“Not with weather like this. It's all I can do to drag myself across the room. It feels like the whole world is melting,” he said.
“You're right aboutthat, but it's September tomorrow. This kind of weather can't last forever, can it?” I looked around. The place was awfully quiet. “Where are the children?”
“Out with my boys, swimming in the East River, I expect,” Nuala said, standing, hands on her hips, in the doorway behind him. “That's what they do when it's too hot to stay indoors.”
“I hope Bridie's not thinking of swimming in that filthy river,” I said. “You should forbid her, Seamus.”
“Oh let the little body have her fun,” Nuala said. “All the children do it.”
Seamus half nodded agreement, so there was nothing for me to say. I left them, tempted to go and check on Bridie myself, but returned to Patchin Place feeling strangely discontented. I had been glad to hand over my responsibility for the children, but now I was finding that it wasn't easy to let them go.
Then that night, all worries about Seamus's little family were put from my mind. I had delivered Ryan's summons to witness his triumphal return to society at O'Connor's saloon. By eight o'clock all his friends were dutifully assembled when the door of the tavern was flung open. Ryan's style of dress was always more flamboyant than was usually seen on the streets of New York, but tonight he had surpassed himself. He wore a black opera cape lined with scarlet satin, top hat, purple silk cravat at his neck with a large diamond in a stick pin, and he carried a silver-tipped cane. He stood in the doorway waiting for the full effect to be realized upon his admirers.
“My children, I have arisen,” he said, holding out his arms. “I am here to report a great victory. The task is ended. The play is finished. The battle is won. Ryan O'Hare has triumphed.”
He beamed at the expected applause.
“And now, George, my good man, a bottle or two of your best French champagne, if you please. I wish to celebrate with my friends.”
“Not wishing to be rude, Mr. O'Hare,” George said, “but you will be paying cash for this tonight, won't you? Champagne's an awful big item to add to your bar tab.”
“My dear, sweet George.” Ryan went over and put an arm around the bartender's shoulders. “How long have I been coming here? And have I ever failed to make good on my debts?”
“Well, I suppose, in the end, after a few proddings …” George had to admit.
“Then trust me, my dear man. Next week I take the new play out of town for some preview performances before it returns in triumph to open in New York. It is, without doubt, the most brilliant tiding I have ever written. So in a few weeks I shall be able to buy not only French champagne, but a large ocean liner equipped to go over to France to replenish supplies.”
George laughed uneasily, but went to the cellar to produce the champagne. Ryan came to sit at our table.
“Ah, the divine Molly.” He took my hand and brought it to his lips. “You may be the first to give me the congratulatory kiss.”
“I haven't seen the play yet,” I replied, “so how am I to know what it's worth?”
That produced chuckles and comments.
Ryan put his hand to his breast. “My dear Molly, I am mortally wounded. You mean to say you believe me capable of writing anything other than sheer brilliance?”
I didn't want to admit that I hadn't seen any of his plays. “Of course not,” I said, and kissed his cheek. “And I congratulate you on your fortitude at working so hard to finish it.”
“If you need convincing,” he said, “then come to a rehearsal tomorrow. Daley Theater—my grandfather's name. I hope that's not a bad omen. I couldn't stand my grandfather—we'll be rehearsing all afternoon and evening. My long-suffering cast has been furnished with the pages of the last act as I wrote them and they have had to wait with bated breath to see if Cameron goes to jail or Fifi dies.”
The champagne arrived. George opened the first bottle with a satisfying pop and started pouring the bubbly liquid into tall, thin glasses. I had never tasted champagne before, although I'd read about it enough. It was as good as I'd imagined it would be. The bubbles tingled and went up my nose, but the wine slipped down easily enough. After my second glass I was feeling relaxed and pleased with myself. Ryan was still sitting beside me. I was at the center of the bright, witty group. This is how I had always pictured life should be.
More people arrived. The party became noisier as more champagne was ordered and produced. Then the solemn Russian, Vlad, came to stand behind us.
“By the way, Ryan, Emma has been asking after you,” he said.
Ryan spun around. “Emma? She's in town? Why didn't somebody tell me?”
“You had locked yourself away in your room with strict instructions not to be disturbed, remember?” Lennie said.