Twenty-One

They walked from their hotel to the theater trying to make sense of the day’s events. Hollis thought they should take a taxi, but Finn was determined to see if they would be followed. He kept telling her he was irritated she hadn’t told him earlier about Peter Moodley or the woman, but Hollis felt he was more upset that he hadn’t seen either of them himself.

But this time, as far as either could tell, there was no one on their tail.

Dublin sparkled at night. There was laughter and the faint sounds of music leaking out from the pubs. People wandered the streets when Finn and Hollis were near the Temple Bar area, but things got quieter as they approached the river. If not for her fear about what might happen, Hollis thought it would have been fun to wander the city after dark. Finn must have felt the same way because as they crossed a bridge over the River Liffey, he stopped and kissed her.

“What was that for?”

“James Bond always gets lots of action,” he said.

“You’ll get plenty of action tonight, I promise—assuming we’re not going to our deaths.”

He kissed her again then pushed back a stray hair, using that as an excuse to lean in to her ear. “I forgot to ask what you did with the money and address book,” he whispered.

“Room safe at the hotel,” she said, as she nibbled on his neck.

He pulled back as two girls passed them, giggling. “We don’t get separated tonight for any reason. Deal?”

She nodded. She had no intention of going anywhere without Finn.

The Abbey Theatre was surprisingly modern to Hollis. Large glass windows with stone pillars framed the two-story building. She knew the theater company that was housed in it had been founded more than a hundred years before by a group that included W.B. Yeats, and had showcased the talents of many of Ireland’s best playwrights from J.M. Synge to George Bernard Shaw. She’d imagined a building that was steeped in history. But like so much of what she’d seen of the country so far, the theater seemed designed to look toward the future even as it honored the past.

Once they purchased the tickets, Hollis and Finn went upstairs to the bar. As they scanned the crowd, Hollis tried to steady her nerves. Why are we here? What are we looking for? She kept asking herself questions, but she couldn’t imagine the answers.

The upstairs bar was intimate, with wood paneling and a long marble bar packed with young men and women in jeans, mixed with older couples in suits and cocktail dresses. What they had in common looked to be excitement at the premiere of a new play.

“I was out with Jimmy last night,” a young man was saying to a girl as Hollis walked passed. “He was langered. I almost left him at the pub. Save myself, you know …”

“Ya should have,” the girl said.

“Ah now, he’s a good craic when he’s had a few.”

The young man laughed as his girlfriend rolled her eyes. Couples everywhere are the same, she thought, even if the words they use don’t always translate across oceans. Divided by a common language, Hollis thought. She made her way to the bar with Finn at her back.

“What’s a good white wine?” Hollis asked the bartender. He said something, but she couldn’t quite make it out. “That’ll be great. We’ll have two.”

Finn smiled. “You have no idea what you just ordered.”

“None.”

“Why is yes always your default answer?”

“You’ve benefitted.” She kissed his cheek, but as she did, she scanned the crowd. No Eamon Byrnes. “I wonder what’s going to happen tonight.”

“I don’t know. But I was thinking, if we had picked up the manuscript and given it to David’s contact, maybe the next step was for him to hand it to someone who would be here tonight.”

“In exchange for the missing agent?”

“Or money, or something.”

“Makes sense. So we’re on the lookout for anyone we recognize,” Hollis said. The bartender put two glasses in front of them. They each took a sip, trying their best to look like casual theater goers instead of out-of-their-element amateur spies. Hollis smiled as she tasted the wine. “Delicious.”

“Yes.”

“See? Not knowing what you’re getting is sometimes half the fun.”

“It’s the other half that worries me.”

Hollis turned toward the other side of the room. No Eamon Byrnes there either. But someone else did catch her eye. “That’s interesting.”

Finn moved to see where Hollis was looking. “What?”

“There’s a man over there,” she nodded toward the window. “By himself. Gray hair, trench coat, drinking a whiskey.”

“I see him. Is that Eamon?”

“No, but don’t you recognize him? It’s the man who was in the antique shop when we walked in.”

“You sure?”

“He smiled at me. I remember he had kind eyes.” She thought for a moment, then made up her mind. “I think I should talk to him.”

“No.”

“We can’t just sit here.”

“That is exactly what you promised me we would do.”

He was right, and she hated it. “Maybe we wait for a while and see if he comes to us.”

“Maybe.” He wasn’t really listening, she could tell. Finn was staring at the man in the trench coat, who, if he was waiting for someone, seemed unconcerned about it. He was looking down at the cover of his program, taking occasional sips from his whiskey. Finn gulped his wine and took a deep breath. “Here goes.”

“I thought we were just going to observe unless—” Finn was halfway across the room before Hollis had a chance to finish her sentence, so she grabbed her wineglass and followed him.

“Hey,” Finn was saying as she caught up. “You look familiar.”

“Do I?” the man said.

“The antique shop this afternoon,” Hollis chimed in, trying to sound like she’d just figured it out.

The man looked at her and smiled. “I remember you. You’re Americans?”

“Yes, on holiday.” Finn held out his hand. “Finn Larsson. This is my wife, Hollis.”

“Liam Tierney.” He shook Finn’s hand, and then took Hollis’s hand in his. Instead of shaking it, though, he held it for a moment before releasing it back to her. Hollis put him at about sixty, with the deepest blue eyes she’d ever seen, framed by tanned laugh lines. His face wasn’t movie-star handsome, but he had a presence about him. He struck her as a man used to being instantly liked.

“Are you on vacation too?” Hollis asked.

“No, Dublin born and bred,” Liam said. “I’m a dealer, mostly estate sales and the like. Sometimes I bring things to Byrnes Antiques if I think that’s the right market for them in one of his shops.”

“One of his shops?”

“Yes, the original is in Galway. This one was opened as a kind of gift to his daughter, but it didn’t work out.” He bit the edge of his lip. “Did you find anything that interested you at the shop?”

Hollis tucked her hair behind her ear and cupped her earlobe to show off the pearl cluster earrings they’d bought that afternoon. “Just these.”

The man leaned in. “They’re lovely. It’s always nice to have a unique souvenir, I think, rather than some cheap mug or shamrock hat. Did Eamon help you find those?”

Hollis did her best to seem confused. “I thought the store manager’s name was Kieran.”

“He is. But I heard your husband ask for Eamon as I walked out.”

They both turned to Finn. Once again, Hollis was impressed with how calm he seemed. “I’ll let you in on a secret,” he said. “I’m a professor of literature in the States and I came to Dublin because there’s a rumor that there’s a newly discovered play from Brendan Behan.”

“I heard something about that. Lots of interest in it,” Liam said. “Was it the real thing?”

“We didn’t get to see it,” Hollis told the man. “Any chance Eamon showed you?”

Liam shook his head. “Out of my league, I’m afraid. It was a bit of a frustration. Eamon and I grew up together, but he was determined to keep it close to the vest. How did you get wind of it?”

“A contact in the States,” Finn answered, but Hollis could see he was struggling a bit.

“A collector,” Hollis jumped in. “A tech billionaire. Finn’s done some work for him before, authenticating manuscripts. How did you hear?”

“Word gets out.”

“Eamon didn’t tell you himself ? Since you’re old friends …” Hollis said.

“Yes, he did. But I was supposed to keep it between us.” Liam glanced around the room. “If you see it, I hope you’ll let me take a peek. Just as a fellow lover of Irish literature.” He reached into his pocket and handed Finn a card. He left his hand out as if expecting something in return, so Finn reached into his wallet and handed the man one of his cards from Bradford University. Liam glanced at it and frowned before pocketing it.

“I’ve chased these kinds of alleged finds before,” Finn said. “It’s possible the manuscript doesn’t exist at all.”

“The joys and tragedies of the antiques business.” Liam set down his whiskey glass. “I suppose I should look for my seat. Lovely to meet you both. Finn …”

“Larsson.”

He patted Finn’s arm, nodded toward Hollis, and walked away, disappearing in the crowd before they could see where he went.

Hollis immediately turned to Finn. “Why did you go over to him?”

“You took down a mugger. I just wanted to contribute.”

“You were pretty smooth,” she said. “I was surprised you told him we were here about the manuscript.”

“If he is involved, then he already knows. If I lied, it would have been more suspicious. By telling the truth, I look like I’ve got nothing to hide.”

She thought about it a moment. With a mix of both admiration and jealousy, she had to admit his instincts were dead-on. “So I guess we see the play and keep our eyes open,” she said. “What is the play?”

Finn nodded toward a poster in the corner. “It’s about the disappearance of a just-married woman, and her family’s fight to get her back.”

“Sounds sad.”

“The review on the poster calls it a ‘comedic send-up of all the Irish hold dear.’”

The lights dimmed briefly. Around them people started moving toward the bar’s exit.

Hollis grimaced. “There’s no intermission. No chance to leave in the middle of things.”

“No chance for anyone else to leave either, I guess.”

She raised her eyebrow. “You know my bladder. I won’t make it through the whole play.”

“What happened to not getting separated?”

Several twenty-something women passed by, headed in the direction of the bathroom. Hollis nodded toward them. “Safety in numbers. Go to the seats. If we’re each with a crowd, we’ll be okay.”