The Tour by Jean Grainger Page B

fine, but I’d check with you,’ Mary said as she filled the kettle.
    ‘There’s a pile of post there for you, but something came a few weeks ago marked urgent and personal, so I sent it on to the Dunshane. Did you get it?’
    Conor looked up from the pile of mostly junk mail that she had handed him. ‘Oh yeah. I did. Thanks for that.’ He knew better than to mention Sinead’s name to Mary. She had felt at the time that Conor was wrong to say nothing when she went off with Gerry. She had also said that if she were any kind of a girl at all, she would realise that Conor was the better man by far. It didn’t say much for her that she couldn’t see that. The last thing Conor wanted to hear was Mary’s opinions about the feckless Sinead. Mary didn’t understand, not really.
    Conor took piece of paper from his pocket and put it on the table.
    ‘Here’s a voucher for a travel agent in town. Now, I’m not going to argue with you about it, so just go in and book a flight. Go to see Joanne alright? It’s all covered and I don’t want to hear another word about it.’
    ‘Ah Conor there’s no need’ Mary argued.
    ‘There’s every need, but we’re not having that debate right? I owe you so much I could never repay you. We both know it. You’re going to New York to visit your daughter, and I’m paying for it, and that’s the end of it. And before you say another word, here’s a few bob to spend too. I get dollars as tips and it’s not worth my while changing them, so you’re going to take those too. ’
    Mary opened the envelope. ‘Jesus Almighty there must be hundreds in there! I’m not taking that off you.’
    ‘It’s fifteen hundred dollars and you are taking it. Now where’s my tea?’ he said with a big smile.
    He chatted with Mary for another half an hour before announcing that he had to get back to the group. ‘Sure I’ll call again in a few weeks or so,’ he said as he left.
    Both of them knew it would be more like a matter of months before he would return to Passage West, and, once Mary died, he would never go back again.

Chapter 9
    ‘Conor!’ Patrick said with obvious pride, ‘I would like you to meet my friend Cynthia Jeffers.’
    ‘Well how are you Cynthia? Patrick was telling me you have a lot on your plate at the moment, sorting out your late-uncle’s house?’
    ‘Oh gracious yes,’ she replied, ‘though without the invaluable help of Patrick here, I should imagine I would never have emerged from that dratted pile! Uncle Herbert, did you know him?’ she said, raising an enquiring eyebrow. ‘He was whipper-in for the Weston Hunt for many years? Large fellow, handlebar moustache? He won a prize for his marrows at Chelsea several times.’
    ‘Em no… Cynthia,’ said Conor, suppressing a smile, ‘I can’t say I do…em did.’
    ‘Well never mind,’ Cynthia continued unperturbed, ‘anyway, as I was saying, Patrick here really was wonderful. Therefore, I simply must buy him a drink to say thank you. You will join us Conor. What will you have?’
    ‘Well, just the one,’ Conor replied, fascinated by this friendship between herself and Patrick.
    She turned heads as she swept ahead of the two men following her into the bar. It wasn’t just that she was tall, it was also the way her hair seemed to sit on her head like an enormous nest – hair that looked as if it hadn’t been combed for many, many years. She was wearing what appeared to be a long, knitted purple tube affair, which stretched from under her arms to just above her knees. Over that, she wore a short pillar-box red woollen cape.
    ‘Cynthia was telling me all about the history of her uncle’s house today,’
    Patrick recounted as they sat awaiting her return from the bar. ‘I never knew about the way all those beautiful houses got burned during the Independence struggle here. You should see this place Conor, I mean sure, it’s run down now, but it must have been spectacular in its day. And the way all the people