THERE WAS A figure perched on the wall outside my cottage when I emerged the next morning, with Guinness sitting contentedly beside him. Bloody treacherous cat.
“You’re running late, aren’t you?” Simon jumped down on to the footpath and matched my stride as I walked towards my car.
“Yes, I am.” I opened the driver’s door. “I haven’t time to talk. You know how it is sometimes.”
He grinned. “Oh, look. I know you’re bloody furious with me. And I’m sorry. I just get that way when I’m working. I can’t take interruptions.”
“I’ve managed to figure that one out for myself.”
“Forgive me? I thought you might want to do something on Friday night?”
“I won’t be here.”
“Going somewhere exotic?”
“No. I just won’t be here.”
“Do you mean you won’t be here for me or you won’t be here in general?”
“Both.”
“Oh, come on. I sent you a text. You didn’t reply.” Simon crossed his arms and leaned against the car.
“Correct.” I sat in, closed the door and put the key in the ignition.
He whistled. “Lord. I must remember not to cross you again.” Then he knocked on the window. Reluctantly, I opened it.
“Is there nothing I can do to make it up to you?” he said, a mock-mournful expression on his face.
“Actually …” I turned to face him.
“Go on.” He smiled. “Anything. Ask me anything at all.”
“Did you tell the guards that Marguerite used to walk on the beach?”
The smile disappeared. “I have no idea.”
“Did you ever see her there?” I persisted.
“David used to run into her on the beach when he was walking the dog. I may have told them that.”
“Thank you.” I wound the window back up and started the engine.
“Hey?” He knocked on the window again. “Am I forgiven then?”
I ignored him and pulled away from the curb. I could see his reflection in the mirror, looking exasperated.
“Isn’t that a rather extreme reaction to a bit of artistic temperament?” I bumped into Maeve on the street outside the office. “I thought you had a good time with him last weekend?”
“I did, but it was all moving a bit fast. I’ve too much going on at the moment.”
Maeve sighed. “Jesus, Ben. When are you going to take a few risks?”
I changed the subject, suspecting I had taken one too many risks already. “So what’s happening about this yoga class?”
“Oh, I think that might have died a death. The others reckoned they couldn’t face listening to a Derry accent. Made out they wouldn’t find it very relaxing.” Maeve chuckled.
“I suppose they might have a point.”
She crossed her arms, back into interrogation mode. “You didn’t let David put you off, by any chance, did you? With Simon?”
“Nope.”
“Because I reckon you might have been a bit hard on him. I think David might be kinder than you give him credit for.”
I took my keys from my bag and turned towards the door. “You’d find it impossible to dislike anyone who was a dog-lover.”
“It’s not that. I saw him helping Marguerite’s daughter clear out her cottage after the funeral.”
I spun around. “Really? I had no idea they even knew each other.”
“It doesn’t mean they did. He could have just offered to help. It reminded me of something. I saw him helping Marguerite once too. At the book shop.”
“Really?”
“Yes. She was taking a delivery of some books, and he carried them in for her. Actually I wondered if she might be ill – she seemed a little dizzy. Anyway, David came to her rescue; they appeared to get on well.” Maeve then added, “We could do with a bit more of that kind of neighborliness at the moment. I’m off to visit a farmer who had his barn burned down at the weekend.”
“God.”
“Complete accident apparently, according to him, but he’s in a bad way. No feed for the animals, so all his neighbors are pitching in to help. A bit of kindness can make a hell of a difference sometimes.”
There was no chance for me to absorb this latest development because as soon as I got back to the office Clodagh O’Connor was waiting for me. She followed me upstairs without a smile and arranged herself carefully on the seat I offered her.
It was only when I sat down opposite that I realized how awful she looked; she had huge bags under her eyes and her skin was red and blotchy as if she had been crying. She wasn’t wearing any make-up and she looked very different without it – older.
It seemed trite to pretend I hadn’t noticed. “Are you okay?” I asked.
She was brusque. “I’m fine. I want to know what’s happening with my son’s case.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I can’t discuss his business with anyone else.”
“I’m his mother.”
“I know, but he is over eighteen.” I tried to keep my tone conciliatory. I had left a message for Hugh on his voicemail after talking to Molloy the night before. “I’m sure he’ll be able to tell you himself if you ask him.”
“I’m asking you to tell me now,” she said rudely.
“And I can’t. Not without your son’s consent. That’s just the way it is.”
She glared at me. “I know my husband has already been to see you. I wonder if you were more helpful to him!”
I gazed back at her as if I had no idea what she meant. I got the impression that Clodagh O’Connor was not accustomed to hearing the word no.
“What was he talking to you about?” she demanded.
I shook my head. “Again, Clodagh, I can’t talk to you about anyone else’s business.”
Her tone softened a little – a change of tack. “Was it Hugh? I presume it was. That’s why I thought I’d better come and see you myself. Aidan is not the most effective of people.”
“Your husband seems to be very well liked,” I said.
Her eyes flashed. “What is that supposed to mean?” She placed her bag on the floor with a gesture which said I’m not going anywhere. As she did so, her sleeve rode up and I was distracted for a second.
She leaned forward. “Don’t believe everything Aidan says. He’s weak. He’s never been any good at standing on his own feet.”
“You’re obviously concerned about him.”
She snorted. “Aidan’s fine. Hugh is the one I’m worried about. Hugh’s the one who has a big future ahead of him.” There was that word again. Fine.
“So I hear.”
“He’s special – born to it, like his grandfather. That’s why this stupid charge mustn’t be allowed to stick. I can’t let his future be destroyed by some Mickey Mouse driving offence.”
Suddenly something snapped and I just couldn’t listen to her any more, confidentiality or not. “They’ve been dropped.”
“What?”
“The charges have been dropped. I’ve left a message for your son.”
For a brief second I thought she was going to hit me. I’m sure she wanted to. Instead she picked up her bag, barked, “Why the hell didn’t you say so to begin with?” and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.