The Celtic Riddle

"I do, yes. It's one of the anomalies of this particular situation," he said, looking at me, "that while the family is suing the estate, and therefore us as executors, we continue to represent Mrs. O'Connor in some personal matters. Are you coming with me, Charles?"

Charles glanced at me. There was a slight question mark in his look.

"Perhaps not," he replied. "Perhaps… a drink?" he said looking at me. "Ms. McClintoch, Mr. Stewart?"

"Sure," I said. How nice, I thought.

Charles went to the bar for drinks for the three of us, and we chatted for a while, until we were interrupted by Malachy. "There you are!" he exclaimed, looking at Alex. "We've been looking all over for you. Don't you remember we're to get together at Tommy Fitzgerald's pub?"

"My goodness!" Alex exclaimed. "I had no idea it was this late. Will you excuse me, Lara? Charles?"

"Of course," we said in unison.

"I'll see he gets home," Malachy said. "Don't worry."

Charles smiled at me. "Could we have something to eat together, do you think? It's a long drive back to Dublin. There's a very good fish restaurant right down the street. I always try to have some seafood when I'm here. It's so fresh. What do you think?"

I thought it was a very good idea, and I said so, and a few minutes later we were sitting at a table in the window, as a waiter brought a blackboard over with the day's catch listed.

"Champagne, I think," Charles said. "To start. A little celebration of Mr. Stewart's decision."

Charles McCafferty was the kind of man I and my women friends tend to make fun of, with old world manners, rushing ahead to open doors, and choosing our food for us, as if we couldn't do it for ourselves. For some reason, though, I found it all rather relaxing, not having to think too much about anything, and just enjoying the very fine food and wine that he picked. Ryan might have been the gourmand of the two, but Charles was no slouch in knowing what was good to eat around the place. He also gave me his undivided attention, something I found very flattering. I'll flay myself tomorrow, I told myself, to make up for this serious lapse in feminist ideology, but tonight, I think I'll just sit back and enjoy it. I reminded him about the shop, though, lest he think I was merely one of those ladies who lunch.

"I do recall that," he said. "I enjoyed showing you through our offices immensely. Do you specialize in any particular period?"

I told him all about the place, my favorite subject, after all. It was fun to talk about it. It reminded me of my early conversations with Clive, when we were still dating, before we married and everything turned sour. It was pleasant to share an interest with someone, to be able to discuss everything in such detail with someone who was as enthusiastic about the subject as I was. I still felt a little confused about him, though. I couldn't tell whether he was really interested in me or not. Nor could I decide if he was my kind of guy or not. We'd flirt a little, then back off, both of us, I suppose, a little ambivalent on the idea of a new romance. I had such a bad track record where men were concerned, that the idea of starting a new relationship with someone, particularly someone so far from home, was daunting to say the least. I wondered if he felt the same.

I did find him attractive, though, no doubt about it. I found myself wishing I'd had an arrangement of some kind with Jennifer, of the college dorm variety, where a ribbon tied to the door handle meant Do Not Enter. However, if we had that arrangement, I suppose it would have to cut both ways, and I wasn't about to condone an intimate relationship between Jennifer and Paddy.

At some point in the conversation, I had the feeling I was being watched, not that this was unusual on this particular occasion. Charles had a commanding presence and was rather better dressed than anyone else in the place. And the bottle of champagne chilling in the ice bucket had drawn more than a casual glance. This was different somehow. I looked about me, and there, by the bar, was Rob. He had the strangest expression on his face, part nonchalance, part… what? Jealousy? It couldn't be! I looked again. Maybe, I thought. Well, good. I smiled at Rob and then leaned forward toward Charles, who reached across and grasped my fingers. I locked my hand with his. Rob turned back to the bar and ordered another drink. Where was Maeve, I wondered.

No matter how the evening might have ended had we been alone, that particular option didn't present itself. Just as we were finishing our coffee, Ryan appeared. "Ah, there you are," he said. "Thought I might find you here. What did you have? Sea bass? Sorry I missed it. I had some awful Irish stew kind of thing out at Second Chance. Margaret made it. I hope she finds a cook soon. Dinner there is not what it once was.

And that Deirdre! Kept dropping everything and clattered about. It's a relief she left us, Charles. She'd be dumping tea in our clients' laps more often than not."