Silence by Anthony J. Quinn Read Free Book Online

for the arrival of the priest. He had been waiting since the previous evening and was rattled by the delay. He had concentrated his mind on meeting the priest. Thwarted, he could not bring himself to leave, even though a wedding party had overrun the hotel, spilling from the lounge and function room into the foyer, blocking his view of the hotel entrance doors. He hoped that if he stayed quietly in the background, the truth might reveal itself, that he might work out the reason for Walsh’s worrying absence.
    The arrival of the wedding crowds had been not so much a distraction as a comfort. Somehow, it was less humiliating to be surrounded by people who did not know how long he had been waiting. He limped back to the bar, firmly gripping his case, which felt uncomfortably light, ordered another whiskey and returned to his seat. He mulled over his drink as the noise in the room intensified. The priest had him dangling on a hook. The realization left him feeling helpless, angry with Walsh for his secretive manner and reluctance to discuss his schemes on the phone, and now this prolonged delay.
    A fresh wave of relatives swelled into the room, compacting the several generations already squeezed there. He scanned their faces and their clothes, laughing men and women who looked as though they only saw each other at weddings and funerals. He observed the way they shook hands and bought drinks for each other, flashing their new suits and dresses. He did not know what to think of such gatherings, these rituals of family life, which represented everything he had left behind and never experienced because of his long career as an IRA informer. Was it a blessing or a curse to have been spared these gaudy events, the freshly made in-laws burdening the family tree, the troops of unruly children pushing their parents onward into middle age? He stared at the newly married couple steering through the room, shaking hands and receiving embraces. Nearby a woman picked up a baby and made gabbling noises at it. Soft-headed from the whiskeys and the suffocating cloud of goodwill in the air, he almost slipped into a daydream of what his life might have been.
    He returned sharply to reality with the appearance of a young woman in a dark coat and grey trousers. He only had to glance at her to know she was not part of the wedding party. She walked into the bar with a measured pace, and then stood, rooted to the spot. A pretty woman with a striking face and black hair, letting her eyes roam over the crowd. He recognized her as the journalist who had been working with Father Walsh. For a moment, he felt rescued from the noise and happy confusion. He waited, expecting Walsh to appear behind her, but there was no sign of him. He realized that she was alone and searching the room for company. He leaned back into the shadows.
    Her eyes briefly met his, but then flicked away. He noticed the subtle change in her face, the slippage in her blank expression. She tipped back her head and ran her hand through her dark hair. She looked interested. For the next ten minutes, she followed him with her gaze, seating herself at the bar to get a better view of him. He moved into the lobby, through the throng of people, and she trailed after him. He felt like a fugitive, chased from corner to corner of the hotel by this young woman with the eyes of a hunter following its prey.
    Eventually he gave up the game they were playing and walked right up to her. He was impatient for everything now, another drink, the priest, their secret deal, the betrayal of his former employees in British Intelligence, the setting up of his enemies, but he knew that he had to hide his restlessness.
    ‘I’m here to see the priest,’ he said.
    ‘He told me he was expecting someone.’
    ‘You know my name?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Why has he kept me waiting?’
    ‘I’m as much in the dark as you are. I haven’t seen him since yesterday morning. He’s stopped answering his mobile phone.’ She