Maeve Binchy - Quentins

But it was different here. These were the streets that Jim Kennedy had walked when he was young. This was the land that had not given him a living or an understanding, the city he had fled to find a better and brighter life. Jim Kennedy would not have been welcome in a hotel of this calibre. He would not have been allowed past the door. But those small bars they had passed on the journey from the airport, places with family names over the door, that would have been his territory. And in the telephone directory there were people who could tell Derry about it all.

But he didn't want to ask and learn. He didn't know what he wanted to do. For years he had steeled himself against useless regrets and time wasting, wishing himself elsewhere. There had been too much maudlin "if only" in his father's conversations. Derry King would be no part of it. He would spend no time wondering why he had decided to come to this place. Nor wishing that he had stayed where he was and taken Fennel for a three-hour walk every day in Central Park. He was here now and he would make the best of it. And if sleep would not come, then he must go out and walk in that park across from his hotel. Brenda Brennan's friend Nora was working in the kitchen. She knew that the American was in town. The one who would provide the money to make the film about Quentins.

"Will he sneak in to have a look at the place, do you think?" Signora asked as she expertly cleaned and diced vegetables that Blouse Brennan produced triumphantly in ever-more earth covered trays.

"No, I think he's too smart for that," Brenda said thoughtfully. "He'll have to meet us sooner or later, so he doesn't want to be unmasked as someone having a private peek."

"That's true, but I bet he has a private peek through the window sometime today, don't you?" Signora said.

"Oh, definitely," Brenda laughed.

Patrick Brennan looked at them. Women's friendships were amazing. Brenda and Nora O'Donoghue had been so close since they had all met at catering college. Even the years Nora had spent in Sicily didn't seem to have broken it, they wrote each other long letters all that time. It didn't matter that one of them ran the restaurant and the other was scraping vegetables in it. They were still equals. Still like girls, giggling over whether a rich American would come and peek in the window. Patrick wished that men had friendships like that, where there were no secrets, where nothing was hidden. "Would he be the kind of fellow that would fall for me, do you think?" Deirdre asked in the cafe at lunchtime.

Ella had begged her to have a quick lunch and they were having a sandwich near Deirdre's work.

"No, I don't think he would. He's too interested in work, more work and art and brooding and more work and homeless dogs to have any time for you," Ella said.

"Hey, I could be interested in all those things too if I wanted to," Deirdre protested.

"Well, your powers are extraordinary, Dee. We all know that... and what do I know? When you meet him, you might start to sing arias at each other."

"And will I meet him?"

"Of course you will. I'm just trying to work out where. It can't be Quentins. That has to be formal and work and everything ... we haven't room to swing a cat at our home these days, otherwise I'd have a Sunday lunch for him to meet my friends ..."

"I could have a Sunday lunch in my place if you like," Deirdre offered.

"Would you, Dee? And we could ask Nick and Sandy." Ella was pleased.

"Your parents could come, and Tom and Cathy," Deirdre said.

"Oh, Dee, what would I do without you?"

"Nuala is back in town, but I think not, don't you?" Deirdre said.

"I think very much not." Ella was reflective.

"Sorry for bringing her up," Deirdre said. "But you might just run into her or Frank of the one-track mind."

"Now that Don's dead, do you think he'll shut up about it all, and let him rest in peace?"

"Are you asking me for an honest answer?"

"Of course I am."

"Then I don't think that people like Frank and his brothers would let anyone rest in peace while they think that someone owes them a sum of money."

"Oh well, welcome back to the real world, Ella," she told herself ruefully.

"You never left the real world, Ella! You're terrific to cope with all that's being fired at you. Truly you are."

"No, you're right, I'll survive."

I'm only babbling on because I honestly don't have the words to tell you face to face how sorry I am about what Don did. It's a nightmare for you, and I just want you to understand that I know this." Deirdre's eyes were full of tears.

"Let's think of what we'll eat on Sunday," Ella said. She could cope with anything but sympathy just now. Tom and Cathy were delighted with the invitation to lunch. Something they didn't have to cook and serve themselves. It was heaven. But there was a problem which they had to work around.

"Deirdre, we'd just love to come to lunch, and we'll bring you a really luscious dessert from the freezer," Tom offered.

"You don't need to do that. I'd love it, but you don't need to . . ."

"We do."

"Why?" Deirdre was suspicious.

"Because we're going to ask you if we can bring the twins. We"re meant to be looking after them that day. Muttie and Lizzie are going on an outing. We said we'd take the kids. They're so mad and awful really we thought if we gave you a roulade and a pavlova it might sort of make up."

"How mad and awful?" Deirdre asked.

"Just desperately curious and inquisitive, really. They ask all kinds of intimate questions without realising it. They might offer to dance, but we can close them down on that."

"No, we might need it if it's all a bit sticky. Ella says they"re great value. Of course they can come and I get two puddings as well." Deirdre sounded well pleased.

"What's the worst Maud and Simon could say to this rich American guy, do you think?" Cathy asked Tom.

"They're very into mating conversations just now. They could ask him about his sexual habits, I suppose," Tom suggested.

"Oh, yes, they'll definitely want to know about who he mates with. I was wondering if they want parts in the film or anything, you know how much they like to belong," said Cathy.

"I'm sure he'll be able to deal with them." Tom hoped he sounded more certain than he felt. Ella called in to Firefly Films. They weren't expecting her. They hadn't their response ready.

"It's all so unfair, Ella," Sandy began.

"People put too much pressure on him," said Nick, who used to say that there was no pit of hell deep enough for Don Richardson.

"Yes, when Derry King's gone back to New York, I'll cry on your shoulder, believe me I will, but now we have to work out how to make the best of his sudden decision to come here. I'm meeting him tonight to go over our notes."

She saw their faces lighten. This was exactly what they had hoped for, but they didn't want to appear crass by not acknowledging that the love of her life had first left her and then killed himself. They sat down to plan the campaign.

Nick and Sandy looked at her with admiration as she pushed the hair out of her eyes. She took out an armful of files, some with coloured stickers on them. "There are so many different ways we could go. In a way it will depend on who talks best. But come on, let's have a look at the stories anyway."

Derek Barry was entertaining a couple of wealthy clients to lunch. He didn't actually know them. But Bob O'Neill, his partner, had been most insistent.

They put plenty of work through the books of Barry and O'Neill Accountants, and they were threatening to move elsewhere.

All they needed was some stroking and patting and reassurance. Bob had intended to take them himself, but his plane was delayed in London and he couldn't get back. Derek must hold the fort.