"We didn't," he agreed.
"I thought you'd run us down in the water. It was your boat, I think," I added carefully.
"Could have been," he said. "Do you still think I was at the helm?"
"No," I replied. "Malachy and Kevin said you wouldn't do such a thing, and that's good enough for me.
He smiled. "They're grand old boys, aren't they? And no, it wasn't me, although I regret to say it may have been my boat. There were a few extra knots showing on her than there should have been for its just being in the boatworks. The boys at the works took her out to see she was going all right, after they'd worked on her, but not as far as all that."
"Who do you think might have taken it?"
"Conail," he replied.
"Why?"
"Kind of hotheaded thing he might do. Get us both at one time, if you see what I mean: scares you off the hunt and gets me in trouble at the same time. They're a bad bunch up there at Second Chance," he added. "Treated me rough, they did. Tink they're better than everybody else, but they're not. Except Eamon. He was a fine one. Took me in, made me feel like one of the family. Treated all of us right-Michael and John and me. Not her, though. Margaret. A bad piece of work, she is. Treated me like dirt. Conail too, and Sean. The two sisters, they went along with it."
"Only two of them?"
"Not Breeta," he said softly. "Not her. She's a fine one, like her Da."
"You should call me Lara," I said.
"Should that be Aunt Lara?" he smiled.
"No, it shouldn't," I replied. Don't push your luck, I thought.
Late in the evening, well fed and warmed by the conviviality, we left Alex ensconced in his cottage and picked our way carefully overland to the main road, not wishing to run into Sean McHugh and his rifle at night, and thence back to town. I dropped Malachy and Kevin off before going on to the friend of Paddy's from whom he'd borrowed the van. He took off from there on his motorbike, and I took Jennifer back to the Inn.
There was an envelope waiting for me on my return. In it was a note. / came to see you, it said. / will come back on my day off. Day after tomorrow, 1o'clock. Please wait for me. There is something I have to tell you. Very important. D. Flood.
Chapter Twelve. A PIERCING SPEAR WAGING WAR
REGRETTABLY, the Byrne family followed through on their threat to take legal action to get Rose Cottage away from Alex.
"Lara," the smooth voice said. "Charles, here." I could almost smell his cologne over the telephone lines, and I confess my heart did a little dance, all my good intentions to the contrary. "I'm afraid I have bad news. Despite my efforts to persuade them to the contrary, the Byrne family has engaged the services of another solicitor and are suing Eamon Byrne's estate for Rose Cottage. They're claiming, as I suspected they might, that Eamon was non compos mentis due to the spread of the cancer to his brain. We will need to get together to discuss how to proceed. Ryan and I will be driving down your way later today. Do you think you could get in touch with Mr. Stewart for me, and the four of us might meet for an hour or two late this afternoon?"
I thought we could. As irritated as I was by this development,IdecidedthatseeingCharlesagain would go some distance toward making me feel better.
We met in the lounge of the Inn, sitting at a large table so that Charles and Ryan could spread their notes about. The two of them were in lawyer uniform again, three-piece suits and all, which turned more than a few heads of the rest of the clientele in this rather more casual setting.
"Now, Mr. Stewart," Ryan said, smiling rather engagingly. "You really mustn't worry about this. I can assure you the family has no case. We have copies of earlier versions of Eamon Byrne's Will, some of them dating back several years, and you were named in all of them. So their case, the idea that Eamon was not quite right at the end, if you see what I mean, will simply not hold water. We are hopeful, I think," he said, looking toward Charles who nodded, "that the court will find this action merely capricious and refuse to even hear it."
"I don't know," Alex said. "I've been thinking a great deal while I've been out at Rose Cottage. It's a lovely place, but…"
"Of course it is," Ryan interrupted. "A wonderful place. And Eamon Byrne wanted you to have it."
"I know," Alex said, "but I don't need it, and I'm beginning to think-I mean all the rumors in the village-that the Byrne family might…"
"Hardly," I interjected. "They still have Second Chance, and while they may have to sell it, they're not exactly in the poorhouse. What could you get for a place like that these days, anyway? More money than you and I will ever see, I'm sure. And they still have control of Byrne Enterprises, even if it isn't doing as well as it should."
"But if it means that much to them," he protested.
"Oh, no, Alex," I exclaimed. "Don't do this. You know you love the place. I saw you the other night, cooking over the fire. It's the best you've looked in a long time. The place is good for you: the sea air, the quiet away from the city."
"But my friends, my life, are in Toronto," he said. "You know that as much as I do. What would I do if I couldn't come into the shop every day? You think I'm doing you a favor, but I'm not. I hated retirement five minutes into it. I need the activity, the sense of being needed."
"Well, let's just say that we both benefit from having you in the shop. I'm glad to hear it, but that's not the issue, Alex," I said. "If you don't want to use it, you can always sell it, or rent it out for some extra income, get yourself a little cottage closer to home or whatever, but as Ryan says, Eamon Byrne really wanted you to have the cottage, and those people have no business being so entirely selfish. You saved his life, Alex, and he wanted to repay you in some way."
"Did you now?" Charles said turning to Alex. "I've often wondered. Tell us about it."
Alex gave him a delicately edited version of Eamon's story, telling him that Eamon had fallen off the pier in Singapore.
"Singapore!" Ryan exclaimed. "I love that place. I had the best sweet and sour soup in the world in a little dive not far from the Raffles Hotel. And the dim sum!" I smiled, remembering Charles's description of Ryan as a gourmand. I looked over at Charles, and he was smiling too.
"I know exactly where you found it!" Alex said, and the two were off on a culinary tour of Singapore, then Hong Kong, then Shanghai. Charles listened with real interest, and soon he and Alex too were trading stories of places they'd been, and adventures they'd had. Charles, it seemed, had not been to the manor born, as it were, and had worked very hard to put himself through law school. There was a determination under that cultured exterior that I found quite attractive.
After several minutes of armchair travel, Charles gently steered the talk back to the subject at hand. "Now, Mr. Stewart," Charles said. "As enjoyable as this conversation is, we'll need to get your direction on the lawsuit. We will accede to your wishes, of course. If you do not wish to keep Rose Cottage, then we will simply not contest the suit. But Eamon Byrne felt quite strongly that you should have it. To that I can personally attest. I had no idea why he felt that strongly, of course, not having heard the story, but I discussed the Will with him at some length, and there is absolutely no doubt in my mind as to his intentions. And he was quite lucid, I can assure you."
"Would you be defending the Will, then?" Alex asked. He obviously liked the two solicitors, and was coming around, much to my delight. I couldn't stand the idea of the family taking the cottage away from him.
"We'll be the defendants, yes, but we will hire legal counsel to represent us, a barrister for the court work," Charles said.