Deceptions (29 page)

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Brahms Ward
6 a.m.

Janice thinks I’m crazy coming here so early. Well, ordinarily she would, but she’s had a row with her fiancé, something to do with the main event and the afters. She’s comfort eating a chocolate bar in the nurse’s station. Fruit and Nut. I refused a chunk. Claimed I wasn’t hungry. Something in my voice must have registered and she finally snapped herself back from tulle and ivory lace.

“You look like something the cat dragged backwards through a hedge,” she said. “Long night, was it?”

She’s right. It was a long night. But the roads were empty of traffic. I need to get my head together and Brahms Ward is where reality bites deep and hard. She stole a march on me, Killian. Something opened inside my head when she gave me your portrait. She stared at me across the table, her eyes blue and troubled, sensing but not understanding my confusion. She’s used to people responding with pleasure when she presents them with her paintings. What’s the matter with me? Why couldn’t I be straight with her? She gesticulated when she spoke, made language with her hands, and she spun a funny story about cows and a black woman, who sat opposite us dressed in brilliant colours and a robe that rippled like sails every time she moved. How long since you heard me laugh? Her hair falls red to her shoulders and would, I believe, spark if I touched it. Why couldn’t I say it? Come with me to the Brahms Ward … see what you have done … see my son. I lied to her from the beginning. Each word we speak swamps me deeper.

I count facts, indisputable bullet points. She owns a silver car. She hides in a lane. She left a husband. She calls Trabawn a refuge. She has a daughter whom she loves yet removed from all that was familiar. She wore a pendant at her throat. It all added up until I looked into her eyes. Sapphire blue, guileless, not cruel or indifferent, which is how they should look … beguiling eyes … and her mouth, wide, but not too wide with strong white teeth that match its generous shape. Her wrists were bare. Do you get the picture, Killian? See what I see? Maybe I’m right. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’m crazy. A car in shadow, snatched sounds, Bozo’s story; his accusations seemed ludicrous until I drove away and removed myself from her spell.

I wanted to kiss her mouth. Her strong wide mouth. She hesitates before she smiles, afraid that if she laughs she will also cry. How do I know this? Don’t ask me to explain. I should have spoken then. I should go back there now and wrench the truth from her. What’s the matter with me, Killian? I betray you every time I think of her.

Kisses on eyes … drowning eyes … yellow eyes … yellow eyes … headlights … daisy screens … hands on sheet … hands on sheet … hospital!

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IX

Mount Subasio, illuminated with strategic spotlights, rose above them in magnificent splendour.

“Disneyland, eat your heart out.” Adrian stared in disbelief at the turrets and the flag which slapped a persistent tattoo against the flag-pole.

“Keep your opinions to yourself,” Virginia warned as they mounted the steps. In the past she had attended a number of Andrea’s soirées with Ralph and knew they provided an excellent networking environment. She was aware that Andrea’s desire for publicity was an important factor in their friendship and Virginia had no objections to being used. Use and be used in turn. It was a fair exchange – and also a significant one. The latest invitation addressed to Virginia and Adrian meant they were now being accepted as a couple in their own right.

Drinks and canapés were served in the long drawing room. The view from the windows dropped towards the distant lights of the city but it was Lorraine’s portrait hanging above the mantelpiece upon which the guests fixed their attention. Adrian refused to acknowledge its existence. Not an easy thing to do as Andrea, flattered by the comments from her guests, coyly preened herself in front of it at every opportunity.

“An impressive piece of work, wouldn’t you agree?” Bill Sheraton moved to Virginia’s side and nodded upwards. Was he enjoying her discomfort, relishing the incongruity of Lorraine’s invisible but dominant presence in their midst?

“It’s one of Lorraine’s most sensitively executed pieces,” she replied. He had the defensive antennae of a self-made millionaire and would be quick to catch the slightest hint of mockery in her voice. Lorraine’s portraits had always carried a raw energy and originality. Her focus had been on discovering something unique, a hitherto unnoticed feature or expression, the angle of a head that added a new dimension to the sitter’s personality. But this was a painting of plastic people. She wondered if its very perfection was Lorraine’s way of mocking her own work, of proving how inconsequential it had become.

“Are you satisfied with it?” she asked.

“Andrea certainly is.”

“And you?”

“Technically, it’s perfect. What more can I say?”

She knew he hated it.

“What a wonderful study of Lorcan.” She felt compelled to comment on the handsome young man staring down at her from the wall, his usually dour young face decisive yet relaxed, his gaze forceful.

“Do you really think so?” Bill studied it carefully. “I’m hoping she saw something in him that I’ve never managed to catch.”

“It’s an astute observation.” Virginia lied graciously. “I’ve always found him to be a most charming young man.”

“In that case Adrian should have no difficulty taking him on. I’ve employed my son every summer since he was fifteen and he’s never shown a blind bit of interest in what I do. Now, suddenly he wants to go into advertising. I’m anxious to see him settled with people I can rely on.”

“Of course, if that’s your wish, Bill.” She steadied her smile, allowed it to reach her eyes. “But are you sure –”

“Absolutely positive. I suggest he starts next Monday.”

“The sooner the better, Bill. I’m sure Adrian will be delighted to take him under his wing.”

“There’s no such thing as a free lunch.” Virginia made the announcement as she undressed for bed. “Bill expects you to take Lorcan into the agency.”

“Shit!”

“My sentiments exactly. But I had the good sense to hide my feelings.”

“Hiding your feelings is a piece of performance art with you, Virginia.” Adrian sounded drunk, morosely so, his face gaunt as he turned around to face her.

“If having good manners and being courteous is performance art then maybe you should consider studying it,” she snapped back. “Was it necessary to be so rude to everyone?”

“I wasn’t being rude.”

“What would you call staring out the window for most of the night and refusing to engage in conversation?”

“I wasn’t aware that I was there in the role of a performing dog.”

She pulled the sheet to her chin and tried to hide her annoyance. “No, you were there to network, make contacts, do business. Advertising is not just about ideas, Adrian. It’s about selling that vision to people who make decisions. I saw Bill watching you. He doesn’t miss a trick and now that Lorcan’s joining the company he’ll have first hand knowledge of all that’s going on.”

“Can you really see his obnoxious brat lasting more than a week in the business?”

“He could surprise us. I spoke to him at the end of the night. He seems keen and he’s got some interesting ideas.”

“I thought you said advertising was not just about
ideas
.”

“Why won’t you be honest and admit the real reason you’re so upset?” She switched off the bedside lamp. Somehow, it seemed easier to talk about Lorraine in the dark. “You fell apart when you saw that portrait.”

“You never told me he’d commissioned her.”

“It was a while ago. I’d forgotten.”

“You forget easily.”

“Meaning what, exactly?”

He lay silently beside her.

“Don’t block me out, Adrian. I want to know what’s going on in your head. Are you worried about Ralph?”

“Fuck Ralph! I’m thinking about the lad …”

Once again, he was forcing her to walk over the same old ground. No matter how hard they tried to forget, the accident cast a long shadow over them, creating panic where none should exist. “I thought we agreed not to discuss him any more?”

“The car could still be traced. With forensics they can tell by paintwork, even glass. We don’t know what clues we left behind.”

“For a start, it was Lorraine’s car. Even if they manage to trace her to Trabawn, all she has to do is tell them she was in New York.”

The car had been repaired in a garage where a mechanic, gruff and overworked, took Adrian at his word when he blamed vandals for the damage to the bonnet and the broken glass. Their dread that the boy would die had not been realised. Otherwise they would have read it in the papers – and Virginia read them every day, skimmed them from cover to cover, checking headlines, news in brief, any items that might have repercussions for them. She reassured him, reminded him they were safe, so much time had passed, and, gradually, heard the tension ease from his voice.

“You’re so much in control, I envy you,” he said.

“Why not kiss me and see how much control I have then?” She was determined to bring an end to the discussion.

It was over quickly. Perhaps it was the darkness that separated them even as their bodies joined and moved together. They always made love with the lights on, open to each other, taking delight in giving and receiving, in watching the passion reflected in their eyes, but now he pressed her face into the pillows and came into her from behind, thrusting deep, and she felt his tension kick into a swift, frantic orgasm that brought relief but no satisfaction to her. He fell asleep immediately.

She listened to the voices. At first they had whispered so softly they were almost inaudible but they were growing louder, more distinct, imitating a grotesque parody of her father’s philandering.
“My mummy told me if I was goody that she would buy me a rubber dolly. But when I told her I kissed a soldier she wouldn’t buy me a rubber dolly.”
Outside Sonya’s window the little girls clapped hands and chanted, and in the room where Virginia could not go she heard the puppy sounds. The clock with the cat’s face ticked on the mantelpiece and the coloured glass hearts jingled from the ceiling – but nothing sounded as sweet as the canary singing all alone in her cage, like her little throat would burst wide open and all the notes would pour out, spilling downwards, tumbling one after the other onto Virginia’s lap. Sonya was a secret, a safe and sound secret that must never be told. Except for Lorraine. In Trabawn she told her cousin. Lying in the darkness of the caravan, she felt the secret lift, as if a hand had released a tight grip on her forehead, and they giggled so hard they had to drink water from the wrong side of the glass to stop the hiccups.

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EVEN

The phone rang constantly. Meg Ruane, home from New York. The county councillor enquiring about the progress of his portrait. Emily’s friends from Dublin, demanding progress reports on Emily the calf. Sally Jones rang. She was back from New York and living in Wicklow. She wanted Lorraine to visit her group and facilitate a weekend workshop. Ralph phoned one afternoon when she was walking the beach and left a message on the machine. “Hey there, fellow traveller, how’s life in the underworld? Sorry I missed you. Just wanted to know how you’re getting on. Maybe I’ll drop in on Trabawn one of these days. No red carpet when I call, just a welcome on the mat. Hugs to Emily.”

He seemed in high spirits when she returned his call, teasing her about the farmers she was seducing and asking questions about her art group. His arrival back to Ireland had been a surprise but not his decision to set up his own agency, which, he assured her, was off to a flying start. He tossed company names into the conversation, new accounts he had acquired. She recognised some of the names. He was poaching clients from Adrian.

When she made this accusation, he said, “I don’t have to poach. It’s as easy as shooting fish in a barrel.” He promised to call to Trabawn as soon as time allowed. She handed the phone to Emily who launched into a description about the birthing process of calves.

Michael Carmody never rang. No message on her answering machine, no sudden sighting on the beach. The emotions she had experienced that night disturbed her. She was unable to banish him from her mind. For moments at a time she would stop what she was doing and stand motionless, picturing his intense expression, the hint of underlying sexuality about his mouth, his enigmatic eyes that never stopped probing her face. His footsteps ringing on the garden path had trampled against the grief and anger she had carried to Trabawn, trampled over every rational thought until all that remained was her need to see him again.

Eugene Murphy called to collect his wife’s birthday present. He shook his head when Lorraine showed him around the house, obviously impressed by what he saw. “I have to admit I thought you were cracked when you told me you wanted to buy the aunty’s old house. But you’re doing a splendid job.”