Lies of Silence by Moore Brian;

Author:Moore, Brian;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2018-05-06T04:00:00+00:00

SIX

He waited for almost an hour, but Moira did not come back to the house. Was she sitting in some field gorging chocolates? Or, more likely, was she walking in Lurgan Park, the dog weary behind her as she covered mile after mile, hurrying as if to catch a train? Her angers were like fevers. She fought them alone: running out of the house, sometimes taking the car, sometimes on foot, but always wandering restlessly, aimlessly, until her rage fell, like mercury in a thermometer. Then, silent, almost furtive, she would come home, avoiding him, going to sleep in the spare room, alone.

At nine when she had not returned, he said goodbye to Maeve and Joe. As he approached the rotary which led to the motorway he noticed two cars following him. He pulled his car over, waiting to see if they slowed down. But they blazed past him and, when he came onto the motorway and turned in the direction of Belfast, there were no vehicles in sight.

Twenty minutes later he arrived at the hotel. When he parked his car at the side entrance, crowds of celebrating students, many with drinks in hand, were wandering about in the fenced-off car-park inside. Floodlights, installed last year as a security measure, lit up the bomb damage, the rubble, the gaping walls, the sagging ceilings, like some macabre son et lumière spectacle. Inside the hotel, both bars were full. Groups of young people stood drinking in the lobby as though at some gigantic cocktail party. When he went past reception he saw that Collis had transformed the ballroom into an impromptu dining area and had put up a sign offering a prix fixe buffet “For Hotel Guests Only.” But there were three times as many people being fed there as there were guests in the hotel.

In his office a dozen telephone message slips lay scattered on his desk. He sifted through them to see if Andrea had called. His father had rung twice, other friends, fellow hotel managers. And there was a message from Keogh’s secretary. Mr. Keogh will call you tomorrow at nine.

That will be my answer; Harrison has told him. One way or another, he has made up his mind.

He rang down to reception. “Michael Dillon. Listen, I have to spend the night. Do we have any rooms at all?”

“We’re full up, Michael. With those rooms being damaged over the restaurant, we had to do a bit of reshuffling. And, of course, we were busy to begin with. Oh, wait—” She laughed. “There’s the Jacuzzi.”

The Jacuzzi was the staff’s private name for the most expensive suite in the hotel. It had been planned as a penthouse suite by the American decorator who had redone the Clarence, but even when Dillon offered it at a discount it was hard to rent: its appointments and price were still too rich for local tastes.

“The Jacuzzi, then,” he said. “I don’t mind roughing it.”

“I’ll check with the housekeeper and see that it’s made up for you.

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