Chapter Twenty

The street was wet and slippery when Penny left the pub. She zippered up her jacket, put the hood up, and tucked her bag under her arm. She needed to find a café or sheltered place to make a phone call. When she reached the Spire of Dublin on O’Connell Street, a branch of an international chain of coffee shops beckoned from a nearby corner. She entered and, without stopping to order a coffee, found a seat in a quiet corner and rang Inspector Bethan Morgan.

“Oh, I’m so glad you answered,” Penny exclaimed a moment later. “I’m in Dublin, and I’ve just spoken to Michael Quinn. I didn’t want to say too much to him, but you need to talk to him. I’m sure he’s involved in the theft of the Black Chair. I think he was the one who helped the gang of thieves by describing the layout of the house, and he was probably inside it on the Saturday night. He could be the one who threatened Lane. Whether he was involved in the death of Rhodri Phillips, I don’t know, but he certainly knew about it.” She listened, then replied to Bethan’s question. “Because when I told him that a former student of his had been killed, his reaction was so muted. Now if I’d just been told that someone I used to know had been killed, I’d want details. How? When? That’s how most people would react, wouldn’t they? They’d say, ‘Oh, no, that’s terrible. What happened?’ And yet Michael Quinn asked almost nothing. And besides that, he was in a pub, in Llanelen, the day after it happened, and everyone in the pub must have been talking about it. Now mind you, he’s been drinking, so maybe his brain’s befuddled, but I’m convinced he’s involved in the theft and possibly the murder, so you definitely need to talk to him.”

She answered a few more questions, then said, “He’s in the Celt pub right now on Talbot Street. He’ll be there for at least another twenty minutes. Can you ask the Dublin police to pick him up and hold him for you?” And then in response to Bethan’s asking how she knew he’d be in the pub, Penny replied, “Because just before I left, I bought him a drink, and he should be taking his first sip of it just about now. He’s not going anywhere for a bit.” Penny then told her she’d be home late that night, said she hoped they’d talk soon, and rang off.

*   *   *

At closing time, she reluctantly descended the stone steps of the National Gallery of Ireland to find that darkness had fallen while she had been losing herself in vast collections of Irish and Continental European art, both classic and modern. The imposing building that housed the works was beautiful in itself, and the experience reminded her that as much as she enjoyed her life in Llanelen, cities offered cultural, artistic, and metropolitan experiences like galleries and theatres that she could not access in her quiet town, and remembering how much she’d enjoyed international travel in her twenties, she told herself she should do more of that. She promised herself she’d return to Dublin soon, stay longer, and see and do more.

She’d been so entranced by the beautiful collections that she’d almost managed to blot out the conversation with Michael Quinn, and now back in the real world, she decided to set it firmly to one side while she focused on getting herself ready for the ferry journey home. She’d passed a supermarket express on her walk to the Gallery, so she returned there and picked up a couple of sandwiches, a drink, and a bar of chocolate for the three-hour crossing. As she emerged from the shop, a taxi slowed and she hailed it.

After checking in at the ferry terminal, she was instructed to wait in the lounge until it was time to board. Penny walked down a short, narrow hallway that opened into a large, utilitarian waiting area. Just inside the door a hot beverage service had been set up, and she bought a coffee before finding a seat. Because this was an off-season, evening sailing, her fellow passengers were middle-aged or elderly couples and a few well-dressed men, professionals headed to Britain on business, perhaps.

There were lots of empty seats to choose from. She had just sat down and taken a sip of coffee when shouts and whoops of laughter coming from the doorway caused her and everyone around her to look up as two women, one blonde and one with dark hair, accompanied by three children, an older girl and two smaller boys, entered. The blonde woman’s hair showed several inches of dark roots, and her puffy jacket that had once been white was open to reveal a pink top with a high-heeled shoe made of glitter stretched over an ample bosom. Jeans ripped at the thighs and knees bulged over her broad hips. The other woman, her dark hair scraped back in a severe ponytail that gave her face a stretched appearance, looked a few years younger, but not young enough to be the blonde woman’s daughter. Both women had a hard, uncompromising look about them, as if they were used to being in charge and getting their own way.

“Sit the kids down and keep them quiet,” the blonde woman ordered the girl in a thick Irish accent. “Look after your cousins while me and your aunt go out for a fag.” The girl, who Penny estimated to be about fourteen or fifteen, took the two boys by the hands and led them to empty chairs while the women disappeared through a doorway on the far side of the room, letting in a cold blast of night air. The children were thin, their light-brown hair matted and stringy, and from where she sat Penny could detect a sour, unwashed odour. An elderly woman a few chairs closer to the children caught Penny’s eye, raised a disapproving eyebrow, gave a light but clearly judgemental shake of her head, and moved to a chair further away from them. The children remained quiet and motionless until the women returned. The blonde woman opened a plastic carrier bag and handed the girl a can of fizzy drink and a small bag of crisps. “Here’s your tea, and share it out with your cousins.” Penny thought of the two sandwiches in her bag but decided not to offer them. The woman had such a domineering manner, Penny didn’t think her gesture would be well received.

At last, the door from the outside opened and a man wearing an orange–and–lime green high-visibility vest motioned to the passengers that it was time to make their way to the bus that would transport them to the ship. After a short drive the bus pulled into the vessel’s bowels and stopped alongside long lines of cars and lorries.

“Stay together now,” the dark-haired woman shouted at the children as they left the bus. Penny followed them up a wide metal staircase for several floors to the main passenger deck. A section of the lounge near the entrance featured a cafeteria-style food service operation, serving hot meals and snacks, and beside it was a bar with a full selection of beer, wines, and liquor. A large area was given over to mixed seating arrangements, including theatre-style rows, tables and chairs along the windows, and banquettes with tables. Penny chose a small round table beside a window, although there would be little to see. The passengers dispersed around the lounge, and the women with the children chose a banquette across the aisle from Penny.

Several decks below, a low, rumbling vibration indicated that the engines were starting up. The ship shuddered to life and then slowly slipped away. Soon the twinkling harbour lights of Dublin disappeared into the rainy mist, and the ship was enveloped in the blackness of the open sea.

Penny closed her eyes. But just as she was about to drift off, the harsh voice of the blonde woman at the banquette cut into her solitude. “I told you, you cheeky beggar, no, you can’t have fish and chips. You’ll get something to eat when we get there.” One of the small boys started crying. “You stop that right now, do you hear me?” the woman said. “Oh, I can’t take any more of his mithering,” she said to the girl. “Keep an eye on them while we get a couple of cans.” The two women strode to the bar, once again leaving the girl in charge of the smaller children. Penny thought again of the sandwiches in her bag, but she didn’t dare offer them to the children without their mother’s permission. What if something in the sandwich caused an allergic reaction?

She opened her bag and withdrew the two books she’d bought at a bookstore on O’Connell Street. One was a history of Dublin and the other a heritage guide to its beautiful Georgian buildings. Not really in the mood for either and wishing she’d also picked up a magazine or a light, undemanding novel, she replaced them in her bag. The two women returned, set a couple of cans of beer on their table, and cracked them open. The girl looked at the drinks and then rested her head on her hand and closed her eyes.

Unable to bear it any longer, Penny pulled the sandwiches and chocolate out of her bag and approached the table. “Excuse me,” she said to the blonde woman. “I brought these for the journey, but now I find I’m not hungry, so I wondered if the children might like them. It’d be a shame to see them go to waste.” She held them out. The woman paused with her can of beer halfway to her lips and glared at Penny.

“Yeah, all right. Give them here,” she said, setting down the can and snatching the packets out of Penny’s hands. “There you go.” She slid the sandwiches across the table to the girl, who closed a notebook in which she’d been colouring and moved it to one side. When her sketchbook was out of harm’s way and her coloured pencils back in their case, she eagerly ripped open the plastic and cardboard wrapping and carefully tore each sandwich half into three equal pieces and handed the boys their share. Penny was appalled that all three children were allowed to eat without being taken to the lavatory to wash their hands.

“Thank you,” the girl said in a small voice accompanied by a shy smile. She gazed up at Penny with a look of such gratitude in her dark-blue eyes that Penny was equally touched and alarmed that a simple gesture of offering a couple of sandwiches and a bar of chocolate could evoke such a response.

“You are most welcome,” said Penny, with what she hoped was a smile that masked her true feelings of anger toward the mother. She glanced at the notebook the girl had pushed out of the way and realised that it wasn’t a cheap commercial colouring book that she’d been working in, but an artist’s sketchbook. “May I?” Penny asked. The girl nodded, and Penny picked it up. She looked at the sketch the girl had been working on, and then carefully flipped the pages back to reveal completed work. The pages were filled with hand-drawn and -coloured botanicals—roses, lilies, and chrysanthemums—their perfectly formed leaves delicately shaded and their petals so exquisitely vibrant Penny felt she could pluck one off the page.

“These are absolutely beautiful,” Penny said to the girl, handing back her sketchbook. “You have a real talent. You’ll be giving Redouté a good run for his money.”

“Oh, you think so, do you?” snarled her mother. “Bloody waste of time, if you ask me.”

“Bloody waste of time,” echoed one of the small boys through a mouthful of sandwich, causing the other boy to laugh and spit a few crumbs onto the table. The girl’s face collapsed and she lowered her eyes to the table, her fair hair hanging like a curtain to hide her face.

Seething, Penny returned to her seat, collected her belongings, and wandered into the darkened room off the lounge that had been set up as a small cinema. The film to be screened on this voyage was a period drama involving a shipwreck off the coast of Cornwall and an injured survivor who was given shelter in a lighthouse by a mysterious woman. While the music was stirring and the costumes and visual effects stunning, she couldn’t follow the story line. She sat in the dark, her mind whirling as she thought about the artistic girl she’d just met and wondered what was happening with Michael Quinn.

About half an hour later she received a text from Victoria. LET ME KNOW WHEN YOU ON BOAT TRAIN. WILL PICK YOU UP AT JUNCTION.

Without waiting to see how the film ended, she left the screening room and returned to the main lounge. She took a seat facing the bow of the ship, and after a few minutes, the sound of light rain tapping against the windows lulled her into a light doze. When she woke, she could just make out lights ahead. She checked her watch. They should be arriving in about thirty minutes. She stood up, stretched, and went for a stroll around the lounge. Many of her fellow passengers were dozing, propped upright on chairs with their heads lolling back or sprawled out on two chairs pushed together. The two Irishwomen, a can of beer in front of each of them, talked louder than they needed to, and the girl sat across from them, her frail shoulders bowed as if by an invisible weight. She raised her sad eyes, half hidden by drooping eyelids, as Penny walked past. The two boys were nowhere to be seen, and Penny assumed they’d fallen asleep on the benches that formed part of the banquette seating arrangement.

A flash of light slashed through the endless darkness outside the cabin window. Then, another flash, and Penny realised they were sailing past the South Stack lighthouse, just off the northwest tip of the island of Anglesey. The ferry crossing was almost over, and the beacons of light were welcoming her home to Wales.

A short while later, the engine noise changed as the ship slowed to a stop, and after docking procedures that seemed endless, the call came to disembark. The passengers were once again boarded onto buses and driven to the terminal building adjacent to the Holyhead railway station, where a couple of British police officers scanned the arriving passengers. Penny hurried through the station to the platform to catch her train.

She climbed on board, found a seat, and just before it was due to depart, groaned inwardly at the sound of shouts on the platform indicating the women and their three charges were on their way. The girl entered first, looked up and down the aisle, and chose a table with facing seats about midway down the carriage. Oh, please, let them be quiet, Penny thought. It’s late, everyone’s tired, and we’ve all had enough of them.

She leaned back and closed her eyes as the train rattled and swayed across the island of Anglesey, crossed the Britannia Bridge over the Menai Strait to the mainland, and stopped at Bangor, where some passengers disembarked. Penny hoped the Irishwomen and children would be leaving there, too, but they stayed in their seats. At least they were quiet, and remained that way for the time it took to reach Llandudno Junction.

Followed by her now familiar travelling companions of the two women, each carrying a sleeping, floppy boy over her shoulder, and the girl trailing along behind, Penny climbed a set of stairs, crossed the bridge that spanned the railway tracks, and then walked down an identical set of stairs that led to the exit. She stepped through the doorway, placing her feet on a stone worn down in the middle by years of departing footsteps, and emerged into the station forecourt, where, to her relief, Victoria was standing beside her car, waving.

“I’m that glad to see you, I could hug you,” Penny said as she placed her bag on the back seat.

“Let’s not get carried away. You’ve only been gone a day.”

“No, really, I am. And not to mention I’m starving. I bought some sandwiches to eat on the journey but gave them away, and after I’d done that, I realised it would look strange if I then bought something to eat from the food service place in the lounge. Although, really, why should I care what people I don’t know and will never see again think?”

“You gave away your sandwiches? Why would you do that?” Victoria asked as they fastened their seat belts.

“There were some hungry kids and their mother didn’t look like she was going to get them anything to eat, although there was enough money for cans of beer for her. I felt sorry for them.”

“Ah, that was nice of you.”

As they pulled out of the car park, Penny twisted in her seat and looked behind them.

“What’s the matter?” Victoria asked. “Do you think you’ve forgotten something?”

“No,” said Penny. “I’m starting to wonder if I’m being followed.”

“What makes you think that?”

“It’s probably nothing, but the kids I gave the sandwiches to? They were with two women, and they got off at the Junction with me. That just seems a bit odd.”

“Did anyone else get off the train with you?”

“An elderly couple.”

“And were the elderly couple on the ship with you, too?”

“Yes.”

“So how do you know the elderly couple weren’t following you?”

Penny laughed. “I don’t think they were up to it. No, it just seemed a coincidence, that’s all. First the travellers pitch up in Llanelen, and now the women with the kids on the ship and train. I’m positive they’re travellers.”

“Well, maybe they’re not following you at all but joining the rest of their people in Llanelen. They’re still camped out near your cottage. Or maybe the women are going someplace completely different. Who knows?”

They were in the country now, and the road ahead was dark.

“Look,” said Victoria. “It’s late and you’re hungry. You’ve probably got nothing in, or at least not much because you never do, so why don’t you just come to mine for the night. I can make you something nice to eat while you have a shower, and then you can tell me all about it.” She flicked on her turn signal and slowed down. “And besides, if you think you were followed, you probably shouldn’t be alone in your cottage. In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s a bit isolated.”

“I had noticed, and that’s the second time in less than a week someone’s told me that. But what about Harrison?”

“He’s all taken care of. I was over to see him earlier. I even brought some work with me and kept him company after he had his dinner. We listened to some music and had a lovely visit.”

Penny leaned back in her heated seat and, wrapped in the warmth of Victoria’s car, closed her eyes. How wonderful to be met off the train and just be taken care of, she thought. There are times when you’re exhausted, you’ve had enough of doing everything for yourself, and the thought of someone picking you up, taking you home, and making you a cup of tea sounds heavenly. “Yes,” she said. “I’d love to go to yours. I’m shattered. For now, I just want a lovely warm shower, something quick to eat, scrambled eggs, maybe, and then bed. I’ll tell you everything tomorrow. And thank you for picking me up.”

“Can you at least tell me if you found out anything useful?”

But the answer would have to wait. Penny was fast asleep.