The Glass Lake by Maeve Binchy Page B

“Do you know everyone’s frozen solid from standing in the coldest spot in Ireland. Now, I hear that Rita has the kettle on. Philip, will you run round to your father’s hotel like a good lad, and ask the barman for a bottle of Paddy and we’ll have a hot whiskey for ourselves, everyone.”
    â€œThere’s going to be no money changing hands at a time like this.” Philip’s father, Mr. O’Brien, had a funeral face on him.
    Dr. Kelly hastened to make things more cheerful. “Well, that’s very good of you, Dan. And we have a lemon and some cloves, and that’ll put the heat into all of us. I’m prescribing it as a doctor now, mind you, so you all have to take heed.” Sergeant O’Connor kept saying he wouldn’t have a drink, but he waited as they were poured out. “Sean, it’s for your own good. Drink it,” Dr. Kelly said.
    â€œI don’t want to drink this man’s whiskey, I have to ask was there a note…?”
    â€œWhat?” Dr. Kelly looked at the sergeant in horror.
    â€œYou know what I mean. I have to ask it sometime, this is the time.”
    â€œThis is not the time,” Clio’s father whispered.
    But not quietly enough for Kit. She turned away as if she hadn’t been listening.
    She heard the sergeant speak in a lower tone. “Jesus God, Peter. If there is a note, isn’t it as well we know?”
    â€œDon’t you ask him, I’ll do it.”
    â€œIt’s important. Don’t let him…”
    â€œDon’t tell me what’s important or not, don’t tell me what I’m to do or not do…”
    â€œWe’re all on edge…don’t take offense.”
    â€œI’ll take as much offense as will suit me. Drink that whiskey, for God’s sake, and try not to open your mouth until you’ve something to say.”
    Kit saw Sergeant O’Connor redden, and she felt sorry for him. It was like getting a telling-off at school. Then she saw Clio’s father move through the people to get to her father. Surreptitiously she moved nearer to them.
    â€œMartin…Martin, my old friend…”
    â€œWhat is it, Peter? What is it? You don’t know anything you’re not saying?”
    â€œI don’t know anything I wouldn’t say.” Peter Kelly looked wretched. “But listen to me, would there be a question at all that Helen went off somewhere on her own? Like…Dublin, to see anyone…you know…”
    â€œShe’d tell me, she’s never gone anywhere without telling me. That’s the way it is between us.”
    â€œWhere would she leave a note if you weren’t here to tell?”
    â€œA note…a message…” Martin McMahon finally understood what his friend was struggling to say. “No, no,” he said.
    â€œI know. Jesus Christ, don’t I know. But that ignorant bosthoon Sean O’Connor says he can’t go on looking until he’s made sure.”
    â€œHow dare he even suggest…”
    â€œWhere, Martin? Let’s just rule it out for him.”
    â€œI suppose in the bedroom…” Kit saw them walk into her father’s bedroom, the cold room with the picture of the Pope over the bed. She stood with her hand at her throat, and realized that they were both watching her. “Kit love, will you go back inside out of the cold, and sit by the fire with Emmet.”
    â€œYes,” she said. She watched as they went into her father’s bedroom, and then she slipped into the kitchen.
    Rita was busy pouring the whiskey into glasses that had cloves and lemon juice and sugar. “It’s too like a party for my taste,” she grumbled.
    â€œYes.” Kit stood beside the range. “I know.”
    â€œShould we put Emmet to bed, do you think? Would your mother like that if she come home?”
    â€œI think she would.” Neither of them noticed the