WE WERE INTERRUPTED by the phone. Leah passed the receiver over to me.
Liam McLaughlin sounded upbeat. “I hear the contracts are in.”
“You’re quick off the mark. Have you a spy in my filing cabinet or something?”
“Have you had a look at them yet?”
“Give me a chance. They only came in this morning. I’ll do them this afternoon.”
“Grand.” He paused. “How are you feeling after yesterday?”
“Fine. Thanks for rescuing me.”
“God, I got some fright when I saw your poor little Mini in the ditch.”
“You and me both.”
“So, if you’re back at work, does that mean you’re fit to come to the Wax Auction tonight?” I could tell he was grinning on the other end of the phone.
I groaned. “Do I have to?”
“You’ll be missed, if you don’t. I have you down as one of the sponsors. It’s at six.”
The pub was heaving when I walked into the Oak at half past six. A band was playing at one end on a makeshift stage and an overpowering smell of burning wax filled the air. Three massage beds had been erected in one corner of the pub, and three women in bright yellow T-shirts bearing the words Brid’s Beauticians were enthusiastically applying strips of hot wax to their victims’ legs and chests, much to the enjoyment of the crowd that had formed around each one. Every yelp provoked a loud cheer.
Andy McFadden was on one bed; he must be the garda representative, I thought. Clearly they hadn’t persuaded Molloy to take part or maybe he was otherwise engaged. I decided not to think about that. Hal McKinney was on a second bed, and on the third, playing up to the crowd and lapping up the attention was Simon Howard.
“Need a ticket?” A grinning Hugh O’Connor was seated at a table with a Scottish shortbread biscuit tin full of cash.
“No, thanks. I’ve already been stung for sponsorship.”
“Great. I have something for you to sign.” The boy handed me a list of names on a clipboard and directed me to mine.
“How did you get roped into this?” I asked.
“I’m going to be Captain of the Under Twenties next year,” he smiled.
“Ah.”
“Got to have pride in your own town. That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? No one else is going to do it for us.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
He took the clipboard back. “Donegal is the forgotten county and Inishowen is the forgotten part of Donegal. That’s what my grandfather used to say. It’s up to us to look after our own.”
“You were close to your grandfather?”
“I was only a wee fella when he died, but I’ve read all his speeches in the Dail. They’re on the net.” His eyes narrowed. “You should have a look yourself. If you’re going to stay around here, you should read up on a bit of local history.”
I was about to say something noncommittal when I heard Liam’s voice at my shoulder. “So you came, then?”
“As I remember it, you didn’t give me much choice.”
“And you’ve met our Hugh, I see. Wouldn’t have been able to do it without this young fella. Carted all the stuff over from Brid’s with his young mate over there.” He nodded in the direction of the acne-faced youth I had seen with Hugh at the weekend, standing uncomfortably by the window. “Gained yourself a few fans in the process too, eh?”
He winked. “Just what we need – a bit of community-mindedness in the youth. Future Taoiseach in the making, aren’t you?”
A shout came from the waxing corner. “Liam, you’re up!’
Liam headed back over. I was just about to follow him to see what was happening when Hugh grabbed me by the arm.
“I hope Aidan didn’t cause you any bother earlier on.”
“Not at all. It’s fine. I was just concerned that you knew he was talking to me about your case.”
“I wouldn’t pay any heed to him,” the boy said dismissively.
“No one does.”
One positive side effect of going to the Wax Auction was that I didn’t have time to think about dinner with Simon Howard. Since I had agreed to it, I had come close to losing my nerve and canceling any number of times. But I was more determined than ever to find out what I could about his relationship with Marguerite, and so it was too good an opportunity to turn down. And let’s face it, my own ego needed a little massaging after what had happened with Molloy. Was I playing a dangerous game? Perhaps.
As Liam had so kindly pointed out, it might have been a while, but apparently I was still capable of carrying out the pre-date ritual. After trying on at least six different outfits and leaving them strewn across the bedroom, watched all the while by a bemused Guinness sitting in the doorway, I finally settled on a simple short black dress which I wore with a silver perfume-bottle pendant my parents had given me for my thirtieth. At half past eight, I put on my coat, lured Guinness out the door with some left-over chicken and walked across the green to Caffrey’s on the other side of the village.
I was about to open the door to the restaurant when my phone beeped. A text. Damn it, I thought. After all that, he’s going to be late or, worse, cancel entirely. But it was from Maeve. Have fun. Break a leg!
Simon was sitting in one of the old armchairs by the fire in the little pre-dinner drinks area, sipping a glass of wine and flicking through one of the books piled up on the table beside him, looking utterly at ease. He stood up when he saw me. I could smell his aftershave as he kissed me on the cheek.
“You look lovely.”
“Thank you. So do you. After your earlier trauma.”
He gave me a quizzical look before laughing when he figured out what I meant. “Oh, the Oak. I thought I saw you there. It was good fun. I’m a bit raw though, I can tell you. Those girls are rough.” He gestured towards his glass. “I hope you don’t mind but I ordered us a bottle of Chablis. If you don’t like it, we can order something else.”
“I’m sure it’s lovely.”
The waiter, a boy racer I had defended on a charge of careless driving at the last court, looking angelic in white shirt and black trousers, took my coat and handed us menus while Simon poured me a glass of wine. We ordered food and made small talk while we waited for our table and after ten minutes we moved to a secluded table in the corner of the restaurant. And eventually I began to relax, probably because of the wine. But I still hadn’t worked out how I was going to introduce Marguerite into the conversation.
“Where is your Mini?” Simon asked. “I didn’t notice it outside your house.”
Oddly, I found it a little unnerving that he knew where I lived, although it wasn’t exactly a state secret. But I told him about my accident.
He looked horrified. “That sounds bloody awful. Are you okay now?”
“Oh, sure. I was a bit shaken up but I wasn’t really hurt.”
He reached out to place his hand on mine across the table. I wasn’t sure whether I liked it or not. It crossed my mind that I must be seriously starved of physical affection if I couldn’t tell the difference – and the thought was so ludicrous it made me want to laugh. I reddened and picked up my wine glass.
“It’s a bad area for car accidents around here, isn’t it?” he said. “I was reading some fairly disturbing statistics in the Journal.”
I smiled. “The Journal. Listen to you! A few achs, ayes, and wees and you’ll soon be talking like a local.”
“I have them already,” he teased. “I’m Scottish, remember?”
I asked him about his life in Scotland and he told me he was a widower, that his wife had died a few years previously from cancer.
“I’m sorry. I suppose that’s why you and your son are so close.”
“Are we?” he asked quietly. “I’m not so sure. He was very attached to his mother. I did think that we might live together here but I sometimes wonder if the only reason he even visits is to see the damn dog.”
“What does he do for a living?”
“Oh, God knows. Something to do with money. Accountancy? Something soulless anyway.”
“You’re quite different, aren’t you?” I said.
“Oh, I think he and I have very little in common. To be honest, I suspect if it wasn’t for that dog, we’d never see each other. Might be easier. I didn’t mean that,” he added quickly.
“I had a rather odd conversation with him actually. On Sunday.”
“Oh?”
“He seemed to be almost warning me off.”
Simon’s eyes narrowed. “Warning you off what, exactly?”
“I wasn’t entirely sure. He seemed to be implying that you – how shall I put it? – like women.”
Simon laughed. “Well, he’s not wrong there. There’s no law against that though, is there?”
“Well, no …”
“As I said, he and his mother were very close. He was an only child, of course, and he had some medical problems when he was younger which meant he was a bit clingier than other kids. When she died, he was only seventeen. I’ve always got the feeling that he would be happier if I stayed celibate for the rest of my life.”
“Ah. I see.”
“Unfortunately, that’s not in my nature.” Simon smiled as he poured me another glass of wine.
“It must have been pretty traumatic for him all the same, losing his mother to cancer when he was still so young.”
“I suppose. He took off for a few years traveling.”
“After she died? On his own?” It struck me as an odd thing to do, or to be allowed to do, more to the point, at seventeen, immediately after losing your mother.
“Aye. Just made up his mind to go for it. Seemed to do him some good. Frankly, he’s always been a wee bit ‘different’ for want of a better way of putting it, but he came back a bit more together. Had a job and everything.”
“The job he’s doing now? That he travels for?”
“I think so,” Simon said vaguely.
“He seemed upset when I was talking to him.” Something stopped me from telling him what David had said about Marguerite. I thought I’d leave that for later.
Simon waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t mind him, seriously. He’s just lacking in a few social skills.”
We ordered a second bottle of wine after the main course, which meant we were the last two in the restaurant at half past eleven when the staff began to drop hints about closing up. Simon suggested we go to the pub next door for a last drink. As we left the restaurant, he placed his hand briefly on my back in a gentle, protective gesture.
As I watched him order two brandies at the bar, I realized how much I had enjoyed the evening. He had disarmed me. But I still hadn’t managed to bring up the subject of Marguerite; there just hadn’t been an opportunity to do it without seeming as if I was interviewing him. And part of me hadn’t wanted to. Part of me wanted to pretend this was nothing more than dinner with a man to whom I was attracted. Which, I had to admit, I was.
“Let’s do it again,” he said, as he raised his glass a few minutes later.
Perfect, I thought. I’ll get another opportunity. It’ll come much more naturally if I know him a bit better.
“I had fun. Thank you,” I said. “Think I might have a bit of a hangover in the morning though.”
“Oh, but worth it, surely?” He laughed, leaned over, and kissed me briefly on the lips, taking me completely by surprise.