21

Having dropped Mary and Pat at the bungalow, Hanna drove to Carrick with her phone on speaker, trying to call Fury on the way. His number had rung out more than twenty times by the time she drove into the parking lot and twice as she took the elevator up to the council’s Planning Office and now, as she emerged from the elevator, she tried it again, knowing she was wasting her time. There was no response to the bell on the reception desk either. But she had to speak to a planning officer. A glazed door with a STAFF ONLY sign and a key-code entry system separated the empty reception area from the open-plan office beyond it. Hanna peered through the glass and saw that most of the workstations were unoccupied. Seething, she returned to the desk and pushed the bell again. According to the council’s website, it was possible to speak to a planning officer without an appointment provided you arrived before five. It was an understood thing, though, that officers who had late-afternoon site visits might slope off home afterward without returning to their desks. Today, thought Hanna furiously, the receptionist must have sloped off as well.

As she glowered at the door, a man carrying a canvas satchel approached it from the other side, let himself out, and made for the elevator. It was obvious that he hadn’t been summoned by the bell on the reception desk so Hanna tried pushing it again. There was a pinging sound behind her as the elevator doors opened. Then, instead of getting into it, the man turned and spoke to her.

“Can I help at all?”

He was in his mid-forties, tall and reserved-looking, with dark hair pushed back from his forehead. His black jeans and unstructured indigo jacket looked like an unconvincing nod to office wear, and his open-necked shirt was obviously expensive; though, judging by the shirt’s slightly frayed collar, both it and the faded linen jacket must have been bought some time ago. Hitching his satchel onto his shoulder, he nodded at the reception desk.

“You’re not going to raise anyone, I’m afraid. Jo went off sick earlier.”

Hanna rolled her eyes. She couldn’t imagine why this should feel like the last straw but it did. The elevator doors closed and the man raised his eyebrows at Hanna. “Can I do anything?”

“I doubt it.” Thoroughly fed up with the world, Hanna was at her prickliest. “Why on earth isn’t there anyone to cover for your receptionist?”

He looked at her for a moment, then shrugged and turned away.

“Oh, damn!” Hanna took a step toward him. “That was churlish of me, I apologize. It’s just . . . I’ve just driven from Crossarra at breakneck speed hoping to catch a planning officer.”

“That’s unusual.”

“What?”

“Well, usually it’s doctors and lawyers.”

Hanna looked at him blankly and he grimaced. “Sorry, bad joke. I meant that a planning officer isn’t usually seen as a good catch. Mainly it’s doctors and lawyers.”

Hanna smiled reluctantly. “Yes, well, I’ve already tried a lawyer and I can assure you they’re not all that they’re cracked up to be.”

He smiled back and there was an awkward pause in which the elevator doors pinged open again and no one came out. Then he held out his hand. “Didn’t I see you the other night at Teresa O’Donnell’s shindig?”

With no recollection of seeing him before, there or elsewhere, Hanna shook hands with him. His voice was pleasant and she couldn’t quite place his accent.

“I’m Brian Morton.”

“Hanna Casey. I’m the librarian at Lissbeg.”

“Right, shall we start again? I’m a planning officer.”

Half an hour later Hanna stood up from Brian Morton’s desk, gathering together the forms and leaflets he’d found for her.

“So it really ought to be okay?”

“Perfectly. From what you say, the extension is too small to be covered by regulation anyway. And even if that’s not so, we can always deal with it retrospectively.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’ve told you. The rules aren’t that draconian. In fact, we’re encouraged to bend over backwards to assist anyone who’s planning work on an old building. As opposed to throwing up a new one.”

“Yes, but in my case nothing seems to be planned, either in your terms or in mine. And God alone knows what’s going to happen next. I want things to be done by the book from the start, not tidied up retroactively.”

“Or even retrospectively.”

“Whatever you call it. Though, if that’s what you do call it, it’s bad grammar.”

He looked at her thoughtfully. “You know, doing things to houses can be an emotive experience. I appreciate that you’ve managed projects before . . .”

“Yes, I have. Far larger than this one.”

His mouth became a hard line and Hanna cursed herself inwardly. Her stress was her own business and she hadn’t come here for therapy, but neither had she intended to snub him quite so rudely.

Brian pushed his chair back. “Well, if that’s everything . . .”

This was dreadful. “No, look, you were going home and now it’s the middle of rush hour. Would you like . . . I mean, can I buy you a drink?” There was a pause in which Hanna panicked, feeling that she needed to explain herself. “I mean, just, you know, to say thank you. For everything. I mean, for the information.”

“There’s no need.”

“Yes but—”

“Look, I’m the one who should apologize. There ought to have been someone on reception when you arrived. And you’re right, I was leaving early myself, which I certainly shouldn’t have been.”

“I didn’t mean to suggest—”

“No. Anyway, you’ve got the paperwork and, if you need more help, don’t hesitate to ring the office.” He nodded at his desk, which was perfectly tidy. “I should put things away here. There’s a button at the right of the door to reception. That’ll let you out.”

Discomfited, Hanna picked up her paperwork, walked away between the empty desks, and let herself into the reception area. Stepping into the elevator, she found herself grinning wryly. As far as raised hackles went, there had been little difference between the encounter she’d just had with Mr. Morton and The Divil’s first acquaintance with the goat.