Authors: Paula Martin
Five hours later, he stretched his cramped limbs. He doubted anyone would drive a car or van to the cottage in the middle of the night, for fear of attracting attention, so it now remained to be seen whether Paddy Walsh would turn up with his box at the taxi office tomorrow morning. If he did, it meant they had found somewhere else to hide the goods. If he didn't, then God knew what it meant, but he had a strong suspicion the Waterside Hall loot had already been taken out of the area and was on its way to Belfast, or further afield.
* * * * *
Kara's phone rang at twenty minutes after seven on Monday evening, while supper was being served in the staff dining room. They had a rule to mute their phones during meal times, but she'd forgotten. She retrieved it from her pocket and glanced at the screen. Seeing Sister Gabriel's name, she stood up. "I do apologise, but I need to take this call."
As she closed the door behind her, she pressed the icon. "Hi, Sister, how are you?"
"I'm very well, thank you, and I think I may have some good news for you, my dear. I asked Sister Augusta about Margaret Kelly, and she found about twenty letters that a Margaret Kelly has sent over several years, asking for information about her daughter."
Kara's pulse started to race. "And you think it's the same Margaret?"
"I have the most recent letter here, dated June 6th this year, just over a month ago. Let me read it to you:
My name was Margaret Kelly and I was sent to the Ballykane Mother and Baby Home in January, 1959, where I was known by the name of Honora. I gave birth to my daughter Aileen on June 6th, 1959. As I had been training as a children's nurse, I worked in the nursery at Ballykane until April, 1960, when my daughter was taken away. No one ever told me where she went or who adopted her, and my husband and I have spent over fifty years searching for her, but with no success. Now I am in my seventies, I would dearly love to be reunited with my daughter or, at the very least, to know what happened to her. If you have any information about her, I beg you to tell me. Yours sincerely, Margaret Mary Sheridan."
Kara struggled to breathe. "This has to be the right person, Sister. Does Margaret's letter show her address?"
"It does, and a telephone number, too."
"Oh!" Panic-stricken, Kara glanced up and down the corridor. "Please would you wait a minute? I don't have a pen or paper with me." She had no alternative but to go back into the dining room, and she put her hand over the mouthpiece as she opened the door. "Excuse me, but I need someone to write down an address for me."
Guy was the first to respond. He pulled out his phone, swiped the screen, and said, "Go ahead."
Kara repeated the address and phone number Sister Gabriel told her, and Guy typed it on his phone. She mouthed, "Thank you" to him, and returned to the corridor.
A bubble of excitement tickled her stomach. "Sister, I can't thank you enough. This is amazing."
"Kara, before you build up your hopes, let me remind you of one thing. There's no absolute proof that this Margaret Kelly is your grandmother."
The bubble refused to be deflated. "But I met someone at the weekend who worked with Margaret in the 1960s at a children's hospital in Dublin, and she said I looked like her."
"Well, now, that's interesting, to be sure, but fifty years is a long time to remember someone's appearance. After all, I was at Ballykane at the same time as Margaret, but I only have a vague recollection of her."
Kara nodded. "Yes, I understand what you're saying, Sister, but – well, do you think it would be okay for me to call Margaret, or should I write to her?"
She sensed the nun's hesitation before she spoke again. "I would usually suggest writing, as I did when you found Theresa's address, but in this case, a telephone call might be acceptable, since Margaret's letter says that she and her husband have been searching for her daughter."
Her heart lifted. "Which means she hasn't hidden her secret from her husband, doesn't it?"
"It would appear so, but I would still advise caution, my dear. I've already warned you against raising your hopes, and you should take care not to raise Margaret's hopes too much, either. In case this proves to be a false trail, you understand."
"Yes, you're right. I'll think carefully before I call her. But thank you again, Sister."
"And you will let me know what you discover, won't you?"
"Of course I will."
After ending the call, Kara leant against the wall. Too many thoughts whizzed around in her mind to catch hold of any of them. She turned when Guy came out of the dining room.
"Is everything okay, Kara?"
"Yes, I think so."
He indicated his phone. "I've texted the address to you. Is this anything to do with your search for your mom's birth mother?"
"It might be her address."
"Might? Aren't you sure?"
She sighed. "I wish I was, but although everything points to her being the right person, the evidence is circumstantial. I don't have any conclusive proof."
Guy grinned. "You're a forensic scientist, Kara. How would you obtain that kind of proof?"
"I guess maternal mitochondrial DNA testing is the only sure proof, because it's passed down from the mother to all her children, but I don't think my mom would ever agree to that."
"Wouldn't your mom pass it down to you?"
Kara gave a low laugh. "Now I know I'm not thinking straight at the moment. Yes, of course she would. But first I need to contact Margaret Kelly, and that makes me nervous."
"Why?"
"Because I've had a lot of disappointments in this search, and this could be another, despite what every instinct is telling me."
"Take your time, and think about it. There's no rush, is there?"
"No, except the address Sister Gabriel gave me is in Dublin, and I'm going there next weekend with Ryan."
Guy raised his eyebrows. "So you and Ryan—?"
She gave him an embarrassed smile. "Stop jumping to conclusions. Yes, I like him, and he likes me, but it's early days, and I still don't know a lot about him, except—"
"Except what?"
Except the more she saw of Ryan, the more she wondered why
s
uch an intelligent man seemed content to drift from one casual job to another.
"Oh, nothing really." She retrieved Guy's text message and stared down at it. "Now I have to decide whether to contact Margaret Sheridan."
Chapter 19
"Go on, call her," Ryan said two days later, when they sat on the terrace of a restaurant overlooking Clifden harbour. "You've nothing to lose, but perhaps a lot to gain, if it
is
the right person."
Kara gave him a shaky smile. "I keep going over in my mind what to say to her, and wondering how she'll react. Maybe I should have asked Sister Gabriel to contact her first, or even someone from the Adoption Agency."
"But you know she's been searching for her daughter, so it's different from Theresa, isn't it? And her husband knows, too."
"Yes." Kara studied her phone for a few moments and took a deep breath. "Okay, here goes."
Her hand trembled as she pressed the numbers, and she shot an anxious glance at Ryan when the ring tone sounded. He slipped his arm around her and squeezed her shoulder.
After four rings, a man's voice answered. "Hallo?"
"Hi. May I speak to Mrs. Sheridan, please?"
"Who's calling?"
"Well, she doesn't know me, but my name's Kara Stewart. I'm American, and living at Clifden in County Galway at present. I've been researching my – my Irish ancestry, and I think I may have a link with Mrs. Sheridan's family."
"Just a minute."
She heard him call, "Margaret!" but whatever else he said was inaudible.
Nothing happened for what seemed an eternity until a woman's voice said, "Hello? This is Margaret Sheridan. My husband says you're researching your ancestry. I'm not sure how I can help, but I'll do my best."
She sounded nervous, and Kara remembered Sister Gabriel's advice about not raising her hopes. "Hello, Mrs. Sheridan. I realise this may come as a bit of a surprise to you, but my mother was born in 1959 at Ballykane. She was adopted by an American couple, and I'm trying to find her birth mother."
During the pause that followed, Kara wondered if Margaret's heart was beating as fast as her own.
"I see," Margaret said eventually. "Do you know her date of birth?"
"I thought I did, but I've discovered it was entered wrongly on her adoption certificate. All I know is that her adoption was dated April 21st, 1960."
"April 21st? Oh." Another pause. "You – you don't happen to know her name, do you? Her original name, I mean, before she was adopted."
Kara floundered. "No, I'm sorry, I don't. That's one of the problems we've been up against, but the thing is, I met someone who used to work with you at the children's hospital in Dublin in the 1960s, and she said I reminded her of you, and everyone says how like my mother I am, and I – well, I thought—"
She groaned inwardly. Her rehearsed speech dissolved into incoherency, and she struggled to reassemble her thoughts.
"And everyone used to tell me how much I looked like my own mother," Margaret said quietly.
Kara's breath caught in her throat. "Mrs. Sheridan, I know we shouldn't jump to wild conclusions, but Sister Gabriel told me you've written to the convent several times asking for information about your daughter."
"Sister Gabriel?"
"I think you knew her as Bernadette O'Brien."
"You've met Bernie? And she's now a nun?"
"Yes, and that's quite a long story, but—"
"Miss – er – Stewart, is it?"
"Kara Stewart."
"May I call you Kara? You said this was a surprise, Kara, and you're right about us not jumping to conclusions, but my heart is thumping like a drum right now. Jon and I have searched for years to find out what happened to Aileen, and I hardly dare start to hope, but is there any possibility of meeting with you? We'll come across to Clifden if—"
"I'll be in Dublin next weekend, Mrs. Sheridan." She glanced at Ryan who nodded. "Sister Gabriel gave me your address, and I'm coming to Dublin by car with a friend, so we could come to your house. If that's okay with you, of course."
"It is indeed. Oh my goodness, after all these years. And there are so many questions I want to ask you, I don't know where to start, but I'll write them all down. Oh, I am so anxious to meet you, and Jon will be, too, when I tell him what you've said. Will two o'clock on Saturday be convenient for you?"
"Yes, of course. I'll look forward to meeting you."
After clicking off her phone, Kara tried to control her shaking limbs. She turned to Ryan. "I'm sure it's the right person. She even said she looked like her own mother. That can't be a coincidence, can it?"
He grasped her hand. "I hope it isn't, for her sake, and for yours, too. You will remember to take your photos, won't you?"
"Yes, of course, and I'll take my tablet, because I have loads more photos of my mom and dad, and of Matthew and me, too."
Ryan grinned. "Are those the ones you wouldn't let me see? One of you with pigtails?"
"Yes, when I was about eight or nine. What was your hair like when you were a kid?"
"Much longer than this in my teens. Down to my shoulders at one time, much to my mother's disgust."
Kara giggled. "Oh, I'd love to see that. Do you have any photos?"
"Mam probably has some somewhere, unless she's thrown them away."
"Do your parents still live in Dublin?"
"In Dublin? No, they—" He halted mid-sentence before going on, "No, they moved away a few years ago."
Kara was sure he'd been about to say something else. It wasn't the first time he'd been cagey when talking about his past, and she didn't understand why. Was he ashamed of his background? Whatever the reason, she balked against asking him anything more in case it sounded like she was interrogating him. Maybe he'd tell her more once they were in Dublin at the weekend.
* * * * *
By seven o'clock on Friday evening, they were approaching the capital city after the three hour drive from the west coast.
"At least the weather forecast is good for this weekend," Ryan said. "Dublin looks so much better in sunshine than in rain."
The butterflies in Kara's stomach didn't care whether there would be a monsoon downpour or scorching sun. Some fluttered in eager anticipation of sharing a bed with him tonight, while others darted uneasily at the thought of meeting with Margaret. Two days ago she was sure she'd found her birth grandmother, but now all she could think was,
What if she isn't?
"Are you okay?" Ryan asked.
"I'm nervous about tomorrow."
"You wouldn't be human if you didn't have some misgivings, and I'll bet Margaret's been living on her nerves for the past two days. This could be the end of the search for both of you, and her search has been going on much longer than yours."
"That's what worries me. If she isn't my grandmother, I'll be disappointed, of course, but her disappointment will be a hundred times worse, and I'll feel bad for raising her hopes for nothing."
"I'm sure she's going through all that in her mind, or else her husband is telling her not to build up too many hopes."
"Yes, you're probably right."
"So will you try to relax,
a ghrá
?"
The Irish endearment brought a smile to her lips, and she rested her hand gently on his thigh. "I'll try." She risked asking him more about himself. "Come on, distract me by telling me about when you lived in Dublin as a child. Did you live anywhere near where Margaret is now?"
He shook his head. "She lives north-west of the city centre whereas I – we lived south, near Dun Laoghaire."
"That's on the coast, isn't it? Is that where you learnt to sail?"
"No, I did all my sailing on Lough Derg." He grinned. "At least you don't have to worry about high and low tides there."
Something rang a bell in Kara's mind. "Do your grandparents still live at Portumna? That's on Lough Derg, isn't it?"
"They do, and it is. Both my dad and his father were keen sailors, and they taught me everything I know about sailing. Dad still goes out on the lough every weekend when the weather's good."
"So your parents also live at Portumna now, do they?"
"Yes, they've been there for several years. Have you ever done any sailing?"
"Only when I was at summer camp in my teens, and I think I spent more time in the water than on the sailing dinghy."
Ryan chuckled. "I've had my fair share of capsizing, too. What else did you do in your teens?"
Again, Kara had the feeling that something, somewhere, didn't add up. Hadn't he said he was born at Portumna because his mother returned to
her
parents' home there to have him? And yet he'd told Maeve Connor that his maternal grandparents lived near Loughrea. The simple answer, of course, was that they could have moved there at some point, so it was no big deal, was it?
She pushed aside the unanswered questions in her mind, and smiled. "In my teens? Sleepovers with my friends when we drooled over our favourite boy bands, or experimented with make-up and hairstyles, and then there were the family events, like Thanksgiving, and the Fourth of July parades and fireworks. Those must be like your St. Patrick's Day parade in Dublin."
"Probably, but it's only the tourists who wear big green hats, or tee shirts saying,
Kiss me, I'm Irish.
I've seen a couple of parades, but mostly it was a good excuse for a pub crawl."
"In your teens?"
"Late teens, I'm meaning, when I was at—when I was eighteen or nineteen. One year, we decided to visit seventeen pubs and drink a pint of Guinness at each. I failed, but I'm still not sure whether I managed ten or eleven. All I remember is waking up the next morning with St. Pat himself banging his bishop's staff into my skull."
She giggled. "That reminds me of a tequila party at college. I've never been able to drink tequila since then."
"So I'll not be buying you any tequila tonight, will I?"
"No, thanks." She hesitated before going on, "Are we really staying at the Sheldon?"
"We are. Why do you ask?"
"I looked at the hotel website, and it's awesome, but it's very expensive, isn't it?"
"And you're thinking I must have done well with my tips this week?" He grinned. "Don't worry about it. I booked the Sheldon because I wanted somewhere special for us."
"If it's anything like the photos, it'll certainly check all the boxes for me."
"And will you be telling me if
I
check all your boxes, too?"
The heat rose to Kara's cheeks as anticipation simmered through her veins, but she kept her voice light. "Only if you tell me first. I mean, whether I check your – oh, you know what I mean."
He laughed. "Indeed I do, but, at the moment, I need to concentrate on the traffic now we're coming into town. I think I know where I'm going, unless they've changed any of the streets to one way since the last time I was here."
He pointed out some of the sights while he drove along the north bank of the River Liffey, and Kara gazed with interest at the entrance to Phoenix Park, the Jameson Distillery, the impressive façade of the Four Courts, and the cast iron Ha'penny Bridge spanning the river.
When they approached a busy road junction, he said, "I'm turning right here, but if you look to your left, you'll see O'Connell Street, with the statue of Daniel O'Connell, one of our early freedom fighters, and further up the street is the Millennium Spire. It's known locally as the
Stiletto in the Ghetto
."
Kara grinned. "Do you give all your statues nicknames? I saw the one of Molly Malone when I was here in December, and someone said it was often called the
Tart with the Cart.
"
"Or the
Trollop with the Scallops
, and there are other statues with even less complimentary names. There's Trinity College on your left, by the way, and we're now about three minutes away from the Sheldon."
Outside the large white stone and brick Victorian building at one side of St. Stephen's Green, Ryan pulled their bags from the car and handed the key to the parking valet, before escorting her into the lobby. Even though she'd seen photos, she still gazed up in awe at the central area where wide stairways and landings with wrought iron balustrades led to the upper floors.
Check-in was fast, and the bell boy accompanied them in the elevator to their room on the fourth floor.
While Ryan tipped him, Kara crossed to one of the two long windows, pulled aside the net drapes, and gazed out at the large park with trees, green lawns, colourful flowerbeds, and an ornamental lake.
"It's hard to believe we're in the centre of Dublin with this lovely view from our window."
Ryan came up behind her and slipped his arm around her shoulders. "I'm glad you approve."
He kissed her neck, and she turned, leaning against him as his mouth claimed hers. When he tightened his hold and his tongue sought hers, she surrendered willingly to him. This was what she'd longed for ever since their first kiss at Lough Derg, and now it was about to happen.
As their kiss deepened, an escalating urgency led her to fumble with his shirt buttons. Once his shirt was open, she slid her hands down his firm chest, loving the curly hairs beneath her fingertips. His deep intake of breath as she pushed her hands past the waistband of his trousers was enough to create a storm of arousal deep inside her, and they paused only long enough for him to yank his shirt off, and lift her cotton top over her head.