Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [192]
“I’m bored, Una,” said Fionnuala. “Let’s go down to the quay.”
“All right.”
“Did you see what I got?” She looked at Una and gave her a slow mischievous smile. “A nice juicy apple.” She reached into her shirt and drew it out.
“Where did you get that?”
“From the stall.”
“But you didn’t pay for it.”
“I know.”
“Fionnuala! Put it back at once.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to.”
“For God’s sake, Fionnuala! You stole it.”
Fionnuala opened her green eyes wide. Usually when she did that and made a funny face it was difficult not to laugh. But Una wasn’t laughing now. Someone might have seen. She had a vision of the stall holder rushing towards them, of Ailred being called.
“Give it to me. I’ll put it back.”
Slowly and deliberately, her eyes still wide in their fake solemn look, Fionnuala raised the apple as if she were going to hold it out to Una; but instead of proffering it, she calmly took a bite. Her mock-serious eyes were fixed on Una.
“It’s too late.”
Una turned on her heel. She walked straight over to the stall, where the stall holder had just finished speaking to the Frenchman, and took an apple.
“How much for two? My friend’s already started hers.” She smiled pleasantly and indicated Fionnuala who had followed her over. The stall holder smiled at them.
“You work at the hospital, don’t you?”
“Yes.” Fionnuala gazed at him with her large eyes.
“That’s all right. Have them for nothing.”
Una thanked him and led her friend away.
“He gave them to us.” Fionnuala gave Una a sidelong glance.
“That’s not the point and you know it.” They walked a little farther. “I’m going to murder you one day, Fionnuala.”
“That would be bad. Don’t you love me?”
“That’s not the point either.”
“Yes, it is.”
“You don’t know the difference between right and wrong, Fionnuala, and you’ll come to a bad end.”
Fionnuala didn’t answer for a moment.
“I expect I shall,” she said.
It was fortunate that Fionnuala’s father was unaware of her behaviour, since it might have spoiled a very pleasant morning. For at the same time that the two girls were leaving the marketplace with their apples, that eminent churchman was walking at a dignified pace towards the hostel where his son Gilpatrick now lived. His mood was serious, because there was important family business to discuss. But the business was not unpleasant, the morning was fine and sunny, and he was looking forward to seeing Gilpatrick. As he came in sight of his son, therefore, he raised his stick in a solemn but friendly greeting.
The hostel of Saint Kevin’s was a small fenced enclosure containing a chapel, a dormitory, and some modest wooden buildings, which lay only two hundred yards south of the family’s ancient monastery. It belonged to the monks of Glendalough, who used it when visiting Dublin, and Gilpatrick had often resided here in the last two years. He was standing at the gateway and now, seeing his father approach, he moved forward.
But was there something in his manner, some hesitancy, which suggested he was not as glad to see his father as he should have been? It seemed to the older man that there might be.
“Are you not pleased to see me, Gilpatrick?” he enquired.
“Oh I am. Of course. Indeed I am.”
“That is good,” said his father. “Let us walk.”
They could have taken the roadway south, through the orchards. To the east, crossing a footbridge over the stream, they would have come out onto a large area of marshy meadows, dotted with trees. Instead, however, they took the roadway northwards that followed the gentle curve of the family’s ancient monastic enclosure before it continued, past the dark pool, towards the Thingmount and Hoggen Green.
Walking this route with his father, Gilpatrick thought, was always rather like a royal progress. As soon as they saw his father coming, people would smile and bow their heads with respect and