In the Company of Others (38 page)

‘Ah, Ibiza.’

‘I’m takin’ Anna to th’ real place, Rev’rend.’ Liam grinning. ‘For two weeks. Don’t say a word to a soul, especially Maureen, she’ll shout it from th’ rooftop.’

‘Scout’s honor. When would this happen?’

‘As soon as we see how things come around.’

‘You mean with Bella?’

‘And with Mother.’

‘Who will mind the store?’

‘God above, I’ve no idea. If I waited ’til that was sorted out, we’d never leave th’ car park. It’s only fourteen years we’ve talked about it. I’m lookin’ in Riverstown for someone cheerful to manage th’ place.’

‘Thumbs up,’ he said. ‘What’s that sound?’

Wings threshing the air overhead. He looked and saw the great white bird flying above the beeches, then another, and another; heard their snorting cry and the sound of their terrible wings, like a contraption designed by da Vinci.

‘’t is th’ swans goin’ over,’ said Liam. ‘They fly about now and again—to exercise their wings, it’s said. Clamorous wings, Mr. Yeats said.’

Another and another, their orange beaks and black masks against the blue sky . . .

He was five years old, his mouth open in a gape, heart pounding. Back up the stairs, then, and out of breath with the morning gazette:

He’d seen swans flying, he said. You can hear their wings working. They
creak
.

The Conors would beg the judge or whoever they had to beg for the best decision for Bella.

Liam had laughed—out loud.

And here was the cover story, the best of the breaking news:

Liam was taking Anna to Ibiza as soon as things settled down and they could find someone cheerful to manage the place.

‘Don’t look at me,’ said his wife.

The old boatman was nowhere to be found, though a small boat was drawn into the reeds.

Out of the car with the art hamper, stumbling about to find a stone to sit on, and the ensuing sketches of
A Boat in Reeds at Innisfree
.

‘Very small,’ he said of the island. ‘Clearly no human habitation on it, and too densely wooded to walk about, anyway.’

‘Yes, but on the other hand, midnight’s all a glimmer there, noon is a purple glow, and evening is full of the linnet’s wings.’

‘You have a point,’ he said.

A warm day, the midges out in great number. They found Tobernalt at once serene and celebratory. Visitors were inclined to leave ribbons, beads, trinkets of all sorts hanging from every bush and tree. Coins slept like fish at the bottom of a clear pool, people spoke in whispers or not at all. And all the while, the cool, natural spring burbling up in the heart of the ancient forest as it had done long before St. Pat-rick first arrived as a slave boy.

They prayed for those at home, both here and abroad, for safe travel whenever that might be, and for God’s richest blessing upon the Eire and its people. Though against everything in his nature, not to mention the Scout’s oath to leave things better than they were found, he wanted to offer something, too—something beautiful, from the heart, not bought over a counter.

She went through the hamper to no avail. He went through his pockets and found the Connemara Black with its feather from the crest of a golden pheasant, dark fur from a seal, and beard hackle from a blue jay.

He held it in the palm of his hand and she put on her glasses and looked at it again. ‘So delicate and beautiful. Are you sure you want to leave it?’

He couldn’t say why, exactly, but he did. She sketched it—for posterity, she said—and he hung it on the smallest of twigs and thought it handsome there.

Balfour’s pile was a shock of sorts, though Cynthia had known for some time what had happened.

‘A terrible fire,’ she said, ‘on Christmas Eve of 1873. No one died, but it spread to the stables and . . .’

And there was the ruin of it, dark against the afternoon sky.

‘All flesh is grass,’ she said, ‘and architecture, too.’

‘Do you want to sketch it?’

‘No.’

‘What did Fintan have to say about it?’

‘That it grieved him for the Balfours, and for the lovely horses.’

‘When you read ahead of me that time, what did you learn about Eunan, what became of him?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I only read about the fire and how people hereabout picked through the embers and found food stored in the cellar still edible.’

He took Cynthia to their room and went down to find Liam, who was repairing the hinge on a shutter.

‘Thomas Jefferson said, It’s wonderful what may be done if we’re always doing.’

‘Just foostering about,’ said Liam. ‘Dinner is easy tonight. Poached salmon, a few roast potatoes. How was your day?’

‘Good in every part. How did it go at the Garda station?’

‘They haven’t released Paddy, they’re pursuing his tie to Slade. A Gard had a chat with Jack Kennedy, who remembered that Slade and Paddy had knocked back a few together.’

‘When was that?’

‘During the time Slade worked at Broughadoon. ’

‘What do you think?’

‘Paddy admits he had a drink with Slade, who was already there when he came in. A total of thirty minutes, he says, and Jack Kennedy agrees. Paddy says they talked about the economy, nothin’ more. Paddy says he has no idea how th’ painting got in th’ cellar—his fingerprints aren’t on it, that’s one bit out of th’ way. I don’t know, Rev’rend. As low as Paddy can be, I’d rather think he had nothin’ to do with it, though there are times I’d like to see him rot somewhere.’ Liam looked down, kicked at the gravel. ‘But he’s my brother, for God’s sake.’

‘How did Bella do?’

‘She was wonderful. Really sharp and clear. Terrific.’

‘What do you think is next?’

‘Corrigan was very touched by her confession, it seems. He has a daughter her age. We don’t know. He says keep her close by, they’ll get back to us.’

‘What’s your gut on it?’

‘No way to know. She has no record, she’s clean. That helps.’

‘Your mother?’

‘Anna went up with a jar of her famous chicken soup. Says Mother took a little an’ it didn’t come back.’

‘Good,’ he said. ‘I’d best go to the room and get myself ready for the big game tonight.’

‘William’s not th’ best player you’ll ever come against, it’s th’
craic
he’s after.’

‘Craic?’

‘Th’ fun, th’ blather.’

He was ready for fun and blather.

‘Oh, Rev’rend.’ Liam trotting after him as he started up the stairs.

‘I forgot to tell you I got into Da’s papers. Amazing what’s up there, your bit wasn’t hard to find. If you’ve got a minute . . .’

They met for a half hour in the library, where he took a hurried scramble of notes.

All previous gazettes would pale.

Forty-one

He’d just been down to speak with Anna, couldn’t find her, left a note on the kitchen worktable, and came back up, blowing like a mule.

A knock.

Lord knows he was afraid to open the door around here.

Anna with a hesitant look. ‘The nurse called, Reverend. She’s asking for you . . .’

‘Ah.’

‘. . . and for Da, as well.’

He heard Cynthia say something she hardly ever said. ‘Wow.’

‘I’ll be right along. Does William know?’

‘He does, he’s dressing. He’s—how shall we say?—a basket case.’ She smiled. ‘I saw your note asking about flowers—you mustn’t go to a florist, absolutely not. You may cut from the garden in the morning—best to wait ’til the dew is off—and take anything you like. I’ll have a trug on the bench, and clippers.’

‘Many thanks.’

‘They’ll stay quite fresh; Ballyrush is no distance a’tall.’

‘That will be good.’

‘Thank you for going up with Da,’ she said. ‘I wanted to tell you she apologized to me.’

‘Wonderful.’ Beyond wonderful. He thought Anna a beautiful woman, ever at a loss to conceal her feelings.

‘I believe she will do the same with Liam; it’s just that she feels great shame about her treatment of him, and ’t is harder.’

‘Can he forgive her, do you think?’

‘I pray so.’

He closed the door and turned to his deacon.

‘We need to get out of here,’ he said. ‘It’s time.’

‘Yes. Whatever comes, they’ll work it out. We can’t stay ’til everything is worked out, we’d be here ’til the trumpet sounds.’

‘Precisely.’

‘Why are we cutting flowers in the morning?’

‘Can’t say. It’s a surprise.’

‘I love—’

‘I know.’

‘So.’ She took a deep breath, exhaled.

‘So how about this? Dear Emma, We’re done. Get us out of here ASAP. Your humble and grateful servant forevermore.’

‘I would not say humble to Emma Newland, and definitely not forevermore.’

‘But it’ll be a pain, don’t you think, to get business class this time of year?’

‘For us it would be a pain. For Emma, ’t is her soul’s delight. She loves going up against large corporations of all kinds, not to mention the occasional government agency.’

In the kitchen, he checked his watch for the date.

Your grateful servant>

‘I forgot,’ said his wife when he came back to the room for his collar and prayer book. ‘Don’t say servant, either. Definitely not. She will take it literally for the rest of your life.’

‘Too late,’ he said.

He met Maureen in the hall with her laundry basket, gave her a kiss on both cheeks. ‘A miracle, her askin’ our William up. Miracles still happen, don’t they, Rev’rend?’

‘All the time,’ he said.

William gabbing, retying his tie, puffing up his pocket handkerchief as they rattled up the hill.

‘Looks like you’re preaching somewhere,’ he said.

William’s hands trembled. ‘She’ll be th’ one preachin’.’

Ireland definitely won the trophy for trembling, he reckoned, and yet another for lachrymose. A shelf full of trophies he’d give the old Eire.

William looked done-in. ‘I’ll be fair game for ye tonight, Rev’rend.’

‘We can do it another time.’

‘I’ll take a rain check, then, if ye don’t mind.’

Seamus answered their knock.

‘How is she?’

‘I’m afraid to say it.’

‘Say it anyway.’

‘She’s better. Aye. Some better.’

He crossed himself. William did the same.

‘Still a lot of pain,’ said Fletcher. ‘Some tremoring, some nausea—and the depression, poor love, is terrible. But she’s got th’ quick wit comin’ back, Dr. Feeney says, and a bit of appetite. She might really make it, Rev’rend, I believe she will, ’t will be a Guinness record! On the other hand, I remember hearin’ of an’ oul’ gent who got sober at ninety but it killed him for all that—he only lived a year or two.’

‘That’ll work,’ he said.

William hanging on to his cane for dear life.

‘How shall we go in, Fletcher? One at a time?’

‘She wants you both together.’

‘Joseph, Mary, an’ all th’ saints,’ said William.

He thought he could hardly bear again the sight of the splint, the cast; the entrapment of both arms at once.

‘
Dhia dhuit
, Evelyn.’

‘
Dhia is Muire dhuit
, Reverend.’

‘Where would you like us to sit?’

‘Please sit in the corner. Ask Mr. Donavan to sit by me.’

William fairly collapsed into the armchair. He took his place in the corner; Cuch got up, stretched, came and lay at his feet.

Evelyn’s hair dark against the pillow. She turned her head and studied William.

‘Ye oul’ bandit,’ she said.

‘Did ye see my portrait th’ Missus Kav’na done?’

No, no, William, back off that, for Pete’s sake.

‘I thought you might use it, sir, to keep the crows from your broad beans.’

William retrenching, clearing his throat, diving in. ‘I’d like to say I forgive ye for tryin’ to kill me, Evie.’

‘You, th’ bloody savage runnin’ off to disgrace an innocent girl you promised to marry—and you forgive me?’

‘Now, Evie . . .’

‘And no more callin’ me Evie, as if you deserved to put tongue to my private name.’

‘’t was meself give you that private name, remember?’

‘I remember nothing of the sort.’

William rethinking, giving his handkerchief a honk. ‘Well, then, to go on, if ye’d be so kind—I forgive ye for marryin’ th’ oul’ man an’ bearin’ his children an’ not mine.’

‘A fine husband you would have made, Willie Donavan, with naught to warm y’r bones but a ravin’ lunatic pride in th’ number of lives you maimed and squandered.’

‘I never killed a man, Evie, an’ maimed but a few.’

As far as they were concerned, he had vanished into the paper on the walls.

‘I forgive ye for th’ thankless manner ye showed when you were hard up an’ I bought Broughadoon,’ said William. ‘An’ that’s all th’ forgivin’ I can give ye.’

‘Has it occurred to you even once in that thick skull of yours to ask forgiveness of me? Had you no wrongdoing toward me?’

‘Well, then, if it’s come to that . . .’ William gathered his forces. ‘Forgive me for bein’ a brute an’ lettin’ ye down!’

Evelyn speaking Irish. Heated.

‘I don’t understand a word ye say in the oul’ tongue. I’m a modern man, Evie, a
modern
man. Ye’d be better off to say a kind word in dacent English, if ye don’t mind. ’t would be an improvement to your health.’

Way to go, William.

A long release of breath from Evelyn. ‘Reverend. ’

‘Yes?’

‘Bring me the Purdey.’

‘Oh, very sly ye are, with your blinkin’ wit. Still th’ sleeveen, I see, an’ you a woman up in years.’ William stood, huffed.

‘Sit down, ye oul’ gossoon.’

‘Why should I sit an’ be treated like an eejit when I’ve come with forgiveness of every kind, th’ same man who bought your hundred acres an’ a pile of rubble an’ made it lovely so as to give ye a dacent neighbor?’ William’s breath short. ‘An’ why did ye ask us up in th’ first place, as if we had nothin’ more to do than take th’ lashin’ of your desperate tongue?’

‘Sit down,’ she said.

William sat.

‘Thank you for forgiving me, William.’ The tremoring. ‘As you might imagine, I asked you up for a purpose.’

‘I’d be keen to hear th’ purpose.’

‘I forgive you, William.’

William waited. ‘That’s all ye have to say?’

‘That should be enough.’

‘I’d thank ye to put a bit of shine on ’t, if ye wouldn’t mind. Is it th’ matter of bein’ a brute an’ lettin’ ye down which you’re forgivin’? Ye could try bein’ more . . .’—William chose his word—‘
specific
.’

‘Well, then. I forgive your brutish ways and selfish pride, William Donavan. I forgive your indifference to human suffering, your cunning deceptions, your careless betrayal, and until now, your refusal to admit any wrongdoing whatever.’

He was quiet for a moment. ‘An’ I forgive you, Evelyn McGuiness, of each an’ every one of th’ same, thank ye.’

They rattled down the lane after a cup of tea with Seamus.

‘That’s a mean oul’ woman,’ said William with some pride.

‘Aye,’ he said.

He was having a quick look at
The Independent
when Liam came into the library.

‘I’d like to know how it went, but it’s O’Malley on th’ phone—another bit for th’ lovelorn columns. Wanted your contact in th’ States; he’s thrilled to find you’re still about.’ Liam handed over his mobile. ‘Step out, you’ll get better reception.’

Out into birdsong and a mild breeze whipping up. ‘Pete!’

‘Tim, you lucky dog—still soakin’ up th’ best of th’ west at ol’ Broughadoon!’

‘Leaving soon.’

‘How’s Cynthia?’

‘Ankle improved. We’re seeing a few sights.’

‘Great. Just wanted you to know she’s still here.’

‘Aha. How’s it going?’

‘I’m afraid to say.’

‘Say anyway.’

‘Looks like she’s in for th’ long haul.’

‘You must be doing something right, O’Malley.’

‘I’m tryin’, Tim. Keep your fingers crossed.’

‘That does no good a’tall, I hate to tell you.’

‘Do th’ other, then, and thanks—thanks a lot. You an’ Cynthia try to get back next year, okay? I’ll bring Linda.’

‘Linda
and
Roscoe, and we might have a deal. What do you think did the trick? I might launch a scientific study.’

‘All th’ stuff you said, plus . . .’

‘Plus?’

‘Leavin’ tomorrow for two weeks in Ibiza.’

‘Keep up the good work,’ he said. ‘And Pete?’

‘Yo!’

‘Remember to listen when she talks.’

‘That’s the bloody hard part,’ said Pete.

He gave Pete his home number, returned the phone to Liam.

‘Looks like we’re in th’ marriage counseling business,’ said Liam. ‘How did it go up th’ hill?’

‘I suppose you could call it a miracle and be done with it. Or maybe an uneasy truce. They forgave each other, after a fashion.’

‘I never know what to say for all you do.’

‘I didn’t do it.’

‘We’ll call it a miracle, then, an’ be done,’ said Liam.

‘Any developments?’

‘God above, my head’s thick as plaster. Corrigan called. He wants us at the station tomorrow to make things official. Bella’s clear.’

‘Thank heaven.’

‘No previous record; she fell in with a bad sort, made some bad decisions, then had the guts to come clean about it, Corrigan says. He wants her to stay close for six months, and write a letter of apology to her mother an’ me. One to th’ Gards, too, who blew out time an’ money.’

‘A very fair man, to say the least. Does Cynthia know?’

‘She does. Bella’s with her now. They had Slade’s fingerprints from the Tubbercurry arrest, matched ’em with prints on th’ louvers, th’ light switch, all over th’ cellar. And here’s another gobsmacker. Lorna Doolin, the book writer, wants th’ Broughadoon job while we’re away. She managed a four-star inn in New Hampshire an’ can make a fry into th’ bargain. Bella’s after takin’ over dinner, an’ we think she’d be grand. What do you say, Rev’rend?’

What could he say? ‘Wow.’

‘But we have to shake a leg an’ go before th’ niece’s school opens. Lorna’s in training as we speak, ’t will be fodder for her next mystery, she says.’

‘She just missed the mystery!’

‘We didn’t want to be away if things, you know, don’t go well with . . . up th’ hill. I asked Feeney—he said such a chance won’t come round again, he thinks we should go.’

‘Anna knows the plan, then?’

‘She’s blown away.’ Liam rocked on the balls of his feet, eyes blue. ‘Me, too. Any advice for the oul’ second honeymoon crowd?’

‘Oh, just the usual. Be sure to listen when she talks.’

‘That’s tough,’ said Liam.

‘I know,’ he said.

He met Bella coming from their room. He realized that until now he had never seen her smile.

‘Good work,’ he said.

‘Thank you.’

He wanted to give her a hug, but he’d done that last night.

‘
Dhia Dhuit
, Bella.’

‘
Dhia is Muire dhuit
, Rev’rend.’

He didn’t show Cynthia the email.

‘We have this evening and tomorrow. Then up and away at six-thirty Wednesday morning. I’ll call Aengus.’

‘Busy, busy.’

He headed downstairs. By rough calculation, this was his thirteenth time on the stairs today. Like the rest of the common horde, they’d need a holiday to rest up from their vacation.