"Yes, I'm sure."
"You might have told me," she said with tears in her eyes. "Saved me all that heartbreak."
"We didn't exactly see you since it happened. We asked yo u to keep in touch in case his briefcase turned up and you didn't... so how could we have told you?"
Derry intervened. "But now the briefcase has turned up and Ella has been in touch, so is that everything?" His voice was smooth but with authority.
The two men responded to him. They stood up and shook hands. They thanked them for the co-operation and asked if Ella, and indeed Derry if he wished, would accompany them to the safe deposit box, so that the hand-over of what it contained could be authenticated.
"His name and address and contact numbers are all there," Ella told them. "He calls himself Brady, of all names. Isn't that a really nice bit of a laugh for all of us?"
There was real sympathy in the faces of the detectives. The whole thing was over in an hour. Ella called her mother. "It's done. It's given back. Well, given to the Guards, anyway," she said in a dull tone.
"Well, I'm sure that's right. Thank you, Ella."
"No, thank you, Mother, and Dad, too, for being nice and normal and believing someone I introduced you to. I will make it up to you if it's the last thing I do."
"Stop, Ella." Her mother noticed that the voice on the phone was shaking and tearful.
"And one more thing, Mother . .."
"You're not coming home tonight?" her mother guessed.
"That's it. You're psychic," she said.
"Don't get too upset, Ella. That's all I ask. The man is dead now, let him rest. We have no way of knowing how sorry he may have felt at the end. His mind disturbed and everything. We can't judge the dead."
"The man is not dead, Mother. He's alive and well and living with his family in Spain."
"No, Ella. He "was killed in that terrible boat tragedy .. ."
"He faked it. He's living out there on Dad's money, and do you know what? He's calling himself Brady, Mother. That's what he's doing." She sounded quite hysterical.
"Is Derry there?" her mother asked.
She handed him the phone. Ella could only hear his end of the conversation.
"Well, of course I will, no, have no worries. Certainly I will. No, she's actually much calmer than she sounded to you. I think it's just saying it for the first time to someone is the hard bit. No, she's in no danger, Barbara, believe me, she's not. And I too. Goodbye."
She sat there unseeing. They were talking about her as a parcel. A package of nerves and reactions. Not a person.
"Do you know, Derry, the only thing that will hold me together over all this is very hard work," she said.
"Good. I was hoping you'd say that."
She was surprised. I thought you'd say talk, examine it, analyse it."
"No, there's no point. We won't get to first base now, analysing what makes that guy tick. You've done all you said you would from this end. Now get on with your life."
"And I can stay here?"
"Of course. Let's get down to work straight away." He pulled a second chair up to the desk. "Let's look at some of these stories. See how we could tell them . . . should it be table by table . .. have Mon and Mr. Harris sitting down side by side, explaining how it all began at one table, then move to another and get another story . .. Or we could do it as an hour-by-hour thing .. . like the restaurant starts to stir at about five a.m."
Ella laughed. A real laugh. "I don't think anything stirs in Dublin at five a.m."
"Now we're changing roles. You've been busy telling me how modern it all is here."
"Make it seven and we're more realistic."
"Nonsense, Ella. Think about the garbage being collected, the stuff coming in from market. It has to be earlier."
"It would be interesting to see. We'll ask Brenda and Patrick tomorrow night," she said. "Meanwhile, we'll go through the best stories and the ones that will be hard to tell."
"The guy from Scotland, Drew, he's not going to tell his own tale, is he? Show himself up as a would-be thief?"
"Apparently he is, his luck turned that night, his fiancee admired him so much for resisting temptation. Brenda says he's only bursting to tell his story."
Derry shook his head in amazement. "Aren't people here quite extraordinary?" he said in wonder.
"No, they're not. It's not just Ireland. It's the same everywhere, in England, in the US, all dying to tell their story and have their fifteen minutes of fame."
"There's a danger that people will exploit them," he said.
"Of course there is, but we're not that kind of business. Derry, you're not having second thoughts on me, are you?"
"No, of course not. But talking about second thoughts . . .?"
"Yes?"
"I just wanted to say when your anger dies down, you'll probably be relieved that he's alive. Don, I mean. It's only natural. You loved him and he loved you. It has to be better that he's alive, not dead at the bottom of the ocean. So, if you have second thoughts about him and are glad he's still around, then that's normal. That's all I wanted to say." He looked oddly uncomfortable, as if he didn't really believe all this, but felt that it should be said from a fairness point of view.
"No, I won't ever be glad about anything connected with him. Whether he is alive or dead doesn't really matter to me. I think I preferred him dead. I certainly don't love him or anything about him. So there'll be no second thoughts. But I'm not going to spend
my life consumed with hate, either. That would really make me the loser."
She thought he looked very pleased, but maybe it was just his pleasant smile. When she awoke on the sofa yet again there was a note. I've already gone to investigate this early-morning Dublin. See you tonight at Quentins, 7.30. Call my mobile anytime if you need me. Love, Derry Ella spent the day at Colm's restaurant on Tara Road.
"I don't know why you should think I should help you boost a rival restaurant," Colm grumbled.
"Because I'm a neighbour's child, because you're not remotely in competition with me, and you love to talk about your pride and joy. I just want to know what's a typical day?"
"As if there ever was one. Come on in and have coffee and I'll walk you through it."
By lunchtime, she thought she had understood the routine. It would be very visual. Derry would like it. Patrick and Brenda wouldn't object, their place was immaculate and all that backstage stuff would be something to be proud of.
"You look tired, Ella. Stay and have lunch. You've seen it all being cooked. Enjoy it."
"No, I have a lot of things to do. I have to tell several people something but I want to rehearse on you, Colm. Just to make sure I can do it without crying."
"Fire ahead."
"Don Richardson's not dead. I spoke to him yesterday. He's in Spain, on the run."
"Is it a secret?" Colm asked.
"No, not now."
"Good. I'll tell Ria's ex-husband Danny that he might go out and kill him for all of us. Would that help?"
Ella laughed nervously. "No, not really, but it did make me laugh. I don't suppose everyone else will be as practical as you are, Colm." She told Deirdre. Deirdre sat and listened with a stony face.
"Mother of God! Why couldn't he have done it properly? Did he wash up somewhere?"
"No, I don't think he tried it at all," Ella said.
"And now of course you're taking him back?" Deirdre was anguished.
We, Dee, I'm only telling you in case it was in the papers."
"No! You are taking him back or going out to him, I know you are."
"Oh, Deirdre, shut up. You're meant to be cheering me up, telling me some old song like "There Ain't No Good in Men". Not telling me I'm going back to him."
"I "wonder if Nuala knows," Dee said.
"Let's tell her, then," Ella said, her eyes dancing. And for a glorious moment Deirdre thought maybe it was going to be all right. That the one great love of Ella's life might not be able to seduce her back in again. "Nuala! It's Dee."