The Judas gate

'You know what they say.' He smiled. 'If you're tired of champagne, you're tired of life.' He raised his glass. 'To you, Mum, you look absolutely smashing.'

'You don't look too bad yourself.'

He wore a black single-breasted suit, white shirt and Guards tie, his dark hair cropped. He still had slight stubble on his chin.

She touched it. 'What's this? Did you run out of razor blades?'

'It's the fashion at the moment. I think it's meant to make you look as if you've done things and been places.'

'But you've done both, you idiot.' She shook her head. 'Honestly, men are the end sometimes. Has Jack arrived?'

'He's in the kitchen, where Hannah is running around like a dervish. Young Jane has produced her waitress outfit, black dress and white apron. She looks quite charming.'

'And your grandfather, have you seen him?'

'Must I?' He immediately regretted it. 'I'm so sorry. Callous of me when I think of how much you've put up with.'

Jack Kelly appeared from the dining room, looking slightly old-fashioned in a tweed country suit, soft-collared shirt and knitted tie. 'You look grand, girl,' he told Jean, and kissed her on the cheek.

'An evening for compliments.' She smiled. 'Get him a drink and I'll see how things are coming along in the kitchen.'

Talbot found Kelly a Bushmills Whiskey in the study bar. 'Here's to you, Jack. What you and Hannah have done to support my mother is beyond price.'

'How is he?'

'We'll take a look.'

'Quietly is my advice,' Kelly told him. 'One minute he's sitting there like a living dead man and then, and often for some unknown reason, he explodes into one of his worst moments, screaming obscenities, slashing out with the blackthorn stick. God save us, but he could kill somebody with one of his blows.'

'So I believe.'

In the conservatory, they walked softly along the path. Murphy saw them coming and nodded slightly. Colonel Henry seemed somnolent; his head had fallen to one side and it was shaking slightly.

'Is that enough for you?' Kelly asked.

'What do you think, Jack?' Talbot's face was bleak. 'Let's go and eat.' The meal was simple but sensationaclass="underline" an onion soup with cheese that wouldn't have disgraced the best of Paris restaurants, lamb chops that were simply superb, cabbage and bacon, Irish-style, and roast potatoes. Young Jane in her waitress outfit acted the part to perfection, serving wine as to the manner born, left hand behind her back.

'I can't remember when I last ate like that,' Justin said as Jane cleared the plates on to a serving trolley.

'Well, it's not over yet,' Hannah told him. 'We've got your special favourite since you were a boy.'

'Emily's apple pie,' Justin said.

At the same moment, there was a disturbance in the Great Hall, shouting, and then the door burst open. Colonel Henry stood there in his robe, leaning on his stick, looking quite different. He seemed alert, his head up, and his voice was sharp and strong. There was an energy to him.

'So there you are,' he shouted. 'What's all this behind my back?'

Behind him, Murphy moved in. 'Now then, Colonel.' He put a hand on the old man's shoulder. Henry turned and struck out at him with the blackthorn, slashing him across the right arm.

Murphy backed away and Jean moved forward. 'Father, this won't do.' She reached for him, and when she was close enough, he slapped her across the face. 'How dare you touch me, you bitch?' He moved back as Justin took an angry stride towards him.

'And who are you?'

'Your grandson.'

He whirled round with surprising energy, collided with Murphy, knocking him to one side, and crossed the Great Hall, waving his stick and cackling. Justin had moved forward, and Jean and the Kellys followed. The old man got to the stairs, reached for the rail, hauled himself up three steps and paused, turning.

His face was something out of a nightmare, absolutely malevolent as he glared at Justin. 'I know you. You're the Protestant bastard.'

For Justin Talbot, it was enough, and the pain and resentment of a lifetime at the hands of this man erupted in an anguished cry. 'No, Grandfather, I'm the Catholic bastard.'

The words seem to echo around the hall, and Hannah Kelly cried out, 'Oh, God in Heaven.'

Colonel Henry stared at Justin, stood there swaying, his left hand on the banister. 'What did you say?'

Justin spaced each word and said clearly, 'I'm the Catholic bastard.'

Colonel Henry seemed to howl, head back, raised the blackthorn high and struck for Justin's head, at the same time releasing his grip on the banister. Justin stepped to one side and his grandfather fell from the steps to the floor.

Young Emily screamed and everyone seemed to move at once. It was Murphy who reached him first; he dropped to his knees to put him in the recovery position, for there was bleeding from the nose. The eyes weren't closed, but staring rigidly, and it was no surprise when Murphy, feeling for a heartbeat, looked up and shook his head.

'He's gone.'

Jean Talbot, the Kellys and young Jane stood there in a kind of tableau, Jane crying. Justin said, 'That's it, then. We'd better call Dr Ryan. There will be things to do.'

Jean said in a strangely calm voice, 'I'll see to that now.' She took a mobile from her handbag and walked back into the dining room, and Hannah and Jane followed. Murphy had picked up Colonel Henry's shawl and now he covered him with it. He turned to look at Justin.

'He's better out of it, Major Talbot,' he said. 'He was like a man possessed. It wasn't his fault.'

'Really?' Justin said. 'Well, I suppose it's a point of view.' He turned to Kelly. 'Are you all right, Jack?'

'Is it true, Justin?' Kelly asked.

'It was my father's dying wish, so my mother had me baptized a Catholic and kept quiet about it. Only Mary Ellen knew. Certainly not me. I've only discovered it recently. Would you care for a drink?'

'I don't think so. I'll go and see to the ladies.'

'Well, I could.'

He went to the study bar, poured himself three fingers of whisky, went and sat in a club chair and looked up at the painting of his grandfather as a Grand Master in the Orange Lodge.

'Mad as a hatter,' he said. 'So what does that say about me?' And he swallowed the whisky straight down. Doctor Larry Ryan, summoned to view the body, had no hesitation in concluding that Colonel Henry Talbot had died of a heart attack. He had, after all, been the dead man's physician for some twelve years.

In the circumstances, he had consulted the local coroner, who had concluded that there was no need for an inquest, which could only cause distress to what was, after all, the most important family in that part of the county. With the coroner's permission, Ryan phoned a funeral firm in Newry to come and receive the body, which Tod Murphy, with his strength, had carried reverently into the study and placed on the large sofa. Hannah Kelly, Jean behind her, appeared with fresh sheets and covered him. Jack Kelly looked on, accompanied by Father Michael Cassidy who, informed by Kelly, had immediately driven up from the Presbytery.

He stood by the body, murmuring a prayer, and Justin Talbot appeared from the study, a glass of whisky in his hand. 'Ah, there you are, Father,' he said. 'Bad news or good news, depending on your point of view, spreads quickly.'

'I'm here to offer what solace I can,' the old man said.

'If that means to me personally as a newly discovered member of your flock, you're wasting your time. The whole wide world can know I'm a Catholic, there's no shame in it, and my mother meant well. As far as I'm concerned, nothing's changed. I haven't suddenly discovered God or anything.'

'Justin – please.' His mother was distressed.

'Well, let's face facts,' Justin told her. 'We can hardly bury him in the cemetery at Holy Name with the monument to the Sons of the IRA dominating the scene.'

Alcohol affected him in the strangest of ways, and always had. His version of drunkenness was quite different from other people's. He became ice-cold, hard; not reckless, but calculating, and instant violence was there just beneath the surface if he did not get his way.