The Grace Girls (14 page)

And their father would give in, as the girls knew he would. The easy-going Sophie made few demands on him, and it would have been churlish of him not to agree. And then all four of them would walk into the nice hotel or restaurant, where the three females would enjoy the smart surroundings and the small fancy cakes – and after a stiff Irish whiskey, Fintan would eventually relax and endure it.

Bolstered by her mother’s words now of being
as good as the next one
, Kirsty had straightened her back and lifted her chin and smiled at Larry Delaney as if she was used to walking into posh places every night of the week.

She watched him now from her high-backed green leather Chesterfield chair as he crossed the floor in the surprisingly busy small bar, and wondered if there was ever a time, back in Dublin years ago, when he would have been nervous in a place like this. She watched as he caught the barman’s attention through the crowd with a mere nod of his head, and then had a light, friendly conversation with him as he ordered the drinks, and decided that Larry Delaney must have been born confident.

Kirsty thought it might have been quiet tonight since it was only a Monday, and was amazed to see so many people being able to afford to go out for a meal on a working night.

She took the opportunity to have a good look around the elaborately decorated, dimly lit lounge while she was on her own, starting with the glass-topped table in front of her, which was underlaid with the same green leather as the chair. She leaned forward to discreetly examine the chunky crystal ashtray that matched the crystal candle-holder, which had a round well in the middle holding a small thick candle. She lifted the candle-holder a few inches off the table and was surprised at how heavy it was.

While Larry was at the bar, Kirsty took advantage of his absence at the table to remove her suit jacket and make sure that her red sweater was smoothed down and sitting just perfectly. Then she discreetly checked in her compact mirror that her lipstick and hair were fine and the garnet and gold brooch was still properly pinned on. Satisfied that she looked decent, she then sat with a straight back in the leather chair and surveyed the other people around her.

Most of them were much older than her, and probably a bit older than Larry too, and they all looked very much at home. Kirsty wondered if they lived in some of the big h
ouses they had passed on the way up here – the sandst
one ones that looked like smaller versions of the hotel. Then, she became aware of a striking, dark-haired woman gazing across the room at her and she suddenly went back to feeling all self-conscious again. She started to fiddle with the clasp on her brooch, just to give herself something to do. When she lifted her eyes later, the woman was engaged in conversation with a man and two other women, her hands waving expressively, and her dark hair swinging around as she laughed out loud.

Larry came back to their glass-topped table with the drinks and while he was pouring Kirsty’s drink into her glass, a young – obviously new – waiter rushed over with a dish of nuts, apologising for not having been there to take their drinks order. His red-faced awkwardness reminded Kirsty of some of the boys in her class at school, and she started to feel a little more relaxed.

‘This is a lovely place,’ she said, taking a sip of her sweet, bubbly drink.

‘Good,’ Larry said, ‘I’m delighted you like it . . . I hoped that you would. It’s one of my favourite places around here.’

There was a little silence, during which Kirsty took another drink of Babycham and wondered who Larry usually brought along to his ‘favourite places’.

Then, he unexpectedly leaned forward and patted her hand and Kirsty felt a funny little tingle run through her. ‘We need to get down to the serious business now –’ He halted, looking up as a figure suddenly appeared by the side of their table.

‘Hello there, Larry,’ a low, refined Scottish voice cut in. ‘
I thought it was you . . .’ It was the glamorous, dark-haire
d woman who had been staring at Kirsty earlier. Close up, Kirsty could see that she was older than she had appeared at a distance, probably even older than Larry, but very good-looking and beautifully dressed in a simple black shift dress with long black gloves and pearls.

‘Fiona . . .’ Larry said, a smile crossing his handsome face. It wasn’t a broad smile – more a careful, quizzical smile. He stood up now to embrace her and kiss her on the cheek. ‘What are you doing in this neck of the woods? This is a wee bit out of your usual area, isn’t it?’

‘It’s not that far from Hamilton,’ she said. ‘I’m out on what you could call
business
. . .’ She smiled up at him, giving her head a little shake, which sent a long dark wave covering one eye. ‘Although – as you well know, Larry – it’s very easy to mix business with pleasure.’

Larry nodded, then he seemed to hesitate for a moment. ‘How are Helen and David? Have you seen them recently
?’

Fiona’s eyes narrowed. ‘I see them regularly, and they’re both well,’ she said quietly. She tilted her head, as though studying his reaction. ‘Helen made a wise decision . . . v
ery practical and one that works well for all concerned.’

Larry nodded again, but this time he said nothing.

Fiona turned now to Kirsty, raised her eyebrows expectantly and waited for some explanation as to who she was.

Kirsty gave the woman a smile, and then, as she found herself being scrutinised, her stomach tightened and her smile disap­peared. Then she felt her neck and face start to burn with the deep red flush that always let her down when she was nervous – and the more she worried about it, the worse it got.

‘We’re out on a professional nature, too,’ Larry told the woman with a casual smile that showed his even white teeth. He put a hand on Kirsty’s shoulder, the way her father sometimes did when he was introducing her. ‘This young lady is Kirsty Grace . . . a brilliant new singing talent that I’ve had the great good fortune to discover.’

‘Imagine!’ Fiona said, smiling broadly, but Kirsty was
quick to notice that the smile didn’t reach her eyes. ‘Imagi
ne
actually
discovering a new talent . . . I look forward to hearing
her some time.’ She gave a tinkly little laugh, as though she had just heard something funny. ‘You’re so very clever at all this, Larry, aren’t you? Discovering new talent.’

‘I have no doubts that you will hear her,’ Larry said, with a little edge to his voice, and his hand still lingering on Kirsty’s shoulder. ‘Now, would you like to join us for a drink?’

‘No, no . . . not at all,’ Fiona said, glancing back in the direction of the table where she’d been sitting. She pushed her black hair back over her shoulder. ‘I have to go . . . we have a table booked in the restaurant and I think it’s nearly time.’

Larry nodded. ‘We’re heading in there ourselves.’

Fiona’s eyebrows shot up again in surprise, but she said nothing. She gave another little smile. ‘I’m sure I’ll see you later,’ and then with a flick of her glossy black hair, she set off back to her table, her high heels silent in the deep pile of the carpet.

‘Who was that?’ The words were out of Kirsty’s mouth before she could stop herself.

‘Fiona McCluskey,’ Larry said in an even voice.

‘And is she in the music business, too?’

‘No,’ Larry said, ‘she’s involved in a number of businesses, but music isn’t one of them.’ He took a sip of his whiskey. ‘Now, back to our discussion . . .’

The meal went smoothly, much to Kirsty’s relief, and it was helped by the one glass of cold white wine that Larry had poured for her – the first wine she had ever tasted. ‘I wouldn’t want your mother and father to think I was leading you into bad habits,’ he’d said earlier, laughing as he ordered a half-bottle between them. ‘And if we’re going to be working closely together, it’s best if I don’t start off on the wrong foot with them.’

Kirsty almost said that she would have preferred another Babycham or a small sherry with her meal, but something had held her back. She wasn’t sure why she had said nothing when he ordered the wine, but later when she looked back on the evening, she realised it was when she noticed Fiona’s group with
two
bottles of wine on their table that she decided wine was obviously a social nicety she needed to learn about. And even though Larry seemed kind and understanding, Kirsty thought it best not to enlighten him that the only wine she knew anything about was tonic wine.

She could feel herself burning with embarrassment again, as she recalled having half a tumbler of the strong red wine one Christmas at an elderly
neighbour’s house, which she’d downed in two gulps, and had felt her head spinning for the rest of the afternoon. In Rowanhill and the surrounding villages, Buckfast and Sanatogen wines were regarded by decent people as lethal, and only bought by the lowest of the low, heavy drinkers, or old ladies who indulged in a tiny glass now and again, supposedly for their health. Sadly, some of the poor old souls got so used to it that they were often seen discreetly buying bottles of the stuff on a daily basis.

When the waiter had carefully poured their wine from a cold bottle wrapped in a white damask linen napkin, they had clinked their wine glasses together, and then Larry had started talking, outlining all the great plans he had for her.

He talked first about her having a course of singing lessons with a renowned teacher from Motherwell, just to ‘sharpen up her voice’ on the high notes.

‘I used to go for singing lessons when I was younger,’ Kirsty told him, slightly defensively.

‘Good,’ Larry said, smiling. ‘It will be no bother to you learning breathing techniques and scales again.’ Then he talked about her changing her whole repertoire of songs, which he felt would attract a more sophisticated audience.

‘It might take a month or two before you’re ready to go on stage again, but when you do, you’ll be a very different type of performer. You’ll be in a different class. We have to get it right from the very beginning – voice, songs, clothes, hairstyle . . . everything.’

‘But that’s going to cost a fortune.’

When Kirsty had looked alarmed at all his plans, he had taken her hand between his and squeezed it reassuringly. ‘Don’t worry about a thing – it’ll all be taken care of.’ He had leaned forward and looked into her eyes. ‘I understand that you’re only a young girl, and you can’t be earning a huge amount in that chemist’s shop . . .’

‘It’s not a bad job,’ Kirsty said sounding defensive again, annoyed at being described as
only a young girl
. ‘There’s nothing wrong with it, it’s handy for home and a chemist’s is a nice clean place to work.’ She sat upright now, straightening out the rib of her sweater for something to concentrate on, without having to look at Larry. ‘It’s as well paid as anything around here . . . and I’ve made a bit extra from singing with the band.’

Larry nodded, and held his hands up apologetically. ‘I’m not saying anything about your job, Kirsty,’ he said in
a low voice. ‘I’m sure it’s a fine job . . . for a girl who does
n’t have your
outstanding talent
.’

Kirsty registered his two last words, and she suddenly felt her heart soar. ‘Do you really think so?’ she whispered. ‘Do you really think I’ve got a good singing talent?’

Larry laughed out loud now, and Kirsty felt all self-conscious again. She hoped that Fiona wouldn’t look across and think he was laughing at something silly she’d said.

‘Would I be out here with you tonight, if I didn’t think you had talent?’ he said quietly, his face suddenly becoming more serious. ‘Why else would I be sitting here with you? I’m a very busy man, and I haven’t time to waste on things that aren’t important to me.’

Kirsty dropped her gaze now and started fiddling with her napkin. Now she
did
feel silly.

‘Well,’ she said, giving a little shrug, ‘I don’t like to act big-headed or anything . . . and there’s a big difference between thinking you’re not a bad singer in a local band and somebody like you sayin’ that I have . . . a
real
talent.’

‘You have a real talent, make no mistake about it,’ Larry confirmed. ‘So we won’t waste any more time debating it.’ He tapped his fingers on the lace tablecloth. ‘I was trying to say you’re not to worry about the singing lessons and the clothes being out of your reach . . . we can come to an arrangement.’

‘How?’ Kirsty asked, her brow furrowing. ‘What kind of arrangement?’

‘Well, I can always put the money up front,’ he explain
ed, ‘and then we can deduct it from your wages when you start earning decent money from your singing. It’s fairly standard in this business . . . it’s the professional way to do things.’

There was a little silence. ‘I have savings in a post office account . . .’ Kirsty volunteered. ‘I don’t really like the idea of owing anybody money.’

‘We’ll see,’ Larry said. His eyes were dancing with amuse­ment, but he kept his face straight just in case she took further offence. For someone who was used to dealing with all sorts of people, he suddenly realised he’d never actually met anyone like Kirsty Grace before – and certainly had never worked with anyone like her. One minute she seemed quite confident and mature beyond her years, and the very next minute she was a touchy, prickly teenager. He reckoned he was just going to have to play their working relationship very much by ear.