The Delaney Woman (20 page)

“Spaghetti and chips, it is,” said Claire as she helped Heather with her socks and shoes. “Where shall we go for good spaghetti?”

Heather held out her hand. “I'll show you.”

Together they walked down the darkening streets into town. Heather pointed out a cozy restaurant with checked cloths and candles on the tables. Claire ordered salad and wine for herself, chips and pasta for Heather. Then she looked around. It was crowded for a weeknight, nearly every table filled and a large group took up the center of the room. She recognized several of the women from her school days. One of them glanced in her direction. Claire smiled at her but the woman looked away, commenting to the man beside her. He waited a decent interval and then turned around to look. This time Claire didn't smile.

Self-conscious, she sipped her wine and listened to Heather chatter about her friends and school.
They're only people
, she reminded herself.
Don't let them bother you. This is enough: freedom, your child, all of life ahead.
The self-talk helped. She'd learned it in prison. Thinking positive thoughts was a survival technique. It turned one's mind in the right direction. Claire knew it wouldn't be easy making her way in Banburren. She'd come for Heather, to know her daughter, and to see if there was the possibility of a life with Tom. The last was still up in the air.

Tom was angry with her, but his anger would fade in time. She would give him a chance to think about what he truly wanted. If he wanted her back, she would make a go of it. She owed him. She'd wronged him.

With a sense of relief, she watched Heather eat her ice cream. Finally, after seven years, she had a plan. Tom and Heather came first. There was something to be said for keeping a family together, for belonging to something. She was tired of having no one care whether or not she came home at night. But if that wasn't to be, then she would make a new life for herself with people who hadn't known the old Claire Whelan.

T
om released Lexi from her leash, pulled the ball from his jacket pocket, and threw it in a wide arc across the field. Immediately the dog streaked after it, the white and gold of her coat blurring into the long green grass. Like a homing pigeon, she bounded toward her prize, picked it up in her mouth and strutted proudly back to her master, dropping it at his feet.

He rubbed her head. “Good girl. You're a grand lass, Lexi. Shall we try it again?”

The dog whimpered. Tom picked up the ball and threw it, watching as the setter raced across the grass, sniffed it out and brought it back to him. Lexi was a champion, her limbs strong and healthy, her coat gleaming and her teeth in remarkable shape for a nine-year-old dog. In the beginning she had been Claire's pet and protector, never leaving her side, emitting a menacing growl whenever anyone questionable came too near. Then Claire was gone. For a long time Tom had worked to win the loyal animal over. It wasn't until Heather's second birthday, nearly three years after Claire had left, that Lexi had capitulated. Tom still remembered the night Lexi nudged the door to the study open and stretched out at his feet. He'd felt triumphant that day, as if something of much greater importance had occurred than the acceptance of a four-legged animal. For Tom it was a sign that life would go on, that he would find contentment with his child and his dog, no matter that his wife would never return. Now that Claire was back Tom took a good deal of pleasure in knowing that Lexi still preferred him

Not that the dog mattered to Claire. He had no clear idea of what did matter to her. Her sudden reappearance in his life had unsettled him, angered him. It was damn awkward, Kellie and Claire together in the same house. Claire was still his wife and yet he felt disloyal to Kellie. It was as if the last few weeks with Kellie had never happened. They'd fallen back into habits begun when she'd first come to Banburren. He knew they needed to talk but he was afraid they would come together and speak of inconsequential things until finally their time was over and they would leave each other with nothing resolved, more frustrated than ever. His mother was right. He should have ended his marriage long ago. But he hadn't and he was paying a price. The trouble was he had no assurances for Kellie. He didn't know how long Claire would be staying and there was Heather to think of. She had attached herself to her mother and Tom couldn't refuse Claire's reasonable request to know her daughter.

Meanwhile Kellie was silent, completely uncommunicative no matter how he tried to draw her out. She attended to the business of the bed-and- breakfast—cooking, washing linens, booking guests, but there was no joy in her step, no smile on her lips. Claire behaved as if the entire charade was completely normal while Heather was around. Later she disappeared into the sitting room and fell asleep on the floor in front of the telly after Heather had gone to bed. Tom spent as much time as possible away from home on ridiculous errands. The only one unaffected was Heather and she seemed quite comfortable with the new situation. Tom marveled at the resiliency of children, both grateful for and envious of their ability to adjust.
Why did Claire have to come home and spoil everything?
The thought came to him unbidden. Immediately he was ashamed. Where else would she go?

He couldn't come up with a clear solution. Everything he thought of came with obvious difficulties. He needed time to sort it out.

Lexi looked up at him with soulful eyes. Tom ruffled the hair on her head. Lexi was a constant, one of the few he could count on right now.

The two women sat across from each other at the kitchen table. Claire drummed her fingers on the wood. This whole situation with Kellie was bloody awkward. She wanted nothing to do with the woman. She fumbled in her pocket. Where had she left her cigarettes? “What is it that you need to tell me?” she asked, annoyed.

“I want you to understand why I'm here in Banburren.”

“Go on,” Claire said, interested despite her resentment of the woman.

“My brother Connor and his son were murdered,” Kellie began. “Connor was an Intelligence Agent. He worked for Scotland Yard. No one would tell me why someone wanted my brother dead.” Kellie's voice shook. She cleared her throat. “They were simply going to sweep his murder under the carpet. That wasn't acceptable to me. I found an invoice in Connor's coat pocket with Tom's name on it. I had nothing else to work with so I took a chance and came here. I found out that Dennis McGarrety was involved. I believe he ordered the murders.”

She leaned forward. “My brother and my nephew, Danny, were my whole life. Surely you can understand that. I must find out why they were targeted. Tom doesn't remember a specific incident in his past that would lead Connor to him. Do you?”

Claire's expression was flat, emotionless. “Tell me exactly what Dennis McGarrety said to you.”

Kellie repeated her conversation with the brigade leader.

“He specifically told you that Tom and Heather were in danger and that your brother was killed?”

“Yes.”

Claire frowned. The expressions that flitted across her face revealed her quick intelligence. “Dennis McGarrety may have gotten it wrong,” she said slowly. “He's no longer in the mainstream. Murder isn't popular with the rank and file. Nationalists are voting. They need patience, not violence.”

Kellie nodded. It was odd, this communing with Claire. The woman was intelligent and articulate and marvelously patient with Heather. Kellie was both attracted to and repelled by her. In different circumstances, she might have been willing to strike up a friendship. Obviously, that was out of the question. One didn't befriend a woman whose husband she'd slept with. “If I could bring an end to this—” She stopped. What would she do? Leave Banburren? Leave Tom to Claire? Every instinct screamed out against it.

Claire pulled out a cigarette, struck a match and drew deeply. Smoke curled around her head. “Tom wasn't involved. I hope you know that. He hasn't the stomach for murder. He never did.”

Kellie nodded, hating her for her intimate knowledge of her husband. “I know.”

“Do you need specifics or will you be satisfied with general information?”

“I don't understand.”

“Do you need a name?”

“No,” Kellie said shortly. “I already know the who. I want to know why.”

Claire's eyes, wide and gray and very like her own, met hers. “I'd like to strike a bargain.”

“What kind of bargain?”

“Promise me you'll leave if I give you the why.”

Kellie stirred her cooling tea. “I thought you didn't want Tom. Isn't that the way it was before you were sent away?”

Claire didn't answer immediately, but when she did, it wasn't the answer Kellie expected. “Seven years is long enough to shift priorities. What I want is this life, the normalcy of it. I want my child. Tom is a good man. I can make him happy.”

Something was missing. Kellie pressed her. “Will you be happy?”

Claire looked at her, brows lifted in astonishment mixed with a good portion of contempt. “How dare you ask me such a question, you with your job and your education, and a whole world to go back to? I don't require happiness, Kellie Delaney. We aren't put here to be happy. What I have will be enough.”

“What if Tom doesn't see it that way?”

“I have a feeling he may be suffering from a conflict of interests.”

“What conflict?”

“My husband believes he's in love with you,” Claire said bluntly.

Kellie flushed but she refused to look away.

Claire hesitated. “I know this is awkward, but it isn't unusual. You needn't be embarrassed. It's only natural after the way the two of you have been living. Tom isn't a womanizer. He would never go looking for anyone else. You were thrown at him, so to speak. I don't blame either of you.”

There was so much more to say, but Kellie's mouth refused to work.

“I know what you're thinking,” Claire continued. “But don't make more of it than there really is. You're convenient and there's our obvious resemblance.” She leaned forward. “But don't make the mistake of thinking it's enough. You told me why you came here. Your relationship began with a lie. You have no shared history, no memories, no family. Tom and I were children together. I don't want to hurt you, Kellie. There's no reason for it. But I don't want you to harbor delusions, either. Tom, Heather and I will eventually work this out.”

Kellie's words were soft, but deliberate, as if she'd thought about the question for a long time. “Is that what you want, to work it out? Have you changed that much?”

“Aye.”

“How?” Kellie knew she was pushing the edge, but she had to ask.

Claire looked surprised. “I want my daughter and a normal life. I've not wanted that before.”

“What about your husband?”

For the briefest second, Claire's eyes flashed with heat. “Are you a Catholic?” she asked instead.

“Yes.”

“Then you'll understand that Tom is my husband. That can't be changed, no matter how much you want him. If I find the answers to your questions, you must leave Banburren.” She ground out her cigarette in the ashtray. “It goes without saying that Tom must never know of our bargain.”

Kellie pushed her chair away from the table and stood. “I won't tell him. I want nothing that belongs to you.”

The Crispin Road was well traveled, mostly by trucks carrying goods from Dublin and Belfast to the west of Ireland. A modern shopping center complete with a petrol station and fast-food restaurants stood at one corner. Claire stuffed her cold hands into the pockets of her jacket and sat down on one of the benches. She looked around and wrinkled her nose. A young mother with a cigarette in one hand and a soft-drink can in the other shouted at her toddler to keep the pace. Workers operating jackhammers had opened up the main road holding up traffic in both directions. Loud music blared at a decibel level designed to destroy eardrums, and two young men, every visible orifice pierced and tattooed, conversed and ate their Gyro King wraps with no consideration for manners. So this was progress, Ireland's answer to unemployment and immigration. Claire didn't approve. But, perhaps every country had to go through such a metamorphosis before it could join the world as a modern contributing nation.

Claire didn't begrudge her country its successes. She only hoped that the fast-track modernization and technology sweeping through Ireland could be tempered with an appreciation for its cultural roots. History and music and literature also had a place, as did sleepy villages and country roads, sheep dotting green hillsides, traditional music filling the minds and lifting the spirits in smoke-hazed pubs, lone tractors chugging down rutted paths and mist settling over silver lakes and disappearing into rich bog lands shimmering under a reluctant sun. Her appreciation for her culture and homeland ran deep. She wasn't ready to let that go.

It hadn't been easy arranging this meeting. But McGarrety owed her. Not once in her seven years in Maidenstone had she implicated him in the murder for which she'd been sentenced. Yes, he owed her a great deal, seven years to be precise and she didn't intend to let him forget it.

Claire still didn't know exactly whom she would be dealing with, but she was fairly confident that whoever it was would tell her what she wanted to know. She was no novice when it came to subversive operations. Despite the passage of seven years, her instincts were still good. Therefore, when an older sandy-haired man carrying a paper cup and a newspaper took up a position on the bus bench beside her, her radar leaped into ready mode. When he allowed two buses to pass, she knew she'd found her contact

Claire knew the rules. She waited for him to acknowledge her.

Ten minutes passed. Finally he spoke. “What do you want?”

She resolved to speak as little as possible. “Why is Tom Whelan compromised?”

“Tom Whelan is the one with information.”

“I'm his wife. I've been told he's in danger and I want to know if it has anything to do with the murder of Connor Delaney.” She sounded more confident than she felt.

“Do you think I would be here if we didn't know you were Claire Whelan home from prison?”

“What information does Tom have?”

“Can you guarantee his silence?”

Claire wet her lips. “Aye.”

“Kevin Davies must be reelected.”

Faces flickered through her memory. Then it came to her. The IRA man who won the election. “Davies? The MP?”

“Aye.”

Suddenly it all was beginning to make sense. Davies might be a popular politician today but he had a past that could destroy him. “What did Connor Delaney have to do with Davies?”

“He found out about the Davies murders but he needed witnesses. Tom is the only one left who was there.”

“He was always the only one left. Why worry now? That was fifteen years ago. Surely you know that Tom wouldn't come forward?”

“We weren't worried until Connor Delaney started snooping around. We can't afford to have Davies run at reelection compromised. We know Tom wouldn't voluntarily talk, but we aren't sure what he would do in a courtroom.”

Claire was silent. McGarrety was pathetic. Connor Delaney's murder was unnecessary. Tom would never have talked.

The man pressed her. “Will he talk if he's brought up in court?”

“No,” Claire promised recklessly. “He won't say anything. We want you to leave us alone.”

The man pulled out a cigarette, struck a match and lit up. He inhaled deeply. “I'll relay your message, both of them.” He exhaled a cloud of smoke and waited for her to go. “It would be foolish to lie,” he said quietly.

For the first time Claire looked at him directly. “It would be just as foolish for Dennis McGarrety to forget his debt to me.”