The Collector 3: Cauldron Page 4

  “Sure.”

  As she followed him out the door, she began to think maybe the Harvard man wasn’t so starchy after all.

  * * * * *

  They found a pub. It seemed the best thing to do, in a country where the pub was a central part of every settlement large enough to possess one. It was a charming place, and the live music struck and enfolded them in joyful sound as soon as they pushed their way through the door.

  “They do love their music!” Matt said in her ear. “That’s why I love these places! You never get any of that jukebox crap; it’s all live music and anyone who can play is welcome to join in, no matter how good ‑‑ or bad ‑‑ they are.”

  “I should’ve brought my flute!” she replied as they headed for the bar.

  “You play the flute?” he asked, looking at her in astonishment.

  “Why should I not play the flute?” she enquired sweetly. She gave him a wry smile. “Blame my mom; she insisted I learn to play at least one instrument. ‘You can’t carry one of those stupid Walkmans around everywhere!’ she said. ‘It’s just as easy to carry something that really makes music.’“

  He laughed and took a place at the bar. It was early, and the pub was only half-full, but the small group of musicians were playing as if to a packed house at Carnegie Hall with every sign of pleasure.

  “What’ll it be, folks?” the barmaid asked.

  “It’ll have to be Guinness, please,” Matt said.

  “I’ll have the same,” Kate said.

  Matt leaned closer. “Just a word to the wise, Kate; here and in Britain it’s normal to say please and thank you when asking for or taking things. It’s considered very rude not to. I’ve seen trouble start when our fellow Americans forget that rule and ask for things like they do back home.”

  “Okay, I’ll remember,” she said, feeling her face growing hot. “Thank you!”

  She did make a point of thanking the girl behind the bar when she produced the Guinness, pre-poured as usual so the foamy head would settle. The girl smiled. “Did I not hear your boyfriend say you play the flute?”

  “You’ve got good hearing!” Kate said, marveling. “He’s not my boyfriend, but yes, I do.”

  “You’re welcome to join that lot over there,” the girl said, pointing to the group. “Wait for them to finish a set and ask. I’m sure Saiorse carries a spare flute with her.”

  “Seersha?”

  “That’s right; Saiorse. She’s the brunette.”

  “I love these people, they’re so friendly,” Kate said as the girl moved away to serve another customer, and Matt set down his pint and grinned. The effect was rendered more comical by the thick foam moustache he’d suddenly acquired. He went cross-eyed and pursed his lips, then licked the foam away with a sweep of his tongue. She watched the movement and suddenly wondered how it would feel to have his tongue twirling against hers as they kissed ...

  She shook herself, snapping out of the reverie, and took a sip of the thick brew to hide any confusion she might display. Matt appeared not to notice. He was watching the group play instead.

  The tune was winding down, and Kate set down her glass and made her way over to the side of the clear area that served as their stage. A sudden resolution propelled her there, a determination to get away from what her oh-so-Catholic mom called ‘carnal thoughts.’ First the hunky Colm had appeared, and now even Matt was beginning to tempt her. The brunette girl the barmaid had indicated as Saiorse set down her fiddle and glanced up at Kate with a smile and an enquiring look. “Would you be lookin’ to join in?” she asked.

  “If you’ll have me. The girl at the bar said you might have a spare flute.”

  “I do, so.” Saiorse leaned sideways and rummaged in a tote bag that sat on the floor beside her stool. She produced a slim black case showing signs of good wear and snapped it open. A gleaming silver flute nestled in the black velvet inside. She took it out, slotted it together and handed it to Kate. “Here you are.”

  Kate took the flute and hefted it to find the balance. Long, tedious years of lessons came back to her swiftly ‑‑ as her more than patient teacher had intended. Fingering the keys to assess their freedom of movement she asked, “What shall we play?”

  “Do you know ‘The Kilfenora Jig?’“

  “Er ... no, I don’t.”

  The girl grinned. “I guessed so. Do you know any jigs?”

  “Just a couple.”

  “Ah, good; just busk it then. No one will mind. The key’s in D.” With a nod to the others, Saiorse stamped her foot three times, and they struck up the tune.

  From his place at the bar, Matt watched with mixed feelings as the group swung into the music. After a few off-notes, Kate got the tune and played the flute like a virtuoso, easily keeping up with the others. Within minutes, they had got in the groove and were playing together as if they’d shared a stage for years.

  The effect wasn’t lost on the pub’s clientele, for they soon began to pay more attention to the music than their conversations. Some made for the cleared area in the center of the room and began to jig and reel, broad smiles on their faces.

  “Your girlfriend can certainly play that pipe!”

  The voice was deep and melodious and full of the Irish inflexion. Matt looked round to see a red-headed guy standing quietly by, watching and listening to the group.

  “She’s not my girlfriend, sir, but yes, she can sure play.”

  “‘Tis a talent to be admired, sure,” the man said. “I’ll be seeing you, then.” Without another word, he walked away.

  “Odd customer!” Matt said to himself.

  Kate saw Colm walk across the room toward the door. He cast her a knowing glance which made her twitch and almost miss a note. But then he was gone, out the door without a backward glance, leaving her feeling strangely bereft.

  The feeling didn’t last. They played for another hour, with the barmaid and landlord sending across drinks at intervals to whet their throats. They finished their set with the reel “Off in the Morning” in the key of G.

  “You’re a damn fine player, so you are!” Saiorse said, hugging her. “Will you be in town for a while? We’d love you to play with us again.”

  Kate glanced across at Matt, who was in conversation with two other men at the bar. “I guess I might. It depends what my buddy over there has planned.”

  “Well if you are, drop in here any evening and speak to Mary behind the bar; she’ll know where we’re playing.”

  “I’ll do that,” Kate promised, and after another hug, she went across to Matt.

  “You’re a really good player,” he said, pushing a Guinness along the bar for her.

  “Thanks,” she said, and picked up the glass to salute him. “And thanks for this, too.”

  “Are you enjoying your mom’s birthday?” he asked with a wry grin.

  “Do y’ know, I am?” she said, marveling and sipping as she glanced around the bar. “As far as I know, I haven’t a drop of Irish blood in my veins, but I really feel at home here.”

  “It’s exactly how I feel.”

  She flashed him a grin. “Oh, come on! You should feel at home. With a surname like O’Brien, you must have Irish blood!”

  “That’s not what I meant,” he said, and where the Matt of the last two days would have snapped out the words, this new incarnation laughed. “I only mentioned my surname to those two guys I was talking to, and they practically had my life story out of me before I knew what was happening! Not only that, but the older one reckons he knew my grandfather, Liam O’Brien.”

  “God bless Ireland!” Kate sighed happily. “I see you met Colm.”

  “Who?”

  “The guy with the red hair. He walked out just after we began playing.”

  Matt frowned. “He just complimented me on your playing, mistakenly assumed you were my girlfriend, and left.”

  “I hope you put him right?”

  “Of course.”

  “Of course.” There was no heat
in his words; just a confirmation. She looked at him again, feeling sudden kindred with him.

  * * * * *

  They both survived the traditional ‘lock-in,’ being invited to stay by the landlord as a matter of course. Somehow word of Matt’s birthday got out, and the night turned into a glorious celebration. Kate played a few more sets with the group, the reason why her lips felt so strangely tender the next day when she woke.

  She had the usual disorienting sensation engendered by being in a strange room in a strange place, before reason kicked in and told her where she was and what she’d done. Matt had even kissed her goodnight, all quite formal and on the cheek of course. She’d taken a quick shower and gone to bed, too tired and happy even to masturbate, as she’d intended.

  Matt was waiting for her at their table in the restaurant when she went down to breakfast. They helped themselves to the buffet in a spirit of companionship she’d not felt before with the scholar. When they returned with laden plates to the table, she asked him, “What do we do today?”

  He sat with fork poised over a small mountain of scrambled eggs and considered. “I really do think we should beard Miss Byrne in her den and persuade her to tell us where she found your grandfather’s journal.”

  “Do you think she’ll tell us?”

  “She might, if you tell her your connection with the book.” He smiled, even white teeth flashing in his tanned face. “If not, you can always resort to plan B.”

  “Which is?”

  “Try the woman-to-woman chat!”

  * * * * *

  “Dear God! You weren’t joking about this track, were you!”

  “I try not to exaggerate,” Matt replied, hanging onto the steering wheel with grim determination as they bounced and bumped over the ruts and crashed through the potholes. “Shit! I wish we’d hired a four-wheel drive! This car’ll be a wreck before we reach the end.”

  She held on to the seat and door handle for dear life and peered ahead at the distant cottage ‑‑ their destination. It was typical of the area, a single storey place, with a tiled roof and maybe three rooms at most, surrounded by a field-stone wall. Unlike those crofts they’d passed on the way, it was painted a dismal mushroom color that almost blended into the hill slope on which it stood.

  They arrived at last, and she would swear in court that the car gave a sigh of relief as Matt turned off the engine. She got out and stood with aching legs to survey the scene.

  A single wooden half-hatch door was set deep into the front wall, with a wooden-framed window either side. The only splash of color here was a pot of geraniums by the door, their bright red cheerful flowers standing clear in the dreary surroundings. Matt walked over to the door, lifted the heavy black iron knocker and let it fall. It banged against the plate like the knell of doom, and he turned to her and grimaced.

  The knock was answered eventually. Matt was about to try again when the sound of a key being turned made him withdraw his hand. The door opened, and a slender woman with a wild mop of bristly blond hair shot through with gray looked out at them. Her brows drew together in apparent anger at the sight of Matt on the doorstep, but the expression of incipient fury cleared as if by magic when the woman’s gaze turned on Kate.

  “Ah, so you’re here at last,” Maria Byrne said and stood back. “You’d better come in.”

  Kate glanced at Matt who shrugged, and together they entered the cottage.

  Inside it was not nearly as dreary as the exterior had led Kate to expect. The thick walls were painted a cheerful lemon yellow, and Maria Byrne had placed several pieces of solid wood furniture about the room. They walked on thick woolen rugs woven in many hues, their feet making a soft susurration.

  “Take a seat, both of you,” Byrne said, indicating two floral pattern armchairs. “Can I get you anything?”

  “A glass of water will do for me, please,” Matt said.

  “And for me,” Kate put in.

  Byrne disappeared into another room, and they heard the sound of clattering glasses and the splash of water. Kate shot an enquiring glance at Matt, and he met it with a shrug.

  “Here we are,” Byrne said, coming back with a tray bearing three glasses. “Fresh from the pump.”

  “Thanks,” Matt said. He gave Byrne a tentative smile. “Sorry, Ms. Byrne, but your track doesn’t exactly encourage visitors.”

  “That’s the idea,” Byrne replied with a wry look at Kate before sitting and taking her own glass. “So, you’re here about your grandfather’s journal, young lady.”

  “Yes, I am.” Kate glanced at Matt, who shrugged again, and then she turned to Byrne. “You knew we were coming?”

  “I did.” She gestured to Matt. “I wasn’t prepared to talk to you, young feller. Not without Miss Susadi being here. Sorry, but Thomas made me promise that.”

  “Wait a minute!” Matt cried in protest. “How can Thomas Susadi tell you such a thing?”

  “He didn’t,” Byrne said patiently. “Of course, he couldn’t be specific. He did make me promise to tell his kin when they called. I was expecting you almost six months ago.”

  “How come?”

  “I took that book down to Patrick McCarthy just over a year ago, to set the fuse burning, so to speak. Did it really take so long to reach you?”

  “I bought the book when I was here last year,” Matt said, “but I’d no idea it was some kind of bait!”

  “It wasn’t intended as bait, young man!” Byrne told him. “It was a clear signal to those who would know, that the mystery of Thomas Susadi’s disappearance was ready to be solved.”

  “You know where he is?” Kate asked.

  “Only roughly, young lady. I can take you to where he left this world.”

  “Is that a poetic way of saying he died, Ms. Byrne?” Matt asked.

  “Died? Who said anything about his dying?” Byrne leaned forward, put down her glass and tapped her forefinger in her open palm. “Thomas Susadi made me promise to take that book down to the bookstore on that date last year. That I did. He was a difficult man, and I can’t say I liked him much. But I did respect him, and can truthfully say he trusted me to discharge my duty. That duty is only partly complete.” She picked up and drained her glass and rose to her feet. “That I’ll finish when I’ve taken you to the barrow.”

  “You know where the barrow is?” Matt said eagerly, then shut his eyes for a moment. “Sorry, of course you do, or you wouldn’t have said!”

  “I’ll take you there now,” Byrne said, “if you’ve recovered enough from your trip here.

  The ceiling was lower than Kate was used to, and she was looking up at Byrne, but it seemed Maria Byrne had grown by about a foot. Kate blinked and the illusion was dispelled. She glanced at Matt and nodded. “I’m ready when you two are,” she said, getting to her feet. “This mystery is something my family needs closure on.”

  Byrne fetched her hat and coat, tweedy affairs that looked new, and they headed out to the car ‑‑ but not before Byrne had carefully locked the door. She saw them looking at her and gave them a wry smile. “In this part of Ireland, as in most, it’s not usual or needed to lock one’s doors.” She slipped the key into her pocket. “In my case however, I have just cause to be careful.”

  Without further explanation, she got in the rear seat of the car. Matt looked at Kate, and they shook their heads in unison. Kate felt a lifting in her heart at the prospect of finally putting to rest the mystery of her grandfather’s disappearance.

  “Head right for Maam Cross then steer for the coast road, young feller,” Byrne told Matt once they’d bounced and rattled back down the track to the main road. “You’re looking for the L100. I’ll direct you from there.”

  Maam Cross was a tiny place, a blink-and-you-miss-it affair, and they nearly missed their turn. They turned onto the L100 and found it to be a single lane by-road heading south toward Galway Bay. The land became more scenic, and Kate thought of the old advertising slogan ‘Forty Shades of Green’ and considered it an
understatement, as everywhere looked so lush.

  Another tiny village came and went, and some farms with surprisingly modern barns and outbuildings. “Just ordinary EU corruption,” Byrne said, dismissing the structures with a wave of her hand. “Keep going until I tell you. There’s a place where you can pull up.”

  The place turned out to be a narrow side track over shingle and tufts of grass. Nowhere near as uneven as the track to Byrne’s place, Kate was still sick of being jolted around. Byrne directed Matt to stop in a dell, and Kate felt relief as they finally got out.

  Kate and the others found themselves in a narrow, hanging valley overlooking a steep slope. A hundred feet or so down was a tiny cove. The headlands enclosed the quiet water, shaded from pearl white where foam slopped against the rocky shore to a rich blue in the center. A white fishing boat with a blood-red strake rocked slowly at anchor there. There was no sign of life aboard.

  Matt looked around then at Byrne. “Where’s this barrow?” he asked eagerly.

  Byrne was staring hard at the boat with a peculiar intense expression, her pale cheeks colored with small spots of red. When Matt spoke she tore her gaze away. “What?”

  “Where’s the barrow?” he asked again.

  She pointed at a thicket of small wind shaped trees and brush on the eastern side of the valley. “It’s the other side of that,” she said.

  Matt looked at it. “It doesn’t look like anyone’s been that way for years!”

  “What did you expect, young feller; one of your six lane blacktops?” Byrne said sharply, thrusting her hands into her coat pockets. “Of course no one’s passed that way for years! Thirty years, in fact.” A look, almost of pain, crossed her face. “I was the last one to come out of there from the hollow the other side. Your grandfather was the first to go in.”

  “What happened to him?” Kate demanded, glancing from the fissure to Byrne.

  For some reason the woman blushed, an odd sight on her face. “I really don’t know. We went in there ‑‑ and he never came out.” She shook her head. “It’s beyond me, but maybe you’ll find an explanation.”