Minding Frankie - Maeve Binchy [86]
“Oh, I have, have I?” Hilary said when Clara hung up.
“I had to say something. She was about to go home to a darkened room.”
“All right, then. I had been going to serve cheese and grapes, but you’ve raised my game,” Hilary said. “What did Frank Ennis serve last night as a dessert?”
“Apple tart,” Clara said.
“Are you sure he didn’t ask you some question? Something you’ve forgotten to tell me.…”
“Oh, shut up, Hilary. Look, here comes Moira. Let’s pretend to be doing some work here.”
Moira was triumphant. The fifth place they had looked at was perfect for Kitty Reilly—full of retired nuns and retired priests and a vegetarian option at every meal. All you could ask for, in fact.
“Lord, I hope I’ll ask for a lot more than that when the time comes,” Clara said piously.
“What would you like, exactly?” Moira asked.
An innocent enough question, but Moira’s tone seemed to suggest that for Clara the time probably had come already.
“I don’t know: a library, a casino, a gym, oh, and a grandchild!” Clara said. “What about you, Moira, when the time comes?”
“I’d like to be with friends. You know, people I have known for a long time so that we could do a lot of remembering together.”
“And will you do that, do you think? Get a group of friends and set up your own place?” Clara was interested. She and her friend Dervla had often discussed doing just that.
“Probably not. I don’t have many friends. I never had time to make friends along the way,” Moira said unexpectedly.
Clara looked at her sharply. For a moment the veil had been lifted and she saw a very lonely woman indeed. Then the veil fell again and it was as before.
“Will you come round this evening and we’ll call him? Earlier than we did last night …” Frank was full of plans.
“No, Frank, I can’t tonight. Hilary’s cooking dinner,” Clara said.
“But you have to come!” He was outraged.
“I can’t, Frank. I told you …”
“You’re very doctrinaire,” he said crossly.
“And so are you. If you had called immediately you would have caught him.”
“Please, Clara.”
“No. I’m not saying it again. Wait until the next night if you need me to be there and hold your hand for you.” She hung up.
Frank sat listening to the empty line. What a fool he had been not to have telephoned the boy immediately! Clara was right. He had dithered, and the only result of his delay was the boy would think he was having a door closed in his face. Of course he remembered Rita Raven. Who wouldn’t have remembered her? His mother and father had been most disapproving.
Rita was from entirely the wrong kind of family. The Ennises hadn’t worked hard and risen to this degree of respectability just to be dragged down by their son. Frank Ennis had had parents who acted swiftly. Rita Raven had disappeared from everyone’s life. Frank had thought of her from time to time slightly wistfully, and now she had died. So young. He still saw her as the pretty seventeen-year-old she had been then. Imagine, she had gone all the way to Australia and had her child without ever letting him know. He had had simply no idea of this.
If he had known, what would he have done? He was uneasy thinking about it. Back then, on the edge of a career, back then, in a more disapproving climate, he might not have acted well. His parents had been so hostile about his relationship with Rita and so open in their relief that she had left the country. They couldn’t possibly have known more than they said, could they? His stomach churned at the possibility of it. But they couldn’t. Not paid a sum of money to buy her off. That was impossible. They were careful with money. No, he mustn’t go down that avenue of suspicion.
Damn Clara and her hen parties! He really needed to have her at his side.
Hilary served them an elegant meal.