Quentins (17 page)

“But it's been going on a bit.” Nuala was doubtful.

“It could have been going on a bit just in your mind, you know. Frank is like his brothers, charming to everyone. It could be a matter of nothing,” Deirdre said.

Nuala's eyes were shining. “That's
exactly
what Frank says. He says it's all in my mind.”

“Well then, there you are,” said Deirdre wearily.

There was a very positive letter from the King Foundation. The application had been read and had been moved onto a shortlist. There were various more technical details to attend to, and criteria to meet, but in general they had met all the main requirements and they were onto the next level. The letter was signed Derry and Kimberly King. Nick and Sandy wished that Ella were there to share it with them, but she was giving private tutoring to these extraordinary twins. They would celebrate with her later. Meanwhile, they held hands and rejoiced at having gotten so far.

“If we
do
get it made and it goes to festivals and we get known and have plenty of money, what would you do with it?” Sandy asked suddenly.

“What would
we
do with it, you mean?”

“No, I mean you, actually.”

He looked at her, dumbfounded. “We'd get better premises, wouldn't we. New equipment. Take on someone full-time, have a ‘honeymoon' of some kind, get a really good, glossy brochure out. Isn't that what you'd do?”

“Yes,” she said, her cheeks getting pinker. He had actually said “honeymoon.”

“You'd do all that too?” Nick teased her.

“I would, yes.” She didn't look at him.

“But there's one thing, Sandy. We can't have a honeymoon without getting married first.”

“I know,” she said.

“So are you going to ask me to marry you?” he went on.

“Doesn't the man do that?” Poor Sandy was still not sure if he was teasing her or proposing.

“Not always. The better decision-maker usually does it. You're the better decision-maker in our company.”

“And should I wait until we got rich, do you think?”
Her anxiety was so obvious now, he couldn't bear to let it go on any longer.

“I'd love if we got married, rich or poor,” he said.

“Oh, Nick.” Her smile was so broad, he picked up a Polaroid camera. “I want to show this to our grandchildren someday, tell them what you looked like the day you proposed.”

The phone rang just then. It was Mike Martin, a friend of Don Richardson's in the past, he had put some work their way. Nick was surprised to hear from him.

“It's not a job, alas, those are thin on the ground these days with the climate we have now.”

“That's for sure,” Nick agreed sadly.

“It's more of a personal favor. You know Ella Brady, I believe.”

“Yes.” Nick was cautious.

“Well, you remember a friend of hers. Someone who no longer lives in this land, who went to Spain?”

“Do you mean Don Richardson?” Nick asked baldly.

“Yes. Well, I was trying to be more discreet.”

“I have no need to be discreet. That was his name. This isn't a police state. We can say people's names, surely?”

“No, but the guns are out for him, Nick. You know that.”

“The guns may well be out for him, but they are hardly tapping my phone about him.” Nick felt very annoyed with this man.

“Did you lose money, Nick? I know for a fact that Don is doing his level best.”

“I'm sure he is, his very level best. No, I didn't lose anything, but I have great friends who were ruined.”

“And believe me, they will be recompensed, compensated.”

“That's not what we read in the papers.”

“What do journalists know? And it's actually about that I'm calling. Is this a convenient time?”

“Yes. You interrupted a marriage proposal, but it can be continued when we've finished talking.” Nick leaned out and stroked Sandy's face.

“I never know whether to take you seriously or not.”

“I know, it's a worry.”

Nick let a silence fall.

“Anyway, our friend hasn't been able to contact Ella.”

“I think Don probably knows Ella's phone number.”

“It's not as simple as that.”

“It probably is, or he could send a letter, a postcard, an e-mail.”

“I'm going to cut to the chase, Nick. You're not being as cooperative and understanding about the problem as we'd hoped.”

“We?”

“Um . . . Don and I.”

“You're with him as you speak?”

“That's neither here nor there. What I was going to do . . .”

“. . . was cut to the chase. I heard you.”

“There's this briefcase with a laptop computer.”

“I'll bet there is.”

“Which Mr. Richardson inadvertently left in Ms. Brady's apartment . . .”

“That must have been a day or two ago.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Don Richardson ran out of here four months ago. He must have missed his briefcase before now.”

“Now is when he's looking for it, Nick.”

“Well, he can come home and pick it up, can't he?”

“He can't find Ella. She's not in that apartment. She's not on the house in Tara Road.”

“And I imagine he knows why. They had to sell everything, give up everything because of him.”

“I don't think he sees it that way . . .”

“You do surprise me!”

“I'd like to give you a phone number. Please give it to Ms. Brady and ask her to call Mr. Richardson.”

“I wouldn't hold your breath, Mr. Martin.”

“I'll dictate the number, and I'm sure you'll be responsible enough to pass it on.”

“I'll take lessons in responsibility from your pal Don, will I?”

“Have you a pen or pencil?”

“Yes, but what's to stop me giving this to the newspapers, the authorities, or some of the people he robbed blind?”

“I'm sure you'll do the right thing, Nick,” said Mike Martin, and called out a number. Then they both hung up.

“What was that all about?” Sandy asked, round-eyed.

“About a tactless oaf who interrupted you when you were about to kneel down in front of me . . . wait, wait . . . and meet me kneeling down in front of you, and we were going to ask each other the most important question of our lives.”

“And that guy in Spain?”

“Can wait his turn like everyone else,” said Nick, kneeling down on the floor.

Barbara and Tim Brady were having a late lunch in the little bit of garden they had kept for themselves beside their annex. Through the bamboo hedge they could see the main house, where they had lived until three months earlier. All of it now let at astronomical rents. Oddly, they didn't miss it nearly as much as they had thought they would.

Looking back on it now, they realized it had been too big for them. And lonely too. Somehow, since they had come here, it was much more companionable, and they saw so much more of Ella as she dashed in and out and grabbed cups of tea. Her friend Deirdre visited a lot,
which was nice. They still had a great deal of anxiety and the nightmare about the debts they owed and the people in Tim's office who had lost money. But all in all, it was a happier time, a better quality of life. They hardly dared to admit it to anyone except each other. And they were able to talk to each other these days. Which was another change for the better.

“I
t's not too hard when you put your mind to it,” Simon said.

“That's what I've always found,” Ella agreed.

“But of course, there's no real point to it,” Maud said.

“I don't know. There's a sort of a point, like it's a principle, a formula. Once you know how to do it, you can always apply it again.”

“But when would you ever
want
to apply it again?” Maud wondered thoughtfully.

“For exams, I suppose,” Simon said. “Do we really need to do that whole page of problems before next week?”

“Yes, you do if I'm to be sure you've understood it and move on to the next thing.”

“Nobody else at school has to do a page of problems,” Maud said with a slightly downturned mouth.

“I know, Maud. Aren't you lucky that they're paying extra for you to learn more,” Ella said.

Maud was debating this, when Ella's phone rang. It was Nuala. She was in tears. She was so sorry, she was such a fool, she had quite rightly had her head bitten off her by Deirdre. She'd love to talk to Ella. That is, if Ella would ever forgive her.

“Sure, I'll forgive you,” Ella said. “That bastard upsets everyone, makes them behave out of character, that's all.”

Maud and Simon exchanged glances.

“But, Nuala, I have to go. I'm at work at the moment.”

“Dee says you never stop.”

“No, I'm fine. I'm entering the social phase of work now. Isn't that right, Maud and Simon?” she said to the children.

They looked at her, startled.

“What on earth does that mean?” Nuala asked with a giggle.

“It means that Simon and Maud are going to put away their books, get me a huge mug of tea and I'm going to tell them all about my very unhappy life,” Ella said.

“You sound absolutely unhinged, Ella, but I'm so glad you forgive me. You can behave however you like. I'll call you tonight.”

“Not between six and midnight,” Ella said cheerfully, and hung up her phone.

She had just gotten to telling the twins the bit of her very unhappy life where she hadn't been chosen for the hockey team.

“It doesn't sound
terribly
unhappy,” Maud complained.

“No real awful things,” Simon added.

“If you wanted to be on the first eleven and should have been, then that's pretty terrible,” Ella protested.

Her phone rang again. This time it was Nick. She listened and her face got red and then white again. The twins watched her with interest. “The bastard,” she said eventually. “The class-A bastard.” She took down a number on the back of her notebook. “Thanks, Nick, I'll get back to you on this.” Her voice was slightly shaky, but a promise was a promise.

Those children had gotten their heads around quadratic equations. Now she had to tell them the story of an
unhappy life. “So the day of the school's hockey final approached . . .” she began.

“Could you tell us about the bastard, please?” Maud asked politely. “It sounds much more interesting.”

All evening she thought about that slimy Mike Martin, there in Spain with Don, after telling the television cameras that he couldn't understand the disappearance, the flight, the whole thing. He had told the nation that Don Richardson adored his wife, the lovely Margery Rice. Now he was contacting Ella, the mistress, and looking for a computer.

The only thing this proved was that there was something in the laptop that they didn't want found. Now, that was interesting. Very interesting. And also a little frightening. It was only a matter of time before they found where she lived. Someone would tell Mike Martin that they lived in the garden shed on Tara Road. And then surely he would come to collect the computer that belonged to the great Don Richardson, and presumably must contain some of his secrets. Ella had assumed that Don must have deleted every file in it, and that was the reason his password, angel, didn't work.

It was packed with her things in storage at the annex on Tara Road. She hadn't thought about it in weeks. She wouldn't think about it now, she was working too hard. And also because she did not want to believe that it had not been left there purposely, and that he would not be coming back for it himself.

“God, Ella, you look dreadful,” Nick said when they met down by the Liffey for coffee.

“Thanks, Nick, and I always think you look very handsome too,” she said.

“No, you look as if you've been on a ten-day binge. You've got huge dark circles under your eyes.”

“Yes, Nick. Sorry, Nick. Now, tell me, is there any good news on the search for investors?”

“There's other news first . . . Sandy and I are going to get married,” he said sheepishly.

She flung her arms around him. “I'm so pleased. You'll be very happy, both of you.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you're such friends. That's a huge start.”

“Weren't you and Don friends?”

“No, as it happened, it didn't seem to matter at the time, but looking back on it, of course that was the huge gap in it all.”

“What are you going to do about his bloody computer?”

“I gave it back,” she said, looking straight at him.

“No, you didn't, Ella.”

“Why should I keep it?”

He looked at her. “I know you, for heaven's sake. You didn't give it back.”

“I don't have it.” She looked mutinous.

“You
do,
Ella. You're talking to me, your friend. I know you have it and you must give it to the Fraud Squad as quick as possible and don't have these goons coming after you. Give it in, be done with it, I beg you.” His face was troubled.

“There's nothing in it anyway.”

“So what's the problem, then?”

“It's not something you
do,
informing, sneaking, getting people into trouble.”

Nick looked at her in disbelief. “Listen to yourself speak for a moment. What has
he
done, Ella. Just think for a moment. Just because you loved him doesn't make you remotely his sort of person. We're just not that kind of people who do everything under the table and run like rats when it all goes up in flames.”

“Okay, Nick, don't go on.”

“I have to go on. You seem to have lost your marbles on this one, Ella. You did
not
give it back. If you had, he wouldn't be looking for it all over the place.”

“There's nothing on it.”

“There must be
some
information in there. Why do you think he's set Mike Martin on to you? Saying give us a number to phone. Or else.”

“He didn't say ‘or else,' did he?”

“No, but it was in Martin's tone.”

“What do you think I should do, Nick?”

“If you won't give it to the police, then go away,” he said.

“I
can't
go away. You know that. This isn't the time for a holiday. My head would explode.”

“It wouldn't be a holiday. It would be work, paid work.”

“Where?”

“New York City! We've had more good news. The King Foundation says we've got to the next level. We're on the shortlist.”

“Nick, that's great. Why didn't you tell me?”

“There were bigger things to talk about. But this
is
great, and one of us has to go, so it's perfect timing. Go on, Ella. It would solve everything.”

“I can't leave all my jobs.”

“We've asked round. They'll all let you go. Tom and Cathy, Quentins, Colm's and Deirdre's laboratory. The only parties having any problems with this are Maud and Simon, who have learned whatever it is you asked them to and fear they might have forgotten it when you come back.”

“You asked them without telling me . . . you dared to do this on my behalf?” Ella was incensed.

“We had to prove to you that you could go before we bought the ticket.”

“Ticket?” she said.

“Yes, yes. You need a plane ticket to get to New York. Go, Ella.”

“Make the call,” she said suddenly. “I'll go out and look at the river.”

“I'll tell him you are away and it will be true,” Nick said.

Mike Martin answered the phone.

“I went to find her,” Nick said slowly.

“And?”

“And she's not here, apparently.”

“Not here? What does that mean?”

“What it says. She's gone away. No one knew where.”

“Who did you ask?”

“Her various employers. You can check with them.”

“She'd be wise not to play around with Don.”

“Oh, I'm sure she knows that now, but at the time she probably thought it was a good idea and that he meant what he said and that sort of thing.”

“You're a smart-ass, aren't you, Nick.”

“No, I'm relatively simple, but I was pleased that Ella
is
away, as it happens, and hope that she's strong enough to face you all.” He hung up, shaking.

Ella came back from the river.

“They believe you've gone, Ella, so now let me brief you properly on Derry King.”

“On
what
?”

“A very rich guy indeed. Has set up a foundation to help artists and filmmakers. More strong black coffee. All the hopes and the entire current assets of Firefly Films are going into this trip.”

“You can't do it, Nick.” Ella was alarmed.

“We have to. It's our only hope.”

“I'm fragile. You said yourself I look like shit.”

“You have two and a half days before you meet him. You could paint your face or something.”

Her parents were pleased with the news. “It will get you out in the real world again,” her mother said.

“Lord, I don't think staying in a Manhattan hotel and trying to get a man to invest in a tiny Irish company is exactly what you'd call the real world,” Ella said.

“It's a change,” her father said.

“There's one thing I have to tell you. Otherwise, I can't go. You know that man, Mike Martin? He's often on television.”

“I know him,” her father said.

“Well, he's a friend of Don's, apparently, and Don is looking for a laptop machine he left in my flat. So Mike Martin might just possibly come and ask you about it. Suppose he does come and inquire. Can I ask you to say you have no idea where I am but you know I took a laptop with me? I hate the lies, more lies, but it's nearly true. I
am
taking it with me and you won't know where I am every hour of the day.” She looked from one to the other pleadingly.

“That's fine. We'll say it just like that,” her mother said.

“You never tell us your movements, that's what we'll say,” her father agreed.

“And you won't let them browbeat you or anything?” She was looking at them fondly.

“Browbeat . . . what a marvelous word. I wonder what it means.” Her father was smiling a less papery smile than he had some months back.

“Let's look it up, Dad.” She went for the dictionary. It wasn't all that helpful. It means to bear down on someone sternly, to bully them.

“We knew that already,” he said.

“It's from Old English, ‘bru,' ” Ella read.

“A lot of help that is,” her mother laughed.

They were much more like a happy family out there in the shed than they had ever been before.

Ella called in briefly to the twins at Muttie and Lizzie's house.

“Hallo, Ella. We heard you weren't coming. We were just talking about you.” Simon sounded pleased.

“You were?” Ella was apprehensive.

“The man who rang and said you're not coming for two weeks, was that the bastard?”

“No, no, it wasn't at all. It was Nick, a very nice man.”

“Is he part of your future?”

“No, Simon, he's not, as it happens.” Ella had a nearly irresistible urge to say that Nick was part of her distant past, the first man she had slept with, in fact. But not with those two, never wise to let them have any real information at all.

“I'll tell Maud, she's making fudge in the kitchen.”

“Simon, I'll be posting a letter in the mail to you. We were meant to be doing some geometry this week . . .”

“But we don't have to work if you're not here, surely?”

“You don't
have
to, but wouldn't it be nice if when I got back you had both studied this nice, easy explanation that I've written out for you about circles.”