No Enemy but Time (19 page)

‘I only spoke two words to him,' he said. ‘When you were upstairs powdering your nose. He took quite a fancy to you, I thought.'

Claire giggled. ‘I took one to him as well,' she admitted. ‘He's an MP, can you believe it?'

‘Sylvia Butler said he was one of the rising stars in the Tory party,' Frank remarked. ‘I think she had her eye on him for Olivia.' He smiled ruefully at the idea. ‘I can't see an Irish girl fitting into that set-up, can you?'

‘Oh, I don't see why not,' Claire protested.

‘People like him live in a strait-jacket compared to us,' he said. ‘They have buttoned-down souls.'

She frowned. ‘If you only spoke two words to him, you certainly formed an opinion.'

‘I know the type,' he said. ‘And I don't like it.'

After that the subject dropped. Claire soon forgot both Neil Fraser and her brother's judgement of him. The weeks went by, and soon she was getting ready to go to London for the three-month course which was supposed to equip her for earning a ladylike living till she got married. All was harmony, as if that summer was a gift from God, and only Claudia felt uneasy watching her daughter and her stepson becoming more inseparable as adults than they had been even as children. But she said nothing, even when Claire refused invitations in favour of some plan she and Frank had made together. She kept her own counsel, because she was a wise woman who believed that things worked out for the best if left alone. And Claire was soon going to London. There was no warning of disaster. Philip was content with his son, Frank was busy with his estate in Meath and enthusiastic about plans for a merchant bank in Dublin.

The weather was fine, the cattle and horses sleek with the rich grass, and Claire was within a week of going. It was Friday and the morning opened with a rainstorm. Claudia looked at the weather and decided she might be lazy for once and have breakfast in bed. Philip kissed her goodbye and went off for the day.

Claire put her head round the door and said, ‘Mum, we're going on an expedition. We won't be in to lunch.'

‘You and Frank?' Claudia asked, although she knew. ‘What sort of expedition?'

Claire came close to her. ‘We've a bet on,' she declared. ‘I've bet him a fiver we'll get into old Reynard's hide. He says it's all nonsense. We're going over to walk round the follies and see. I've made a side bet of twenty pounds that we find a fox's been in one of them.'

‘You're mad,' her mother said. ‘It's absolutely pouring with rain.'

Claire looked at her. ‘You're not ill are you, Mum? Dad just said you were having a lazy morning.'

‘Don't be silly, of course I'm not ill. I'm never ill.' Which was true. ‘I just felt it was such a filthy day I'd have breakfast in bed for a change. Tell Sheena you're out for lunch, will you, darling? And tell her to tell Molly to lay for two, not four. You know what an idiot she is – if you don't tell her
everything …
and don't catch cold, for God's sake. You've got to travel next week.'

The door closed and Claire had gone. Claudia settled back with the newspaper. There was no post; a new man was delivering, and it was running late till he got used to the district. The old postman was retired at last. He had cycled his district for twenty years, a stick strapped to his saddle to beat off the dogs. He reminded Claudia of a redheaded leprechaun, a grin like a slice of Dutch cheese splitting his face whenever he appeared with the letters. He enjoyed a parcel as much as if it was sent to himself.

She glanced briefly out of the window; the sky was black with malevolent clouds and the rain struck spitefully at the glass. It was a prophetic morning.

The last ditch was crossed and the grey stone folly beckoned them. It was tall and narrow, like a finger pointing upwards. There were no windows, only slits; no doors, but a niche set high up in one wall. Too high for any hound to leap, but within the scope of a running fox. They were both soaking wet, but the rain had stopped and the hot Irish sun was drying out the land. Claire was out of breath. They had run over the last field.

‘There!' she gasped in triumph. ‘Now you owe me a fiver!'

He laughed, his hair plastered down with the rain, shaking himself free of the wet. ‘Not till I've got up there and seen for myself!'

The first three follies had been blank towers, with slits that were a painted illusion to deceive the eye at a distance. But this was real, and so was the little entrance to it.

‘Five pounds,' Claire shouted at him, as he began a hand-and-toe climb up the outer wall. ‘Twenty if there's been a fox in there!' She watched him climb and haul himself up to the edge of the niche.

He called down, ‘My God, it's big enough to get inside.'

‘I'll come up too,' she said, and began to search for projections in the wall. It was rough built. The other towers had been smooth.

Above her Frank wriggled his way in. Then he leant out and reached down to help her. ‘It's a room in here,' he said. ‘And I owe you twenty quid.'

Claire stared at him. ‘You mean there's been a fox?'

‘More than one, by the smell of it. Here, I'll pull you through.'

The stench was so strong that Claire gasped. Then standing in the fusty darkness, they both heard a low, faint growl.

‘Jesus,' he exclaimed. ‘There's something in here. Stay quiet, Clarry. I'll light my lighter.'

By the little gas flame they found it crouched in a corner, red eyes glowing from the darkness.

‘Oh, poor thing,' Claire said, and turned away.

‘It's been poisoned,' Frank said. ‘Bastards. They're getting twenty-five pounds for the pelts these days. They put poison down the lair and wait for the poor creature to come out to die, then they shoot it. I'd shoot them if I could catch them at it!' He came closer, holding the tiny flame above his head. The fox lay dying; its flanks heaved in spasms and the eyes followed the man with the light who stood above it.

‘Oh, Frank,' she whispered. ‘I wish we hadn't come.'

‘I'm glad we did,' he said. ‘You go down and go back to the car. I'll follow in a minute. Go on.'

‘What are you going to do?' she asked.

‘Stop it suffering,' he said. ‘It must have hidden here from the hunt. It got itself here to die. Go on down, please.'

She levered herself over the edge of the niche; Frank held her hand till she found toe-holds, and then she dropped the last few feet. He turned back into the gloom. He lit the lighter once more and found a stone. The red eyes watched him. ‘Poor old Charlie,' he said gently. ‘Be a good lad now, and don't try to bite …'

He caught Claire up.

‘Did you do it?' she said.

‘Yes. I think he knew I was helping him. Maybe it was old Reynard. Come on, don't cry. You've won twenty-five pounds, remember?'

‘As if I'd take it,' she said. ‘Let's go and find a pub and have a drink. I feel sick.'

‘It did stink in there,' he said. He put his arm round her. ‘Lucky for the fox we came. Think of it like that.'

He took her to the hotel in Kells; the lounges didn't sell food and Frank wanted her to eat something. She had been very upset by the incident with the fox. He was shaken himself, but he didn't want to show it. They sat for a long time in the bar with its garish red walls and laminated fake pine, drinking whiskey. Claire said she wasn't hungry and Frank didn't argue.

‘It was almost human,' she said, ‘the way it looked up at us. Perhaps we were meant to go today and find him. God, and I've heard people say hunting's cruel!'

‘Money makes people cruel,' Frank said. ‘Twenty-five pounds is a fortune to some of them. Fox is all the fashion now.'

She leaned over and touched his hand for a moment. ‘It must have been horrible for you,' she said.

‘Father's always said you should carry a gun when you're out in the country – you never know what you may find that's hurt or trapped. Remember how upset he was about Belle? She'd been missing all day and he found her in a ditch over by Sallins, trying to crawl home. He shot her and carried her back. Mum said he was almost crying.'

Frank remembered the day he'd come home from the States and asked about the dog. She'd been poisoned, his father said, strychnine … One of those bastard farmers. He'd felt the same emotion when he found the dying fox, its innards eaten away by a slow poison. Yet twenty-five pounds was more than some families had to live on. It wasn't money that made people cruel, he thought, it was poverty.

His father would never understand or accept that.

Claire said suddenly, ‘I don't think we should tell anyone about the hide. If the hunt knows a fox can actually get up there, they'll close it up.'

‘I'm surprised they haven't done so before,' Frank said. ‘Maybe it's superstition. They don't want to upset old Reynard. We won't say anything, not even at home.'

‘It's our secret,' Claire said. ‘What a place to hide! No one would ever find you there.'

‘No,' he agreed. ‘They wouldn't. How about a sandwich?'

‘All right,' she said, to please him. The girl in the bar thought what a lovely couple they made.

It was quite late when they got back to Riverstown. Claudia and Phillip were having tea. The rain had started again and seemed set for the night. It was a time to be indoors and snug; they'd lit a fire, although it was early September.

‘Hallo,' Philip greeted them. ‘Find any foxes? Mummy told me you'd gone off on your wild goose chase.'

‘More like a wild fox chase,' Frank answered. ‘All we did was tramp for miles and get soaked. So we dried ourselves off at the Headford Hotel and had some lunch.'

Claudia looked up. ‘There are some letters in the hall. Some for you, Claire darling, and something from America for you, Frank.'

‘I'll get them,' he said.

They were drinking tea and Claire was reading a note from the cookery school without much enthusiasm. Something made her look up. Philip was gazing peacefully at the fire, Claudia was busy with the teapot, and her brother had the letter from America open in his hand.

He said, ‘This is from my uncle.'

Philip put his cup down. He was frowning. ‘Uncle? What uncle? What are you talking about?'

A little red crept into Frank's face. ‘My Ryan uncle,' he answered. ‘My mother's brother.'

There was a silence broken by his father, who said dismissively, ‘Really. She did have brothers, but I can't see why any one of them would write to you.'

Claudia stopped pouring tea. Frank spoke quietly, but the tension was palpitating round them.

‘He says he's bought the Half House.'

Claudia looked at her husband and slightly shook her head. There was a hard set to Philip's mouth and a cold expression in his eyes as he held his son's gaze.

‘So I heard.'

‘Why didn't anyone mention it?' Frank asked.

Claudia put on her cheerful smile and said, ‘I don't think we connected it with your mother's family, Frank. Ryan is a very common name.'

‘Claudia,' he said quietly, ‘if one of the Ryans from Ballymore bought your old home, the whole of Kildare would be talking about it. I must be the only one who didn't know. Why didn't you tell me?' He spoke to his father, turning away from her.

‘Now just a moment.' Philip left his chair and stood up. He was taller than Frank. ‘You've no right to speak to Claudia like that, do you understand? It cropped up while you were in America, and besides, we weren't exactly pleased. And I don't know why a man who's never seen you in his life should suddenly write to you out of the blue. Unless it's to embarrass us. The best thing you can do is throw the damned thing on the fire!' He sat down as if that closed the subject.

Frank said, ‘Apparently he has seen me. He came here when I was a baby. You were in England in the Army. You don't even know what's in the letter; how can you tell me to ignore it? Why don't you read it at least?'

‘Philip,' Claudia broke in, ‘I told you we should have talked to Frank about this.'

He said coldly, ‘Please don't interfere. I've no intention of reading it. If he sneaked into my house behind my back, that's typical. It's a pity he didn't see fit to come and visit your mother after she was married, instead of turning against her like the rest of them.'

‘He's explained that,' Frank said. ‘He's coming over in November and he's asked me to meet him.'

‘No doubt he thinks he'll make capital out of the relationship,' Philip snapped. ‘But it won't help him. Nobody decent round here will have Kevin Ryan in the house. Let me tell you something about him …'

It's happening all over again, Claire thought in horror, the same scene as when he begged to go to school in Ireland. He was only a boy then, but he's a man now. He won't back down this time.

Her father was saying, ‘While you lived in your ivory tower at Harvard, we were getting the backlash of Kevin Ryan and his kind right here in Ireland. Yes, he's Eileen's brother, the one who emigrated to America. He's a gutter politician who's made his career out of raising money for Noraid to pay for the bombings and shootings in the North. He's an IRA front man, backing the murderers who kill innocent people in the name of Irish liberty. You ask why we didn't tell you he'd bought the Half House. Well, I'll tell you why. We were sickened at the thought of people like that living within a hundred miles of us!'

‘Philip,' Claudia protested, but it was too late.

Frank looked at his father. He said slowly, ‘That's not the reason. You're ashamed because he's a bog Irishman and your ex-brother-in-law. You've always been ashamed of me because I'm half a Ryan. You don't give a damn about what happens in the North – I've heard you say so. Just don't let it creep down here. That's the real attitude. I
have
heard of Senator Ryan, but I didn't know he was my uncle. And I'm going to see him when he comes over in November. I'll judge him for myself.'