Irish Secrets (14 page)

He dragged his mind back to the present as Kara made the introductions.

"I'll try to remember all your names," he said with a grin.

Liz laughed. "We'll test you later. In the meantime, I think Luke might appreciate your help, and Kara, will you see if there's another pack of bread rolls in that red box?"

Ryan relaxed as he strolled across to where Luke Sullivan, the Clifden veterinary surgeon, was flipping burgers on the barbecue.

"Need any help?"

"Well-timed, Ryan. I think some of those sausages are about to become burnt offerings." Luke handed him tongs and a spatula. "Rescue them, will you? Guy was supposed to be looking after them, but he's in deep discussion with his builder."

As Ryan lifted the well-done sausages off the grill and piled them on a foil plate at the side, he glanced again at the three men. "I recognise the builder. Conor, isn't it? Can't remember his surname."

"McBride. Conor McBride, and the other one is Mick Leary."

"From the Leary farm, is he?"

"Aye, he's home on a short visit, I believe."

"Wasn't he a real tearaway as a teenager?"

Luke nodded. "He's not the brightest spark in the box, and he was well-known in Clifden for shoplifting and invariably getting caught. A spell on probation sorted him out, and he's working on the ferries out of Belfast now."

Another jigsaw piece slotted into place in Ryan's mind, but he didn't have time to think any more about it when Guy approached them. In his mid-thirties, the owner of Mist Na Mara Arts Centre retained the appearance of a bohemian artist with his youthful features and longish dark hair that reached the collar of his polo shirt, but Ryan had heard enough locally to appreciate the fact that Guy Sinclair was an astute businessman who had worked hard over the last few years to build up the reputation of the Centre.

Surely he wouldn't risk all that by becoming involved with a stolen goods racket? Unless he needed the money and was receiving a substantial pay-off for allowing his premises to be used? Ryan made a mental note to ask Declan to check the financial status of the Arts Centre.

"Ryan, good to see you." Guy held out his hand. "I'm so pleased Kara invited you here this evening. You're very welcome."

Ryan shook his hand. "Thanks."

A quick glance around showed him that Mick Leary had disappeared, and Conor joined them at the barbecues.

"Food's ready now," Luke said. "Let's get this lot on the foil platters, and everyone can help themselves."

Ten minutes later, after they'd all filled their plates, Ryan sat on one of the beach chairs next to Kara. The group conversation flipped from bike rides on the Wild Atlantic Way to the Disney film being shown at the Station House cinema, and from a recent sea-angling competition to the fund-raising quiz night at Connolly's in Skelleen the following week. Quips and witty comments abounded, and Ryan exchanged numerous amused glances with Kara. It felt good being here with her. No, more than good. Somehow it was
right
, and the thought surprised him. He'd had other girlfriends, of course, but never before had he experienced an inner sense of
this was meant to be
.

"And all because I nearly knocked you down," he said, as Kara handed him a paper plate with a large slice of chocolate cake.

"'Scuse me?"

"I've realised I'm only here tonight because you looked the wrong way when you crossed the road in Galway."

"That's true." She grinned. "Is that what they call kismet? Or do I mean serendipity?"

"Perhaps a bit of both. Did you ever hear about the invisible red thread?" When her forehead furrowed, he went on, "It's an old Chinese saying. An invisible red thread connects those who are destined to meet. It can be stretched or tangled, but will never be broken."

She blinked. "Do you believe that?"

"I hadn't given it much thought until tonight, but I think I do." He laughed. "Put it down to my Irish whimsy. Or whiskey," he added as he took another bite of the chocolate cake. "Did your cook make this?"

"Yes, it's divine, isn't it?"

"And laced with Bailey's, I think. Hope I'm still safe to drive after this."

"As long as you don't eat the whole cake, I think you'll be fine."

He looked around as someone turned up the sound from the speakers attached to an mp3 player. Liz and Conor, and several others, were using the music as an excuse to dance cheek-to-cheek, and he raised his eyebrows. "Want to dance?"

Kara's eyes lit up. "Love to. It's an excuse to get close to you, isn't it?"

Standing, he held out his hand to her. "Sounds good to me."

They swayed together for several numbers, his hands resting on her lower back, her arms around his neck, and her warm cheek against his.

"Wish we were alone," he whispered.

"So do I, but I think we might be missed."

He surveyed the group. "Looks like Liz and Conor have taken themselves off somewhere."

She giggled. "Maybe he has a mattress in his van."

"Or he's taken her to a hotel in Clifden."

She raised her eyebrows. "You think so?"

Jaysus
, he'd done it again. Almost revealed information from his 'other' life when he'd seen them heading into one of the Salthill hotels.

"Just a wild guess." He glanced over her shoulder. "It's a grand sunset tonight."

Kara turned, and he rested his arm around her shoulders as they watched the golden orb descending slowly through a pink haze toward the horizon.

"I love seeing the sun going down over the sea," she murmured.

"Me, too. One day I'll take you to the Cliffs of Moher to see—" His phone rang, and he pulled it from his pocket. "Sorry, I need to take this call." He pressed the icon and listened. "Okay, thanks, Dec. Text me the address, will you, because I can't write it down at the moment…Yeah, thanks."

He clicked off his phone and tightened his hand on Kara's arm. "Francis and Theresa Brogan. Declan has found an address for them."

Her eyes widened. "A recent one?"

"The current one, according to the electoral roll."

"Oh! Oh, wow." She gave him a tremulous smile. "I'm not sure whether I want to know the address or not."

Chapter 14

Despite her initial uncertainty, Kara's curiosity got the better of her, and she asked Ryan to text the address to her. It was in Sligo, and she had to study a map to discover it was about a hundred miles north-east of Clifden.

On Monday evening, she called Sister Gabriel to tell her the news.

"Do you know if Theresa had any links to Sligo, Sister?" she asked.

"None I can recall. She grew up on a small farm in County Clare, but maybe her husband was a Sligo man, or he moved there for his work. Will you contact her, Kara?"

"I'm not sure." She'd spent the day in an agony of indecision, and voiced her dilemma to the nun. "She may be one of the women who has kept her past a secret, and I don't want to damage her life by intruding now."

"Or she might have made countless attempts to find out what happened to her daughter."

"I keep going back and forth between those two alternatives. If I write to her, I could put her in a difficult situation if her husband knows nothing, and asks her who the letter is from."

"May I make a suggestion?"

"Please do."

"Write to her, but don't say your mother could be her daughter. Tell her you think she might be a relative, and give her some clues that only she will understand, but without putting her in any compromising situation. Make sure it is a letter she can show to her husband or family. She will then have the option to contact you or not, whatever she decides."

Kara nodded. "That's an excellent idea, Sister. Thank you."

"But don't build up your hopes too high, Kara. Remember that Theresa didn't write to me once she married, and, to my knowledge, she has never made any inquiries at the convent about Patsy."

"So she may not reply to my letter if she realises what I'm trying to find out? Is that what you're saying?"

"It is. But if she does, and if you do eventually meet her, will you tell her that her old friend Bernadette O'Brien would love to hear from her again?"

"Yes, of course I will, Sister."

On Thursday evening, Ryan's next night off, she sat with him in Murphy's Bar, and told him about her conversation with Sister Gabriel.

"A general letter about possible family connections, with some clues, was what she suggested." She pulled a notebook from her bag and chewed the end of her pen. "C'mon, I need some help with this."

His brow creased as the musicians started to play a foot-tapping reel. "Not sure I can concentrate with this going on. Want to come back to my place instead? At least we'll have some peace and quiet to think this through."

Her heart did an odd kind of jump. It was the first time he'd invited her to his apartment. "Sure?"

"Fer sure, if you can cope with a lumpy couch, and a threadbare carpet. It's not the best place I've ever rented."

Once they finished their drinks, he drove the short distance to Bridge Street. Kara followed him through an outer doorway with peeling paint, which opened into a narrow corridor, and he led the way up a steep flight of bare stairs.

On the landing, he pointed at the three doors. "That's the bathroom, that's the bedroom, and this is the living room."

"No kitchen?"

He held the living room door open for her. "I should have called this the combined lounge, dining room,
and
kitchen. Welcome to my humble abode."

She glanced around. The room was bright enough, with pale green walls, and a large window overlooking the street. The area on her right had a television set in one corner. On the other side of the wall-mounted electric heater was an old wooden table with a laptop, a printer, a couple of manila folders, and a pile of books. The green and pink floral couch in front of the heater wasn't to her taste, and was probably as lumpy as he said, but she could picture him lying on it and watching the TV.

An open shelf unit divided the room into two halves, and beyond it was a small kitchen with an oven, sink, and fridge-freezer. It was basic, habitable, and clean, but felt unlived in. There were no personal knick-knacks, or photos, or pictures on the walls.

Ryan laughed. "Freakin' awful, isn't it? But it's cheap and convenient for work, and, to be honest, I don't spend a lot of time here. Anyway, come and sit down."

She followed him to the couch. "How long have you lived here?"

"A few months."

"Where did you live before that?"

"Galway."

"Did you drive taxis there?"

"No, I worked in a bar – which is my cue to ask you if you'd like a drink, although I can only offer you Jameson whiskey or a can of lager from the fridge."

"Lager will be good, thanks."

Yet again he'd diverted the conversation away from himself, and she wondered why. He was intelligent, well-read, well-travelled, and articulate. Was he embarrassed by his seemingly aimless life, drifting from job to job?

She frowned when he returned from the kitchen area with a tall glass of lager for her, and a cola for himself. "I haven't taken your last can, have I?"

"No, there are a few more in the fridge, but I never drink when I'll be driving later. Can't risk losing my licence, can I?"

"No, of course not." An odd sense of deflation took her by surprise. Had she expected him to invite her to stay for the night? She dismissed the thought, and took a quick mouthful of lager. "I hope you're feeling inspired."

An hour later, and after numerous crossings-out, additions, and rephrasing, they completed the letter.

She read it out loud:

Dear Mrs Brogan

You don't know me, but I have been researching my family history. I am American, born and raised in New Jersey, but my mother was born in Ireland in 1959. She moved to the United States as a child, and I think she may be a distant relative of yours. I am currently living near Clifden, and would welcome the opportunity to meet with you, at a time and place of your choosing, to discover whether we have any family links.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely,

Kara Stewart

Her brow creased. "Is that enough?"

"I think so. It's vague enough to seem like an innocent inquiry, but 1959 and moving to America as a child may jangle a few bells in her mind."

"Isn't she going to wonder how I know her address?"

"It's amazing what family history researchers can discover. Declan found dozens of distant cousins in America, all descended from one of his great-grandfather's brothers who emigrated to Boston in the 19th century."

"How did he find them?

Ryan chuckled. "Racked up a huge phone bill one time when he was in New York, calling every Mulligan in the phone directory."

"Should I put my cell number on the letter as well as my address?"

"Good idea. She may feel more comfortable about ringing you rather than writing, especially if she wants to arrange to meet with you."

"I have so many doubts about that."

"But you've nothing to lose by sending the letter."

"I guess not, except if she doesn't reply, that will be the end of my search, won't it?" She gave a small sigh and leant against him as he slid his arm around her. "I so wanted my mom to know she was loved by a mother who didn't want to give her away and who has always wondered what happened to her."

"From what you've told me, it sounds as if your mom has a lot of issues to sort out."

"I don't think she feels she has anything to sort out. She was brought up by loving adoptive parents, she married a good man, and she's had a happy life."

"I'd like to bet there are times when she wonders about her Irish ancestry, and where she came from."

"Unless she's pushed it all to the back of her mind, of course. But even if she's not interested, I'd still love to know about my grandparents and my Irish heritage. Isn't that why people try to trace their family history? To discover all the different strands that combined in the past to make you the person you are?"

"I wonder if that's truer of Americans than it is of the Irish. Today's Americans can trace their ancestry to so many nationalities and cultures, whereas we Irish – well, I'm just grateful one of my ancestors survived the Great Famine, otherwise I wouldn't be here today."

Kara snuggled against his shoulder. "I'm glad your ancestor survived."

"Presumably one of your Irish ancestors did, too."

She raised her head and stared at him with wide eyes. "Oh, gosh, that's the first time it's hit me that I'm half-Irish."

"You have Irish blue eyes, darlin'. That's your Viking ancestry, and your dark hair is Celtic."

He kissed her nose and ran his fingers through her hair. With a smile, she reached to kiss his mouth, and his hand splayed across her back as he pulled her closer. Her surroundings, even the uncomfortable couch, dissolved as she lost herself in a world that knew only him, and the delicious sensations his mouth and tongue aroused in her. His hands caressed the sides of her breasts before travelling down to her waist and hips and stomach, exploring her body in slow movements while their kiss became more intense.

Breathless, with her skin tingling, and warmth pooling deep inside her, she slid her hand along his thigh, but jerked back to reality when he broke away and sucked in his breath.

"Wh-what's wrong?"

He exhaled deeply and studied her for a few moments before shaking his head and smiling. "Nothing's wrong, me darlin' girl, but—"

"But what?"

"But I'm old-fashioned enough to want to take my girl somewhere special for the first time we make love. Not a lumpy old couch, or an even lumpier bed."

Her heart skipped a beat, but she smiled. "Somewhere like a hayloft or soft mossy bank?"

"I was thinking of the Sheldon in Dublin."

Her jaw dropped. "Wow, that
is
special. Even I know the Sheldon is one of Dublin's best hotels."

"And it has the most comfortable beds I've ever slept in."

She caught her breath at the prospect of sharing a bed with him. "You've stayed there?"

"Aye, a couple of times. Once after my cousin's wedding, although I don't remember too much about that occasion. I was nineteen and lost count of the pints of Guinness after the fifth."

"What was the other time?"

"Oh, a boring conference a few years ago." He planted a kiss on her lips and stood up. "Want another can of lager?"

She finished the quarter inch left in her glass, and looked at her watch. "I guess I should be going home soon, but I can call for a cab to save you having to drive me."

He pulled her to her feet and kissed her again. "Now ye're being silly. Of course I'll take you home."

Twenty minutes later, he stopped outside Mist Na Mara. "When will I see you again?"

"Most days are full, but weekday evenings are usually okay."

"I'm on the late shift for the next few days, but I'll call you." He squeezed her hand. "When will you have a free weekend? I meant what I said about taking you to Dublin."

"And I'd love to go there with you. We have residential groups most weekends, but I'll check whether I'll be needed for all of them."

"And will you send the letter to Theresa?"

"I think so, even though I'll spend every day in suspense waiting for a reply. I'm already wondering what her reaction will be when she reads the letter."

"If she's ecstatic at the thought of finding out what happened to her daughter, you'll probably hear from her fairly soon."

"What if she's ecstatic, but her family knows nothing about her past?"

"Then either she throws your letter away, or she deliberates for days, or even weeks, deciding what to do."

"Which means it could be a long time before I hear from her, if I ever do."

* * * * *

"McBride Construction is registered in Castlebar," Ryan said as he updated the Chief when they met in Galway the following week. "He seems to have a good reputation locally, and he's rented a unit in the industrial park for about a year."

Enya frowned. "Why is he not using the unit for storing the goods? There are always plenty of comings and goings in an industrial park to divert any suspicions, far more than at a small cottage he happens to be renovating."

"I thought about that, and it's possible he did rent it originally for storing the loot, but panicked when the Belfast taxi driver was picked up last December, in case someone spilled the beans about what was stored there."

"Good point, because obviously that's the first place we would search."

"Here's my theory, for what it's worth. About the same time as the route via Monaghan is compromised, Conor McBride discovers the contract to renovate the cottage at Mist Na Mara is out for tender again, after the first contractor went out of business. What does he do? Starts dating one of the girls at Mist Na Mara, makes a point of getting to know Guy Sinclair, and gives him a good quote for the job. An old cottage, off the beaten track – ideal storage place, at least temporarily, and if Conor finds or invents reasons to prolong the renovation, he has time to find somewhere more permanent."