“What about her sons?”
“They’re all married with houses of their own. They won’t want to be too involved after she’s gone and done a caper like that. They’ll have wives. If you make your bed you lie on it. Isn’t that what’s said? There’s a lot going for John Quinn and no better man to play his cards. He won’t come back with his hands empty. She’ll have her work cut out.”
They walked him to the gate, where he retrieved the rod and copper spoon from the fuchsias, and then down to the water and part of the way round the shore. The sloes were already ripening on the blackthorn. Patches of yellow were appearing in the thick wall of green along the shore. There was rust on the briar leaves. Certain grasses and early vegetables were dying back.
The lake was an enormous mirror turned to the depth of the sky, holding its lights and its colours. Close to the reeds there were many flies, and small shoals of perch were rippling the surface with hints of the teeming energy and life of the depths. The reeds had lost their bright greenness and were leaning towards the water. Everything that had flowered had now come to fruit.
They would not be in London at Christmas, a time they had particularly liked in London. Kate wrote to Robert Booth. She had delayed writing. The indulgence of delay had been to keep the door open for as long as possible. She wrote how grateful she was, how grateful they both were. A door had been held open at a time when most doors were starting to close.
“It’s extraordinary how different it is to be young,” Kate said quietly. “Dressing up for a party, the excitement of who you might meet, your whole life possibly changed by a single meeting.”
“You were going into your life then,” Ruttledge said. “Now you are in the middle of that life.”
Kate wrote to Robert Booth, closing the door, and it was not a pleasant sound even though she herself was doing the closing.
“Has that man said anything further to you about buying that place?” The Shah became more pressing on Sundays and he started arriving more often now in the late evenings.
“No, but I am fairly sure it’ll be all right. We are trying to find a way round a few things,” Ruttledge answered with deliberate vagueness.
“He won’t get forever. Not many would be so backward given a chance the like of that.”
Ruttledge had talked to Joe Eustace in the bank again. They went over every possible way of obtaining a loan until they were forced to return to the plan of last resort: Ruttledge would have to take out the loan and then transfer it with legal safeguards.
“If there was another way we’d have come up with it by now,” Joe Eustace said. “That interview is still the talk of the bank: the man who swore to do less.”
Ruttledge went to check that Frank Dolan still wanted to buy. When he looked coldly at the square, not for the first time was he amazed at how much the Shah had come to acquire. The place was worth several times more than the asking price.
He found Frank sorting small engine parts under a powerful spotlight on the long bench at the back of the shed. He stood for a long time watching in silence until Frank noticed him and turned the metal hood of the lamp towards the wall.
Frank Dolan looked at him slowly, enquiringly; stubbornness and independence showed on the face.
“You are still interested?”
“I most certainly am.” Everything else was so cautious and covered that Ruttledge was as surprised by the forthrightness as relieved.
“I think I have found a way. I’ll be back in a few days,” Ruttledge said.
Frank Dolan made no enquiry as to what had been found. In pauses, they talked for a while of business and the town and then Frank Dolan walked Ruttledge to his car. He did not turn off the sharp spotlight at the back of the shed. He would be working late, preferring to work when nobody was about.
“You’re not going in to see him?” he indicated the blue light of the TV in the station house. “I’m sure he’d like to see you. He’ll be like a lion if he gets to hear you were in.”
“It’s a bit late and he’s not likely to hear,” Ruttledge said.
“You’d be surprised the things he’s able to pick up.”
“What’s the humour like this weather?”
“Rough — that’s if you paid it any heed.”
Later, when the Ruttledges were talking over the whole business, Kate asked, “If there’s no risk why are you so reluctant to take out the loan?”
“It’s generally a bad idea to do business with people you are close to. It’s just that I feel there should be a simpler way.”
“There is,” she said. “Why doesn’t the Shah give him the loan? Remember all the money we had in the house when he went to Donegal? And that’s probably only a fraction of what’s there.”
Ruttledge stood frozen in amazement that something so close and so obvious hadn’t occurred to him.
“It’s true that we can’t see what’s under our noses.”
“I think it’s even more simple.”
“How?”
“You were always careful never to ask him for anything. Even reluctant to accept things he offered.”
“We didn’t need for much,” he said stiffly.
“That’s true but there were times that weren’t all that easy.”
“We managed,” he answered defensively.
“I know,” Kate said and continued to look at him without speaking.
“It seems we can never know ourselves,” Ruttledge admitted out of the silence. “But will he agree to give Frank the loan?”
“I don’t see why not. He wants him to have the place. You know that. It’s even obvious to me.”
“People act strangely when money’s involved. It goes deeper than sense or reason.”
“All you can do is ask.”
Armed with information from the bank about interest rates, monthly and quarterly repayments, Ruttledge went to see the Shah as he was finishing his evening meal in the Central. He was eating alone in the alcove overlooking the dining room, rosy with contentment, eating slowly and concentratedly, oblivious of the other diners. Slow to recognize Ruttledge, he laughed and gestured towards a chair, apologized and called the waiter in practically the same movement. “Give this man whatever he wants, Jimmy. He’ll need something.”
“I don’t feel like eating. I’ll have tea. A pot of tea.”
“You might as well have something stronger. Whiskey, wine, stout,” he pressed. His abhorrence and fear of alcohol did not extend to his power as host. He kept a huge cupboard of drinks in the station house and loved to serve large measures to visiting relatives — especially those he disliked — about which there was a definite element of spreading bait for garden snails.
“Tea is what I want.”
“How is Herself?” he asked after Kate.
“She asked to be remembered to you. We’ve both been going over that business of the sale and the loan.”
“Well?” he demanded, all concentration in an instant.
“Every way I look at the business it makes sense for you to give him the loan. You have plenty of money.”
“I’m not too short,” he admitted.
“You won’t even have to give him money. Instead of making payments to the bank, it’ll just be a matter of Frank making the payments to you.”
“I wouldn’t want to be going to him every month with my hand out,” he said.
“That won’t happen. There’ll be an agreement. He’ll have to pay the money into an account in the bank in your name every month or three months. Once the agreement is signed, the two of you won’t even have to say a word to one another.”