This Charming Man (69 page)

Another long silence.

‘Was it Paddy? Paddy de Courcy?’

A sigh. ‘Yes.’

‘It’s him, Dee.’

‘It’s not him,’ Dee said. ‘Don’t be an idiot. When I’m damaged, the party is damaged and when the party is damaged, so is he.’

‘Look, I’m not saying it’s a perfect plan.’ I noticed that in my excitement I was talking too loud and half of Kenny’s were listening in. It would have been better to have had this discussion somewhere private but I didn’t want to go to Dee’s house in case the hidden photographers mistook me for a
Moldovan woman and I didn’t want Dee to come to mine in case it would draw attention to Damien.

‘Precision bombing,’ I whispered. ‘To take you out but to keep the integrity of the party intact. That’s what he’s trying.’

‘Precision bombing,’ she repeated and shook her head with some derision.

I realized how melodramatic I sounded. ‘I’m sorry… this isn’t
Black Hawk Down,
but I don’t know what other way to say it.’

‘It’s too risky for him,’ she said.

‘He’s a risk-taker.’

‘How do you know?’

I shook my head. ‘That’s a story for another day.’ I took a deep breath. ‘Dee, I’m sorry, but Paddy de Courcy is not the lovely man you think he is.’

She looked at me in amazement and I regretted having to destroy her illusions, but it was necessary if– as I was kind of convinced – he was the person who was shafting her.

‘I never thought Paddy de Courcy was a lovely man,’ she said.

‘Is that right? Well, good, because –’

‘Paddy de Courcy is a ruthless, treacherous, greedy, graspingly ambitious, profoundly unpleasant man. He’d sell his own granny at a car-boot sale if he thought it might buy him a couple of votes and, by hook or by crook, he’ll be Ireland’s leader one day.’

I was stunned into silence.
Stunned
. Her opinion of him was almost worse than mine. And she had never said. Had never given any indication. Politicians, I tell you!

‘So why do you work with him?’

‘We all work with people we don’t like. It’s handy for the party – people who distrust me because I’m a mouthy feminist are reassured by my having a good-looking, charismatic man as my deputy.’

‘You admit he wants to be taoiseach?’

‘God, yes, he’s always had his eye on the prize, but I’ve never thought he planned to do it via leadership of New Ireland. He’s using us because we’re small but we punch above our weight. He’s a big fish in New Ireland and it’s got him noticed, but we’re only a stepping stone. His next big move will be to defect to the Nappies and he’ll take it from there.’

‘Say it again, Dee. “A ruthless, treacherous…”’

‘“A ruthless, treacherous, greedy, graspingly ambitious, profoundly unpleasant man.”’

‘And say the part about selling his granny.’

‘ “He’d sell his own granny at a car-boot sale ifhe thought…”’

‘“… it might buy him a couple of votes,”’ I prompted.

‘“… it might buy him a couple of votes,”’ she repeated.

Once again astonishment washed over me. ‘I thought you were thick as thieves with him.’

‘Now you know.’

‘And I think you’re wrong. I think he does want to be leader of New Ireland. At the very least it would get him a ministerial post.’

‘What’s Paddy done to you?’ she asked suddenly.

‘… Erm…’

‘Something, right? Something bad? But Grace, don’t try to make the facts fit just to find him guilty.’

Was I doing that?

Was my personal stuff getting in the way of reality? Was I trying to blame Paddy de Courcy for everything? Global warming? The destruction of the rain forests? The attacks on Dee Rossini?

Maybe. I was prepared to admit it was a slight, tiny possibility.

But as soon as I tried to let go of him and slot another person – Christopher Holland, for example – into the box marked ‘Guilty’ my brain refused to cooperate.

I just needed one more event to link Paddy to the persecution of Dee and we were in business. Who could I ask? There wasn’t any point ringing Angus Sprott at the
Press
and asking him ifde Courcy was his source. For one thing he’d never tell me and for another I’d be fingering Damien and for yet another there was no way it would be Paddy in person. He’d have gotten Spanish John to pay someone else to pay someone else to do it: a long enough chain of command that it would never come back to him.

‘Your daughter’s wedding, when so many things went wrong, do you think someone in the hotel could have been paid to cock it all up? To “lose” the wedding cake? To cause chaos in the kitchen so that there weren’t enough meals?’

‘It’s a theory. But there’s no way of proving it.’

It mightn’t be that hard. I’d need to talk to everyone who worked in the hotel on the day of the wedding. Mind you, it was five months ago, staff turnover in hotels was notoriously high. But worth considering.

‘It’s not Paddy,’ Dee said. ‘But it could be Christopher. Really it could be.’

‘Okay.’ I decided to go with this different tack. (In the Val McDermid novels, the detectives say you must stay open-minded.) ‘Why did he sell his story about his relationship with you?’

‘The
Globe
paid him lots of money, I presume.’

‘You presume? Haven’t you asked him?’

She looked at me like I was insane. ‘I haven’t spoken to him since the story came out. Two days previously actually.’

‘Nothing at all? You never got the urge to ring him and shout abuse?’

‘No.’

‘Or to get answers to some questions?’

‘No.’

‘Not even some night when you were drunk?’

‘I don’t get drunk.’

‘Don’t you?’

‘Well, all right then, I do. But why would I bother wasting my good drunkenness on him? He let me down. I knew he would. Men always do.’

‘So why did you bother with him at all?’

‘Because he had a big dick and could do it three times a night.’

‘… Er… really?’

‘Yes, sometimes four.’

Christ alive, but she was fabulous.

‘No one – almost no one – knew that you had a boyfriend. How did the
Globe
know that there was even a person to approach and offer money to? Somebody had to have told them. Did Paddy know about Christopher?’

She hesitated. ‘Perhaps. There was one time Christopher showed up at my office. I got rid of him sharpish but Paddy asked about him. I said he was a friend of Toria’s. I’ve never been sure he believed me,’ she admitted. ‘Paddy misses nothing. But I thought we’d moved on from Paddy.’

‘So did I.’

There was something that naked curiosity compelled me to ask. ‘Casey Kaplan said he knew Christopher. Is that true? Or is he entirely full of shit?’

‘It’s true.’ She laughed at my sour face. ‘Christopher and Casey are very close friends, they were at school together. He really does know everybody. He’s just one of those people.’

‘It could have been Casey Kaplan.’

‘It wasn’t him.’ Dee was scornful. ‘He wouldn’t have given the story to
Scott Holmes, he’d have done it himself. Anyway, it wasn’t him because he’s a sweetheart.’

‘Surely you mean a gobshite?’

‘Okay, those ridiculous clothes, the swagger, the rock-star jargon… But he’s a pet. It’s the main reason he’s so connected – everyone likes him.’

‘I don’t.’

‘Except you, then.’

‘I’m ringing Scott Holmes,’ I said. ‘He might tell me something.’

‘He won’t,’ Dee said.

‘Let’s see,’ I said, locating my phone and hoping I still had Scott’s number.

‘Scott? Grace Gildee here.’

‘Gracie!’ I endured the ‘How’s tricks’ conversation for as long as I could, then I said, ‘Scott, I need your help.’ (Good thing to say. Act helpless. Gets results quicker. A truly depressing indictment of the state of male/female relations but I’m only telling it like it is.)

‘Aw, Gracie, you only call me when you want something.’

‘Back in November, you did a big piece with Christopher Holland, Dee Rossini’s boyfriend. Remember?’

‘Course.’

‘The initial contact? Was it Christopher Holland himself? Or was it agented?’

‘Aw come on, Grace, that’s confidential.’

‘Scott, we’re not discussing the Good Friday Agreement. Was it Paddy de Courcy?’

‘Wha – ? Are you crazy?’

‘John Crown?’

‘De Courcy’s driver? No.’

Silence hissed on the line.

‘Grace, I’ll tell you this much, it was agented, but I never got the name. I never even met them.’

Shite. ‘So how were you contacted? Did someone appear to you in a dream?’

He laughed. ‘Mobile.’

‘Any chance you’ve still got the number?’

‘It’s probably been disconnected by now. Usually the account is opened just long enough to set up the deal, then shut down again.’

‘Thank you, Scott, I too am a journalist, I understand your nefarious ways. But give it to me anyway.’

‘The usual caveats. You didn’t get it from me etc., etc. Let me find it.’ After a few moments of clicking and rustling, he called out a string of digits.

‘Thank you, Scott, you’re a decent man.’

‘Let’s get together some evening,’ he said.

‘Let’s,’ I said and quickly disconnected.

It wasn’t that I didn’t like him but he was into all that hearty New Zealand stuff. The main reason I’d broken it off with him – apart from being in love with Damien – was that he was always making me trek up the side of a mountain in the snow.

‘Have you any change?’ I asked Dee. ‘I need to make a phone call.’

She held her mobile towards me.

‘No, I need to use a public phone. We can’t leave an electronic trail.’

‘The
Bourne Identity
now, is it?’

She produced a fifty-cent piece and I made my way to the grim alcove that housed Kenny’s phone. I punched in the numbers Scott had given me and held my breath as I waited.

I’d expected all kinds of noises – but not a ringing tone. It rang! It rang three times, then it was answered. A man’s voice said, ‘Ted Sheridan’s phone.’

I disconnected immediately.

My hands were shaking.

Ted Sheridan.

Sheridan.

All the proofI needed.

I returned to Dee.

‘Was it Paddy?’ she asked.

‘No.’

‘Told you.’

‘Come on. We’re going for a drive.’

‘The Godfather? Goodfellas?’

While I drove I called Ma. ‘I need you to find a photo. From long ago, when Marnie was going out with Paddy de Courcy.’

Dee, sitting next to me in the passenger seat, gave me a sharp look.

‘Not of the two of them,’ I told Ma. ‘I need one of Sheridan. I know there’s one knocking around.’

It wouldn’t take Ma long to locate it. They thought it pitifully bourgeois to record every family occasion with a fat pile of photos. They didn’t even own a camera and the few photos they had of Marnie and me as teenagers had been taken and donated by Leechy.

‘What are we doing?’ Dee asked.

‘Picking up a photo of de Courcy’s old friend Ted Sheridan, then we’re going to show it to Christopher Holland and ask him ifthis is the man who persuaded him to do the kiss’n’tell on you.’

‘I’m not… There’s no way I’m talking to Chris –’

‘You don’t have to talk to him, but you do have to be there. How else will you have proofthat de Courcy is behind all this?’

Because it was late the roads were empty and we reached Yeoman Road in ten minutes. I ran into the house and Bingo threw back his head and howled with joy to see me. Ma had found the photo; it was of Marnie, Paddy, Leechy, Sheridan and me, clustered together and laughing.

‘Thanks, Ma, you’re a superstar. But I can’t stay.’ I tried to shake Bingo off my leg. ‘Get off me, for the love of God!’

‘Come on, Bingo,’ Ma cajoled.

Finally I broke free of Bingo’s passionate hold. Back in the car I handed the photo to Dee. ‘Hold this. Now, where does Christopher Holland live?’

She looked like she was going to refuse to tell me, then caved. ‘Inchicore.’

She was transfixed by the photograph. ‘Paddy looks so young, better now than he did then. And look at you, you’re exactly the same! Who are the other people?’ She was studying Leechy. ‘Is that… surely it’s not –’

‘Who? Show. Oh yeah.’

‘I didn’t know you knew her.’

‘I don’t any more. Listen, ring Christopher Holland. Make sure he’s at home. Tell him you want to see him.’

‘I don’t want to see him.’

‘Well,
pretend
. We’re trying to save your career here, in case you hadn’t noticed.’

‘What ifhe won’t see me?’

‘Say, “You owe me that at least.” Shame him into it.’

She produced her phone from her bag, but sat with it resting in her hand, her head bowed.

‘Ring him!’

With a marked lack of enthusiasm, she made the call. He must have answered because she said, ‘It’s Dee.’ Then a few more sentences. ‘I need to see you.’ ‘Now.’ ‘Ten minutes.’

Then she hung up and shuddered.

‘Come on,’ I coaxed. ‘You’ll be in his flat. You can break something belonging to him. Something precious.’

Christopher Holland’s door opened immediately and he was already knee-deep into his apology. ‘Dee, I’m sorry, I –’

Then he noticed me and he stepped back, suddenly wary.

He was
immensely
sexy and knowing what I knew about his large member and his stamina, I
so
would. (Only in theory and ifI wasn’t with Damien, etc., etc.)

‘Grace Gildee, Christopher Holland.’ Dee’s introductions were terse. We stepped into the hall and I followed Dee into a living room.

‘Dee, I shouldn’t have done it –’ Christopher’s prostration was back on track.

With a wave of her hand, Dee dismissed him. ‘I’m not here for an apology. I just need to know ifyou shafted me off your own bat, or if someone persuaded you?’

‘Persuasion,’ he said, sounding eager to absolve himselfofblame. ‘As if I’d come up with something like that by myself. Dee, the money was so big. I said no, they came back with more, I said no again, they hiked it again. It was the toughest call of my life –’

‘You’re breaking my heart,’ Dee said. ‘Grace, show him the photo.’

I thrust it at him. ‘It’s old, I know, but do you see your –’ I coughed sarcastically – ‘ “persuader”?’