Authors: Paula Martin
"Cappuccino, please."
"So find yourselves a table and I'll bring the drinks over."
As Kara headed for one of the tables near the window, Theresa touched her arm. "I'd rather not sit by the window, if ye don't mind. How about the table over in the corner instead?"
"Yes, of course."
When they reached the table, Theresa struggled with her coat, and Kara helped her.
"Today's too warm for a coat, isn't it?" the older woman said. "I niver thought about the weather when I said what I'd be wearing. Perhaps I should've said I'd put a carnation in me hair or somethin' silly like that. An' I hope you don't mind not sitting by the window, on'y I don't want anyone to see me here. Not that I'm likely to meet someone who knows me, but ye can't be too sure, can you? Now, that's better."
She slipped her coat over the back of her chair and sat down. Kara sat opposite her and smiled. "It's so good of you to come all this way to meet me."
"Me husband plays golf on Wednesdays, and I told him I was visiting a friend in the hospital in Castlebar, but t'wasn't a lie, 'cause she
is
in the hospital, and I'll pop in an' see her on me way home. She's got a heart problem, ye see. Anyhow, ye don't want to know about all that. Tell me 'bout yerself."
"I'm not sure where to begin," Kara faltered. Theresa had made it clear she didn't want to be seen here, which presumably meant her family and friends knew nothing about her past life. Any hope of reuniting her with her daughter was fading fast.
"Ye said yer mam was born at Ballykane." Theresa looked over her shoulder, as if to make sure no one was listening, and leant forward. "Would that be at the home?"
"Yes, I think so."
"An' do you know her date of birth?"
"I thought it was April 2nd, 1959, but I've discovered the wrong date was entered on her adoption certificate. I met with Sister Gabriel and—"
"Sister Gabriel? Oh,
Jaysus
, Mary, and Joseph, ye've met Bernie? Bernadette O'Brien?"
"Yes, a few weeks ago, and she said if ever I managed to make contact with you, she would love to hear from you."
"Well, now, that takes me back, it does. Bernie O'Brien, would yer believe it?" Theresa laughed. "Me and her used to get into all kinds of trouble with the nuns, ye see, an' then she became one of 'em. That was a shock, I can tell ye. She hated those nuns as much as I did. What did she tell you?"
"You mean about why she became a nun?"
"I bet they brainwashed her, with their talk of doing penance and all that shite. Don't get me wrong, I still go to Mass every Sunday, 'cause it's what you do, i'nt it? An' I know I should forgive those nuns, but I can't. 'Cept for Sister Monica. She was different, so sweet and kind, and she didn't treat us like dirt like the other nuns did."
"Sister Gabriel – Bernadette – told me about her. It was when Sister Monica died that she decided to become a nun, and tried to help the girls in the same way."
"And is she still in Ballykane?"
"No, she lives at the convent that adjoins the hospital in Galway."
"Mebbe I will contact her again, then, seein' she's not in Ballykane. I can allus tell me husband I knew her when I was a child, if he asks."
Kara's initial suspicions were confirmed. This woman, her grandmother, if indeed that was what she was, had hidden her secret from her family. She looked up as Ryan approached the table with a tray. After he put the tea and cappuccino in front of them, he straightened up. "I'll take my tea to another table and let you continue your conversation."
"No need for that, lad," Theresa said. "Sit yerself down. I'm guessin' ye know all this story anyway."
"Ryan's friend found out your address for me," Kara explained. "And he found the birth records, too."
"Bernie's baby died. Did she tell you?"
"Yes, and she said your daughter was adopted when she was one year old."
"Worst day of me life, that was. Sometimes it seems like only yesterday. Your letter brought back all the memories."
As Theresa stared into some middle distance, Kara hesitated but she had to know. "Have you ever tried to trace your daughter?"
"I pestered the nuns, but they wouldn't tell me anything, so I ran away. Did Bernie tell you 'bout that?"
"She said you jumped on a bus and ended up in Dublin."
"I told folks there I was an orphan. Well, I was, since me Da and me Mam disowned me. An' then I met Frank, and his family were strong Catholics. They'd niver have accepted me if I told them about me sin, an' the nuns said I'd go to hell if I breathed a word to anyone." Theresa drained her teacup, and poured more out of the teapot. "You're the first person I've told in over fifty years, an' on'y because my little Patsy might be yer mam. Has she had a good life?"
"Yes, she loved her adoptive parents and had a very happy childhood. She went to college and graduated
summa cum laude
at Notre Dame and—"
"Summa what?"
"It means with highest honour, and Notre Dame is one of America's most prestigious Catholic universities."
"She was clever, was she? What subject did she study?"
"She majored in Math and Statistics."
"Didn't take after me, then. I allus had trouble with me numbers."
Kara hesitated. "What about her – her father?"
"Well now, there's a problem. I was – how d'ye call it? – sorta wild in me teens. The nuns lectured us 'bout carnal desires, but we din't have a clue what they was on about or how babies were made either, they niver told us that, so I had me fun with a few boys. Din't even know I was up the duff 'til I was five months gone. Mind ye, I made sure me daughters knew all the facts o’ life once they got to twelve or thirteen." Theresa sighed. "Din't stop our Lorraine getting pregnant when she was seventeen, though, jes' like me, but we didn't send her to no home. Din't want her to go through what I did, but anyhow, times had changed, and she stayed with me and Frank, and it all turned out all right, 'cos she married Danny, and our Joe's now in his thirties and has his own kids, so I'm a great-grandma now."
Kara struggled to follow Theresa's garbled reminiscences, which had drifted away from what she wanted to know.
"Does your family know about Patsy?"
She shot a grateful glance at Ryan as he asked the question she was too apprehensive to ask.
Theresa shook her head. "They don't know nothin'. Like I said, Frank's family were strong Catholics, so I was too scared to tell him, an' I've kept me secret, jus' like the nuns said I should."
"Didn't you ever want to find out what happened to Patsy?" Kara ventured.
"'Course I did. Hardly a day's gone by when I didn't wonder where she was, and whether she had a happy life. An' even though I said I had me fun with the lads, I guessed Tommy Malone must be her father. She had his mop of curly ginger hair and his cheeky green eyes. He was a nice lad, but he went off to Dublin an' I niver saw him again."
Kara drew in a deep breath. "Theresa, my mom has blue eyes, like me, and brown hair."
Chapter 16
"I think Theresa was relieved," Ryan said as he drove back to Clifden later that afternoon.
Kara nodded. "Once I told her my mom's hair and eye colour, she relaxed, didn't she? She realised her baby wasn't my mom, so she didn't have to worry about her family finding out about her past."
"But now we've eliminated both Bernadette's and Theresa's daughters, what about the third birth in the second quarter of 1959? Margaret something? Was that the mother or baby?"
"The mother, but I didn't ask Sister Gabriel about her."
"Maybe it would be worth asking now? I assume you'll tell her about Theresa?"
"Yes, of course, because Theresa said she would contact her again, but I need to wait until after seven o'clock to call her."
Ryan slowed as he approached the arched stone gateway of Waterside Hall, the five star hotel on the shore of Lough Doona. "How do you fancy afternoon tea here in the meantime? Tea served from antique silver pots, with a finger buffet, and scones still warm from the oven with cream and jam."
"Sounds wonderful."
The long driveway took them through woods and open parkland until they reached a large gravelled car park in front of the impressive hotel with its crenelated turrets dating from the Middle Ages, and the later Tudor, Georgian, and Victorian additions.
Kara's jaw dropped. "Oh, my! This is amazing."
Ryan's attention diverted to the three
Garda
cars parked near the main door.
"Wonder what's going on here?" he said as they got out of the car.
"Perhaps someone's car was broken into. A
Garda
officer came to Mist Na Mara last week to tell Guy about thefts from cars in and around Clifden, and we've been instructed to report anything we think seems suspicious. So far we haven't had any incidents, fingers crossed."
The irony struck him. What would the staff at Mist Na Mara think if it turned out their cottage was being used to store stolen goods?
His gaze swept the large car park, but there didn't seem to be any activity, and, being undercover, he didn't have any ID to show the
Garda
officer standing near the door so he couldn't ask for information. Instead, he suppressed his curiosity and led Kara into the opulent entrance hall, with sparkling chandeliers, oak panelling, marble floor, plush dark gold drapes, and several huge urns with fresh flower arrangements.
"This is wonderful," Kara said, "but what I need at the moment is a bathroom."
"A
bathroom
?"
"Sorry, I forgot you don’t call them that here. I mean a Ladies' Room, don't I?"
He grinned. "We have other less polite expressions but—" Glancing around, he pointed to a wide corridor on their left. "I think you'll find what you need along there."
When she'd gone, he crossed to the reception desk to double-check which of the several restaurants served the afternoon teas for which the hotel was renowned.
"The Connacht Room, sir." The auburn-haired woman pointed across the lobby. "Through the archway to your right."
"Thanks." After a second's hesitation, he went on, "What's with all the
Garda
cars outside?"
She gave him a perfunctory smile. "A minor problem, sir. Nothing to worry about."
It had been worth a try but, of course, no hotel would admit to a major problem unless it involved the evacuation of the premises.
He moved away from the desk, and waited until Kara returned. As they walked along the corridor to the Connacht Room, she grinned at him. "It's amazing what you discover by overhearing conversations in Ladies' Rooms."
"Go on, what have you discovered?"
"There are at least half a dozen famous people staying here at present."
"That's normal for this hotel. There's a gallery upstairs with photos of all the celebrities who've visited this place. Your President Reagan, for example, and I think the cast of Alice Vernon's first movie stayed here, too."
"Okay, but listen to this. There's a television presenter called Eamonn something and his wife, and the author Hugh McPherson." Kara counted them off on her fingers. "And the actor Aidan Farrell, and a football star whose name I didn't catch, and Caitlyn Connolly, the singer."
"I've heard of Hugh McPherson but never read any of his books, and I went to a Caitlyn Connolly concert in Dublin a few years ago. She was fantastic, held about eight thousand people mesmerised with her fabulous voice."
"And do you want to know why the
Gardai
are here?"
"Security?"
"The two women I overheard said all of them have reported thefts from their rooms, or rather their suites."
From being amused at what he assumed was Kara's interest in celebrities, Ryan's mind jolted onto a different level. "Thefts?"
"One of the women saw Caitlyn Connolly almost in hysterics in the lobby, saying all her jewellery was gone."
"It wasn't in her room safe?"
"I don't know, but the women said it sounded like an inside job, because none of the room doors had been forced."
They reached the Connacht Room, and he managed a quick grin. "When I asked the receptionist about the
Gardai
, she said it was a minor problem, but it seems Waterside Hall has a major problem on its hands."
His mind was already working overtime about what appeared to be a major heist at the hotel. If Kara hadn't been with him, he might have approached a
Garda
officer, revealed his name and rank, and the assignment on which he was working, but it was probably better to do nothing at present. He could get an update later from Enya.
A portly middle-aged man, in black waistcoat and crisp white shirt, led them to a table for two near the window, overlooking the blue water of the lough. He pulled out Kara's chair for her, and indicated the buffet table in the centre of the room, which held a large selection of finger sandwiches, canapés, mini-quiches, and salad, all on silver trays.
"I'm Thomas, and I'm your server this afternoon. Once you've made your choice at the buffet, I'll return and serve your tea."
As Ryan sat down opposite Kara, she shot a comical glance at him. "This is like stepping into a bygone age with our personal butler." She fingered the edge of the tablecloth. "Irish linen, best quality, of course, and Belleek china cups and saucers and plates. I love the shamrocks on them."
He grinned. "When this place was privately owned in the 19th century, they probably had English bone china, but at least now they have Irish—" He stopped as he caught sight of a couple entering the room. "Seems like someone has had the same idea as us."
Kara turned to follow his glance. "Liz and Conor! What a coincidence."
As she waved to them, Ryan couldn't help but wonder how coincidental it was. Was Conor McBride involved in some way? Had he masterminded the thefts, bribing or coercing hotel employees to enter the rooms and suites? Or was that someone else's role, and he was simply a receiver of stolen goods? Either way, this seemed to be a brazen maneuver to divert any suspicion from himself by appearing at the hotel with his girlfriend.
"Kara, I didn't expect to see you here," Liz said as she reached their table. "I thought you were going up to Westport."
Ryan stood and nodded at Conor, forcing himself to remember they'd only met once at the barbecue, and trying to forget everything else he knew about the man.
"We had lunch in Westport," Kara told Liz, "and Ryan suggested stopping here for afternoon tea."
The server approached them. "We have a table for four on the other side of the buffet table, if you would like to sit together."
Ryan was about to demur but, before he had time to say anything, Liz said, "Ooh, yes, let's go over there, and then I can tell you what happened this morning."
Once they'd moved to the new table and filled their plates from the buffet, Kara raised her eyebrows. "Go on, what happened?"
Liz laughed. "Oh, it was so funny. We had a group of people watching our 1916 scene in the Victorian bedroom when Niall rushed in, shouting,
Has anyone seen my car key? I've lost my car key!
I'm sure some of the audience thought he was part of the scene, except, of course, he was wearing his usual jeans and tee shirt, and not First World War costume."
"Niall's our resident artist," Kara explained to Ryan.
He nodded. "I remember him at the barbecue. Wasn't his wife—?"
"Yes, pregnant, and three days overdue." Liz turned to Kara again. "Charley apologised to the audience, but Niall was still shouting,
My wife's gone into labour, and I've lost my freakin' car key!
"
Kara's eyes widened. "Did he find it?"
"No, but one man offered to drive him and his wife to the hospital. I tell you, we all felt as if we were in some comedy farce. Niall was so panic-stricken, and the audience started to search everywhere in the room for his key. We knew it was unlikely to be there, because Niall paints landscapes, not Victorian bedrooms."
"What happened?"
"Guy came in, cool, calm, and collected. I bet he won't be like that when Jenna goes into labour, but anyway, he said Amy was in his car, and he'd drive them both to the hospital. After they'd gone, Charley looked around at the audience, and said,
Perhaps we should incorporate interactive scenes like that in all our presentations.
Everyone fell about laughing, and one man said they would never forget their visit to Mist Na Mara."
Kara laughed. "Not something that happens every day, is it? Have you heard anything more about Amy?"
"Not yet, but Charley said she'd call me as soon as there was any news."
"There's been some excitement here, too," Kara said.
Ryan glanced surreptitiously at Conor as Kara recounted what she'd overheard, but nothing flickered across the other man's face.
"Caitlyn Connolly is an eejit if she left her jewellery lying around," Liz said after Kara finished her account. "But I don't understand why thieves steal expensive jewellery. Once the police publish photos, surely it's impossible to sell it?"
"Always assuming the owner has taken photos, of course," Ryan said. "Insurance companies advise you to do that, but I wonder how many people do?"
Liz frowned. "I have a gold charm bracelet that must be worth a few hundred Euros. Should I take a photo of that?"
Conor smiled. "I think Ryan's talking about jewellery worth thousands."
"Even more difficult to sell, I would think," she said. "What
do
they do with the expensive things they steal?"
Kara giggled. "Perhaps they're like Fagin and keep all their stolen property in a tin box, which they take out every night to gloat over their treasures."
Ryan risked taking the conversation further. "I think most crooks want cash, not goods. Small-time thieves might give someone a nudge in a pub and ask if they want to buy a cheap laptop. Or a gold charm bracelet," he added, glancing at Liz. "But my guess is that a lot of thieves and burglars depend on a fence, who pays them cash, and then sells the goods for a much higher price."
"Doesn't that mean the fence runs a greater risk of being caught?" Liz asked.
"I'm not sure." He turned to Conor. "What do you think?"
The other man considered for a moment. "Fifty-fifty, I would think. Thieves can be caught on the job, of course, and fences run the risk of being caught with a stack of stolen merchandise in their attic or basement."
Or in a cottage they happen to be renovating?
He kept his face neutral. "I assume they get rid of it as fast as they can."
Conor nodded. "Possibly, or they may wait a few weeks or even months, until they think the police will no longer be actively looking for the goods."
"Or they sell it to someone in Outer Mongolia who hasn't seen any newspaper photos," Kara added.
Ryan chuckled. "I think most goods are sold much nearer home. I bet half the stuff taken from here earlier is already being hawked around pubs in Galway or Dublin, or has been handed over to fences who have their own outlets for getting rid of—" He stopped when a phone buzzed and pulled his from his pocket. "Not mine. Whose is it?"
"Mine." Liz glanced at her screen. "Excuse me, but I must take this call. It's Charley."
As she pressed the phone to her ear, Conor turned to him. "You seem to know a lot about what happens to stolen goods."
Ryan forced a shrug to hide the tightening of his nerves.
Had he said too much
? "I read detective and crime novels."
"Is that right? Ever read a novel about the theft of the
Mona Lisa
from the Louvre?"
"Not a novel, no, but I—"
"It's a girl!" Liz squealed. "Amy's had a girl. 3.5 kilograms, and mum and baby are both fine. Olivia Maeve."
Kara's eyes lit up. "Oh, I love the name."
"Niall's grandfather is called Oliver, and Maeve is Amy's grandmother."