The Naas road was hospitably and unusually clear of heavy traffic. Not even the wet glare of the damp roads was doing anything to delay Columbo as he cruised his way to Leachlara with Dan in absolutely reluctant tow. He might as well have been mute, not in a sullen way but totally preoccupied, so Columbo had decided to leave him be. He had of course made some valiant attempts at conversation, but Dan was having none of it. Faced with a wall of silence unwilling to crumble, Columbo turned up the radio and concentrated on getting to Leachlara as soon as possible. He adhered to the speed limit erratically and mostly unintentionally. A frivolity such as a speed sign was not going to obstruct important business; besides, he did happen to know a few people who could quash a summons if the need arose.
At teatime he had rung the Abernethy house to have a quick word with Con. He felt triumphant that he had snared Dan and was bringing him home to ease the pressure on Con and defuse a nasty situation for the party. His boss was edgy on the phone and didn’t seem half as grateful as Columbo felt was his due. Maybe Mary was in the vicinity and causing tension, he reasoned to himself through his disappointment. The conversation was brief, with Columbo blaming a bad line so that the awkwardness between them would not have to be acknowledged. A thaw set in on his passenger as they covered the last miles to Leachlara.
‘I’m not sure what you all think I can do, you know. When Mam goes off the deep end she generally has to make the return trip all by herself. If Dad has tried and failed – well, then I’m not sure I have a hope in hell. It’s a mistake me coming down. Sure neither of them listens to me.’
Columbo waited, not wanting to interrupt Dan’s sudden bout of loquaciousness, but Dan just as quickly fell silent again. Columbo dived in with rousing encouragement.
‘Good God, Dan, they idolize you! Don’t you see that is why I am bringing you home? You are Exhibit A. You are the reason that this tripe your mother is peddling will never leave the four walls. You are the bomb-disposal unit of the Abernethy house. Your mother would never risk your future or embarrassment no matter how pissed she is with your father.’
‘Columbo, when you came to the hospital today you said it was all a horrible misunderstanding, that Mam was blowing things all out of proportion. Can I take it that you are now admitting that something actually happened between my father and Leda Clancy?’
Columbo didn’t answer. He was getting angry with a cautious driver in front who was pedantic about being in the thirty-miles-an-hour zone, but mostly he was just buying time. Con Abernethy’s house was only five minutes away and he had to deliver Dan in the best possible form, ready to put his shoulder to the job of calming Mary Abernethy down.
Dan knew what his silence meant and he reacted as if he had been kicked in the gut. ‘For Jesus’ sake, Columbo, there is no point lying to me. Why didn’t you just tell me what you knew about this rather than bringing me here like some kind of blindfolded social worker to iron this shit out? If my dad is shagging a schoolgirl don’t you think I might need to know the truth?’
The Abernethy house was coming into their view, fully illuminated in a copse of trees and set back from the main road. It had been a rector’s house originally and had now been owned by the Abernethy family for two generations. The copper and russet tones of a beech hedge lined the curling avenue and the bare bark of a Virginia creeper clad the elegant walls with its branches framing the imposing entrance. Columbo slowed the pace to a respectful limit as he proceeded up the avenue. He brought the car to a halt in the yard that ran round the side of the house and led to the back door. When the car was silent, save for the radio, he turned to give Dan one more shot of adrenalin before he left the cocoon of the car.
‘Look, your father is a good man. If he has slipped and made a mistake – and I am not saying for sure that he has, mind – but if he has, then it’s one slip-up in a glorious and unblemished life.’
‘You’ll be nominating him for canonization next and we both know, whatever he is, my father is certainly no saint.’
Columbo allowed himself a small sigh of relief at Dan’s stab at humour. Maybe all was not lost. ‘All I am saying is talk to them. Bring your mother down from the roof where she has perched herself. She will give herself heart failure and we don’t want that.’
Dan wasn’t so sure Columbo felt that benignly about his mother: a bout of ill health for her would probably be utterly convenient because it would put the genie back in the bottle and harmony would be restored, temporarily at least. Still, there was no point in blaming Columbo, the party, or Leda Clancy for that matter. The Abernethys had brought this crap on themselves and it looked as if he had been appointed mediator supreme. He grabbed his holdall from the back seat where he had flung it when he had got in at Leeson Street Bridge. ‘I take it you are not coming in then?’ he said, trying to get a rise out of Columbo. He knew that tonight of all nights his father’s apostle would offer to swim laps of Lough Derg instead.
‘Ah no, Dan, it’s late and you will need your own time to sort this out. I’ll talk to your father in the morning. Maybe call round even. To tell you the truth, I’m hoping to make Shanahan’s before they close because I told a fellow I’d meet him there.’
Lucky bastard, Dan thought as he ambled his way to the back porch. The outside light was on and a gleeful array of moths flirted in the brightness. With a heavy heart he turned his key in the back door and went inside to see who and what was still up.