Frankie's Letter - By Dolores Gordon-Smith Page 0,41

his eye he could see the strain ebbing out of Veronica O’Bryan. ‘Are you particularly interested in Irish affairs, Miss O’Bryan?’

‘I think any intelligent person has to be concerned about Ireland, wouldn’t you say? All the news is about the war, but the Irish problem hasn’t gone away. There will be Home Rule for Ireland, but on what terms, I don’t know. My mother’s got very strong views on the subject.’

She glanced at Veronica O’Bryan, still, to all appearances, deaf to what they were saying. ‘If my father had lived, he would’ve been in any Irish government. He died when I was very small, and I can’t remember him, but my mother says he would have been a great man if he’d lived.’

Anthony, who had read a fair sample of the late Bernard O’Bryan’s works the previous evening, couldn’t agree. The man had been eaten up with hatred of the English and obsessed with honour, blood, sacrifice and death. Anthony had disliked it very much.

‘He wrote poetry,’ said Tara O’Bryan in a wary way. ‘I don’t know if you’ve ever read any?’

Anthony, torn between truth and tact, chose tact. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t read a lot of poetry.’ It might have been his imagination, but Tara O’Bryan seemed relieved.

‘Terry Cavanaugh was a great supporter of Home Rule, too,’ said Anthony, steering the conversation back on track. ‘I was surprised how well informed he was, considering he was American.’

Tara O’Bryan laughed. ‘He might have been born in New York but he was Irish and proud of it. As I said, he was one of my father’s relations.’

That wasn’t a bad idea on Cavanaugh’s part, thought Anthony. If Cavanaugh really was on to something, it would make an investigation a lot easier if he posed as a relation rather than a chance-met acquaintance.

‘Anyway,’ she added with a shrug, ‘I liked Terry. He was different from anyone else I’d ever met. My mother thought the world of him at first.’ She shrugged once more. ‘Then it all went wrong.’

Anthony wanted to ask how but that sort of question wasn’t permitted. However, if Veronica realized that Terry Cavanaugh was using her to gain an entrée to Starhanger, then it could have all gone wrong very quickly, even without an affair with Tara.

For the first time he felt a twist of distaste for Cavanaugh. Whatever he’d done and whatever the motives, Tara O’Bryan had been upset. It seemed wrong to use this girl with her bright, intelligent eyes and sensitive mouth as a mere counter in a game.

‘I’m sorry he’s dead,’ said Tara. ‘I hate to think of dying so far from home. I suppose his newspaper would have informed his family – if he had one, that is,’ she added.

Anthony seized the opportunity. ‘He never talked about any family to me. He mentioned friends occasionally. There was someone called Frankie, I believe.’

Mrs O’Bryan’s fingers whitened on the magazine again. ‘Colonel Brooke,’ she said in a carrying voice. ‘If you are going to talk about my husband’s relatives, you might have the courtesy to include me. What’s all this about Cavanaugh’s friends?’

‘I wondered if they’d heard he’d died,’ replied Anthony politely.

Privately he was wondering if Frankie was a member of either the New York or London Hibernian charities. That would add up. Maybe Frankie had been a bit too free with his confidences to Cavanaugh and Veronica O’Bryan knew that. He was sure it was Frankie’s name which had prompted Veronica O’Bryan to stick her oar in. ‘I heard him mention a chap called Frankie. I wondered if Miss O’Bryan knew him.’

There was a glint of amused triumph in Mrs O’Bryan’s eyes. ‘I’m afraid we can’t help you, Colonel. Terry didn’t have many friends and I never heard of a man of that name. That’s right, isn’t it Tara?’

‘If you say so, mother,’ said Tara with a frown. ‘I don’t think he ever mentioned a Frankie.’

Anthony’s voice was casual. ‘I don’t suppose it matters,’ he said lightly as he could. Veronica O’Bryan knew something, and he was prepared to bet that one of the things she knew about was Frankie.

He got up and walked over to the coffee tray on the sideboard. He put his cup down and turned, knowing Sir Charles was watching, and gave him the very slightest of nods.

Sir Charles didn’t respond but Anthony knew he’d understood. General Harker rumbled something about forcing the Narrows – they were still talking about Gallipoli – and Sir Charles, as if struck by a sudden