by Ann Bridge
“Have you any idea who brought them?”
“A pretty fair idea—I think it was Mrs. Martin.”
“Why do you think that?” he asked, looking at her keenly.
“Well, (a), I met a woman driving a big white Yank car, coming up from the direction of Lough Sayle, just a few minutes before I got to the cottage, and though I couldn’t see her face properly behind her dark glasses, it was the right size for Mrs. Martin—and (b), Lady Browne admitted it was her, though she tried to be evasive afterwards. I think she’d just got the money, and was counting it, and that’s why the notes blew out of the window. It would all fit.”
“Yes, it would” he said thoughtfully. After a pause—“Oh, bother Grandmother!” he burst out. “What a worry she is! She oughtn’t to be alone in the house with all that money.”
“No, she oughtn’t. It was too late to get her to the Bank in time, and she said she’d got somewhere ‘safer than a safe’ to keep it in.”
“The anthracite stove, among the cold ashes, I expect!” Terence said impatiently.
“Is she quite alone in the house? Doesn’t she have a maid of any sort?”
“Oh, an old trout comes in the day-time, but at night she’s entirely alone.”
“Ought you to say a word to the police, so they could keep an eye on her?”
“The Gardai? No, I don’t think that would do much good. If a Guard was seen hanging about the place it would only make people curious.”
“Well look, there’s something else I didn’t tell you yet” Julia said. “She said Mrs. Martin brought a document giving a description of the site, and the number of acres, and the full price, all typed out, and got her to sign it, and a receipt for the deposit. She said she thought Mrs. Martin wanted something signed, to raise the balance on.”
“She could be right, at that. She’s a cunning old devil!” Terence said. “Had she got a copy of it?”
“No—I asked her that, she said she didn’t need one, as she’d got the money.”
“We could have done with it!” he said rather sourly. “Does Gerald know about this?”
“No, I came straight to you—you’re on my way back to Rostrunk. And that’s another thing” Julia said, leaning earnestly towards him across the tea-table. “You must be the one to tell him all this, what I’ve just told you.”
“Why must I?”
“Because I promised her—she really forced me to—that he shouldn’t hear it from me.”
Terence White burst out laughing. “You are a one! Knowing you could let him know through me?”
“Yes, by then I’d decided to tell you today.”
“How did Gerald come into it at all?”
“Oh, I said I was surprised that she would make a big sale like this without a lawyer to advise her; and she said lawyers only took huge fees for trying to stop you doing anything you wanted to!—and then suddenly she remembered that it was Gerald who had taken me to the Fitzgeralds, and she got all suspicious, and asked if he had sent me to see her?”
“What on earth did you say to that one?” he asked.
“I said No. That was true too—it was you who suggested it.”
The young man laughed again.
“If the Jesuits ran colleges for women, I’d say you’d been trained at one!” he said.
“Well, will you be sure to tell him at once? Promise?”
“Yes, I think I’d better run down this evening—better than telephoning.”
“Do that thing. It is important; he started asking me how I’d got on when I telephoned to him.”
“Of course he would. Why did you telephone him?”
“To ask where to find you. I’d no idea.”
“No—I see.” He thought for a moment or two. “Of course she, my Grandmother—or more likely the other party—will have to get the Land Commission’s approval before any change of ownership can go through.”
“What’s the Land Commission?” Julia asked.
“Oh, it’s a department that was set up some time ago in connection with the Government’s policy of giving more of the country-people holdings of their own, with security of tenure, instead of being, as they had been before, ‘tenants-at-will’ of the big land-owners—a tenant-at-will could have his rent put up arbitrarily, or even be turned out. This is a great improvement.”
“Yes, I can see that,” Julia said.
“So they are apt to take an interest, to say the least, when a large, or largish, area of land changes hands. I expect the famous ‘document’ Grandmother signed was an agreement to sell at a certain price ‘subject to planning permission.’ You have to have one of those, because it’s usually the purchaser, not the seller, who applies for planning permission from the County Council, and it’s quite a job to get it: you have not only to furnish details of acreage and a map reference, but to submit plans and drawings, and to show where your water will come from and your sewage go to, and so on—and of course, once planning permission is obtained, it adds enormously to the value of the land. If you hadn’t got that preliminary agreement, you might go to all the bother of getting the permission, and then the owner of the land could turn round and say ‘Oh, I don’t think I’ll sell to you after all.’ Grandmother would do that like a shot!” Terence said, giggling, “if she thought there was something to be gained by it.” He paused, and again he looked rather keenly at Julia. “Did you say anything to her about thinking putting up a hotel and a casino at Lettersall a bad plan?”
“No, and, after what you’ve just told me, I don’t believe she can have looked very carefully at this precious document” Julia said. “She thinks Mrs. Martin is going to go and live there herself.”
“Gracious! Did she actually tell you that?”
“No, but she said she thought she would be a nice person to have for a neighbour. I did ask her then if Mrs. Martin had said she was going to build herself a house down there, and her answer was ‘Not in so many words, but what else does one buy land for?’ So I do really think she has no idea, and I thought you or Gerald would be a better person than me to enlighten her” Julia ended firmly.
“Maybe” White said, rather abstractedly.
“You asked me to find out what goes on, remember—and I have found out, and told you. But I can’t conceive what your next move is going to be.”
“Nor can I. I must talk to Gerald” the young man said gloomily. He got up. “I must get back to the office.”
“Yes. Sorry to have dragged you out.”
“Not a bit. You’ve done a good job, and I’m very grateful. So will Gerald be. Goodbye.”
“Just one thing” Julia said, putting a detaining hand on his arm. “Will it matter my talking to the O’Haras about this?”
“Oh, you’d better ask Gerald that. Meantime, if you feel like burgling Mrs. Martin’s house for that document, it would be very handy!”
“Hold on a moment” Julia said. “No, I must ask you this” —as Terence glanced rather overtly at his watch. “Surely to goodness you or Gerald must know someone on the County Council who could tell you what the planning permission is given for, and to whom it is given—if—when—it is given? Then you wouldn’t need the document.”
“That sort of thing is supposed to be deadly confidential” the young man said.
“Oh, don’t tell me that neither of you has ever breached the local ‘confidentiality,’ as I believe they now call it” Julia said impatiently.
“No” he said, grinning, “I wouldn’t tell you that. In fact I think this is quite an idea.”
“I expect your chum Moran would probably be the one to get it” Julia speculated. “Mrs. M. wouldn’t know how to go about it.”
“She might, at that. Well, thank you very much indeed” Terence said, wringing her hand warmly. “I must flash—and I’ll see Gerald this evening.”
“Do—as early as you can” Julia said. “Goodbye.”
When he had gone Julia sat down and had another cake, reflecting that she had b
etter delay her return to Rostrunk as long as possible, to be out of Gerald’s reach on the telephone until such time as Terence had had the chance to tell him her news. She also decided that she would talk it over with the O’Haras, Gerald or no Gerald; they knew old Lady Browne pretty well, and might be in a better position than most to make clear to her what she was really doing to the district in selling the strip of Lettersall coast to developers. And again, she wished that Mrs. Martin wasn’t mixed up in it.
Chapter 6
When julia told the O’Haras that Lady Browne was proposing to sell the strip of coast beyond Lettersall to O’Rahilly’s developer associates, General O’Hara was every bit as indignant as she could have wished.
“Mary Browne going to sell that strip? And the islands too? The wicked old bitch! Are you sure, Julia? How do you know?”
“She was counting the deposit when I got there.” Julia repeated the story of the five-pound notes blowing out of the open window—Lady Helen burst out laughing. Her husband rounded on her.
“It’s no laughing matter, Helen. If she were to put this thing through, she’d not only wreck that exquisite bit of coast, but her infernal hotel and casino would suck in all the young people from Lettersall and from miles around for six months of the year, and corrupt them utterly, and then leave them idle for the rest of the twelve-month. It’d be ruination. I don’t know how you can laugh.”
“I know, Michael darling. I wasn’t laughing at what the silly old monster is proposing to do, but at the picture of her and Julia chasing all those run-away fivers. Forgive?”
“Oh, all right.” Slightly mollified where his wife was concerned, the General turned his wrath in Julia’s direction.
“Can’t think why your pal O’Brien let her do anything so monstrous. He’s her lawyer, isn’t he?”
“He didn’t know—she kept it from him purposely; she told me so. Her grandson suspected, because the Lettersall people had seen O’Rahilly in that noisy great boat of his taking soundings, and measurings on the shore, and told him.”
“Oh, the White boy, you mean? Has he got the sense to be against this odious plan?”
“Utterly against it—just as Gerald is. It was Terence White suggested I should blow in on her and see if I could learn how far the thing had gone.”
“That’s a pretty good cheek on his part! Why should you do their dirty work for them?”
“Oh Michael, there’s no pleasing you!” his wife said. “Why shouldn’t she? And anyhow, it wasn’t dirty work—Julia just stumbled on the silly old thing counting her deposit. It seems to me that what everyone ought to be doing now is trying to stop her—and that goes for you, too, you cross old man!” she ended firmly.
“I shall go down and see Mary first thing tomorrow” O’Hara pronounced, “and tell her what I think of her.”
“Do that thing—and tell her what we shall all think of her, if she doesn’t give up the whole wicked idea. I wonder if Richard Fitzgerald knows about it? He might have a go at her too—she’s rather fond of him.”
“Mass assault!” the General said. “Not a bad idea, Helen—not a bad idea at all. I’ll have a word with the priest down there, too; he’s a good chap. What’s his name?—Donnelly.”
“You mean Father O’Donnell. Yes, do see him, by all means, Michael. He’ll be appalled.”
“Would Lady Browne pay any attention to him?” Julia asked of Helen; she was rather surprised at this suggestion, coming from General O’Hara.
“Everyone pays attention to Father O’Donnell” Lady Helen said. “He’s a saint, and a scholar, and the world’s charmer—when he chooses; and an angel with a flaming sword towards the wrong-doer, whoever he is!”
“We’d better get to bed—must make an early start” O’Hara said. This conversation took place in the library after dinner. “Will you come along, Helen?”
“What’s tomorrow, Wednesday? Oh dear, I can’t. The MacNeas are having their Station on Thursday, and I promised to take up flowers for them, and arrange the room.”
“Having the Station” is a great feature of rural life in the West of Ireland. In rotation, the priest goes and celebrates Mass in every house in the parish in turn; in a fair-sized parish this means once every six or seven years. It is a tremendous occasion—the whole of the inside of the house is freshly white-washed, the main room is cleared and a table arranged as an altar, with flowers, candles, and a pure linen cloth (as the Church ordains for use under the Blessed Sacrament). But the Irish are not, like the English or the Scotch, a race of natural gardeners, and the brightly blooming cottage plots, almost universal in Britain, are a rarity in the Irish country-side; so flowers present a difficulty. So do a pair of candlesticks—a single flat-bottomed carry-candle is all most country-houses boast; even a white linen cloth is not usually to be found. So Lady Helen was wont to be applied to on these occasions, and it was her habit to cut flowers from her own garden, arrange them in a pair of her own vases, and, together with a plain linen sideboard-cloth and two candlesticks, take all up in the car to the house where the Station was impending; two children were generally sent down to sit in the car, and carry the vases upright to their destination. If the household was exceptionally poor, she often hid a bottle of whiskey and some glasses under the linen cloth in her big rush basket, for after Mass is over a terrific feast of cakes, sandwiches, and tea is customary, and it is proper to offer “a drop of the right stuff” to the priest; the cakes, the ham, the tea and sugar may already have strained the slender resources of, say, a pair of old-age pensioners.
Helen O’Hara always attended the Stations herself, a thing which was much appreciated; for her part, she found them very moving occasions: —the roomful of people, young and old, kneeling on the earth or stone floor fingering their rosaries; opening their mouths, like a flock of young birds, as the priest moved carefully among them to give them the Host; the simplicity and informality of the surroundings somehow enhanced the spontaneous and unforced reverence of their attitudes and expressions.
So now—“But why don’t you take Julia along?” Lady Helen said. She greatly preferred that her elderly husband should not make long expeditions in his car alone, especially when they involved interviews liable to raise the blood-pressure, or even bring on a stroke. “She can drive the Rover, can’t you, Julia? It’s always nice to have a relief driver.”
“Drive any make” Julia said—her invariable, and truthful, response to such a question.
The following morning, accordingly, Julia and the General set off on their punitive expedition against Lady Browne. He had decided to go and take a fresh look at the actual strip of coast, so as to be completely accurate in his arguments—“If that wicked old creature could trip one up on anything, she’d be overjoyed! Besides, if any of the inland part was arable, it would strengthen our hand.” So short of Lough Sayle they took the turning to the right, up over the hill and down beside another lake, till they came to the small village of Lettersall, which culminated in its minute stone-built harbour, really a dolls’-house of a harbour, Julia thought. They drove straight through, the General waving as he passed to some of the villagers, who waved back; from his frequent fishing-trips he was a well-known figure in the district.
Out beyond the village they drove more slowly; in fact Julia drove while the General studied their surroundings through a pair of field-glasses. The road for the most part ran close to the sea, but to O’Hara’s disappointment inland, between it and the mountains, there were no farms, and little arable—the land was mostly rough sandy grazing, with a few cattle on it, and plenty of sheep.
“Pity, that” he said. “The Land Commission doesn’t worry so much about sheep.”
Julia on the other hand was struck by the beauty of the long sandy beaches, broken into bays, some large, some small, their silvery sand gleaming in the sun beside the clear blue-green water. “It must be a marvellous place to bathe” she said.
“But who wants to bathe?” the General asked irritably.
Prudently, Julia made no reply; in any case at that moment she had to put on the brakes rather sharply to avoid a party of sheep which suddenly decided to cross the road.
“Sorry,” she said. “Wretched animals!” She accelerated again. The road stretched ahead of them, whitely following the curves of the shore; presently they saw in front a tall black figure, thin and stooping, walking along it.
“Slow down” the General said—“I believe that’s the priest. Better have a word with him, if so. What’s this Helen said his name was?”
“Father O’Donnell,” replied Julia, who was blessed with a fly-paper memory.
Father O’Donnell it proved to be, when they overhauled him; in response to O’Hara’s hail he came over to the car and leaned on the door. He had a lined intelligent face under dark hair turning grey, and a peculiarly sweet expression.
“Going far, Father? Have a lift?” O’Hara said.
“Oh, thank you, General, but it’s barely a mile before I turn off. I’ll not bother you. How is Lady Helen?” He looked rather questioningly at Julia.
“Quite O.K., thanks. This is Mrs. Jamieson, who’s staying with us” O’Hara said. “And she’s just brought some shocking bad news. You’d better get in and hear it as we go along.” He got out as he spoke and held open the door at the back of the car; when the priest had got in he followed him.
“Not bad news about any of your family, I trust?” Father O’Donnell asked.
“No, about your flock! Do you know what old Lady Browne has been and done? Sold this strip of coast to be a Lido, and hotel, and casino, and God knows what else!” the General said indignantly.
“I knew that she was being approached about it, of course. But is Mrs. Jamieson certain that she has actually decided to sell?” O’Donnell asked quietly.
“She was counting three thousand pounds in five-pound notes yesterday, and she told me that that was just the deposit, Father” Julia said over her shoulder.
“Did she now? I wonder did she tell you who was after giving her the money?” the priest asked.