The postman shoved past her to plop three letters in the box. “Sorry, luv, I am a bit late today. Are ye looking for somebody?”
“I wondered who lives here now. My people know the place from years back.”
The postman threw his sack on the ground. “Just been taken over by a young woman. They say she is going to do it up.”
“And before that?”
“Some judge, but I never saw him here.”
Giving up, Rosa and Vikram wandered down the side of the square. A woman struggling with a big box bumped into them and apologised.
“I only wish I could carry it on my head, like you lot,” she said, and immediately looked embarrassed. “I haven’t insulted you, have I?”
Rosa laughed, and Angie Hannon thought the sound was familiar.
Wandering into the park, they sat, as it was too early yet to go to the solicitor’s. A man in a long black coat approached them.
“Are youse fussy where you sit or can I move ye?”
Rosa stared at the long empty benches spanning to each side of her and shook her head. Vikram shifted uncomfortably.
“You think I am pushing in on you, don’t you?”
“Not at all.”
The man stood in front of them both. “I know I am as odd as two left feet, but can I tell you why?”
Vikram sighed loudly, his head hurting. He wished he could find some way to make this intruder on his thoughts go away.
“It’s my Maisie. We always sat there, you see.”
“Your wife?”
“My everything.”
Rosa looked about, but they were the only ones in the park. “Are you from here?”
“Lived all my life in a flat at the far side of the square. Maisie always wanted a house, but I wouldn’t hear of it. I am sorry now. She wanted it so much.” He sat down beside Rosa. “We sat here every day before wandering down to the Gresham for a cup of tea. Imagine, the likes of us in the Gresham, but, you see, my son worked there for a few years, had a pot of tea and a few biscuits ready for us. It was right nice.”
“We are staying there.”
“Good luck to you. You are right to spend it, if you have it.” He stretched out his legs and examined the sky. “Maisie died last year. I come here to remember her. She used to sit where you are now. Sometimes, I close my eyes and imagine it as it was. Do you know what I mean?”
Rosa jumped to her feet. “We can sit somewhere else. Tell me, did you know Judge Moran or his wife?”
“The lovely slip of a thing and the solemn judge. I saw them; I never knew them. The house has a new owner now.”
“So I believe.”
The man looked at his watch. “Almost on the dot of nine. She died at nine in the morning, I like to remember her, especially at that time. I feel closer to her somehow.”
“We will leave you to it.”
“Before you go, I sort of knew Grace Moran. She used to wave to me from the high-up window. The woman who has the place now, she stands at the window as well. I might wave to her. Now, I must give some time to my Maisie.”
They wandered off, not sure if the man, who was leaning back praying, noticed.
Vikram stopped again on the path outside No. 19. There were no curtains on the upstairs windows, but the window on the ground floor had nets, yellowed with age. A vase full of fake flowers on the windowsill was dulled with dust. Rosa called him and they made their way down the hill to the hub of the city, the solicitor’s their next port of call.
At the solicitors, the phones were ringing and they had to queue at reception.
“We are awfully sorry, but you will have to wait. Miss Redlich is very busy and over-running on every appointment today, or we could fit you in on Thursday at 4 p.m.”
“That is two days from now,” Vikram said firmly.
The young woman behind the counter frowned. Natalia Redlich, walking through to her office, noticed the young Indian woman and the older man.
“Is there a problem?”
The receptionist explained in whispered tones.
“Mr Fernandes, I am the solicitor who made contact. I handle the estate of Judge Martin Moran. I can spare a few minutes, if you don’t mind stepping into a side room we have on this floor.”
She led the way into what looked like a small conference room. Rosa perched on the edge of a chair. Vikram sat beside her.
“It is one of those weeks for us, I am afraid. There was a riot on Monday in the city and a lot of arrests. As a result, the practice is very busy.”
“I won’t take up much of your time, Miss Redlich. I want only to find the grave of Miss Grace Moran,” Vikram said
“You came all this way to visit the grave?”
“It is of utmost importance and significance to me, and I want to visit the grave. If you could help us with the location . . .” Vikram answered quietly.
Natalia Redlich twirled a pencil between her fingers. “I really don’t think I can help you in that respect. I know very little about Grace Moran.”
“I have come a long way, Miss Redlich.”
“That may be so, but it does not change the facts. I do not know where Mrs Grace Moran is buried.” She pushed out her chair to indicate the meeting was over, and Vikram stood up.
“You were my last hope. I only want to stand there and pay my respects.”
“If I could help, I would, Mr Fernandes. Can I call a taxi for you? It is raining heavily outside.”
Vikram sighed loudly. “We only want the location of the grave, nothing else.”
Natalia Redlich looked sternly at her watch.
“We are staying at the Gresham,” Vikram said, his tone low and defeated. For the first time since landing in this country, Vikram regretted his decision to travel. Maybe Rhya was right, it was a waste of time and money.
After a while, the receptionist put her head around the door. “Your taxi is outside, Mr Fernandes. Miss Redlich says don’t worry, it is on the account.”
When Vikram got back to the hotel, he let Rosa go to the room to lie down. Unable to waste time in a hotel room, he set off again to Parnell Square. Ironic that he was staying in the Gresham, he thought. Sometimes he and Grace, if a story of a Hollywood star had got around, had stood there to see them arrive or leave in their limos. No stars today, just a doorman cupping his hands and blowing into them to alleviate the cold. At the bottom of Parnell Square, he stood for a while to take his breath. Whippy’s ice cream was gone and the hardware store was no more. A nostalgia rose inside him for the old street, the happy days when he and Grace had tripped along, the days before it all went wrong.
The hill was not steep, but he took it slowly, slightly losing his breath as he rounded the corner at the top and saw No. 19. Immediately he was transported back to watching her window, an old hope in him that he could glimpse her. He thought he saw a shadow pass by the glass and he shook his head to dislodge the hopeless fantasy. Should he call on Emma Moran now? Rosa would never forgive him if he sprung a twin sister on her, though her forgiveness might be in doubt anyway when she knew the full story. He needed time to mull it over, and yet he felt compelled to rush, to find answers. There was also Rhya to consider. Leaning against a bollard, Vikram knew there was only so much stress he could deal with these days.
The last time he stood in this exact spot he had had a sleeping baby, Rosa, in his arms and a bottle of milk in each jacket pocket. How was he to know that another child was kept from him? He had spent months in prison when suddenly he was told he was being released.
Rushed before a late sitting of the District Court, he stood while the DPP withdrew the charges and the case against Dr Vikram Fernandes was struck out. It happened as quickly and quietly as that. Thinking his father had turned up something, Vikram dared to hope he could work to clear his name, expecting Rudolph Fernandes or his representative to be waiting for him. Instead, a man he recognised as the judge’s driver offered him a lift.
“They want to talk to you at No. 19. Viole
t McNally sent me to fetch you. I don’t know what any of this is about, so don’t ask me.”
He said not another word to Vikram until they reached Parnell Square.
“Good luck,” he said, and Vikram thought he detected a hint of sarcasm in his tone.
The car had only just stopped when the back door opened and Violet McNally instructed the driver to get out and let them have their privacy. She slapped Vikram on the shoulder to make him shove over on the seat.
“Dr Fernandes, I want you to listen carefully. My beautiful niece is dead. Died in the agony of childbirth. I hold you personally responsible, do you understand? This is what you are going to do.” She stopped for a moment. “You can take your head out of your hands, we all know you were only using the silly girl. Crocodile tears will get you nowhere. Grace Moran had the world at her feet until you came along and turned her head. A child is still alive. She is your responsibility now. You will take the child and leave. You will agree with the terms the judge puts in place. He knows nothing of this conversation and that is the way it is going to stay.
“I tell you most sincerely, if you set foot in this country again or try to do anything to interfere in any way with this family, I will make sure the charges against you the next time stick like glue. Leave while you have a chance and be glad of it.”
She left the car, banging the door so hard the sound bounced through the quiet of the square.
Hardly able to walk, but desperate to compose himself, Vikram pulled himself up the steps to the front door. The house seemed quiet. He rang the bell, the sound vibrating through the rooms, highlighting the sense of agitation and fear rising inside his heart. He heard a heavy step in the hallway. The door was barely pulled back.
“Dr Fernandes, come in.”
Martin Moran walked ahead into his library and Vikram followed.
“I hear the charges against you were dropped. A very messy business. I am glad it has ended well for you,” he said, sitting behind his desk.
He did not ask Vikram to sit down.
“I know you want to know about my wife and I will tell you. Grace gave birth, but there is a situation with the child.” Martin Moran coughed, unable to fully articulate his concerns about the child.
“I want to see Grace.”
“That is not possible. Don’t you think you have done enough to this family?”
Vikram made to walk out of the room, but the driver stood in his way. The judge stood up.
“My driver is also a Special Branch detective, so I warn you to stay quiet and listen.”
“I only want to see Grace. I won’t believe anything unless I see her.”
“Dr Fernandes, whether you believe or disbelieve me is of no concern. I merely state the facts.” He put up his hand, as if trying to stop Vikram interrupting. “These are the relevant details. You will leave Ireland straight away. I have here the tickets and an emergency passport for this little girl. You will both leave this country and not return. The child is more Indian than Irish and will do better with your people. You have been registered as the father.”
He picked up the phone and asked for the baby to be brought to the library. A few moments later, Aunt Violet came in carrying a baby wrapped in a wool blanket. She handed the baby to Vikram.
“She is sleeping. We gave her the name Rose,” Martin Moran said. Looking down on the baby, he shook his head. “She may be that colour, but she has the look of her mother. Rose was a name Grace liked,” he said, almost as if he was talking to himself.
Vikram could barely hold the child, he was shaking so much.
“Steady yourself, man, there is a long journey ahead. My driver will bring you to the airport.”
“What if I don’t go?”
“It would be a stupid man who would put the future of his own child at risk. Please leave us be, it is such a difficult time for all of us.”
Violet opened the library door. Vikram, clutching the baby tight, walked through to the hall.
Martin Moran, Aunt Violet by his side, watched the two of them go down the steps to the waiting car. The driver took the baby to let Vikram get into the back. Handing the bundle back to Vikram, he nodded to a case on the front seat.
“I went over to your place earlier and packed your things. I thought you could do with them.”
Vikram did not say anything. Not a word passed between them on the journey to the airport.
Vikram shook himself, as though to slough off the bad memories. Smartly, he walked over to No. 19 and, without taking too much time to think it through, knocked on the door. Angie Hannon, coming out of her door, immediately recognised the old man who had helped her earlier. “Can I help you?”
“I am looking for Emma Moran.”
“I am afraid you have missed her. She went out early. Will I tell her who called?”
He felt his test chest tighten and he leaned against the door jamb.
“Sir, is everything all right?”
“Maybe. I am a little tired.”
“Come in and have a drink.”
“I don’t want to inconvenience you.”
Angie reached out and took Vikram by the elbow. “Have a sit-down and I will call a taxi for you. Write your name and address on the piece of paper and I will see that Emma gets it.” When she saw Vikram was staying at the Gresham, she shook her head. “The taxi driver will try and rob you blind, but it should not be more than a fiver.” She helped Vikram to the car, promising him she would pass on the message to Emma as soon as she arrived back.
34
Parnell Square, Dublin, May 1984
Andrew Kelly, sitting with a pot of tea and a whiskey on the side in the Lord Mayor’s Lounge at the Shelbourne, was keeping a keen eye out for Emma. He had asked to meet her here because he wanted somewhere neutral and discreet, so they could have the conversation he intended to initiate.
Emma, wearing a turquoise linen dress under a tweed coat, looked suitably dressed for a pleasant afternoon tea as she walked into the hotel. Andrew noticed she appeared nervous, tugging at her hair as she asked directions. He waved to her from his spot on an armchair by the fire.
She smiled when she saw him and he was glad her step became lighter as she approached.
“Sorry I am a little late. I was out in Howth; I needed to think about things. I am afraid I miscalculated the timing of the journey back.”
“This was a pleasant place to wait. It is not as if I was on a street corner.”
“I had a think about things. I have decided to stay on in Dublin; Australia does not hold anything for me any more.”
“Great news, I am delighted.”
She thought Andrew appeared distracted, though he was very attentive when the waitress came to take the order. He recommended Earl Grey tea with some biscuits on the side, if she was not going to partake of alcohol.
“It is a relief to have made the decision. I went to Knockavanagh in the morning, put some more flowers on the grave. Met a woman who knew my mother, though I think she will have to get to know me better before she gives away anything.”
“You are a good daughter.”
“I wish I’d had a chance to be.”
Andrew fiddled with his left cufflink, rotating it round and round, so that Emma thought it might pop out.
“Your father had an awful lot to contend with. I am only beginning to realise that myself.”
“I don’t hate him, if that is what you are worried about.” She stopped for a moment. “Neither do I love him.”
“Indifference is never a nice place to be.”
Emma poured the tea from the silver teapot. Andrew fidgeted with a chocolate biscuit, nipping crumbs from its side. He took a snip of the biscuit, hoping the sweet taste would distract him.
“I asked you here because I wanted to give you some more information. It was in Martin’s letter to me at the time of the will. He said it was up to me whether I tell or not.” Taking another nibble of the biscuit, he let the sweet chocolate momentarily
distract him.
“What good is all this going to do, Andrew? It is not going to bring back either of them. I have had it with all the bits of information. Maybe I want to start putting it behind me now.”
He shifted closer to her. “Admirable as that is, I think you need this last nugget. In the days before he died, Martin told me he had written a letter for me which was to be included in his will, and he asked me to carry out the instructions contained in it. All he would say was one sentence: ‘Some things are best left until we can feel no more and death has called.’ I will never forget those words.”
“I don’t see what this has to do with me.”
“That is true, and that is why I won’t be showing you the letter, but a major part was an explanation as to why your father was the husband and father he was.”
He waited for Emma to say something, but she didn’t. Instead, she cradled the teacup nervously. Andrew took the letter from his pocket and scanned it before clearing his throat to read out the relevant parts.
I am sure Emma is blaming me and she is right. I was a coward all my life and now I know it has brought pain and suffering to so many others, particularly lovely Grace, who at all times was such a beautiful young woman. I am writing to you because I want Emma, when she finds out the following information, to have somebody with her who can be a comfort to her. The kindness of a solicitor watching a clock is never the same as the attention of a friend. There are, at this stage, so many questions that Emma must have and this letter is an attempt to answer some of them.
I was so fond of Grace. I did her a terrible injustice the day I married her. Not only did I condemn her to a life without a proper love to sustain and cherish her, I put her at the mercy of Violet McNally. The root of this problem goes back to when I was a young barrister and best friends with Violet’s husband, George. We studied law together and were in the Law Library at the same stages of our careers. We were very close. Too close, I suppose. I need to acknowledge on paper: I loved George and he loved me. Violet had taken in the baby, Grace, and, for a time, she was well occupied.
Two years later George and I were doing well in the law and spending most of the weekends here at Parnell Square. I am afraid we also got in the habit of writing letters to each other, often about silly things in the news, notes on cases, but sometimes they were deeper, more emotional. It was one of these letters, I was much later told by Violet, that she found. She confronted George. He stormed out of the house, supposedly coming to live with me. He never got to Parnell Square, but was found in the canal three days after he went missing.
The Judge's Wife Page 21
