stood up and faced him. ‘He died a few weeks ago,’ she said. There was no change of expression on her face when she added, ‘I’m his daughter – Anne.’
Fallon walked over to the window and stood staring out into the tangled garden and the rain. Behind him the girl busied herself at the cooker. After a while he turned round and said, ‘He was the finest man I ever knew.’
There was ash on her hands from the grate. When she pushed back a loose tendril of her fair hair she smudged her forehead. ‘He thought quite a bit about you, too, Mr Fallon.’ She turned to the sink and rinsed her hands under the tap.
Fallon sat down in a chair by the table. ‘How did you know who I was?’ he asked.
‘That scar,’ she said. ‘You staggered into my father’s flat in Belfast one night about ten years ago with your face laid open to the bone. He stitched it for you because you couldn’t go to a doctor.’ She turned towards him, a towel in her hand, and examined the scar. ‘He didn’t make a very good job of it, did he?’
‘Good enough,’ Fallon said. ‘It kept me out of the hands of the police.’
She nodded. ‘You and Philip Stuart were students together at Queen’s before the war, weren’t you?’
Fallon started in surprise. ‘You know Phil Stuart?’
She smiled slightly as she put cups on the table. ‘He drops in now and then. He only lives a couple of streets away. He’s the County Inspector here, you know.’
Fallon slumped back in his chair with an audible sigh. ‘No, I didn’t know.’
As she poured tea out she went on, ‘My father used to say he found it rather ironical that Stuart joined the Constabulary and you the other lot. He once told me that in you two he could see the whole history of Ireland.’
Fallon offered her a cigarette and smiled sadly. ‘How right he was.’ He stared into space, back into the past, and said slowly, ‘He was a remarkable man. He used to shelter me when I was on the run and spend the night trying to make me see the error of my ways.’ He straightened up in his chair and laughed lightly. ‘Still, he used to see a lot of Stuart, as well. Poor Phil – if only he’d realized what was going on under his nose.’
Anne Murray sipped her tea and said quietly, ‘What did you want with my father this time?’
Fallon shrugged. ‘For once, nothing – except a chat. I hadn’t seen him for several years, you know.’
‘Yes, he wasn’t even sure you were still alive. He thought you would have written to him if you had been.’
Fallon shook his head and explained. ‘I’ve been buried in the wilds of Cavan,’ he said. He grinned suddenly and poured himself another cup of tea. ‘To tell you the truth I decided to change my ways. I’ve kept body and soul together by doing a bit of hack writing. I have a cottage about half a mile from the border. It’s been most restful.’
She chuckled, deep down in her throat. ‘I’m sure it has. But what did you find to take the place of the other thing?’
A sudden unease moved inside him and he forced a laugh. ‘What other thing?’
‘The thing that made you what you were; that made you live the kind of life you did for all those years.’
He stood up and paced restlessly about the room. The girl was getting too near the truth for comfort. After a few moments he swung round and said brightly, ‘Anyway, what are you doing here? I hadn’t realized you were so grown up. Didn’t your father pack you off to some aunt in England after your mother died?’
‘He did,’ she said. ‘Then I went to a boarding school. After that, Guy’s Hospital in London. I’m a nurse,’ she added simply.
He nodded. ‘You came home for the funeral?’
She shook her head. ‘I was here for a few days before he died. I’ve only stayed on to sell up. A lot of the furniture has gone already.’ She shivered suddenly. ‘I don’t want any of it. I just want to get rid of everything and go away.’
For the first time grief showed starkly in her eyes and he put a hand on her shoulder. For a few moments they stayed together, tied by some mystical bond of sympathy, and then she moved slightly and he took his hand away. She looked up into his face and said quietly, ‘What have you come for, Martin Fallon? Are you back at the old game?’
For a long moment their eyes were locked and then he sighed deeply. He moved across to his chair and sagged down into it. ‘Yes, I’m back at the old game,’ he said.
She nodded slowly and stared past him in an abstracted manner as if thinking deeply. After a moment she said, ‘But why? That’s what I can’t understand. After all these years why come back to it?’
He shook his head several times. ‘I don’t know. I really don’t know. I thought I was doing it for a woman who had already suffered too much, but now I’m not so sure. Some impulse of self-destruction, perhaps. After all, why did I live the way I did for so many years?’ He laughed suddenly. ‘I don’t think it was entirely for Ireland.’
The girl stood up and carried the cups to the sink. For a moment she paused, her back to him, and then she turned. ‘I only know what my father told me. That you were a fine man ruined and a good mind wasted.’ She shook her head slowly and repeated as if to herself, ‘Wasted.’
At that moment the bell jangled sharply, waves of harsh sound breaking the silence that had followed her words.
For a brief second they stood looking at each other and then she opened the door and went swiftly along the dark passage. She was back in a moment. ‘It’s Philip Stuart,’ she said. ‘I can see him through the side window.’
Panic moved inside Fallon and for a moment a strange dizziness caused him to sway slightly. He staggered and almost lost his balance and then he was cold and calm again. His hand dipped inside his coat and came out clutching the Luger. ‘What’s he want?’ he said and there was a deadness in his voice.
The girl grasped his wrist firmly and pushed the weapon down towards the floor. ‘There will be none of that,’ she said. ‘He’s been handling the sale of the house for me. He’s a busy man at the moment and has to come when he can.’ For a moment Fallon resisted and she put her face close to his and said, ‘Put the gun away.’
He relaxed suddenly and slipped it back into the shoulder holster. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
She took him by the arm and led him across to another door. When she opened it he saw a flight of stairs. ‘Straight up to the landing,’ she said. ‘The first room on the left is my bedroom. You can stay there until I come for you.’ He tried to speak and then the bell rang again and she pushed him forward, throwing his hat and coat after him, and closed the door.
He found her room with no difficulty. A bed and an old dresser seemed to be the only furniture and a few suitcases stood against one wall. He sat down on the edge of the bed. His hands were trembling and after a few moments his whole body began to shake. He let his body fall back against the pillows, his hands clasped together, and closed his eyes as a sob rose in his throat. ‘I’m afraid,’ he said, half aloud. ‘I’m scared to death. I’ve lost my nerve.’ He lay there, his body shaking, and then after a while he felt drowsy.
