Page 3 of The Secret Bookshop in Ireland

‘Yes, we are,’ Ronan Burke said. ‘Quite sure. You were born in Drogheda in nineteen ninety-two, is that correct?’

‘Yes,’ Ciara stammered. ‘But I have never in my life ever heard of Martha Fitzgerald. And I hadn’t a clue where Cherrywood is until now.’

‘Well, she knew you, apparently,’ Ronan said. ‘And Cherrywood is a little village in County Wicklow, not far from Glencullen.’

‘So I’ve heard,’ Ciara interjected.

‘Okay. But I’d like you to come to our office so we can sort it all out.’

‘I can come in at lunchtime,’ Ciara offered, still in shock. ‘About one fifteen, if that suits you?’

‘I’ll be there,’ he said. ‘Could you bring your passport? Or a driving licence? Just to confirm your identity.’

‘Okay,’ Ciara said. ‘But… but could you tell me more? This woman – Martha Fitzgerald… Who was she?’

‘I don’t know much about her. She was in her nineties when she died. I believe she said when she wrote her will that…’ Ronan stopped. ‘Well, I wasn’t there so I don’t have the facts. I’m the genealogist and my job is to find prospective heirs, not drawing up wills. That’s the solicitor’s job.’

‘Yes, but you started to say something just then,’ Ciara insisted. ‘About Martha Fitzgerald.’

‘I think she might have been a close relation,’ Ronan said. ‘That’s what she told the solicitor who dealt with her will.’

‘A close relation?’ Ciara repeated, confused. ‘To me? In what way?’

‘She’s supposed to have said she knew who your grandmother was. But we can discuss that when you come in,’ Ronan said. ‘I’ll look up the file for you. See you later.’ He hung up, leaving Ciara feeling even more mystified than before.

What is going on?she wondered, sitting stock-still, frozen in shock on the sofa.What was that about who my grandmotherwas? Which grandmother was he talking about? They were both dead before I was born.

Then she suddenly knew which one it had to be: her father’s mother. He hadn’t wanted to talk about her when she asked about his parents. ‘Let the dead rest in peace,’ was all he said as an answer to her questions. It had been a mystery to her but she had stopped asking after a while, feeling there was some kind of secret to do with her father’s childhood that had been too painful to mention. Could the solution to the mystery be found in that village in County Wicklow?

TWO

Before she left to catch the bus, Ciara settled Brian on his big cushion in the kitchen and filled his bowl with water. ‘Maria will be here for your walk at lunchtime and then I will be home very soon after that,’ she said in the soft voice she used when talking to the dog. He wagged his tail, which made a thumping sound on the floor, and laid his head on his front paws with a little sigh as if to say,Oh okay, but I’ll miss you.

She had found him in a dog rescue centre a year ago and fallen in love with him instantly. She couldn’t imagine why anyone would abandon such a beautiful pure-bred wolfhound but the woman who ran the place had suggested that he might be too much for some people to handle. ‘He needs a lot of walks and then he eats a lot,’ she had said. ‘It could be expensive.’

‘I think he has been treated badly, somehow,’ Ciara had remarked as the dog shrank away from her outstretched hand. ‘I only want to pat him, but he’s backing away with his head down.’

‘I think you need to gain his confidence,’ the woman had said. ‘It’s possible that he was punished in some way for not behaving. Some people expect so much from dogs. But don’t take him if you feel you can’t cope with such a big dog.’

Ciara had stroked Brian’s wiry fur and looked into his soulful eyes and knew they were meant for each other. ‘What’s his name?’ she’d asked.

The woman smiled. ‘Brian Boru,’ she had said. ‘After the high king of Ireland.’

‘What a perfect name for such a noble creature,’ Ciara had said fondly. She knew it would take a large chunk out of her salary to feed him, and a lot of patience to gain his trust, but she didn’t care. She had always wanted an Irish wolfhound and here he was at last. ‘I’ll take him,’ she had said. ‘I’m sure we’ll get on well together.’ Which had turned out to be very true. There had been a few teething problems, and it had taken Brian some time to get used to her, but he had finally settled down after a few months. She had taken him to a dog training place a few times and that had made him easier to handle as he was so eager to please. Once he had settled in properly, Ciara worked out a routine with her friendly neighbour Maria, who worked as a yoga teacher at a gym nearby and was free at lunchtime to look after Brian and take him for a walk in the hills or on the nearby beach. That routine worked well and Brian soon got used to the arrangement.

Ciara ran down the stairs to the bus stop on the corner. She knew her mother was right and that she should have tried to find a flat nearer to work in the city centre. But Malahide was a lovely suburb by the sea on the northside of Dublin, close to nature and also not too far from Drogheda, where her mother lived. Rents were cheaper here too, contrary to any kind of flat nearer to town where everything was double what she was paying here.

Once on the bus, she stared out the window as they made their way along the M50 motorway and then into town, the streets lined with redbrick Victorian houses once inhabited by the comfortably off middle classes of Dublin. Now they had been turned into flats even though the houses had maintainedtheir character of the good old days. Some of the squares had once been private parks for the residents but now they were open to the public and provided green spaces for everyone to enjoy. Ciara tried to imagine what life in those houses had been like then, with domestic staff downstairs and the gentry in the lovely rooms upstairs. Probably not so nice for the servants, she assumed.

She was at least an hour late for work, but nobody seemed to have noticed, and she slipped into her cubbyhole of an office and turned on the computer to check her emails. But she couldn’t concentrate and soon found herself staring into space, thinking about the inheritance and her appointment with that probate genealogist, or whatever he was. And then she searched her mind for memories of her father, what he had said about his childhood and how he had avoided talking about his parents.

And then something else popped into her mind – her mother’s reaction to Ciara’s news.Ma was silent for a long time when I asked her about this woman, Martha Fitzgerald, and then, when I told her I was the sole heir, she seemed so shocked. Does she know more than she let on?

Unable to concentrate on her work all morning, Ciara left early for lunch, saying she had a dental appointment. Then she walked the short distance to Dawson Street, found the office of O’Donoghue and Kiley solicitors beside an Italian restaurant, and rang the bell. When a tinny voice answered she told them who she was and that she had an appointment with Ronan Burke. There was another buzz and she pushed the door and walked into a dark hall with many doors, one of them bearing the name of the solicitors’ firm. She opened the door and peered in, meeting the gaze of a woman behind a desk in the small reception area.

‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I’m Ciara Doyle. I’m a little early for my appointment with Ronan Burke.’

‘That’s fine,’ the receptionist said. ‘You can go in. He’s expecting you.’ She indicated a door to the left and Ciara entered a small office where a young man was eating a sandwich, partly obscured by his computer screen.