Kate Thompson - The O’Hara Affair

‘That’s Shane Byrne. He’s signing autographs.’

‘What for?’

‘He’s a film star.’

‘Oh! How exciting. I’d like to meet him.’

There was no point in telling Daphne that she’d met him already. Dervla waved at Shane, and he took his leave of the lovely girls and came over immediately.

Giving him an apologetic look, Dervla launched into introductions once again. Thankfully, Shane copped on immedi ately, and Groundhog Day began anew. After he had told Daphne how enchanté he was, and complimented her for the second time on her perfume, Dervla managed to fish for the information she wanted.

‘Who’s your lunch partner?’ she asked, lowering her voice a little and hoping that Daphne wouldn’t command her to speak up.

‘He’s one of the executive producers on the film.’

‘Executive! I’ve never really understood that word. What do “executive” producers do, exactly?’

‘Nothing much, except inject capital. It’s a vanity credit, really.’

‘So it’s all about ego?’

Shane shrugged. ‘In this case, there’s extra kudos in the fact that Corban’s name is in the film’s title. I suppose having a film named after you is a bit like having a ship named after you, and Mr O’Hara’s a major player on board this one.’

Wow. So Rolex man was Corban O’Hara, Fleur’s current squeeze! ‘What’s he like?’ she asked.

‘He seems nice enough for a rich bloke.’

‘Pot, kettle, Shane Byrne.’

Shane gave her an ‘as if ’ look. ‘O’Hara is seriously rich, Dervla. If he decided to withdraw funding, the film would capsize.’

‘Does he have any creative contribution at all?’

‘He can make a few suggestions; do a little hiring and firing. Being an executive producer is all to do with power. The movie set is his principality.’

‘So it’s like playing at being king?’

This was Daphne’s cue to start humming ‘My Lord and Master’ from The King and I .

‘That’s exactly what it’s like,’ Shane told her.

Dervla looked again at Corban O’Hara, who was eyeing the two autograph hunters. They were now strolling along the terrace of the restaurant, giggling and texting, probably sending word of their close encounter with the film star to every girl they knew.

Dervla narrowed her eyes in speculation. ‘If the movie set is his principality,’ she said, ‘could he practise droit du seigneur? Or has the casting couch become extinct in postfeminist la-la land?’

‘I don’t think la-la land is ready for feminism yet, Dervla, let alone post-feminism. Over there, you’d be known as that quaint contradiction in terms that is “a career girl”.’

‘I had a career once, you know,’ announced Daphne. ‘I was a model.’

‘Well, I’ll be doggone! You should think about taking it up again,’ said Shane, and Daphne gave him a playful slap on the arm.

‘I know all about men like you!’ she scolded.

‘What made you give it up?’ Dervla asked her mother-in-law, genuinely curious to know.

‘What made me give it up? My parents, I think. Yes. My parents wanted me to get married to someone.’

‘And who was the lucky man?’ asked Shane.

‘He was called…lucky. He was much older than I. He was a businessman. We lived in…Belgravia.’

‘Ritzy!’ remarked Shane.

‘Yes. It was ritzy. But it wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted to marry Jack. But Jack died.’

‘How sad,’ said Dervla. ‘Was Jack your boyfriend?’

‘Yes. It was very, very sad. He died in a fire. He was a dancer. He was the love of my life.’ Daphne spoke with such emphasis that Dervla sensed she had total recall of this event. She’d read somewhere that people suffering from dementia had stronger memories of yesteryear than yesterday. ‘It was very, very sad,’ she said again. ‘It was tragic.’

Shane and Dervla exchanged glances. Then Shane sat down on Christian’s seat, and took Mrs Vaughan’s hand. There were tears in the old lady’s eyes.

‘I know what it’s like to lose the love of your life,’ Shane said. ‘I lost mine.’

‘Oh. Did she die?’

‘No. But she wouldn’t marry me.’

‘Stupid girl! She should be ashamed of herself. What was her name?’

‘Her name is Río.’

Dervla looked at Shane in amazement. ‘Río, Shane? After all this time?’

‘It’s always been her.’

‘Your bird of paradise,’ she said with a smile.

‘What are you two talking about now?’ demanded Daphne. ‘Are you having an affair?’

‘No, Daphne,’ Dervla told her. ‘We’re just reminiscing about something that happened when we were very, very young.’

‘“The Young Ones”. That’s a song by Cliff Richard, you know.’

Dervla knew what was coming, and sure enough, Daphne turned back to Shane and started to serenade him with ‘The Young Ones’. Dervla was impressed by Shane’s acting prowess. He managed to look as if sitting in a restaurant having a love song sung to him by a superannuated diner was the highlight of his day. And in fact, now that she listened to the song, Dervla realized that the words were peculiarly poignant: she didn’t think she’d ever heard them properly before. No matter about Daphne’s short-term memory, it was highly possible that her recall of greatest hits of the sixties could get her a gig on Mastermind . The lyrics were all about how important it was to live in the present because the transient nature of youth meant that you might never have another chance to find love.

Is that why Daphne had conducted all those affairs after she married? To try to find the love that had been so cruelly snatched from her first time around? Christian had mentioned that his father had been much older than his beautiful wife – that he had, in fact, been a friend of his grandfather – but he appeared as reluctant to talk about his family history as Dervla was to talk about hers. Oh, God! She hoped that the ghosts of Daphne’s amours would never come spilling skeleton-like out of the closet. It was just as well, for Christian’s sake, that the ‘novel’ his mother had been planning to write had never found a publisher.

‘Mum! What are you doing, singing to a film star?’ Christian had returned from his business chat, and was smiling down at his mother.

‘Is this person a film star?’ asked Daphne. ‘Do I know him?’

‘He certainly is a film star.’ Christian extended a hand. ‘Hi. I’m Christian Vaughan, Dervla’s husband. Nice to meet you.’

‘Likewise. You’re the wine importer, yeah?’

‘That’s right.’

And as Christian and Shane got to know each other, Dervla returned her attention to Corban O’Hara, who was still checking out the two teens texting on the terrace. He was distracted from the vision of loveliness by the BlackBerry on the table in front of him. Picking it up, he checked the display. Then he smiled, and looked directly at the cuter of the two girls. She was smiling right back at him.

Frowning, Dervla looked away.

On the top of the double-decker bus that had been converted into a mobile canteen, the extras were on a tea break. Most of them were locals who had been working on The O’Hara Affair for the past three weeks, and most of them were playing starving peasants. The obesity rate in Coolnamara had plummeted, because as soon as word had got out that The O’Hara Affair was going to be shooting near Lissamore, half the population had gone on diets and taken up exercise classes in the community hall. The downside of playing a starving peasant was the costumes: they were filthy, raggedy old things. Bethany had been lucky: she was meant to be a lady’s maid in the Big House, so she got to wear something rather more stylish: an ankle-length black dress with button boots, starched white pinafore and matching lace-trimmed cap.