Father Conroy paused in surprise, as he mopped his face. “No, James, I didn’t.” And because he was sweating in the hot seat intended for James, he asked irritably, “What’s it got to do with this carry-on?”

“Did you, Mr. Toomey?” James asked the old teacher in the corner. Toomey looked up, as startled as a boy caught napping in class.

“I was never up in an airplane, Mr. Conroy.”

“Any of you men?” He looked eagerly out over the company, encouraging them to try to show a bit of interest. And as they began to shake their heads, he went on, “Because I did. Yes, I took a day trip lately from Dublin Airport. As luck would have it, I passed over the parish here and looked down, and I said to myself, ‘There’s Kilbride now, down below!’ And d’ye know what I’m going to tell ye?” He held them for a moment on the hook. “I never saw the parish looking better, no, never in my life saw it looking neater, more prosperous! I must say it’s a credit to ye all.”

They waited. Surely there was more to come! But no! Smiling benignly, he had gone back to search in his briefcase. And though they tried, they could not climb again to the heights of indignation from which he had dislodged them; their petulant questions offered no foothold.

When the talk flagged and the danger was past, he emerged from his briefcase and reached behind him for the black leather box.

“I want ye all to stand up,” he said.

They stared at him in alarm.

“Come on now, don’t be shy! I want all yer photos, every one of ye, in a nice group that ye can frame. Stand up, there, you, Pat.”

And gradually, with much pushing and shoving, he got them all grouped, the older men sitting sedately in the chairs, with arms folded, the others standing self-consciously behind. All the time, he exclaimed about the wonders of the Polaroid camera. “’Tis a marvelous yoke. The best gadget yet. It takes the Japs! Oh, ’tis they have the brains.”

They suffered their photograph to be taken, none of them being able to express what they all felt – that his capture of their image gave him a hold over them.

While he held up his hand for silence, they waited tensely for the photograph to be hatched inside the camera. As soon as it was ready, he flipped it out and handed it to Mrs. Kavanagh with a flourish. “There now, ma’am! That’s a little keepsake for ye. To remind you of the pleasant evening we passed under this hospitable roof!”

He handed the camera over to Pat. “Now,” said he, “you must take one of me.” He moved into the chimney corner and turned to pose for them, his thumb hitched in his waistcoat, above the heavy gold watch chain.