horror shows.
The receptionist tried not to giggle.
“I’m sorry if he was unpleasant,” I told the girl.
She shrugged. “Not to worry, Mrs. Teasey. I’m used to his sort.”
Simon saw the blue Jag before I did, and dug me in the ribs warningly.
“Honey, you’ll break my ribs doing that one day,” I told him, rather more irritably than the situation warranted. “You’re so strong …” I was scared stiff about meeting Shamus-Shay Kerrigan. Unless I have the lines, I can’t act the part. And I’m never at ease with ruthless men. When I realized that Kerrigan must have a lot of money tied up in acres that he couldn’t reach, I could see myself being ruthlessed. Probably not in front of my children … I was very glad to have their supporting presence.
Kerrigan was not. In fact, he was dumfounded, a condition he undoubtedly seldom found himself in. He covered quickly, I’ll give him credit, and professed to be delighted, saying all kinds of flattering things about my youth with two such adult children, and yes of course, he realized that I couldn’t very well leave them alone on their second night in Ireland, but if he’d known he’d’ve brought his young nephew as company. So I was doubly glad that I hadn’t told him.
He seated Snow in the Jag with the same courtesy he accorded me—a ploy which went down well with her—and chatted amiably with Simon about the performance level of the Jaguar as opposed to a Mercedes 220, which my son had previously considered his favorite foreign car.
“We’re dining at the Lamb Doyle’s,” Shamus Kerrigan said as we wound past slower traffic. “Superb view of Dublin in the evening. You haven’t been in Ireland before, have you, Mrs. Teasey?”
I told him no, and then we bandied the usual “Good flight? No customs problems?” et cetera back and forth until we turned on to a less settled road and began to climb up the hill, which he identified as Ticknock, the site of a mysterious murder in the twenties. Then we were at the restaurant, which did have a commanding view of the city. And of all the developments sprouting up in the near valley: row after row after appalling row with postage-stamp sized space between them.
I began to see why someone would offer £3,000 for one of my aunt’s—no, my—cottages. Shamus Kerrigan’s bulldozer simply wasn’t going to rape the land around me if I could stop it.
Lamb Doyle’s was not, thank goodness, modern Americana. We went upstairs to the cocktail bar and settled down to admire the panorama and have a pre-dinner drink. The handsome headwaiter came around with leatherbound menus, and Snow assumed her blasé act. I could see that Simon wanted to kick her too, but I managed to catch her eye before her brother’s critical expression irritated her. She got my message loud and clear, and subsided.
All the while Mr. Kerrigan set out to charm us. And he did. I noticed that Simon was watching the man’s hands, and realized that this criterion was evidently not giving the expected result. Well, there’s always an exception.
“Have you any vacation plans in mind, Mrs. Teasey?” Shay Kerrigan asked me when he’d given our orders.
“Oh, we let our fingers do some walking—on the maps— last night,” I told him.
“I hope you’ll do more than that,” he said eagerly, leaning toward me across the table. In his enthusiasm, his deep blue eyes sparkled, crinkling at their corners when he smiled and widening for emphasis as he talked. He was a great one for the wide hand gesture. (
Must
Snow stare at his hands so?) “We’re a poor country, industrially speaking, Mrs. Teasey, and way behind the rest of the world, but we’ve got some of the most beautiful scenery. If you go nowhere else, you ought to go down to Dingle, do the Ring of Kerry, particularly this time of year, though it’s beautiful year long. Then turn north toward Galway—don’t let the song turn you off, because it’s all true. Sunset in Galway
The receptionist tried not to giggle.
“I’m sorry if he was unpleasant,” I told the girl.
She shrugged. “Not to worry, Mrs. Teasey. I’m used to his sort.”
Simon saw the blue Jag before I did, and dug me in the ribs warningly.
“Honey, you’ll break my ribs doing that one day,” I told him, rather more irritably than the situation warranted. “You’re so strong …” I was scared stiff about meeting Shamus-Shay Kerrigan. Unless I have the lines, I can’t act the part. And I’m never at ease with ruthless men. When I realized that Kerrigan must have a lot of money tied up in acres that he couldn’t reach, I could see myself being ruthlessed. Probably not in front of my children … I was very glad to have their supporting presence.
Kerrigan was not. In fact, he was dumfounded, a condition he undoubtedly seldom found himself in. He covered quickly, I’ll give him credit, and professed to be delighted, saying all kinds of flattering things about my youth with two such adult children, and yes of course, he realized that I couldn’t very well leave them alone on their second night in Ireland, but if he’d known he’d’ve brought his young nephew as company. So I was doubly glad that I hadn’t told him.
He seated Snow in the Jag with the same courtesy he accorded me—a ploy which went down well with her—and chatted amiably with Simon about the performance level of the Jaguar as opposed to a Mercedes 220, which my son had previously considered his favorite foreign car.
“We’re dining at the Lamb Doyle’s,” Shamus Kerrigan said as we wound past slower traffic. “Superb view of Dublin in the evening. You haven’t been in Ireland before, have you, Mrs. Teasey?”
I told him no, and then we bandied the usual “Good flight? No customs problems?” et cetera back and forth until we turned on to a less settled road and began to climb up the hill, which he identified as Ticknock, the site of a mysterious murder in the twenties. Then we were at the restaurant, which did have a commanding view of the city. And of all the developments sprouting up in the near valley: row after row after appalling row with postage-stamp sized space between them.
I began to see why someone would offer £3,000 for one of my aunt’s—no, my—cottages. Shamus Kerrigan’s bulldozer simply wasn’t going to rape the land around me if I could stop it.
Lamb Doyle’s was not, thank goodness, modern Americana. We went upstairs to the cocktail bar and settled down to admire the panorama and have a pre-dinner drink. The handsome headwaiter came around with leatherbound menus, and Snow assumed her blasé act. I could see that Simon wanted to kick her too, but I managed to catch her eye before her brother’s critical expression irritated her. She got my message loud and clear, and subsided.
All the while Mr. Kerrigan set out to charm us. And he did. I noticed that Simon was watching the man’s hands, and realized that this criterion was evidently not giving the expected result. Well, there’s always an exception.
“Have you any vacation plans in mind, Mrs. Teasey?” Shay Kerrigan asked me when he’d given our orders.
“Oh, we let our fingers do some walking—on the maps— last night,” I told him.
“I hope you’ll do more than that,” he said eagerly, leaning toward me across the table. In his enthusiasm, his deep blue eyes sparkled, crinkling at their corners when he smiled and widening for emphasis as he talked. He was a great one for the wide hand gesture. (
Must
Snow stare at his hands so?) “We’re a poor country, industrially speaking, Mrs. Teasey, and way behind the rest of the world, but we’ve got some of the most beautiful scenery. If you go nowhere else, you ought to go down to Dingle, do the Ring of Kerry, particularly this time of year, though it’s beautiful year long. Then turn north toward Galway—don’t let the song turn you off, because it’s all true. Sunset in Galway
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