Look into the Eye Read online

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t The Mill issue a press release on this project?” Richard said. “And isn’t the whole point of a press release to get the media interested? You should be thanking me really.”

  Wise-ass!

  “Anyway, you can just be glad I didn’t get to file the copy I really wanted to file,” he said.

  I just stared ahead, almost afraid of what I might say.

  “Oh, come on! You have to admit it was a fair piece, Miss McQuaid. There’s no way you’re ever going to raise all that money – fifteen million euro of private funding to co-fund the twenty-million government grant? No chance! No matter how successful The Mill has become, or how wealthy your clientele, it’s completely off-the-scale stuff for a relatively new arts centre.”

  I sat up straight. “I admit nothing, Mister Blake. This project is sure to be a massive success.”

  I tried to sound confident but the truth was I’d never really been convinced about the scale of the new project myself. It was a highly ambitious plan, arguably overly ambitious. I’d tried to persuade Marcus at least to put off briefing the press until we had the majority of the funding in place, but he didn’t want to hear it. My boss was nearing retirement, and now that the dream of running a venue with facilities large enough to stage full-scale opera and ballet productions was finally within his grasp, there was no way he was going to stay quiet about it. In the end it seemed my opinion didn’t matter. I had to toe the company line.

  “You’ll see,” I went on, in an effort to convince myself as much as Richard Blake. “In less than three years’ time, you’ll be standing in a queue along the quays of the River Liffey trying to get in to see a full-scale ballet production in our new state-of-the-art auditorium.”

  “I wouldn’t bank on it.” He laughed.

  But when he saw I wasn’t coming around, he looked down and nodded slowly in defeat. “Right, I’ll just go now then, shall I?” He took a long swig of his pint then went to get up.

  “No, you’re all right.” If I was being honest I’d actually agreed with most of what he’d written – even if I would never admit it to him. “Whatever about the rest of the article, I did quite enjoy the bit you wrote about our chairwoman.” I couldn’t help but smile.

  “Ah yes – the infamous, spoiled Fenella Wright,” he said. “That bit was an added bonus.” He smiled, then tilted his head down and looked sideways at me. “Any chance we could start again? My friends call me Richie.” He held out his hand. “Peace?”

  I paused for a second to think about it, then gave in and smiled. “Oh all right, go on then.” I took his hand. “Nice to meet you, Richie. I’m Mel.”

  I scanned his face properly as I shook his hand. It was one of those friendly faces – he looked tired and his eyes were a bit bloodshot, but he had a cheeky smile. I imagined nobody was able to stay annoyed at Richie Blake for too long.

  I turned back to face the view and we both just sat there for a minute in silence.

  “So what drove you to the cigars?” I asked him after a while.

  “Women! What else?” He gestured behind us towards the hotel. “I’m avoiding one, and supposed to be in there celebrating my engagement to the other.”

  “I thought you said you were at the lunch?”

  “Yes, but we only got engaged yesterday, so we just told our friends and families about it at the lunch today. My future father-in-law and fiancée are in there now organising champagne for everyone. Which is a bonus, I guess – she’s been trying her best lately to turn me teetotal – reckons I drink too much.” He took a large swig of stout from his pint glass.

  “Do you?”

  He wiped the froth from his mouth.

  “What?”

  “Do you drink too much?”

  He looked at the pint glass. “Ah, I suppose. But I need something to get through. I mean, why is it we all have to conform anyway?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked. “Conform to what?”

  “Marriage. Why do we all have to get married anyway?” he said. “What’s wrong with just staying as we are and enjoying one another’s company? Why do we have to give in to convention – to marriage, kids and the like?”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” I said. “I, for one, am never going back there.”

  “Back? Were you married before, then?”

  “Nearly – it’s a long story.” I changed the subject quickly: “So why are you getting engaged if you don’t want to get married?”

  “Shagged if I know.” He shook his head slowly. “Sometimes I think I must be on some kind of white-knuckle ride that I got led onto – now I’m being carried along on it and I have no idea how to get off – don’t even know if I want to. It’s all pretty damned confusing.” He took another swig of his pint. “The trouble is, I’ve never been very good at relationships. Sooner or later every one that I’ve ever been in comes crashing down around my ears.”

  There’s nothing like a fellow-sufferer to make you feel better about your own situation.

  “I hear you,” I said, warming to the topic. “I’m a bit of a disaster in that department too. In fact, I find it easier these days to just keep life simple and stay single.”

  “Sounds like I should have spoken to you last week then – before I popped the question. Everyone else kept telling me to make an honest woman of her – herself included. I guess I just caved in, in the end.”

  “Well, I hope it all works out for you.”

  “Thanks.” He looked at me. “So you’re really single then? No boyfriends? Fiancés?” He took my left hand and turned it around, looking for an invisible ring.

  I pulled my hand back. “No. I’ve more important things on my mind at the moment.” I flicked my hair behind my shoulders.

  “Like what? Fundraising for that daft ego-driven development project?”

  I shot him a sideways look. “Yes, actually, that is one thing. But there’s more than just that – in fact I’ve got a five-year plan.”

  “Oh, you have, have you?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Now why doesn’t that surprise me? Go on then, let’s hear it.”

  I knew he was mocking me, and my five-year plan was one thing I didn’t joke about.

  “Why would I tell you my secrets?” I said. “You’re a total stranger.”

  “Stranger?” he said, feigning hurt. “Sure you know more about me already than most of my closest friends do.”

  I smiled – he had a way about him, despite all the talk.

  “Why is it that it’s always easier to talk to a stranger, d’you think?” I asked. “Is it because there’s no baggage there? No past?”

  “Maybe,” he said. “Or maybe it’s because you know you’re never going to see them again, so whatever you say can’t be used in evidence against you in the future.”

  “You never know!” I said. “I could turn up at your newspaper some day to sue the pants off you for another of those libellous articles of yours.”

  “Ah, it’d be worth it to see you again.” He gave me a cheeky smile.

  I tried very hard not to smile back. “I thought you said you weren’t interested?”

  “That was before I got hooked by your magnetic personality, and now that I know you’re available, well . . .”

  I caught him looking down at my legs, and pulled the hem of my dress down to cover my knees. “Eh, you’re engaged, remember?”

  “So I am. I keep forgetting.” He glanced back at the hotel. “Ah, I’m just kidding around.” He turned back to me. “Come on, I want to hear about this five-year plan. Tell the nice stranger your innermost secrets.”

  “No chance. I’d probably end up reading about it next week in the gossip column on the back page of that rag you write for.”

  “Touché,” he laughed. “Go on – our discerning readership wouldn’t have the slightest interest in a lowly arts-centre director, so you’re safe on that score.”

  Oh, what the hell, I thought. I’ll never see him again any
way . . .

  I turned around to face him. “All right then, I’m almost four years into the plan now and I just bought my dream house – or at least the best one I could afford given Dublin property prices these days. I’ve had some work done to it, but there’s still a bit to do. I also now have an MBA to my name, and I recently got the promotion in work that I wanted. So it’s going well so far. In a year or so, when I’ve finished refurbishing the house and have replenished my savings a bit, I’d like to travel some more, maybe visit a few of the top dive locations around the world.”

  “So you dive then?” He seemed impressed. “Where would you go?”

  “Red Sea, Great Barrier Reef, those kind of places.” I started to get into the conversation, warming to one of my favourite topics. “But the trip I really can’t wait to do is one I read about in a water-sports magazine last year – it’s to the Norwegian fjords to see the killer whales. You wear a drysuit, mask and snorkel and then float on top of the water to watch them swim underneath.”

  “Killer whales, eh? Wouldn’t it be dangerous getting in the water with them? They’ve killed people in the past, haven’t they?”

  “In theme parks and aquariums, yes – they can become quite dangerous in captivity. But it’s not the whales’ fault – they can go a bit crazy after being kept cooped up in swimming pools no bigger than bathtubs to them, away from their family pods, made to perform inane tricks for food. It’s so sad.” I sighed. “But there’s no record of a killer whale hurting a human being in the wild.”

  Richie raised his eyebrows. “That’s good to know, should I ever happen upon one.”

  “The company running the trip in Norway is fully licensed too,” I went on. “They have to follow very strict regulations and safety precautions – to protect both the whales and the people going in the water with them. And anyway,” I smiled, “I like a challenge – keeps life interesting.”

  “I bet you do.” Richie smiled back at me. “It’s an impressive plan, I’ll grant you that, and I get the sense you’ll do it all too.”

  “I most certainly will.” I leant back on my elbows.

  He took another swig of his stout, finishing it off. “Thing is,” he said, interrupting my daydream of sailing through the snow-capped Norwegian fjords, “the good stuff is all a bit of a way off, isn’t it? I mean, what do you do for fun nowadays?”

  I sat back up straight. “I have fun. I’m bloomin’ great fun, in fact.”

  Richie sucked his cheeks in. “I’m not sure I believe you, girl. That master plan of yours is all about work, doing up houses and saving. The interesting bit – the travel – doesn’t come into play for another couple of years.”

  Why was everyone on my case about this lately? I sighed. Maybe they were right. I had been a bit dull of late.

  Then I had an idea. I jumped up.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  “I’m going to prove I know how to have fun. Now give me those glasses.” I took the slim gin glass I’d been holding and the empty pint glass he handed me, then turned and dropped them both down beside the nearest bush.

  “Woah!” Richie looked shocked.

  “Ah, I’m sure they’re bio-degradable.” I knew he thought I was dumping them but I quite liked the idea of shocking him.

  I walked in my bare feet over to the edge of the lawn without a backward glance. Then I knelt down and stretched out so that I was lying flat, face-down at the top of the grassy hill.

  “What are you doing now?” Richie shouted over. “You’re going to wreck your clothes!”

  “That’s one of the advantages of wearing black – no grass stains.” I laughed and rolled myself over until I was lying flat just on the brow of the hill. “My brothers and I used to do this all the time when we were young – it’s great fun. Come on – get over here. Or are you all talk?”

  Richie stayed sitting where he was. “Most definitely all talk.” He looked back up at the terrace. “People are looking at us, y’know? And I’m trying to keep a low profile here today.”

  “That’s fine, Richie!” I shouted back. “Stay there. Be boring. But don’t accuse me of not knowing how to have fun!”

  “You’re cracked!” He got up and walked slowly over towards me.

  “Yeah, maybe . . . wheeeeeee!” I pushed myself off the side of the hill, and I was off, quickly picking up speed. I was rolling so fast down the soft, downy grass, and laughing so much, that I could only just about make out the blurry shape of the man rolling down behind me.

  “This is craaaaaaz-y!” Richie shouted, just before bumping into me at the bottom.

  We lay there beside each other for a while. I was laughing so hard that tears were streaming down my face.

  He sat up then and leant back on his hands to look at me. “All right, I’ll hand it to you, Miss McQuaid – that was great craic.”

  “Thank you, Mister Blake. So I’m not so uptight then after all?” I said, wiping the tears away.

  “Definitely not. It seems first impressions can be deceiving. You’re not one bit uptight, Miss – you’re completely stark raving bonkers!”

  I laughed.

  He shook his head, then started to get up. “All right, that’s enough fun and frolics for one day. I’d best get back to the lads, not to mention the fiancée and future in-laws – they’ll be sending out a search party for me at this rate.”

  He held out his hand and pulled me up, and we walked slowly back up the steep hill, stopping every now and then to pick up the loose change that had escaped from his pockets.

  “You go on ahead,” I said as we got to the top and I sat down to strap my shoes back on. “You might just want to tidy yourself up before you present yourself to the future in-laws though.” I nodded at the back of his trousers.

  Richie looked over his shoulder at his rear. He grinned, then wiggled his backside from side to side as he brushed the dirt and a few loose pieces of grass away.

  I shook my head and smiled.

  He turned to go.

  “Hey, Mister Blake, any chance you could drop those two not-so-biodegradable glasses back to the bar?”

  He grinned and picked up the glasses.

  "Catchya again so,” he said as he strode off indoors.

  Chapter 2

  RICHARD

  I whistled to myself as I went inside. I was surprised to find that I was actually starting to enjoy the day, considering how much I’d been dreading it. Lucy and I had only got engaged the night before, and had just told her parents about it before the fundraising lunch for the latest project of the family’s charity foundation. They both seemed really thrilled at the news – Mr Mac hugged me to within an inch of my life when I told him, and Mrs Mac wasted no time asking about the wedding plans – it was all she and Lucy could talk about through lunch. It was when they started to organise the champagne after the lunch that it all started to get on top of me. I had to escape outside for a smoke and a breather.

  Meeting the sultry, crazy, hill-rolling girl was just what I needed to take my mind off things. As I walked into the hotel I glanced back at Mel McQuaid who was still sitting down putting her shoes on. I smiled to myself, then carried on inside. There’s more to that girl than meets the eye, I thought. With the long, poker-straight, black hair and the black dress, she looked quite severe at first, but when she loosened up a bit she was actually all right. And she did have the most amazing dark-green eyes – bright, strong and incredibly sexy – a guy could get into serious trouble looking into eyes like that. Not that she’d let him of course – I was sure she’d be a tough nut to crack, that one.

  I walked in the direction of the bar, and was just leaving the empty glasses down on a table in the foyer, when I spotted one of my favourite people.

  “Jangler! I mean Father, sorry,” I said. “How are you, ol’ fella?”

  “Master Blake. Good to see you,” he said, shaking my hand in both of his. “I’m a bit late, I’m afraid – I had a wedding to attend to first.”

/>   Aside from a few grey hairs and wrinkles, my old economics and music teacher hadn’t aged much over the years. Except that since he’d retired he no longer carried the huge set of keys that got him his nickname. On the famous bunch was a key to every door of Ashvale College, the country boarding school that had been my second home for six years. If Jangler ever needed to get a boy’s attention he used to lift those keys and jangle them loudly. That was just his first warning – you ignored it at your peril. Jangler was a great guy, one of the best, but he was one of the strictest teachers we had – to this day I still stop in my tracks when I hear the sound of a big set of keys jangling.

  “It’s great to see you too, Father. There’s a big Ashvale crowd here today – we missed you at the meal.”

  “Yes, sorry about that, Richard. It was the Lockwood wedding – young Paul, do you remember him? He would have been a few years behind you in school.”

  “Of course I remember Locko. Damn good scrum-half.”

  “Yes, indeed,” said Jangler. “He’s into property now like so many of them. There was a time when our boys all wanted to go on to be solicitors and accountants, now all they want to do is buy and sell offices and apartment blocks.” He sighed. “Anyway, the wedding was nearby, handily enough.”

  “Well, it’s good to see you now, Father.” I stood back to look at him. “You’re looking well, it has to be said – retirement must be suiting you? And sure why wouldn’t it? Living in a top lakeside location there by the borders of Dublin, Wicklow and Kildare? Sure with all of the recent improvements over the last few years, Ashvale must be more like a mountain resort these days than the tough ol’ boarding school we remember it as.” I slapped him gently on the shoulder. “It’s a great life you lot have.”