Maeve Binchy

by The Quentins (Lit)

  "No, but I might have one later," he stumbled out the words.

  "Yes, I bet you will." She patted him consolingly on the hand in the shared friendship of those who were children of the nervy.

  Brenda Brennan, who was lip-reading, reported the conversation to Ella. "Maud is urging him to go behind the sofa and have a big cry."

  "Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Is he going to?"

  "He says he'll have one later."

  "And what's the boy saying?"

  "He's wondering whether they should get on with the entertainment," Brenda reported.

  "I think they should start it almost at once, don't you?" said Ella.

  Cathy announced that the puppet play, which was about seven minutes long, was called "The Salmon of Knowledge", but the salmon puppet itself had been damaged in transit and had lost some of his scales, so everyone was to imagine it more scaly. The audience cheered it to the echo, Maud and Simon took several bows. They asked if there were any requests for songs. They were allowed to sing two, they said, looking eagerly around the room, sure of the delighted enthusiasm they would receive.

  Derry King couldn't bear them to wait one more second. He heard himself calling for a song. "Carrickfergus". He didn't know it at all, he just remembered the name the twins said people liked.

  They had true little voices and stood very still, side by side, singing the song of lost love and dreams.

  The seas are deep, love, and I can't swim over And neither more have I wings to fly I wish I met with a handy boatman Who'd ferry over my love and I ...

  Derry felt a very unaccustomed prickling in his nose and eyes. He hated this kind of music, glorifying loss and building up a sentimental image of the Old Country. He was not going to let

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  two simple children who had seen no violence in their home make him change his own attitudes. Jim Kennedy was a violent man who had made life hell for everyone around him. There was no way Derry was going to go all soft on him now. There was just some small seed there that made him think he understood why his mother forgave him so often. It must have been some kind of belief, like these children had said, that Jim Kennedy like any other drunk would have preferred a different life, but it had somehow escaped him. Was that in his mother's heart as she insisted on staying in the home that Derry had been urging her to leave?

  They were at the last vers e now, and generously allowing the audience to join in. Even encouraging them by raising their arms.

  I'm never drunk but I am seldom sober A handsome rover from town to town Ah, but I'm sick now and my days are over. Come all you young men and lay me down.

  They all clapped and praised Maud and Simon. The twins were busy trying to decide what their second and last song should be.

  "Do you know, that was so terrific, I wonder if you'd consider quitting when you're winning?" Cathy suggested.

  It was not a concept that the twins grasped easily. But Maud glanced over at Derry King. He was the guest of honour, the man they had been asked to entertain. She saw what the others had already noticed. That tears were falling unchecked down his face.

  "You're right, Cathy. I think we should leave it. Not always, but just this once."

  "Love you, Maud, and you, Simon," Cathy said.

  "Everyone's getting very odd round here," Simon said, annoyed that they hadn't been able to sing "Low Lie the Fields of Athenry".

  "You don't have to be quiet just because I cried, and you don't have to drive at five miles an hour because I dared to criticise the mad speed you went at on the way here," Derry grumbled.

  "Lord, but there's no pleasing you today," Ella said with a sigh.

  He was contrite. "There is pleasing me as you put it. I did so enjoy that lunch. Everyone was so welcoming. Thanks, Ella."

  She smiled at him. "Go on, they were delighted with you. All of them."

  "Were they?" He was childishly pleased.

  "Oh yes, and Brenda says now that she's met you, she has less anxiety about the project. My parents don't think that you're a big bad dangerous Yank. My mathematics pupils love you to bits. You did yourself a lot of good!3

  "I had a happy day."

  "So did I. Which is just as well, because I have a lot ahead of me," Ella said.

  "You do?"

  "I do, Derry. I want to sort this whole thing out about Don's computer. Finish it, once and for all. And I wonder if I can do it from your suite in the hotel."

  "Sure."

  "You're very restful, do you know that? You don't say big long sentences when one word will do."

  "Good," he said with a smile.

  "I wouldn't be able to do this without you, Derry," she said.

  She was grateful that he hadn't asked her what she was going to do, but then Derry was a practical businessman. He knew he'd find out just as soon as he got to his suite.

  "Why don't you make Muttie and Lizzie some sandwiches?" Cathy said as she let the twins off in her old home in St Jarlath's Crescent. Til leave them some pavlova as well. Apparently Dee is on a diet and won't allow it to stay in her house overnight, in case she eats it."

  "Did you ever hate Muttie and his wife Lizzie?" Maud asked Cathy in her normal conversational tone.

  "No, Maud, never. Did you?"

  "Of course not."

  "Then why do you ask?"

  "Something Derry said. He said he hated his father."

  "He said that?" Cathy "was shocked.

  "Not exactly, but nearly. He has cousins here, but he's not going to look them up," Simon confirmed.

  "They're called Kennedy and they're house painters here in Dublin," Maud said, proud to have got the information.

  I know them," Cathy said. "They work with Tom's father."

  "Will we have a surprise party and bring them all together?" Maud suggested.

  "No, Maud. I know I'm a dull stick, but believe me, that's not a

  I 307

  good idea," said Cathy, who decided she must ring Dee and tell her at once.

  Ella and Derry made a pot of tea from the little tray in the room. "First I'll call my parents, ask them if they're sure they don't want to take the money and run." She made the call swiftly.

  They wouldn't be happy to be paid off in this way, they told her.

  Yes, of course, if there was compensation, if insider trading could be proved, then they'd be happy to have a share, but not this way.

  "We liked Derry King," her mother ended.

  "And he you, Mother."

  She sat very still for a long time after that.

  Derry sat equally calm, sipping his tea.

  "Right," she said eventually.

  "Tell me what you're going to do."

  "I'm going to call his wife. Ask her what she intends to do. Does she want to have a life in Ireland again, does she own that place in Play a de los Angeles? It's the only one that's not owned absolutely by Don. Maybe he wanted that as a home for her and the children. Maybe he left her a note, too." She was very calm.

  "And then?" Derry King said.

  "And then, depending on what she says, I will most probably call the Fraud Squad here and ask them to come to the hotel lobby and collect the laptop."

  "And what might she say that would change your mind?"

  "If she says she will have nowhere to live and she can't bear the shame, I'll ask you to help me erase the stuff about her home."

  "Very generous of you."

  I owe him that."

  "You owe him nothing. We've been through this."

  "Then you'll remember I want to behave perfectly."

  "He's dead, Ella. He doesn't know how well and perfectly you'll be behaving."

  "Please, Derry, help me."

  "How?"

  "Sit beside me while I make the call."

  "You've thought it all out then?"

  "Yesterday, all day. I made a tour of the past, pulled it all together. This is what I want to do." "Right, I'll sit beside you," he said.

  The phone only rang six tim
es, but it seemed like ages. A man answered.

  "Can I speak to Mrs Margery Brady, please?" Ella felt her voice faltering. Derry squeezed her for solidarity.

  There was a pause. "Who?" the man asked.

  "Mrs Brady. Margery."

  "Where did you get this number?"

  Ts this 23 Playa de los Angeles?"

  "Yes, but . .. this is not a number that anyone has

  The voice sounded familiar. Terribly familiar.

  "Don?" Ella gasped.

  "Angel? Ella, is that you? Angel?"

  She couldn't find the breath to say a word.

  Derry had an arm around her shoulders and was offering her a sip of water. She pushed the water away but held his hand very

  tig(ht"

  "Don, is that really you? You're not dead?"

  "Where are you, Angel?" His voice was insistent, very anxious.

  "You told me you were going to die, kill yourself," she said, shaking her head in disbelief.

  I was going to, but in the end ... No good at finishing anything, me." He gave a hollow little laugh. The laugh he gave when things were very serious.

  I thought you were dead, Don. Dead, you know, at the bottom of the sea. I wept over you everywhere, that you would never see this lovely autumn with the leaves changing, with the sun coming through the trees. I even wept for your sons, that they wouldn't know you .. . and you never died ... you never died at all."

  "But that's good, Angel Ella, isn't it? We'll be together once I sort out this mess."

  "You never loved me, Don."

  "Of course I did ... do."

  "What had you intended to do, Don?"

  "Wait until I could get the laptop so that we could sort it all out. Get our life together."

  She was silent.

  Derry squeezed her hand harder. She had been holding the

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  receiver so that he could hear what was being said.

  "Ella. Ella Angel, are you there?"

  "You never loved me at all. Was it just sex? Was it because I was young? What was it?"

  "We'll meet. Bring me the laptop. I'll tell you everything then."

  "I can't do that, Don."

  "Why not?" He sounded weak.

  "Because I gave it to the Fraud Squad."

  "And the money for your parents? I can prove you took that."

  "No, I gave that back too."

  "I don't believe you."

  "Why not?"

  "There would have been someone on to me by now."

  "There will be, Don, there will."

  "When did you give it to them?"

  "An hour ago," she said, and hung up the phone.

  Chapter Fifteen.

  It all took much less time than they thought. The detectives came to the hotel. Two quiet, unassuming looking men, one a tall, dark man she had met before when she had lied about the computer.

  "So it turned up eventually?" he said, looking at her.

  It did," she said simply.

  "And you are .. .?" he asked Derry.

  Derry handed him a business card. "Derry King, friend and business partner of Ms Brady."

  "And this is . . .?"

  "A ticket and key for a safe deposit box. Don Richardson claims he left bank drafts or certified cheques there for me."

  "And you haven't opened it?"

  "No."

  "If they were for you ...?"

  "He defrauded my father of money. They were a sort of apology, or that's what I thought."

  "All the more reason to take them, then . .." The detective never finished a sentence, just left it hanging there and someone finished it for him.

  This time it was Derry. "Ms Brady and her parents, being very moral people, decided they couldn't just take money like that and say nothing. They are returning it to you."

  "Quite so. Very admirable."

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  "And the password to the computer is Playa de los Angeles, like the city Los Angeles."

  "Ah, you just guessed this . . .?"

  "Not exactly

  "So Mr Richardson told you .. .?"

  "Not exactly that either. He told me ages back that it was "Angel" and when I tried it recently it wasn't, so I tried words a bit like that and it opened."

  "Well done, Ms Brady."

  "But that's not the main thing..." she said, her words tumbling out.

  "It's not?"

  "No, the main thing is he's not dead. He's alive. I spoke to him this evening. He never killed himself at all."

  She looked from one face to the other to see the shock register. But to her surprise there was nothing at all.

  "We never really thought he was dead," said the detective. "Didn't fit the pattern. Made no sense for him to kill himself."

  "I thought he was dead and I used to know him very well indeed," Ella said.

  "Yes, I'm sure."

  "You might have told me," she said with tears in her eyes. "Saved me all that heartbreak."

  "We didn't exactly see you since it happened. We asked yo u to keep in touch in case his briefcase turned up and you didn't... so how could we have told you?"

  Derry intervened. "But now the briefcase has turned up and Ella has been in touch, so is that everything?" His voice was smooth but with authority.

  The two men responded to him. They stood up and shook hands. They thanked them for the co-operation and asked if Ella, and indeed Derry if he wished, would accompany them to the safe deposit box, so that the hand-over of what it contained could be authenticated.

  "His name and address and contact numbers are all there," Ella told them. "He calls himself Brady, of all names. Isn't that a really nice bit of a laugh for all of us?"

  There was real sympathy in the faces of the detectives. The whole thing was over in an hour.

  Ella called her mother. "It's done. It's given back. Well, given to the Guards, anyway," she said in a dull tone.

  "Well, I'm sure that's right. Thank you, Ella."

  "No, thank you, Mother, and Dad, too, for being nice and normal and believing someone I introduced you to. I will make it up to you if it's the last thing I do."

  "Stop, Ella." Her mother noticed that the voice on the phone was shaking and tearful.

  "And one more thing, Mother . .."

  "You're not coming home tonight?" her mother guessed.

  "That's it. You're psychic," she said.

  "Don't get too upset, Ella. That's all I ask. The man is dead now, let him rest. We have no way of knowing how sorry he may have felt at the end. His mind disturbed and everything. We can't judge the dead."

  "The man is not dead, Mother. He's alive and well and living with his family in Spain."

  "No, Ella. He "was killed in that terrible boat tragedy .. ."

  "He faked it. He's living out there on Dad's money, and do you know what? He's calling himself Brady, Mother. That's what he's doing." She sounded quite hysterical.

  "Is Derry there?" her mother asked.

  She handed him the phone. Ella could only hear his end of the conversation.

  "Well, of course I will, no, have no worries. Certainly I will. No, she's actually much calmer than she sounded to you. I think it's just saying it for the first time to someone is the hard bit. No, she's in no danger, Barbara, believe me, she's not. And I too. Goodbye."

  She sat there unseeing. They were talking about her as a parcel. A package of nerves and reactions. Not a person.

  "Do you know, Derry, the only thing that will hold me together over all this is very hard work," she said.

  "Good. I was hoping you'd say that."

  She was surprised. I thought you'd say talk, examine it, analyse it."

  "No, there's no point. We won't get to first base now, analysing what makes that guy tick. You've done all you said you would from this end. Now get on with your life."

  "And I can stay here?"

  "Of course. Let's get down to work straight away." He pulled a second chair up to the desk. "Let's look at some of
these stories. See how we could tell them . . . should it be table by table . .. have Mon and Mr Harris sitting down side by side, explaining how it all

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  began at one table, then move to another and get another story . .. Or we could do it as an hour-by-hour thing .. . like the restaurant starts to stir at about five a.m."

  Ella laughed. A real laugh. "I don't think anything stirs in Dublin at five a.m."

  "Now we're changing roles. You've been busy telling me how modern it all is here."

  "Make it seven and we're more realistic."

  "Nonsense, Ella. Think about the garbage being collected, the stuff coming in from market. It has to be earlier."

  "It would be interesting to see. We'll ask Brenda and Patrick tomorrow night," she said. "Meanwhile, we'll go through the best stories and the ones that will be hard to tell."

  "The guy from Scotland, Drew, he's not going to tell his own tale, is he? Show himself up as a would-be thief?"

  "Apparently he is, his luck turned that night, his fiancee admired him so much for resisting temptation. Brenda says he's only bursting to tell his story."

  Derry shook his head in amazement. "Aren't people here quite extraordinary?" he said in wonder.

  "No, they're not. It's not just Ireland. It's the same everywhere, in England, in the US, all dying to tell their story and have their fifteen minutes of fame."

  "There's a danger that people will exploit them," he said.

  "Of course there is, but we're not that kind of business. Derry, you're not having second thoughts on me, are you?"

  "No, of course not. But talking about second thoughts . . .?"

  "Yes?"

  "I just wanted to say when your anger dies down, you'll probably be relieved that he's alive. Don, I mean. It's only natural. You loved him and he loved you. It has to be better that he's alive, not dead at the bottom of the ocean. So, if you have second thoughts about him and are glad he's still around, then that's normal. That's all I wanted to say." He looked oddly uncomfortable, as if he didn't really believe all this, but felt that it should be said from a fairness point of view.