"Yeah."
"What are you saying? You're just answering me in grunts, Derry. What is it?"
"There's no mention of Ricky Rice in here, none at all. That man could walk back in to this country without a fear in the world. His name is on nothing here, nothing at all."
"What do you mean?"
"There's nothing to tie him in with any of it. The entire thing was engineered by Don Richardson."
"Any luck finding Ella, Nuala?" Frank said when he came in.
"No." She was sullen.
"Well, you can thank your stars that someone's prepared to go and look for her. Mike Martin phoned. He's found her, wining and dining in Stephen's Green with an American. Staying with him in the hotel there, even. Didn't take long for her to get over her grieving."
"Frank, listen to me."
"No, why should I? You listen to me. My brothers asked you to do a simple thing and you wouldn't do it. You know how much we owe them and this was one occasion when you could have done a little digging . . ."
"I did do a little digging, and they won't like what I found. Not
one bit. And if we don't stop hounding Ella everyone will know. Including Carmel, for God's sake."
"Know what?" Frank was confused.
"Know what your beautiful brother has been up to ..."
"You mentioned Carmel."
"Yes, I mentioned Carmel, because your brother Eric, if you remember, is her loving, faithful husband. She would be most interested in knowing what he was up to on our wedding day. Our own wedding day, I tell you, Frank."
She saw from his face that the escapade with Deirdre did not come entirely as a bolt from the blue to Frank. "Oh shit," he said.
"Precisely. And you knew, you knew about it, didn't you? Very funny, all lads together. Well, let's see what Carmel says."
"You're not going to tell her?" Frank was fearful now. Carmel was the most fearsome of the sisters-in-law.
"I hadn't intended to, but believe me, Deirdre will if anyone goes near Ella."
"It will implicate Deirdre too, of course," Frank began to bluster.
"She doesn't give a damn if she's implicated or not. And indeed if I thought that this is the kind of thing that you go along with, I'd damn well tell Carmel myself."
"Nuala," he begged. "You know I've never looked at another woman in my whole life. You know that, don't you?"
"No, I don't know, but I'm sure your brother will know and will tell me all about it when he has had to face Carmel in full flow," Nuala said.
Ella tried to take it all in. No mention of Ricky Rice in the company that bore his name. "Is there something missing, something we just haven't been able to access?"
"I can't see it."
"But the very name of the company even? Somewhere in there it must show it belonged to Mr Rice."
"That's all here. Look," Derry said, scrolling down. "Three years ago there was a deed transfer. Rice gave it all to Richardson. It was witnessed. It's registered. The entire company belonged to Don Richardson."
"But why did his father-in-law run away with him, then?" Ella felt her head spinning.
"Maybe it was a set-up. If it all hit the fan, the father-in law could run with them. If it cleared, well and good, and the
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father-in-law could walk home free as a bird. An older man, he might have stronger roots in Ireland."
"And his daughter, didn't she have shares?" Ella could barely speak.
"Not that it shows here." Derry shook his head.
"So they can all come home now? Now that Don's dead."
"Well, Lord, Ella. I'm no expert on all this, but it appears to me from reading this for the last two hours that they could. In terms of not being held responsible."
She was silent.
"They may not want to, of course," he said hesitantly.
"Derry, I don't feel very well. I don't think I could go back to Tara Road tonight. Would you mind very much if I stayed here?"
"Not at all. I was going to suggest something along the same lines," he said.
"You were? Good. Then I must ring my parents. Do you mind?"
She spoke in a matter-of-fact voice to her mother. She was going to spend the night in the hotel. There was a lot of work to be done.
"Your mom okay with that?"
"She hasn't been okay with anything I've done for two years, but she didn't make any fuss," Ella said.
"That was Ella," Barbara reported. "She said we were not to wait up for her. She's going to stay the night in the hotel. They have a lot of work to do, apparently."
I see," Ella's father said.
"Don't be like that, Tim."
I'm not being like anything. She's a grown-up woman. She's free to do whatever she wants to." But he sounded tight-lipped.
"All I'm saying is that if you'd been talking to her, you'd have felt the same. This isn't anything like the last time. It's not a romance. I have an intuition about it."
I'm sure you're right. Neither of us had much intuition about anything last time round."
"Should we order more coffee and maybe some dessert? You know, to keep us going "while we work things out."
"Yes, that sounds fine." Ella sounded vague and distant as if she had forgotten what coffee was. "What things do we have to work out, exactly?"
Derry walked around the room for a bit, trying to find the
words. For the first time since she met him, he seemed unsure. When he was speaking about his Foundation, about Kimberly, about his work, about his hatred for his father, he had been definite. But now he was searching for a way to say what had to be said.
"Like whether you take the bank drafts for your father. Like whether you should hand this machine in."
She watched him objectively. A big, square man in his shirtsleeves. Someone so well-known that even Harriet and her friends had heard of him. Tired now, much more tired than he had been earlier. Those lines etched on his face, as if they would never leave.
"What do you think I should do, Derry?" she asked.
"No. No way. It's your call, Ella. I only skimmed the surface, to identify what you have to do."
"Do I have to do these things now?" She knew she looked piteous, putting off the decision.
"Sooner rather than later, I'd say, since you asked me." His face was worried.
"Why? It's been going on for months. Why can't we wait a little longer?" She looked at him hopefully.
"Because of that guy down in the bar pushing us around, for one thing. Because of your friend with all the brothers-in-law, for another. Because people know you have this and they want to know what's in it, and to get their hands on what they can."
"I'm not ready yet to make up my mind," she said.
"As I said, it's your call."
He went to the phone and ordered the coffee. She sat there and watched the traffic of Dublin swirl around Stephen's Green.
And then they talked about other things. She told him about her driving test and how she must have been the only person in the world to drive into a motorbike three minutes after she set off. The examiner had said it was entirely the biker's fault and that Ella had been cool and responsible throughout.
Derry said he didn't remember how he learned to drive. Possibly when he was about twelve. It could have been a friend of his father's who taught him. He had often driven his father's van home when the man had passed out.
He asked Ella what else had happened in her odd and restless day. She told him about her lunch with Deirdre, and about the
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planned lunch party to meet him on Sunday, and the news that the marvellous twins from Hell would be there.
He wondered were there any hints about handling them.
"Tell them nothing about yourself," Ella warned him.
"I'm good at that," he admitted.
"You are, too," she said, smiling at him.
Tm sorry. Does that make me some kind of a pain?"
"No, not
at all. We're all so blabbermouth here . ,. telling everything. You're a refreshing change, keeping yourself to yourself."
"Ask me anything, Ella, and I'll answer."
"No, of course I won't."
"I want you to. I want to be free and open and say what I mean. I've not been that for a long time."
"Can it be about me and not about you?"
"Anything you like."
"All right, Derry, if this isn't cheating ... What would you do about all this if you were me?" With a sweep of her hand, she pointed to the laptop computer.
He paused, but she didn't rush in. She knew that he was going to answer. Eventually he spoke. "I'm not you, E lla. But I promised you that I'd answer and therefore I will. I would take the bank drafts for your father, but I know you are not going to do that. And I know without your telling me that he wouldn't take them, either."
She blinked with amazement at his understanding.
"And about the rest of it, I would hand it over. That's what I, Derry King, would do, but I don't know what you, Ella Brady, should do. If it were my own land and my fellow citizens, I would have to do that. I would think it was illegal to sit on such information and say nothing. But here it could be different. And I know how much you loved this guy, and don't want people's heavy boots walking around in his business. So this is possibly not an option for you at all. And may never be. Now, Ella, is that upfront and blabbermouth or what?"
She looked at him with such gratitude she could hardly speak. "Thank you, Derry," she said eventually.
"No, it doesn't hurt to be challenged."
"You've been a very good friend to me," Ella said. I'd like to do the same for you."
"Maybe you will," he said. ,
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"You're right about one thing. I'm not going to take those drafts. There were people who were left much worse off by this whole disaster than we were. And you're right too that my father wouldn't want them, either."
He nodded.
"But the truth is, I don't know what I'm going to do about all this mess here in the computer. You're right, it will have to be sooner rather than later. But there's something else, just one thing I have to do first."
He put his head on one side to listen to her.
"Could I talk to you about that tomorrow?" she asked him.
"Whenever, Ella," he said.
"Thanks, Derry."
And they sat there as old friends do when they are tired, when there's nothing that has to be said because everything is understood.
They made plans for their Saturday. Derry was to take a bus tour of Dublin. Ella would go to Quentins and get things moving. They would not meet again until they went to Deirdre's apartment, at noon on Sunday.
"What shall I bring?" he asked.
"Wine," Ella said.
"How much wine?" he wondered.
"Relax. I know this is Ireland, but just one bottle. White or red."
"Thanks for marking my card," he said.
"Thanks for giving me a place to sleep," she said, taking off her shoes.
"Now please. I am a gentleman, in my heart, anyway. Please have the bedroom," he begged.
"Out of the question, Derry. I sleep on this lovely sofa. Put that rug over me, will you? I'll be out of here before you wake." She gave him a big, cheerful smile.
"You're a great girl, Ella, and it's a pleasure to be working with you," he said as he tucked her feet in.
"You're a sort of hero," she mumbled.
"What?" he asked.
But she was asleep.
At 9 a.m. Derry woke to the phone. It was Kimberly. "God, you were asleep! I'm just so sorry," she said. I was wakeful, I thought I'd call you."
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"No, I have to get up, it's fine," he said.
"All I want to know is, did you survive?" she asked.
"I think so. I haven't seen much of the place yet."
"But no dramas, no scenes, no regrets?" she wanted to know.
"No, none of those things, Kim," he said.
He looked at the door to the sitting room, which he had left open. Was Ella awake? Listening? He had better go and see. "Hold on, Kim," he said, and walked next door. The sofa had a folded rug on it and beside it was her computer. With a note on top.
You are a generous man, Derry King. I will never forget your kindness to me last night. Please, can I leave this machine with you to look after for me? I will have made my decision about what it contains by Sunday night, and I so appreciate your help. Love, Ella
He went back to the telephone. "Sorry, Kim. I thought it was room service. No, everything's fine here, as you said to me years ago. It's an ordinary place, not full of dragons, as I thought it might be." He heard her breathe more easily.
"Thank God, Derry. That's what I wanted so much for you. You deserve it," she said.
He sat for a while thinking about their conversation. In his whole life he had never lied to her so much. Everything was not fine here. He had not been checking room service. There were more dragons in this place than he had encountered for a long time. None of them having anything to do with him but everything to do with Ella Brady.
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I'm sorry for staying out all night," Ella said. "I hope you weren't worried or anything?"
"No, not when you called, of course not," her father said.
"I meant worried that I was going to start yet another unsuitable affair." She managed a slight smile.
"No, heavens, no," he protested.
"Derry's not in the same league at all, totally different. He's all work, no time at all for relationships of any kind. Anyway, you'll meet him tomorrow at Dee's place."
"And is he enjoying Dublin?" Ella's mother asked.
"Hard to know. He plays it very close to the chest." Ella's face was thoughtful. She seemed miles away.
"Will you be at home today?"
"No, Mother, I've a lot of things to sort out." Again she was distant. "I want you to think about something very seriously," she said eventually. "All the money you lost because of Don, it's there, you know, in this safe deposit box, banker's drafts, cash, bearer's bonds, whatever. You've read the letter. You know where it is. I haven't looked, but I know it's there. If you want to take it, I'd be happy for you to do that."
"Now, Tim," Barbara said in triumph, "I knew she would feel like this. Your father said not to mention it to you, but I said you'd see sense about it all. After all, it was his last wish that you should be seen all right and not have to work like a dog."
Chapter Thirteen.
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"Oh, I'm not taking one euro of it, Mother, but you and Father, that's different. It's your choice."
"And of course, if we don't take it, then it just lies there," Barbara Brady was almost pleading.
"Or we could give it to others who were defrauded," Ella said crisply.
"We don't want it," her father said.
"Tim!"
"Discuss it today. Tell me what you come up with tomorrow. Oh, and there's another thing, Dad. In your talking to people, did you think that Don or Ricky was the brains of the outfit?"
"Ricky Rice, they said, but Don injected all the charm and the sort of razzmatazz into it," Tim Brady spoke ruefully. A man reduced to living in a wooden house in his own garden because of someone's charm and razzmatazz. "Would it surprise you to know that Ricky Rice owned nothing, that it was all in Don's name? Ricky is free to come back here any day he wants to and may well do so now that Don is dead."
"He'd never have the gall. He couldn't face people who've lost money," Ella's father said.
If he wasn't a part of it, then why did he flee?" Ella's mother was practical.
I don't know. I've been thinking about that all night," Ella said.
"They were always together, he and Don, and he was crazy about his grandchildren. Maybe he couldn't bear to let them go." Tim Brady tried to work it out.
"But why wasn't his name on things?" Ella
wondered.
"There must have been a good reason," Tim Brady said.
Ella drove down to the Liffey and parked her little car. She walked around the apartment blocks where Don Richardson had had his little hideaway, the place he was meant to be living when he stayed all that time with her. They were small and purpose-built. Not much movement around the place on a Saturday morning. Perhaps people would come out later and buy papers and milk for their coffee. She must enquire what had happened to his little flat here. Who had bought it, who lived a life in those four walls now.
Then she drove back to look at her own flat. The place where she had been so happy with Don. It was rented now by two girls who worked in the television station down the road. Ella had found them in twenty-four hours, once she decided to move. She
had slaved to leave the place looking perfect, and even donated some of her own possessions. Like the duvet. She could never sleep under it again.
She parked across the road and looked at the place thoughtfully for a long time. If it had not been for meeting Don Richardson, she might be living there still to this very day. Her garden was shabby. Had she ever noticed that before? She longed to go over and tidy it up a bit, take away some of the autumn leaves and dead stalks of flowers. But what would they say if they had seen her, the women who worked in the television station? They had already thought her eccentric. After all, the time they met her she was famous, her photograph every day in the evening newspaper, usually beside the words "love nest". If they were to spot her back months later, kneeling in their garden, then they really would be alarmed.
She drove past the school where she had taught. She had been happy there too, before Don Richardson had been part of her life. The kids had been mainly great. She wondered how the new teacher was getting on. Was she able to cope with loudmouths like that brassy Jacinta, who always answered back and went as far as she could get away with? Still, no point in sighing over them. Kids would learn with whoever was put in front of them. They were very resourceful.
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