True Colours Read online

  ‘Actually she’s his daughter.’

  ‘Whose daughter?’ Caroline spun around, her cigarette arm held wide of the doorway.

  ‘Tom Ryan’s, the gamekeeper.’

  Caroline paused, the shadow of a scowl creeping across her pretty face. Realising, she hurriedly reeled it back in, her voice a potent blend of incredulity and innocence.

  ‘I thought she was doing the interiors?’

  ‘She is, but she’s his daughter. She went to study in Spain years ago, runs an interior design company in Barcelona now.’

  ‘Why Spain?’

  Sebastian looked at her aghast, what had Spain got to do with anything? ‘I don’t know, her mother was Spanish.’

  ‘She doesn’t look Spanish – she’s got blonde hair.’

  What had got into her? She was the one sounding put out now, like it was his fault he hadn’t told her.

  Sebastian tried hard not to sound tetchy, instead ended up sounding like he was speaking to a child, ‘Some Spanish people do have blonde hair you know, and her father’s Irish.’ Why was he explaining himself? ‘Look at Cormac, he’s got bright red hair and he’s half-French.’

  ‘I still don’t get it. Why’s she doing the interiors for your offices if she’s staff? Why aren’t you getting a proper company?’

  ‘Alex isn’t staff now, she runs a very successful interior design firm in Barcelona, Joss found her – they’re doing the Spanish Cultural Institute.’

  ‘Joss?’ In Caroline’s mind that explained a lot. A whole lot. That woman hadn’t liked her from the first moment they’d met. ‘But you knew her before? Before she came to do the decorating?’

  Sebastian looked at Caroline – she was like a dog with a bone, worrying at it. He nodded, ‘A long time ago, yes…a long time ago.’ He sounded vague, weary.

  Vague or secretive? Caroline watched him closely, her eyes hard. It was one thing for her to be having a dalliance, a liaison dangereuse, quite ANOTHER for him to be focused on anyone else but her...Sebastian was at the fireplace now, resting his elbow on it, fiddling with a tiny whimsical model of an Elizabethan house, all black beams and white walls, its red tiled roof sinking in the middle, some sort of wheel attached to its side. Caroline watched him, her eyes narrowed. She had been getting a feeling ever since she had met Alex Ryan that she thought herself somehow superior, that she knew something Caroline didn’t; maybe this was it…

  ‘So exactly how well did you know her?’

  ‘What? Good God we were friends when she lived here. I was in my first year at Uni – it was years ago.’

  ‘Hmm.’ The sound was loaded with significance, innuendo, disapproval.

  ‘What?’ Sebastian demanded, tearing himself away from the house ornament and looking at her.

  ‘Oh nothing, I just thought she was looking at you a bit strangely. I did wonder about it at the time.’

  ‘What do you mean strangely?’ Sebastian couldn’t keep the irritation, the frustration out of his voice.

  ‘You must know what I mean. You’re a very attractive chap Sebastian Wingfield. But I suppose I’m going to have to get used to the odd admirer.’ Rolling her eyes, Caroline took a drag on her cigarette, blowing the smoke out of the corner of her mouth like a steam engine.

  ‘Admirer? Alex?’

  ‘Didn’t you notice?’ Caroline’s tone was deceptively innocent. ‘It’s not like she wanted to throw her knickers at you, but I just got a feeling. Call me possessive, but that’s what it was, a feeling.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous. She left sixteen years ago and I haven’t heard a word from her since then.’ Sebastian was about to say ask Cormac, but rapidly thought better of it. Cormac’s principal memory of Alex Ryan would be of him mooning about like a lovesick puppy, his heart broken – for how long? Years. Better not to go there. ‘You must be imagining it.’

  TWENTY FOUR

  ‘You just wouldn’t have believed it Tiff, can you imagine, him getting mad with me over the bloody gamekeeper. He was the one who shot him...’ Caroline paced the spacious living room of her apartment, a shaft of evening sunlight cutting through the huge windows illuminating a fine layer of dust dancing above the Mongolian lambs wool rug. Her BlackBerry clamped to her ear, a cigarette in her free hand, Caroline continued, ‘and it’s my BIRTHDAY tomorrow. Can you believe it?’

  Before Tiffany had a chance to reply, the main phone began to ring.

  ‘Damn that’s the landline. I’ll Tweet you later.’ Caroline clicked off her BlackBerry and strode across the thick sour cream coloured rug, bending to stab out her cigarette in a pewter ashtray on the coffee table on the way. She picked up the receiver. She really wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone right now.

  But it wasn’t anyone. It was the Four Seasons Hotel reception desk.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Miss Aud...’ the receptionist stopped, stumbling over the pronunciation of her name.

  ‘Yes.’

  Obviously relieved to be speaking to the right person, the receptionist continued, ‘Some flowers are arriving for you madam,’

  Are arriving? Caroline couldn’t identify the girl’s accent but she wasn’t impressed with her grasp of English. She was new, had to be. And wouldn’t be lasting long if Caroline had anything to do with it.

  ‘Can I send the bellboy with them?’

  ‘Please do.’

  Without waiting for the receptionist to respond, Caroline put the phone down. Flowers. Now that had improved her day. Her curiosity piqued, Caroline hovered for a moment, then unable to resist, slipped across the Italian marble tiled hallway and out of the front door. If she was lucky she might catch a glimpse of the delivery van from the window.

  Rushing to the end of the carpeted landing that overlooked the front of the hotel, Caroline spotted it at once – she couldn’t quite read the logo from here, but the van was a very distinctive colour, fuchsia pink, white and imperial purple. Very distinctive. And Mad Flowers was one of the most exclusive florists in Dublin.

  Sebastian must have seen sense. Flowers were the very least he could come up with after speaking to her like that yesterday. She was still smarting from his words. How dare he talk to her like that? How was she to know the bloody staff at Kilfenora were all related?

  Below her, outside in the courtyard, Caroline could see that the uniformed doorman had followed the delivery man to collect whatever was in the back of the van. What had Sebastian sent? Her curiosity growing, Caroline craned to get a better look. The two men conferred for a moment beside the open rear doors, then, as she watched, the delivery man leaned inside, wrestling out a huge bouquet.

  Wow! It was enormous, long elegant grasses sprang from an arrangement of at least fifty shell pink roses, the tips of the petals blushing into extravagant frills. The delivery man struggled with it for a moment, passed it to the doorman, then leaned back inside and heaved out another one. Cream roses this time. The doorman hesitated for a moment, looking from one bouquet to another, then turned and disappeared from view into the lobby.

  Caroline couldn’t resist a grin. Now these were what she called flowers. A moment later the doorman reappeared to collect the second bouquet. And the deliveryman leaned for a third – dark pink this time, the buds in the centre tight, the flowers around the edges of the arrangement blowsy and open.

  Beautiful. Delighted, Caroline felt tempted to go down and collect them herself, but no, she’d wait; the bellboy would bring them up. Should she ring Sebastian now and thank him? She pulled her BlackBerry from the back pocket of her jeans, her thumb hovering over the speed dial, but she paused. No she’d let him stew a little longer. Instead, she clicked into Twitter. Just wait until Tiff heard about this...Caroline didn’t bother reading any of the messages in her stream, quickly typed in one to Tiffany, her nails clicking on the keys:

  @5thAve He remembered! All may be forgiven ;)

  As she hit send, she heard the lift from the hotel begin to whir behind her and she scampered back to her front door. A
moment later the bellboy emerged with a laden trolley, the brass polished to within an inch of its life. Caroline stood in the open front door, trying not to look too pleased.

  ‘Here we are madam, your flowers.’

  ‘Thank you Eoin, could you bring them in? Aren’t they lovely...’ she didn’t expect an answer but the bellboy grinned as he walked inside and put the first bouquet down on the plate glass coffee table, ‘My mum loves roses madam, she’ll be as green as grass when I tell her about this lot.’

  Caroline couldn’t resist a smile The flowers were FABULOUS, every single one a specimen. The scent was heavenly, filling the room before the second arrangement had even arrived. Hand-tied with raffia, each bouquet was wrapped in masses of crinkly pink tissue-paper and cellophane, the stems sitting in a great big balloon of water. The bellboy slipped the second bouquet onto the table and retraced his steps to collect the third from his trolley in the hall. As soon as he’d put it down, desperate to read the card, Caroline hooshed him to the door, closing it abruptly behind him. Striding back to the coffee table, Caroline flipped her phone onto Twitter, tapping rapidly:

  @5thAve You won’t believe what’s arrived!!!!!!!

  Before Tiffany could reply, a message popped into her timeline from @moonwalker.

  @onlychampers Something nice?

  Honestly, sometimes Caroline felt like he was stalking her; he seemed to appear whenever she did. She dashed off a quick answer: @moonwalker Something UTTERLY fabulous!

  Not stopping to see if there was a reply, back at the coffee table Caroline breathed in the heady scent of the flowers and bent down to pull off the pale pink envelope sellotaped to the outside of the dark pink bouquet. Slipping her nail under the flap, she slid out a card, a black and white photograph of a doe-eyed puppy. Cute. But what was written inside made her stop dead.

  Have to go back to NY, short notice. Not sure when I’m back. Be in touch. P

  Peter? Completely confused for a moment Caroline looked at the flowers in disbelief. They weren’t an apology OR a birthday gift from Sebastian at all, they were from Peter.

  And he’d gone.

  Was this a way of letting her down gently? Be in touch. What did the hell did that mean? It sounded like thanks but no thanks. Be in touch? Why hadn’t he called? Jesus, this kind of thing just didn’t happen to her. Caroline could feel the tears pricking her eyes, disappointment and shock knotting in a tight ball in her stomach, ricocheting around until she felt quite sick. Was a couple of hundred roses some sort of payoff? It had been a fling, a bit of fun, but it had been great. How could he? How could he just leave and dump her like she was a common tart?

  TWENTY FIVE

  Alex had no problem finding a place to park outside St Vincent’s Hospital this time. Spaces gaped like missing teeth in the enormous car park. But then she was early for visiting. Very early. She had headed straight here from Kilfenora hardly noticing the flat countryside unfolding on either side of her steadily merging with warehouses and office blocks which sprang up like an industrial forest on either side of the motorway, Dublin looming ahead of her.

  It had started to rain on the way up, clouds gathering like women on a street corner, the promise of gossip knotting them tightly over the city, their skirts every shade of grey until one arrived in mourning, blocking out the sun, her tears triggering Alex’s windscreen wipers, mirroring her own.

  How had she not realised? How had she not seen that her dad’s injuries had to have been caused by something more serious than a car accident? He’d been in hospital for weeks…the doctor’s words suddenly came back to her – shrapnel. How could she have been so stupid? If she’d thought about it for two minutes she would have realised it was a shooting accident. He used guns every day –they all knew the dangers. And obviously that was why he had been so vague, must have warned the doctors and nurses not to say anything to her; he would have been perfectly open about a car accident – nothing to hide there. A thought suddenly hit her – had Sebastian told him to keep quiet? Had Sebastian bought her father’s silence with empty promises that he’d look after him? And Sebastian must have known that she would come home to visit, would hardly stay away when her father was seriously ill…

  Taking a deep breath, trying to still the emotions swirling around inside her, Alex fished for a tissue in the glove compartment, dabbing her eyes, checking her makeup in the rear-view mirror, wiping away the smudges of mascara that threatened to make her look like a clown. A pathetic shadow of a clown. A wave of exhaustion washed over, weighing her down, pushing her to the edge of her ability to cope rationally and sensibly. God what a mess. How had all this happened?

  ‘Hi Dad.’

  Tom Ryan’s eyes jerked open to see his daughter standing beside his bed in a bright red jacket, looking like she was about to go to war for Napoleon, her lips pursed, brow creased in a frown. It didn’t take a genius to see that something was up – he could almost feel the air around her tingling, like all the ions were reacting to an enormous positive charge.

  ‘Hello love.’ Acting innocent, like it was perfectly normal that she should turn up at lunchtime, he flashed her a wary smile. ‘Get the morning off?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘Oh.’

  The pause was awkward, heavy. Laden with expectation. Bursting with secrets.

  ‘So.’ Alex wrinkled her nose like a baby rabbit and, with a sinking feeling, Tom Ryan knew exactly what was coming next. She’d always done that when she was a child, when she had something on her mind, when something was bothering her – like the time, long before they’d even heard of Kilfenora, when she’d wandered out into the yard of their city centre terrace, her hands thrust in her jeans pockets. He’d been splitting logs, stacking the wood between the bare block wall and the dog’s kennels, the autumn air chill and damp, his breath rising like a mist as he worked. He hadn’t heard her come up behind him, had no idea how long she’d been standing there wrinkling her nose until she’d spoken, her voice strained with the realisation of the truth, ‘Dad, Mum’s really sick isn’t she?’

  ‘So.’ Slipping her briefcase onto the bed, the red leather like a blood stain on the smooth, crisp white cotton of the sheet, Alex cast around for a chair and spotting one pulled it over, sitting down with a sigh. She pulled her hair off her face before she spoke, holding it there for a moment, pulling at the roots, her eyes clouded with thoughts.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me Dad?’

  ‘Tell you what love?’ Tom put his hand out to cover hers, patting it like a small dog. Despite being ill, despite the weight he had lost, deceptively hidden by the folds of the smart navy dressing gown with silk lapels that Alex had given him for Christmas, his hand was still huge, broad and square like a spade, his fingers strong, calloused. She linked her fingers through his, sighing again, feeling the tears prick the back of her eyes, ready to fall.

  ‘About the accident Dad, about what really happened.’

  It was Tom’s turn to wrinkle his nose, the silence like a gorge, the river of truth rushing between them carving its path deep into the bedrock. He rubbed the back of her hand with his fingers, searching for the right words. What could he say? Eventually, he shrugged his shoulders, or tried to, the bandage around his upper body restricting his movement. The force of the impact had thrown him backwards, dislocating his shoulder, a rock adding a deep flesh wound to his catalogue of injuries.

  ‘Would it have made any difference? What’s done’s done.’

  Alex’s voice almost cracked with emotion, ‘How can you say that? You were shot Dad, you could have been killed.’

  ‘But I wasn’t love, I’m grand.’

  She interrupted him, ‘Grand? You’ve been maimed for life Dad; you’re never going to be able to walk properly again.’

  Tom Ryan held up his hand, stopping her, ‘I’ll be fine love, I’m still here and that’s what counts. It was an accident, these things happen.’

  He was so calm, so stoic, Alex could feel her blood rising. T
he plan had been to keep her cool, but somehow she’d known that wasn’t going to be an achievable objective. As she spoke, Alex could already feel all the shock and fear of finding out what had happened rolling up inside her into one huge molten ball of anger.

  ‘It’s not like you crashed the car Dad, this was an avoidable accident. How the hell did it happen? No one goes out shooting on that estate without telling you, without you making sure there’s no one working in the area. What the hell went wrong this time?’ Alex’s temper made her attack practical, logical – hard to defend.

  Tom tried to shrug again, ‘Sebastian couldn’t get hold of me, I was out checking for traps.’

  Alex still wasn’t getting it, shook her head in disbelief, ‘But why didn’t he ring you the night before, or contact the office before you went out? You don’t just suddenly decide to cull a few hinds on the spur of the moment; he must have discussed it with you.’ Her father pursed his lips. She could tell he didn’t want to talk about it, but sometimes there was no choice. ‘Tell me Dad, I need to know exactly how this happened.’

  For a moment Tom looked around the ward, at the other seven beds, all occupied, two with their curtains still drawn. Visitors were beginning to trickle in, the search for chairs beginning, the ‘how are yous’, the ‘brought you this to reads’. Fluorescent tubes were pinging into life as the sky darkened outside, the scent of cabbage drifting from somewhere deep in the bowels of the building. He didn’t want to be here.

  ‘All right. Sebastian came down for the weekend, the weather was great, cold and clear and he decided to take the Monday off. We’d talked about the hinds on the Friday, and it was the last day of the season – the job needed to be done. He thought I’d be up at the lake, tried the radio but my battery was out of juice. It just – look it just happened.’

  Tom wasn’t telling her everything and they both knew it. Alex shook her head.

  ‘There is no way Sebastian would go out on his own, without you or one of the lads. And there is no way he wouldn’t tell you.’