Minding Frankie - Maeve Binchy [58]
But as she walked home, Moira was glad she hadn’t stayed. This was all going to end in tears, and when it did she didn’t want to be anyone who had stayed and had dinner in their house.
As she walked along the canal, Moira saw a small man surrounded by dogs walking towards her. It was Noel’s father, Charles Lynch, marching along with dogs of different sizes and shapes: a spaniel, a poodle and a miniature schnauzer trit-trotting on their leads on one side and a huge Great Dane padding along on the other. Two elderly Labradors, unleashed, circled the group, barking joyously. Charles Lynch should have looked ridiculous. Instead he looked blissfully happy. In fact, Charles took his dog walking very seriously. Clients paid good money to have their pets exercised, and he never shortchanged them.
He recognized the stony-faced social worker who had been dealing with his son and granddaughter.
“Miss Tierney,” he said respectfully.
“Good evening, Mr. Lynch. Glad to see someone else apart from myself in this city is actually working.”
“But what easy work I have compared to yours, Miss Tierney. These dogs are a delight. I have been minding them all day, and now I am taking them home to their owners—except Caesar, here, who lives with us now.”
“There are two other dogs not on leads—whose are they?” Moira asked.
“Ah, those are just our local dogs, Hooves and Dimples, from St. Jarlath’s Crescent. They came along for the fun of it.” And he nodded in the direction of the old dogs that had just come along to share the excitement.
Moira wished that life was as simple for her. Charles Lynch didn’t have to fear a series of articles in the newspapers saying that yet again the dog walkers had been found wanting and that all the signs had been there ready for anyone to see.
· · ·
Next day, Moira began to understand the nature of her job. She was helped in this by Hilary, the office manager, and a Polish girl, Ania, who had recently had a miscarriage and had only just returned to work. She seemed devoted to the place and totally loyal to Clara Casey.
There was, apparently, a bad man called Frank Ennis who was on the hospital board and was the hospital manager, who tried to resist spending one cent on the heart clinic. He said there was absolutely no need for any social services whatsoever in the clinic.
“Why can’t Clara Casey speak to him herself?” Moira asked.
“She can and does, but he’s a very determined man.”
“Suppose she just took him out to lunch one day?” Moira was anxious for this matter to be tied up so she could get back to her real work.
“Oh, she does much more than that,” Ania explained. “She sleeps with him. But it’s no use—he keeps his life in different compartments.”
Hilary tried to gloss over what had been said. “Ania is just giving you the background,” she said hastily.
“I’m sorry. I thought she was on our side.” Ania was repentant.
“And I am, indeed,” Moira said.
“Oh, that’s all right then,” Ania said happily.
The whole atmosphere in the clinic was a combination of professionalism and reassurance. Moira noticed that the patients all understood the functions of the various medications they received and they had little booklets where their weight and blood pressure were recorded at every visit. They were all very adept at entering information and retrieving it from the computer.
“You wouldn’t believe the trouble we had getting a training course organized. Frank Ennis managed to make it sound like devil worship. Clara practically had to go to the United Nations to get the instructors in.”
“He sounds like a dinosaur, this man,” Moira said disapprovingly.
“That’s what he is, all right,” Hilary agreed.
“But you say that Dr. Casey sees him … um … socially?” Moira probed.
“No. Ania was saying that, not me—but indeed it is true. Clara has humanized him a lot but there’s a long way to go still.”
“Does Frank Ennis know