Noonan can help you secure them, but I have had to let the proceedings drop to keep death duties down.
I know that you will meet discord among the relatives—yours too, though mercifully removed by distance and marriage— for few will be pleased with the disposition of my property. There were several of the youngest generation who deserve something of me for their kindness and friendship, but for me to single them out would be unkind. When the swearing ceases and they have turned to other trivia, you may care to ease circumstances. By that time, you’ll know who I mean.
You are, my dear Irene, the only logical successor to my queendom. God bless and keep you.
Your affectionate aunt,
Irene.
“Long live Queen Irene the Second,” said Snow, but her tone was by no means facetious.
“She didn’t want that bulldozer up the lane.”
“Yeah, but I wonder why,” said Snow darkly. “As if we’d put down that lovely Horseface! I couldn’t!” She glared dramatically at me.
“I like her,” said Simon, having deliberated on the matter. “I mean, a woman who can recognize that a car has a personality and isn’t just a mechanical object. I don’t like this bit about the relatives, though. Five lots? That sounds like too many, and we’ve got a horde as it is.”
“Cheer up, Simon, maybe they’ll stay away in their droves and dozenses. And besides, we’re not staying long.”
“Ah, Mom, you promised.” They both rounded me.
“
I
did no such thing.” Before I knew it, I was embroiled in a series of entreaties and promises and evasions (on my part) that lasted through checking out of the hotel and driving back to Hillside Lodge. But I held up the stream of argument long enough to tell the nice desk clerk to inform Mr. Kelley that I had checked out and would phone him tomorrow.
“He may want to know where he can reach you,” she said with diplomatic subtlety.
“Then tell him I’m staying at the home of a relative.”
I was halfway to Hillside Lodge before I realized that I’d told Shamus Kerrigan to meet me at the Montrose. Snow said that was no big problem—we’d get settled in and go back and meet Mr. Kerrigan in the lobby.
We found a small general store and picked up milk in plastic bottles (you had to give glass ones to get glass ones), eggs, butter, bread (a crescent loaf that smelled delectable and some good Irish brown bread), bacon, Coke, and instant coffee. We’d do a major shopping the next morning.
And so, bag and baggage, we took possession of a queendom.
Fortunately, the lights worked, and so did the telephone. (I found out much later that I owed those services to the motorcycle girl—penance?) We all made beds together from lavender-scented linens found in the closet with the hot-water tank. It was stone cold, and I couldn’t figure out where it got heated.
“Simon,” I said in despair, for I longed for a hot bath before braving Kerrigan, “go ask Mr. Thornton how to get hot water. He’s likely to know.”
“May I help you, Mrs. Teasey?” asked a soft voice from the back door.
In America one hears that the typical Irish colleen is a reasonably buxom, apple-cheeked miss, constantly smiling, so this slim, tiny, solemn girl with the delicate features and coloring of an equally typical Dresden shepherdess was a surprise. In fact, nothing about Ann Purdee was ever what it seemed.
“If you know how to get the water hot, yes,” I told her.
She smiled in a brief, polite way and stepped quickly past us into the dining room, where she knelt by the fireplace.
“This stove will heat the boiler,” she said, lighting a match from the package on the top of the enclosed fireplace and deftly inserting it. Flames licked around white cubes. “If you open the door in a few moments, so, once the firelighters have taken, the draft will start a nice blaze. You’ll have hot water in an hour. If you aren’t going to use too much, you must bank the fire with slack.” She saw the
I know that you will meet discord among the relatives—yours too, though mercifully removed by distance and marriage— for few will be pleased with the disposition of my property. There were several of the youngest generation who deserve something of me for their kindness and friendship, but for me to single them out would be unkind. When the swearing ceases and they have turned to other trivia, you may care to ease circumstances. By that time, you’ll know who I mean.
You are, my dear Irene, the only logical successor to my queendom. God bless and keep you.
Your affectionate aunt,
Irene.
“Long live Queen Irene the Second,” said Snow, but her tone was by no means facetious.
“She didn’t want that bulldozer up the lane.”
“Yeah, but I wonder why,” said Snow darkly. “As if we’d put down that lovely Horseface! I couldn’t!” She glared dramatically at me.
“I like her,” said Simon, having deliberated on the matter. “I mean, a woman who can recognize that a car has a personality and isn’t just a mechanical object. I don’t like this bit about the relatives, though. Five lots? That sounds like too many, and we’ve got a horde as it is.”
“Cheer up, Simon, maybe they’ll stay away in their droves and dozenses. And besides, we’re not staying long.”
“Ah, Mom, you promised.” They both rounded me.
“
I
did no such thing.” Before I knew it, I was embroiled in a series of entreaties and promises and evasions (on my part) that lasted through checking out of the hotel and driving back to Hillside Lodge. But I held up the stream of argument long enough to tell the nice desk clerk to inform Mr. Kelley that I had checked out and would phone him tomorrow.
“He may want to know where he can reach you,” she said with diplomatic subtlety.
“Then tell him I’m staying at the home of a relative.”
I was halfway to Hillside Lodge before I realized that I’d told Shamus Kerrigan to meet me at the Montrose. Snow said that was no big problem—we’d get settled in and go back and meet Mr. Kerrigan in the lobby.
We found a small general store and picked up milk in plastic bottles (you had to give glass ones to get glass ones), eggs, butter, bread (a crescent loaf that smelled delectable and some good Irish brown bread), bacon, Coke, and instant coffee. We’d do a major shopping the next morning.
And so, bag and baggage, we took possession of a queendom.
Fortunately, the lights worked, and so did the telephone. (I found out much later that I owed those services to the motorcycle girl—penance?) We all made beds together from lavender-scented linens found in the closet with the hot-water tank. It was stone cold, and I couldn’t figure out where it got heated.
“Simon,” I said in despair, for I longed for a hot bath before braving Kerrigan, “go ask Mr. Thornton how to get hot water. He’s likely to know.”
“May I help you, Mrs. Teasey?” asked a soft voice from the back door.
In America one hears that the typical Irish colleen is a reasonably buxom, apple-cheeked miss, constantly smiling, so this slim, tiny, solemn girl with the delicate features and coloring of an equally typical Dresden shepherdess was a surprise. In fact, nothing about Ann Purdee was ever what it seemed.
“If you know how to get the water hot, yes,” I told her.
She smiled in a brief, polite way and stepped quickly past us into the dining room, where she knelt by the fireplace.
“This stove will heat the boiler,” she said, lighting a match from the package on the top of the enclosed fireplace and deftly inserting it. Flames licked around white cubes. “If you open the door in a few moments, so, once the firelighters have taken, the draft will start a nice blaze. You’ll have hot water in an hour. If you aren’t going to use too much, you must bank the fire with slack.” She saw the
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