Chapter Nine

The day after Frank’s funeral, Dervla swung by Río’s house to drive them both to the Villa Felicity. Adair Bolger had invited them for cocktails to mark the start of a new year, and Dervla was dying to see what the interior was like.

Making the decision to gift a third of Frank’s house to Río had not been a difficult one. Since the rift with her sister all those years ago, Dervla had had a recurring dream that she was living in Coral Cottage, and that Río had come to visit her, barefoot, with a baby in her arms. In the dream, Río asked Dervla if she could come in and shelter because there was a storm on the way. Dervla had said ‘no’ and then she had watched as Río made her way down the overgrown path of the garden and crossed the orchard where the fruit lay rotting on the ground. She heard the rusty creak of the old five-bar gate as Río passed through, and the crunch of her feet on the shingle as she started walking towards the sea. The dream always ended with Dervla calling, ‘Come back, Río!’, but Río just carried on walking because Dervla’s voice had been snatched by the wind that had started to blow from the west. After these dreams, Dervla always woke up in a cold sweat, with the vision of her sister disappearing beneath the waves imprinted on her mind’s eye.

Dervla hoped that by presenting Río with a home of her own, the nightmares might stop, and with them the feelings of guilt that she’d harboured for so many years. Guilt that she’d overreacted to the stupid Shane thing, guilt that she hadn’t been there for Río when she was struggling to rear her baby, guilt that–being resident in Lissamore–Río had effectively borne the burden of caring for Frank. And now her guilt was compounded by the fact that Río had spent all those years caring for a man who was not even a blood relation. She also hoped that now that her sister was back in her life, they could be friends again. Frank may have been an irresponsible and neglectful father, but he’d still been family. Now Río was the only family that Dervla had left.

Dervla parped the car horn lightly outside Río’s house and her sister came to the door wearing her usual hippy-dippy gear.

‘Honestly, Río! Couldn’t you have made a bit more of an effort? We’re not going to Glastonbury.’

‘I don’t have anything smart to wear.’

‘Don’t you have a suit or something for when you’re driving?’

‘Yes. But I’m not putting on a suit to impress Adair Bolger. It’s a horrible cheap old thing, anyway, and I hate wearing synthetic fibre.’

Dervla sighed. ‘All right, then. Hop in.’

‘You’re not taking the car, are you? It’s hardly any distance. Let’s walk.’

‘In these shoes?’ Dervla raised an eyebrow and indicated her cream leather kitten-heeled mules. ‘I don’t think so.’

She started the ignition, and the car set off down the main street of the village, past the pub and the post office and the general store, past the fishermen’s cottages and the holiday lets and the marina, past a millionaire’s mansion and the old Protestant churchyard, past B & Bs and a five-star hotel and spa that was under construction. They passed Fleurissima, where the all-white window display had remained unchanged since the close of season, and the seafood restaurant, from which wafted a glorious smell of frying garlic, and the bottle bank, which was overflowing with empties after Frank’s wake yesterday. Not far outside the village, they took the turn-off that led to the Villa Felicity, and the beach.

‘I wonder will he rename it now that they’re splitting up?’ said Río. ‘Maybe he could call it “Smugville”.’

‘I hope you’re not going to wisecrack your way through the afternoon, Río. Adair Bolger is a very useful contact. You’d be unwise to offend him.’

‘Is that the word you use to describe your friends, Dervla? “Contacts”?’

‘I don’t have many friends, Río. I’m too busy.’

‘So it’s all work and no play?’

‘Mostly.’

‘Don’t you have any social life at all?’

‘Oh, yes. I have a social life. I play golf and I work out in a gym. A very exclusive one. I attend corporate events and theatrical first nights and book launches and exhibition openings and fashion shows and golf classics and charity lunches. But that’s work too. My social life is all about networking.’

‘What do you do to relax?’

‘I read the property pages.’

It was true. Dervla lived, breathed and dreamed property. She subscribed to every property periodical going, she recorded property programmes to watch late at night, she surfed the web ceaselessly, visiting other agents’ websites to check out the competition and Googling developers to give her a handle on the market. This afternoon she’d be in a position to get some insider info from Adair Bolger, which she could use to her advantage. She was keen to find out more about what people had started to refer to as the forthcoming ‘credit crunch’. Forewarned was forearmed.

In her capacity as an auctioneer, Dervla was ruthless–a Rottweiler. Every single person she had dealings with was a potential link to another person, and that other person might be in the market for a house. And if they weren’t, they might know someone who was in the market for a house.

Dervla had asked Adair some questions yesterday, and had learned that the reason the Bolgers no longer spent much time in Lissamore was because Felicity’s dream of hosting house parties had come to nothing after the first few summers they’d taken up residence. As the traffic on bank holiday weekends became more and more unspeakable, more and more of her Dublin 4 friends declined her invitations to visit the Bolgers’ palatial summer home. In despair, Felicity had applied for planning permission for a helipad so her friends could fly to the west coast, but scandals involving property developments had rocked the country to Government level, and the new boys in Planning proved to be less compliant than their predecessors. When Felicity realised that her villa was no longer the stately pleasure dome that had been her heart’s desire, she had turned her back on it, never to return.

At the gate, Dervla got out of the car and pressed the buzzer. Knowing that she’d be on video surveillance, she affected her most pleasant expression.

‘Dervla!’ came Adair’s voice over the speaker. ‘You’re welcome! Come on in.’

The Merc glided smoothly through the big steel gates and joined Adair’s coupe under the porte-cochère that protected its gleaming paintwork from the weather. The sisters got out of the car as their host emerged onto the massive slab of polished granite that was his front step. He was wearing a Ben Sherman shirt, Levi’s, and deck shoes. He scrubbed down well, Dervla decided.

‘Come in, come in,’ he said. ‘This way!’

‘Thank you.’ Dervla passed through the atrium, looking around in awe. Even for a seasoned professional like her–having handled sales worth millions–this was impressive!

‘I feel like I’m boarding a luxury liner,’ she said.

Adair turned to her and nodded. ‘That’s exactly the impression the architect intended to convey,’ he said.

‘Wish I’d taken a seasickness tablet before I left the house,’ quipped Río under her breath, and Dervla narrowed her eyes at her.

They followed Adair into a vast living space, where a window that resembled a proscenium arch framed a priceless view. Beyond the expanse of sliding glass, a teak deck ran the length of the house. Dervla started doing mental arithmetic. To have a house like this on her books would lend her no end of prestige. She wondered if Adair was considering selling. Was that why he had invited her here this evening? To allow her an informal recce?

‘Words fail me,’ she said. ‘It’s magnificent, Adair.’

‘Words fail me too,’ said Río.

Dervla shot her sister a look to see if she was being sarky, but Río’s expression was unreadable. ‘I understand you have a pool,’ she remarked.

‘Yes.’ Adair strolled to the other side of the room, where a second sliding door opened onto a vast patio that boasted pool, hot tub, changing pagoda and barbecue area.

‘That was a feature of the original garden,’ said Adair, indicating an ancient stone sundial on the raised area by the hot tub. ‘We kept it for luck.’

‘I remember it,’ said Río. ‘It used to be by the henhouse, where your barbecue is now.’

‘There was a henhouse here once? How quaint!’

‘Yeah. I used to come here with my mother to buy eggs. I suppose the only ones I could get here now would be of the Faberge variety’

‘I’ve always liked the idea of keeping silkies,’ said Dervla, keen to change the subject.

‘What are silkies?’ asked Adair.

‘They’re a breed of chicken.’

‘I thought they were a brand of underwear,’ said Río.

Dervla chose to ignore her sister. ‘They’re little fluffy bantams–awfully sweet.’

Río gave her a disingenuous look. ‘It wouldn’t be easy, keeping poultry in your penthouse.’

‘Where’s Izzy?’ asked Dervla, by now wishing fervently that she’d left Río behind.

‘She’s on the phone to some pal in Dublin, so God knows when she’ll deign to join us. You know teenage girls and their phones, ha-ha. Her last bill floored me, it was so astronomical. Now, what can I get you to drink, ladies? Champagne, martini, G&T?’

‘Just water for me, thanks, Adair,’ said Dervla.

‘Are you sure I can’t rustle up a cocktail for you? I know it’s rather early in the day, but I’m still officially on holiday.’

‘I’m afraid I can’t join you, much as I’d like to,’ Dervla told him. ‘I’ve to drive back to Galway this evening.’

‘How about you, Río?’

‘I’d love a cocktail,’ said Río, with a minxy smile. ‘I’ll have a Slow Comfortable Screw Up Against the Wall. Mexican style, please.’

‘Urn. Coming up,’ said Adair. ‘Just–er–let me check the bar to see that I’ve got sloe gin. That is one of the key ingredients, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ said Río. ‘Hence the pun on slow, although I can’t say that I’ve ever had a screw against a wall that was even remotely comfortable.’

Once their host had disappeared on his cocktail-mixing mission, Dervla turned to Río. ‘What the hell do you think you’re at, Río?’ she hissed. ‘You may have a strong personal antipathy for the man, but please stop taking the piss.’

Río’s eyes widened. ‘I’m not taking the piss,’ she said.

‘Then what do you mean by asking for a Slow Comfortable Screw, for heaven’s sake?’

‘It just happens to be my favourite drink of all time. I’ve spent years as a bartender, remember? I know my cocktails.’

Dervla detected something prickly about Río’s demeanour today, something slightly mutinous. Maybe her sister was still sore over the fact that she’d never been able to get her mitts on Coral Cottage, never been able to achieve her dream of living by the sea and cultivating her garden there. But, as Dervla had pointed out just last week, the past was another country. It was time for them to move on; and that included jettisoning adolescent flights of fancy involving Pierce Brosnan lookalikes and Dalmatians and marmalade cats.

‘He’s got a bar,’ observed Río. ‘How naff! Did you know that Aristotle Onassis had bar-stools covered with whales’ foreskins on the—’

In her peripheral vision, Dervla saw Adair come back into the room. ‘Yes, yes–you’re right, Río,’ she interjected adroitly. ‘The pool is magnificent.’

‘What?’ said Río.

‘The pool,’ Dervla said, with emphasis, giving Río a meaningful look.

Thankfully, her sister copped on. ‘Oh. Right,’ she said. And so is the hot tub. ‘And the barbecue. It’s magnificent too.’

‘We were just remarking on how magnificent your house is,’ said Dervla, turning to Adair with a dazzling smile.

‘Oh, yes? Thank you. Feel free to have a look around while I mix the drinks. You’ll be glad to know that I do have sloe gin, Río, so I think I’ll join you in a highball. Here’s your water, Dervla.’

‘Thank you, Adair.’ Dervla accepted a tinkling Waterford glass tumbler of fizzy water and ice. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind us having a look around?’ she asked. ‘I don’t want to seem like a nosy parker.’

‘Be my guest!’ said Adair. ‘Mi casa es su casa. The stairs are that way’ He indicated the door that led to the atrium, and disappeared in the direction of what Dervla took to be the bar. Yesterday he’d mentioned a games room as well as an entertainment suite.

As they climbed the impressive staircase, Dervla’s mind segued into estate-agent speak.

An outstanding contemporary-style home with spectacular coastal views…

‘Wow! Get a load of the chandelier!’ said Río, gawping at the steel and glass confection that was suspended from the ceiling of the atrium. ‘I wonder, has there been much swinging out of that?’

Situated directly on a beach, with a 180-degree panoramic view taking in the whole of Lissamore Bay including Inishclare Island plus several miles of the Coolnamara Estuary…

Displayed upon a long windowsill was a row of starfish.

‘Have you ever seen starfish underwater?’ asked Río. ‘They’re actually hideously ugly. They look like big, misshapen fish fingers. I’m always scared they’re going to grab me.’

What was Río blathering on about? Dervla concentrated harder on her sales blurb in order to drown out her sister’s inane remarks.

The Villa Felicity—No, that would never do. Río had been right when she’d said the name ought to be changed–but not to ‘Smugville’. Something Irish would be good. How about Teach na Mara–the house by the sea? Yes. Perfect! Teach na Mara provides a unique opportunity to acquire a truly splendid contemporary-style home. With a bold design statement that compliments—No, no! She was always getting that wrong! She had to remember to spell it ‘complements’ with an ‘e’…that complements its sensitive coastal site and optimises natural light, this unique property works both visually and practically in a stunning coastal location…

‘Oh, look! A nautilus shell!’ cried Río, pointing at a delicate, whorled shell in a glass case. ‘They’re incredibly rare. I wonder how much some dealer-in-endangered-marine-life palmed for that.’

But Dervla was too engrossed in her interior monologue to comment. This two-storey building is on four split levels, she resumed, looking up before taking a mental photograph of the view of the atrium from the top of the stairs. The house has a balance between open-plan and private spaces, with the spacious ground-floor drawing room opening onto a deck that provides one of the most breathtaking vistas in the West of Ireland and… And? Framed by the enormous picture window on the landing, the sun was gilding the line of the horizon…and gives a private position to take in the beautiful sunsets out over the sea and Lissamore Bay.

‘Oh, wow!’ breathed Río. ‘Look at that seascape!’

‘Yes. Isn’t it stunning?’

‘Well, yes–but I was actually talking about the one on the wall.’

Río was gazing at a painting hanging on the plain white wall of the landing. It was a representation in oils of a stretch of beach edged with a fringe of creamy wavelets.

‘It’s a Paul Henry, isn’t it?’ asked Dervla.

‘Yeah. It must be worth thousands.’

Teach na Mara is a stroll away from the beautiful village of Lissamore, which is famous for its seafood restaurants and exclusive boutiques. There is a world championship golf links at nearby Coolnamara Castle Hotel, a marina, and a scuba-dive centre on accessible Inishclare Island. Teach na Mara is one of the finest seashore properties to come to the market in recent years.

Excellent! Now all that remained was to persuade Adair Bolger to sell.

The sisters wandered from balcony to balcony, from bedroom to bedroom, and from bathroom to bathroom.

‘Look!’ said Río. ‘The ends of the loo roll have been folded into pointy shapes, the way they are in hotels. I remember having to do that the summer I worked as a chambermaid in Coolnamara Castle. It seemed to me the most pointless thing in the world, ha-ha–pun intended.’

Río’s sense of humour really was incredibly juvenile, thought Dervla. Despite the pat denial, she suspected that her sister had been trying to wind Adair up earlier with her ‘disingenuous’ remarks about keeping poultry in a penthouse and slow comfortable screws. If Dervla had known that she was going to subject Adair to a barrage of infantile digs this afternoon, she’d have declined the invitation on her sister’s behalf yesterday.

The last bedroom they entered was the master bedroom. The guest rooms were all fit for princes and princesses; this was fit for a fairy queen.

‘Cor blimey,’ said Río. ‘It’s clearly a mistress bedroom. There’s nothing very masterful about this boudoir.’

It was an exceptionally pretty room, all white, with a spectacular view of the bay through sliding glass doors framed by yards and yards of wafty white muslin. The furnishings were French style, with white-painted armoires and a sleigh bed draped in white cotton pique. Sofa and armchairs were fitted with loose covers in the same fabric, tied with grosgrain ribbon. A chaise longue had been positioned by the window, where the curtains lifted in the breeze that came in through half-open glass doors. Beyond the window was yet another balcony; Dervla had by now lost count of the number of balconies and buttresses that jutted out over the garden.

‘It’s a bit fur coat and no knickers, ain’t it?’ observed Río.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Think about it. The rest of the house is all impressively hi tech and minimalistic, but the sanctum sanctorum is like something Laura Ashley might dream up.’

‘I guess you’re right. Maybe his ex is a girly girl at heart.’

Louvred doors led from the bedroom to a dressing room and en suite bathroom. Dervla had lost count of the bathrooms too. Her expert eye took in a Grohe power shower, Catalano sanitaryware and a Villeroy & Boch Jacuzzi bath. There were no products scattered on shelves, and no clothes hanging in the dressing room. The lady of the house had left not a trace of herself behind. This was the way Dervla liked her houses–clutter free and screaming ‘aspirational lifestyle’.

Moving back into Felicity’s boudoir, she registered that there were no personal effects here, either–no photographs, no books, no ornaments. The space was as devoid of personality as a hotel room that had been turned around for the next guest. She wondered if Felicity had chosen the furnishings herself, or if she had employed an interior designer. The latter, in all likelihood. People–even very rich people–were rampantly insecure when it came to furnishing their homes. They liked to be told how to do it by an expert.

‘He doesn’t sleep here,’ observed Río.

‘No,’ agreed Dervla. ‘He must use one of the spare rooms.’

‘The one with GQ magazine by the loo. He wears Acqua di Parma aftershave.’

‘Maybe he never slept here,’ said Dervla. ‘It’s such a quintessentially feminine space.’

‘Did you ever meet her?’

‘Felicity Bolger? Once. At a dinner party’

‘How did she strike you?’

‘A bit neurotic. Manipulative too. Not averse to using emotional blackmail to get her own way, I’d have thought. She certainly got her own way as regards the property in Dublin.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes. It’s worth a cool fifteen mill’

‘Holy moly! How do you know, Dervla?’

‘I had a long chat with Adair yesterday.’

‘Adair! God–it’s such a poncy name, isn’t it?’

‘His real name is Darragh. Felicity got him to change it. She thought Adair sounded classier.’

‘What do you think of him?’

‘I like him. He’s a bullshit-free zone. And he’s sexy.’

‘Sexy? No man who wears Thomas Pink shirts can be sexy!’

‘I beg to differ. And his shirt is not Thomas Pink. It’s Ben Sherman.’

Río gave her sister a curious look. ‘Would you make a move on him?’

‘I told you, Río, I’ve neither time nor space for a man in my life.’

‘Not even a really, really, really rich one?’

‘He won’t be really, really, really rich once the divorce goes through. He’ll only be really, really rich.’

‘So if his ex got the house in Dublin, where’s he living?’

‘He’s bought a luxury apartment in a new docklands development. Correction–he’s bought two.’

‘Why does he need two apartments?’

‘One of them’s for his daughter.’

‘No shit! I wonder how it feels to be a princess.’ Río made a face. ‘Why couldn’t I have had a daddy who loved me enough to buy me a luxury apartment and shower me with gifts?’

‘Because life’s not fair, Río.’

‘Maybe I should find myself a sugar daddy.’

‘There’s one downstairs.’

‘Nah. I don’t find him remotely attractive.’ Río moved to the cheval glass by the window, and started running her fingers through her hair.

‘So why are you checking out your hairstyle, sister?’ Dervla asked.

‘I’m wondering if I should get highlights.’

‘Take my advice and don’t. Highlights are high maintenance. My last session cost me two hundred euro.’

‘Bonkers, isn’t it? The girl in the local salon only charges forty for a cut.’

It was bonkers. To Dervla’s eyes, of the two women reflected in the mirror, Río looked like the one who had forked out two hundred euro for her do. A mass of unruly hair surrounded her face like a halo in a Byzantine painting, while Dervla’s meticulously cut bob appeared somehow to be trying too hard. She shot a look at her watch. ‘Come on, we’d better make a move back downstairs.’

‘There’s another balcony to check out.’

‘We’ve checked out enough balconies. It’ll look rude if we stay up here any longer.’

Río shimmied away from the cheval glass, and executed a theatrical pirouette. ‘Imagine what it would be like to live here, Dervla! Queen of all you survey!’

‘I thought you hated this house? You said it was ostentatious.’

‘It is ostentatious. Just like its owner.’

‘I’d hardly call Adair ostentatious.’

‘Hello? Mr Midlife Crisis personified, with his Top Gear car and his leather jacket and aviator shades? It wouldn’t surprise me if he had a tattoo somewhere. I bet he’ll help himself to a Harley next. You know what they say about middle-aged men who drive Harleys?’

‘To make up for the fact that they’ve minuscule dicks?’

‘Mm-hm.’

‘Don’t you think you’re being a bit unfair?’

‘You mean you’ve seen his dick?’

‘Oh, grow up, Río, and stop behaving like the kid who lost out on pass the parcel!’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s patently obvious that you’re still smarting over something Adair did yonks ago.’

‘Namely?’

‘Pulling down your dream cottage.’

From the expression in her sister’s eyes, Dervla could tell that she’d hit home. But then Río dismissed the remark with an airy shrug. ‘Hey! Maybe even having to put up with a minuscule dick would be worth it if you could get out of bed in the morning and wander out on the balcony to get a load of the sunrise, then head off for a skinny-dip before breakfast.’

‘Remind me to put that in the brochure copy if I ever get a chance to put this baby on my books,’ quipped Dervla.

Laughing, Río danced ahead of her sister to the top of the stairs. ‘Wow!’ she called back to her. ‘I’d love to slide down those banisters.’

A laugh floated up from the atrium below.

‘Be my guest,’ said Adair.