Mrs O’Keefe reached up and took one. ‘Slainte,’ she said. ‘Oh, don’t worry, Matron, it’s amazing how quickly you get used to this. We have it in our tea at breakfast up at the farm. On our second day here, I thought I wouldn’t make it through a third, but now I’m loving it.’

Matron watched in amazement as Mrs O’Keefe emptied a third of the glass in one mouthful. Holding her own glass to her nose, she smelt it, then took the smallest sip. She coughed, her eyes watered, and she sipped again. ‘You live on the same avenue as the Marcuses, don’t you? I remember you saying so in my office, on the night Dr Marcus died.’ She took another sip and Cat saw the colour flood to the base of her throat.

‘I do. I’m on the other side and a bit further down. I get the feeling Mary Kate misses it.’

Matron’s head swivelled to face her. ‘I can assure you she’s been in the right place, here in Tarabeg. Or at least I would have thought so, had she not been kidnapped. Dr William is being hounded, the poor man. Lavinia Marcus has been back to the house and showing potential buyers around herself and she visits the practice nearly every day on some excuse or another. She sold her husband’s desk out from under Dr William’s feet, and I mean that almost literally. Had a man with a cart waiting outside. The agent hadn’t been able to sell the house and so she came back to take over. One of my ward sisters bumped into her in town. I have to say, I don’t believe the story about the agent, I think she came back to Liverpool to taunt Miss Malone. I think she was almost frustrated to find her gone.’

Mrs O’Keefe gasped. ‘What a wicked woman. Can you believe that?’

‘I’m afraid I can. Having dealt with her throughout that very sad time, I can tell you I would believe that and worse.’

The post office door opened and in walked Dr Gaskell with Tig, Paddy and Father Jerry.

‘Did you find her, Father?’ asked Mrs Doyle before the door had closed.

Father Jerry shook his head. ‘We didn’t, Mrs Doyle, and it’s hard to believe that it is already afternoon.’

The women stopped talking and the sound of rosary beads clicking filled the silence.

‘Is he a doctor?’ someone whispered.

‘He is. From Liverpool,’ said Mrs Doyle, preening herself, proud to have such a prestigious visitor in her post office.

‘Come here and have yourselves a sandwich,’ said Keeva to Dr Gaskell. ‘Peggy and I have made enough to feed an army.’

Mrs Doyle tutted. ‘That girl, she wouldn’t stand on ceremony to the Pope if he walked through the door.’

‘She should have at least bent her knee,’ Philomena whispered back. ‘The cheek of her.’

Dr Gaskell’s face lit up at the sight of the plate Keeva was proffering. He had never seen ham sliced that thick, and it smelt so good. In her other hand she held a glass of whiskey. He heard Matron’s polite cough and ignored it entirely. ‘Now then, Matron, just the one,’ he said. ‘It would be rude to refuse, and what’s more, Mrs Gaskell doesn’t need to know.’ He smiled at Keeva as he took the glass.