The Kilternan Legacy (29 page)

“Good God! How could Teddie have heard of Mrs. Slaney?”

Michael merely nodded in Nosy’s direction.

“You mean, you think I’ve been followed since I got here?”

Our drinks arrived then, and I took a long, long pull. Michael, noticing, indicated to the barboy to bring two more.

“That impossible, incredible man! How could he do such a thing?” Very easily, I realized, remembering the unserved injunction to keep us from even leaving the States. What maggot was possessing Ted Stanford now? “Well, I’m glad you didn’t mention this in front of the twins. They’ll be livid.”

Michael’s eyebrows went up. “You’re going to tell them?”

I sighed, thinking back to that earlier conversation. “Neither of them is stupid. Sooner or later they’ll see Nosy, and it doesn’t take them long to put facts together.”

“You Yanks!”

“Yeah,” I said, with no enthusiasm. “But what
can
he do?” I asked, in a fine state of agitation.

“Legally,” Michael said in a forceful way, “nothing. I understand from van Vliet that at their ages your children have some say in the choice of parent.” He shrugged as if that solved my problem entirely. “I’d hazard the guess that the man is merely trying to ruin your holiday.”

“He’s got company.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I was thinking of the aunts,” I said, with a heavy sigh.

“Now, now, Rene, cheer up. After all, you
haven’t
murdered anyone.” He said it to shock me out of my depression, and he did.

“Speaking of Mrs. Slaney,” I began brightly, “how much would it cost me to get Fahey out
now
? I really don’t need any more unsavory characters on my queendom.”

“I’ll sound him out. How high would you go?”

“Well, I refuse to be milked, but I don’t want anything to do with a man like that. More important: Does Tom Slaney have any legal right to squat in that cottage now that his mother’s dead?”

“Tom Slaney’s legal rights are nil as far as the cottage goes.”

“Is there an inquest coming?” I asked.

“As it happened, her physician had seen her the previous week, and her heart failure was no surprise.”

“What about the hole in her head?” I’m not a vindictive person, but the appalling nature of her final injury made me wish that her son would suffer something in the way of justice,

“Ah, yes, well, she
died
from the heart attack. Slaney admitted to her collapse, said she struck her head on the hearth—I understand there’s corroborative evidence—and he put her in the bed. He was, on his own admission, drink-taken. It’s been proved that he came back to her cottage Friday night to get money from her, since her pension had just been paid. At any rate, according to the barman, when he returned to the pub he had money enough to drink himself stocious. He did end up spending the night in the nick.”

“While his poor mother lay dead …”

“Legally one could split hairs on this, and I don’t know yet if there will be a prosecution. She died first, you see.”

“Of fright, terror, disappointment … And where is that creature”—I preferred to call him ‘murderer’—“now?”

“He’s still in custody. He won’t bother you, and as far as the cottage is concerned, it has reverted to the landlord—you.” Michael patted my hand reassuringly. He had such nice hands.

He started to recount a case he’d been briefed with which was so outrageous and improbable that I had to keep my mind on it. Then he regaled me with several more highly amusing incidents so that “Time, ladies and gentlemen” caught me cornpletely by surprise, and with some dismay.

“Hungry, Rene?” asked Michael as we left the pub.

I naturally glanced over my shoulder to see if Nosy was there. Michael gave me a little shake.

“All aboveboard,” he said. “If we can make it to Stepaside by half eleven, we can
eat
and drink. Might as well spend your ex-husband’s money on Nosy’s expenses … huh?”

“Hey, great!” I laughed. Michael was giving me the proper perspective.

As he drove off this time, it was at a circumspect speed.

“Speaking of ex-husbands, Michael, couldn’t Mary Cuniff get an annulment and then be free?”

“Of course.”

“How much does an annulment cost, then?”

“More than Mary can manage to save.”

“Not more than George would be willing to spend, though?”

“Hmmm. My dear girl, you are remarkable. But are you so certain Mary would jump out of one fire into another?”

“George is different! I know she really thinks so.”

“Does she?” His question hinted at others unasked.

“Why?”

“Irene …” and then he stopped, and took a rather sharp curve carefully.

“I’ve a suspicion,” I began, to relieve his conscience, “that my Great-aunt Irene had some blind spots in her philanthropy. I feel that George is right for Mary. Why must she be condemned to this sort of half life, this sense of being trapped, or Molly, for that matter? It just perpetuates the problems in the next generation.”

“And you a divorced woman?”

I sighed. “My marriage to Teddie failed for very understandable reasons. But that doesn’t mean that I couldn’t and wouldn’t make a second marriage work. In fact, I’d be better at it. I know so many of the pitfalls.”

“Oh?”

Michael’s reply was too bland, and I realized how my attitude had suddenly polarized. In spite of what I’d seen of Irish marriages, and in spite of what I knew about the high divorce rate of American marriages, I was essentially a romantic, cockeyed optimist. And I really did like having a man about the house. Domestic by temperament, I liked to “do” for a man. I’d missed that these past eighteen months. While it was enthralling to have a queendom of my own, while I was enjoying the redecoration, I was also more and more aware that a good bit of such industry is doing it for a particular man: to please him, to give him a reason to boast to his friends about his home and his wife, and to give him a valid reason for coming home at all.

“Yes, ‘oh,’” I said tartly, in answer to Michael. “There are some areas in which the resemblance between my great-aunt and me fails completely. Another thing: How can Ann Purdee get a legal separation? I’m willing to finance it. I can
always
say it was Aunt Irene’s wish.”

Michael gave a snort. “Irene did not like her protgégés …”

“Succumbing?” I asked testily, when he couldn’t find an appropriate verb. “Will or will not a legal separation give her protection against that husband of hers?”

“Yes, it would,” Michael said. “I have suggested it. But the separation has to be made by mutual consent.”

“And you don’t see Paddy Purdee consenting?”

“Consenting, no. But he’d do anything for a price.”

“You know him?”

“Yes. Irene tried to put the fear of the law and the Lord into him.”

“Then why is Ann Purdee scared?”

“Irene Teasey is dead. He was afraid of her. “

I thought of my aunt’s diminutive stature. “Good heavens.”

“Irene in an angry mood was … formidable, Rene.” Michael was both amused and respectful. “She tore strips out of him.”

“She met him?”

“In my office. I arranged the meeting.”

“Then he’d know who and where …”

“I doubt it. For starters, your aunt’s name was never mentioned. And the interview was attended by one of Irene’s very good friends in the Gardai. Unfortunately, that gentleman has also passed on. We’ll just hope that Purdee is still fishing a long trip and hasn’t heard.”

Undoubtedly Rene’s Law applied to Ann, and Paddy Purdee would run into some person who knew about Irene Teasey, where she lived, and Ann’s situation.

As we turned into the parking lot of the Stepaside Inn, Nosy wasn’t far behind us, and I sighed deeply. I too did not like being followed. Once more I was visited by the irresistible desire to cut stakes here instantly and go back to my own country. But that would be cowardly, and worse, Teddie would think he had won.

We were lucky to find a table, for the Inn was rather full. As Michael pointed out, it was one excuse to keep on drinking past licensed hours and to get a solid base of food for more drinking at home.

“There’s one more business,” I said after we’d given the waitress our order.

“Yes?” he said encouragingly when I faltered.

“Do you know why my aunt turned against Shay Kerrigan? I mean, exactly why?”

Michael gave me the blank look which I suspected he found useful in courtrooms.

“Oh, c’mon, Michael,
I
know even if Aunt Irene shoved it under the convenient heading of protecting someone innocent. Was she explicit to you? The thing is, I don’t think she got the right man. And it would alter matters considerably if I could prove it.”

“Oh?” Again that horribly bland response.

“Really, Michael. You’re infuriating. And it’s not betraying a professional confidence to tell me if she was explicit. You have only to say that much and I’ll reveal what I’ve found out.”

Michael took ages to make up his mind. “She said, as nearly as I can remember her exact words, that she had been bitterly disappointed in Shay, that he had abused her confidence and lost her respect; he deserved no assistance from her.”

“Then she never confronted him?”

“She absolutely refused to see him.”

“That wasn’t fair.”

“Does ‘fair’ enter into it?”

“I think so. He’s supposed to have fathered Sally Hanahoe’s baby.”

This was as much a shock to Michael as it had been to me. He blinked and stared at me as if he doubted his ears, strengthening my own belief in Shamus.

“Yes, and furthermore he’s supposed to have told Sally that he was married and covered his tracks so well that she couldn’t find him. She had to have the baby on her own.”

Michael had begun to shake his head from side to side.

“I don’t believe it either,” I went on. “And for good reasons. One, Shamus made no secret to me of the fact that he’s not married, nor likely to marry. Two, he has a keen sense of family responsibility. Look at his kindnesses to his nephew, his courtesies to the Ladies Brandel. They’re damned good judges of character. But it fits in with what I’m beginning to understand about Aunt Irene. She would think the worst of a man, any man, without bothering to ask yes, no, or maybe. Furthermore, when I mentioned Sally Hanahoe’s name to him it didn’t, absolutely didn’t, ring a bell. I’d stake my life on it.” Michael gave me a knowing glance, which I dismissed angrily. “I hear things when people are dissembling.”

“He’s got a good barrister in you. Too good!”

“Oh, nonsense, Michael. I simply can’t stand injustice and … and …”

“You’re feeling guilty about the access?”

“Well … Oh, I
know
he was making nice-nice when he thought he could wheedle the right of way out of me but… he’s gone on being …” The waitress fortuitously arrived with our suppers, and when we spoke again, the subject of Shay Kerrigan did not come up. I heard that somehow Michael preferred not to discuss him any more.

The lights were on at my house when Michael turned up the lane. (My lane.) We were halfway to the door when it was flung open and my children stalked out to intercept us.

“Where have you been, Mommy?” demanded Snow, worried and angry.

“Oh, good Lord, I’m so sorry. We went on for a bit to eat and—”

“It’s my fault, Simon, Snow,” Michael interrupted, with suspicious meekness. “I know I promised to have her back after closing time … but we’re only forty-five minutes late.”

Snow began to giggle, and Simon’s frown disappeared.

“Aw, Mom, we’re not that way,” he said.

“No, it was inconsiderate of us,” Michael said. “It won’t happen again.”

“Ah, fer Pete’s sake …”

Then I sensed Snow’s unspoken anxiety.

“What’s happened, honey?”

Beside me I could see Michael tense, and we exchanged glances. But Nosy had been following me …

“Gerry… you know, your cousin … Alice’s son… was here with the motorcycle girl…”

“And… ?” I prompted, silently complimenting Simon on his diplomacy.

“They wouldn’t
tell
us.” Snow was miffed. “But they’re very anxious to see you. Like then!”

“Gerry said he’d give you a shout tomorrow morning.”

“Well, that’s that, then.” I turned to Michael, extending my hand. He held it in such a way that, for some obscure reason, I was very glad of my children’s presence. Oh dear, what was wrong with me? Michael was so nice, and yet… I thanked him profusely for the lovely evening and the business we’d done in the pubs, and he said that he’d check into matters and ring me later next week.

I DID NOT sleep well, which was surprising with all I’d had to drink: anxiety over Teddie’s next ploy, I supposed. But at five thirty, I finally admitted to myself that I was in the thralls of sexual frustration.

I missed Shamus Kerrigan! I missed him for himself, his easy charm, the warmth of his rather boyish smile, the reassurance of his presence in my vicinity, visible or invisible. Not that Michael wasn’t charming too; he did have an easy way about him, a nice smile, good hands, but I
relied
on Michael, and I most certainly hadn’t wanted to be kissed by him. Which had been very much on his mind during the later part of our evening together.

I was thwarted, too. Michael didn’t believe Shay Kerrigan would be irresponsible toward a girl he’d got pregnant but it was Ann Purdee I had to prove that to. Because if I didn’t, I lost any chance of influencing Ann. She wouldn’t trust me, and I had to be in her confidence to deal with Paddy Purdee for her sake.

But clearing Shay would serve several purposes: One, I’d get in good with him by being able, with a clear conscience, to give him access up the lane; two, it would show Ann that Irene could be wrong about a man or men; three, it would put me in a damned good light. (Preserve the Image!)

I snorted at my conceit. I’d done such a good job of managing my own life that I should give someone else pointers? C’mon, Rene, be honest. The only point of the three is that you’ll ingratiate yourself with Shamus Kerrigan. But what if he really is only buttering you up to get that access? You give it, he goes off his merry way, and then where will you be in Ann’s and Sally’s eyes?