True Colours Part 19

'No accident. Miss Audiguet-O'Reilly was apprehended earlier this evening a bit the worse for wear.'

Peter leaned on the counter so he could see the sergeant properly, 'Drunk?'

'That would be about it sir. We're looking after her here. Are you a good friend of hers sir?

Peter paused, then nodded.

'You wouldn't have any knowledge of her whereabouts this evening?'

Peter's brow creased, 'Sorry?'

'There's been a serious fire at Kilfenora House. We need to establish Miss Audiguet-O'Reilly's whereabouts this evening.'

'Christ, is everyone alright? Is Sebastian alright?' Peter paused, his face confused, then clearing as if something had suddenly fallen into place. His voice was urgent as he continued, 'Jesus I heard the sirens...someone came into the pub and said "the house" was on fire; I never twigged.' Peter shook his head like he was a total idiot, like he'd let someone down by not seeing the obvious and turned as if to leave. 'I'd better get up there...'

O'Hanlon held up his hands, 'You're grand, it's all under control now. Everyone appears to be unharmed but Lord Kilfenora has been taken to hospital.'

Peter turned back to him like he was torn between staying and going, then nodded, acknowledging the note in the sergeant's voice.

'Sorry, you're right, I'd only be in the way. Old habits.' Then, 'Do you think Caroline was involved?' Peter managed to get just the right amount of disbelief in his voice.

'Not for me to say sir.'

Jesus. Peter's mind moved swiftly into practised professional mode, a.s.sessing the options, weighing up the outcomes. The very reason he'd had such a distinguished military career, was now so successful in business, was his ability to make rapid, sure decisions. Out in the field it meant life and death. There was no room for mistakes.

But here was a real curve ball. They were going to pin the fire on Caroline.

Had she been to Kilfenora? He hadn't seen her but that didn't mean anything. She'd hardly be touring this part of the countryside if she hadn't there was absolutely no reason for Caroline to be in Kilfenora village unless she was visiting the house. But why had she been leaving so early? Had she had a row with Sebastian? It would be just like her to get caught in the middle of Peter's own personal war. Peter sighed inwardly.

It was time to change the game. And that call from 'New York' was the ammunition he needed.

'There's no way she could have had anything to do with it.' Peter shrugged like it was obvious. He was about to blow his alibi out of the water, but it was a calculated risk, 'I had to drop some papers in earlier. I saw her car heading down the road as I pulled in. There was no sign of a fire then.'

'You sure sir? What time would that have been?'

'Around 9.30? I'm not sure, Jesus it's been one of those days.' Peter shook his head, then said, 'I was in the pub, nipped over while I was waiting for my dinner. I meant to go earlier but had to wait for a call to confirm what needed signing.' Then, as if it had suddenly dawned on him, 'but if the place was on fire they'll be toast by now. s.h.i.+te, I need to get them faxed back. Unbelievable.'

'Was Mr Wingfield expecting you?'

Peter shook his head, 'It all happened quicker than we expected. We were due to meet the day after tomorrow but I knew Sebastian was at Kilfenora and I needed to get his signature, so I thought I'd run down and drop in. You know how bad the mobile reception is around here so I got the guys in New York to call me in the pub I couldn't give them the number at Kilfenora. But then when I got to the house he didn't answer the door. I never thought of calling him to say I was coming. Must be the jet lag, my brain's slow.' Peter shook his head, 'Stupid.'

'So how were you going to tell him these papers were there?'

Peter looked back at the sergeant like it was all a total pain in the a.r.s.e, 'I thought I'd call him from that hotel on the Dublin road and then shoot back. I didn't want to call him from the pub with half the village listening.' Well that made sense at least. Peter continued, 'It was a b.l.o.o.d.y nuisance. I almost broke the b.l.o.o.d.y door down at Kilfenora banging but that house is so b.l.o.o.d.y huge he couldn't hear, he was probably down in the cellar or something.'

O'Hanlon nodded like he was buying the story but Peter had had enough experience of interrogation himself to see that the sergeant still only half-believed him.

'Would you like to step inside sir, we might have a little chat.' Sergeant O'Hanlon came around and unlocked a door to Peter's right. Sticking his hands in his pockets Peter nodded obligingly, 'Of course.'

The public office of the tiny station was warm, too warm. Peter s.h.i.+fted uncomfortably in his waxed Barbour jacket as the sergeant indicated he take one of the swivel chairs next to a battered desk. O'Hanlon remained standing, his arms folded.

'So what time did you say you were at Kilfenora?'

Peter sat down heavily, 'I came down about six, I was waiting for the call from New York, like I said. I needed a coffee and had a read of the paper while I was waiting. When I got it, the call I mean, I ran up to the house. Sebastian's car was there but he didn't answer.' Peter shrugged, 'like I said, one of those days. The door to the Palm House was open so I stuck the papers inside on the table. I'd ordered a steak at the pub, but they said it would be a good forty minutes. I thought I'd ring him from the hotel, tell him where the papers were, nip back for my steak while he signed them and collect the papers afterwards.'

A smile twitched on O'Hanlon's face, 'How was your steak?'

'c.r.a.p actually. But I missed lunch, seemed like a good idea at the time.'

O'Hanlon nodded like he'd been there. 'And you saw Miss O'Reilly leaving?'

'Yeah, as I pulled in I saw a red Beemer hightailing it down the road.' Peter paused, 'Are you charging her for drink driving? Can I take her home? She'll be devastated about this.'

O'Hanlon ignored his question. 'So how do you know the Wingfields?'

'I work with Sebastian.'

'In Dublin? You mentioned New York.'

'New York mainly, I go wherever he needs me. I'm his chief negotiator.'

'And you know Miss O'Reilly?'

Peter nodded, shrugged. 'Of course'.

O'Hanlon stuck his hands in his pockets, tipped backwards and forwards in his black boots. 'I'll need your details. We've charged Miss O'Reilly with a Section 49, she'll be before the District Court in the morning. She needs to appear.'

Peter nodded, his face creased with concern, 'No problem. Get the picture.'

This wasn't a time to mention he'd been in the Marines, understood how the law worked he was getting the vibe that the sergeant wasn't enamoured with his British accent.

The sergeant sat down at a desk opposite Peter and pulled a computer keyboard into the centre. Glancing at the screen on the terminal to his right, his hands flew over the keys.

'So if you can just give me your name?

Before Peter could answer, a door opened on the other side of the office. Caroline's voice reached them before they saw her, 'Honestly, I don't know what all the fuss is about...'

A female guard held the door to the interview room open, 'This way please.'

Caroline came through the door like a vision of Aphrodite, the skirts of her long not-quite-so-white dress in one hand. Peter caught a flash of her smooth thigh as she stumbled into the public office. Then she caught sight of him.

'Peter?' for a moment her eyes opened in amazement, 'Peter!'

Half-tripping, half-running she headed towards him. He stood up to meet her, catching her before she stumbled into him. She was obviously still sloshed.

'I thought you were in New York.' Before he could answer she thumped him hard on the shoulder with her fist, 'How could you go to New York, how could you?'

'Peter?' Unimpressed with the interruption, O'Hanlon sat poised with his fingers over the computer keyboard, 'Surname?'

'No that's a nickname. I was in the forces, Royal Marines. Name's Jackson, Jackson Blake.' O'Hanlon crooked an eyebrow, waiting for Peter to explain, 'Michael Jackson, Neverland, Peter Pan..? I was a Green Beret, Peter Pan has a green hat, flies like we jumped out of planes. It made sense to some b.a.s.t.a.r.d.'

Caroline t.i.ttered and nestled her head on his shoulder, 'Michael Jackson? I know someone called Moonwalker; I bet you'd get along famously.'

O'Hanlon looked sceptical. Glancing over the top of Caroline's head, Peter said, 'I've ID, driving licence, whatever you need. Sebastian will tell you who I am.'

FORTY THREE.

Alex turned over and opened her eyes and for a moment wondered where on earth she was. And if that wasn't bad enough, she had absolutely no idea what day it was. Or what she was supposed to be doing now. Several possibilities careered through her head all wrapped up in a surge of panic that started somewhere around her toes and bounced off her stomach, lungs and heart before it connected with her brain. But none of them matched with the starched white pillow, the irritatingly mid-blue nylon curtain that was pulled around the bed. Alex moved her head fractionally. It was like her brain had stopped processing information sometime during the night. Usually, she woke up focused, alert, after the initial realisation that it was time to get up, knew exactly what her first task of the day was.

But not today.

Today, Alex felt like she'd had razors surgically embedded in her throat, like she'd caught the worst cold of her life and it was clogging up her head, blocking her nose, fugging her up. And her back ached, and the muscles in her legs were sore. Very sore. Like she'd run ten miles...

Then it hit her, the memories spiralling back like the tornado in The Wizard of Oz but in reverse. Sebastian. Supper. Her car. The wine. And then the bedroom. Fine as a bee's wing. Alex curled up, pulling her knees to her chest, a hole opening in her stomach, aching, the pain worse than anything she had ever experienced, tears p.r.i.c.king her eyes. The fire. The house.

'Goodness, this place is like an oven.'

Alex's heart stopped for a split second. Who the? Pulling the sheet to her chin, Alex turned over to find...Jocelyn Blake...Joss? What on earth was she doing here? ...Fighting her way through the blue curtain.

'Whew. How do those poor nurses put up with the heat? It's like a sauna. How are you feeling my dear?'

'I...' For once in her life Alex had absolutely no idea what to say. But it didn't seem to worry Jocelyn. Grabbing the grey plastic chair from beside the bed, she sat down with a b.u.mp, settling the layers of her cape and dress like a broody hen, pulling several bulging carrier bags onto her lap.

'I couldn't believe it when I heard it on the radio. Kilfenora on fire.' Jocelyn sighed, grimaced, her face grief-stricken. 'I still can't believe it. Thank G.o.d you're all all right.'

Alex tried to speak, but it took huge effort. She winced as her mouth formed the words, the sound rasping in her throat.

'Is Sebastian okay?'

Jocelyn smiled benignly, 'I spoke to him very briefly this morning; they took Lord Kilfenora into Beaumont Hospital, only place they had an ICU bed, Sebastian went with him. He's a bit shaken not stirred, but fine.' Something dark pa.s.sed across Jocelyn's face, but Alex was focusing on turning herself over properly in the bed, her aching muscles protesting as she fought the tightly wrapped sheet. She realised she was wearing a hospital gown, dark blue, patterned and hideous and trying to tie itself in a knot around her hips. Eventually she completed the manoeuvre and fell back against the pillows, exhausted.

'And Lord Kilfenora?' Alex's voice was barely more than a whisper. She wanted to explain, to pour it all out, to tell Jocelyn about the puncture, about the alarm going off, how Sebastian had led her through the smoke to the ballroom, how they'd seen the nurse from the window, a.s.sumed she had helped Guy Wingfield to safety, then, when they'd finally got out, had been told that he was still inside. And how Sebastian had gone with the fire crew to find him. But her throat wasn't up to it, any of it.

As if she could tell that Alex needed to talk, Jocelyn laid her hand on her arm, 'Tell me later love.' Then, 'I want to hear all the details as soon as you're up to it,' she winked, a smile flicking the corners of her mouth. She's trying to cheer me up, jolly me along, just like Dad always does, 'making the best of a bad job' it was one of his favourite phrases. But, Alex realised, Jocelyn hadn't answered her question.

Jocelyn patted her arm again, 'A fire, I can't believe it. Of all things. My goodness, I couldn't bear it if...' She smiled again, but not before Alex had caught something in her eyes, something buried deep, something raw and painful. But it was only there for a second. As if she knew she'd revealed too much, Jocelyn smiled, 'I bought you something to change into it's only a tracksuit from Dunnes, but I think it'll fit. I've spoken to the doctors, they're happy to release you but you need to go home and spend a day in bed. You blacked out last night, you need to rest. I can drop you home.'

Alex smiled weakly. She had so much to do, needed to get her phone, her briefcase. But Jocelyn was right she did need to rest. She felt suddenly incredibly grateful to the woman beside her it was lovely to let someone else do the thinking, to be mothered. Curling up on her squishy sofa in Dalkey with a mug of honey and lemon and daytime TV had never sounded like a better idea. She felt rotten. Then another thought hit Alex: her dad. If Jocelyn had heard about the fire on the radio, her dad would have done too. He'd be going spare with worry. A look of panic fluttered across Alex's face.

'Need...to talk...to my dad.' The more she spoke, the worse her throat was getting. Jocelyn nodded rea.s.suringly, 'I've spoken to your dad love, told him you and Sebastian are fine. He's upset obviously, but delighted you two are okay.' Alex exhaled, relief was.h.i.+ng over her, but how did she know who her dad was? Before she could puzzle it out, Jocelyn continued, 'And the good news is that they're letting him out tomorrow so you can convalesce together...'

Letting him out, already...Alex felt her stomach knot...She wasn't ready, hadn't got the study in Dalkey sorted out yet, and she needed to move his stuff from the cottage whatever he said about wanting to pack himself, he wasn't up to it. She'd planned to do it herself, but it would take a day at least...Alex closed her eyes, despair was.h.i.+ng over her, pus.h.i.+ng her perilously close to the edge of her endurance. She'd be a screaming wreck if anything else went wrong...

In the cold harsh light of morning, things weren't looking much better at Kilfenora.

Standing on the lawns in front of the house, the stink of the fire still strong, Sebastian ran his hand over his face as he took in the scene. All around him the once immaculate gra.s.s was churned up, scarred and furrowed by the wheels of the emergency vehicles, flattened by the dozens of feet that had tramped over it. Somewhere to his right a blackbird called, its cry strong and clear in the eerie silence. After so much confusion and activity, the place felt empty, abandoned, not like his home at all, more like a long-dead ruin, taken over by nature.

At some stage during the night, the entire Palm House had collapsed, the cast iron structure now twisted and bent like knitting, lying in a dense layer of ash and rubble. But the fire brigade had been as good as their word, had succeeded in containing the flames, beating them back from the inside of the house where they had threatened the billiard and morning rooms. Sebastian was sure they were soaked in water, but they could be dried out, redecorated. Outside, the eastern wall was blackened right up to the roof. Thank G.o.d the guest rooms were at the rear of the building, far enough away from the seat of the fire to give them time to get out before the entire house filled with smoke. Sebastian shuddered, thoughts of what could have been whizzing around his head again like a racing car on a Scalextrix track. How had it started? The blaze at Windsor had been caused by a spotlight on a curtain; almost forty years before Powerscourt House had been gutted by a chimney fire.

He ran his hand over his face again. He knew he should feel lucky, lucky that they still had four walls standing, that the interior of the house appeared intact, but a demon of dread still clutched at his stomach. Delayed shock perhaps, but the fear felt real, even this morning, very real. And one thing he knew for sure, he never wanted to smell that smell again, knew he couldn't move back in until every trace of the fire had been eradicated, until the whole place had been redecorated.

Hands thrust in his pockets, his feet unnaturally loud on the gravel, Sebastian began to walk towards his car, still parked where he had left it last night. Beyond it the front door hung open, the darkness of the hall yawning now like a gaping tooth, great weals hewn in the door's oak panelling where the fire fighters had attacked it with their axes, desperate to reach those inside. Behind him a burst of static sent the blackbird across his path. Joe Griffin was half in half out of the patrol car, relaying his position to Control. Sebastian waited for him as he fitted the radio back into its holder on the dashboard, stood up and stretched. It had been a long night for all of them.

They'd hardly spoken on the way down, Bizet's Carmen filling the interior of the patrol car, saving the need for words. Sebastian had been surprised to see Joe this morning, had been putting down the phone to Jocelyn when there had been a brisk knock, rapidly followed by Joe's peaked cap appearing around the door of the private room allocated to relatives beside Beaumont Hospital's Intensive Care Unit.

'Sebastian Wingfield?'

Hauling himself up, wincing as he moved, his bare shoulder strapped where he had wrenched the muscles hauling open the ballroom window, Sebastian nodded.

'Joe Griffin, from Kilfenora. We met a few weeks ago when Tom was shot.'

Sebastian nodded again, a sinking feeling grasping at his gut. How could he forget?

'Come in, please come in.' There would have to be an investigation, questions. Questions Sebastian wanted answers to as well. Joe Griffin's handshake was firm, capable, somehow comforting. 'Sorry... about all this. Any idea how it started?'

Sebastian shrugged, wincing again, shook his head.

'Need a lift home? I brought you a clean sweats.h.i.+rt and jeans in case you needed a change.'

Sebastian hadn't been sure what to say, where to start, thank you seemed a bit weak.

Waiting while Sebastian washed and dressed, Joe stood in the corridor, chatting easily through the bedroom door as if they'd known each other forever, 'Hope this lot fits, they belong to my son. When I got in last night he was glued to the news.' Sebastian could hear Joe's radio sparking into life.

'You must thank him for me. My jeans are pretty much history.'

'You can thank him yourself at some stage. He's an architect with the Office of Public Works, historic buildings and the like. Quite a good one actually although I don't know why on his salary he's still living at home, but there you are. He's in a right stew about your conservatory and the stairs.' Sebastian could tell from the tone in Joe's voice that he'd never seen the Grand Staircase, still less knew anything about it. Joe continued, 'the deal is I have to fill him in on the damage, in exchange for the kaks.'

'I think that can be arranged.' His voice still weak, rasping, Sebastian felt a wave of grat.i.tude towards Joe and his architect son, 'tell him to come up whenever he likes. I'd say I'll be needing his help. The Palm House wasn't looking good last night.'

Now, coming to stand beside Sebastian on the edge of the lawn, Joe Griffin looked up at the house. A flock of rooks lifted from the roof, cawing, black shapes stark against the cloudless blue sky. It was a perfect day, unseasonably warm, like summer was paying a flying visit. Standing here, looking at the blackened walls, Sebastian suddenly felt dislocated, like they were in Greece or Italy, on a bus tour of the historic sites. How could the sky be so blue today of all days?

His hands in his pockets, Joe stepped out onto the gravel and walked around the two cars parked there. Standing with his back to the house, he took a long look at the two vehicles like he was going to make a purchase, his brow knotted.

'You're going to need a re-spray.' Joe nodded towards Sebastian's Jaguar, the midnight blue paint was blistered from the heat, the bonnet dented, a deep scratch running along its pa.s.senger side. Sebastian walked around to join Joe, and came back to earth with a b.u.mp.

s.h.i.+t. His car. It needed more than a re-spray. It must have been hit by something... scratched by a hose being dragged past?

Joe glanced at Sebastian. 'The insurance company are going to love you. It is all insured isn't it?'

Sebastian nodded, silent for a moment. Then, 'my secretary called them as soon as she heard what had happened. Apparently, the a.s.sessor will be down this morning. And a team of builders to check that the external walls are safe, to start clearing the mess.'

Joe's tone was heavy with sarcasm, 'Very efficient. They wouldn't want to have to pay out compo if a bit of a wall fell on someone's head.'

Scuffing the gravel with the toe of his boot, Sebastian sighed. It was insured. It could all be restored. But would it ever be the same?

'That one looks like it got the same treatment.' Joe nodded towards Alex's Golf, the silver paint scratched and blistered, more scratches running the full length of the car.

Sebastian put his head on one side, looking at the cars. He hadn't had a lot of sleep, had spent most of the night in the Intensive Care Unit at his grandfather's bedside before the doctors had insisted he be a.s.sessed, knew his brain wasn't moving as fast as it should be, but something wasn't quite right. He just couldn't place quite what. Then he saw it.