Chapter One

JANUARY

The year began in different ways in different houses. Tom Feather woke in Stoneyfield flats with a pain in his shoulders and a stiff neck… The armchair had not been at all comfortable. He got some cold orange juice from the fridge, and fixed a flower to the glass with some sticky tape. He marched straight into the bedroom.

'Happy New Year to the most beautiful, saintly and forgiving woman in the world,' he said.

Marcella woke and rubbed her eyes.' I'm not saintly and forgiving, I'm furious with you,' she began.

'But you haven't denied that you are beautiful, and I have totally forgiven you,' he said happily.

'What do you mean? There was nothing to forgive me for.' She was very indignant indeed.

'Quite right, which is why we will say no more about it. I should thank you instead, because last night I found the premises.'

'You what?'

'I know it's all due to you: if you hadn't behaved so badly and forced me to leave that party, I'd never have found the place. I'll take you to see it as soon as you're dressed so drink up that beautiful elegant drink I've prepared for you and—'

'If you think for one moment that I'm going to leap out of bed and—'

'You're so right. I do not think that for one moment. Instead I think I'm going to leap into bed. What a truly great idea.' and he had his crumpled clothes off as he spoke.

In Neil and Cathy's house at Waterview the phone rang. 'It's your mother, saying all the guests are dead from salmonella,' Cathy said.

'More likely to be some shrink saying that you've been committed to a mental home for advanced paranoia,' Neil said, reaching over to ruffle her hair.

 I suppose we could leave it?' she said doubtfully.

'When do we ever?' Neil replied, reaching down under the bed where the phone was nestling. 'Anyway it's probably Tom.'

It wasn't Tom, it was about Jonathan. Neil was half out of bed.

'Tell them I'm on my way,' he was saying.

Cathy put on the coffee as he dressed.

'No time,' he was protesting.

'Listen, I've put it in a flask. Take it with you, you can drink it in the car,' she said.

He came back, took the flask and kissed her. I'm very sorry, hon. I did want to go and see this place with you this morning, you know I did.'

 I know, this is more important. Go.'

'And don't sign anything or accept anything until we've had someone take a look at it.'

'No, Mr Lawyer, you know I won't!'

'Now of course I do have the address in case this thing ends early. I could come straight there.'

'It won't end early, Neil, it will take all day. Go and save him before it's too late.'

Cathy watched him from the window. As he put the flask down on the frosty ground in order to open the car door, he must have known she would be watching. He waved up at her. Jonathan was lucky that he had Neil Mitchell in his corner. Neil would worry at the case like a dog with a bone, just as he would get a colleague to examine the title deeds of this place, which looked like the perfect premises at last.

JT and Maura Feather woke up in Fatima, a small red-brick house in a quiet road. They used to be workers' cottages, but the Feathers had noted with disapproval that a lot of trendy younger people were buying. Attracting burglars to the area.

 I never thought we'd live to see another year, JT. The Lord must have spared us for some purpose,' Maura said. She was a tall, thin woman with a long, sad face permanently set in the lines of a sorrowing Madonna bent low by the wickedness of the world.

Her husband was big and broad-shouldered, made strong by years of hard physical work in the building trade. His weather-beaten face had looked the same always.

'It's not that we're really all that old in terms of years, but I know what you mean,' JT agreed with her. He turned on the tea-making machine between their beds. It had been a gift from Tom. Maura had thought it was more trouble than it was worth, what with remembering to wash the pot and get fresh milk, but it was handy enough not to have to go down to the cold kitchen.

'Another year begun and not a sign of either of them wanting to do a hand's turn in the business,' he sighed heavily.

'Or settling down in marriage as God intended,' Maura sniffed.

'Ah, marriage is a different thing,' JT said. 'Anyone can marry or not marry, but no two other boys from this area have a ready-made business to walk into, and you have Joe making girls' dresses over in London and Tom making cakes and pastries. It would drive you to an early grave.'

Maura hated it when he got grey with worry. 'Haven't I told you to stop getting your blood pressure all het up over him,' she warned. 'He's like all young people, just looking out for himself. Just wait until he has a couple of children, then he'll be round to the door pretty fast wondering can he work in the business.'

'You may be right,' JT nodded, but in his heart he didn't think that he was ever going to see either of his boys ask him to put the words Feather and Son over his builder's yard.

Muttie Scarlet woke with a start. Something good had happened last night, and he couldn't remember what it was. Then it came back. He had drawn a horse in the pub sweepstake. That was all. Most people would be pleased about this. But to Muttie, who was a serious betting man, there was no skill or science in that kind of thing.

You just bought a ticket for a raffle and then twenty-one people got a horse, you couldn't even choose your own animal. He had something called Lucky Daughter. No form, nothing known about it, total outsider, probably had three legs. Lizzie didn't understand it at all. She had been pleased for him, said he'd have all the thrill of the race without having to put a week's wages on a horse.

Poor Lizzie. It was awful trying to explain anything at all about horses to her. And she was very sure that nothing she earned ever ended up at the bookmaker's. But to be fair, she did put the food on the table and didn't ask him for much from his dole money. Muttie hadn't known a week's wages for a long time. He had a bad back. But still and all, it wasn't too bad to get out of bed and bring Lizzie a mug of tea. She'd be going out to people's houses later to clean, to clear up their New Year's Eves for them. Lizzie was a great support to them all, the children in Chicago and to Cathy. Muttie smiled to himself as he often did over the fast one that their Cathy had done, grabbing Neil the son and heir of Oaklands, Hannah Mitchell's pride and joy. Even if he hadn't liked the boy, Muttie would have been overjoyed at that marriage. Just to see the hard, hate-filled face of Hannah at the wedding was vengeance enough for all that she had put poor Lizzie through up in that house. But Neil himself, as it happened, was a grand fellow. You couldn't meet a nicer lad in a month of Sundays. It was odd the way things turned out, Muttie told himself as he went to make the tea.

Hannah and Jock Mitchell woke at Oaklands.

'Well,' said Hannah menacingly. 'Well, Jock, it's tomorrow now. You said you'd decide "tomorrow".'

'God that was a good party.' Jock groaned.  I feel it not exactly in my bones, more in the front left-side of my head.'

'I'm not surprised,' Hannah was terse. 'But there's no time to talk about your hangover. We are talking about those children. They are not staying another night in this house.'

'Don't be hasty,' he pleaded.

 I'm not being hasty. I was very patient when you and Neil said they had to stay last night. I was a saint out of heaven, not breaking every bone in their bodies when I saw the wreckage they had achieved in here. That jacket of Eileen's will never clean, you know, never. God knows what they managed to smear into it…'

'Best thing if it doesn't. Makes her look like a vole,' Jock whimpered.

'You've done enough for Kenneth over the years…'

'That's not the point.'

 It is the point.'

'No, it's not, Hannah. Where else can they go? They're my brother's children. He seems to have abandoned them.' He winced with pain.

'It's too much,' Hannah protested. 'And they were very rude, both of them, no apology, saying I'd said they could have any room and they had chosen this one. Enough to crucify anyone at what was meant to be a party, a celebration.'

'You didn't over-indulge yourself?' He had a faint hope that she might also have a hangover, which might tolerate the thought of a Bloody Mary at breakfast.

'Someone had to keep an eye on things,' she sniffed.

'Well, didn't Cathy do that very well. I heard a lot of praise for—'

'What do men know of what needs to be done?'

'She left the place like a new pin.' He tried to defend his daughter-in-law.

'Well, at least some of the training I gave her poor mother must have paid off eventually.'

Hannah would say nothing good about Cathy. Jock gave up. Some things weren't worth fighting over, especially with this hammering in his head.

'True,' he said, feeling he had somehow let that hard-working girl down. But Cathy of all people would know how it was easier to take the line of least resistance with Hannah.

'And then running off at the end because she got some phone call in the middle of the night about premises for this crackpot idea of hers.'

'I know, ridiculous,' said Jock Mitchell, getting up to get a painkiller and feeling like Judas.

Geraldine had been up since seven o'clock. She had been alone in the Glenstar swimming pool: usually she would have had the company of half a dozen other Glenstar residents, who loved the amenity of their swimming pool. But New Year's Eve had taken its toll. Geraldine did her twelve lengths, washed her hair and went through the arrangements again for today's big charity lunch. She had advised a group to have their function on January the first, since it was often a flat day when people were eager to recover in company. And indeed, the response to the invitation list had been overwhelming. She had been wise to leave that photographer's party early last night. There had been nobody that interested her to talk to, a lot of them much younger than she was. She had slipped away quietly before midnight. She had seen Tom Feather and his dizzy girlfriend there but couldn't get to meet them across the room. Cathy and Neil would have been there, but of course Cathy had been catering the Mitchells' party last night; Geraldine hoped that it had gone well and that there had been a chance to make some useful contacts. Cathy hated that woman so much it was really important that the night had been some kind of success for her in terms of business. Geraldine wished they could find premises soon. She had agreed to back them for the loan when the time came, as had Joe Feather, Tom's rather elusive elder brother. All they had to do was find the place. And then brave, gutsy Cathy wouldn't have to nail a smile on her face and work in the kitchen of her mother-in-law's house, something she hated with a passion. One of the advantages of being single was that there were no mothers-in-law to cope with, Geraldine thought as she poured more coffee.

In a different part of the Glenstar apartments, Shona Burke woke up and thought about the year ahead. Many other women of twenty-six would wake today with a comforting body on the other side of the bed. In fact, she was sick of people asking her when she was going to settle down. It was so intrusive. Shona would not ask people why they didn't have a baby, or when they were going to have their facial hair seen to. She never queried why people drove a car that was falling to pieces, or stayed with a spouse so obviously less than satisfactory. How dare they speculate openly and to her face about why she hadn't married?

'It could be because you look too cool, too successful. Fellows wouldn't dare chat you up and go home with you,' a colleague had suggested helpfully.

Last night's party at Ricky's would have provided plenty of people who might have chatted her up and come back to the Glenstar apartments with her; in fact, she had had one very definite offer and two suggestions. But these would not have been people who would have stayed. Not anyone she could trust or rely on. And Shona Burke was not one to trust easily. She would get up soon go out to Dun Laoghaire for a brisk walk with a neighbour's dog, come back and get ready for the charity lunch. Because she was considered the very public face of Haywards, she was often asked to such things. Haywards was the store in Dublin. It had survived take-overs, makeovers and the passage of time. And today it would give her the chance to wear the new outfit which she had bought at a discount in Haywards. Ridiculous to have so many nice clothes at twenty-six, and not enough places to wear them.

'Neil, is it all right to talk?'

'Not really, father, we're in the middle of something…'

'So are we, we're in the middle of those two children taking the house apart brick by brick.'

'No, I mean what I'm in is really serious. I can't talk about Maud and Simon now.'

'But what are we going to do?'

'Father, we're going to look after them, it's as simple as that. We'll help you, Cathy and I, but now, if you'll excuse me…'

'But Neil…'

 I have to go.'

Jock Mitchell hung up wearily. The twins had unpacked all the desserts Cathy had left in the fridge and eaten them for breakfast. Simon had been sick. On the carpet.

In a garden flat in Rathgar, James Byrne was up and at his desk. Ever since he had retired six months ago he had continued the routine and habits of working life. Breakfast of a boiled egg, tea and toast, ten minutes' minimal tidying his three-room apartment, and then a second cup of tea and twenty minutes at his desk. It had been such a useful thing to do when he worked in the big accountancy firm. Cleared his head, sorted his priorities before he got into the office. Now of course there were no priorities. He didn't have to decide whether or not to oppose some tax scheme on the grounds that it was evasion. Other, younger people made those decisions. There was less and less to do, but he could always find something. He might renew a magazine subscription, or send for a catalogue. To his surprise the telephone rang. Very few people telephoned James Byrne at any time, and he certainly hadn't expected a call at ten o'clock in the morning on New Year's Day. It was a girl.

'Mr Byrne? Is it too early to talk?'

'No, no. How can I help you?'

The voice was young and very excited. 'It's about the premises, Mr Byrne, we're so interested, more than you'd believe. Is there any chance we could see them today?'

'Premises?' James Byrne was confused. 'What premises?'

He listened as she explained. It was the Maguires' old place, the printing works they hadn't even entered since the accident. He knew that they had been listless and depressed. They had been unwilling to listen to any advice. But now, apparently, they had disappeared, leaving a For Sale sign on their gate and James Byrne's phone number. In years of business James had learned that he must never transmit any of his own anxiety or confusion to a client.

'Let me see if I can find them, Miss Scarlet,' James said. 'I'll call you back within the hour.'

Cathy put the phone down carefully and looked around her in Tom's apartment, where the little group had been following every word of the conversation. Tom leaning forward, like her father always did to a radio when he wanted to hear who was winning a race. Marcella in an old pink shirt of Tom's and black jeans, her dark eyes and clouds of black hair making her look more and more like the top model she yearned to be. Geraldine, crisp and elegant, dressed for her smart lunch but still giving time to be present for the great phone call and what it might deliver.

'He's not an estate agent, he's an accountant, he knows the people who own it and he'll ring us back in an hour,' she said, eyes shining. They could hardly take it in.

It felt like three hours, but Geraldine told them it was only thirty-six minutes. Then the call came. This time Tom took it. James Byrne, ex-accountant, had been in touch with his friends in England. They reported they really did intend to sell. They had made their decision over Christmas, and had gone away to England yesterday now that it had been made. James Byrne had been asked to set it all in train. And as quickly as possible. Cathy looked at Tom in disbelief. It really was going to happen, exactly the kind of place they wanted. And they were the first potential buyers, they were in there with a chance. Tom was thinking the same thing.

'We are very lucky that you made this enquiry for us, Mr Byrne, and now if you would like us to let you know—'

The voice interrupted him. 'Of course you will understand that my first loyalty lies with the Maguires who own the premises. They will have to be represented by a lawyer, an auctioneer, and I will have to try and get them the best price possible.'

'Yes, of course,' Tom sounded deflated.

'But I am very grateful to you, Mr Feather, for bringing this to my notice, otherwise it might have been some days…'

Geraldine was scribbling something on the back of an envelope and showing it to him.

 Is there any chance you could show us inside the place, do you think?' Tom asked.

There was a pause. 'Certainly,' the man said. 'That would be no problem. In fact, the Maguires were anxious to know what kind of people had discovered the notice so quickly; they only put it up yesterday before they went to the airport.'

'Yesterday?' Tom was astounded. 'But it looks as if the place has been abandoned for a long time.'

 It has; the family had a lot of trouble.'

'I'm sorry. Are you a friend of theirs?'

'In a way. I did some work for them once. They trusted me.'

It was a sober sort of thing to say. Tom hoped that they could get back to the bit about letting them in. Then Mr Byrne cleared his throat.

'Suppose we meet there in an hour?' he suggested.

The city was still partially asleep, but James Byrne was wide awake. Small and rather precise-looking, wearing a navy overcoat and gloves, with a silk scarf tied around his neck, he was a man in his sixties who might have been cast in a film as a worried bank manager or concerned statesman. He introduced himself formally and shook hands with everyone as if they were in an office instead of standing in the bitter cold on the first day of the year outside a falling-down printing business. At first Cathy was pleased to see him take down the ludicrous cardboard notice while tut-tutting at the amateur nature of it all, but then he explained again that the place would of course have to be sold professionally, maybe even at auction. It could still be snatched from them. They sensed somehow that he wasn't going to tell them anything about the Maguires and what sorrows or confusion there had been in their lives. This was not the time to enquire.

They walked through in wonder. The place that could be Scarlet Feather's new home. First home.

All this middle section could be the main kitchen; this would be the freezer section, that would be the staff lavatory and washroom, and they would have storage here. And a small room where they could greet clients. It was almost too perfect: everything was what they had hoped. And it was so desperately shabby and run-down; perhaps others might not realise the potential. Cathy was aware that she had clasped her hands and closed her eyes only when she heard James Byrne clear his throat. He seemed to be concerned that she might be too happy about it all, too confident. She knew she must reassure him.

'It's all right, James, I do know it's not ours. This is only the first step of a very long journey,' she smiled at him warmly.

They had been talking to this man for forty-five minutes, calling him Mr Byrne all the while. He was a stranger, twice their age and she had called him James. She felt a slight flush creep up her neck. She knew exactly why she had done this; subconsciously it was part of her wish never to feel inferior, never to crawl and beg. But perhaps she had gone too far this time. Cathy looked hard at him, willing him not to take offence. James Byrne smiled back at her.

 It might not be too long a journey, Cathy. The Maguires are very anxious to get all this over; they want a quick sale. It might move much more quickly than you all think.'

Cathy did not go home. She didn't want to sit alone in the house while her mind was racing - and there were very few other places she wanted to be either. Tom and Marcella would need time to be on their own together. She couldn't go to St Jarlath's Crescent and hear a detailed description of their night at the pub when she ached to tell them the excitement in her life. There was no way she would go near Oaklands. In that big house at this very moment, there would be a terrible war raging. Those strange children, with their solemn faces and total disregard for anyone else's property or feelings might well have wrecked the place by now. She knew very well that sooner or later she and Neil would have to take some part in their care; but for now it would seem the wisest thing to stay away from Oaklands.

Hannah Mitchell would be on the phone to her friends, laughing and groaning or complaining to her husband that their daughter had not telephoned from Canada. She would not yet have discovered the neatly covered plates in her fridge with perfectly labelled chicken, vegetables and desserts. Cathy knew she would never be thanked for these. That wasn't part of any deal. The best she could hope for was that Hannah Mitchell would leave her alone.

No, that wasn't true. The very best thing would be if her mother-in-law fell down a manhole. Cathy was restless, she needed to walk, clear her head. She found that she was driving south, out of the city towards Dun Laoghaire and the sea. She parked the car and walked on the long pier, hugging herself against the wind. Many Dubliners with hangovers seemed to have had some similar notion, and were busy working up a lunchtime thirst for themselves. Cathy smiled to herself; she must be the soberest and most abstemious person here, one half-glass of champagne at midnight and nothing else. Even her mother who claimed that she didn't drink at all would have had three hot whiskeys to see the New Year in. It was probably wiser not to speculate on how many pints her father might have had. But there was nobody else walking this pier on this, the first day of the New Year who was nearly as excited as Cathy Scarlet. She was going to have her own business. She would be self-employed. Joint owner of something that was going to be a huge success. For the very first time since the whole thing had started she realised now that it was not just a dream.

They would paint the logo on the van, they would turn up in this funny mews every morning, the premises would have their name over the door. Nothing violent or loud that would be at odds with the area. Perhaps even in wrought iron? Already she and Tom had agreed that they would paint the two doors the deepest of scarlet red. But this was not the time for hunting down fancy door handles and knockers. No money could be spent on a detailed image at this stage. They had gone over so many times how much they could afford. They would not lose their business before it had even begun. One of those men at the Mitchells' party last night owned a big stationery firm; perhaps Cathy could go to him about a quote for printing brochures and business cards. They needn't accept it or anything, but it would remind the man and his rather socially conscious wife of their existence.

There were a million things to do; how could they wait now until they heard from these strange people who had apparently locked up a failed business and without making any arrangements about fixtures and fittings disappeared overnight? If it had not been for the calmer manner of James Byrne, Cathy would have feared that they were dealing with mad people who might never agree to the sale being closed. But there was something reassuring about this man. Something that made you feel safe, and yet who kept well at a distance at the same time. Neither she nor Tom had even dared to ask him where he lived or what company he had been with. They had his phone number from the strange cardboard notice, but Cathy knew that neither she nor Tom would telephone to hurry him up. They would wait until they heard his news. And in his perfectly courteous but slightly flat voice he had told them he was very sure that it would be sooner rather than later. Cathy wondered whether he had gone back to his house where his wife had prepared a lunch for him. Or would he take his family out to a hotel?

Perhaps he had no family, and was a bachelor catering for himself. He had looked slightly too well cared-for: polished shoes, well-ironed shirt collar. It might take for ever to know such information about him. But after James Byrne had introduced them to the strange, elusive Maguires, then they would probably never see him again. She must take his address sometime, so that when Scarlet Feather was up and running she could tell him that he had been in there at the very start of it… It would be a success, Cathy knew this. They hadn't spent two whole years planning it for it to end up as one of those foolish statistics about companies that failed.

And Cathy Scarlet, businesswoman, would be able to take her mother shopping and to lunch in a smart restaurant. And soon the consuming wish to kill Hannah Mitchell would pass, and she would be able to regard her as just another ordinary and even pathetic member of the human race. Tom Feather badly wanted it to succeed for all of his reasons, and she wanted it even more badly for all of hers. Which were very complicated reasons, Cathy admitted. Some of them very hard to explain to the bank, to Geraldine and even at times to Neil. There was a general feeling that life would be much safer if Cathy Scarlet was to bring her considerable talents to work for someone else. The someone else taking the risks, paying the bills, facing any possible losses. Usually but not always Cathy was able to summon up the passion, the enthusiasm and the sheer conviction that she was totally sane and practical. Cathy at top speed was hard to resist.

Sometimes during a wakeful night she had doubted herself. Once or twice when she looked at the opposition she wondered could she and Tom ever break into the market. At the end of long hours working in one of Dublin's restaurants, she was sometimes tempted to think how good it would be to go home and take a long bath rather than spend a couple of hours with Tom trying to work out what the food would have cost to buy, and how they might have cooked it better, presented it more artistically and served it more speedily.

But last night when she had seen the premises, and today when she had realised that they might possibly be within their grasp, she had no doubts at all. Cathy smiled to herself with all the confidence in the world.

'Well there's someone who had a nice New Year's Eve, anyway,' said a voice. It was Shona Burke, the very handsome young woman who was the head of Human Resources or whatever they called it at Haywards. Always very calm and assured, she was a friend of Marcella and Tom's and had been very helpful in trying to seek out contacts for them. She was being tugged by an excited red setter, who wanted to go and find other dogs or bark at the sea - anything except have another dull conversation with a human being.

'What on earth makes you think that?' Cathy laughed.

'Compared to everyone else I've met, you're radiant. They are all giving up drink for ever, or they've been abandoned by their true loves or can't remember where they're meant to be going for lunch.'

'They haven't begun to know hardship… They weren't catering a party for Hannah Mitchell.' Cathy rolled her eyes. Shona would know the dreaded Hannah, always the stalwart of fashion news and Valued Customer evenings at Haywards.

'And you're still alive and smiling.'

 I wasn't smiling over the party, believe me. You don't sell any untraceable poisons in that store of yours, I suppose? Where were you last night, anyway?'

 I was at Ricky's party. I met Marcella and Tom… Well… Tom just for a bit.'

Cathy paused. She would like to have told Shona their news, but they had all agreed nobody would know until there really was something to know. Geraldine and Marcella had agreed to be silent, so Cathy must say nothing. Nor did she ask why Tom had only been there for a bit.

'What was the food like?' Cathy asked instead.

'Not you too. Tom practically had a forceps and swab out examining it.'

'Sorry. I know we're very boring.'

'Not a bit, and the truth is the food was very dull. Not only did I ask them for a brochure which I'll send you, I also asked Ricky how much he paid them and you'll be stunned…'

'Stunned good or stunned bad?'

'Good, I imagine - I know what you two could do for that price. Sorry, this animal's going to have me in the harbour in a minute.'

'He's never yours, how do you keep something that size in Glenstar apartments?'

'No, I just borrowed him to get me out for a walk before lunch.'

Cathy realised that she knew nothing at all of Shona Burke's private life. Maybe everyone worked too hard these days to have a private life. Or more likely, maybe they worked too hard to have any time to speculate about anyone else's.

 I swear I'm keeping my eyes open for a place for you. You will find one when you least expect it, believe me.'

Cathy felt shabby thanking her. But a promise was a promise. She looked into the faces that passed her by. Some people might never be their clients in a million years, but others might well need Scarlet Feather some time in their lives. There would be birthdays, graduations, weddings, anniversaries, reunions - even funerals. People no longer thought that caterers were the preserve of only the rich and famous. They had given up the nonsensical superwoman image of pretending that they had cooked everything themselves while holding down a job, looking after their children and running a home. In fact, nowadays you were considered intelligent to be able to find someone else to take part of a compartment of your life. Some of these people taking a morning walk and watching the waves might well be sending for the brochure that she and Tom would soon get ready. The brisk couple with their two spaniels might well be booking a retirement party or a thirtieth wedding anniversary. The well-dressed woman who looked so fit might need to organise a ladies' lunch for fellow golfers. That couple holding hands might want a drinks party to announce their engagement. Even the man with the red eyes and white face, who was vainly hoping that fresh air might work miracles on whatever damage he had done to himself last night, might be a senior executive who was looking for a firm to run his corporate hospitality.

The possibilities were endless. Cathy hugged herself with pleasure. Her father used always to say that it was a great life just as long as you didn't weaken. Not that her father had ever shown much get up and go except to Sandy Keane's, or Hennessy's the bookmaker's. Poor Da: he would fall down if he knew how much she and Tom Feather were prepared to pay for these premises. And her mother would go white. Mam would be apologetic to the end of her life that somehow the maid's daughter had snared the great Hannah Mitchell's only son. It had been a terrible crime - ten thousand times greater than taking a half-hour off for a mug of tea, a smoke and a look at a quiz show on television. There was no changing her. In the beginning, Cathy had tried to force the two women to meet socially but it had been so painful, and Cathy's knuckles would clench every time her mother leaped up from the table to clear away the dishes at Oaklands any time they were invited there, that she had given up the attempt. Neil had been relaxed and indifferent about it.

'Listen, nobody sane could get on with my mother. Stop forcing your unfortunate mother to do things she hates. Let's just go and see your family on our own, or have them to our house.'

Muttie and Lizzie were as welcome at Cathy and Neil's house as any of the young lawyers, politicians, journalists and civil rights activists who moved in and out. And Neil dropped in occasionally to see his parents-in-law. He would find something that interested them to tell them about. Once he had brought a young man that his own mother would have called a tinker but Neil called a traveller, to see the Scarlets. Neil had just successfully defended the boy for horse-stealing and asked him to come and have a pint to celebrate. Shyly the boy had said that travellers were often not welcome in pubs, and when no persuasion had worked Neil had said that he must come and meet his father-in-law: they would bring half a dozen beers and talk horses. Muttie Scarlet had never forgotten it, he must have told Cathy a thousand times that he was happy to have been of service to Neil in the matter of entertaining his prisoners. Cathy's father always called them prisoners, not clients.

Gradually her mother began to relax when Neil came to visit. If she started to fuss, throw out his cooling tea or sew a button on his coat, or, as she did on one terrible occasion, offer to clean his shoes, he just got out of it gently without the kind of confrontation that Cathy would have started. Neil found the whole scene seemingly normal. He never saw anything odd in the fact that he was having boiled bacon in an artisan's cottage in St Jarlath's Crescent with his in-laws, who were the maid and her ne'er-do-well husband. Neil was interested in everything, which is what made him so easy to talk to. He didn't show any of the fiercely defensive attitude that Cathy wore like armour. To him it was no big deal. Which, as Cathy told herself a hundred times, it was not. It was only her mother-in-law who made it all seem grotesque and absurd. Cathy put the woman out of her mind. She would go back to Waterview and wait until Neil came home.

Their house at number seven Waterview was described as a town house. A stupid word that just added several thousand pounds to the small two-bedroom house and tiny garden. There were thirty of them built for people like Neil and Cathy, young couples with two jobs and no children as yet. They could walk or cycle to work in the city. It was ideal for Neil and Cathy and twenty-nine similar couples. And when the time came to sell there would be plenty of others to take their places. It was a good investment according to Neil's father, Jock Mitchell, who knew all about investments.

Hannah Mitchell had delivered herself of no view about Waterview, apart from heavy sighs. She had particularly disapproved of their having no dining room. Cathy had immediately decided that the room should be a study, since they would eat in the kitchen from choice. The study had three walls lined with bookshelves and one window looking out over the promised water view. They had two tables covered with green felt, and they worked on them in the late hours together. One would go and get coffee, then later the other would decide it was time to open a bottle of wine. It was one of the great strengths they had, the ability to work side by side companionably. They had friends who often sparred and complained that one or the other was working to the exclusion of their having a good time. But Cathy and Neil had never felt like that. From the very first time they had got to know each other out in Greece, when he had ceased to be that stuck-up boy at Oaklands whose mother had given everyone such a hard time… When Cathy had stopped being nice Mrs Scarlet's brat of a daughter, they had had very few misunderstandings. Neil had understood that Cathy wanted to run her own business right from the start. Cathy had known that he wanted a certain kind of law practice. There would be no short cuts for Neil Mitchell, no ever-decreasing office hours like his father had managed to negotiate; no pretending that he was somehow doing business by being out on a golf course or in a club in Stephen's Green. They would talk late into the night about the defendant who had never had a chance because the odds were stacked against him, how to prove that he was dyslexic and had never understood the forms that were sent to him. Or they would go through the budgets yet again for Scarlet Feather, and Neil would get out his calculator and add, subtract, divide and multiply. Whenever she was downcast he would calm her and assure her that one of his father's partners, a man who lived and breathed money, would advise them every step of the way.

Cathy let herself into number seven Waterview and sat down in the kitchen. This was the only room where they could really see the pictures on the walls. There was no room for paintings in the study because of all the books, files and documents. The hall and stairs were too narrow, you couldn't really see anything they hung there, and the two bedrooms upstairs were lined with fitted wardrobes and dressing tables. So there was no room there.

Cathy sat at her kitchen table and looked up at their art collection. Everything there had been painted by someone they knew. The Greek sunrise by the old man in the taverna where they had stayed. The prison cell by the woman on a murder charge that Neil had got acquitted. The picture of Clew Bay in Mayo by the American tourist they had met and befriended when his wallet had been stolen. The wonderful still life by the old lady in the hospice who had an exhibition three weeks before she died. Every one of them had a history, a meaning and a significance. It didn't matter to Neil and Cathy whether they were great art or rubbish.

A telephone in a quiet house can sound like an alarm bell. Somehow, from its very tone, Cathy knew this wasn't going to be an easy phone call.

 Is Neil there?' her mother-in-law snapped.  I'm afraid he's out with Jonathan. There was an attempt to hustle him out of the country this morning.'

'When will he be coming back?' Hannah's voice was a rasp. 'Well, when he's finished, he won't know when. 'I'll call his mobile…'

'He turns it off at meetings like this, he couldn't…' 'Where is he, Cathy, he has to come here at once.' 'Has there been an accident… ?'

'There has indeed been an accident, and most of the kitchen ceiling has come down,' Hannah cried. 'They left bath taps running and the weight of the water… I need Neil to get those children out of here to wherever they're going to be sent. We haven't had a moment's peace - and as for you, Cathy, those children have eaten entirely unsuitable rich desserts and have been sick. I need to talk to Neil. Now.' Her voice was by now dangerously high and shaky.  I can't contact him for you, I really can't. But I know what he'd say.'

 If you're going to tell me to calm down…'

'He'd say we'll take them here. So that's what we'll do.' Cathy sighed.

'Can you, Cathy?' The relief in Hannah's voice was clear. 'They've been allowed to run wild - they need professionals to look after them, to try to bring them back to normal. And I don't want Neil to say I put them on to you…'

'It won't be like that.'

'No. But get him to ring me the moment you can.'

Cathy smiled. She had now what her mother called her-meat-and-her-manners: she had offered and been refused - even if she had only offered because she could see it coming anyway. She dialled Neil's mobile phone to leave the message.

'Sorry to disturb you with trivia, but the- twins have apparently brought down the ceiling in Oaklands. Ring your mother soonest. Hope it's all going well for Jonathan.'

Then she went to the spare room and made up two beds. The twins would be there before nightfall.

Tom rang to say he wanted to borrow the van and would that be all right.

I want to go up into the mountains, I think. It's just I can't think or talk about anything else and I'm afraid I'll drive Marcella demented. Do you want to come? Is Neil bearing up?'

'He's still out fighting the good fight. I'd better not come with you, though, we have another horror-story brewing. Remember the twins from hell who turned up at Oaklands last night?'

'Have they burned the place down yet?'

'They might have by now. But they're probably packing their things and getting ready to come to Waterview as we speak.'

'Cathy, they can't Tom was aghast. 'You don't have room, apart from anything else.'

'Don't I know it, but as my father would say, even money we see them here tonight.'

'So what are you doing?'

'Nailing things down, mainly. Removing anything breakable. You know, the usual.'

'I'll just sneak into the courtyard and take the van away,' Tom said.

'Don't even look up at a window, they could fire something at you,' she said with a laugh.

'Just one word of warning, Cathy and then I'll shut up about it all. Don't let Neil take them on and then go off saving the world and leaving them to you.'

She sighed. 'And will you take one word of warning from me. Drive carefully, we haven't half-finished paying for that van and when you get excited you take your eyes off the road and your hands off the wheel.'

'When the business is successful, we'll get a tank,' he promised.

Cathy made yet another cup of tea and thought about Tom. They had met on her first day at catering college; with his shock of thick, light brown hair he had an artlessly graceful way of moving. His enthusiasm and the light in his eyes had been the keynote of their years on the course. There was nothing Tom Feather would not attempt, suggest, carry out.

There had been the time he had 'borrowed' a car from one of the lecturers because it had been left in the college yard for the weekend and Tom thought it could take six of them to Galway and back. Sadly, they'd met the lecturer in Galway and it could have been very difficult.

'We brought your car in case you wanted to drive home,' Tom had said, with such brio that the lecturer had half-believed him and almost apologised for the wasted journey since he had a return ticket and a girlfriend with him.

There had been the picnics and barbecues where Tom insisted they must be true to their calling and insisted on marinating kebabs when others would have been content with burned sausages. Cathy could almost smell those nights full of food and herbs and wine on the beaches around Dublin, and the winter evenings in the ramshackle flat that Tom shared with three other guys.

Cathy had envied him the freedom. She had to go back to St Jarlath's Crescent every night and, even though Muttie and Lizzie had allowed her a fair amount of freedom, it still wasn't the same as having your own place.

'You could come and live here,' Tom had told her more than once.

'I'd only end up doing their ironing and lifting their smelly socks off the floor.'

'That's probably true,' Tom had agreed with reluctance.

He had never been short of girlfriends but took none of them seriously. He had a way of looking at people that seemed to suggest no one else in the world existed. He was interested in the most trivial things people told him and he was afraid of no one. He was kind to his rather difficult parents but it never meant that he missed any of the fun. When they all wanted to go to a black tie event in one of the big Dublin hotels, none of them could afford to hire dress suits; but Tom had a friend who worked in a dry-cleaners. It had been dangerous and dramatic and at least four jobs were on the line, but as Tom said cheerfully, nobody lost and everybody won.

They had been talking about Scarlet Feather from the earliest days. No other form of catering had interested either of them; while their friends wanted to do hotel work, work on cruise liners, be celebrity restaurant chefs, write books and be on television, Tom and Cathy had this dream of serving top-grade food in people's homes. As Ireland became progressively more affluent, they felt sure this was the right way to go.

They worked together in restaurants to get the feel for the kind of food people liked. Cathy was amused at how casually Tom took the compliments and the come-on glances directed his way. Even the stern Brenda Brennan in Quentin's was sometimes heard to say she wished she were twenty years younger.

Had Cathy fancied him herself in those days? Well, yes, of course, in a sort of way. It would have been impossible not to. And it might well have come to something. She smiled at the recollection.

They had planned to go to Paris on a very cheap flight. They had listed the restaurants they would visit: some to admire from the window, one to tour the kitchens because a fellow student had got a job there; and two where they might actually eat dinner.

They had never been to Paris before. They discussed it, heads close together over maps, night after night. Once they got there, they would walk here, take the Metro there; this museum would be open, that one closed - but it was mainly the food they were going to investigate.

They hadn't exactly said that this was the trip when they might become lovers. But it was in the air. Cathy had her legs waxed and bought a very expensive lacy slip. They had been all set to leave on a Friday afternoon and then that morning three things happened.

Lizzie Scarlet fell off a ladder in Oaklands while hanging Hannah Mitchell's curtains and was taken to hospital by ambulance.

Tom was offered a weekend's work at Quentin's because Patrick's sous chef had let them down.

Cathy was called to interview for a job cooking in a Greek villa for the summer.

They told themselves and each other that Paris would always be there.

Cathy went to the Greek island to cook and met Neil Mitchell, a guest in the villa who kept putting off his return home to be with her.

And Tom met Marcella Malone.

And even though Paris was always there, it remained unvisited by Cathy Scarlet and Tom Feather.

She sometimes wondered about that weekend and what would have happened. But if they had been lovers, even for a short time, it would have been hard to forget once they were serious business partners in a thriving enterprise. And this way they brought no history with them. Nothing that could make either Neil or Marcella in any way uneasy.

Cathy heard a key turn in the door.

'Where are the twins?she called.

'They're in the car,' Neil answered sheepishly. 'You knew they were coming? Mother said you did, but I didn't really believe her, to be honest.' His face was alight now, as if he had expected a protest. 'And you don't mind?'

'I didn't say that. But you had to bring them. How was Jonathan?'

'It looks as though it's going to be okay.'

'Well done.'

'It was a group effort, teamwork,' he said, as he always did. 'I'll get the twins - you're a hero.'

'For a few days I'll be one - they're not too easy to handle, are they? Did it get sorted out at Oaklands?'

'No way, a big shouting match with Mother before they left, right down to the "someone has to look after us" line, which is only too bloody true, poor things.'

'Wheel them in.'

She watched them coming up the steps, muttering to each other that it was a much smaller house, asking each other if Neil and Cathy had children, wondering was there a television in the bedroom. Cathy forced herself to remember that they were nine and frightened. They had been abandoned by their father, mother and brother, their aunt had thrown them out.

'This is the Last Chance Saloon,' she said pleasantly as they came in. 'You have one small bedroom between you with no television. We have a very stern policy on bathrooms here, leaving them clean but not overflowing for the next person, and there's an endless amount of please and thank you going on but apart from that you'll have a great time.'

They looked at her doubtfully.

'The food is terrific, for one thing,' she added.

'That's for sure,' said Neil.

'Did you marry her because she was a good cook?' Simon asked. 'Or did it just turn out that she was a good cook?' wondered Maud.

'And my name is Cathy Scarlet. I am married to your cousin Neil so from now on I won't be referred to as "she" or "her", is that very clear?'

'Why don't you have Neil's name if you're married to him?' Maud wanted everything cleared up.

'Because I am a woman of fiercely independent nature, and I need my own name for my work,' Cathy explained. This seemed to satisfy them.

'Right, could we see the room?' Simon said.

'I beg your pardon?' Cathy was icy.

He repeated it; she still looked at him questioningly.

He got it. 'I mean, please can we see the room. Thank you.' He looked pale and tired; they both did. It had been a long day: there had been nothing but dramas and recriminations. Their parents had disappeared, their future was uncertain, the boy had been sick all over the carpet in Oaklands, they had destroyed the kitchen ceiling and they would never be allowed back there again.

'Come on, then, I'll show you,' she said.

'How did you get on today,' Neil asked eventually when the children were asleep and they had time to talk to each other. She was by now almost too tired to tell him about it.

 It was exactly what we want - perfect place, perfect location, room to park the van… But we have to wait. Patience is what's needed apparently.'

The days crawled by after that. They waited and waited. And then finally, 'James Byrne here, Ms Scarlet.'

'Mr Byrne?' They were being formal; she was too nervous to call him James.

 I said I would try to come back to you within four days, and I'm very pleased to say that I have.' He sounded well pleased with himself.

'Thank you so much, but—'

'Mr Feather's answering machine was on, and you did say that it was fine to call either of you.'

'Please, is there any news?' Cathy wanted to scream at him for his slow, precise way of talking.

'Yes, I have been authorised to act for the Maguire family.'

'So?'

'So, they are going to accept your offer, subject to—'

'They're not going to go to auction… They might have got more at an auction.'

'They and I have discussed this, and with the estate agents too, but they would prefer an immediate sale.'

'Mr Byrne, what do we do now?'

'You'll tell Mr Feather, I imagine, Ms Scarlet, and then you both get your lawyer and your bank, and then we go to contract.'

'Mr Byrne?' Cathy interrupted.

'Yes Ms Scarlet?'

'I love you, Mr Byrne,' Cathy said without pausing. 'I love you more than you will ever know.'

And everything began to move very quickly after that. Too quickly. Cathy looked back on the first three days of the year as if they had been in slow motion. Now she realised that there were not enough minutes in any hour to cope with all that had to be done. And she usually needed to be in three places at the same time. When she was sitting with Geraldine and the bank manager, she should have been meeting Tom and his father at the builder's yard. When she was making the four apple strudels for Mrs Ryan, the nervous woman she had met at Oaklands, she should have been having a medical at the insurance company, and when she should have been at the solicitor's going over every clause of the contract of sale, she was making spaghetti bolognese for Maud and Simon Mitchell, who were proving to be a nightmare.

At this of all times she appeared to have taken charge of a boy and a girl that she had never met before. Cathy, who knew all her uncles and aunts and cousins in great depth, barely had time to wonder why Kenneth and Kay weren't part of the extended family scene.

'He's got no visible means of support,' Neil said. 'He says he's in business, but no one quite knows what it is.'

'You mean like my father going to work, as he calls visiting the bookies, and meeting his associates, as he calls the others who hang out there?'

'No, nothing as straightforward as that, and I think she likes the vodka a little too much when he goes abroad. So that's the problem: no one quite knows where he is at present, and she's been taken away to hospital for not knowing where she is herself.'

He was unfeeling about the situation, not judgemental but not involved. Perhaps that's how you got to be a good lawyer.

It couldn't have happened at a worse time. Why had she agreed to take those monstrous children into Waterview for three nights because of some vague marital disharmony in their home? There was marital disharmony in every home in the Western world at the beginning of January. And suppose their father had gone walkabout and their mother retreated back into a psychiatric home then why couldn't their big brother Walter look after them? Why bother asking that question? Walter wouldn't have known where to find their cornflakes in the morning, that was supposing he was ever home by breakfast. And Hannah had made it quite clear that her brother-in-law's children were finding no substitute home at Oaklands.

They were pale, solemn-looking children, who asked disconcerting questions… 

'Do you have a drinking problem, Cathy?' Simon asked when they first came into the house.

'Only problem is getting enough time to drink these days,' Cathy said cheerfully. Then she remembered the danger of being ironic with children.

'Why exactly did you wonder that?' she asked, interested.

'You seem kind of anxious,' Simon explained.

'And there's a big bottle of brandy on the kitchen table,' Maud added.

'Oh! I see… No, that's actually calvados, it's for putting in Mrs Ryan's apple strudels and then glazing across the top, that's not for drinking. It's too dear. And anxious because I'm buying a business. I don't think it's all drink-related. But what do I know?'

'Why are you buying a business?' asked Simon. 'Doesn't Neil give you enough money?'

'Why don't you stay at home and have children instead?' Maud wondered.

Cathy paused and looked at them. With their pale, straight hair and pasty little faces they lacked their elder brother's charm, but they also lacked his selfishness. They did genuinely seem interested in her predicament, and she must answer them truthfully.

'Neil would give me half he has very willingly, therefore I'd like to have something of my own to share with him. So that's why I want a business,' she said.

They nodded. This seemed reasonable.

'And Neil and I may well have children sometime, but not just now because I'll have to be out so much and working such long hours. Maybe in a few years…'

'Wouldn't you be too old to have children then?' Maud didn't want any loopholes in the plan.

'I don't think so,' Cathy said. 'I did check, they say I'd be all right.'

'Suppose they came earlier, by accident. Would you give them away?' Simon frowned at the thought.

'Or worse.' Maud wasn't a fool about such things.

'We arranged that they won't arrive until we're ready for them.' Cathy had the bright strained smile of a woman who has a hundred things to do that are more important than this conversation.

'So you'd only mate about once a month, is that it?' Maud suggested.

'That's about it,' Cathy said.

Tom was sympathetic about the twins, but the day they were going to see the lawyers he became suddenly anxious.

'I wonder can we leave them anywhere else today, Cathy. I know you take them most places, but honestly…"

'Where, Tom, where? They're barred from Oaklands, Walter won't mind them. What can I do with them?'

'Could Neil… ?'

'No, he couldn't. Could Marcella…?'

'No, she couldn't.'

'Jesus, Tom, I can't leave two defenceless children in a house on their own all day.'

'Are you suggesting that they come and negotiate some of the finer points of the contract with the solicitor?'

'Tom, stop picking on me. You're nervous, I'm nervous, it's too much money, it's too much risk. Let's take it easy.'

 I'm not nervous, and you're not nervous about it at all. The only thing that's causing any grief is those two time bombs you've installed in the van.'

'Where else can I take them?'

'Take them to your mother and father's.'

'And have my dad take their pocket money to put on something with three legs?'

'Tell them about your dad, warn them. Cathy, we can't take them to the lawyer. He's some posh friend of Neil's, believe me, they would not expect or appreciate those two with their sticky fingers all over the corporate furniture.'

'All right.' Cathy gave in. 'But remember, Tom, today is your tantrum for getting nervous; tomorrow or the day after is mine.'

'It's a deal,' said Tom

.

'How are you, Simon?' Muttie gave a manly handshake.

'What's your name?' Simon was suspicious.

'Muttie.'

'Right how 'ya, Muttie,' Simon said.

'Or even Mr Scarlet, possibly,' Tom suggested.

'Muttie's fine,' said Cathy's father.

Simon looked triumphant.

'And this is Maud. You're very welcome, child.'

'All right, what are we going to do today?' Maud asked ungraciously.

Cathy thought to intervene but left it. It wouldn't be for long.

'I thought we'd take a little walk the three of us,' Muttie began. 'You see, I have one or two things to do, and maybe I could persuade you…'

'No, Da,' Cathy cried. 'And kids, remember what I told you, hey?'

'I know he's an addict,' Simon said.

Cathy closed her eyes.

'A what?' Muttie asked.

Simon was clear on his instructions. 'You can't help it, it's like being a drug addict. You think if someone has a pound you need it to put on a horse, and Cathy says we have to buy magazines or sweets as quick as we can if you suggest it.'

'Thanks, Cathy,' her father said.

'You know I didn't put it quite like that, Da.'

'Exactly like that, Muttie,' grinned Tom, who had always called him Mr Scarlet before but wasn't going to be outdone by young Simon.

'But on the other hand, if you think of anything lucky for me today, the day we sign the contract, then can you put this on his nose?' He handed Cathy's father a ten-pound note.

'You're a gentleman, Tom Feather, I always said it.' Muttie shook his hand warmly.

As they left for the lawyer's office Cathy heard Simon asking her father casually, 'Do you have an addiction to drink too, Muttie? My mother has, she can't help it, you see.'

Cathy leaped into the white van. 'I want to be out of here before we hear him inviting the twins down to a good pub on the docks to start the outing with a pint.'

'On balance, that would be better than having them in the solicitor's office.' Tom had reversed the van and they were speeding along to their appointment.

'Better for whom?' Cathy wondered.

It went so smoothly at the lawyer's that Tom and Cathy were worried. There should have been some hold-up, something unacceptable.

'The other side are being remarkably accommodating; they have given specific instructions for a quick sale, and so of course we need to do a very intensive search in case there's something to conceal.'

'Of course,' Cathy and Tom agreed through gritted teeth. Why couldn't barristers or solicitors ever believe that people might just be telling the truth, that these Maguires were so anxious for their money, and to forget their old life, that they wanted to sell? But they knew it had to be done by the book no matter how slow and laborious. There was one message each on their mobile phones when they got back to the van. Cathy was to ring her aunt Geraldine. Urgently. Tom was to ring his father. They stood at either end of the van, talking. They finished and came back to sit down, both in good humour.

'Well, you first, was it a crisis?' he asked.

'Absolutely not. It was great news, she knows a restaurant selling up a rake of kitchen equipment, cookers as good as new, an enormous chest freezer. We can go over there after we've visited your Dad and look at them today.'

Tom said nothing.

'And you?' Cathy asked.

His father had agreed to do the building job but it involved putting someone else on hold. If Tom went round to sort that out and kept the name of Feather looking good, then it was a deal.

'He's around at the premises already, with two lads. There's an authorisation in from the Maguires; they want their equipment moved out and sold, so Da and the others are clearing the place. You can go there, can you?'

'Sure.' Cathy hoped they wouldn't mind talking to a girl about it.

'He thinks talking to me about building is worse than talking to a girl,' Tom said ruefully.

'But he needs you to do something more important?'

'Yes; talk nice to some architect and persuade him that my father and the team aren't a pack of cowboys.'

'What will you say?' Cathy was interested.

'I'll tell them the truth. It's amazing how often that works; tell them that the young Feather has a chance to do well. Might even pick up a bit of business for us - you never know.' He had such an engaging grin, Cathy knew it would work out.

JT Feather was a man very anxious that things should be done right. That no short cuts be taken, that the authorities never be offended in any way.

Cathy parked the van and noted with pleasure the way the place was being cleared out. The men had been working hard.

'You know it's very irregular, doing all this before the contract is signed.'

'You have their fax, Mr Feather. They want it this way.'

'But all my life I've worked on the principle that you don't touch a place until it is legally yours.' He frowned a lot.

'We're getting equipment this week; we have to have somewhere to plug it in.'

'Ah, not this week, Cathy, be reasonable. The floors have to be done, the walls hacked out and made good, there has to be a full paint job… There are a hundred details that have to be sorted out.'

'We'll talk about the details later. Tom told you, Mr Feather, we have to be up and running at the end of the month.'

'That boy was always a dreamer, will you look at the notions he had about this and that. You're never taking his timetable seriously, a sensible girl like you?'

'Oh, believe me, it's my timetable too, and we have a reception planned for the last Friday in January.'

'There's no rush, girl, the job must be properly done.'

'No, there isn't time to have it properly done. Three more catering firms will have opened and taken the business unless we get in there quick.'

'But the regulations, Cathy…' He was pale with anxiety.

Was this better or worse than her own reckless father, who would have put the deeds of the house on the next race if her mother hadn't kept them well hidden?

'I won't delay you, Mr Feather, I have to take some measurements for equipment that I'm going to buy today.'

'Today?' She could hear him gasp but she took no notice. Instead, she took out her metal measuring tape and moved past him into the room, which was looking emptier by the minute as the bulky machinery was being moved out into trailers. Cathy knelt down to see how much room there was for the freezer. Geraldine had said it was enormous but hadn't been specific. She was busy writing the measurements into her notebook when she saw Tom's father coming in, opening the top button of his shirt so that he could breathe more easily.

'Tell me they're not coming today.'

'Oh, not at all. I'm only going to see them today. The auction is tomorrow, they'll come at the end of the week. I'll have the details about where we'll need sockets before the day is over. Can you have the electrician here as early as he can make it tomorrow morning, do you think?'

'The world has changed totally,' said Tom's father.

'Tell me about it, Mr Feather,' said Cathy, and was gone.

Tom called.  I daren't ask, but how are things going?'

'Not too bad. And your end?'

 I bought the time, told them we were wonderful and that we'd send them a brochure. Just give me the address again of that place with the freezers and cookers and I'll meet you there.'

Her friend June rang to know would they go to a wine bar.

 I may never go to a wine bar again for the rest of my life,' Cathy said, crawling out from behind a particularly complicated measuring job.

'Great load of fun you're going to be when you're a businesswoman,' June said sourly, and hung up.

Neil rang. 'How did it go with the lawmen?'

She told him there seemed to be no hitches or problems. 'There are always hitches and problems with the law. That's what most of them get paid for,' he countered.

'Well not so far.' She was anxious to believe that it might, for once in life, be plain sailing.

'Well, you're with the best people,' he said.

'What time will you be home?' she asked.

'Lord, I don't know. Why?'

'No reason. It's just with the kids…'

'Oh, God, I'd forgotten about them. Where are they now?'

 In St Jarlath's,' she said.

'You never left them with your parents!' He seemed astonished.

 I had to leave them somewhere, Neil. I couldn't take them with me to the solicitor's, could I? Or here, which is like a builder's yard full of rubble, and on to inspect appliances at an auction which is where I'm going now.'

'But Cathy…' he began.

'But what?'

'Nothing… nothing. See you later.'

There were very few people looking at the kitchen equipment. It was almost exactly what they wanted.

'Isn't it kind of sad?' Cathy said in a whisper.

 I know,' Tom agreed.  I was just thinking that. Someone else's dreams gone up in smoke.'

'It won't happen to us.' She sounded braver than she felt.

And all day their mobile phones kept ringing. Something else the lawyers needed, some further problem JT Feather had unearthed, Marcella wondering would they all go to an early film, James Byrne looking for another detail. At none of the places they visited was there ever any proper parking. Nobody they called was ever at a desk or could be located. At four o'clock they were very hungry but there was no time to stop, so Tom got them two bars of chocolate and a banana each. Somehow they got through the day, and Cathy realised guiltily as she drove to St Jarlath's Crescent that she had left those children there for far too long, and that she hadn't bought anything for them to eat that night. They would pick up a takeaway on the way home. Fine way for a caterer to behave, she thought.

It was still an odd feeling to drive up this small street of two-up, two-down houses, where she had been born and brought up. Her father had always told her proudly how he had moved their belongings in using a handcart, and now Cathy would drive in casually in her white van or her husband's Volvo. Like looking at your past from a great distance, where everything had changed and yet in other ways nothing had changed at all. A place where her mother still strove to please the unpleasable Hannah Mitchell, even though she had long since ceased to work for her. Where her mother even at this stage would be in some kind of awe of these terrible poor children because their name was Mitchell. Oh, please may nothing awful have happened. May her mother not have cleaned their shoes, or her father cleaned them out of their pocket money.

The twins were alone in the kitchen, staring at the oven. The table and all their own clothes seemed to be covered with flour. They had made pastry, they said, because that was all there was to do here, and Muttie's wife had helped them make a steak and kidney pie which they were going to take home with them because the shoemaker's children were never shed.

'Shod,' corrected Cathy.

'Shed, shod, yeah, whatever,' Simon said.

'Did you enjoy it?' Cathy asked.

She had loved standing at that very table, helping her mother to cook.

'Not much,' Simon said arrogantly.

'He thinks it's not men's work,' Maud explained.

'It's just I didn't expect to be doing this. We don't do this at home,' Simon complained.

'It's always good to learn things,' Cathy said, wanting to slap him. Her kind mother had taught them to make a pie, and all he could do was complain. 'What did you learn today?'

 I learned you need sharp knives to cut up the meat. Have you got any sharp knives for your waitressing business?'

'Catering business, actually. Yes, I do have sharp knives, thank you Simon.'

'Muttie's wife has a great way to put salt and pepper in the flour,' Maud began. 'You shake it all up in a paper bag together, did you know that?' she asked Cathy.

'Yes, Mam taught me that too,' Cathy said.

 I never knew that before,' Simon said, as if it were somehow a suspect way of doing things.

'You never made pastry before until Muttie's wife showed us,' Maud said scathingly.

'Oh, for Christ's sake call her Lizzie,' cried Cathy, at the end of her tether.

'We didn't know her name, you see,' Maud explained, startled.

'She told us she used to work for Aunt Hannah as a sort of servant or cleaner or something,' Simon said. 'And we told her that we hated Aunt Hannah and that she hated us.'

'I'm sure your aunt Hannah doesn't hate you, you must have got that wrong,' Cathy murmured.

'No, I think she does, otherwise why would we be at Muttie and Lizzie's place making steak and kidney pie, instead of Oaklands?' Simon spoke as if the whole thing were totally obvious.

'Anyway,' Maud added, 'we told her that this is better in a lot of ways than Oaklands and we said that we could come again tomorrow.'

Cathy looked at them in disbelief. What amazingly self-possessed, confident children. They were sure of their welcome anywhere, free to criticise and comment. That's what being a Mitchell did for you. They watched her face as if trying to read her expression. She must remind herself that they were only nine, that their father had left home and their mother had been taken into a psychiatric hospital. Their brother was hopeless. This wasn't the best of times.

'We did say it to them,' Maud said.

'Say what?' Cathy asked.

'That we were going to keep coming here until things got back to normal at The Beeches,' Simon explained.

'And what did they say?'

'Muttie said that he didn't have any problem with it, and his wife Lizzie said that it would all depend on Aunt Hannah.'

'Where are they now?' Cathy asked fearfully. Was there any possibility that these two demented children had driven her unfortunate parents so mad they had left home?

'Muttie said he was slipping out to the shoemaker…' Maud began.

'Bookmaker,' Simon corrected.

'Well, some kind of maker anyway, and his wife Lizzie is upstairs on the phone because her daughter telephoned her from Chicago.'

Cathy sat down in the kitchen. It could be a lot worse, she supposed.

'You must not interrupt us, we have to watch as it goes golden brown,' Simon said.

'Who is the bookmaker, and why was he never shod?' Maud wanted to know.

'Is he coming to dinner with us? Is that why we made the pie?' Simon "wondered.

Cathy felt very, very tired, but she remembered asking her aunt Geraldine things years ago, and the really satisfying thing was that Geraldine had always tried to answer her.

'It's a sort of saying, really. What Mam meant was that in a shoemaker's house the man is making so many pairs of shoes for other people that he never has time to make any for his own children, and they go barefoot.'

'Why don't they get shoes in the shops?' Maud asked.

'But is he coming to dinner or is he not?' Simon insisted on knowing.

'Not tonight,' Cathy said wearily. 'Sometimes the shoemaker will come to dinner, I hope, but not tonight.'

Neil's court case was all over the papers; the fight had been won for the moment. Prominent civil rights leaders had come to court, there was talk of a big protest march, a stay had been given for three months, which was longer than they had hoped. Cathy had time only for a quick glance at the evening paper as she settled the children in the kitchen with instructions on how to set the table, and grabbed a shower. Neil had left a note saying he had gone out for wine and ice cream. She was just pulling on a clean T-shirt and jeans when he came into the bedroom.

'Those two told me they had made a pie - are they serious?'

 I think my mother made it, actually. Well done, I saw in the paper you're a hero. Was he delighted?'

'He was more stunned than anything else I think, but the great thing is we've mobilised a lot of support. It won't be so easy for them the next time, they can't bundle him out overnight any more.' Neil's face was animated and excited. He would have talked for ever. Cathy hung her head slightly. Her own day seemed suddenly very trivial in comparison.

He stroked her cheek. 'You look lovely, you know. What a pity we don't have time to…'

 I don't think we'll have time for that sort of thing in the foreseeable future. By the way, Maud told my mother that we mate once a month.'

'God, did she? What an extraordinary thing to say.'

'That's one of the mildest things they've said. Let's not even think about it, let's go and eat dinner and drink a great deal of wine and celebrate your win.'

Simon had the table set. 'Are we sure the shoemaker isn't coming?' he asked, slightly worried.

'The shoemaker?' Neil paused in drawing the cork from the bottle.

'Don't ask, please don't ask,' said Cathy.

'Were the cookers suitable?' Geraldine wanted to know next morning.

'Perfect, we're going to take two plus a fridge, a freezer, a deep-fat fryer and a lot of saucepans.'

'Great stuff, was Tom delighted?'

'Thrilled, we put reserve prices on things, they'll ring tonight. I can't go today as I have to be with the electricians. Feather and Company finally found an electrician who gets out of bed before midday, so I'm meeting him there in a few minutes. Tom's out with other suppliers.'

'Have you time for lunch? You could come to the hotel, they have some foreign chefs doing a buffet, you could steal a few ideas.'

'I'd love it, Geraldine, but I haven't a minute, we have to meet the insurance broker again, fill in a planning application, change of nature of premises, and there's a good January sale on. I thought I might have a quick hunt for curtain material before we meet James Byrne again up at the premises.'

'You're killing yourself.'

'Early days, busy days.' Cathy sounded cheerful.

'And why are these awful children not going back to their own people?' Geraldine was disapproving.

'There are no own people, their father has been sighted in Leeds, and this has sent their mother back to the funny farm.'

'And what in God's name do my sister and her capable, energetic husband do with the twins from hell all day?'

'You know Mam, she'll get neighbours to keep them entertained when she's out working, and she's teaching them to cook.'

'That sounds sensible, they'll need someone to cook if they're to go back to that house,' said Geraldine.

 I know, Geraldine, but what can we do?' Cathy wailed.

'And what does Neil say? They're his responsibility.'

'He says we can't let them go into a home.'

'So they're in your mother's home instead.'

'And ours at night,' Cathy said with spirit.

'I bet that's a barrel of laughs,' Geraldine said.

'Neil finds it very hard to work while they're there. Don't worry, Geraldine; it's not going to last for ever.'

'Mr Feather not with you?' James Byrne asked when Cathy arrived to meet him, as agreed, on site in the late afternoon. The noise of drilling was loud in their ears.

'I wonder, could you call him Tom?' Cathy knew that she sounded tired, and hoped that the bright smile somehow compensated for it.

'Certainly, if you wish,' the voice was polite.

'It's just that we have so much on our minds that when you say Mr Feather, I immediately think you're talking about his father, who's inside worrying his guts out in case the Maguires will fly back from England in a helicopter and settle on his head with all kinds of restraining orders.'

 I have put his mind at rest about that.'

'How on earth did you do that?'

 I let him talk to the Maguires in person on the phone.'

This was more than Cathy and Tom had been able to do. But she knew better than to cross-question this strange, reserved man.

'Good,' she said briskly. 'That explains all the activity in the background. Now, would you like to see what we've done so far?'

'And Tom Feather?'

'Will not be here today. We have to divide the work up as we can't both be everywhere. Is it all right if it's just me?'

She looked tired and wan. Unexpectedly he leaned over and patted her hand. 'It's just fine, Cathy,' he said.

'Mam, I really owe you for this,' Cathy said, falling into a chair at the kitchen table in St Jarlath's Crescent.

'Not at all, they kept your father out of the betting shop.' Lizzie poured them mugs of tea.

'You mean he took them out for the day?'

'To the zoo, no less. They'd never been there, could you credit it?'

'And Da took them there with his own money?'

'There was a bit of a good flutter yesterday, apparently.'

'And do they have any more manners today?'

'Not really. But Cathy, you wouldn't need to go commenting on that in front of the Mitchells.'

'Where are they?'

'Drawing away, there's not a word out of them.'

Muttie had given them paper to draw their favourite animal at the zoo. Simon had ten drawings of snakes with their names printed underneath them. Maud had done six owls.

'Muttie says he sees no reason why we couldn't have an owl at home,' she greeted Cathy.

'He doesn't? Maybe he could explain it to your mother and father when they get back to The Beeches.'

'They might never be back,' Simon said cheerfully. 'But Muttie says that there might be more of a problem with snakes.'

'There might be, all right. But excuse me, what do you mean, exactly, they might never be back?'

'Well, there's no word of our father, and our mother's nerves are pretty bad this time, I think.'

'I see.'

Cathy went back to her mother in the kitchen. 'What am I going to do, Mam?'

'I'll tell you one thing, a couple of days here and that is fine, but long-term you're not doing yourself any favours taking those children in. Can't you see it's showing her up as well… as well as everything else?'

'What do you mean, Mam? "As well as everything else?"'

'Well, you know I've said it a thousand times already to you, all this setting up a business. People like that, Cathy, you know they expect you to be grateful and glad you married so well. You should be staying at home and making Neil a good wife.'

'Oh, Mam, for God's sake.'

'No, listen to me for once, Cathy, I'm not as bright as you or as educated. I can't talk back to people like you do, but I do know them. I've cleaned their floors, yes, but I listen to them talking and they're not like us, we're not like them.'

'We are better than them, far, far better.' Cathy's eyes blazed.

'Now don't start…'

'It's you that started, Mam. Tell me what's good about an old cow like Hannah Mitchell, pointing to the legs of chairs with her umbrella and making you go down on your hands and knees, throwing tea bags into a sink you had just cleaned, using good clean towels you had just washed and folded to mop up floors. Tell me what's good about her, one thing good about a woman who won't even take two unfortunate brats who are part of her husband's family.'

'Shush, Cathy, keep your voice down.'

'No I will not keep my voice down, I hate that woman for the way she turned her back on them and I despise her husband, they're his flesh and blood after all. I know they're monsters and they're both as daft as brushes but they're not the worst, and it's not their fault that everyone has abandoned them and nobody wants them.' She broke off because of the frozen look on her mother's face. It was indeed as she suspected. Simon and Maud stood behind her open-mouthed in the doorway, having heard every single word.

'Hi, Lizzie. It's Geraldine.'

'Sorry, Ger, she's just left.'

'Who?'

'Cathy. Didn't you want to talk to her?'

'No, I wanted to talk to you. How was she, by the way?'

'Terrible, she lost her temper with me and started giving out about the Mitchells in front of those two harmless children. They heard it all.'

'What did she say?'

'She said that she'd explain it all to them in the van going home. God alone knows what she'll explain, she'll make it worse you can be sure.'

'You're not taking them again tomorrow?'

'Of course I am, where else can they go?'

'And what will they do in your house, if I can ask?'

'They're going to bring their washing in a big bag and I'm going to show them how to use the washing machine and hang their clothes on the line

'You're not?'

'And then I'm working most of the rest of the day up in the flats, and they can have a swim in the pool. The place is empty in the day. I don't suppose you would—'

'No, I wouldn't do whatever you were supposing. I rang you about Marian.'

'Marian?'

'Listen Lizzie, have you gone soft in the head? You have a daughter called Marian, in Chicago, and she's coming to stay with you soon. She wants to know can she sleep with her boyfriend.'

'She wants to what?'

'You heard.'

'Why does she want my permission if she's going to? They all do what they like nowadays over there, anyway.'

'Not in Chicago, in Dublin when she comes to stay in your house.'

'She's ringing you from Chicago to ask you this?'

'She said I was to ask you tactfully if she and Harry could share a room in your house when they come over, so I'm doing that. Asking you tactfully.'

 I don't know, Ger, it's one thing turning a blind eye, it's another when it's in your own home. I don't know what Muttie would think…' She was riddled with doubt.

'Muttie will mainly be thinking of what to back at Wincanton,' Geraldine said.

'It's very blatant, isn't it?'

'Will I tell her yes, that of course they can have the room?'

'I don't know.'

'And that you don't know whether you're going to do it up in pale green, or a sort of beige pink?'

'What?'

'What colour? I think green myself, and I'll tell Marian to bring you a nice set of dark green towels to go with it. Americans love bringing towels as a gift, but they need to know the colour.'

'But Ger, who'd paint it? You know Muttie has a bad back.'

'Oh, yes, I know that, you'd paint it and I would, and if we still have that child labour force hanging around the place they could hold things and carry things for us, before we send them up and down the chimneys.'

'Ger, you're ridiculous.' But Lizzie was laughing. The battle was won.

The white van stopped for an ice cream. Cathy bought three cones and they settled down companionably to eat them in the van.  I always think an ice cream is just as good in the winter,' she began.

'Why do you hate our father and mother?' Simon asked.

Cathy shrugged.  I don't hate them at all, I've hardly met them. In fact, they didn't even come to our wedding.'

'So what were you shouting at Lizzie about?'

'You heard what I was shouting about. I hate your aunt Hannah. I don't hate your mum and dad, believe me.'

'Why do you hate Aunt Hannah?'

'You hate her too, you've often said so,' Cathy said defensively, coming down to their level.

'But you're not meant to hate her, and anyway, you're married to Neil.'

'That's the problem, she doesn't like my being married to Neil, she thinks that my family and I have no class. That annoys me, you see.'

'Do you want to have class?' Maud wanted to know.

'No, no way. I don't give three blind damns what she thinks about me, I've plenty of class. But she looked down on my mother, and I can't forgive her for that.'

'Do you want us not to tell?' Simon's eyes narrowed at the wonderful opportunities and power that lay ahead.

'Tell what?' Cathy asked, wide-eyed.

'All this about what you said, and about our father roaring round and our mother getting drunk to help her nerves.'

'But that's the way it is, isn't it?' Cathy looked from one to the other, bewildered.

'Yes.' Simon was on less firm a footing now. 'But do you want us not to tell about your hating Aunt Hannah?'

'Tell anyone if you want to, I don't tell her you hate her, it's just a matter of being polite, really. But it's not a secret, is it?'

Simon saw his vantage point disappear. He gave a last try. 'Suppose we told Neil?' he tried.

'Neil is sick of hearing it, Simon, but if you'd like to tell him again, please do. Now let's go and buy some supper, since you didn't make us a pie today.'

They finished their ice creams and drove off. Cathy allowed herself a small smile.

In the Chinese restaurant the children studied the menu carefully. 'Are you and Neil rich or poor?' Simon asked.

'Tending to be more rich than poor, but if you don't mind my saying so, it's not a question you ask people… Just so that you know.'

'But how would you ever find out, then?' Maud was interested.

'Sometimes we have to face it that we can't know everything.'

 I needed to know.'

'You did?'

  In order to know how many dishes we could order,' Simon said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

'Oh, I see. Well, there's four of us.'

'We could have Imperial Menu A for five,' Maud said.

'Let's have it. I'd love Imperial Menu A.'

'Don't you want to check up the price of items first?'

'No, Simon, I don't.'

'You must be very rich indeed, richer than your father.'

'What?' she was exhausted.

'Muttie, your father. Do you hear things in your head, like he does?'

 I didn't know he heard things in his head.'

'Yes, all the time. The sound of hooves, thundering hooves.'

'Oh, like the races, I see.'

'He says they go at the same rhythm as your heart. Did you know that, Cathy?' Maud wanted to share any new things that she had learned.

 I'm not sure I did.'

'And Muttie says that the sound makes your blood run faster in your veins and gives you a better life.'

'Oh, it does? we must try that then,' she said as she grabbed the price list and ordered Imperial Menu A for five.

 I don't think it's something you try.' Simon was doubtful.

'You have it or you don't. We both have it, as it turns out,' Maud positively smirked with pride.

 I'm very sorry if you do, very sorry indeed,' Cathy said.

'Why?'

'Because you'll spend the rest of your lives deafened by the hooves, and have no time or money for anything else,' she said grimly.

Back at Waterview the twins set the table, washed their hands and sat down politely, 'Would you like a can of lager?' Simon offered.

'God, no. Thank you all the same, Simon.'

'It's just that Muttie says it relaxes him.'

 I'm totally relaxed as a matter of fact,' Cathy said.

The phone rang, it was Tom. 'All going okay?' he asked.

 I'm hanging in there, Tom.'

'Kids are still with you, I gather?'

'Absolutely.'

'So I won't ask you, did everything else go all right?'

'Amazingly it did, no problems at all. And at your end?'

'Good, tiring but no disasters,' he said.

'I'm sure it was,' she sighed.

'You'll have a day off next week, I'll organise it.'

'I know you will. Glad it all went well. Good luck, Tom.' She hung up and came back to the table.

'Is Tom doing a waitressing job tonight?' Maud asked.

'Catering,' Cathy corrected.

'Yes, is he?'

'Sort of, yes. What's the black bean sauce like?'

'A bit salty but okay. Can we finish this?' Simon was spooning it out of the containers.

'Sure, I've enough, and I've left Neil's in the oven.'

'And the shoemaker isn't coming?'

'No, Simon, he's not.'

'I hope he never comes,' said Simon. 'You always get upset when you talk about him.'

'They go back to school next week,' she told Neil that night in bed.

'Should make it a bit easier, I suppose,' Neil said.

'Tell me something, Neil.'

He put down the copy of the law reports he was reading and turned to face her.  I know the question you are going to ask, and the answer is none.'

'What am I going to ask?' Cathy laughed.

'What plans did I make for the twins today?' he smiled ruefully. 'Honey, it was a desperate day.'

'I know; mine was fairly filled, too,' she said.

'I know, I know, and then I was late home, but Cathy, I can't work while they're here, I just sat in a cafe. It's terrible to be kept out of your own home because children keep asking question after question.'

'I suppose it's what kids do,' she said.

'I'm going to get them made wards of court,' he said simply. 'I'll start proceedings tomorrow.'

She looked at him, shocked. 'But they'd have to go into care, a home, a foster family, total strangers.'

'We were total strangers a few days ago…' he began.

'But they're family,' she said.

'Not yours and mine.' Neil was trying to sound firm and in control.  I can't have this,' he said.  I met that little shit Walter down at the Four Courts today, and he's as cool as a cucumber about it all. He has to work, he has to see people, he has to go skiing, there's nothing he can do.'

'Well, would you trust them to him for two hours?'

'But it's not just my work alone, it's your work too. I'm just not going to let this happen to us now. We've put too much in to let it be wrecked by children.'

 I suppose that's happening all over the world.'

'People's own children might be different, though I must say this has proved to me once and for all that we are totally right not to want them. Just looking at Maud and Simon makes me realise that very clearly.'

'Our children wouldn't look like Maud and Simon,' she giggled.

'We're not going to find out,' he said grimly. 'And truly, Cathy, I'll get them out of your hair. There has to be some money there, we'll mortgage The Beeches, something to borrow against, we could still keep an eye on them.'

'You know we'd have no say in where they're sent. Leave it for a few days until we know more.'

He reached out for her. And she lay awake with her eyes open for a long time afterwards.

Geraldine still got to her office before eight o'clock. In the mornings, she herself handled only the public relations and publicity for the hotel group, but three others looked after the list of clients that she had built up when she opened a private company of her own. She flicked through the list of projects to see was there anything that might be channelled in Scarlet Feather's direction. Haywards the store were doing a fashion show some months down the line, but they wanted to book a hotel, nothing for Cathy there. Quentin's the restaurant were doing a presentation of cookery prizes, but that was obviously in-house. Makers of garden furniture greatly wanted a presentation, possibilities there, but first she would have to examine the location, no point in sending those two into some awful place full of lawnmowers and rakes where nobody would see and appreciate their food.

By the end of the week, a lot of things had changed. The electrical appliances had all been installed, the shelves were painted and Tom and Cathy were waiting for the rest of the equipment. The window frames and door had been painted a vivid red. James Byrne had spoken to them gravely, as if he were interpreting from some aliens on another planet, that the Maguires had professed themselves satisfied with everything. Tom and Cathy's solicitor said it was the nature of the law that things must take their time, but that nothing untoward was showing up in the search on the company title. Marcella was being supportive and begging to be allowed to help. Geraldine was already coming up with names of contacts for future events. Cathy and Neil had decided that there was now no way they could immediately abandon Simon and Maud, but that living permanently in Waterview was proving too much of a strain, and that they did need a bit of space from them. Lizzie and Muttie, on the other hand, seemed perfectly content with them, and found endless jobs for them to do around the house. Next week they would be going back to school. It was a compromise. Neil had told them that an unofficial carer's allowance had been arranged by his father. In fact, it was guilt money put up by Jock and Hannah until the situation sorted itself out. The arrangement was that Muttie and Lizzie would get a fixed amount for minding Simon and Maud in St Jarlath's Crescent after school, and they would sleep alternately in Waterview and St Jarlath's. Two homes instead of one. Maud and Simon said okay, it would suit them.

'Manners, Maudie,' said Cathy's father. There was a way that Muttie could correct the worst excesses of the twins without appearing ever to have taken offence.

'I'll never be able to thank you, Mam,' Cathy said to her mother.

'Don't go on like that, Cathy, doesn't it give Muttie some shape to his days. He's very fond of them.'

'He can't be, they're pig rude at times. Make sure they make their beds and wash up and everything. They left wet towels all over the floor of the bathroom in Waterview. Neil nearly lost his mind.'

'No, no, that's all fine,' her mother reassured her. 'And Neil is giving us so much money, I can give up Mrs Gray.'

'The one who's as bad as Hannah?'

'Oh, poor Mrs Mitchell was a walking saint compared to Mrs Gray,'  Lizzie Scarlet said with a laugh.

Neil had been so good about going to St Jarlath's Crescent that Cathy felt she must visit Oaklands in return. Surely there must be other women in the world who had to sit down and think up a reason before calling to visit their mother-in-law? Cathy didn't want to talk about the excitement of the business, the way the premises were leaping ahead because Hannah was so obviously against the whole undertaking. Nor did she want to gc into detail about the fact that Jock Mitchell's nephew and niece were currently residing partly in St Jarlath's Crescent with her ex maid and what she always referred to as the unfortunate maid's ne'er-do-well husband. She couldn't say she had done those apple strudels for Hannah's friend, the nervous, edgy Mrs Ryan because she would be accused of having touted successfully for business at the New Year's party. Mrs Mitchell showed no interest in what she and Neil had done with their house in Waterview, which was probably just as well, since she had done so little recently. Still, she owed it to Neil to keep the channels open.

She forced the white van up the drive of Oaklands at four o'clock one afternoon, knowing that Hannah's sniff of disapproval could be directed equally against her daughter-in-law or the vehicle. But Cathy was ready to ignore it and talk pleasantly for as short a visit as she could manage, without it appearing that she had just dropped by to deliver something. She brought her mother-in-law a sturdy-looking fern, one that couldn't die even in the tropical central heating of Oaklands, and knocked at the door.

'Cathy.' Her mother-in-law couldn't have been more astounded if a troupe of tap dancers stood on the step.

'Yes, Mrs Mitchell, I did send you a card saying I hoped to drop by and see you today?'

'Did you? Oh, you may have indeed…'

'But if you're with somebody?'

'No… no, it's amazing to see you, please come in.'

 I brought you this. It might…' Cathy handed over the little fern. The woman must be deranged, imagine saying that it was amazing to see your daughter-in-law, who had sent you an advance note about her visit!

'Thank you so much, dear.' Hannah Mitchell didn't even look at the plant, just left it on the hall table. 'Now that you're here, I suppose we should go into the kitchen, we'd feel more at home there,' she said, preceding Cathy down the hall.

Cathy seethed. And wondered if she could feel a tic in her forehead, or was she just imagining it? Mrs Mitchell rarely welcomed anyone into the kitchen. Guests, family, anyone at all who called would be received in the den. Cathy saw the subtlety and grinned at herself in the mirror. Her reflection startled her; she looked drawn and tired, her hair greasy and stuck behind her ears. When she got the show on the road she would really have to smarten herself up, she thought. She would frighten possible clients if she looked like this.

'You look very badly,' Hannah Mitchell said on cue.

'I think it's just one of those twenty-four-hour flu things,' Cathy said, saying the first words that came into her head. She saw Hannah physically draw away, as if fearing to catch some dreadful germ. 'Not contagious, of course,' Cathy said cheerfully. The conversation was painful. Cathy enquired about Amanda in Canada and heard there had been something wrong with the Ontario phone system, and Amanda worked in a really old-fashioned carriage-trade business that didn't have faxes or e-mail. Cathy allowed no muscle on her face to change as she listened. Either Amanda or her mother was spinning a story. Whichever one of them it was, the whole thing was just very sad. Remember that word 'sad', and she would survive.

Lizzie Scarlet, who had scrubbed this floor and the legs of the table for years was sitting at this moment in St Jarlath's Crescent serving a glass of milk and home-made shortbread to Simon and Maud, before helping them do their homework. Later they would play a game on the video, and tonight the children were going to learn ironing as a great treat. There would be speculation about whether this horse might be held back on Saturday to let his stablemate win, and there might be neighbours dropping in. There would be plenty of activity. Cathy knew that her aunt Geraldine was going to a dinner party at an Embassy tonight, and had bought herself another stunning dress at Haywards. Her two married friends, Katy and June, had asked Cathy to a party they were having but she had said no, she wanted a proper dinner alone with Neil in Waterview, and they might even get a chance to mate more than once a month. Maud's definition of her sex life was looking uncannily prophetic. Shona Burke had a date with a man she met last week, a man that she thought would never call her again. Tom was also taking a night off from Scarlet Feather and was taking Marcella out to one of the clubs where she might get noticed. Ricky the photographer friend said there were a lot of big fashion-mag people in town. Mr and Mrs JT Feather were going to an Irish Tenor concert, and the silent James Byrne had mentioned that he was going to the theatre. And on this cold, wet January night Hannah Mitchell, patting her hair and smoothing her fine wool skirt, had no one to meet and nowhere to go. Cathy reminded herself of this as she forced the polite, interested smile to stay on her face.

Somehow a great many more things than they expected got done. They read all the hygiene regulations, put in an application to become regulated. They got the logo painted on their white van. One big, waving red feather. The name and phone number underneath. They went to a printer's to get the business cards, the brochures and the invitations printed.

 I know that address, it's where Maguire's the printer's used to be,' said the old man behind the counter when Tom and Cathy had gone to arrange the lettering.

'Yes, indeed, we've just bought the premises. Did you know them? Were they good printers?'

'Ah, the best at one time, but then everything changed, they didn't, and there was all that other business.'

'What other business?'

The man looked from one to the other and decided against it.  I don't know, I can't really remember.'

'They're in England now,' Tom said helpfully.

'God be good to them wherever they are,' said the old man.

She was very quiet in the van. 'We'll never know, Cathy. Stop trying to puzzle it out,' Tom said.

'We knew there was something odd, and of course you'd never in a million years get it out of James.'

'It doesn't matter,' Tom said.

'Don't you want to know? Men are very incurious sometimes.'

'Practical, maybe. Let's go out tonight and have a coffee and make a list.'

They had taken to doing their Scarlet Feather work away from home. It wasn't fair on Neil to have his whole study commandeered, nor on Marcella to keep her out of her own sitting room or kitchen. It was not that Neil and Marcella had been in any way critical - neither of them had made a murmur of complaint - it was just that they hadn't any time to help. Neil was involved in committees and consultations almost every night of the week; Marcella had signed on for a fourteen-day course of aquarobics to tone up her already perfect body. They said they'd love to help if only there were time.

And indeed, one evening saw Neil up a ladder painting; and another evening Marcella helped hem the curtains. And then there was the evening Neil and Marcella had fallen about laughing over the ventilation regulations. Giggling over phrases like 'steam-emitting appliances' and 'mesh size 16 maximum pore size 1.2 millimetres essential to be fly-proof. Cathy and Tom were familiar with such phrases from catering college, and just shrugged at all the mirth. And their main backers too had been very undemanding.

'If I didn't believe you could both do it, I wouldn't have invested my hard-earned money,' Geraldine said simply.

'How did she earn enough to be able to give us a whack like that?' Tom wondered.

'No idea. I used to think once that she was old Mr Murphy's fancy woman, but apparently not. Just invested it well, I think.'

'Up to now, anyway,' Tom had said, touching wood.

Joe Feather had written from London.

'Why does he never stay at home with your parents, they'd love to have him…' Cathy asked.

 I don't know,' Tom said. 'Selfish, I think.' There was something in the way he spoke that made Cathy look at him suddenly. The world was full of mystery, Cathy told herself sadly as they began to make the list for their launch party.

'Ricky knows good contacts,' Cathy began.

 I behaved like a horse's arse to Ricky on New Year's Eve,' Tom said sheepishly.

 If you did, and it's unlike you, I don't suppose he'll remember,' Cathy soothed.

'He might.'

'Go on, if I were the one that had said that, you'd tell me I thought the whole world revolved around myself.'

Tom laughed. 'Yes, you're quite right, of course we'll ask Ricky for contacts, and Shona, of course, and a couple of the guys we knew back at college. But mainly I think we should have friends and family, don't you?'

'Of course I do, though it has to be said hardly any of my family and friends will put any business our way, not much demand for caterers down on the morning shift in the bookies, with my dad's betting associates, as he's inclined to call them.'

'Nor mine,' Tom said. 'But that's not the point.'

'Can we do a quick deal, the pair of us? If you don't ask your in-laws, I won't ask mine,' Cathy pleaded.

 I don't have any in-laws, as you very well know, and you have to ask yours, as you also very well know.'

'It's just a wish,' Cathy sighed. 'She'll make it a misery for everyone there if she does come, and she'll sulk for six months if she's not asked.'

'And what does Neil say?'

'What do you think he says? He says it's up to me. As if that was any proper answer at all.'

'So we ask her?'

 I'm afraid so. Does Marcella have any hateful people who might destroy the evening for us?'

'No, not that she's mentioned.'

'Okay, then I'm the only one inviting a big bad wolf,' Cathy said. 'Let's get on with the list. Will we ask any famous people? They just might come.'

'Definitely let's ask famous people.' Tom was eager, and the shadow of Hannah Mitchell hung over them no longer.

'What will we do at the party?' Maud asked.

 I don't think you'll be there,' Cathy said.

'But where else would we be?' Simon asked, as if it were all arranged.

'You see, Simon, it's really for older people.'

'Yes, well, people of all ages I'd say.' Simon had thought about it.

'Sure, but not people who are just nine, actually,' Cathy said, trying to keep her voice steady.

'But where would we go? You're going, Neil's going, Muttie and Lizzie are going, Aunt Hannah and Uncle Jock. There won't be anyone left to look after us.'

'Muttie was saying when he picked us up from school that we'd be going.'

Cathy felt yet another urge to give her father a very hard kick for his helpfulness. But then she remembered that he did walk up to those school gates and wait for the children, which was more than any Mitchell seemed to be prepared to do. She must think, she must not panic.

'Walter, your big brother Walter will look after you.' Cathy felt very pleased that she had pulled this rabbit out of the hat.

'No, he's talking about going skiing,' Maud cried triumphantly.

'We could take the coats. Muttie thought that might be a good job for us,' Simon said.

'Did he now?' Cathy asked. 'And did he also by any chance suggest what I myself should do during the party, or was it only your work he had planned out?'

'No, he didn't say,' Simon answered solemnly. 'I think he thought you would probably know what to do, what with it being your own waitressing business and all.'

'Catering business,' Maud corrected primly.

And Cathy heard a sudden hysterical tinge in her own laughter.

The Feathers had wondered to Tom whether they should have replied formally to the invitation.

'Did you keep your temper?' Cathy was working on the choux pastry.

'With extreme difficulty,' Tom admitted. 'And it's so stupid, I could hear the sarcasm in my voice, asking them did they think they wouldn't be let in.'

'They're not used to parties, any more than mine are,' Cathy soothed.

'Well at least yours won't be fingering the walls and telling people that everything really needed another coat, but it was such a rush job that there wasn't time…' Tom wouldn't be consoled.

'No, but my mother wanted to wear a yellow nylon coat and wash up in the back kitchen. We've had three scenes about that, and my dad says that he's bringing his own beer because fancy wines give him a headache.' Cathy had finished the tray of little pastry cases and was setting the timer.

'But then you have got Geraldine working the room for us, and talking us up to everyone.' Tom was jointing the chickens expertly as he spoke.

'And you've got that sexy brother of yours to keep all the women happy. Let's hope he goes into one of his charm routines, I love to watch him in action, it's amazing the way they lap it up.'

 I was always afraid at the start that Marcella would fall for him when she met him, but mercifully she didn't,' Tom said.

'Marcella? Fall for Joe when she could have you?' Cathy laughed.

'He is very smooth, though.' Tom had a hint of worry.

'Very obvious, you mean, and your Marcella's too bright for that.' Cathy was confused by Marcella in these last days before the great launch. She had been extremely helpful behind the scenes, coming on from her work at Haywards, changing into jeans and taking out her rubber gloves to protect her hands: she did all the menial jobs anyone could give her. But she utterly refused to serve and help at the party. She had what seemed to her very good reasons.

'Listen, Cathy, you should understand about having a dream and a goal. You and Tom have got yours now. I haven't yet. I want to be a model. I know I can do it, I believe I'm as good as anyone else, I've spent a fortune on courses and portfolios. I just can't be seen in public as a waitress or that's all I'll ever be, a manicurist and a waitress.'

'You could be worse things.' Cathy had been curt.

'And you could have been a typist or a shop girl, but you wanted more,' Marcella had answered with spirit. She had refused to take the coats. She would be there only as a guest. She would work with them afterwards, clearing up, she promised, but her public face was to be an invited person. There was no moving her so Cathy didn't try. After all, she had yet to explain to Tom that the terrible twins might be part of the night. Partnership was all about give and take.

James Byrne said yes, he would come to the party. Cathy was somewhat surprised, but pleased.

'And of course if there's anyone else that you'd… um, like to… um, bring with you,' she said hesitantly.

'Thank you, but I'll come on my own.'

They were finally on first-name terms with each other, not that it seemed to sit easily with the older man. He was so courteous and old-fashioned. And so extremely reticent. The business with the Maguires seemed to be almost concluded now. Yet Cathy and Tom knew as little about the family of printers who had sold them the premises as they had known on New Year's Day. They did, however, know a little more about James.

He lived in what he called the garden flat of one of the big Victorian houses in Rathgar. He had been an accountant in a large provincial town for most of his life, and had only come to Dublin in the last five years. He was now retired. They couldn't ask him what he did all day, and if time was heavy on his hands these days. They didn't dare ask him had he any family. Their conversations, though warm and relaxed, were always professional. One day Tom had asked whether he might know someone who would act as a bookkeeper for them. They told him that they assumed that maybe one morning a week would be enough at this early stage, or possibly they didn't even need that. Perhaps he might have come across someone.

'I'd be very happy to do it,' he said.

'To find someone?' Cathy wasn't sure what he meant.

'No, I mean to act as your bookkeeper, if that would suit you. Two hours a week should be adequate at the start.'

'But Mr Byrne… I mean James… we couldn't ask you . ..' Tom began.

Cathy sensed he was lonely and had nothing else to do. 'But of course, if you would take us on a trial period we would be delighted,' she had said firmly. And an unaccustomed smile came across James Byrne's face, making him look handsome. Still grave, despite the smile, but definitely very handsome.

'I've got your mother a dress, and I've booked a hairdo for her,' Geraldine said.

'You'll be bankrupt,' Cathy protested.

'Not on the kind of place your mother insists on going to have her hair done in, that's when she does go at all.'

'But the dress?'

 It came from Oxfam.' Geraldine looked at her with clear, lying blue eyes.

'It didn't. It came from Haywards.'

'And what makes you think that?'

'Shona Burke told me she met you getting it.'

'Busybody,' Geraldine said, laughing.

 If my mother knew she was wearing a dress from Haywards she'd have to be in the next bed to my one in the nervous hospital, as Maud keeps calling it. Oh, Geraldine, what am I going to do with those children?'

'There must be someone in St Jarlath's Crescent, some neighbour.'

'Of course there are a dozen people, but Ma has reservations about all of them, and I don't want her like a hen on a hot griddle all night wondering are they all right.'

'All right, all right, give them to me,' Geraldine said. 'I'll get them into the child-sitting service at Peter's hotel.'

'What does that mean?'

'In their case, chicken nuggets and chips, suitable video and a swim in a heated pool if they want one.

'Would you really?'

'Of course I would, and remember that I do have to protect my investment tomorrow night, don't I?'

'It's nothing to do with an investment, it's a lifeline that you've given us and always have,' Cathy said.

But Geraldine would hear none of it. 'It's just that you're overtired, but tomorrow will be a roaring success, believe me,' she said. 'And if the backers are confident, then everyone is confident. Take me through the menu again.'

'You're going to a hotel tomorrow evening,' Cathy told Simon and Maud.

 I'd be just as happy to go to the do,' Simon said.

'To help you,' Maud explained.

 I know, and I do appreciate it, but honestly there's not all that much room in the premises, and you'll have a great time there.'

 Is Walter going to your party?' Maud wanted to know.

'Yes, I think he is. He didn't reply, but I'm sure he will be there.'

'Will he be working for you and Tom?' Simon asked.

'Not if all the guests were lying writhing on the ground parched with thirst, pleading and roaring for a drink will Walter Mitchell ever work for me again,' Cathy said cheerfully.

 It doesn't sound much of a party, Simon said to Maud.  I think we'd be better off in the hotel, to tell you the truth.'

Neil was up and dressed when Cathy woke with a start. 'God almighty, what time is it?'

'Relax, it's not even seven yet.'

'Why are you up?'

'This is the big day,' he said.

Lord, she had forgotten. Today Scarlet Feather would be a reality, the launch party, the brochure out, the whole company up and ready for business.

 I know, I can hardly believe it.' Cathy stood there in her stripy nightshirt. She rubbed her eyes and shook her hair back.

 I know he's only a junior minister, but it's very big for him to come to the breakfast, and he's crazy about publicity so it'll give the whole thing some attention.'

She realised that it was a big day for Neil because a group of them had managed to get a government minister to meet them about prisoners of conscience.

'I hope it's a great success, anyway,' she said in a flat voice.

He looked at her, startled at the tone, but she said nothing by way of explanation. 'So I must run…' he said eventually.

'See you tonight,' she said.

'Oh yes, of course, the do. It will be great, honey, don't have a worry in the world about it.'

'No, of course not.' Still the same flat voice.

He came back and gave her a quick hug. 'I'm very proud of you, you know,' he said.

'I know, Neil,' she said. But she wished that it were much more important to him than a quick hug and a pat on the back.

Ricky sent one of his photographers down to the premises an hour before people were expected. Just to do a few food shots, to see the buffet before it got all clogged up with people. Cathy's friends June and Katy were well kitted out in their white shirts with the scarlet feather logo. They all posed beside the plates of dressed salmon, long, oval dishes of roasted peppers, colourful salads and baskets of bread.

One moment there seemed to be nobody except the staff standing around nervously, and the next the place was teeming with people. The front room, which would later be their little reception office, looked terrific tonight. How right they had been to have old-fashioned sofas and chairs. Their new filing system was cleverly hidden in elegant drawers. It was a peaceful place where they hoped that customers would sit and discuss menus. Nothing of the precision shining white and steel of the kitchens here: that was all beyond the door, and they had cleared spaces for people to stand and later to dance. Tonight the front room was acting as a cloakroom with two great rails. And a ravishing-looking redhead who worked in Geraldine's office but did not think helping at a party was beneath her, gave people tickets for their coats and hung them neatly on the rails.

Then June and Katy, her two great friends through everything from schooldays long ago, stood with trays of welcoming drinks leaving Tom and Cathy free to greet and welcome and to listen to the praise and admiration for their new premises.

Neil was not among the early arrivals. Cathy planned to place him very near to the door, so that he could cope with his mother whenever Hannah chose to make her entrance. Cathy's own parents were there, totally amazed by it all, awkward and out of place. Her father twisting his cap that he had inexplicably refused to surrender at the cloakroom, and roaming the room with his eyes looking for someone he might talk to. Her mother in a soft, flattering green wool dress that had set her sister back a small fortune at Haywards and with her hair nicely styled, had no idea how well she looked. Instead, her eyes scanned the room for somewhere to hide.

'Mam, you look beautiful,' Cathy said, and meant it.

'No indeed I don't, Cathy, I'm a disgrace. I shouldn't be here with all these people at all. I wonder, is…' Why did they feel so ill at ease, as if somehow they were going to be found out, pronounced unacceptable and sent home? Cathy had been down this route, had asked herself these questions so often that she knew it to be totally fruitless. But of course Tom had to put up with it too. JT and Maura Feather didn't look as if they were having fun either. Now there was an idea. She excused herself from talking to a pleasant man who ran a house-cleaning service. They had been saying that there were ways in which they might well work together, one would recommend the other. Expertly Cathy made the introductions. In one way it didn't really work: instead of being moral support to each other, they made each other more nervous. But they each drew some strength and solidarity from realising that the other couple was also full of doubts. Tom's father said that if anyone wanted to know what he thought, then he thought that it wasn't worth spoiling the ship for a ha'porth of tar, and they should have given it more time. And Lizzie Scarlet said she was afraid they had bitten off more than they could chew. Maura Feather said there was a perfectly good living for Tom in his father's business and he needn't even get his hands dirty - he could have sat in an office and brought in clients. Like these people who were all dressed to kill, and would have plenty in the bank to build extensions and maybe even second homes. Muttie said that if his Cathy and their Tom were such great cooks, then if they went to work for other people without putting their money at risk they would save a small fortune in no time, but of course nobody ever listened to the voice of experience.

The mood was getting more relaxed by the moment. Cathy caught her aunt's eye and in seconds Geraldine was in there talking and enthusing and broadening the circle. The noise level was much higher now. Cathy noticed, and she allowed herself to take a couple of normal breaths and to accept that it was all going very well. She even looked around her at the guests. James Byrne had phoned at the last moment to say he couldn't come. Marcella looked just exquisite in a beautifully cut silk jacket and long black skirt. She wore no jewellery, even though anything at all around that long, slim neck would have looked good. Somehow she had great style the way she was. She was the centre of admiring glances, and Tom looked on proudly. Cathy was glad that this was not one of Marcella's rather over-sexy nights; she had seen Tom's face too often on such occasions.

In and in they came, and then she saw Neil's parents arrive. Jock with his handsome if marginally vacant face had the slightly affected manner of always appearing to think he should be somewhere else. Good-natured and bewildered, but not entirely convincing. And beside him was Hannah. She wore a harsh, dark purple dress that somehow drained the colour from her face. She looked affronted before she even came in the door. There was nothing here that she could fault, Cathy thought triumphantly. Nothing at all. There were even a few minor celebrities from the stage or television. But in general it was just a well-dressed, well-behaved crowd of people who might form a pool of future clients. She had, however, known Mrs Mitchell since her early childhood, for too long not to be able to read her face. The woman was spoiling for a fight. She would not have one with Cathy.

They all seemed to love the food: it had been worthwhile showing off their wares. Cathy noticed her father deep in conversation with a sports journalist, and her mother sitting happily with Mrs Keane, a neighbour of theirs from Waterview on two chairs a little away from the general throng. To Cathy's surprise, Hannah Mitchell approached them.

'Ah, good to see you, Lizzie; give me that chair, will you, like a dear, and get me a plate of mixed bites, nibbles, whatever they call them…' She spoke imperiously, as someone who knew she would make it happen. And it would have happened, had Cathy not been near at hand. Poor Lizzie Scarlet stumbled to her feet and apologised. She was still Mrs Mitchell's cleaner, and she had been caught sitting down and talking in an overfamiliar way with the quality.

'Yes, Mrs Mitchell, sorry Mrs Mitchell, what exactly would you like, a little of everything?' Cathy's resolutions were out of the window. She had never been so angry. This woman had now crossed over every boundary of behaviour and good manners. In an icy voice, she ordered her mother to sit down and not to abandon Mrs Keane in mid-conversation. Out of sheer shock Lizzie did just that, and with a combination of shoulder and arm Cathy moved and manipulated Hannah Mitchell to the other side of the room. Out of the corner of her mouth she hissed at June that she needed a stool, and at Kate that she wanted a plate with a small selection. Then she seated her mother-in-law in an area where she could see everyone.

'There was no need to push me across the room, Cathy, really.'

 I know, isn't it just terrible when places become so crowded? But you wanted a chair and I wanted to make sure you got one.' She smiled until the sides of her face hurt.

Hannah Mitchell was not fooled. 'I had a perfectly good chair where I was.'

'Sadly no, that was my mother's chair, but can I leave you for a moment? I do hope you like the premises.' And she was gone trembling and shaking.

Neil, who had noticed nothing amiss, was talking to his cousin Walter, jumpy and restless as ever. Cathy saw Joe Feather come in; he had brought them a kitchen clock with pictures of old-fashioned cooking utensils on it.

'Figured you didn't need any more food and drink in this place. What a great, great job - you've done it, I smell success everywhere.' Tom and Cathy beamed at him, he had such a knack for saying the right thing, and was a strange magnet immediately for people. He didn't even have to move towards them, they came to him.

They turned the background music level down slightly. It was time for the speeches. Tom and Cathy gave each other the thumbs-up sign. They had rehearsed these for ever. No long Oscar-style lists of thank-yous. No boasting of how successful they would be. Even before they had got the premises they had been trying them out on each other. It would be an absolute maximum of two minutes each, and then fade up the music. People could continue their conversations without feeling seriously interrupted, and it worked just as they'd planned. It was much too good a party to interrupt for more than four minutes, plus applause. When it was over, they looked at each other. Had they really said what they meant to? Neither could remember. They were congratulated on all sides, and could hardly take it in. Some early leavers were beginning to get their coats, but the hard core would be there for much, much longer.

'What a pity we didn't think of having a tape recorder!' Cathy said.

'I did.' Geraldine was beside her. 'And you were both brilliant.'

'Is Ma all right?'

'She is. Stop fussing.'

'You're lucky you can speak to Cathy like that, Geraldine. I try to, but she bites my head off,' said Tom.

'Ah, family gives you great privileges,' Geraldine said, and was gone.

Cathy saw JT and Maura Feather leaving. 'I don't think they've even seen Joe, he's been over on the other side of the room,' she began.

'Leave it, Cathy. Joe will find them if he wants to.'

'But wouldn't it be a shame…'

'It's always been a shame, but that's the way he is, he doesn't do anything that bores him and going to Fatima bores him, so he never goes.'

'He's going to meet them tonight,' Cathy insisted, and raised her voice loudly. 'Joe, I think your parents are leaving…' He had to meet them then. Cathy saw how their faces lit up with pleasure at the sight of their elder son. Joe put up a good show of being delighted and surprised to see them: he admired his mother's dress, and praised his father for the work that had been done and swiftly he got them to the door. At no stage had Cathy ever seen such joy and enthusiasm on their faces when they were talking to their son Tom. Tom, who went to see them regularly and looked after their every need. But then, when had life been fair?

Geraldine had arranged a taxi, which would collect Muttie and Lizzie and take them to the hotel to pick up Simon and Maud. But by the time it came, neither of the Scarlets wanted to leave. Muttie was going to meet the sports journalist at the next big race meeting and was to be invited into the press box. Lizzie was going to visit Mrs Keane in Waterview to look at this new mop she had. Apparently you didn't need to kneel down on the floor nearly so much these days, and Lizzie's knees were a bit achy. It had begun as a conversation about cleaning equipment, but it was now almost a social visit. Cathy looked at her mother with a wave of love. The day would come, she swore it would, when Lizzie Scarlet would never again have to clean a floor for anyone other than herself. Just as the Scarlets had got to the front room, Hannah moved in on them again.

'There you are, Lizzie, get my coat for me, will you, dear?'

'Certainly Mrs Mitchell, is it your fur?'

'Of course not, Lizzie, to a place like this. No, it's my black cloth coat… Oh, but maybe you weren't with me when I got it. You might have left by then.'

'Do you have a ticket, Mrs Mitchell?'

 I don't have an idea what I did with the ticket, find it for me quickly like a dear, will you, I don't want to hang around here longer than I have to.'

Cathy moved in quickly. She nailed a smile to her face. 'Mam, your taxi is getting restless, I'll get Hannah's coat for her.' Together with Geraldine she got her parents into the taxi. Which was far from easy.

'And listen, thank you both for coming and for talking to everyone. You're marvellous, both of you, and thank you so much for looking after the little Mitchell children. I really don't know what they would all have done without you.' The last bit very loudly.

'Gently, Cath,' whispered Geraldine. 'You might need Hannah and Jock some day.'

'For what, exactly?'

'All right, but still gently.'

'Right, thanks Geraldine.' Cathy walked over to the gorgeous red-headed cloakroom girl and pointed out her mother-in-law's coat. 'That dame is pretending to have lost her ticket. Can I have that black one, please?' She held it open, but Hannah made no attempt to put it on. So Cathy laid it on a chair. They were alone in the foyer at this stage.

'You've gone too far, Cathy Scarlet. You'll regret your behaviour tonight, mark my words.'

'And I very much hope that you will regret yours, Mrs Mitchell, trying to humiliate my mother as a way to annoy me. Yes, it worked for you in that it did annoy me, but you couldn't humiliate her, it's impossible. She has a decent, generous soul, and because she took your money for years for hard, menial work she thinks she still owes you.'

Hannah was white at the insolence. 'Your mother, limited as she is, is worth ten of you.'

 'I agree with you. And she's worth a hundred of you, Mrs Mitchell. I said it to her the other day. She wouldn't listen, of course, but it's still true.' Hannah Mitchell gasped and Cathy went on. 'Beleive me, I'm actually glad that we are having this convesation, and I want you to know that my days of being polite to you are over.' 

'You were never polite to me, you common little… little…' Words failed Hannah at this point.

'When I was young and came to play in the garden, if Mam was working at Oaklands, I wasn't polite, that's true, but when I married Neil I was, I tried very hard. I didn't want to make things difficult for him and actually I was sorry for you. Yes, I was, because you were so very disappointed in the wife he brought home.'

'You were sorry for me!' Hannah snorted.

'And I still am in ways, but there will be no pretence any more. There's something you have not understood: I was never in my whole life afraid of you. You just don't have any power over me. Your day is gone, Hannah Mitchell. It's a new Ireland, a country where the maids' children marry who they bloody well like, and where the nobs like your brother-in-law, if he's aware of anything at all, are very glad to have Muttie and Lizzie Scarlet going down in a taxi to the best hotel in Dublin to pick up his children and take them back to St Jarlath's Crescent where it looks as if they might spend the next ten years—'

Hannah interrupted her. 'When you apologise, Cathy, as you will, I assure you, I am not going to forgive you or put it down to overexcitement because of all this…' Hannah looked around her and sniffed.

'Oh, no, I will never apologise, believe me, I meant everything I said,' Cathy spoke icily. 'If you, on the other hand, apologise about the way you insulted my mother twice tonight, I will consider it and ask Neil what he thinks. Otherwise we will behave courteously to each other in public and communicate not at all in private. Now, you can either come in and join your husband or leave. Suit yourself.' And Cathy turned and went, head high, back to the party. Inside, she saw Geraldine looking at her anxiously.

'She still has a pulse, Geraldine, don't worry.' Cathy Scarlet had her first drink of the night. A very large glass of red wine. She realised now that Hannah had two ways to go. She wished for a moment her father were here to tell her the odds. But as Muttie often said, there are times when there are no odds, when you have to go by instinct. And her instinct was that Hannah would say nothing. Reporting the insolence of her daughter-in-law would mean putting the spotlight on her own behaviour. Hannah wouldn't risk it. So there would be no need for Cathy to explain anything at all. She smiled at the thought that she had won, she had really and truly won. It was somehow nearly as good as this launch.

'I don't like you sitting alone drinking wine and laughing to yourself,' Geraldine said disapprovingly. The music was louder. Tom moved to hold the beautiful face of Marcella in his two hands and began to dance with her. Cathy's two friends June and Kate were both quite reached by drink and dancing already. Dreamily, Cathy put out her hand towards Neil and they held each other tight. Over his shoulder she saw Jock Mitchell look around for his wife and eventually go out of the door to find her. She saw Joe Feather leave quietly and watched Walter put a bottle of wine under his arm before leaving. And Cathy Scarlet closed her eyes and danced with the man she loved.

'What are you thinking about?' he asked her, but there were too many things even to begin to tell.