"But nobody knows yet. I thought you'd be interested. I could show you over the premises today if-"
"What does Dinny Macaffety say about this?"
"Dinny is in hospital. I'm ... well, helping out ... but no one is to know."
Tully's narrowed eyes strayed to Michael, "And where do you come in?"
"He's helping out too," Sean said quickly.
Tully's instincts warned him to be careful ... but the Gazette was a very fine property on a good site ... he sensed a bargain.
"I know the price they'd settle for, Mr Tully," Sean whispered.
Tully's shrewd eyes gleamed. So that was it. Sean wanted paying for his information. Well, fair enough - good information was worth paying for - if it was right. Tully had done a dozen deals on a similar basis. Suddenly Sean's secretive attitude made sense. Tully bobbed his head in approval. "Good lad, Sean," he said. "You mean they'll scrub the auction if -"
"They get the right price," Sean finished for him.
Tully rocked back in his chair. Meeting Sean Connors had been a stroke of luck - first the Widow O'Flynn, now inside information on the biggest property deal in years. His eyes crinkled into a smile. "Sure you're a coming man, Sean Connors. Didn't I say that the day we met."
"So are you interested, Mr Tully?"
Tully reassured himself with another look round the restaurant. "I might be, if it's not a king's ransom. Their price might be too high - some people have inflated ideas, you know -"
"If you tell me what figure you would offer," Sean said carefully, "I could find out if it would be acceptable."
Tully twitched.
Sean read his mind. "I'll tell you if your price is too high, as well as if it's too low."
Tully still fidgeted. "Price would depend on a lot of things. What kind of lease would the Gazette want, for instance. Then there's the cost of altering the ground floor. There's a lot of questions need answering first."
Sean had answers for some. The hours spent studying the Gazette's P & L accounts told him what rent the newspaper could afford - and Tully already knew that the Widow O'Flynn would pay five hundred a year for the right site. Even so Sean stalled by suggesting that Tully view the building for himself - and the sooner the better.
Jim Tully smiled. "I was in and out of that building when the Christian Brothers were tanning your backside."
"Mr Macaffety's just had the whole place painted."
Tully's eyes gleamed. "So that's why he did that. To make it look smart for a buyer. Well I'll tell you Sean, a real property man isn't fooled by a coat of paint. He looks for reliable tenants -"
"Like the Gazette - and the Widow O'Flynn."
Tully shrugged. "She might not like it."
"With an O'Connell Street frontage?"
Tully accepted the point. An O'Connell Street front was worth more than five hundred a year. He was about to say so when Sean interrupted, "I want her to have it at that price, Mr Tully. She's a friend of mine."
Tully stared until the heat rose in Sean's face, but blushing or not he stared right back - "Just like you're a friend too, Mr Tully. I wouldn't be here unless this was good for you too."
"Friendship should be a two-way street, Sean," Tully said with obvious meaning.
Sean nodded, apparently accepting the bait - "If anything comes of this ... well, I'd like you to pay Michael a commission of five hundred pounds," he said, not daring to look at Michael.
Tully's hooded eyes were suddenly expressionless. Privately he thought it made sense for Sean to remove himself from involvement which explained O'Hara's presence. But five hundred pounds was a hell of a lot for young Sean to be talking about. Tully creased his brow. "It might be arranged, but first you'd better tell me how much they want for the building. If that figure is too high we are all wasting our time."
Sean heard the edge in Tully's voice. The fencing was over and Sean knew it. He was terrified of losing the advantage. Tully was so much more experienced ... Sean was afraid to disclose his hand ... he liked Jim Tully and he thought Tully liked him ... but so much was involved ... he was so near to the biggest chance of his life ...
"Well?" Tully persisted softly.
Sean tried another tack, "If I told you what rent the Gazette would pay, could you tell me what you would bid for the building?" He went cold at the flicker of annoyance in Tully's eyes. It was going wrong ... he was risking Tully's friendship ... everything was turning sour ... but he had to be sure.
"Wouldn't you think that's the long way round?" Tully asked icily. "After all, I've agreed to pay your friend here his commission."
Sean was miserably unsure of himself. "Three thousand five hundred a year," he blurted out, "that's what the Gazette will pay."
Tully was surprised. The Gazette would pay the same rate for office space as Maeve O'Flynn would for tea-rooms. She would be paying under the market price, and the Gazette would pay over.
Sean finished with a rush, "You'll get another five hundred for the top floor. What with that and us, and the Widow O'Flynn - that's four and a half thousand you'd get every year."
Tully scratched his head. "Ten-year leases?" he asked.
Sean nodded, white-faced and intent.
Tully considered. The property would fetch fifty thousand at auction - maybe fifty-five, even sixty. He glanced over his shoulder again. "I'll pay thirty-five thousand," he said quietly, "if the Gazette and the Widow O'Flynn agree those rentals on a ten-year lease, with an eight percent rise at the end of three years."
Sean's head whirled. His breath caught in his throat. It was a deal ... a marvellous, fantastic, wonderful deal! The rest of his idea fell into place like pieces in a puzzle. Excitement brought the colour back to his face. He felt like shouting. Instead he took a deep breath and concentrated on keeping a steady voice. "That's too high, Mr Tully, you can get it for less."
Tully's eyes popped. Less? He could hardly believe it. "Less? Are you sure? How much less? Would they take thirty?"
"Up a bit - half way," Sean's eyes mirrored his excitement.
"Thirty-two and a half?" Tully reached across to grab Sean's hand. "Are you sure? You could get that price, and those leases - all for thirty two and a half?"
"If Michael gets his commission."
"Hell, you've just saved me five times that. You could have asked for a bigger commission, and not told me -"
"No point in being greedy," Sean grinned, "I've got what I want, besides ... well, like I said, you're my friend, Mr Tully, I want you to be pleased with the deal ... for ever and all time."
If Tully thought that was a strange thing to say he gave no sign of it. He was too elated.
But Sean had one last condition - "It will have to be completed on Friday, Mr Tully. If it isn't, the whole deal is off."
Tully was shaken, but agreed it could be done - if he hurried. He left shortly afterwards. If money was to be on the table by Friday he had much to do ... talks with his banker ... a meeting with his lawyer ...
Michael was awe-struck. "Five hundred pounds," he whispered, "Jaysus, Mary and Joseph - you've made five hundred pounds!"
But Sean had made much more than that. Not that he told Michael - but he did explain what the five hundred pounds was to be used for. Michael's eyes moistened as he listened. The whole family in Australia - who would have believed it.
After that, Sean seemed to be dashing all over Dublin for the rest of the day. First he went to the hospital - but even Dinny was only told a fraction of the story. Sean clung on to his real secret. He left a mystified Dinny with a promise - "Just trust me, Mr Macaffety, and you'll be the editor of the Gazette for the rest of your life."
Then Sean went in search of his father - and spent most of the afternoon waiting for Pat Connors to emerge from a Dail committee meeting. Pat thought it was some kind of joke to begin with - he listened with mounting incredulity. He neither understood nor believed it. What was more he questioned its honesty. But Sean repeated it again and again until Pat got the gi
st of it - though the fundamental point of how Sean could sell a building which did not belong to him still escaped Pat.
"That's why I need the best lawyer in Dublin, Da," Sean insisted, red faced with excitement, "I'm sure it can be done if we're quick about it."
With some misgivings Pat introduced his son to Senator O'Keefe who, apart from his political commitments in Dail Eireann, was one of the most able lawyers in the Four Courts.
By seven o'clock that evening Sean was sitting in the Senator's chambers explaining his requirements. The old Senator was more than surprised, he was staggered. But Sean argued with dogged tenacity - so much so that after an hour the Senator had to concede that the idea might have some merit. It was ingenious, he admitted ... some of Sean's reasoning was awry ... but ... well if the sequence of events was rearranged ...
Which was how, at ten o'clock that night, Sean came to be intoxicated. Not drunk, despite the glass of whiskey in his hand, but definitely and positively high. He walked - no, he floated from room to room in the small house at Ballsbridge, waiting for his father to come home. He climbed the stairs, paced the landing - too excited to sit down - he walked back down to the hall, made a circuit of the kitchen and returned to the living-room. He laughed aloud. Once he burst into song. He raised his glass and toasted the future - his future, their future, each and every one of them. To Tomas and the family, who would go to Australia. To Maeve O'Flynn, who would have the best tea-rooms in Dublin. To Dinny Macaffety who would edit the Gazette for the rest of his life. To Jim Tully who had won a bargain ...
"And all because of me!" Sean shouted at the empty house. He chuckled aloud. Even Lord Averdale would get what he wanted - net asset price for the Gazette. Sean hugged himself, knowing that he had kept the best prize for himself. Ownership of the Gazette - lock, stock and barrel!
Two nights later Lord Averdale was also toasting the future. After three wonderful afternoons in Leonard's studio Mark was beside himself with joy. He had seen Kate, alive - in both of her guises, Kate the woman and Kate the child. And he had the pictures to prove it. He sat alone in the drawing-room of his Belgrave Square house surrounded by photographs - enlarged, coloured, black and white - photographs of her body, photographs of her face - the entire room was a montage of Kate.
He had lost his nerve at the studio. He had intended to climb into the cage. Leonard would pose her as Justice, blindfolded, eyes masked and scales in her hand, just like the statue in London. Then Mark would measure her, his hands would rove over her body ... but he had called it off at the last moment. What if the mask should slip, what if she recognised him ... the plan was madness, conceived by a mind gripped by an obsession ... the risk was too great...
But Mark's agile brain was still busy ...
He would send O'Brien to Africa to deal with the Bowley estates. Any suggestion of his wife accompanying him would be vetoed on the grounds of... of it being too dangerous for a woman ... the heat, disease, wild animals ... besides she might not want to go. After all she had children to consider and O'Brien's trip would be of at least three months' duration. Mark smiled ... a lot could happen in three months.
He went early to bed, knowing he had to rise at dawn to travel to Croydon and thence to Dublin. Dublin was a nuisance. A waste of time when he wanted to get back to Belfast as soon as he could. He wondered how O'Brien would take the news of Africa? O'Brien would have news of his own, of course - Brown & Company would have settled their account - the fifteen hundred pounds would have arrived. Mark chuckled at the prospect of his own money being returned to him.
Matt Riordan was also drinking whiskey - but in very different circumstances. He was sheltering under some trees. A bitter wind howled through the branches to scatter rain on the men waiting below. Matt swore softly and pulled his collar even tighter, before passing the half sized bottle to Ferdy. "Do you see anything?" he asked for the tenth time.
"An' me with one blind eye? What chance have I?"
Matt smiled grimly, blind eye or not Ferdy Malloy had a knack of seeing more than most full-sighted men. The six men huddled close together under the elm trees, peering anxiously out into the night. Even the ditch six yards away was barely visible, let alone the lane - but it was there, just beyond a low stone wall, the lane which led down to Brackenburn a mile and a half away.
"I'm going back," Matt said. "Give them another five minutes - then I'm going back."
Ferdy shivered in his wet clothes, fumbling in his pocket for cigarettes. "Anyone got a light?"
"No! You'll not strike matches -"
"Relax, for Christ's sake. The Devil himself would stay abed on a night like this. Sure a smoke will settle your nerves."
Ferdy walked deeper into the thicket to light the cigarette. He cupped his hands round the glowing tip. After two draws he returned and handed it to Matt. Nobody spoke for a while. The rain lashed down harder than ever, thudding into the ground beyond the trees, splattering into ever widening puddles at their feet. Water gurgled and splashed over stones in the ditch. Swirling gusts of wind tore at the branches of the trees, bending them first one way then another. The sky was black - no moon, no stars, thick cloud brushing the hillside to obscure every scrap of light.
"I'm bloody freezing -"
"Shut up," Matt snapped, straining to hear above the wind crashing through the foliage. Nothing - no signal - just the wild sounds of the night.
They had worked in pairs. Four teams of two. It had taken Matt and Ferdy less than thirty minutes to set the incendiary devices in the old bake-house. They had been there and back in an hour. One team had returned before them and the next arrived ten minutes later. Explosives had been set in the conservatory and at the back of the chapel. But the fourth team, working on the stables, had not returned - and the men under the trees had been waiting an hour.
Matt gnawed his lip. At eighteen he was the youngest man there, but he was in charge. His first mission, and now something had gone wrong! He cursed under his breath. To delay longer would imperil everyone - they had to move soon or miss a lift back to Belfast in the farm lorries delivering to the markets. They had to go. But a good commander never abandons his men, even just two of his men.
"Are you ready, Ferdy?"
"Aye, let's get back down the hill to look for them. Anything's better than waiting. Come on, while I can still move."
Matt sent the other four men back up the hill first - to the safety of the lorries bound for Belfast. Then Matt went - edging sideways towards the ditch. The impenetrable darkness was made even worse by the lashing rain. Matt sank ankle-deep into the ditch and gasped with the shock of freezing water. Not that Ferdy heard, the howl of the wind through the trees was deafening. He stumbled in after, and they both rose cursing on the other side.
Hugging the stone wall they progressed fifty yards from the trees. Around the turn the road straightened to run down to Brackenburn a mile away. Not that they could see the house - not now, it had barely been visible earlier. But the bend led the road off the exposed hillside and into shelter, away from the buffeting of the wind. Gratefully Matt called a rest... and a moment later heard voices.
It was the Duffy brothers - the fourth team - on the far side of the wall, no more than a couple of yards away. Matt recognised a voice saying - "I'll never make it, Luke." Then Matt was over the wall with Ferdy scrambling after him. Luke Duffy uttered a surprised curse and swung round, but Matt was on to him by then. Duffy's yell changed to a cry of recognition.
It took a minute to hear their story. Danny Duffy had fallen from the stable roof. He had landed on a water butt, cracking his back and hurting his leg. Luke had virtually carried him up the hill, quite a feat considering Danny was so much bigger.
The leg was a mess, Matt's probing fingers told him that. They made a crude splint from a fallen branch and used the belt from Ferdy's raincoat as a binding. After which they gave Danny what was left of the whiskey, and propped him upright - with Matt under one shoulder and Luke the other - and set off. It
was hard going, especially when they reached the bend in the lane and were caught by the wind. "We finished the job though, Matt," Danny said between clenched teeth, "we set the charges all right."
The rain eased off as they neared the pick-up point. Luke's ankle had given out by then and Matt was taking Danny's entire weight. Sweat poured down his face. He was exhausted but triumphant, even wryly amused: they made a pretty poor IRA column - one man with a busted leg, another with a sprained ankle, Ferdy with his one blind eye, and Matt on his knees. But they had done their job. Liam Riordan would be proud. Matt's face split into a tired grin of triumph as dawn streaked the hillside and the farm lorries came down to meet them.
Sean Connors greeted the dawn with excitement too. He had slept, but only fitfully, he was too anxious for the day to begin. He brewed some tea and took a cup to his father, then fidgeted for an hour, dressing in his good suit of Donegal tweed and tweaking his tie into shape.
Michael arrived at eight o'clock, also dressed in his Sunday best. Sean briefed him thoroughly and sent him away, knowing that Michael would do everything asked of him. Then Senator O'Keefe called. Pat Connors was up by then, so the three of them sat round the kitchen table, with the Senator doing most of the talking while Sean poured some fresh tea.
Senator O'Keefe had performed miracles of negotiation with the man at the bank, but nobody had proved harder to convince than Pat Connors himself. Even then, at nine in the morning, Pat sat uneasy and withdrawn, not sharing the excitement of the others. It was not that he was disappointed, or fearful of the bank selling his home over his head if things went wrong, or fearful that a scandal would ruin him in the Dail - though those considerations had crossed his mind. It was more that he wondered what would happen if things went right. If this wild scheme worked Sean would be wealthy ... and the wealthy saw the world differently. What would happen to the boy then? Would it go to his head? Would he be ashamed of his upbringing ... even worse, would he abandon the rules?
Ian St James Compendium - Volume 1 Page 107