Minding Frankie - Maeve Binchy [6]
“Yes, of course. I might be a bit late. Lots of things to catch up on. But settle in well.…”
“I will, and thank you for agreeing to share your home with me.”
He left them to it. As he pulled the door behind him he could hear the pride in his mother’s voice as she showed off the newly decorated downstairs bedroom. And he could hear his cousin Emily cry out that it was just perfect.
Noel thought his father had been very quiet today and last night. But then he was probably just imagining it. His father didn’t have a care in the world, just as long as they made a fuss of him in that hotel and while he was sure there would be the Rosary every evening, an annual visit to Lourdes to see the shrine and talk of going farther afield one day, like maybe Rome or the Holy Land. Charles Lynch was lucky enough to be a man who was content with things the way they were. He didn’t need to numb himself against the dead weight of days and nights by spending long hours drinking alcohol in Old Man Casey’s.
Noel walked to the end of the road, where he would catch his bus. He walked as he did every morning, nodding to people but seeing nothing, noting no details about his surroundings. He wondered mildly what that busy-looking American woman would make of it all here.
Probably she would stick to it for about a week before she gave up in despair.
At the biscuit factory Josie told them all about the arrival of Emily, who had found her own way to St. Jarlath’s Crescent as if she had been born and reared there. Josie said she was an extremely nice person who had offered to make the supper for everyone that night. They were just to tell her what they liked and didn’t like and point her to the market. She didn’t need to go to bed and rest, apparently, because she had slept overnight on the plane coming over. She had admired everything in the house and said that gardening was her hobby so she would look out for a few plants when she went shopping. If they didn’t mind, of course.
The other women said that Josie should consider herself lucky. This American could have easily turned out to be very difficult indeed.
At the hotel, Charles was his normal, pleasant self to everyone he met. He carried suitcases in from taxis, he directed tourists out towards the sights of Dublin, he looked up the times of theater performances, he looked down at the sad face of a little fat King Charles spaniel that had been tied to the hotel railing. Charles knew this little dog: Caesar. He was often attached to Mrs. Monty—an eccentric, titled old lady who wore a huge hat and three strands of pearls, a fur coat and nothing else. If anyone angered her, she opened her coat, rendering them speechless.
The fact that she had left the dog there meant she must have been taken into a psychiatric hospital. If the past was anything to go by, she would discharge herself from the hospital after about three days and come to collect Caesar and take him back to his unpredictable life with her.
Charles sighed.
Last time, he had been able to conceal the dog in the hotel until Mrs. Monty came back to get him, but things were different now. He would take the dog home at lunchtime. Josie wouldn’t like it. Not at all. But St. Francis had written the book as far as animals were concerned. If it came to a big, dramatic row Josie wouldn’t go against St. Francis. He hoped that his brother’s daughter didn’t have any allergies or attitudes towards dogs. She looked far too sensible.
Emily had spent a busy morning shopping. She was surrounded by food when Charles came in. Immediately, she made him a mug of tea and a cheese sandwich.
Charles was grateful for this. He had thought that he was about to miss lunch altogether. He introduced Emily to Caesar and told her some of the story behind his arrival in St. Jarlath’s Crescent.
Emily Lynch seemed to think it was the most natural thing in the world. “I wish I had known he was coming. I could have gotten him a bone,” she said. “Still, I met that nice Mr. Carroll, your neighbor. He’s a butcher. He might get