Declared Dead

arrived at Mrs Moloney's tea rooms it was fairly crowded. I was shown to a small table in the corner and a pretty, dark-haired waitress took my order.

Over on the other side of the room I could see Amy hiding behind a copy of The Irish Times, doing her best to appear inconspicuous. I had been told to wait at the tea shop for further instructions and that was just what I proposed to do. I wondered whether they would be delivered over the phone or by written message. I looked inquiringly at the middle-aged woman behind the till, whom I took to be Mrs Moloney by the way she shouted commands at the waitresses and asked the customers if they had enjoyed their tea. She smiled back and turned away. My pot of tea and two pieces of toast arrived. Twenty minutes later, having finished both, I was beginning to feel like a prize lemon and tried desperately to catch Amy's eye. I was sure she could see me, although she steadfastly refused to give any acknowledgement of my presence. Perhaps she thought Corcoran might be watching us, but unless he was under one of the tables, he was nowhere to be seen.

What, I wondered, if the whole thing was a practical joke and we were out here on a wild goose chase? At least I hadn't parted with any money; in fact, as a result of the race, I was another thousand-odd pounds better off. I looked over again at Amy and saw Mrs Moloney talking to her. Amy was shaking her head and for a brief second she lifted up her hand as if to indicate in my direction, but then just stopped herself in time. Mrs Moloney was carrying a letter in her hand and now walked over towards me.

'You're not Victoria Pryde, by any chance, are you?' she asked.

I nodded.

'Well that's good, because I've just asked that young lady over there and I was beginning to worry that there'd been some mistake. I've a letter here for you which I was asked to hand over at five o'clock on the dot. A friend of yours, perhaps?' She winked knowingly as she handed it over.

I just smiled, took it from her and waited until she was behind the till again before opening it. The instructions had been typed out: 'Leave here and drive out of Limerick in the direction of Tipperary. After half a mile, take a left turning signposted Kilconnell. Go through the village, and then take the third turning on the right signposted Tipperary. After two miles turn right at a crossroads and after another two miles you will come across a track on the left, leading to Milligan's Farm. Drive down the track, park in front of the farm and enter by the back door.'

I began to feel tense and uncomfortable. One thing Amy and I had omitted from our plans was how I was to pass on any further directions. She couldn't just walk out of the tearooms behind me, as Corcoran could be watching me for all we knew. My only course was to copy out the instructions and leave the original piece of paper behind where Amy was bound to find it. The waitress was hovering near my table waiting to clear up; by now there was only one other couple and Amy still having tea. In a voice loud enough for Amy to hear I asked the waitress where the lavatory was and then paid it a visit.

There was no obvious place to hide the letter other than in the cistern, which was black and peeling and could be reached only by standing on the seat. I climbed up, lifted the cover off and put the letter on the top of the ballcock. I just had to hope it wouldn't slip into the water. As I was about to open the door, it dawned on me that if I didn't pull the chain someone – I didn't stop to think who – might regard it as suspicious. I therefore recovered the letter, pulled the chain and then replaced it again inside the cistern. It was obvious I would make a lousy secret agent.

I washed my hands and returned to the main room and paid my bill. Although I caught Amy glancing at me, I pretended not to notice her. I followed the directions without any problems, and twenty minutes later, after resisting a plaintive voice from within telling me to turn around, I arrived at the front of Milligan's farm.

The building was semi-derelict; at least two of the windows on the first floor were smashed and vandalised. The farmhouse had the dilapidated air of having been uninhabited for months if not years, and I prayed hard that Amy had used her imagination and found those directions. I reluctantly got out of the car, taking the bottle of ammonia in one hand and clutching my handbag with the two thousand pounds in the other. I had already hidden Willie's wad of fifty-pound notes inside my bra. I walked, or rather tiptoed, round the side of the house, avoiding the weeds and what looked like stinging nettles. The back door was closed. Before opening it, I peered through the least dirty of the panes of glass in the window immediately to its right. Over in the far corner I could see what appeared to be an old stove and on top of it a frying pan.

I turned the handle and pushed open the door. It creaked under the pressure and I stepped gingerly over the threshold and into what had once been the kitchen. I paused and listened. Not a sound. 'Is anyone here?' I called out, the words fighting to stay in my throat. Still that dreadful silence. I walked across the kitchen and into the hall. By the front door were a couple of circulars from which I learnt that a Mr O'Malley had once lived there. I opened the nearest door and found myself in what had been the sitting room. In the hearth were the remnants of a log fire and dozens of cigarette ends. Now for the stairs. I took each step as slowly and deliberately as if it led to the gallows and clung tightly to my bottle of ammonia. I was sweating terribly; my heart was pounding as if at ramming speed. I was forcing myself to look in all the rooms – I owed that much to Tom – and then I was going to run down those stairs, out of the back door and drive to Limerick as if the devil himself was chasing me. Amy will be here by now, I told myself. There's no way she wouldn't be within shouting distance, probably a few yards down the drive. I pressed on. There were only four doors, thank goodness. The first three rooms were empty. Just one left. I thought I heard a noise.

'Michael, are you in there?' I asked out loud, although it sounded more like a whisper. 'It's me, Victoria.'

Again, silence. Courageously, or at least it felt that way, I threw the door open and stood back. Empty. I ran downstairs and grabbed the handle of the back door. It was locked. As I opened my mouth to scream, a gloved hand came over my face, and the ammonia bottle was jolted from my clammy grip by a powerful blow to my wrist. My mind went dark as my legs gave way under me and I fell to the floor.

* * *

'Victoria! Victoria! Wake up, please wake up!'

It was Amy's voice. She was kneeling over me and although my eyes were closed, I could feel her breath on my face.

'Say something, anything, please.' She put her hands on my shoulders and started to shake me.

I opened my eyes and all around me was in darkness. I couldn't feel any pain, only a sense of bewilderment, loss and failure.

'What happened?' I asked, putting out my hand to touch the profile above me.

'Thank God you're all right.' She started sobbing. 'I'm so sorry.'

'Amy, please calm down.' I struggled to my feet, pulling her up with me in the process. 'What's the time for God's sake?'

'It's about eight o'clock.'

'What? Do you mean I've been here for over two hours?'

'I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.'

'Don't keep apologising, let's just get out of here and we can discuss everything in the car. Hold on, where's my handbag?' There was no electricity working in the kitchen and we both crawled round the floor feeling in vain with our hands for the handbag. 'It's no good,' I said after five minutes. 'It's gone and all the money with it. The bastard.'

We walked quickly to the cars, which were both parked in front of the house. I was lucky he hadn't stolen my hire car because I'd left the keys in the ignition. 'Come on,' I said. 'Let's drive in convoy to Tipperary and park under the brightest light in the main street and talk.'

I stopped near the police station, parked and went and sat in the passenger seat of Amy's car. The poor thing still looked as though she had seen a ghost.

'I'm so glad you're all right,' she said, holding my hand. 'I thought for a ghastly moment you had been murdered.' She started to sob again.

'That makes two of us,' I replied, trying to appear calm and rational. 'But here I am alive and well.'

'What happened in there?'

I told her everything right up to the moment when I must have passed out.

'Did you get a look at him?'