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was as if they had been raised in different households by a different parent. She was glad to have Carmel and Liam staying but was curious that they had made no mention of returning to England now that her father was buried. She supposed that neither of them was in a hurry to return to the rented flat they’d told her about. Death seemed to have frozen everything and it was probably the same for them. She couldn’t imagine her life returning to normal without her father.
    Monty began to bark furiously. Ella turned round and grinned, seeing her Uncle Jack tramping across the damp grass towards her. Monty leapt on him enthusiastically, whirling and whining.
    ‘Get down boy! Get down!’ ordered her uncle.
    ‘He misses Daddy.’
    ‘Aye, we all do. Nance is above with Liam but I thought I’d find you down here.’ She linked her arm with her uncle’s, the two of them falling into step automatically. ‘’Tis peaceful here. There’s some huge row going on at home and the ladies are all sulking with each other. I thought it best to get Nance out of the house in the hope that they’ll either kill each other or make up. That’s usually the way with sisters.’ He sighed aloud.
    ‘They’re not that bad!’ she teased him.
    ‘Aye, I know that! How are you doing, Ella?’
    She stopped and looked across the lake. ‘I’m fine, Uncle Jack. I miss Daddy, that’s all.’
    ‘Ella, I don’t know if Nance said anything to you the other day but Maurice Sweeney the solicitor wants us to meet him in his office in Wexford town … the day after tomorrow. It’s about reading Martin’s will.’
    Ella didn’t want to hear about wills and the like when her father was barely cold in his grave, but she knew that her Uncle Jack was not normally an insensitive man and was only doing his duty.
    ‘I believe that I’ve been named as his executor.’
    She wasn’t sure of what to make of this information. Probably it had been a wise choice by her late father, as he and her uncle had been close friends for more than forty years.
    ‘Should we be getting back?’
    Ella nodded. She wanted to get back to Fintra and thank her aunt for all she’d done. She didn’t know what she’d do without both of them.
    Maurice Sweeney sat at the large mahogany desk positioned close to the window of his office overlooking the harbour. It had been his father’s, and his father’s before him. He was a great believer in tradition. The chair that supported his overlarge body had been stuffed with horsehair and wadding and then covered in leather. His arse fitted snugly into it and it gave him a bird’s-eye view of the busy quays and the town bridge, where the Slaney River entered Wexford’s harbour estuary. He watched the people, down below, going about their business. Wexford town with its narrow winding streets and alleys was one of the oldest towns in Ireland, known long before the fierce Norsemen captured it and made it a trading post, the quays the lifeblood of the town as ships entered and sailed from them over the centuries, his ancestors signing required documents and contracts for generations of locals. Many were clients already, others would be eventually, for such was the way of a solicitor’s profession. Humankind was always destined to need the good offices of law men like himself. He took a sip of the dark strong tea that he liked. His secretary had already informed him of the arrival of the Kennedy family. He had got out the file on the last wishes of a Mr Martin Kennedy, now deceased. It all seemed straightforward enough.
    The Kennedy brother and sister were shown in accompanied by an aunt and uncle and a sister-in-law. Luckily there were enough chairs for everyone to be seated. Joan his secretary offered them all a cup of tea before disappearing down to the kitchenette on the lower landing. Why the woman had to make every business meeting of his into some kind of tea party was beyond him. She said that clients appreciated it, especially