This Irish House (27 page)

“It isn't so unusual,” he admitted. “People protect their own. We all do.”

Deirdre sat down. To Liam it looked as if the blood had completely left her body, so white and spent was her face. Her question surprised him.

“Why was my father targeted?”

Liam heard the tick of a clock. Somewhere outside the window, a bird trilled and, in the Mews, the quiet, upscale streets surrounding Queen's, he heard the faint sound of an impatient hand on a horn. “Patrick had a gift for getting men acquitted for their crimes,” he said quietly.

She came back quickly as if the subject wasn't new to her, as if she'd taken the time to think about it. “So did Martin Walsh and Michael Whelan. They worked with him and continued to do the same work for years after. Why was it my father who was killed?”

Liam was silent for long minutes. He hated his role in all of this. He shouldn't be the one to tell her. He didn't know who he was angrier with, Kate, for protecting her children from what was real, or Dominick for creating the entire mess in the first place. “Your father believed in a united Ireland and equal rights and opportunities for Catholics,” he said at last. “He was frustrated by the lack of progress. That frustration led him to the IRA.”

“My father was in the IRA?”

Liam nodded. “He was a very important member because of his education and his ability to influence people.”

“The IRA is illegal. They're terrorists. How could my father be involved with an illegal organization? He was a barrister. He believed in the law.”

“I don't know how he rationalized it, lass.”

Her question was pointed, accusing. “Are you in the IRA, Uncle Liam?”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. The admission was difficult for him. “I am.”

Her cry tore at his heart. “How can you be? They're killers.”

“No one has killed in years, Deirdre. We don't sanction murder anymore. Believe me.”

She turned the subject. “Why is Peter in danger? Why doesn't Uncle Dominick go after the men who actually killed my father?”

“Dominick never got over your father's murder. He wants to blame someone. We don't know who actually came into your house that day. The investigation wasn't conclusive. Peter is a logical target because of Geoffrey Clarke. Dominick recognized his name as soon as I did.”

“You just said murder was no longer sanctioned.”

Liam sighed. “Dominick is not himself. I don't believe he would actually carry out his threat, but—” He hesitated. “He needs time to sort it through, to cool down a bit.”

Deirdre's hand was at her throat. She raised frightened eyes to her friend's face. “This is my fault,” she whispered. “It's because of me that he recognized you.” Panic hurried her words. “You'll have to go away. Please, Peter. You don't know what it's like.” Threading her fingers through her hair she lifted the weight of it off the sides of her face. “I can't do this again. You must know that I can't do this again.” She appealed to Liam. “What can we do?”

“Leave for a while. See nothing of each other. Allow Dominick to find another cause.”

“Will he do that?” Peter was clearly skeptical. “Suppose I'm gone for a month, or two, or even three. Will he forget or will I have to relocate forever?”

“It won't be as long as that,” Liam assured him. Peter shook his head. “This is absurd. I won't do it. I refuse to let anyone do this to me.” He threw back his head and looked at Liam. “I appreciate the warning, Mr. Nolan, but I'll take my chances.”

“No, Peter,” Deirdre pleaded.

Liam ignored her. “Informing on my brother won't help you, lad. He's done nothing. The Special Provisions Act has been remanded. It's no longer legal to arrest Catholics because they
might
be dangerous.”

“I have no intention of informing on your brother. What if someone retaliated against Deirdre?”

Liam stood. “You're a good lad. I came here to warn you. I've done that. Whatever you do now, my conscience is clean.” He appealed to Deirdre. “Do me a favor, lass, and stay away from Peter. It's dangerous for you and it won't help him.”

She wouldn't look at him. “This is my fault. I won't leave him to deal with it alone. We're in this together.”

Liam swore, caught himself and tried again. “Think of your mother, Dee. She's already suffered more than most people.”

Deirdre was silent.

“Will you call her?”

She nodded. “I'll call her, Uncle Liam.”

“You'll tell her what I said.”

“I'll tell her.”

Liam breathed a sigh of relief. Kate would convince Deirdre to be reasonable. He would rely on Kate to take care of Patrick's daughter.

Deirdre checked her watch comparing it, once again, with the clock above the display case in the coffee bar. Peter was nearly thirty minutes late. It was very unlike him. She rubbed the worry lines from her forehead. Liam's warning the day before had left her with a serious case of paranoia. He was probably delayed for a very good reason that had nothing to do with Dominick Nolan. Most likely he had car trouble or someone stopped by to chat. Perhaps he had a phone call. She fingered the keypad of her mobile phone. No voice messages. Again she looked at the clock. She would wait ten more minutes before checking his flat.

Two minutes passed. Three. Deirdre hitched the strap of her backpack over one shoulder and left the coffee shop. The lovely cobbled streets and brick buildings surrounding Queen's soothed her spirits. There was something about academia that put things into perspective, erased boundaries, brought people together in an atmosphere of cooperation. The Mews was like that. Peter's flat was on the south end on University Road. She climbed the stairs, lifted the brass knocker and pounded twice on the yellow door. She heard movement inside, footsteps, rustling. She knocked again. Still no answer. Peter had given her a key, insurance for an early arrival and poor weather. She opened the door and stepped into the entry. “Peter,” she called out. “It's Deirdre. Are you home?”

His voice, muffled and strange, came from the kitchen. “Stay where you are. I'll be with you in a minute.”

Frustrated, she sat down. What was the matter with him? Normally she would have walked right in. Wasn't that what one did when one had a key?

When he finally joined her, she was shocked to see him so pale. “Are you ill, Peter? Do you need a doctor?”

“I'll be fine in a day or so, but I don't want you to catch it. You should leave, Dee.”

“Not on your life.” She shook her head vehemently. “I'll make you soup and tea. I'll read to you. That's what friends are for.”

“No,” he said, too forcefully. “You must leave. I can't have you here, now.”

She frowned. Maybe it was something else entirely. A thought occurred to her. “Have you someone here, Peter, another girl, maybe? Is that what this is all about?”

He exploded. “Of course not. What would I want with another girl? I can't explain right now. Please, leave. I'll call you later.”

She crossed her arms. “You're being ridiculous. I won't leave without an explanation.”

He took her arm and pulled her from the chair. “You'll probably hate me forever, but I really can't do this now. I'm throwing you out, Dee. There's nothing more to say.”

She began to struggle. “What's the matter with you, Peter? I've never seen you like this. You need a doctor. I'm going to ring your parents.”

“Don't.” His face tightened. “Just go home. Please.”

She pulled away from him and stamped her foot. Fury had replaced her worry. “No,” she shouted.

He cursed. “What am I going to do with you? Why won't you trust me?”

Deirdre looked over his shoulder and froze.

Peter turned and groaned. A man in a black balaclava pointed a gun directly at them. Another stood behind him.

She recognized the blue eyes and leanly muscled build of the man in front immediately. “Uncle Dominick,” she whispered.

The other man spoke quickly. “You're mistaken.”

Deirdre stared at the man she was sure was her uncle. She wasn't mistaken. Somewhere underneath the black clothes was Dominick and he was here for Peter. Her heart pounded. She backed away. “I'll be leaving now,” she said.

“I'm afraid not, lass.” The same man spoke. “You'll both be coming with us.”

Deirdre panicked. “Don't do this, Uncle Dominick.”

“Easy, lass,” said the spokesman. “Nothing will happen if you do what I tell you. Come along now. Don't be making this difficult for us.”

Deirdre's eyes flicked from one black mask to the other. Then she looked at the guns and the years rolled back. The man who was not her uncle spoke quietly, soothingly. He was saying something. What was it? Why did he sound so familiar? He started toward her. She backed away, small whimpering sounds coming from inside her throat. He reached for her arm, clamping down hard above the elbow. The pressure of his fingers, his smell, the panic stealing her breath was all so achingly familiar. Deirdre opened her mouth and began to scream, loudly, hysterically, the sound filling the small flat, rooting the three men to the floor, rendering them clumsy and slow to react.

“Shut up.” The man lifted his right hand.

The blow came down hard on her temple and she fell, unconscious, to the floor.

The man who never spoke, cried out for the first time. He shouted a single, hoarse, “No!” and leaped forward cradling the girl in his arms. “What in bloody hell are you doing?” he said in the same hoarse voice.

“She was hysterical. Someone could have come in at any time. Let's go. I'll take the lad. You carry the girl and take your mask off,” he ordered. “I'll blindfold the boy.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, tied it around Peter's face and ripped off his own mask. “We'll not be getting far with these.”

Dominick felt for Deirdre's pulse, found it and sighed gratefully. He pulled the balaclava from his head, stuffed it into his pocket and hoisted his niece over his shoulder. “Say your prayers. If she's hurt, you'll be paying for the rest of your life.”

“The RUC will be looking for the boy, not a Catholic girl.”

“It isn't the RUC I'm worried about. It's the girl's mother.”

“This is your brain-child, lad. I won't be the only one answering up.”

K
ate Was silent for most of the seven-hour flight back to Belfast. Neil instinctively knew not to press her. She needed time to process what she'd learned. Loss was never easy and Kate had lost more than her share in a few short hours. He followed her out of the plane and left her waiting on the footpath while he picked up his car from the overnight car park. The drive back to her lodgings was equally silent. Neil walked her to the door, squeezed her arm and told her he would be in touch.

“I think I'll go home to Ardara for a while,” she said wearily.

“Good idea.”

“Promise me you'll see to Kevin.”

“He's my first priority.”

She smiled, her first in two days. “Thank you.”

He had no more than walked back to his car and strapped himself inside when she ran out of the B & B after him. Her face was white and he could see that her breathing was difficult and erratic.

He set his brake, opened the door and walked toward her. She clung to him, her words mixed with strangled gasps for air. “Deirdre is at the Royal Victoria Hospital. She's in a coma and Dominick has kidnapped Kevin.”

“Get in the car.”

“How did it happen?” he asked when they were on the road.

Kate shook her head. Her breathing had resumed with help from her inhaler. “I don't know. The message from the hospital was on my machine. My father is there and Liam, Deirdre's uncle.”

Alarm bells sounded in Neil's brain. He pulled a light from the back seat of the car, fastened it to the hood and turned on the siren. Cars pulled over to the sides of the road. He increased his speed and within minutes pulled into the emergency car park of the Royal Victoria. He dropped Kate at the entrance and then looked for a space to park.

John O'Donnell clutched his daughter's icy hands.

“Thank God, you've come.”

Liam Nolan and a boy near her daughter's age rose from their chairs.

“Where's Deirdre?” Kate asked.

“She's in Intensive Care,” said John. “Liam brought her in last night. When you couldn't be reached, he called me.”

Kate looked at her brother-in-law. “What happened? Where's Kevin?”

Liam didn't mince words. “Deirdre was knocked unconscious from a blow to the head. However, it is the doctor's opinion that it wasn't serious. Something else is keeping her from waking up, something emotional.”

Kate pushed the hair back behind her ears and sat down in the row of seats facing the ICU. Something wasn't right. “Where is my son and what does all this have to do with you, Liam?”

Neil walked down the hallway. He stood beside her. Liam frowned. “What is this? What are you doing here?”

“This is Neil Anderson,” Kate said. “He brought me here.”

Neil did not offer his hand.

The boy stepped forward. “I'm Peter Clarke. Perhaps I should explain.”

Clarke.
The
Protestant
from
Queen's.
Kate waited.

“I was helping Deirdre with her history class when Mr. Nolan came to warn me that I was a paramilitary target.”

Kate frowned. “Why would you be an IRA target?”

Peter drew a deep breath. “My father was part of the cover-up of the investigation of your husband's murder. His name is Geoffrey Clarke. He's an RUC constable.”

Kate drew a deep shuddering breath. “I see. What does this have to do with Deirdre?”

“She was with me when they came.”

“Who?”

“Dominick Nolan and another man. They were in masks,” the boy continued, “but she called him by name. At first she tried to convince him to go away but then something happened.”

Kate's hands clenched. She dug her nails into her palms. “Go on.”

“I don't know why she reacted the way she did. They were quite polite, actually. But she started to scream and wouldn't stop.” Peter swallowed and waited a moment before continuing. “The other man panicked. He hit her. She was knocked unconscious. I'm not sure exactly what happened after that. I was blindfolded. They drove us somewhere. The next thing I knew, Mr. Nolan came and made them release us. He brought us here.”

Kate looked at Liam. “What about Kevin?”

Neil interrupted. “Most likely he's outside the country with Dominick. He took the lad out from under their noses at Tranquility House.”

Liam blanched and spread his hands. “I swear to you, Kate, I didn't know. I had no idea Dom would actually go through with this. Something's wrong with him, but he won't harm Kevin. I know he won't.”

Again Neil pressed him. “But you knew Peter was a target.”

“Aye.”

“Why didn't you call the police?”

Liam stared at him. “Are you mad? We don't call the police on one of our own. Nothing in our experience with the RUC would lead us in that direction.”

“Do you still feel that way?”

Liam shrugged.

“Peter could have died and Kevin is missing. You would have been an accessory. Peter is still in danger now that he's our only witness.”

“The boy saw nothing. He can't identify Dominick. But if it comes to that, he's not your only witness. Do you understand my meaning?” Liam looked Neil directly in the eye.

“It won't be easy for you.”

Liam grimaced. “You don't know the half of it.”

Kate rubbed her arms. “I'm going to find the doctor and then I'm going in to see my daughter.” She laid her hand on Neil's arm. “Please find my son.”

“You know I will. Keep your mobile phone on.”

She watched him walk through the automatic doors into the drizzle of the car park.

“You're very friendly all of a sudden,” her father remarked.

“I'll explain later. First I want to speak with Deirdre's doctor.”

John frowned. “The doctor is a woman, a very young woman. Perhaps we should ask for someone with more experience.”

“Why?”

“
I'm not sure she's qualified.”

Kate exploded. “Of course she's qualified, Da. If she weren't, she wouldn't be here. What difference does it make if she's female or young? This is a hospital. If someone has a question there are enough others out there who can help. What's the matter with you? This is the twenty-first century. I can't believe you would judge someone on the basis of her sex. Do you think I'm not qualified to do my job because I'm not a man?”

“Hold on, Katie. I meant no offense to you or your sex. My concern is for Deirdre. All I'm suggesting is that we consult with someone who has more experience in these emotional coma things.”

Her eyes filled. “I'm sorry, Da,” she whispered. “It's been a difficult two days.”

John's thick eyebrows drew together. “Did you find what you were looking for in New York City?”

She laughed bitterly. “More than I was ready for. I'll explain later. Now, I need to find out about Deirdre.”

Dr. Shannon Fahey was young and lovely and intelligent. “We've done all we can, Mrs. Nolan,” she assured Kate. “The next twenty-four hours are crucial. Deirdre's tests have all come back. She's extremely healthy.”

“Except that she's unconscious,” Kate reminded her.

“I'm so sorry I have nothing more positive to report to you.”

They were sitting across from each other in the hospital cafeteria nursing two cups of tepid tea.

Kate rubbed the furrow in the middle of her forehead. “If nothing is physically wrong with her, why won't she wake up?”

Dr. Fahey shook her head. “I can't answer that. Modern medicine has progressed only so far. Some theorize that a coma is the mind's way of shutting out something that is too painful to bear. Perhaps your daughter has suffered a trauma she's unable to deal with.”

“How long does something like this last?”

Again the doctor shook her head. “I don't know. I'm sorry.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Talk to her. Remind her of her life.”

“Will she hear me?”

“Research has shown that brain activity continues during comatose states. We believe that people remain aware of their surroundings at some level. It's very likely that Deirdre will respond to your voice.” She reached across the table and squeezed Kate's hand. “It can be a slow process, Mrs. Nolan. Don't give up. Your daughter is young and healthy. All the odds are with her.”

“I'd like to see her now.”

Deirdre's hair, dark with a hint of fire, was splayed across the pillow. Kate twisted a strand around her fingers. It was clean and shiny straight. Deirdre was always so particular about her hygiene. In better days Kate had teased her about the number of showers she had taken in a day and the towel she wrapped like a turban around her head. She looked no more than asleep, her chest rising and falling with every even breath. Even her skin looked healthy, except for the bruise darkening her left temple.

Kate bit her lip. Dr. Fahey said to talk. She cleared her throat. “Hello, love. Dr. Fahey says you aren't hurt at all. That's very good, don't you think? She says you're healthy and there's no reason for you to be here. I know you don't want to miss your classes, Dee. You hate falling behind. That nice young man outside in the waiting room is very concerned. He's all right, by the way. Actually you may have saved his life. Liam might not have interfered if you hadn't been involved.” She couldn't go on like this. It was ridiculous. This wasn't what she wanted to say. She tried again. “Please wake up, Deirdre,” she began. “I don't think I can go through much more. You and Kevin are more important to me than anything. I can't bear any more losses. I know it hasn't been easy for you, but this is such a small part of what your life will be. I'm sorry that your father did what he did. I didn't know. Maybe that was my fault. Maybe I didn't want to know. I'm certainly paying a price for my ignorance. Nevertheless, I'm not giving up. I'm going to live, Dee, and so are you. We're going to live like normal, good people and we're going to create happy lives for ourselves. You have the world ahead of you. You're educated and lovely. People love you, more than you know. Your brother needs you, Dee, and so do I. You can't imagine how much we need you. Please, wake up.” She was crying now, the tears streaming down her face. Resting her forehead against the side bar of the hospital bed, she closed her eyes and prayed.

Neil hadn't intended to visit Deirdre. His hope had been to catch Kate before she left the hospital. He'd missed the mother but something drew him to the daughter's room. Deirdre was a mystery to him. Kate had described her often but recent developments had given Neil an entirely different picture of Deirdre Nolan. She was of slight build. Neil could see the lines of her body beneath the blanket. Her features were very like her mother's, delicate and clearly defined. Her hair was dark with a touch of copper. Long eyelashes curled against her cheeks and Neil could see from the length and shape of her eyelids that her eyes were large. They would be light, of course. Both parents were blue-eyed. She was eighteen, but looked much younger lying there so pale and still under the bed covering. This was Kate's child. Protectiveness surged through him. Somehow, he would right this. Kevin would go home and Deirdre would heal. He would be there to make sure of it.

Reaching across the bar, he lifted the girl's hand and held it between both of his. “Wake up, Deirdre. Your mother needs you. Wake up. I promise you everything will be all right.”

Had her fingers tightened around his hand, or was it his imagination? Neil couldn't tell. Gently he squeezed. She squeezed back. “Deirdre,” he said gently, “wake up.”

Again he squeezed. Again, the slight pressure against his hand. He touched her cheek. Her head moved slightly. Eyelashes fluttered. His heart pounded. “That's it, love,” he said. “Take your time.”

Slowly, ever so slowly, her lids slid back, revealing large, startlingly blue eyes. She stared at him for a long time. “Who are you?” she managed at last.

“Neil Anderson.”

He watched as she processed his information, fitting into whatever memory she had of his name. Then she looked around. “Where am I?”

“This is the Royal Victoria Hospital. You've been unconscious for nearly a day now.”

She frowned. “Where is Peter?”

“I imagine he's at home with his parents.”

She sighed. “That's all right then.”

“He has you to thank.”

She looked at him, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

“Is my mother here?”

“She was along with your grandfather and your uncle.”

Her eyes clouded. “My uncle?”

“Liam Nolan. He brought you here.”

“I don't remember.”

Neil pulled up a chair and sat. “What do you remember, Deirdre?”

She wet her lips. “I'm thirsty.”

Neil looked around, found a paper cup and filled it at the sink. Then he slid his arm behind her head and lifted her to an upright position. She drained the cup.

“Thank you.”

“Can you tell me anything about what happened that day?”

“I don't think—” Again her eyelids fluttered. “I'm so tired.”

Disappointed, Neil smoothed the blanket over her. “Go to sleep, Deirdre. The next time you wake up, your mother will be here.”

Neil left the hospital wondering whether he'd done the right thing by notifying the nursing staff of Deirdre's revival. By the number of hospital staff and the complicated machinery entering her room, it didn't look as if she would get much sleep.

Kate, who had borne everything remarkably well, broke down in tears when he called her. “Thank God,” she sobbed. “Oh, Neil, I'm so grateful. I don't know what I would have done if Deirdre—”

“She's going to be all right, love. You can relax a bit now.”