Chapter Thirty

Izzy was in a tizzy of excitement. She was wandering through the Villa Felicity, ignoring the caterers and florists who were setting up for tonight’s party, visualising how the place would look as a state-of-the-art dive centre. The guest suite had six bedrooms with interconnecting bathrooms en suite, so a dozen or so guests could be accommodated there. She could sleep in her own bedroom, and there were two extra bedrooms for…for whatever. She didn’t want to pre-empt anything. While she and Finn were clearly compatible, she wasn’t going to hex herself by making any assumptions about their sleeping arrangements.

Downstairs, her father’s study could be converted into an office. The library could serve as a classroom, and the atrium was easily big enough to accommodate a reception area. The dining room would remain just that, and the catering kitchen–with its Poggenpohl appliances–would be a fantastic workspace for a chef. The sitting room would become a bar and lounge, and the ever-changing view from the massive window would provide an added attraction for Coolnamara-philes.

As Izzy crossed the deck on her way to the pool, she saw that the massive dining table had been carted out and covered with a pristine white cloth. A stage had been set up for the musicians, and a sound engineer was going, ‘One two, one two,’ into the mic.

A man in overalls was stringing bunting along the railings, and a banner bearing the legend ‘Happy Birthday Río’ had been strung up above the picture window. There were flowers and candles everywhere.

Izzy’s lip curled. Her father was making a monumental fool of himself, but that was his look-out. Izzy had warned him that, instead of presenting the munificent mine host image he was so determined to forge, he might end up looking like the village idiot. But he had simply said that he didn’t care what people thought of him. He was clearly going through a midlife crisis, and Izzy hoped to God that he wasn’t going to get a tattoo or piercings, or take up Formula One racing. But if she was going to get her mitts on the Villa Felicity, she was going to have to humour him and do as she was told. She was also going to have to work very, very hard indeed at turning her business idea into a success. But hadn’t she inherited her father’s work ethic as well as his business acumen? The word ‘difficult’ didn’t exist in Adair’s vocabulary: he used the word ‘challenge’ instead. Challenge. Adrenalin. Danger. The same words Izzy loved, the words that had spurred her on to become a master scuba-diver. Experience intense adventure. Take it to the edge…

Strolling past the hot tub to the pool area she saw that the cover of the pool had been rolled back, and flower petals had been scattered on it. It really was ridiculous to get the pool heated for just one weekend, Izzy thought. And as for all those gas-guzzling patio heaters! The more eco-conscious of the guests would have things to say about Adair’s carbon footprint.

The pool was easily deep enough for novice divers, Izzy knew. They could do all their confined-water training there. And maybe the changing area could be extended? The garage could house RIB and DPVs, and they could build a kit room and an air room in the old orchard. They’d have to cut down trees to make space for them, but loads of the trees were practically falling down anyway.

It was all so ideal! It was all so utterly perfect that it should have been staring her in the face–when Adair had first announced his intention to sell–that the Villa Felicity would make a fantastic scuba-dive centre. When she and Finn had been dreaming up silly names for their dive outfit that day on his mate Carl’s boat, they had suddenly looked at each other in awe and said simultaneously, ‘The Villa Felicity!’

Except Izzy didn’t want her mother’s name appearing on the letterhead of her brand-new business. She knew it was pettish of her, but her mother had become even more of a pain in the arse since Izzy had told her she’d decided to give up college and move to Lissamore. Felicity’s plans for her daughter did not include her knocking around with boggers and culchies: she wanted her to make a good marriage with some well-to-do barrister type and settle down in leafy Dublin 4, where Felicity would be able to visit her 2.4 grandchildren whenever it suited her.

No. The Villa Felicity was so not a good name for Izzy’s business venture. She’d dream up a lovely name–something in Irish, maybe. Gorm Mhór had a nice ring to it. The Big Blue.

Rounding the boiler house, beyond which a barbecue area had been set up for the post-dinner party-goers, Izzy saw her father’s car roll up under the porte-cochère. How lucky that the joint even had a porte-cochère, to keep guests dry while they unloaded their scuba gear! Or would she need a porter for unloading? Hm. There were several matters niggling at her that needed her attention. They were, of course, the practicalities that obscured the grand vision of her dream. She was going to need staff: there was only so much she and Finn could do themselves. And once the business was up and running they’d need one or two more qualified instructors–not just transient dive masters who would work in exchange for free diving.

Izzy meandered down the path that led past the orchard. Yes, there was plenty of space for kit room and air room. She knew there was an ancient right of way across this tranch of land, but hardly anyone knew about it, and more sheep than people used it. She was bound to get permission, wasn’t she? If her clever daddy had swung it for the Villa Felicity, he could do it again for her.

‘Hey, Dad!’ she said, turning back to the house, where Adair was unloading the boot of his car. ‘Let me give you a hand.’

On joining him, she saw that the boot was full of presents. Lots and lots of gift-wrapped presents. Some of them were wrapped in paper with the discreet Fleurissima logo embossed on it, some of them were encased in expensive gift-wrap, and yet others were shrouded in HMV and Hughes & Hughes bags.

‘These aren’t all for Río Kinsella?’ Izzy asked, incredulity scrawled large on her face.

‘No. There’s something there for Dervla too, to say thank you for her time.’ Adair smiled happily, and hefted the carrier bags out of the boot. ‘I can manage these on my own, princess. You probably want to go and get ready, don’t you? People will be arriving in an hour.’

‘How many are coming for dinner?’

‘Me, you, Río, Dervla–and Dervla’s new husband, mother-in-law and stepdaughter. She’s around the same age as you, I think. Who else? Fleur and her latest man. And Finn, of course.’

‘But, Dad, we’ve way too many women.’

Adair swung through the atrium into his study, and Izzy followed him.

‘What about that nice chap I met with you and Finn? With the crutches. What was his name?’

‘Carl. I could ask Finn to bring him along, I guess. I’ll text him.’ Izzy grimaced. Oh God. How humiliating to be asking last-minute guests to her father’s dinner party. He was going to look like a complete Norman-No-Friends. ‘Um. Don’t you think it’s scraping the bottom of the barrel a bit, Dad, to be inviting people we hardly know?’

‘I told you I owed Dervla for her time, and she specifically requested that she be allowed to bring her new in-laws. And it’ll be nice for you to have young people at the table to talk to. Though there will be lots more young people coming to the afters.’

‘Any idea how many?’

‘The word in O’Toole’s is that there’ll be around a hundred.’

‘Fun,’ said Izzy, trying not to sound unenthusiastic. She didn’t want to talk to ‘young people’. The only young person she wanted to talk to was Finn.

And yet, and yet…that wasn’t quite true. She so wanted this evening to work for her dad! He’d put so much effort into the event–it would be tragic if no one turned up. She determined to light a candle in her room and pray to Aphrodite, who was her favourite goddess.

‘Are you sure there’s nothing else I can do, Dad?’

‘Not a thing, Izzy-Bizz. You run along and have your shower. Wow! What’s that smell? It’s amazing!’

There was a fabulous smell coming from the kitchen, of garlic and basil and something Izzy couldn’t identify. And she thought again as she climbed the cantilevered staircase, of how she was going to need someone to cook as well as everything else if she was going to do this big thing, and suddenly she wondered if turning the Villa Felicity into a dedicated scuba-dive outfit wasn’t way too ambitious a project after all.

In her room, she lit a plain white candle and prayed for several minutes. She so wanted her daddy to be happy! But how could he be happy with that grim gold-digger, Río Kinsella? She wanted him to find love with someone who would make him laugh. Please, Aphrodite, make it happen for him. Make my lovely, generous dad a happy man. He deserves it. He has too many worry lines around his eyes these days, and he’s starting to look gaunt. Please, Aphrodite, make it happen…

When she’d finished praying, Izzy went to her closet and took out the frock she had chosen to wear tonight. Finn had told her that she sometimes behaved more like a boy than a girl. Huh! Well, tonight she wasn’t going to look anything like a boy. No Comme des Garcons quirky stuff for her! Tonight she was going to look as deliciously, quintessentially girly as she had that time he’d rescued her from the potty-mouthed lager louts.

And as she moved to the bed and laid the confection of white chiffon on her counterpane, she remembered the last time she’d lain there, with Finn’s arms around her, and she felt a little rosebud of anticipation in her tummy. No matter how tempting the aromas wafting up from downstairs, Izzy knew that she would not be able to eat anything tonight until she had kissed her beautiful boy.

Dervla was on her way to Adair’s party in Christian’s car. She had relinquished her claim to the front seat. Daphne was ensconced there now, and Dervla was travelling in the back with Megan, who was plugged into her iPod, and scowling out of the window.

In the front of the car her mother-in-law had forgotten about her fellow passengers, so Dervla didn’t have to partake in any riveting conversation.

‘Where are we going now?’ demanded Daphne.

‘We’re going to a place called the Villa Felicity for dinner, Mum.’

Daphne started to sing ‘’S Wonderful. ’S Marvellous’. Christian joined in for a few bars, even though it was clear that he didn’t have a clue about the words other than ‘S wonderful’ and ‘S marvellous’. Then: ‘Where are we going now?’ asked Daphne again.

‘We’re going to a place called the Villa Felicity.’

‘What for?’

‘For dinner.’

‘Oh. Do you like my trousers?’

Daphne had been dressed in trousers in case it got too cold for her out on Adair’s deck this evening. The Indian summer they’d enjoyed was well and truly over.

‘Your trousers are very nice, Mum. They’re herringbone, are they?’

‘What?’

‘I said, “Are they herringbone?’”

‘I don’t know what sort of bone they are. Dum de dum de dum de dum…’ she went, to the tune of How Much Is That Doggie in the Window?’

‘Wuff wuff,’ said Christian, obligingly.

‘I think I’ll get a dog. I’m going to get a dog.’ A pause, then: ‘Where are we actually heading for?’ asked Daphne.

‘The Villa Felicity, Mum. In Lissamore.’

‘Are you going to stay there?’

‘No. We’re going for dinner. Yum yum. Yummy dinner. Shall we listen to the radio?’ Christian flicked a switch, and some muthafucka came on, rapping about slapping his bitches and hos, so Christian switched it off immediately before his mother could pick up the chorus and start singing along.

‘Where did you say we were going?’ asked Daphne.

‘The Villa Felicity’

‘Will we be able to get anything to eat there?’

‘Yes. We’re going for dinner.’

Where are we going now? Dervla decided it was like that refrain so beloved of small children. Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Except in Daphne’s case it was Where are we going now? You could record this pointless conversation, she thought, and play it on a loop. You could cut and paste it, cut and paste it, cut and paste it, over and over again.

Daphne’s final pearls of wisdom before they pulled up under Adair Bolger’s porte-cochère consisted of: ‘I love not knowing where I am,’ and ‘If I’d been the one who was driving we would have been there by now.’ And then, ‘This is a lovely place!’ she announced, as Christian pulled on the handbrake and killed the ignition. ‘I’m going to buy this place.’

A silence fell. And suddenly Dervla knew that they’d been wrong to come this evening. They should have stayed in the hotel, where at least the staff had been savvy enough to make allowances for her mother-in-law’s outré behaviour.

‘Will we get out now?’ Daphne asked.

‘No. Let’s stay in the car and chat,’ said Christian sarcastically, and Dervla could tell by his tone that he was tired.

‘I love this car,’ said Daphne. ‘I love being here with you.’

‘Oh God, Mum. I love you too,’ said Christian. And then he slumped and rested his head against the steering wheel in an attitude of utter despair.

Río had splashed out on a dress from Fleur’s shop for her surprise party this evening. She had decided, since she had inherited a prime piece of real estate, that she should celebrate, and she knew that Fleur would give her the dress at a discount rate. The dress was of slippery red bias-cut silk and felt as fluid as if she were wearing water. The way it moved against her bare legs made her feel like dancing. Río hadn’t felt like dancing in years.

When she’d announced that it was her intention to buy a gúna for tonight’s party, Fleur had raised one of her perfectly waxed eyebrows and looked at Río askance. ‘You do know that this party’s supposed to be a surprise for you?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ Río had answered. And I just hate, hate, hate surprise parties. ‘But I’ll do my best to look–er–suitably surprised.’

‘Why is he doing this for you, Río?’ Fleur enquired of her friend as she left the shop, swinging her glossy Fleurissima bag.

‘I honestly have no idea,’ Río had replied.

And then, as she headed home to shower and wash her hair, Río had had an idea so shocking she almost reeled. Was Adair Bolger doing this out of the goodness of his heart, or was he doing it because he had found out somehow that Río was the rightful owner of the orchard he had pilfered by osmosis? Was he being Machiavellian? Word got round fast in rural communities, she knew–especially when it came to land deals–and Adair had powerful contacts. Dervla had mentioned something about Izzy taking over the Villa Felicity and turning it into some kind of hostel, but Río hadn’t really been paying attention. Now she wished she had. Was Adair wooing her because of her newly acquired status as a landowner? Did he hope to persuade her to sell?

No! This lady was not for turning.

The tranch of land by the Villa Felicity was Río’s and no one else’s. It was hers to cherish and to nurture and adore. It was hers to laze in on a summer’s day and pick apples in autumn and plant seedlings in spring. Mr Bigshot Developer would not get his hands on that orchard, no matter how persuasive he was.

And as Río hooked on her earrings and slipped her feet into her red shoes, she found herself hoping that actually, it wasn’t the land he was interested in. For some reason she rather hoped that–as Dervla had intimated–Adair Bolger might possibly be interested in her.

That evening, Río and Finn walked to the party. She didn’t want to drive, and she suspected that her son might be invited to stay over by pretty little Izzy.

She hadn’t told Finn about her inheritance yet. She still hadn’t come to terms with it herself. ‘When are you moving in with Carl?’ she asked as they walked along the road out of town. Nature had painted the landscape in hues of copper and bronze, with here and there a splash of scarlet, and leaves had started to float down from the trees. ‘You know if you stay in the duplex downstairs for much longer, Finn, Dervla will have to start charging you rent.’

‘I’ll move next week,’ Finn told her. ‘But, Ma, I don’t think I’ll be living with Carl for very long.’

‘What? Why not? He’s your best mate.’

‘Yeah, but something’s come up. Something that could be quite big.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Izzy and I are thinking about starting up a dive outfit together.’

‘You said something about that last week. I assumed it was one of those “What if…?” games that never get off the ground.’

‘It’s real, Ma. We really want to go for it.’

Uh-oh. Río had a dilemma here. On the one hand she didn’t want to dissuade Finn; on the other, the notion that Isabella was part of the equation filled her with fear and loathing. When she had told Shane that she’d love Finn to set up a dive outfit in Lissamore, she’d pictured him and Carl messing about in boats, not Finn and the Bolger girl.

‘Well, good for you! I mean, I think it’s a great idea, Finn. But don’t you think that if you’re serious about this, it would be better to go into business with Carl? Carl’s rock solid, and you know him a lot better than Izzy.’

‘Carl has no money.’

‘You have money,’ Río pointed out. ‘Your father’s offer was very generous.’

‘I know, Ma. But it’s not enough.’

‘Even if you go to the bank?’

‘You know how cagey they are about giving out loans these days. And the brilliant thing is that Izzy has asked her dad if he’d back us. He’s said yes.’

‘Are you serious?’

‘Yeah. With Carl I can only go so far. With Izzy, we can operate a five-star PADI outfit with totally up-to-date equipment.’

‘You’re…involved with each other, aren’t you?’ Río focused on the evening star, Venus, who was just twinkling her way up above the horizon to the east.

‘Um. Yeah. Kind of’

‘It’s never a good idea to go into a business partnership with someone you’re involved with romantically, Finn.’

‘So what am I supposed to do? Turn round to Izzy and say, “Doh, I don’t think we can swing this because I like you”? I’d have thought that was a plus, to get on as well with your business partner as I get on with Izzy. She’s dead smart, Ma, and she can get us a backer. She’s even got premises in mind. Let me give you a clue. Two letters. V.F.’

‘Not the Villa Felicity?’

‘Got it in one! Wouldn’t it be brilliant! You’ve always said that it looks more like a club house than a place where people live.’

There was no stopping Finn now.

‘I was talking to Iz earlier, and she’s got it all figured out. The Villa Felicity’s got just about everything we need–it’s a dead cert! There’s even a pool for confined water work. And we can custom-build a kit room to our own spec’

‘In the garden?’

‘No. We’ll need an air room as well, and it would be a shame to build in the garden.’

‘So where are you thinking of building?’

‘In the old orchard.’

Inside Río’s gut, an icicle started to form. ‘You know there’s a right of way down to the beach through there,’ she said.

‘Yeah. But that shouldn’t be a problem. We’ll just have to get good security. Who’d want to steal a load of scuba gear, anyway?’

Quite a lot of people, thought Río. There’d been a spate of thefts of outboard motors in Coolnamara recently, but that problem wasn’t high on her list of concerns right now. ‘What about the orchard?’ she asked.

‘What about it?’

‘You’d have to pull down trees.’

‘Ma, I know you have a sentimental attachment to that place, but this is my future we’re talking about.’

They had reached the main gate to the Villa Felicity. It stood open in welcome.

‘We’ll talk about this another time, Finn,’ Río told him. ‘It’s not appropriate to discuss it now.’

‘Oh, yeah. I forgot. You’re supposed to be surprised by this party. Why do you think Izzy’s dad is doing this for you, Ma?’

‘I honestly have no idea.’ Río realised that it was the second time that day she’d uttered those words with regard to Adair Bolger. And as she walked down the path that ran parallel to the orchard she heard the wind soughing in the branches of the trees that had grown there for decades, and she steeled herself for confrontation–pleasant or otherwise–and pulled the lapels of her black cashmere cardigan as close as she could for comfort.

‘What a lovely surprise!’ Río said, a handful of minutes later, as she stood on Adair’s deck listening to people singing ‘Happy Birthday, Dear Río’. ‘Oh, Adair, you really, really shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble!’

The place looked amazing. Adair had followed her suggestions to the letter, and staged this party just as she had described it to him the day she’d come up with her inspired idea of how to transform the Villa Felicity into the kind of house that people would yearn to live in. The only discrepancy was that the white-clothed table in the middle of the deck was set for dinner for ten, as opposed to a dozen.

Upon it gleamed the same crystal and silverware that Izzy had laid out the day she’d entertained Río and Dervla to lunch, but the table this evening had been scattered with flower petals and littered with presents, all of which, she saw now, bore her name. There were countless wine bottles lined up on a trestle table on the other side of the deck, and the hot tub had been drained and filled with ice and beer and bottles of champagne. There were candles everywhere, and flowers, and a stage had been rigged for musicians.

Adair handed her a glass of fizz. ‘Sit down and open your presents,’ he said.

Part of Río wanted to throw her arms around the man and thank him for this absurdly generous gesture, and part of her wanted to send a stinging slap across his face and denounce him as a devious, land-grabbing louse. She was too confused to do either. Instead, she sat down at the table and did as he’d instructed.

First out of its wrapping was a pashmina, in a shade of poppy red that almost exactly matched her dress. She smiled her thanks, and draped it round her shoulders.

Next was a gift pack containing a Jo Malone candle and body lotion in her favourite fragrance, grapefruit. Had he asked Fleur to advise him? If so, it was very astute of him. Very astute, or wonderfully thoughtful…

Jo Malone was followed by Monty Don and David Attenborough and Nigella–all ready to take pride of place on her coffee table. Then came the CDs. Donal Lunny and Sharon Shannon and Zoe Conway. And there were cards, lots and lots of them, all with ‘Happy Birthday’ written in different handwriting, and all wishing her well, and by the time Río had finished unwrapping her presents, giftwrap and ribbon were festooned all over Adair Bolger’s deck, and the champagne had gone straight to her head.

She couldn’t have staged it better herself.