Maeve Binchy - Quentins

"Yes?" he said crisply.

"Tell him to stop looking. I'm on my way to Stephen's Green. I'll be beside the duck pond. I'll see him there."

"Yeah, you and half the Guards in Ireland."

If they're there it's not because I'll have brought them," she said and hung up.

"You okay?" the driver asked, looking at her in the mirror.

"I don't know," Ella said. "Why do you ask?" "You're shivering. You've no coat. You look worried." "All of these things are true," Ella agreed. "So?"

"So I have to do something I don't want to do and I'm a little bit afraid," she said.

"Take someone with you," the driver suggested.

"I can't."

"You've got a phone. Then tell someone where you're going."

"But I don't want anyone coming in and interrupting it."

"You're in a mess then, aren't you," the driver said agreeably.

"I am indeed," she said. Derry King walked back to the building where the major painting job was taking place. He saw the professional sign for the painters. His father could have been part of this firm, lived in this city. Derry could have grown up here. But then, if he had, he might well have been like that boy Buzzo, cleaning out dustbins, making tea on sites before school. Like his own childhood in New York.

He saw two men walking towards a van with the name Kennedy on it. They stood discussing a sheaf of papers, some attached to clipboards. He watched them for a long time with a lump in his throat. They were square men like himself, same bristly hair, a little taller than he was, but they had the same lines coming out like stars around the eyes. You would not need a college degree in genetics to know that these were his relations.

He should be their friend. They were, after all, the sons of brothers. But there was so much to regret. To try to forget. He would walk way.

At that moment they looked over. He couldn't run.

"Scan? Michael?" he said.

"Well, Derry, you came to see us at last," said one of them.

"You knew me?" He didn't know whether to be pleased or outraged.

"Of course we did."

"Kim, I suppose?" he said.

"Well, she did show us a photo of you when she was here, but that was a while ago, and anyway, aren't you the spit of us?"

"That's right."

Derry still seemed uneasy.

The bigger man said, "Now it's easy for us to know you. There's

only one of you. You don't have an idea which of us is which. I'm Scan and this is Michael, the brains of it all, and can we buy you breakfast?"

"I've been eating breakfast for hours," he said with a half-smile.

"It's the one meal you can't overeat on, they say." Scan was eager. Touchingly eager to treat the cousin who had ignored them for decades.

He looked from one to the other. "You don't seem surprised to see me," he said.

"Kimberly sent us a message saying you might be here and to look out for you," said Michael.

"And one of the painters said there was a Yank who was the dead image of us, asking about us in the cafe," added Sean.

And they laughed like old family friends as they went to Derry's third breakfast of the day. Possibly ducks were not as content as they looked. Maybe they were up to their little feathered armpits with worry, but they looked fairly sound, Ella thought. As if they had it sorted.

She looked around. There was no sign of him yet.

She sat down on a bench and found a paper bag with the remains of someone's breakfast croissant. Normally she would have been appalled at the Dublin litter problem. Now she could give it to these quacking ducks as she pleased. Maybe it was what they called an Act of Random Kindness to leave the bag there.

She saw people moving around, some of them hurrying, others idling. None of them was Don. And yet she knew he would come. He had moved so quickly from Spain. He must be desperate to find her. Perhaps he had known she was lying when she spoke to him last night about having given the laptop in already. He must have flown out of Spain immediately, gone by London possibly. What passport had he used?

Suddenly she felt frightened. Why had she arranged to meet him here?

She dialled the number of Derry King's mobile. It was up on the screen, but she needed to press the green button for it to start ringing. Before she could do that she saw Don. He was moving towards her, arms out.

"Angel," he cried. "Oh, Angel, nothing matters now. I'm just so glad to see you again." Derry didn't know how the day passed, so much happened, so much was seen and noted. Even in his busiest days setting up his own business in the USA, he had not met so many people in the space of one day.

His cousins brought him back to their headquarters and explained the business from the ground up. How it had seemed such a great idea to hire themselves out to builders as master painters, to put a seal on their work as it were. But there were problems.

They told him unemotional stories about their own father, now dead, and their mother, who was in an old people's home and would love to see him, but maybe in another visit, not this one. They pushed him not at all and he felt he had known them all his life.

He went back to Quentins to follow how the day was unfolding there. He met the staff, saw them learning the names and nature of the new cheeses, watched the clever switching of tables as bookings changed minutes before lunch was served. And noted the clockwork precision of the kitchen, where everything had its own rhythm.

Derry saw Brenda on the phone and she told him she had just heard that Don Richardson was in Dublin.

"Does Ella know?" he asked immediately.

"Apparently so, she's safe at Firefly Films. With Nick and Sandy." .

"He didn't waste much time," Derry said.

"No, I suppose he thought he'd better run in before the Guards got their paperwork ready," Brenda said.

"If he sees her ..." Derry began.

"He won't."

"No, but if he does, do you think she might go back to him?"

Brenda noticed what she thought was more than a professional interest in the question. His face was very concerned. Wishing she believed what she was saying, she assured Derry that there wasn't a chance in hell that Ella would look at that man again. "Hallo, Don." Ella's voice was flat. "Oh, my darling Ella." "No, Don, none of that." "But nothing's changed. There's been such hell and I know that I

put you through it, but I had to. So that in the end we would be..."

"No, Don, you didn't. You didn't have to do anything."

"It's going to be all right now, Angel. You and I can go away now. We'll get that money your mother and father wouldn't take, that will get us abroad anywhere, then with the computer we can get everything sorted out."

She looked at him in disbelief. He really meant it. He thought it was possible that she would drop everything and run away with him.

What did he think her life had been like for all these months, what kind of grasp on reality did he have?

She looked at his face, wondering how he could be so confident and loving. He really did think she was going with him.

"I can't believe that you're here, Don, walking right back into the lion's den .. ."

"You didn't give it to them, Ella. I know your voice. I know everything about you, honestly I do. I know "what you're like asleep and awake. I think of you all the time. I know every heartbeat. I can tell when you're lying, when you're frightened. I never knew anyone as well as I know you. I know every breath you take." He "was shaking now, trembling, and there "was a heavy sweat on his forehead.

Suddenly she got frightened. She pressed the green button on her phone, which was behind her. She could hear the number being dialled. Please God, may Derry be there. Please may he hear me.

"Don, believe me, I'm not going away with you," she began.