The Kilternan Legacy (2 page)

“This is, however, exactly what you need, Rene. A complete change, a new challenge. You’re only thirty-six, the one advantage in marrying young.”

I might be only thirty-six, but I felt a hundred even after two cups of strong coffee. As for the challenge of coming to Ireland, did I really need it? I sort of sank into my chair, feeling small.

Fortunately for my trend of thought, Snow and Simon came through the entrance, with Snow pointing at me dramatically in her “See? She’s all right!” gesture. Simon shrugged and then brandished something which turned out to be two maps, one of Dublin and one of Ireland.

“This is Dublin proper but Kilternan doesn’t appear on it, much less Swann’s Lane,” Simon said, spreading out the map across the small lounge tables. “See, it’s down in here,” and he illustrated. “Nice country, I’m told.”

“Who told you?” I asked, curious.

“We did a little adroit questioning,” Snow said.

“Where?”

“Oh, up the road a piece is a largish shopping center,” and Simon jerked his thumb over his shoulder rightishly.

“Not bad specialty shops, either,” added Snow.

“How’d you get there?”

“Walked up, bused back.” Simon flourished a bus schedule. “They’re all double-deckers!” He beamed. “Thirsty work.”

I got the hint and signaled the waiter. Snow did some flirt-practicing, and the man responded visibly until I gave her an adroit kick. She might be only fourteen but she looked much, much older. So did Simon, I realized, seeing him against an unfamiliar background. He’d shot up to a respectable five foot ten in the last six months, and recently complained that he had to shave. I suggested a beard, and he haughtily replied that everyone was bearded. Ergo,
he
couldn’t be.

“And there’s a rental-car place.” Simon handed over another folder. “These are the rates.”

“I should hire you as leg man,” I said, but Simon knew I was grateful.

“They want your arm for new cars here,” Simon said, shaking his head. I knew he’d had delusions about our driving a Mercedes or a Jaguar while we were here. “All those small foreign cars cost a fortune.”

“All those small foreign cars are native, Simple Simon,” his twin said with a remonstrating snort.

“Now, wait a minute, children, I’m not buying a car.”

“Who suggested?” Simon was honestly surprised. “Just compared prices, that’s all, but you will want something to get around in. This,” and he tapped the bus schedule, “is supposedly an old Irish legend.”

“What do you mean?”

Simon snorted, and Snow giggled. “You should have heard them at the bus stop! ‘Sure now, an’ I’ve been waiting the half-hour or more!’ I mean, Mom, and there’s no route that takes us to our part of Kilternan.”

“How do you know?” I waved at the Kilternanless map.

“Big area map in the Hertz place. Swann’s Lane is”—and Simon walked his fingers down a road marked TO CABIN TEELY—“approximately here,” and his fingers hovered over a large rose in the carpet, five inches from the map edge.

“Hmmm.”

“So, we’d need a car,” Simon said.

“And you know the one I should have?”

“Well, you always liked Gammy’s little Renault. They have the same model … Of course, it’s right-hand drive, but you’d cope, Mother.”

Simon has a most satisfactory way of assuming all kinds of abilities that I’m not so sure I possess until he indicates that I do, and then I do.

“And they’ve a Renault all ready and waiting for me tomorrow?”

Simon grinned. “Well, I didn’t see any harm in asking. And they do.”

“Garnet red,” said Snow approvingly.

“Well, that’s one thing settled. However …” and I told them about Mr. Kelley’s call.

“I wouldn’t see the man,” said Snow autocratically.

“That’s a bit quick, isn’t it, Mother? Sounds fishy.” Simon was giving me that too-intent look, which meant that he and Snow had been conspiring.

“Okay, what’s with you two?”

“Well, we’ve all summer to do nothing in, why not do it in Ireland?” she asked guilelessly. “If that cottage is habitable at all, it’ll do as a base for any touring we want to do.”

“You don’t like the Westfield routine any more anyhow, Mom,” Simon said. “Swimming club and that nonsense.”

He didn’t add “and running into your ex-husband and his new wife.”

“You haven’t been in Ireland more than …” I glanced at my watch, but Simon covered it, his expression very earnest.

“It’s the feeling about it,” Snow said, raising her hands in an unconscious effort to enfold the new experience, “and the people have time to talk to you, and answer questions, and
listen
.”

“And give advice.” Simon’s grin was suddenly a faint echo of Teddie’s I’ve-got-this-account-sewed-up smile. “I mean, they’re
nice
, Mom.”

“They know we’re tourists,” I said, to cushion their eventual disillusionment.

“Even if that’s the case, it’s a very welcome change!” Snow’s eyes flashed, and her lips compressed against the increasingly frequent and distressing incidents that her young beauty provoked. If she felt less threatened in Ireland …

“Look, let’s not go leaping without looking.”

“Aw, Mom, Ireland’s nice,” Simon said, as if that were the definitive reason.

“I’m not saying no, I’m just—”

“Temporizing as usual,” Snow finished for me.

“Really, Sara!”

She subsided, making a face, because usually she is not pert with me.

“Getting back to Mr. Kelley,” Simon said adroitly, “you’re not going to talk with him?”

“How can I avoid it? He was very insistent.”

“Nine o’clock, you said? Well, you can be a number of places at nine. I think his insistence is a bit suspicious.”

“So do I, but it doesn’t hurt to listen.”

The twins were dubious; they know how soft I am.

“Got an idea,” said Snow. “You said he’d ring your room? Okay, nineishly, Sim sits in the lobby where he can hear. You sit in here, where you can see. Kelley announces himself at the desk, asks for you. Simon opens the map … wide. You see if you like Kelley’s looks, and if you don’t, when you get paged you don’t answer. The girl at the desk can’t find you if you’re not here.”

“That is rude. I mean, what if he is nice, and on the level…”

“So call him at T K & B and apologize. You were out for dinner and it took longer than you expected. Basic!” said the practical Snow.

I really wasn’t up to meeting Mr. Kelley and being pressured, and the children knew it, so in the end I agreed that the plan was sensible.

Then we pored over the map to get some bearings. Dublin wasn’t very big compared to New York (or, for that matter, Westfield, New Jersey), but the streets were irregular, and I could see that finding places might be a problem. And that led to looking at the full-scale map, and by the time we’d finished dinner the twins had plotted quite a tour of Ireland. Really, I could see their point. If we had a base, we could take short forays to historical sites, and it wouldn’t be all that expensive—certainly no more than living in Westfield and shelling out five dollars a day at the pool—and more for air conditioning—or for trips to see cousins. Well, I made no promises, but the twins knew me well enough to realize that they’d half persuaded me to stay.

“That is, if all goes well,” I said, trying to be firm.

There were variables. For instance, how much cash would be left over after death duties and stuff from Aunt Irene’s estate? I am
not
mercenary, but the trip over had taken most of my sinking funds. Of course, the support money from Teddie would be in on the first of July, and that would probably go further in Ireland than in New Jersey.

I suppose it was because everything was grown in a different soil, or maybe not to such homogeneous standards, but the peas at dinner were heavenly, the steak tender and delicious, and even the french fries [“Chips, Mom, chips,” Simon corrected me] which I don’t usually like, tasted superb!

“Maybe I was just hungry,” I said, finishing the coffee with a sigh of repletion, and then saw my watch. “Oh, dear.”

“Stations, everyone. Snow, you stay with Mother.”

Simon put the maps under his arm and strode masterfully into the lobby and ensconced himself on the small sofa facing the entrance.

There weren’t many people in the lounge yet as Snow solicitously ushered me in. We had a choice of seats, so I took one where, by leaning slightly forward, I could see anyone at the desk but I couldn’t be seen from the desk. I was nervous, for I don’t like deceptions of this sort.

“You wouldn’t have Canadian Club whiskey, would you?” I heard Snow asking, and turned around in shocked surprise. “Oh, for you, Mom. Relax. Dutch courage.”

“With ice?” asked the waiter.

“If you have it,” replied Snow, at her most regal. Then she grinned impishly at the waiter, who winked back conspiratorially.

“Would you be wanting something, miss?”

“A Coke, please.”

“How you can consume all that Coke and not blow up into a balloon, Snow, is beyond me.” I remembered myself at her age, rather dumpy and terrified of eating
anything
, for everything I ate seemed to go to my hips. If a mother is fortunate enough to have daughters (and that’s what my mother always said, with the five girls and one boy), she is doubly blessed to have beautiful, slim, elegant ones. Eventually, I too made the grade.

“Oh, Mother,” my darling daughter said airily, “I burn it off. That’s what you always say.”

“Snow!”

She grinned, and then I knew her impertinence had been to distract me. Just as well: Sim’s map was flapping as if it would take off. Snow craned her neck beyond me to see the importunate Mr. Kelley.

His broad back was to us.

“Wouldn’t you just know!” said Snow irascibly.

I put my glasses on, and the man was well-enough dressed from this distance: dark-haired, a mackintosh thrown over one arm. He turned his head slightly, and I could see long sideburns, slightly darker than his head hair; and the plane of his left cheek. Suddenly I was aware that Simon was shaking his head violently behind the map.

The barman came with our drinks, an ill-timed interruption. I couldn’t seem to find the proper change, and finally Snow grabbed a pound note. By the time I could devote any attention to Mr. Kelley, he had turned his back fully toward us. And Simon kept shaking his head.

“Oh, dear.” I mean, Simon is only fourteen, and, having lost that wonderful intuitive sense of judgment that small children have, he hadn’t yet developed mature criteria.

Suddenly I was being paged, and I shriveled up against the overpadded seat. The waiter came back with the change.

“Aren’t you being paged, Mrs. Teasey?”

“Yes, but we don’t want to be bothered by that man,” Snow said in a stern voice. “Do we, Mommy?”

“Well, that is, no. I’d rather not.” I was horribly embarrassed.

“Well now. Not to worry,” the waiter said, very understanding, and he walked quickly to the bar. To my continuing mortification, the waiter and the barman had a conversation, the barman picked up the phone, and in a few seconds Mr. Kelley had been given the word. I watched his reaction, and he seemed to be giving the nice receptionist a very hard time. Relenting, I was about to get to my feet when he suddenly turned, and I was very glad I’d refused to see him. He was an angry man with a sort of piggy face on which sideburns only increased the porcine resemblance. Yes, he was furious at this check in his sale. By the way he strode out of the hotel, fists clenched, mouth pursed, I’d the feeling that he’d be awfully persistent.

“You just leave it to us, missus. If anyone comes bothering you that you don’t want to see, you just tell us,” said the waiter, back again in front of the table.

“It’s just that I’m so tired after the plane trip.” I felt obliged to give some explanation—he’d been so cooperative—but I trailed off as he nodded understandingly.

“You look awfully tired, Mom,” Snow said. “And we’ve such a lot to do tomorrow. You just finish that drink and off to bed with you.”

“Really, Snow …”

But the waiter seemed to approve. Basically, so did I. Then Simon joined us, maps folded neatly under his arm.

“Hands,” he said in cryptic disapproval.

“Really?” asked Snow.

“He looked the type.”

“Simon,
how
can you judge a person just by his hands?” I asked.

“Never wrong.” Simon looked at me with mild rebuke. “Besides, you should’ve heard the time he gave the receptionist. He wanted seeing you bad!”.

“Simon, please speak English.”

“Why? You speak Amurrican.”

“What’s with you two tonight?” I was suddenly very tired, and the whole improbable trip became impossible.

“With us is you, Mom,” replied Simon, knowing perfectly well what I meant. “C’mon, Sis, we better behave. She’s plum tuckered out. Sorry, Mother.” He slipped the map into his jacket pocket and stood up. “Let’s get this wreck of the Hesperus to bed. We can watch the telly in the lounge.”

With my children on either side of me, tugs for the wreck that I honestly felt myself to be, I left the lounge.

“Oh, here’s Mrs. Teasey now,” the receptionist was saying to a young woman.

I groaned in horror and sagged against the children. Mr. Kelley
was
persistent. How had he known that I—

“It’s a girl, Mother,” Snow said.

If I hadn’t wanted to meet Mr. Kelley, this young girl certainly didn’t want to meet me. She looked scared stiff.

“Here, Miss Teasey. The keys to Hillside Lodge.” She held out at arm’s length a ring of keys, some old, some shiny-new, attached by a thick string to a tag. “Mr. Noonan won’t be free until half two tomorrow. He suggests that you might like to look at the property. Oh, the map.” She fumbled in her pocket, an operation hampered by the fact that she had to juggle a motorcycle helmet and heavy gloves. I took the keys.

“Yes, I’d be relieved to see him. At two thirty?”

She nodded, still scared, got the map free of her pocket, and stepped up close. As she shoved the paper into my hand, she blurted out, “If Brian Kelley calls you, don’t promise anything. Please! Not until you’ve spoken to Mr. Noonan. Oh dear!” With that she turned and ran from the lobby. In a matter of seconds we heard the explosive roar of a heavy motorcycle gunning, then varooming out of the parking lot.