Chapter 33

You can't blame a writer for what the characters say.

Truman Capote

I'm a little embarrassed I couldn't eat the starter of quiche because of my egg allergy. It's not the worst allergy a person could have, but I come out in hives almost immediately and every part of my body itches like crazy. The last thing I want is to have an allergic reaction in front of Mrs Boyd-Miller (she's asked me to call her Pamela, but it feels all wrong and so I'm trying not to use her name at all). I don't feel she'd be totally sympathetic to uncontrollable scratching at the dinner table, so I pick at the salad instead, which is very, very tasty. I say this to Charles, who's still a bit flustered about me not wanting the quiche, and the fact that some kind of kitchen emergency meant he had to bring up the starters himself, not that this is any big deal in my book given that our kitchen and dining room at home are the same space.

When Ellis says she'll help by taking the empty plates to the kitchen, Charles jumps up and tells her that she's not to bother and that he'll do it himself. His mother comments on the inconvenience of it and he agrees, saying he's considering asking Celeste to cook in the future. Though he adds that it's not as though he entertains so often that he needs catering staff anyhow.

‘I keep telling you you should have more soirées,' says Pamela.

‘Soirées?' He raises an eyebrow and I muffle a giggle.

‘Scoff all you like, but there's nothing wrong with great writers hosting evenings where people can talk about literature and discuss the important matters of the day,' she says.

‘We usually do that in the pub,' says Charles. He looks around. ‘Oh hell, where's Ellis?'

‘She went to get the mains while you were talking,' I tell him, and am surprised to see an anguished look pass over his face.

‘Maybe I should—'

‘Hey, everyone.' Ellis walks in with two plates of salmon. ‘Here we go. Chas, can you nip downstairs and bring up the others.'

‘Is everything OK?' He looks at her anxiously.

‘Fine,' she says. ‘Your substitute chef is working away happily, doing a great job.'

He walks quickly out of the room while Ellis puts plates in front of me and her mother. I look at it in relief. I can eat salmon.

‘Charles tells me you have a book club,' I say to Pamela ‘And that you're on the radio.'

‘I'm the chair of a small but influential gathering, yes,' she says. ‘And as such, I'm sometimes asked to share my reviews and expertise.'

‘Mum's club was on that TV book programme with Mairin McGettigan last autumn,' says Ellis. ‘Did you see it?'

‘No.' I shake my head. ‘I don't watch much TV, to be honest.'

‘That's nice to hear,' says Pamela. ‘Too many people spend too much time watching television these days.'

‘But there are some great series being made,' says Ellis. ‘Particularly on the streaming services.'

Pamela holds up her hand. ‘I don't need to know. I have one cable service and that's more than enough. Because no matter how often I search the programmes, there's never anything worth watching.'

‘Did you watch the movie of Winter's Heartbreak on TV?' I ask.

‘We went to the Dublin premiere,' says Pamela. ‘It was a wonderful evening.'

‘I hope the new book is made into a movie,' I say. ‘I'd love to go to a premiere.'

‘It can take years.' Pamela sounds like she's had lots of experience with movie deals. ‘And even then, something can throw it off course.'

‘It's an exciting prospect all the same,' says Ellis. ‘And I'm sure Ariel . . .' she pauses. ‘I'm sure his agent is working hard on his behalf as usual.'

‘You can say her name,' I tell her, then turn my attention to the salmon in front of me, even though Charles hasn't returned with the other two plates yet and I should really wait until he does.

‘This must all be quite overwhelming for you, Iseult,' says Pamela. ‘Mixing in these circles.'

‘If you mean the movie business, I haven't met anyone to do with it yet,' I say.

‘Not only the movies. Important writers like Charles.'

I'm not sure how I'm supposed to respond to that.

‘Have you worked out your living arrangements?' she asks.

‘Our living arrangements?' I look at her in confusion.

‘How you're going to manage when you're getting up in the middle of the night to catch drug smugglers,' she says. ‘You can't disturb Charles. He needs his sleep. And you can't disturb him if you're off during the day either, because he needs his creative space.'

‘I'm sure we'll manage. After all, I need my sleep too and sometimes that's during the day. I don't spend my whole life catching smugglers either,' I add. ‘It can be more mundane than that.'

‘You've got to understand that being married to Charles isn't like being married to an ordinary person,' Pamela says.

‘No, it's like being married to a man-child,' Ellis pipes up.

I laugh.

‘Seriously,' she says. ‘For someone who's supposedly so brilliant at writing women, he can be an absolute pain to live with.'

‘You're being very harsh,' says Pamela.

‘Oh, come on, Mum. Ariel did her best, but it was difficult for her. He was always interrupting her at work. Drove her nuts.'

I say nothing. Pamela tells Ellis that Ariel was the one who did all the interrupting.

‘No she didn't,' says Ellis. ‘She gave him more than enough of your so-called creative space. He was the one who was under her feet.'

‘Nonsense,' says Pamela.

‘Anyhow,' Ellis turns to me, ‘don't let him walk all over you. He's the kind of person that if you give him an inch takes a few miles. Start as you mean to go on.'

‘I'll keep that in mind.'

‘Have you met Ariel?' asks Pamela.

‘Yes.' I keep my voice as relaxed as I can, but I stab my salmon like a victim in a Janice Jermyn book.

‘What did you think?'

‘She's very focused.'

‘Multi-talented,' says Ellis. ‘Can turn her hand to anything for Chas, and often does.'

I don't know why she smiles when she says this.

‘I'll admit she's done well for him as an agent,' says Pamela. ‘But really and truly, he could've had a better wife.'

‘In what way could she have been a better wife?' I ask, delighted that the conversation has turned towards dissing his agent-slash-soon-to-be-divorced-ex.

‘You can't have two very ambitious people in a marriage,' says Pamela. ‘Something's got to give.'

Everyone seems to have the same view about Ariel's ambition. Even though I don't want to sympathise, I can't help feeling a little sorry for her. Why shouldn't she be ambitious?

‘If she wasn't so driven, she wouldn't have got him all those deals,' I remark.

‘All she ever thought about was how good he was for her agency,' argues Pamela. ‘She forgot he was her husband too.'

And they're off again, making the case for and against Ariel as a wife. I'm thinking they'll start on me next, but fortunately Charles returns with the other plates of salmon. He puts one in his place and one in front of Ellis and asks what we were talking about.

‘Ariel,' says Ellis.

Charles, who'd popped some potato in his mouth, starts to cough.

‘Hot,' he says. ‘Sorry.'

‘The potato? Or Ariel?'

‘For crying out loud, Ellis.' He glares at her.

‘I was just wondering,' she says.

‘Well don't.'

There's a definite atmosphere whenever Ariel's name is mentioned, and it's not because they're being sensitive around me.

‘Did you like her?' I ask Ellis.

‘She always, always did her best for Charles,' she replies. ‘Still does. Goes above and beyond. No job too big or too small. Or too personal.'

I glance at him. He's glowering at his sister now and says that it's in Ariel's best interests to make sure his life is hassle-free.

‘You'll be expected to keep it hassle-free too,' she says to me. ‘If you run into problems, just let me know.'

‘It will be hassle-free with me,' I tell her. ‘I'm low-maintenance.'

‘What about your wedding?' she asks. ‘Is that going to be low-maintenance too, or something grand and glamorous?'

‘We haven't really talked about it much.' I glance at Charles. ‘He's been so busy with his book . . .'

‘Oh, for feck's sake, Chas!' Ellis gives her brother an exasperated look. ‘Get with the programme. You need to start planning.'

‘Not before his divorce,' says Pamela.

‘Why not?' asks Ellis. ‘Are you expecting him to back out?'

I shoot her a horrified look.

‘Sorry, Izzy. I didn't mean that he would. I'm sure he can't wait to tie the knot with you.'

‘For your information, I have a meeting with Laurence on Monday.' Charles's tone is frosty. ‘So there's no issue about the divorce, and yes, darling Iseult, we'll get on with our plans straight away.'

‘Great.' I smile at him. He reaches for my hand and holds it tightly.

‘So what happened to the original caterer that meant you needed a substitute chef?' I ask, deciding a change of subject is a good idea.

‘It's not important.' Charles doesn't look at me.

‘The stand-in is excellent.' Ellis beams at him and he gives her another glare. ‘This salmon is wonderful.'

‘I'm definitely using Iseult's friend in future,' he mutters.

‘Does she have her own company, or does she work in a restaurant?' asks Ellis.

‘In a pub,' I say.

‘A pub!' Pamela looks at me with genuine interest. ‘So she does sandwiches and lasagne, that sort of thing?'

‘It's a gastro-pub,' I say. ‘It's a very diverse menu and the food is great.'

‘Mum thinks every pub is like Miller's.' Charles shrugs. ‘Honest Food for Honest People is our motto, although not all the regulars there could be categorised as honest. Joey Harte was done for tax avoidance a few years ago, and wasn't Mattie McDonagh jailed for that scam with the animal feed?'

‘Really, Charles, there's no need to speak about our clientele like that,' says Pamela. ‘Yes, some of them have had difficulties in the past, but I always say let bygones be bygones. Besides, the pub food is different to the restaurant's offering.'

‘We're always happy to take their money, no matter where it comes from,' agrees Charles.

‘You shouldn't be saying this in front of someone who works with the Gardaí,' remarks Ellis.

‘I don't—'

My words are drowned by a loud clatter from downstairs, and a muffled swear.

‘I'd better check what's happened,' says Charles, who's on his feet immediately.

‘I'll go with you.'

Ellis pushes back her chair and both of them hurry out, leaving me sitting with Pamela, who shakes her head and says that no matter what Charles thinks of his caterer, you can't get good staff any more. She asks about my friend the pub chef, so I tell her about Celeste, how great she is, and then add that she's my cousin, in case Pamela puts her foot in it by saying something disparaging about pub chefs again.

‘You're close?' She looks enquiringly at me.

‘Like sisters,' I confirm.

‘I wish my family was closer,' she says, and there's a real sense of regret in her voice. ‘Charles and his brother are chalk and cheese, and Ellis . . . well, she's a good girl, but she lacks ambition.'

‘I thought you didn't like ambitious women,' I remark.

‘Excuse me?'

‘You didn't seem to like Ariel's ambition.'

‘Because she put it above Charles.'

‘Wasn't she entitled to?'

‘She was certainly entitled to be ambitious for him. That brought her success. It should have been enough.'

‘And Ellis?' I ask. ‘What should she be doing?'

‘She should move from that airy-fairy arty-farty stuff she's doing and be more commercial,' says Pamela.

‘Surely if she's happy, that's all that matters?'

Pamela snorts.

‘And you have your literary circle,' I add. ‘Clearly you're ambitious enough for all of them if you're on the airwaves.'

‘I'm not ambitious for me, only my sons,' she says.

‘Not Ellis?'

‘No point any more.'

I feel sorry for Ellis, who's being so completely dismissed by her mother. But I suddenly understand where tensions could have arisen between Charles and Ariel. Because if he's inherited his mother's way of looking at things, I can see why he thought she was too ambitious for herself and not ambitious enough for him. Even though she clearly was.

My phone buzzes.

I'm going to turn into a pot of tea. I've had at least half a dozen cups already. Are you having fun?

Steve loves his tea. Half a dozen cups is nothing to him.

I tap out a quick reply saying that meeting the future in-laws is never exactly fun.

Maybe it's you, not the future in-laws

I grimace as I recall meeting Steve's mum. Although significantly younger than Pamela Boyd-Miller, Lorraine Carter has a lot in common with her. Mostly the belief that her son is a genius and no woman is good enough for him. I reply with a non-committal emoji and put my phone back in my bag.

‘You know that's immensely rude,' says Pamela.

‘Yes. But a sick friend is staying at my house, so I needed to check up on him.'

‘Him?'

‘Yes.'

‘And Charles is agreeable to this?'

‘It's not up to him to be agreeable or not,' I say.

Her eyes narrow. ‘You're not dissimilar after all,' she says. ‘I thought you were. You're quieter. Younger too, obviously. And more in awe of him. But you're like her in some ways.'

‘Like who?'

‘Ariel, of course,' says Pamela.

She's comparing me to the first Mrs Miller.

That's surely not a good thing.