Shouts, people running, and an old man in a bright-yellow cravat at a far table pressing his hands to both his cheeks and saying ‘Oh! Oh!’

Quirke knelt on one knee. Evelyn lay on her side with her cheek cradled on her arm. It was how he had seen her, in bed, upstairs, when he turned from the door to look at her and the moving curtain. Her eyes were closed, but now she opened them – opened them, and seemed to smile.

‘So you see, my love,’ she whispered, ‘she was right, that nun of yours. Laughing will end crying.’

Quirke began to speak but she lifted a hand weakly to silence him. She had managed, for the last time, to have the last word.

DUBLIN

Chapter 46

A spring storm had broken over the city. The wind-driven rain was coming down in undulant grey sheets and Leinster Lawn was awash. Ned Gallagher stopped on a turn of the stairs by a window and stood a moment to rest. Lately he had been experiencing bouts of breathlessness, and sometimes he woke in the night with a constriction in his chest. He was working too hard. The stresses on him were too great.

He looked out gloomily at the rain. So much for April showers. He had stepped in a puddle on the way down from the Taoiseach’s Office, and his left foot was soaked.

The Chief Whip’s office was on the top floor. Best view in the House. It was an old joke.

Ned Gallagher resumed his climb. Why had he been summoned here this morning? What business could Dick FitzMaurice have with him? He was a civil servant – civil servants weren’t answerable to the Chief Whip. He felt a deeper stirring of unease. He had heard nothing from Spain. God grant it hadn’t gone wrong down there. No sooner had he offered up the prayer than he knew, he just knew, that it wasn’t going to be answered.

The Chief Whip’s secretary showed him into what was popularly known as the Torture Chamber. Dick FitzMaurice rose from behind his desk and greeted him in friendly enough fashion – ‘Good morning, Ned, thanks so much for coming, I suppose you got drenched’ – which was encouraging. Dick Fitz wasn’t known for warmth.

The two men shook hands, and that was when Gallagher noticed the Minister. He was standing in shadow by the tall window at the far end of the room, his back turned, his hands in the pockets of his trousers. At the sight of him, Gallagher’s overworked heart skipped a beat.

‘Sit down, sit down,’ Dick Fitz said to him. There was a silver cigarette box on the desk, and Fitz turned it towards him now, the lid open. ‘Smoke?’

‘No, thanks,’ Gallagher said, clearing his throat. He sat down. The sock inside his shoe was wet and warm. Horrible sensation. He could feel his heart wobbling.