Maeve Binchy - Quentins

"Now we're changing roles. You've been busy telling me how modern it all is here."

"Make it seven and we're more realistic."

"Nonsense, Ella. Think about the garbage being collected, the stuff coming in from market. It has to be earlier."

"It would be interesting to see. We'll ask Brenda and Patrick tomorrow night," she said. "Meanwhile, we'll go through the best stories and the ones that will be hard to tell."

"The guy from Scotland, Drew, he's not going to tell his own tale, is he? Show himself up as a would-be thief?"

"Apparently he is, his luck turned that night, his fiancee admired him so much for resisting temptation. Brenda says he's only bursting to tell his story."

Derry shook his head in amazement. "Aren't people here quite extraordinary?" he said in wonder.

"No, they're not. It's not just Ireland. It's the same everywhere, in England, in the US, all dying to tell their story and have their fifteen minutes of fame."

"There's a danger that people will exploit them," he said.

"Of course there is, but we're not that kind of business. Derry, you're not having second thoughts on me, are you?"

"No, of course not. But talking about second thoughts . . .?"

"Yes?"

"I just wanted to say when your anger dies down, you'll probably be relieved that he's alive. Don, I mean. It's only natural. You loved him and he loved you. It has to be better that he's alive, not dead at the bottom of the ocean. So, if you have second thoughts about him and are glad he's still around, then that's normal. That's all I wanted to say." He looked oddly uncomfortable, as if he didn't really believe all this, but felt that it should be said from a fairness point of view.

"No, I won't ever be glad about anything connected with him. Whether he is alive or dead doesn't really matter to me. I think I preferred him dead. I certainly don't love him or anything about him. So there'll be no second thoughts. But I'm not going to spend

my life consumed with hate, either. That would really make me the loser."

She thought he looked very pleased, but maybe it was just his pleasant smile. When she awoke on the sofa yet again there was a note. I've already gone to investigate this early-morning Dublin. See you tonight at Quentins, 7.30. Call my mobile anytime if you need me. Love, Derry Ella spent the day at Colm's restaurant on Tara Road.

"I don't know why you should think I should help you boost a rival restaurant," Colm grumbled.

"Because I'm a neighbour's child, because you're not remotely in competition with me, and you love to talk about your pride and joy. I just want to know what's a typical day?"

"As if there ever was one. Come on in and have coffee and I'll walk you through it."

By lunchtime, she thought she had understood the routine. It would be very visual. Derry would like it. Patrick and Brenda wouldn't object, their place was immaculate and all that backstage stuff would be something to be proud of.

"You look tired, Ella. Stay and have lunch. You've seen it all being cooked. Enjoy it."

"No, I have a lot of things to do. I have to tell several people something but I want to rehearse on you, Colm. Just to make sure I can do it without crying."

"Fire ahead."

"Don Richardson's not dead. I spoke to him yesterday. He's in Spain, on the run."

"Is it a secret?" Colm asked.

"No, not now."

"Good. I'll tell Ria's ex-husband Danny that he might go out and kill him for all of us. Would that help?"

Ella laughed nervously. "No, not really, but it did make me laugh. I don't suppose everyone else will be as practical as you are, Colm." She told Deirdre. Deirdre sat and listened with a stony face.

"Mother of God! Why couldn't he have done it properly? Did he wash up somewhere?"

"No, I don't think he tried it at all," Ella said.

"And now of course you're taking him back?" Deirdre was anguished.

We, Dee, I'm only telling you in case it was in the papers."

"No! You are taking him back or going out to him, I know you are."

"Oh, Deirdre, shut up. You're meant to be cheering me up, telling me some old song like "There Ain't No Good in Men". Not telling me I'm going back to him."

"I "wonder if Nuala knows," Dee said.

"Let's tell her, then," Ella said, her eyes dancing. And for a glorious moment Deirdre thought maybe it was going to be all right. That the one great love of Ella's life might not be able to seduce her back in again. "Nuala! It's Dee."

"No, Dee, I'm not going to talk to you. Last time you frightened me to death - I've had to blackmail them all with the threat of telling Carmel about your disgraceful antics with Eric to get them off Ella's back. Fine pair of friends you both turned out to be."

"Shut up, Nuala. I told you if we had anything to tell you we would."

"Did you?" Nuala was confused.

"Yes, and now we have. I have Ella here and now we do have news for Frank and his brothers."

"You do?"

"Will I put Ella on?"

"Well, not if she's going to be cross with me," Nuala said.

"Not at all. She won't be cross with you. Here's Ella now."

"Hi, Nuala."

"Oh, Ella, I'm sorry. I don't think Dee explained it all properly at the time."

"No, Nuala, I'm sure she didn't. Have you got pen and paper?"

"Yes, I have." Nuala sounded very nervous.

"Write this. It's Don's telephone number in Spain. Oh, and he's not dead, by the way. That was a mistake. He's alive, but he calls himself Mr. Brady. I know, isn't it a scream? No, I'm not drunk, Nuala. That's the number and the other thing is that the Fraud Squad has his computer, with all the details, everything it contains.

Oh, and the last thing is that Dee would have gone the distance and told Carmel every last detail. She's been a marvellous friend."

"Ella," Nuala's voice was hoarse with fright. "They're going to be in terrible trouble if it all gets out. Not only will they have lost money and property but there's a matter of tax, you see." She ended in a near whisper.

"Oh, there often is, Nuala. Anyhow, we're all fair and square now."

Ella hung up and they giggled as they had done for so many years. "What I've been saying is getting easier to say as the day goes on," Ella said as she walked into Firefly Films.

"I hate mystery statements," Nick said.

"Don Richardson's alive and presumably coming back to this land in leg irons," Ella said.

"You're not serious? Sandy and I once wondered if he might have staged it," Nick said.

"You were right," she said crisply.

"How did you find out?" Sandy asked.

"I spoke to him on the phone," Ella said, and it didn't make her feel even slightly tearful. "I spoke, and he called me Angel as he always did, and he had never died at all. Imagine."

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine, I'm fine, but I need to be kept very busy. Could I work here this afternoon until we all go to Quentins? I'm just a bit jumpy and I need to be with people."

"Why did he ring you?" Nick asked.

"He didn't. I rang him, or rather his wife. I didn't know he was still alive."

"And are you glad?" Sandy asked.

"I don't care, really and truly, I don't. Too much has happened to care."

They believed her, got her a sandwich, and sat her down so that she could write out a type of running order that they might go through at tonight's meeting at the restaurant. They watched her through the glass door, her head down over the paper as she planned out a very rough shooting schedule.

"Do you think she'll go back to him?" Sandy wondered.

"With any luck he won't be in a position to ask her." Cathy and Tom at Scarlet Feather heard from Ria and Colm that Don Richardson was still alive. Nora O'Donoghue heard it from them because she had gone into their premises to book a little wedding party. Nora was busy costing out the possibility of having canapes and wine in the back of a bookshop, which would let them have the premises free. There wouldn't be a huge number, but they had really very little money. Still, some things called for the equivalent of fireworks.