Brenda Brennan laughed. "They're not all as wise as you are, Ms Brady. They often go back to run big companies or indeed the country after considerably more than one glass of wine, I tell you."
"You'll have to write your memoirs," Ella said.
"No, I want to go on serving meals for a long time. No point in closing us down." She moved on to other tables, always a pleasant word here and there, never staying too long anywhere. She was amazingly elegant, Ella thought, and gracious. No wonder the place was so successful.
Brenda Brennan could make generalised remarks, but she would never say anything specifically indiscreet. Brenda would have realised that Ella was meeting Don Richardson, known family man. She might even have seen the photo in yesterday's paper. But she would give no hint. Of course, she had an easy life, Ella thought enviously. She was married to the man she loved, the chef Patrick Brennan. Lucky Brenda, she had no nerve-racking lunch ahead of her.
Ella wondered if she should order a brandy, but decided against it. Whatever he said, Ella would take it. She would not be like she was last night, whimpering and talking about herself and her
picture in the paper. Clearly he had his problems. She could have kicked herself for behaving so badly when he needed her most.
At one-fifteen he wasn't there. It was very unlike him. At one thirty she began to worry. Quentins was not the kind of place that hurried you or told you that the kitchen would be closing. But at twenty minutes before two, Ella went to the ladies" room. Brenda Brennan hated mobile phones at the table and she had to try and phone him.
There was no reply from his mobile. And no message recording service. This was very unusual. She would order something to eat. Or should she call the school first? Or should she telephone the house in Killiney? Or the office of Rice and Richardson? "Don't fuss, Ella," she spoke to herself aloud. She decided she would order food, something cold for both of them, and then when he eventually arrived there would be something to eat.
As she returned to her table, she noticed that Brenda had ordered her things moved to a private booth. Her book and glass of mineral water were there, waiting for her. Also, what looked like a small brandy.
Ella looked around her in surprise. Mon, the waitress, was nearby.
"Here you are, Ella. Much more cosy set-up if you're meeting a fellow." Mon had a huge smile and two jaunty little bunches of hair which stuck out at angles from her head.
"Yes, but
"Listen, compared to most that come in here, Ella, you don't have anything to worry about. That fellow's mad about you, we often say it behind your back, so why not to your face?" Mon was eager and reassuring.
"Did Don ring and ask to change the table?" Ella asked Mon.
"No idea." Mon was cheerful. "Mrs. Brennan said do it double quick, so it's done."
Ella felt a great sense of alarm. Whatever he wanted to tell her must be terrible if it had to be told in a secluded booth. Then she noticed Brenda Brennan slipping in opposite her. She carried an early copy of the evening paper for today.
"Ella," she said urgently.
What had happened to all the "Ms Brady" bit of an hour ago? "What is it?" She was full of fear.
"One or two customers recognised you. I thought best you be in here."
She opened the paper, and there it was again - the picture of Ella laughing up at Don at the airport. But why had they printed it a second time?
"When he comes in, he'll explain."
"He's not coming in, Ella. It was on the news at one-thirty. We heard it in the kitchen. He's gone to Spain. He left on the first plane this morning."
"No!" Ella cried. "No, he can't have gone away."
"He has, apparently. He was out there setting it all up. He has his wife and children there already, his father-in-law went yesterday through London ..."
"How do they know ...?"
Brenda's voice was just a whisper. "When all the clients went around to the office today to check on their assets, they couldn't get in. The place was locked up. They called the Guards and the Fraud Squad . .. and apparently he was on the eight a.m. plane."
"This is not happening."
I took the liberty of getting you a Cognac."
"Thank you," she said automatically but she didn't reach for it.
"And I could call the school for you if you gave me the number and told me who to call."
"That's kind of you, Mrs. Brennan, but I actually don't believe any of this. Don is coming in. He keeps his word."
"It's important how you behave now, for your own sake. You don't want to be running into a rake of journalists and photographers."
"Why would I?"
"This idiotic paper said he had a love nest with you in Spain. Gives your name and where you work."
"Well, see!" Ella was triumphant. "They know what you don't, that he'd never leave without me, never." Her voice was getting high, shrill, and very near hysteria.
Brenda caught her by the wrist. "The news programme on the radio knows what this crowd in the newspaper didn't know. They spoke to neighbours in Killiney about the house being closed up. They spoke to Irish people living in Spain, who were all very tight-lipped, as you might imagine."
"He couldn't, he couldn't." Ella shook her head.
Brenda released the girl's wrist. "There's an explanation. He'll get in touch, but the main thing is to get you out of here before someone sneaks a call to a journalist."
"They wouldn't!"
"They would. Don't go home and don't go to your school."
"Where will I go?" She looked pitiful.
"Go upstairs to our rooms. We live over the shop. Drink that down, write out the name and number for your school, and then go straight over to that green door there near the entrance to the kitchen ..."
"How will you know what to say to the school?"
Til know," Brenda said. She didn't add that it would hardly be necessary to say anything. They would all have read the paper and heard the lunchtime news. They would not be expecting Miss Brady back to classes this afternoon. Ella was surprised to see the big, handsome brass bed with the frill-edged pillows and rose-pink coverlet. It looked too luxurious, too sensual, for this couple, somehow. She took her shoes off and lay down for a moment to get her head straight. But the sleepless night and the shock worked more than she believed they would. She fell into a deep sleep and dreamed that she and Don were carrying a picnic up a hill, but everything was in a tablecloth and getting jumbled together. In the dream, she kept asking why did they have to do it this way, and Don kept saying, "Trust me, Angel, this is the way," and all the time there was a rattling of broken china.
She woke suddenly to the sound of a cup and saucer being placed beside her by Brenda Brennan. It was almost six o"clock. There was no picnic. She couldn't trust Don Richardson any more. Was there the slightest possibility that he might be back in her flat waiting for her? She began to get out of bed.
Brenda said she was going to have a shower. Perhaps Ella might like to look at the six o"clock news on television. Til be in the bathroom just next door if you need me," Brenda called.
Ella turned on the TV and found the news. She watched without thinking until the story came on. It was worse than she thought. Don had gone. That much was certain. And he had been out in Spain last week setting it all up. There were interviews with people who had lost their life savings. A man with a red face who had given money to Don Richardson every month so that he could buy a little retirement home in Spain, because his wife had a bad chest and needed good weather. "We are never going to see Spain now," said the man, twisting his hands to show how upset he was.
There was a tall, pale woman who looked as if she were too frail to stand and talk to a man with a microphone. "I can't believe it. He was so charming, so persuasive. I believe he will be back to explain everything. They tell me I don't own any apartment in that block. But I must. He showed me pictures of it."