It wasn’t until she was twenty-two, in London, that she first took heroin.
‘What were you up to in London?’
‘House-sitting my great-aunt’s mews and working in an art gallery.’
‘How d’you get the art-gallery gig?’ Chalkie asked.
‘My godmother was best friends with the owner’s sister.’
‘You poshos really look after each other.’
‘And how was your first time with heroin?’ I asked.
‘It was indescribable.’ She looked dreamy. ‘It was complete elation combined with the hugest, best feeling of love and safety.’
‘Yeh, it’s nice, all right,’ Chalkie murmured.
Bronte’s next life event was meeting Eden – also Anglo-Irish but, unlike Bronte, rich and titled.
‘He said I had to stop taking drugs, so I stopped. We got married, set up home in Riddlesden Hall, I had my babies, I was working with my beloved horses. Everything was perfect.’
‘Yet you suddenly ramped up your drug-taking six years ago? Why was that?’
‘Oh. I really can’t remember. I’m not really sure … I couldn’t say.’
I got a horrible feeling that Bronte was just going through the motions here. She’d been through rehab once before, she knew the right noises to make.
Looking for another route in, I said, ‘Tell us about your children. You had the first, Freya, when you were twenty-five?’
‘Hugo at twenty-seven and Gerald at thirty. Then Eden said there were to be no more, now that he had two sons, an heir and a spare.’ She gave a little laugh, which died a death in the room. The rest of them, even Giles, were a long way from an heir-and-a-spare lifestyle.
Suddenly very curious, I asked, ‘What kind of relationship do you have with your children?’
‘I utterly adore them.’ She went to say more, then stopped abruptly.
‘“But”？’ I asked.
‘They’re at boarding school in England. Well, not Freya, she’s on her gap year. I don’t see them as often as I’d like. Perhaps … five weeks a year. Six? They go to French camp during the summer holidays.’
Jesus. ‘What age did they start boarding?’
‘Seven. I know it seems young,’ Bronte said. ‘But it’s just what’s done. Eden was five when he first went. He says it made a man of him.’
That sounded cruel and terrible.
‘Before your relapse,’ I asked, ‘what tended to make you happy?’
‘My horses.’ No hesitation. ‘I’m just a groom, but I adore it. I would do it all day, every day.’
Something was off here and I didn’t know what … but maybe Bronte was just one of those people who loved animals more than they loved humans?
At lunchtime I drove like the clappers through the Wicklow backroads to chi-chi Enniskerry to get my brows and lashes tinted – Claire’s idea. She’d told me I also needed a facial and a blow-dry before tomorrow afternoon – so I’d look ‘amazing’ at Mr Costello’s birthday thing.
‘And show up early.’ She’d been adamant about this. ‘Make sure everyone sees you, then you can slope off as soon as the room fills up. Get the oul’ fella a gift, something mind-blowing, maybe a test drive in an Aston Martin. And what’re you thinking of wearing? You need to look stunning but effortless.’
She decreed that I wear jeans, a loose, falling-off-the-shoulder sweater and all the jewellery Quin had given me.
I was fully on board. ‘Me, swanking into the thick of the Costellos, bursting with “Look at me now!” energy? I am here for it!’
‘And you’re to be all “Not only did I survive but I fucking thrived! Check out my shiny hair and my glowing skin and my age-appropriate yet very cool clothing.”’
‘Can I say, “Yes, my jeans were cripplingly expensive because they’re all about the cut. Yes, my sweater is angora, yes I do know that this colour does amazing things to my eyes. You think this sort of thing just happens by accident?”’
‘Totally! And, “My earrings? Yes, they’re diamonds – well excuse you and your good eye! Gift from my boyfriend. Boyfriend – oh yeah, of course! Is it serious? Totally.” G’wan Rachel,’ she urged. ‘Ate ’um!’
‘“Ate ’um”？’
‘The young people are saying it. So now we say it too.’
‘Ate ’um,’ I tried experimentally. ‘I dunno …’ Then, ‘Claire! What’s the latest on you and the swinging?’ I’d told her about Adam revealing his reluctance to me at BanDearg.