This time he laughed with genuine amusement and the moment between them was lost. ‘No, Bridget never liked her. She’s the seer of the family. She knows things. Some people think Adrienne has mystical powers, but it’s really Bridget. Anyway, it’s all water under the bridge now. Good luck to her. Call me a cynic but now she’s married Ronan, her broadcasting future is secure. He’s a big fella in RTE.’ With an ironic chuckle, he added, ‘He commissioned my first cookery show, so I guess I owe him something.’
Hannah could tell that despite his apparent indifference, he’d been hurt by Adrienne’s support for Polly.
‘My aunt was set to take a wooden spoon to my sister’s ex’s “saggy treacherous little backside”when she heard he’d been cheating on her with her best friend, even though she’d adored the pants off him because he always bought nice wine to lunch.’
Conor grinned at her. ‘Adored the pants off him. You’re picking up the Irish there. You’ll be a local before you know it. I like the sound of your aunt. I think Granny Bridget might have done the same. She pulls that prune mouth whenever Polly’s name is mentioned and switches the telly off the minute Polly appears on the screen and curses at the radio if she’s ever on there. Granny’s a woman who wears her heart on her sleeve.’
‘She thought it was hilarious that I’d not heard of you.’
‘That probably endeared you to her. She’s proud of what Mam’s achieved and that Mam has created a lasting legacy, but she doesn’t like the fuss and razzmatazz that goes with it all. She likes a simple life whereas Mam was born to be a CEO. I think if she’d grown up in the city she’d have been running some big corporate entity and been the top dog.’
‘She’s a very impressive woman.’
‘That she is, no doubt. And here we are.’ They’d rounded a corner and come up on a small, narrow street which had once been a residential road but now a third of the stately Georgian houses had been converted into bars, restaurants, and hotels.
‘This place is run by another one of Adrienne’s disciples. Their cheese plate is legendary, all sourced from Ireland, from some tiny places. They also do the most amazing colcannon.’
‘Colcannon. That’s potatoes and cabbage, isn’t it?’ Hannah’s face said it all.
‘If you were a peasant back in the eighteenth century. Here it’s kale, Yukon gold potatoes, garlic, double cream, rare-breed bacon, leek, and spring onions. I tell you, it’s fierce good. They also do a mean Irish stew – not quite as good as mine, but it’s not bad.’
‘I love your modesty.’
‘I have nothing to be modest about,’ he said with one of his cheeky winks.
Chapter Twenty-Two
‘Are you sure about this, Conor? asked Hannah the next afternoon. They were standing outside a four-storeyed brick-built Georgian townhouse with beautiful wrought-iron balconies, sash windows, and a piano-black glossy door with a big brass door knocker underneath an elegant decorative fanlight. They’d walked through the peaceful environs of Merrion Square and the elegant surrounding buildings to get here and it was like stepping back in time. She could almost imagine a horse-drawn barouche bowling down the street bearing Jane Austen style characters clad in muslins and silks with feather-trimmed bonnets.
‘Yes. If Patrick thinks we’ve got some place else to be, the quicker I can get the business done. Otherwise, he’ll blather on for ages and make us stay to watch the racing. All I need to do is sign a few things and Mam wants me to ask him about something.’
‘Can’t you sign them electronically?’
‘He’s old school. Too old to change his ways, he says. I think we’re his only clients these days.’
Conor raised the knocker and let it fall and they waited until the door was thrown open with gusto.
‘Conor. Good man, good to see you. And who’s this with you?’
‘This is Hannah.’
Patrick held out a plump hand and shook Hannah’s enthusiastically as she tried hard not to stare at the bright-orange tie decorated with parrots that he wore with a blue and cream checked shirt under a Harris tweed three-piece suit.
‘Come in, come in.’ He had one of those loud, booming voices that came straight from the diaphragm, like some aging actor. ‘My housekeeper’s just made a big pot of coffee.’
Without waiting for them to follow, he headed straight across the big bright black and white tiled hall to a heavy, panelled wood door on the far side.
Glancing quickly at Conor, Hannah followed him into what turned out to be a rather grandly appointed study. Inside was a vast leather-covered desk with two Chesterfield chairs in front of it and a button-backed swivel chair on the other side. It felt a bit like stepping back in time or into a stately home, thought Hannah, gazing at the Adam-style white fireplace on the opposite wall and the leather-bound books with gilt titles lining a whole wall of bookshelves. The small TV just on the corner of the desk was slightly incongruous, especially as it was relaying racing commentary, with the commentator talking as fast as the thunder of the hooves on the grass.
‘And Double Trouble is coming up fast on the outside. Leggy Lady is edging up. Grand Design is floundering and it looks as if he’s going to do— And Green Swan is closing the gap. Grand Design is starting to fade and it’s Leggy Lady, Leggy Lady with one furlong to go and it’s Leggy Lady. Leggy Lady wins!’
‘Blast it,’ said Patrick. ‘I shoulda put a bet on – she was fourteen to one.’ He stood scowling in petulant disbelief for a moment before pulling out a notebook and a small pencil to scribble on one of the pages. Then, almost as if he’d forgotten they were there, he shook his head and leaned forward to turn up the volume on the television.
Connor gave Hannah a long-suffering grimace, sat down in one of the Chesterfields and invited her to do the same.
‘Yes, yes, sit down,’ said Patrick.
With half on eye on the TV, he pulled forward a manilla folder, opened it, frowned, and then pulled a second one out from under the first, muttering, ‘Ah, here it is.’
