Hanna shot across the room and cornered Fury in the doorway. “This is a public library, you can’t bring The Divil in here.”
The Divil wasn’t as young as he used to be, but he knew antagonism when he heard it. Pointing his nose at Hanna, he planted himself stiff-legged on the threshold, growling deep in his throat. At the far side of the room a child burst into tears and a resentful father turned and glared at Hanna, who hissed at Fury.
“You-can-not-bring-a-dog-in-here. Take him out.”
The Divil’s growl became more menacing. Fury looked down at him thoughtfully and then looked back up at Hanna.
“And there was me thinking you were trying to get hold of me. Right so, we’ll be off.”
Turning, he hooked the toe of his boot under The Divil’s ribs and lifted him out the door.
“No, hang on a minute . . .”
There was a sharp tutting noise from the parents in Children’s Corner where Darina Kelly, in shorts and gladiator sandals, was selecting a Pippi Longstocking book for her paint-spattered toddler to destroy. Hanna grabbed Fury’s sleeve and yanked him back into the library. The door slammed behind him, leaving The Divil outside.
“Why haven’t you answered your phone?”
“Didn’t I tell you the day you hired me, girl? I never have it turned on.”
“I did not hire you. Not on that day or any other day.”
“Well, you’ve been happy to avail of my goats.”
Hanna took a deep breath. “Look, I’m not saying that I didn’t think you’d taken on the project. I did think you’d taken on the project. I just thought that you’d behave normally.”
“Normally?”
“Yes. Like a normal person who understood basic English. I told you I wanted paperwork. Planning permission properly dealt with. Estimates. No, dammit, I wanted a quote. I expected you to provide a schedule. And I specifically said that I wanted the roof slates retained. Then I turned up the other day to find the extension demolished and the slates gone without my having heard a word from you.”
Fury looked over at the group of parents in Children’s Corner who had given up all pretense of looking at books. Was she sure, he asked, that this was the right place to talk? Hanna grasped him by the elbow. There was a howl from the doorstep outside, where The Divil appeared to have sensed through a solid oak door that Fury was under threat. Opening the door, Fury stepped out to roar ‘Shut up, yeh Divil!” and stepped back in again, taking elaborate care to close the door quietly. Hanna jammed her hands into her pockets and, with a jerk of her head, preceded him down the library towards the kitchen. Once inside, she shut the kitchen door, breaking her own cardinal rule about not leaving the books unsupervised, and faced Fury across the narrow room. Before she could speak he cocked his head at her.
“So how do you know that your slates aren’t piled up somewhere safe against the weather, ready to go back where they came from?”
Hanna gaped at him. “Are they?”
“No they’re not. I sold them.”
“You sold them?”
“Well, no, actually, I didn’t. I swapped them.”
When he started to strip the roof, he said, he’d found the joists were worse than he’d expected. Mind you, that was often the way, you could never be sure till you saw them. Anyway, the sensible thing was to start again with new lumber and that was going to cost a pretty penny.
“So I swapped the slates for a load of tiles with the timber thrown in on the side.”
“But I told you . . .”
“Don’t I know what you told me? But you never said to waste your money.”
Hanna stared at her own reflection in the teapot, willing herself to stay calm. “And that’s the point, isn’t it? It’s my money. I am the client, you are the builder. It’s my money and I decide how it is spent.”
“And you know how much that timber would have cost, do you?”
“No. I don’t. But I know what I want. And I’ve told you that I want those slates retained. Do you understand me?”
Fury reached over to the biscuit tin beside the teapot and selected a handful of custard creams. “Oh, I understand you perfectly, girl, never doubt me.”
“Fine. I’ll be round to Maggie’s place tomorrow, and I expect to find the slates have been returned.”
“Well, if that’s what you expect, you’ll be disappointed.” Fury hitched one bony hip onto the kitchen work surface. “That’s what I came in to tell you. I mightn’t be round for a week or so.”
This was outrageous. And so, thought Hanna, was the fact that everyone, including herself, kept referring to her house as Maggie’s place.
“You can’t just walk away and stop the work!”
“God, you’re a queer woman for changing your mind.” Fury spoke through a mouthful of crumbs. “How long do you think it takes to get planning permission?”
Hanna goggled at him and he shook his head at her.
“Ah now, you can’t have it both ways. Do you want me to crack on or don’t you? Strictly speaking, there shouldn’t even be a goat on that grass till we’ve got the paperwork.”
Irritated beyond measure, Hanna spoke without thinking. “Yes, but I don’t actually need planning permission, not given the size of the extension. And even if I did, I could get it retroactively.”
“Retrospectively.”
“Whatever.”
“Well if you know that, Miss Casey, you’ll know that I didn’t need to apply for it.”
Fury stared into the distance crunching a biscuit thoughtfully. There was a long pause during which Hanna realized the extent to which she had just made a fool of herself. Then he winked at her and left.