It is such a pleasure to see you again, Father James. So how goes the new appointment? I trust the good folks of Bray are treating you well.
Aye, Father William, they are at that. And I thank you for making time for me on such short notice.
For Father James Crowley, it was a short drive up the motorway; no more than 15 kilometres to Clondalkin. His destination a stone’s throw from the village green.
Father James took a moment before answering. He sipped his tea then peered at the leaves on the bottom of his cup as if searching for the right words.
The home of Father William Moynihan, a small one-bedroom cottage, snuggled in amongst the trees on the grounds of the Immaculate Conception Church. A library-cum-sitting room occupied the majority of the ground floor. Dusty tomes lined the walls on three sides, an old stone hearth featuring a magnificently carved oak mantel the other. A small kitchen at the back of the cottage completed the downstairs, an austere bedroom aloft.
A small fire in the hearth took the edge off a brisk spring morning. Both men sat angled towards the fireplace. A teapot, two cups and a sugar bowl sat on a small side-table between them.
Father William drew in his breath. Oh dear, he thought. Tell me he hasn’t strayed already.
Your confession, of course, is sacrosanct, James. So please tell me what troubles you so?
You misunderstand, Father. It is not I who wishes to confess. It is a confession I heard, and need guidance with how best to counsel one of my congregants.
‘Thank the Lord,’ Father William intoned under his breath. Feeling somewhat more at ease, he asked the young priest of his concerns.
A parishioner just yesterday shared with me an awful story. It involves criminal activity, Father.
Well, of course we cannot condone such activity, but do go on.
Father James placed the cup and saucer back onto the small table at his side and continued.
The feeling of unease Father William only just dispelled reversed course. His stomach began to flip and knot in anticipation of what was to come.
Of whom do you speak?
The IRA, Father. If my congregant is to be believed, her husband has been robbing banks for them. And is soon to rob another.
Oh! Well… James, you have done the right thing in coming to me for further reflection on this troubling matter. Tell me, is this person… This, Mrs… her name was, you said?
I’d best keep that confidential if you don’t mind, Father. Unless of course, you feel it necessary…
Father William instantly drew back; he needed to be careful and not give the young priest cause for alarm.
No, no. You’re correct. I was going to ask if she is liable to flights of fancy. It does seem to be a rather absurd tale.
I agree, Father. But up until today she has appeared to be very stable of mind.
Father William rose from his chair and paced towards the library’s window overlooking the green fields beyond. To his right, two squirrels searched frenetically under the boughs for their morning meal.
Many different thoughts were swirling around in his mind. Not the least of which was the threat of exposure. How best to placate Father James and get him pointed in a different direction? What about the stupid cow in Bray and her big mouth? If she’s already told Father James, how long until she confides in a neighbour? Or worse, the Gardaí!
Well, James, what I can tell you is that I’ve not heard a word of any activity involving the IRA in years. Some of the old guard, and this may be the case here, feel the need to embellish past glories to still feel relevant. Am I making myself clear?
Yes, Father. That’s good to know. But about her husband. She seems pretty adamant he is going to rob another bank. Should I go to the Gardaí then?
Father William felt a slight trembling in his knees; he gripped the side of his chair to steady himself and hoped the young priest hadn’t noticed his moment of weakness.
No, no, dear boy. That would be betraying the sanctity of confession. Best to recommend her to pray on the matter, and to pray for her husband, for him to see the error of his ways. Also, best to recommend she does not go to the Gardaí herself. She may think it the right thing to do, but does she want to spend the rest of her days alone?
Yes, Father. I understand.
Excellent, James, excellent. I’m sure this little matter will all work itself out in the end. Our God works in mysterious ways.
Thank you for your counsel, Father William. You have been a great help. I won’t trouble you further. Enjoy the rest of your day.
Father William Moynihan waved from the front doorstep at the retreating figure of Father James Crowley as he backed his sedan out of the driveway for the return trip to Bray.
As the small blue Ford containing Father James disappeared from sight, he closed the front door to block out the cold and hurried back inside to the library. Before sitting at his desk, he reached for the bottle of Teeling from the sideboard and poured himself a larger than usual tumbler of whiskey.
He gulped down a good measure in one long draught, to tamp down the panic he felt rising from within, then picked up the phone. It seemed to ring for an eternity, an echo reverberating back into his ear, before being picked up.
William, not in the mood for niceties, got right to the point.
Thomas hesitated a moment before answering.
Father Thomas Moynihan grabbed his jacket, hat and mobile phone before leaving his office. Two minutes later he passed the Swiss Guards manning the gates of the Via di Porta Angelica and turned left following the sidewalk running alongside the Leonine Wall.
One hundred metres from the gate he found an uncrowded café, sat at one of the small tables on the sidewalk and brusquely ordered a cappuccino from the waitress. Once alone, he extracted his mobile phone from his pocket and dialled the number of his brother in Dublin.
I can talk now. What has happened? Why the panic in your voice?
We have a problem.
For the next five minutes, Thomas listened to his older brother tell the tale of Father James from Bray and worked his way through the implications. Of where his weak points lay. Of what could be done to mitigate the threat. He’d decided upon a course of action even before William finished his rambling tale.
Okay, William. I understand completely. I will take the necessary precautions from this end. I trust you will do the same.
Understood, Thomas. I’ll let you know once I’ve done likewise.
As will I, brother.
Father Thomas Moynihan broke the connection with his brother and immediately dialled another number – this one local.
It was picked up on the second ring, and Thomas heard the familiar sing-song voice of the young female receptionist
Studi Legali di Williams e Teacher.
Dottore Previti, please.
***
In the small cottage behind the Immaculate Conception Church, Father William Moynihan drained the remainder of the golden liquid from his glass. He too dialled another number.
A chill come over him as he held the phone to his ear with one hand while tapping nervously on the desk with the fingertips of his other. He glanced over his shoulder to the hearth and noticed the fire all but extinguished, only a few smouldering embers remained, but wasn’t convinced that was the reason.
Father William walked from his desk to the sideboard and poured another Teeling. With the phone tucked under his chin, he spoke.
Mr Clancy, please.
Who may I say is calling?
Tell him it’s his priest. He’ll know who it is.
Yes, sir. Ahh… I mean, Father.
A smile momentarily crept through his dark thoughts as he whispered under his breath.
Clancy was on the line a moment later.
My priest?
Well, aren’t I? Assuming you still pray occasionally.
I note a hint of aggression in your voice, boyo. May I recommend you have a little tipple? Just to even out the body’s equilibrium, of course.
Father William looked down at the glass in his hand. I’m way ahead of you, he thought.
What I do is my own business. What I need you to do is take care of your business.
Okay, okay, settle down. What seems to be the problem?
I’ve heard through my grapevine you will be having some… fundraising activities later this week.
The words struck Clancy mute. He wondered, how did the priest know of their plans? His mind immediately jumped to the obvious conclusion.
Clancy was of the old school and knew to be careful in choosing his words over an open phone line. He knew the priest could be relied upon to do the same.
Well, we do like to keep our fundraising activities to ourselves. The last thing we want is to tip off the opposition. May I ask how you got wind of it?
Well, it really doesn’t matter, does it? Trust me there. But I do know how much you like to make donations to worthy causes.
Clancy was all ears; realising the priest must’ve already arranged to keep his source silent. Now all he needed to know was the extent of the damage.
Did you have a certain… location in mind?
Well, if you were to be so inclined. We have a small… leak… in the roof of a church down in Bray which could really use some attention. She really is a magnificent old church, I’d hate to see any lasting damage to our infrastructure we’ve worked so hard to maintain. Leaks can be ever so troublesome, don’t you think?
Aye, Father. Yes, they can. Let me have someone look into the matter for you. I think you’ll find she’ll be as good as new in two shakes.
The line was quickly disconnected.
Father William felt a renewed sense of calm knowing Clancy understood the message. Clancy was a man action, decisive, not someone to wait for a focus group to tell him how he should react. And exactly how Clancy handled the matter, well, that wasn’t his concern, just so long as the Church wasn’t involved.
Father William poured himself another two fingers of Teeling, swirled the golden liquid around his glass and stared into the hearth’s smouldering embers.