colleagues whispered to him, looking over at the table she had joined. ‘Somebody from the American legation.’
‘Really?’ Duggan followed his gaze to the distant table.
‘That’s David Gray, the US Minister. On the left.’
Duggan identified the elderly man on the left of the table. ‘Who are the others?’ he asked.
‘The only other one I recognise is Chapin, the first secretary. Sitting next to Gray’s wife. Don’t know who your friend’s with.’
Duggan was about to point out that Breda wasn’t his friend but didn’t bother.
She finally joined them after the national anthem marked the night’s end, nodded briefly at Duggan and went off with Carmel to the ladies and to get their coats.
‘Definitely want my money back now,’ Duggan said to Sullivan.
‘You’ll have to get it back off her,’ Sullivan grinned drunkenly.
When the two women came back Duggan offered a lame apology for his lateness. ‘That’s all right,’ Breda said. ‘I had a great time, thanks.’
The four of them left the hotel together, the sharp cold like an invisible wall that stopped them for a moment as they stepped out onto O’Connell Street. Taxis were lined up, a growing proportion of them old horse-drawn cabs as a result of the petrol rationing.
‘Let’s get a horse cab,’ Carmel said.
‘I’ve got a car,’ Duggan announced, nodding across the street to where he was parked.
‘How’d you get that?’ Sullivan demanded as they crossed to it. ‘Do they know you took it?’
‘Do you want a lift or not?’ Duggan said.
‘Yes, please,’ Carmel shivered.
Breda sat in the front with him and Duggan asked where they were going.
‘Home, James, and don’t spare the horses,’ Sullivan commanded from the back seat.
‘You can drop me first,’ Breda said. ‘Glasnevin. It’s on the way to Carmel’s.’
‘You better direct me,’ Duggan said. ‘I’m not sure of the way.’
He felt a little light-headed from the whiskey and the car waltzed slightly on a bend and he realised the road was slippery and slowed down. In the back Carmel was giggling and Sullivan whispered something to her and she said, ‘Stop that, Captain Sullivan,’ in a tone that suggested she didn’t mean it.
Breda leaned around her seat to look at them. ‘Oh, captain, my captain,’ she said and the two women burst into laughter at some private joke.
She directed him into a cul-de-sac of red-brick houses behind iron railings and small lawns and indicted where to stop. ‘I’ll walk you to the door,’ he said, putting the car into neutral and pulling up the handbrake.
‘There’s no need. Thanks, I had a great time.’ She turned back to Carmel. ‘I’ll call around tomorrow at two.’
Duggan dropped Carmel and Sullivan at her house in Mobhi Road and followed her directions back to the North Circular Road, heading for army headquarters. The road was empty, its trees spidery in the cold, the tall houses dark. He realised he was starving and lit a cigarette to kill the hunger.
He wasn’t sure at first that he had heard it over the engine of the car, the flat crump-crump of explosions. He opened the window and there was a faint drone of an aircraft fading into the distance. Otherwise the silence of the road was undisturbed.
He sped up and went down Infirmary Road and turned into the Red House, seeing immediately that something was up. The sentry was already at the barrier, alert.
‘What’s happened?’ Duggan asked.
‘There’s been an explosion across the river.’
‘A bomb?’
‘Sounded like two, sir.’
Duggan parked and hurried into the building and into the duty office where a harassed-looking lieutenant was on a phone, jotting down notes with his other hand. Another phone was ringing and Duggan picked it up and said, ‘Duty office.’
‘Who’s that?’ Duggan recognised McClure’s voice and identified himself. ‘What’s happening?’ McClure demanded.
‘There seems to have been a couple of
‘Really?’ Duggan followed his gaze to the distant table.
‘That’s David Gray, the US Minister. On the left.’
Duggan identified the elderly man on the left of the table. ‘Who are the others?’ he asked.
‘The only other one I recognise is Chapin, the first secretary. Sitting next to Gray’s wife. Don’t know who your friend’s with.’
Duggan was about to point out that Breda wasn’t his friend but didn’t bother.
She finally joined them after the national anthem marked the night’s end, nodded briefly at Duggan and went off with Carmel to the ladies and to get their coats.
‘Definitely want my money back now,’ Duggan said to Sullivan.
‘You’ll have to get it back off her,’ Sullivan grinned drunkenly.
When the two women came back Duggan offered a lame apology for his lateness. ‘That’s all right,’ Breda said. ‘I had a great time, thanks.’
The four of them left the hotel together, the sharp cold like an invisible wall that stopped them for a moment as they stepped out onto O’Connell Street. Taxis were lined up, a growing proportion of them old horse-drawn cabs as a result of the petrol rationing.
‘Let’s get a horse cab,’ Carmel said.
‘I’ve got a car,’ Duggan announced, nodding across the street to where he was parked.
‘How’d you get that?’ Sullivan demanded as they crossed to it. ‘Do they know you took it?’
‘Do you want a lift or not?’ Duggan said.
‘Yes, please,’ Carmel shivered.
Breda sat in the front with him and Duggan asked where they were going.
‘Home, James, and don’t spare the horses,’ Sullivan commanded from the back seat.
‘You can drop me first,’ Breda said. ‘Glasnevin. It’s on the way to Carmel’s.’
‘You better direct me,’ Duggan said. ‘I’m not sure of the way.’
He felt a little light-headed from the whiskey and the car waltzed slightly on a bend and he realised the road was slippery and slowed down. In the back Carmel was giggling and Sullivan whispered something to her and she said, ‘Stop that, Captain Sullivan,’ in a tone that suggested she didn’t mean it.
Breda leaned around her seat to look at them. ‘Oh, captain, my captain,’ she said and the two women burst into laughter at some private joke.
She directed him into a cul-de-sac of red-brick houses behind iron railings and small lawns and indicted where to stop. ‘I’ll walk you to the door,’ he said, putting the car into neutral and pulling up the handbrake.
‘There’s no need. Thanks, I had a great time.’ She turned back to Carmel. ‘I’ll call around tomorrow at two.’
Duggan dropped Carmel and Sullivan at her house in Mobhi Road and followed her directions back to the North Circular Road, heading for army headquarters. The road was empty, its trees spidery in the cold, the tall houses dark. He realised he was starving and lit a cigarette to kill the hunger.
He wasn’t sure at first that he had heard it over the engine of the car, the flat crump-crump of explosions. He opened the window and there was a faint drone of an aircraft fading into the distance. Otherwise the silence of the road was undisturbed.
He sped up and went down Infirmary Road and turned into the Red House, seeing immediately that something was up. The sentry was already at the barrier, alert.
‘What’s happened?’ Duggan asked.
‘There’s been an explosion across the river.’
‘A bomb?’
‘Sounded like two, sir.’
Duggan parked and hurried into the building and into the duty office where a harassed-looking lieutenant was on a phone, jotting down notes with his other hand. Another phone was ringing and Duggan picked it up and said, ‘Duty office.’
‘Who’s that?’ Duggan recognised McClure’s voice and identified himself. ‘What’s happening?’ McClure demanded.
‘There seems to have been a couple of
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