‘Cancel the drinks and let’s go into the dining room,’ said the baroness. ‘If we don’t get out of here soon I’m going to behave like a marauding Viking on a wet Monday.’
***
‘I’m Philomena. I’ll be looking after ye.’
‘At least you didn’t say “Faith and begorrah,”’ grunted the baroness.
Philomena folded her arms and looked at her crossly. ‘What’s that supposed to mean when it’s at home?’
The baroness looked slightly sheepish. Amiss broke in. ‘May I apologize for my friend, Philomena. I’m Robert Amiss and this is Jack Troutbeck. And she’s not as grumpy as she seems.’
‘Just as well if she’s the Lady Troutbeck that’s in charge of this conference.’
‘That’s part of the reason I’m grumpy, Philomena.’
‘What you need is a decent dinner. Now for the love of Jesus, cheer up and tell me what ye want. The steak’s not bad, but if I was ye, I’d have the bacon and cabbage. Ye can’t go wrong with that. The food’s all right here except when they get too ambitious and pour muck all over it for the sake of style.’
The baroness looked at her with respect. ‘And what do you think for the first course?’
‘Ye can’t beat the smoked salmon. It’s local.’
The baroness closed the menu. ‘Thank you, Philomena. Excellent advice. I think we’ll be very happy together.’
***
The Sailor’s Hornpipe sounded as Amiss began to eat—causing him to dart from the room. When the conversation had finished he jabbed the off button savagely and by summoning up all his self-control just stopped himself from kicking the plastic door-stop shaped like a Viking helmet.
‘What’s wrong now?’ the baroness asked as he sat down heavily.
‘A Japanese. A fucking Japanese.’
‘A fucking Japanese what?’
‘A fucking Japanese male, that’s what. Coming to the conference.’
‘Why?’
‘Crispin hummed and hawed and indicated that because of some sensitive negotiations going on at present, the Foreign Office thinks it helpful that officials accede to every legitimate request from a Japanese—even from one as peripheral as an Irish studies specialist.’
‘Well, well.’ She was beginning to look positively merry. ‘At the rate we’re going we’ll have more observers than participants. As the joker, my old mate Chandra may even end up surplus to requirements.’
‘I am pissed off. I am really, really pissed off.’
‘Oh come on now, Robert. Where’s your sense of humour? This is all bollocks anyway so we might as well enjoy it.’
‘It’s all very well for you, Jack, but if this thing is a complete shambles I’ll be the one who’ll get the blame in government circles.’
‘So bloody what? Who cares about government circles? Bugger government circles. Come on, let’s have a bit of the old spirit. Get your snout in the trough and cheer up.’
Chapter Five
‘Philomena certainly has your measure,’ said Amiss next morning as they left the breakfast room. ‘I’ve rarely seen you behave as well.’
‘At least there’s no crap about her,’ snorted the baroness. ‘Unlike the rest of this place.’
‘Speaking of which, look what we have here. The hotel gift shop.’
‘I’m not going near it. I might be sick. I’m going outside.’
‘I enjoyed that,’ said Amiss, when he caught up with her ten minutes later. ‘Apart from the call from MOPE to complain they hadn’t been sent an up-dated list of participants. I explained that I hadn’t either, but of course they think I’m lying.
‘If they hadn’t interrupted I might have bought you a present but I didn’t have time to decide between the “I’M AN IRISH COLLEEN” T-shirt or the Virgin Mary who cries real tears if you squeeze her rosary beads.’
‘Look, look,’ she shouted, gesticulating wildly at the battlements.
‘Why shouldn’t they fly the Irish flag? This is Ireland.’
‘No, you idiot. I can put up with the tricolour. But they’ve got the EU flag as well. Everywhere you go in this bloody country they’re waving those yellow stars at you. Why?’
‘Probably a mark of gratitude for all the loot they’ve been getting. Haven’t you noticed posters all over the place crediting the EU with helping this and that project? Can we go in now, Jack? I’m shivering and it’s just about to start raining again.’
As they walked towards the entrance the Sailor’s Hornpipe sounded. ‘Right…fine…I’ll be there.’ He slipped the phone back in his pocket. ‘I must leave you now, Jack. I’ve got to meet a member of the Garda.’
‘You’re going native already. Call them Civic Guards. That’s what Lavinia would do.’
‘I’d expect her to refer to them as the Royal Irish Constabulary.’
‘And why not?’ said the baroness peevishly. ‘This mania for change for change’s sake pisses me off.’
‘Don’t let our prime minister hear you talk like that. He’ll have you targeted as a leader of the forces of conservatism.’
‘I indignantly refute that accusation. I’m a leader of the forces of reaction and proud of it. Now, where are we meeting Constable O’Plod?’
‘I’m seeing Garda Inspector McNulty in a caravan near the gate. I’ll go alone.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I wish to build up a decent relationship with him and I don’t want you insulting him in the first two minutes.’
She looked baffled. ‘Why should you think I’d do that? I will be my most charming self. Diplomatic, nay suave to the point of oleaginousness—or should it be oleaginy? Whichever it should be, I’m ready to be it.’
To Amiss’ mingled irritation and relief she lived up to her own prospectus. Within five minutes of their arrival in the dingy, chilly caravan, McNulty seemed utterly charmed by her eloquent extolling of the unrivalled scenery, superb hospitality and matchless charm of the people of Ireland, who had conquered the globe with their words and their music. She even threw in some Yeats lines about a land where even the old were fair and the wise were merry of tongue.
At that point, observing a trace of scepticism on the inspector’s gnarled features, Amiss broke in on her eulogy. ‘Inspector, I know you’re busy. How can we help you?’
‘Sure, it’s more the other way about, Mr Amiss. I’m happy enough. I’ve all the lads in place. But if you’re worried about anything let me know.’
‘When you say “in place?”’
‘Around the grounds and round the front and back.’
‘How many?’
‘Well now, between the army and the gardaí, I’d say we’ve maybe thirty.’
‘But I was told that security advice was that this event was low-risk.’
‘Well it was, but now it isn’t. We’ve had information that the boyos seem a bit restive.’
‘Which boyos are these?’ asked the baroness. ‘I thought seeing we’ve got representatives of all the nuisances here that meant everyone was safe.’
‘You’d think that, mam. But you see, though the IRA is quite respectable these days owing to putting on the good suits during the day and though the same is true of the UDA and the UFF and the UVF…’
‘Sorry, Inspector, you’ve lost me.’
‘I wouldn’t blame you, mam. I get a bit lost myself among all the factions and initials. But anyway there’s even worse boyos than them that would be delighted to blow up the whole lot of ye. And they’re a bit on the busy side these days.’
The baroness shook her head. ‘They’re like the dragons’ teeth, these terrorists, aren’t they?’
‘Or the Hydra’s heads, mam. Just when you think you’ve got rid of the lot of them there’s a new wave ready for more divilment.’
‘Well, I suppose it keeps you in a job.’
McNulty looked at her with less affection than hitherto. ‘There’s some kinds of work you could do without, mam. I’d rather be dealing with ordinary d
ecent criminals any day. At least you know where you are with them. They don’t shoot you in the back one day and demand the next that you pay them compensation because they strained their trigger finger.’
‘Are you worried, Inspector?’ asked Amiss.
‘Not really.’ McNulty pulled at his grey moustache. ‘Anyway, you can take it that no one’s going to get in here without wearing an invisible cloak. And we’ve had the sniffer dogs over the whole place so it’s not going to blow up. I think you’ll be able to sleep safe in your beds, the lot of you.’
‘Unless, of course, one of us is a wolf in sheep’s clothing.’
‘We have wolf’s-bane, mam, in the shape of our intelligence sources. Let’s hope it’s effective.’ He paused for a moment and an expression of great grimness crossed his face. ‘Mind you, sometimes I wonder. There’s a lad in Special Branch there and you wouldn’t know he was on our side.’
Amiss put on his most sympathetic voice. ‘I have exactly the same problem, Inspector. There are people who are supposed to be my colleagues and…’ He threw out his hands in an exaggerated gesture.
‘They wouldn’t give you the clippings of their toenails,’ said the baroness, beaming at her command of the vernacular.
McNulty was still musing resentfully. ‘Mind you, he’s from Clare. And I’ll tell you what, Clare people wouldn’t give ye wood enough to burn ye, earth enough to bury ye or water enough to drown ye.’
‘Well, let’s hope the terrorists are from Clare too and will grudge us explosives enough to blow us up,’ responded the baroness merrily.
‘But they’re not. They’re mostly from up north. And these days they’re more like Kilkenny cats than anything else.’ As Amiss and the baroness pondered this elliptical statement, McNulty rose. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll need to go and talk to some of the lads. Here’s an umbrella. It’s bucketing down.’
‘What about you?’
‘I’ve the clothes for it, mam,’ he said, pointing to a pile of waterproofs in the corner. ‘This part of the world, we take no chances.’
***
‘If I’m not mistaken, Dr Watson, I think the Yank has landed,’ observed Amiss, as he glanced out the window.
‘How do you know?’ asked the baroness. ‘Is she waving the stars and stripes?’
‘See for yourself.’
She heaved herself out of her armchair and stomped over to the window. He looked on with pleasure as her eyes widened. ‘My God, I see what you mean. They don’t make them on this scale in Europe. I feel positively slender by comparison. And as for the paraphernalia!’
‘Colourful, certainly.’
They left the window as the object of their scrutiny disappeared from view.
‘Are you coming out to welcome her?’
‘Are you off your rocker?’
‘Come, come, Jack. Faint heart never won fair lady. You’re on the hunt this weekend, after all.’
She looked at him disdainfully. ‘I may be catholic in my tastes, Robert, but if you think I’d settle for something that looks like…’
The door burst open.
‘Which-a-you’z in charge?’ demanded a voice which closely resembled a corncrake that had had a bad morning.
Amiss stepped forward. ‘Kelly-Mae O’Hara, I presume? Welcome to Moycoole Castle. I’m Robert Amiss. And this is…’
‘It’z a disgrace. I’ll be talking to my lawyers.’
‘Please, Miss O’Hara. Do sit down and tell us what is troubling you.’
He ushered her towards the sofa, took her white, green and orange umbrella and helped her to sit down. She pulled off her matching baseball cap and tossed it on the floor. ‘Whadda godawful journey! I’ll be suing the airline. How dare they charge for two seats on the plane!’
‘You weren’t paying,’ said the baroness. ‘So why worry?’
She sat bolt upright. ‘’Snot about the money. It’z an insult. It’z offensive. It’z their fault if their seats aren’t big enough for people of size.’
Amiss tried to look sympathetic. ‘They do cut corners these days. I can hardly stretch my legs in economy…’
‘And then they had the noive to ask if I’d take a later flight so two people could travel instead of me.’
‘Since you’re so early, I presume you refused,’ said the baroness.
Kelly-Mae glowered. ‘Of course I refused. Fattism is an abuse of my human rights.’
‘Did you at least have a comfortable flight?’ asked Amiss nervously.
‘Did I hell! We’re talking dangerous food here. Couldn’t meet my special needs. Even ran out of diet soda. And then there was no one to meet me at the airport.’
‘I didn’t know what flight you were taking.’
‘Huh! You shuddadone.’
After a pause, Amiss gestured towards the baroness. ‘You haven’t been introduced to our chairman, Jack Troutbeck.’
‘Chairman!!!’
‘Sorry, chairwoman.’
‘Sexism as well as fattism.’
‘Good morning, Miss O’Hara,’ said the baroness. ‘You must make allowances for different customs in different countries, as I’m sure you’ll know from your travels.’
Kelly-Mae glared. ‘Never been to Eu’rp before. And from what I’ve seen of it, won’t be doing it again. No one told me about the rain.’
‘I fear the west of Ireland is famous for it.’
‘Can I get anything for you, Kelly-Mae, if it’s all right to call you by your first name. Coffee? Er…soda?’
‘No. I’ll check in an’ go to my room. Godda shower. That’s if there is a shower,’ she added, in tones of deepest sarcasm. ‘I mean we’re talking a taxi with no air-conditioning here.’ She began the process of getting up and, as Amiss gave her his hand, seemed to mellow slightly. ‘You guys from round these parts?’ she enquired, as soon as she was vertical.
‘No. From London.’
‘London, England?’
‘Yes. And Jack lives in Cambridge.’
‘You’re English!’
‘Yes.’
‘And you’re running this conference? In Ireland?’
‘Well, yes. But you see…’
‘I guess the Irish are too stupid to organize their own conferences so the English have to do it for them. That it?’
‘Yes,’ said the baroness.
Amiss broke in. ‘Kelly-Mae, this is not an Irish conference. It just happens to be located here. It’s mainly composed of people from the United Kingdom—from Northern Ireland, England, Scotland and Wales.’
‘Heard about dat. Celts. All under the British yoke. It’z a disgrace.’
‘I fear it’s beyond my powers to do anything about that, Kelly-Mae. Now let me show you to reception.’
***
Amiss banged his fists together. ‘Sweet suffering Jesus, as Philomena would say, she certainly exceeds all expectations.’
‘No, she doesn’t,’ said the baroness. ‘She’s Irish-American, isn’t she?’
The Sailor’s Hornpipe sounded. ‘Hello…Yes, Inspector…OK, I’ll be right there.’
‘Anything wrong?’
‘He’s back in the caravan and wants a word. Do you want to come?’
‘In this rain? You must be joking.’
The Sailor’s Hornpipe sounded again. ‘Hello…Yes, Simon…How are things? OK…Yes, sure. I’ll pick him up…Half-an-hour?…Fine…Bye.’ He slipped the phone into his top pocket. ‘When I’ve finished with McNulty I’m going to meet Mr Okinawa at the bus station. Will you look after things here?’
‘I’ll sit here and finish the newspaper and people can come to me in time of crisis, if that’s what you mean. But don’t expect me to be chatty to Miss Bonkers USA.’
***
The inspector pulled on his moustache. ‘I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m worried, but I wouldn’t say either that I’m not worried. I’m getting information that suggests that some of them dissident IRA gobshites might be planning something. Can’t give
you any details but it’s a good source. They’re not all just sheep-shaggers in Roscommon, you know.’
Amiss tried to keep his mind on the main issue. ‘What are we talking about here? Bombs? Assassinations?’
‘I doubt the bomb. I don’t see any chance they’d run the risk of knocking off any of the MOPE contingent. The flak would be too hot and heavy for them to handle back in the republican heartland.’ He yanked vigorously at the moustache for a moment or two before looking at Amiss in some embarrassment. ‘Word is they’re thinking of making an example of a Brit.’
‘That’s comforting. There’s only a handful of us.’
‘Quite.’
McNulty tugged even more strenuously. ‘We’ve three options. We could advise you to cancel the conference for security reasons.’
‘Don’t tempt me.’
‘We could increase our presence in the hotel as well as outside. Or we could try to infiltrate someone to keep an eye on things without it being known that they were there.’
‘What do you think should be done?’
‘I don’t think we have the first option. Although from all that I hear—saving your presence—the word is this conference is heading for disaster, Dublin doesn’t want that admitted. And mark my words, if it is a disaster, they’ll blame anyone but themselves. So watch out.’
He shook his head mournfully. ‘Them fellas would live in your right ear and let the other one out in flats. And then they’d complain about the accommodation.’
‘You were saying about option A not being a possibility?’
‘That’s right. And B isn’t either, since Dublin doesn’t want to admit that republicans are anything other than peace-loving these days in case it hurts their feelings and drives them to war.
‘You know, I’ve been a garda for nearly thirty years and I’ve suffered all my life from the wishful thinking of feckin’ governments. And if you ask me this shower are the worst yet. They seem to think them vultures turn into doves overnight. And if you argue you’re supposed to be against peace.’
Anglo-Irish Murders Page 5