Page 124 of The Love Letter
‘Possibly, yes.’ Joanna resigned herself to giving up her nap for as long as this Kurt was on the train. Now that he was munching away on his sandwich and spraying crumbs over the table, she kicked herself for her earlier paranoia.Not everyone is out to get you, she reminded herself. And he was American after all, nothing to do with any of it.
‘Me too. Down in a li’l ol’ village on the coast in West Cork. It seems my great-great-grandfather hailed from Clonakilty.’
‘That’s the next town to where I’ve been based, in Rosscarbery.’
‘Really?’ Kurt’s face lit up like a child’s, happy with the small coincidence. ‘I was only there the day before yesterday, in that great cathedral. I had the best pint of stout I’ve had so far afterwards, in that hotel in town—’
‘The Ross? That’s where I’m staying.’
‘You don’t say! So, you off to Dublin?’
‘Yes.’
‘Been before?’
‘No. I have some business to do, then I thought I’d take a potter around the city. Have you?’
‘No, ma’am, my first time too. Maybe we should join forces.’
‘I’ve got to go to the Land Registry. It might take hours to find out what I need to know.’
‘Is that where they keep title deeds to homesteads?’ enquired Kurt, tucking in to a pastry now.
‘Yes.’
‘You tryin’ to find out whether you have an inheritance?’
‘Sort of. There’s a house in Rosscarbery. No one seems to know who owns it.’
‘It is a bit more casual here than at home. I mean –’ Kurt rolled his eyes – ‘no one has alarms on their cars, or locks their front doors. I was in a restaurant in town yesterday when the owner said she had to leave for a while and would I put my plate in the sink and shut the door behind me! It sure is a different way of life. So –’ Kurt indicated the map – ‘show me the house.’
Despite her initial misgivings, the journey to Dublin passed pleasantly enough. Kurt was good company and entertained her with stories about his native Chicago. As the train pulled in to Heuston station, Kurt pulled out a small notebook and a gold pen from his pocket.
‘Give me your number in Rosscarbery. When you get back there, maybe we could get together for a drink.’
Joanna wrote down her mobile number on a slip of paper and passed it to him. He tucked it into his jacket pocket with a pleased grin.
‘Well, it sure has whiled away a journey talkin’ to you, Lucy. When do you travel back to West Cork?’
‘Oh, I’m not sure. I’m leaving it flexible.’ She stood up as the train came to a halt. ‘Good to meet you, Kurt.’
‘And you, Lucy. Maybe see you again soon.’
‘Maybe. Goodbye.’ She smiled at him, then followed the other passengers out of the carriage.
Joanna took a taxi to the Land Registry Office near the river by the Four Courts building. After endless form-filling, she queued at the counter and was eventually handed a file.
‘There’s a free desk over there if you want to study the deeds,’ said the young woman.
‘Thanks.’ Joanna made her way towards the desk and sat down. Disappointment filled her when she saw that the coastguard’s house had been handed over from HM Government on 27th June 1928 to become the property of ‘the Free State of Ireland’. After taking a photocopy of the deeds and the plans, she handed the file back, thanked the woman and left the office.
Outside it was still pouring with rain. Opening up her puny London umbrella, she walked until she reached Grafton Street, and the myriad of small lanes off it, filled with enticing-looking pubs. She dashed into the closest one, and ordered a glass of Guinness. She took off her jacket, which, although labelled ‘waterproof’, had belied its description, and brushed a hand through her damp hair.
‘Fine, soft day out, isn’t it?’ said the barman.
‘Does it ever stop raining here?’
‘Not often, no,’ said the barman without irony. ‘And they all wonder why so many of us end up raving alcoholics.’
