Minding Frankie - Maeve Binchy [45]
Noel Lynch was someone who puzzled her. It appeared he had known nothing of the child he had fathered until a few short weeks before the baby arrived. He had lost touch with the mother. And then, suddenly, he had almost overnight changed his lifestyle totally, joined a twelve-step program, taken up lectures and approached his job in Hall’s seriously. Any one of these things would have been life-changing, but to take them all on while looking after an infant seemed to be ludicrous.
Moira had read too many concerned and outraged articles about social workers who didn’t do their jobs properly to feel any way at ease. She knew what they would write. They would say that all the signs were staring everyone in the face. This was a dangerous situation. What were the social workers doing? She didn’t know why she was so certain about this, but it was a feeling that wouldn’t go away. Every box had been ticked, all the relevant authorities had been contacted, yet she was completely convinced that there was something out of place here.
This Noel Lynch was an accident waiting to happen. A bomb about to explode.
Lisa Kelly was thinking about Noel at the same time.
She had said to Katie that if she were a betting woman she would give him one week before he went back on the drink and two weeks before he gave up his lectures. And as regards minding an infant—the social workers would be in before you could say “foster home!”
Just as well she hadn’t found a betting shop.
Lisa had done a job for a garden center but her heart wasn’t in it. All the time that she toyed with images of floral baskets, watering cans and sunflowers in full bloom she thought of Anton’s restaurant. She found herself drawing a bride throwing a bouquet—and then the thought came to her.
Anton could specialize in weddings.
Real society weddings. People would have to fight to get a date there. They had an underused courtyard where people often escaped for a furtive cigarette. It could be transformed into a permanent, mirror-lined marquee for weddings.
He didn’t open for Saturday lunch so that was the time to do it; the guests would have to leave by six o’clock. There was a singing pub called Irish Eyes nearby and they could make an arrangement with the pub that there would be a welcoming pint or cocktail and the scene would move seamlessly onward. The bride’s father would be relieved that he wasn’t paying for champagne all night and the restaurant could get straight into “serving dinner” mode. There would be only fifty “Anton Brides” a year, so there would be huge competition to know who they would be.
It was too good an idea to keep to herself.
Anton had sounded fretful in his recent texts. Of course he couldn’t fix a date for their trip to Normandy. Not now, not in the middle of a recession. Business was so up and down. No groups of estate agents and auctioneers celebrating another sale, like they had every day during the property boom. No leisurely business lunches. Times were tough.
So Lisa knew that he would love this idea. But when to tell him?
If only she had her own place. It would have been totally different: Anton could have popped around in the afternoon or the early evening. Or better, he could have come to visit late in the evening, when he could unwind and stay the night. When she did spend time with Anton it was always at a conference hotel or on a visit to a specialty restaurant where they would stay overnight at a nearby inn. This hope of Honfleur was what had kept her going for weeks and now it looked as if it wasn’t definite, but when he saw all the work she had done on the concept of Anton Brides, he would pay attention. Yet again she would have rescued him and he would be so grateful.
She just couldn’t wait any longer. She would tell him tonight. She would go to his restaurant tonight, straight after her lectures. She would go home and change first. She wanted to look her very best when she told him about this news that would turn his fortunes around and change their lives.
At home, Lisa went to her room and held two dresses up to the