He shuffled through the papers inside and then shut the second folder, huffing with exasperation. Standing up, he heaved his bulky body towards a filing cabinet and began rifling through one of the drawers, muttering to himself.
Eventually he pulled a blue folder from the drawer, scratched his head with comical disbelief, put it back, and then pulled out another.
‘Ah, here’s the little bugger.’ He slapped it on the desk. ‘Just need your signature on the pages marked. Here, here, and here.’
Patrick slid the folder towards Conor and turned his attention to the television, his head bobbing between the TV screen and the desk, barely paying any attention to Conor who asked, ‘And here?’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Patrick. ‘Come on, son.’
Hannah wasn’t sure whether he was talking to Conor or the horse.
They talked for a few minutes about the papers which, from what Hannah could gather, were transfers of deeds. Once that was done, Hannah watched slightly fearfully as Patrick wedged the papers back into the filing cabinet, wondering if they would ever reach their official destination.
‘Mam wants some advice. Remember our neighbour, Moss Murphy? There’s some talk about him getting planning permission to change the farmland into a light industrial estate which Mam is worried will impact on the farm. She’s worried he’ll want to use the lane to provide access because it’s a shared private road. It’s his only access to the main road. And it will mean lots of lorries, noise and fumes right by the kitchens and the farmhouse.’
‘Hmm, well I don’t need to look that one up. He’s been claiming shared ownership of that road for nigh on twenty years, even though he knows full well it isn’t his. But I’ll dig the file out so we can put the dear lady’s fears to rest.’ He pushed the glasses, which had slipped down to the end of his nose, back up, gave the television a quick, concerned look, and turned to rifle through the files again. ‘Should be a property boundary map in here somewhere.’ He huffed and puffed as he sorted through one drawer, every now and then turning to check the progress of the next race. According to the commentator they were under starter’s orders. Just as he announced, ‘And they’re off!’ Patrick wheeled round, triumphantly holding aloft another file. He darted his gaze towards the screen and nodded before turning to Connor. ‘Copy of the deeds. That’ll do.’
He squinted down at the paper, in between checking the progress of the race, and Hannah was itching to snatch it away from him and look for herself. There was no doubt about it: the Byrne family definitely needed a new lawyer.
‘Hmm, it’s not all… Hmm, some of the paperwork… Can’t see the boundary map in here – but you know there’s a map on the wall in your mother’s office… however this is the important bit, pertaining to the private road.’
He ran a chubby finger, with a gold signet ring tightly sandwiched around the flesh, down the page, contorting his mouth as he went. ‘Ah, here it is. All good. I remember last time he claimed shared ownership, he soon backed off when your mother asked him for a contribution to repairs. Your dear mother doesn’t need to worry.’ His smile towards Conor was a touch conspiratorial, as if Adrienne had been making a fuss about nothing and the men knew better than to get excited about such things. Hannah eyed Patrick with irritation. Same old, same old. That attitude of ‘women tend to be emotional about these things but it’s the men who understand the business issues’ was clearly at work here.
‘The road is private and owned by Killorgally to the point of the farm, after which the road is then owned by Murphy. He has right of access along the road but the road belongs to the farm and as such Killorgally is responsible for the upkeep and maintenance of the road. So your mother can rest easy, bless her soul.’
Conor gave a brief nod but Hannah was pleased to see that he didn’t collude with Patrick’s patronising dismissal of his mother’s fears.
‘Good. That probably puts paid to Murphy’s plans then. Although I’m sure he knows full well who owns the road.’
‘Of course he does but he likes to try it on, especially as both families have been living there for the last hundred years. Often longevity provides presumption. It’s as well to check these things but people rarely do.’ As he spoke he steepled his fingers, nodding gravely while his eyes slid to the TV again.
‘Is that everything?’ he asked.
‘Yes, thanks.’
‘Do you fancy a glass of whiskey and we can watch the rest of the racing. I’ve a good tip for the next race.’ Patrick was already reaching towards a decanter filled with amber liquid.
‘Sorry, I’m showing Hannah some of the sights but perhaps another time.’ Conor rose and held out a hand and they left without being offered the promised coffee that had sat on the side for the whole of the meeting.
As they came down the steps outside, Conor said. ‘I know. Don’t say a word. We need to get a new lawyer.’
‘I can’t believe that the deeds documents weren’t all together. Have you considered Aidan Fitzpatrick in Tralee? I know I’m biased because I know him, but I’ve worked with him. I know he’s thorough and his attention to detail is second to none. If it were me, I’d have checked the boundaries too.’
‘That’s down to Mam but I’ll certainly mention it. And I’m not too worried about the boundaries. That road’s the only access to Murphy’s land.’
Hannah held her tongue. After all, it was nothing to do with her, but it niggled her. Patrick should have taken it all more seriously but she didn’t want to intrude, especially as Conor seemed a little sensitive about Polly pushing her way into his family.
‘Right, let’s do something a bit more fun.’
For someone who loved books, the Old Library at Trinity College was quite spectacular and Hannah stared up at the wooden barrel-vaulted roof. There were two storeys with gallery after gallery of book-filled shelves punctuated at the entrance of each by white marble busts of men of letters from Socrates and Plato through to Shakespeare along with former chancellors of the university and even, for some reason, the Duke of Wellington, although when she read the guide leaflet she discovered he’d been born in Dublin. As they walked along the central aisle looking at the exhibition of medieval manuscripts, there was a hushed atmosphere. If the books could talk, what secrets they would have to tell, Hannah thought.
‘Something special, isn’t it?’ Conor murmured in her ear, sending a shiver across her skin.
‘It’s beautiful.’
‘I never get tired of coming here.’
‘I can see why. Imagine being a student here back in the day when you could browse these shelves for yourself.’
