrong, but I did what I did for the right reasons. And as to your heart still being broken, maybe it is, but many of us carry a broken heart, deep down, for most of our lives, wearing yours on your sleeve could be viewed as attention seeking.” Joyce went to the hallway and picked up her bag. “From where I’m standing, you have a lot to be grateful for, a lot to bring joy to any heart, broken or not.” And she opened the door of the post office, letting herself out into the street. The bell made a hollow ring as she left.

Joyce MacReady cut a lonely figure, walking from the post office along Main Street towards Maguire’s. She carried her overnight bag in one hand, securing her hat with the other. It was a bright blustery day. The Atlantic, glimpsed between the buildings, was glittering and playful. Marianne was in Weathervane’s little garden, hanging out washing. Monty was helping by taking pegs out of the basket on the patio. Marianne picked him up to retrieve the last peg, when she spotted the woman coming along the street. She thought it looked like her mother’s sister Joyce, but she was not striding out the way Joyce did, she looked weary. As she drew closer Marianne saw it
was
Joyce. She let herself and Monty out of the gate to greet her.

 “Joyce,” she called, waving. The woman looked up, startled. Marianne could see she was crying. She ran to her.

 “What is it? What’s wrong?” she took Joyce’s bag from her. Joyce rummaged in her pocket for a handkerchief and blew her nose.

 “Oh nothing, just me being a silly old woman,” she gave Marianne a watery smile. Marianne considered Joyce neither silly nor old.

 “Haven’t seen you for ages Joyce, would you not come over to the cottage and have a cup of tea with me? I was just about to put the kettle on.” Marianne looked into the other woman’s face. Joyce brightened.

 “Thank you Marianne. It’s a long way to come and turn straight back,” Joyce said. Marianne frowned. Joyce looked as if she had been coming from the post office. It was early. The postmistress would have been at her work.

 “Was Miss MacReady not in?” she asked, as they walked the short distance along the lane to Weathervane, Monty trotting between them.

 “Oh, she was in alright!” Joyce said, sniffing back her tears. “I probably shouldn’t have surprised her.”

 Marianne cut a slice of porter cake as Joyce sipped her tea. She had removed her hat and fixed her hair and looked a bit more like the fastidiously neat and solid little countrywoman she was.

 “Your home is lovely, Marianne. I like the way you’ve brought the colours of the island into it, and the textures too, very cleverly executed.” Her gaze swept approvingly around the sitting room: walls stained the colour of sand; the floor strewn with knotted wool rugs in sea-green and teal; chunky knit throws in ochre and slate; tweedy cushions reflecting the greys and browns of the cliffs.

“Thank you,” Marianne handed her a plate. She could see Joyce was not going to tell why she had been crying. “Didn’t take much thinking about, just seemed to evolve.”

 Joyce pointed at the painting, unframed and propped on the mantelpiece; a magnificent stag in silhouette, looking out across a lake, hazy mountains in the distance.

 “Who’s the artist?” she asked.

 “Ryan, actually.” Marianne smiled, she loved the picture. She had found quite a few in Ryan’s jumble of luggage. All landscapes, echoes of his homeland. She was planning to sort through them, have them framed and hung about the place.

 “I didn’t know he was a painter as well as an actor and now a writer,” Joyce said.

 “Neither did I,” said Marianne. “He’s full of surprises.” And she turned away to hide a blush, remembering her early morning wake-up call, as Ryan, letting himself into the house, slipped into the shower, soaping her breasts and teasing her nipples with his tongue, before gently pushing his fingers inside her, recreating the lovemaking of their first glorious weekend together, when he had surprised her with a sumptuous scene of seduction she had not even tried to resist. She shuddered with pleasure. Joyce laid her cup on her saucer; the chink broke Marianne’s reverie.

 “I’m pleased you’re making your home here. It must be so nice for Kathleen. Not only to be reunited with the child she thought had died, but to have you here, right beside her and now with your family too. She’s become a mother and a grandmother in one fell swoop, from a spinster of this parish to this.” Joyce smiled warmly at her niece but there was something behind her eyes. “And you’ve heard the latest, who she met in New York and was here briefly?”

 Marianne was unsure how much Miss MacReady would have told Joyce.

 “Yes, I’ve met him too,” she said.

 “And how do you feel about it all?” Joyce asked.

 “A bit overwhelmed, if I’m honest. Suddenly so much family, when I had none.” Joyce was her aunt and Marianne knew nothing about her. “Were you born on the island, Joyce?”

 “Yes, we all were. Six of us; I’m the eldest, then Kathleen, John and James, no longer with us,” she blessed herself, “Agatha in Australia and then Patrick, the baby.”

 “And your parents?”

 Joyce finished her tea. “Long story,” she said, getting up. “Perhaps for another time, but you’re the image of our mother, Bridie. I know Kathleen won’t have it but you are. She was a beauty, no doubt about that.”

 “I’d love to hear more, maybe see some photos if you have any?” Marianne said. “Miss MacReady, I mean, my mother, has said so little about her.”

 Joyce was at the door, about to leave, when it burst open and Miss MacReady appeared. Marianne noticed she was dressed demurely, also in tweed, perhaps in deference to her sister, a full-length heather skirt, matching nipped-in jacket, purple silk scarf, pearls at her throat. She rushed in.

 “You’re here, thank goodness. I thought I might have missed you,” she said to Joyce. Joyce stiffened. “I’m sorry,” Miss MacReady continued, staring at her sister, eyes brimming with tears. Marianne looked from one to the other. Joyce waved her hand dismissively.

 “Marianne and I had a lovely chat. I was glad of the opportunity to get to know her,” she said.

 “I’m truly sorry,” Miss MacReady said again.

Joyce was putting her hat on. “Marianne, do you know when the next ferry is?” she asked, ignoring Miss MacReady.

 “Oh Joyce stay. Don’t go off in a huff,” Miss MacReady said, moving to put her arms around her sister. Joyce turned to look at her. “Joyce, I said I’m sorry. Come and have lunch with me, see if I can persuade you to spend some time on the island. I see so little of you, please.”

 Joyce gave her a wan smile, “We always end up disagreeing.”

 “We don’t,” Miss MacReady exclaimed, hugging her.

Joyce patted her back, “You’re always so emotional about everything.”

“I’m not, I’m tired, that’s all,” Miss MacReady told her.

“Come on then,” Joyce said, reaching for her bag. “Where shall we eat?”

“Shall we go to the pub? They do a nice ‘special’
on Tuesdays and I could do with a drink myself.”

“You spend too much time in the pub Kathleen, always have,” Joyce said.

“No I don’t. You don’t have to drink alcohol you know,” Miss MacReady reminded her.

“Nor do you!” Joyce said.

They bustled towards the door. It was the first time Marianne had notice a likeness.

“Will you join us Marianne?” Miss MacReady called back.

“Maybe later,” Marianne said, smiling as the two women made their way down the path, still in dispute.

Chapter Thirty
A Leap Of Faith

They were sitting on board the deck of
Dream Isle.

“It’s tomorrow or Thursday, depends on the weather. Still haven’t got the exact details of the vessel or its whereabouts, but the cargo’s on board and they’re getting ready to ship it out.” Dermot told him.

 “And we just have to intercept it, yeah? Tell them they’re under arrest and we take charge of the boat and tow them in - no heroics, no funny business,” Ryan said.

 “Precisely. A case of ‘you’re nabbed lads’. We’ll take them totally unawares - a couple of fellas out fishing is all we’ll be.” Dermot was swabbing down the deck, making sure everything was shipshape.

 
That’s alright then,
Ryan thought,
because if Marianne is out sailing with Erin and Sinead, she will be none the wiser if I just give Dermot a hand bringing these blokes in.
He was treading carefully. She had gone into a complete rant about deceit ruining people’s lives, when Brian Maguire had shown up, saying she could not believe he and Miss MacReady had been unnecessarily separated all those years, each still holding a torch for the other. And was it not strange Ryan had known him all along? Ryan told her Innishmahon was like that, weaving its charm around its people, keeping them close no matter how far away.
No, the least said the better where any extracurricular activity was concerned
, he told himself.

 “Okay, sounds like a plan,” Ryan agreed.

 “Good, do you want to go down below and make sure anything we need is nice and handy,” Dermot told him. Ryan started down below. “And make sure the firearms are somewhere dry, no use to us if they’re damp.”

 Ryan laughed, “Oh yes, the pistols.” But Dermot was not joking.

Thursday dawned bright and blustery, a steady south-easterly forecast, very little cloud, no rain and a gentle swell. Erin stood on the quayside looking at the boat. It was a fine yacht, if a little neglected, but Oonagh would have adored it. Such a shame she had not been well enough to enjoy it for longer, yet it was the place she had chosen to say her goodbyes, surrounded by those she loved. It had a proud provenance. Erin was looking forward to taking her out and seeing what the old girl could do.

 By the time Marianne and Sinead and everything needed to give three adults, two children and a West Highland terrier a terrific day out on the water had been loaded, Erin wondered if it might sink, they were lying pretty low in the water.

 “Does she usually sit like this?” she asked Padar, who was fussing with the engine, squirting things at random with WD40 and rubbing mildew off with his sleeve.

 “I think so,” he said unconvincingly. “Well it’s used regularly and those lads who had it last time said they’d leave it back as they found it.” He kissed the children briefly; he did not want to be aboard any longer than necessary.

 “What time will you be back?” he asked Erin, stern line in his hand. Erin checked her watch.

 “It’s ten now - four-ish?” she said.

 “No later,” Padar told her, “it’ll be getting dark, get back nearer to three if you can.”

 “We’re only going to drop anchor and have our picnic the other side of the island, over by the Marine Research Unit. Sure, you’ll be able to see us from every lookout point,” Erin assured him.

 “So you say, but it’s treacherous enough, you know that.”

 “Ah, Padar, I was sailing round this island before I could walk,” Erin snapped, holding her hand out for the line. Padar threw it to her. Marianne was at the wheel.

 “Take it steady,” Padar shouted at Marianne. “Don’t make Sinead seasick,” he teased. Sinead had nearly cried off. She felt poorly that morning, but everyone was so looking forward to the trip, she splashed cold water on her face and told them she would come anyway.

 Padar could not help the lump in his throat as Bridget waved goodbye from the deck, the broadest smile on her face, the way Oonagh looked whenever she was on the water, loving the wind in her hair.

 Marianne guided the boat safely out of the marina with Erin at her shoulder, and as soon as they were clear of the other boats, she powered on, cutting through the blue, leaving bright white sparkles in her wake. They pushed into the bay, the island behind, the ocean smooth and welcoming, calling them out. Erin took the helm, guiding them beyond the buoys warning of rocks and then swung the boat west, up towards the top of the island, heading around the promontory of coastline that formed a point on the map.

 “We’ll get round
Widows Peak
and head into
Cloudy Bay.
It’ll shelter us from the wind, we can drop anchor there, and if it’s nice enough have a little sail after lunch and then head back,” Erin said.

 “Good plan,” Marianne agreed, smiling at the tinkling laughter of the little ones, watching the yacht sending out spray as it cut through the water, Monty looking over the side, tail wagging.

To all intents and purposes Cloudy Bay
looked like a small and very welcoming harbour, but any sailor worth his salt knew the silky smooth surface belied a craggy underbelly that could rip the guts out of a vessel in the merest of moments. Erin had checked the charts the night before and the sonar system on board was state-of-the-art, but she steered stealthily through, finding a clear deep pool to drop anchor and switch off the engine.

 The sumptuous picnic of seafood chowder, soda bread, cheese and fruit was soon devoured, followed by one of Marianne’s favourites - thick hot chocolate with clotted cream ice cream and home-made shortbread fingers for dunking. She laced the grownups mugs with a splash of rum but Sinead said her stomach could not take it and sipped water instead.

 “Is Miss MacReady recovered after being mugged in New York?” Sinead asked Marianne as they sat in the lower deck, the boat rocking gently. The village had been stunned by the news the postmistress had been robbed in the middle of JFK Airport, right in front of Larry.

 “Seems quite sanguine about it all,” Marianne told her.

 “I’m sure it paled into insignificance once she discovered Brian Maguire was alive and well and running the very bar she and Larry were sitting in,” Erin said, licking chocolate off a biscuit.

 Marianne gave Erin a look.

 “It seems everyone is pretty nonplussed about the mugging, almost as if it were bound to happen.”

 Erin avoided her eyes.

 “All’s well that ends well. The insurance company is going to pay up, Rossini will get his millions, the jewels will be fenced, goodness knows where they’ll end up, and that will be the end of it, my job’s done. I’ll be heading home soon enough.”

 Sinead settled the children in a bunk; the sway of the boat would lull them to sleep in no time.

 “Where’s home?” Sinead asked.

 Erin shrugged, “Here and there.”

 “Would you not stay awhile?” Marianne suggested.

 “What for? This place is hardly the centre of the universe, not a lot happens here,” Erin said. “I mean, when is there even any news, for God’s sake, same old, same old.”

 “I have news,” Sinead said, and a dreamy look came over her, ‘lovely news if you’d care to hear it.”

 They both looked at her, then at each other. “You’re pregnant!” They said together.

 “No wonder you’ve been a bit green around the gills,” Marianne said, smiling at her. “Are you delighted?”

 Sinead nodded, her cheeks turning pink.

 “That’s crap though isn’t it?” Erin said in her usual manner, “with your husband, what’s his name Phileas, in the slammer.”

 Marianne raised her eyes upwards. Sinead shrugged.

 “Not really, it’s not his.”

 Marianne’s mind flashed back to the scene in the big house, when she and Ryan stumbled upon a couple in a compromising situation. She willed the image away.

 “So you’re finished with Phileas?” Marianne asked.

 Sinead nodded. “I tried to make it work, but things haven’t been right between us for a long time. Phileas never wanted children. I thought I could win him over, but no. I can’t remember the last time we slept together and then he got involved with a bad crowd. I told him I didn’t want anything to do with them, and now with the robbery and everything, I’ve had enough. I just want a normal life.” She gave them a sad smile.

 “And the father, does he know yet?” Marianne asked.

Sinead’s eyes widened. “No, it’s very early, you’re the only people who know. I’d like to keep it that way for a while, till it’s time to tell him.”

Marianne lifted her mug, “Congratulations then, your secret is safe with me.”

“And me,” Erin smiled at her, “but who’d want to bring a child into this hell hole called Planet Earth is beyond me,”

“Just as well the continuation of the human race doesn’t rest in your hands then, Erin.” Marianne said, clearing things away.

“Too right,” Erin replied, then “what’s that?”

They could hear an engine, voices, then clattering feet running down the deck towards them. Monty started to bark. Erin jumped up, heading for the stairs, when two pairs of boots appeared above.

“Hey ...who are …?”

A man pushed her back down below. Another man followed. They were dressed the same, all in black, balaclavas pulled over their heads.

“Stay calm and no-one will get hurt,” one of them said, his voice muffled by the fabric. The other man started to move around the salon, as if looking for something. Monty was barking wildly, he went for the man’s ankle. The man kicked him away. Marianne was on her feet.

“Stop! What are you doing? What do you want?” she demanded.

“Shut that thing up, or I will,” the man said, taking a gun out of his belt and pointing it at Monty.

“Jesus Christ!” Sinead blessed herself.

Erin jumped on the first man, twisting his arm expertly behind his back. He screamed in pain. The man with the gun turned it from Monty to Erin but she pushed her prisoner in front of her.

“Put the gun down,” she said.

“Let him go,” the man replied. Marianne was straining her ears, trying to hear an accent, trying to identify the voice.

“What do you want?” Marianne asked as coldly as she could, willing the fear out of her.

“We want you to quietly and calmly get on our boat and go back to wherever you came from,” the man with the gun said.

“Put that gun down or I’m going to break his arm, I mean it,” Erin said, as her captive moaned in agony. He nodded at his partner. The man put the gun back in his belt.

“There are children with us,” Sinead said, appealing to the man with the gun.

“We won’t harm them or you, just take our boat and go. Now, as quickly as you can,” he spoke more softly to her. Marianne looked at Sinead,
did she recognise him?

“No way,” Erin said fiercely,

“Let’s do as they say,” Sinead replied, getting up. Marianne had Monty in her arms, he was trembling. She looked at the man Erin had in an armlock.

“If she lets you go, you’re not to hurt her. We’ll go quietly but you’re not to hurt anyone,” Sinead glared at him.

“Come on, move it, go,
now!
” The man with the gun said.

“I’ll get the children,” Sinead disappeared.

“I’m not letting him go until everyone’s safe on the other boat.” Erin gave her captive’s arm another tweak to show she meant it.

“What can you see?” Ryan asked Dermot. Dermot was looking through binoculars at a yacht in the bay, Padar’s yacht.

 “There’s a tender alongside I don’t recognise. No-one around though, wait a minute, I can see Sinead and Marianne. There’s a man on deck, looks like they’re getting in the other boat,” Dermot handed the glasses to Ryan.

 “They’re offloading them. Bloody hell, they’re hijacking the boat!” Ryan said.

 Dermot nodded, eyes fixed on the vessel ahead. “Yep, looks like Padar’s boat is the one the cargo’s on, bet those bastards got a shock when they went to sail it away this morning and the mooring was empty. Bet they’ve been going mad looking for it.” Dermot was powering towards the yacht now.

 “What’s the plan?” Ryan looked through the binoculars.

 “Have they cast the women adrift?” Dermot asked.

 “Erin’s just getting on. She’s remonstrating though, looks like she’s giving them a right mouthful,” Ryan said. “They all look okay though, as far as I can tell.”

 “I hope so, those bastards will be armed.” Dermot replied.

 “I was afraid they might be.” Ryan put the glasses down. Dermot was travelling so fast, the lenses were covered in spray.

As soon as Erin was on board, Marianne started the engine.

 “Fecking pirates,” Erin shouted up at the men as they pulled off. “You won’t get away with this!”

 Sinead was in the stern with Bridget and Joey, rugs over their life jackets, she was singing to them. Marianne tried to keep the little boat steady as they bounced across the water, heading back, following the coastline to her right, up along the bay to swing back over Widow’s Peak
towards Innishmahon and the harbour. Erin spotted the other boat first.

 “Look, it’s Dermot!” she said.
Dream Isle
was speeding towards them. Once alongside, Ryan ran to the rail, throwing his leg over. Dermot stopped him, “Wait.”