“I don’t know, Father.” He allowed a small smile, man to man, understanding of lechery. “He’d make an attempt, anyway. And he might succeed, After all” – the smile widened, as it did when he flung a gibe across the benches of a council chamber – “the Conroys were never shy bearers, Father, those that could give their minds to it.”

Aha, James, thought Father Conroy, you never changed. You could never resist the cut, however low. It was your weakness, you oul’ bastard, and you never knew it. With a less hasty tongue, you might have made it as a Minister.

James pulled on a chamois glove, his face intent on it as he snapped the button precisely. “Frank, of course, will be at the wedding, Father.”

Frank! Yes, of course he would be there. Would it be possible not to meet? Hardly! It would be too difficult to slip away, after saying the Mass and all. Say no more about the wedding, he told himself; you’re being watched. And then he thought, suppose my mother comes too?

“And your mother too, Father.”

“You think she’ll be there?”

“Oh, she’ll be asked, anyway, you may be sure of that.”

“She won’t come, of course.” Not at her age, not when I’m to be there, not when we have to speak to each other across all those years of silence.

“I think she might, Father; I think she might. Frank, now, might bring her, if he thought you’d like him to.”

So that was it! The net, closing in on him again! His first impulse was to evade it, as he had evaded it before, but he had good reasons then, and he seemed to have none now. Jesus, he thought, if I say no, this oul’ bastard will stay arguing all night. I’m tired. “I’ll think it over,” he said.

“Very good, Father. Sure, you can’t do more than that. I may say she’s...” He smiled, just a little, as if to point up the cliché in a companionable way. “...she’s not what she used to be.”

“I don’t think any of us have changed much.” Least of all you, James.

“We’re none of us what we used to be, Father, and that’s the truth.”

Well, at least, he thought as he followed James to the door, he knew what the visit was in aid of. A peace mission, at long last, and James out to make a name as family mediator. If they wanted peace, of course they should have it: he couldn’t very well refuse. Just to be sure, though, he said, “Has Frank actually asked you?”

James paused, cornered at the door. “Not in so many words, Father, but I’m quite sure he wants you to...”