Whitethorn Woods by Maeve Binchy Read Free Book Online

I can do to help you I will," I promised, and I meant it.
       I didn't hear from him for three years. And by the time he got in touch again, a lot had changed.
       After years of drinking, my father eventually died, and at the funeral I met an old man in a wheelchair called Marty Nolan, who had known my father once. Like back in the days when it had been possible to talk to my father. A long time ago. A nice old man. His son, who was pushing the chair, was a really good-natured fellow called Neddy. Neddy had worked in England on the buildings, he said, well, more as manager for his brother and their friends, and now he had come home and looked after his father.
       He was an oddly restful person and I liked talking to him.
       Harriet Lynch said to me I should see his elder brother Kit, a real hunk. Take the sight out of your eyes, he would. And where was he now? I wondered. Apparently he was banged up in jail for something, Neddy was the one who had the decent streak in that family.
       Not the brightest mind, a bit slow, a minute late, she said. Har riet Lynch was always sorry she had volunteered this information to me.
       Very sorry.
       I saw Neddy again because I came back to Rossmore over and over to get what I considered were Geraldine's and my just portions of my father's estate. If you could use a word like estate to describe what was owing to a drunk who had died in the County Home. Over the years I had tried to contribute to my father's keep from my earnings in Keno's club, but the doctor told me to save my breath. He said that my father didn't know where he was and would only spend any money that came his way on cider. People had been discouraged from giving him anything at all.
       I faced my uncle Niall after the funeral, when he was busy accepting sympathy about his unfortunate poor brother. The one with the drink problem, people said, shaking their heads sadly.
       I asked for his attention for a moment.
       He looked at me witheringly.
       "And what can I do for you on this sad day, Miss Clare?" he said.
       "Just a third of what you got for the family farm," I said to him pleasantly.
       He looked at me as if I were mad.
       "One third is fine. I have written down the bank account number."
       "And what makes you think I am going to give you one single euro?" he asked.
       "Let me see, I think you won't want Geraldine and myself to tell the local doctor, the priest, half of Rossmore and, even more important, a top lawyer the reason why she and I had to leave home at a very young age," I said.
       He looked at me, unbelieving, but I met his stare and eventually it was his eyes that moved away.
       "It will be no problem, there's a new young curate here who would give Canon Cassidy the courage to stand up to you. Mr. Barry would get us a hotshot barrister from Dublin, the doctor will confirm that I asked his help to get Geraldine away from your clutches. The world has changed, you know. The days are gone, Niall, when the uncle with the money can get away with anything he likes."
       He spluttered at me. I think my calling him "Niall" was about the clincher.
       "If you think for one moment . . ." he began.
       I interrupted him. "One week from now, and a decent gravestone for my father," I said.
       It was surprisingly easy. He paid the money into my account.
       It was blackmail, of course, but I shrugged. I didn't see it as that.
       Then I was going out with Neddy. He came to Dublin once a week to see me. And I went down to see him once a week. And we hadn't slept together because Neddy wasn't like that.
       And in the middle of things in Dublin, which were always a bit pressurized, he was very restful indeed.
       And then I heard from Keno.
       They really needed me back at the club, he wouldn't ask if he wasn't desperate. He'd been having a bit of trouble with some of the girls from abroad. Visas and red tape and