She paused dramatically and then proposed a toast. ‘You two are not to have a fight,’ she announced, ‘I won’t allow it. Especially over something as foolish as a man.’
By this stage, both Freda and Lane were laughing.
‘You’re such a stirrer, Eva, there’s no row,’ Freda said.
‘I’d never fight with Freda,’ Lane promised.
‘Great, that’s sorted, then.’
Lane and Freda looked at each other helplessly.
‘My aunt, the drama queen!’ Freda said.
‘Whatever made her think that we were going to have a row?’ Lane asked.
‘My saying I love Mark Malone, you saying he is a shit . . . that might have given her food for thought.’
‘I’ll never say anything like that about him again. I just thought you would have wanted to be there for Joe and his talk. But as it happens, it has worked out – he has asked me out on a date, so I forgive you,’ Lane said.
Freda leaned over and patted her on the wrist. And then, right in the middle of the meal, Freda was called to the phone. The waiter led her to a little desk which had the reservations book and handed her the phone.
‘Hallo?’ Freda had no idea who knew she was here.
‘Ciao, bella,’ the voice on the phone said.
‘Mark!’
‘Just wanted you to know I miss you, and it is quite ridiculous that I am at one boring dinner and you are at another when we could be together.’
‘Mine’s not a boring dinner, I told you – it’s friends,’ she said. ‘And anyway, you’re back tomorrow, aren’t you?’
‘No, sadly not. I have to stay on here. More meetings. It won’t take much longer; I’ll get away as early as I can.’
The smile vanished from her face. ‘Oh no, but I’ve booked to have some time off!’
‘Well, I won’t make so many arrangements in future. Is that OK? Would you like me to cancel my business meetings?’ He sounded angry.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything.’ Freda was confused.
There was a pause.
‘All right,’ he said eventually. ‘I’m sorry, I’m under a lot of pressure here. We’ll speak tomorrow. I’ll know more then.’
‘Tomorrow, then,’ she agreed, shaken. And then as a thought just struck her, she asked, ‘Mark, why didn’t you call me on my mobile?’
‘I didn’t bring mine with me so I don’t have the number,’ he said smoothly. ‘I remember you said Ennio’s, so I looked it up in the book.’
‘Tomorrow, then,’ she said.
Back at the table, Lane asked her, ‘Was that him?’
Freda smiled. ‘It was, as it happens.’
‘Why didn’t he ring you on your mobile? Was he checking up to see if you were really where you’d said you’d be?’
Eva looked up sharply.
Lane’s tone had been light, but Freda found herself feeling very tense. After all, she had asked Mark the very same question herself. But she would admit none of this to Lane.
‘Oh, definitely, that’s it, a martyr to jealousy he is,’ she said with a very insincere little laugh.
‘What’s worrying you?’ Eva asked.
‘Nothing,’ Freda said. ‘He’s just having to stay on in London.’
For the very first time since she had gone to work there, Freda didn’t want to go in to the library. There were too many calls on her time. Lane still didn’t understand Mark; even Eva had lost patience. They just didn’t understand. Miss Duffy was being so demanding about categories. ‘A misfiled book is a lost book,’ was her great mantra.
There was that bossy woman who had complained that some book was sheer pornography and that she had mistakenly recommended it to her book club up in Chestnut Court. Someone else had thrown a tantrum about the lack of Zane Grey books. She needed to find Joe Duggan, and apologise again for not being at the library for his talks.
And she could deal with it all if she didn’t feel so uneasy after their conversation the night before. She had dreamed about the blonde again, and now she was sure Mark was married. But she didn’t care. He loved Freda. He told her so many times.
She straightened her shoulders and walked slowly up the steps that normally she took two at a time when she went into work.
A few days later, Eva invited Lane to come for lunch with her.
‘There’s a report of a great flock of Common Scoters over the other side of Howth, and there might be some rare ones among them.’
‘Uncommon Scoters?’ Lane suggested.
‘Well, Velvet Scoters, they’re called actually.’
‘Velvet? Sounds good.’
‘They’re sea ducks, the males are all jet black with yellow bills, the females have white necks and dull grey bills. Winter visitors. Come with me in the car and we’ll have a sandwich in a pub out that way,’ Eva suggested.
‘And what will I wear?’
‘Nothing too bright that would alarm them. Don’t know what the weather’s doing but, you know, lots of waterproof anoraks and scarves and sweaters and maybe a backpack or lots of pockets.’
It was the best offer Lane had had. Freda was like a weasel, with Mark making plans and then cancelling them at the last moment; when he wasn’t around, she just sat staring at her phone waiting for him to ring. Lane said she’d love the drive.
As they left the main roads behind and headed towards the sea, Eva pointed out the migrating birds newly arrived: flocks of white-fronted geese as well as the ducks, swans and wading birds that came down from the Arctic. Now they would have plenty of things to see.
Eva concentrated hard on the busy traffic.
‘Will we go somewhere there’s easy parking?’ she suggested, and that was why they chose the dark wine bar near the sea.
Which was where they saw Mark Malone, who was meant to be in England at a conference.
He was sitting at a table over by the window. Opposite him was a blonde woman in jeans and a thick Aran sweater. Between them was a little girl. She looked very young and very happy. They were the perfect happy family, as if there was nobody but the three of them in the place.
Mark and the woman were feeding each other forkfuls of pasta and then laughing after each mouthful. The little girl was laughing at them gleefully. The three of them shared such affection and closeness, there was no doubt that they all belonged together.
Eva and Lane looked at them, stunned.
They were unable to back out of the restaurant before being seen. As Mark looked up and caught sight of them, his face froze into an angry mask.
Eva and Lane looked at each other and at exactly the same moment they both said, ‘The bastard!’ Then without another word they walked out, got into Eva’s car and began to drive back to the city.
As they drove off, Lane asked, ‘Do birds do that, you know, cheat all round them?’
‘It’s complicated.’
‘I bet it is.’
‘Do we say anything?’ Eva wondered aloud.
‘Of course we do. The question is, to which of them? To Freda or to Mark?’
‘If we hadn’t gone in there . . .’ Eva began.
‘That’s no use – we did go in. And we saw him. She can’t be made a fool of like this.’
‘But it would humiliate her if we said—’ Eva was protective.
‘Well, it would humiliate her more if we didn’t say,’ Lane countered angrily.
‘We don’t actually know . . .’
‘Of course we know. That wasn’t his office colleague or his sister. That child was his. Let me tell you that if you saw my lover with his wife and daughter, I’d say you were a poor friend not to tell me.’
‘You say that now, but you might think differently if it really was the case.’
‘Well, I’m glad we cleared that up, anyway, because I would most definitely want to be told. That puts the ball back in my court, gives me the right to make a decision.’
‘But we can’t tell her, Lane. Come on, think about it.’
‘It’s important enough for him to lie about it, tell her that he’s in London, and be holed up in a wine bar where he’s not going to meet anyone.’
‘Or so he thought,’ Eva said. ‘Don’t tell her, Lane, it would destroy her.’
‘She should be told. Let her take him back if she wants to, but she has the right to know.’
‘Leave it, just for a bit, anyway.’
In the end, neither of them had to tell Freda. Mark got there first.
It was the night of the reception at Holly’s. She hadn’t heard from Mark all day but she knew he was busy. She hoped she would be a credit to him tonight. Eva’s black jacket looked very well on her; she would wear a scarlet silk skirt and her good black and red shoes. She knew Mark would have to circulate and that she would have to manage on her own, but later they would be together.
The reception was in full swing when Freda arrived at the hotel. There was a buzz of conversation, and trays of elegant canapés were being passed around.
She slipped in without acknowledging Mark. He was at the centre of a laughing group near the window. Freda moved to the other side of the room and watched him talking. He was animated and able to include everyone around him in whatever it was that they were talking about. His easy smile rested on one person and then the next. And then he moved on seamlessly to another group.
She must not stand here like part of the furniture, looking at him. She was an invited guest.
She recognised a few faces. A man who ran a TV chat show, a woman columnist, a well-known television reporter. He had certainly the kind of people he needed. He would be in good form later on.
She chatted easily to people around her, and drank little from her glass so that it could not be topped up. She met a man who was in charge of IT for a large company. He agreed with Freda that there was an almighty waste with technology being updated every week and systems becoming obsolete in a year or two. Freda wondered what they did with their old equipment, and made a very strong case for him to consider Finn Road Library. She explained about the computer classes, and he seemed very interested. Then she saw Mark looking across at her oddly and hastily changed the subject to the splendours of the hotel. It was such a jewel of a place, and everyone felt that it was their own little secret.
‘That’s why it would be insanity to change it,’ the man said.
‘But to make sure it survives, to get a steady flow of visitors . . .?’ she was repeating Mark’s words now.
‘There are dozens of hotels with big conference facilities, spas, entertainment for the busloads. Holly’s is different; it should stay different,’ he said.
‘And what if it gets squeezed out, if it just gets crushed by all the others because it was afraid to expand?’
‘You’ve bought the line,’ the man said. ‘You’re well indoctrinated already, you don’t even need to stay for the speeches.’
‘I’m not sure I know what you mean.’