“Good for her.”
“Only an idiot chooses that game these days when ten or fifteen years’ hard time is what you draw.”
“But what about the other things?”
“Eileen’s family were bargees who worked the Thames from one end to the other and stole anything they could lay their hands on. A way of life.”
“I suppose to young boys it must have seemed normal,” Hannah said.
“Booze and especially cigarettes have always been much cheaper in Europe than Britain, where they’re heavily taxed, so that’s where they started, working for other smugglers until they saved enough for their own boat. The people in that game would raid other boats, there was open warfare, and the legend of the Magee brothers was born. A tough life, but that’s the way they all started on the Thames, even Harry Salter.”
“So they were thieves?”
“Still could be as far I know. Tad’s the hard man, Larry the brain. A few years ago, there was a rash of robberies in London involving gold, diamonds, and stuff like that, millions disappearing into the maw of Europe. Scotland Yard believed the Magees were responsible but could never prove it, and it’s too late now. They’re living on their reputation, part of the elite, too well-off to have to steal anymore.”
“What about women in their lives?”
“Tad was deeply in love some years ago, but she died of a brain tumor. He’s never taken another woman more seriously than a night out. As for Larry, I suppose the back-shooting took care of him.”
She was uncomfortable and it showed. “I suppose so, but I can’t wait to meet them.”
“I tell you one thing. They’re going to love you,” and Dillon turned out of Park Lane into Curzon Street, drove halfway down, and paused for the gates of the magnificent Georgian town house to swing open. He drove inside and parked beside an Aston Martin.
“What a contrast,” Hannah said, as she got out. “Your Mini and this Aston Martin.”
“Indeed so, but my old Mini is supercharged, and Tad Magee has been trying to buy it for years.”
They approached the front door, which opened, and a white-haired woman of sixty or so wearing a belted white smock over a blue dress stepped out smiling.
“I was hoping you would come, Sean,” she said, as she opened her arms to him.
He turned to Hannah. “Molly Ryan, a friend from my youth and the housekeeper here.”
Hannah held out her hand. “It’s grand to know you.”
Molly embraced her lightly. “What a lovely Irish girl. Where did you find her, Sean?”
“This is my second cousin, Hannah Flynn, she’s at college in London. Her uncle and I were young boys together in Collyban. Served in the Provos later.”
“My respects to him, my dear. He’s well, I trust?”
“Dead,” Hannah told her. “A UVF hit man finished him off.”
It was amazing how Molly’s face hardened. “May he rot in hell. But never mind—come away in and meet the boys. They’ve known Sean all their lives.”
She led the way, they followed, and Hannah was enraptured. The furniture, the carpeting, the pictures on the walls, it was serious art by any standard. An archway gave way to a conservatory crammed with tropical plants, small palm trees at the back, the two Magee brothers in elegant black suits seated at each end of a glass table, dark hair and tanned faces, with the look of highwaymen from some romantic tale about them.
Molly advanced, smiling, Dillon following. “Cheer up, darlings, for haven’t I got Sean Dillon with his cousin, Hannah Flynn. She’s at college here in London, although I don’t know what’s she studying.”
Hannah, who had held back, now showed them, with a touch of bravado, for there was a Bechstein grand piano beside the archway, the lid open. She remained standing, leaned down, and played one-handed the opening bars of a rather dashing Italian sonatina she was fond of.
Larry Magee pushed himself up in an instant, leaning on his walking stick, then came forward and held out his hand. “I don’t know where Sean’s been keeping you, but that was a wonderful intro.”
“Do you play yourself?”
“I did my poor best to please my mother but never got far and nowhere near your standard.”
“You wouldn’t, and her studying at the Royal College of Music,” Dillon told him.
“Well, I’m pleased to hear it and hope to see a lot of you. I’m Larry Magee and the facsimile at the other end of the table is my twin brother, Tad, a fearsome creature with a bad reputation.” Magee smiled and gave her his hand.
“I’d tell you where to go, brother, but there’s a lady in the room,” Tad said. “Please join us, Hannah. I see you’re walking wounded, like Larry. With Sean involved, that smells like the Troubles to me.”
“Car bomb,” she said. “Took my parents and left me with the stick.”
“Are you from County Down, like Sean here and my own family?”
“No, I have a horse farm at Drumgoole in the Republic. Inherited, of course, and my aunt Meg is running it while I’m at college.”
“And what will you do when the concert halls start calling?” Dillon inquired.
“I don’t think that’s likely.”
“Well, as a man who has played good barroom piano all my life, I’d say it’s pretty certain.”
Molly, who had slipped out, returned now with coffee, which she poured out for everyone. “Is there anything else, Tad?”
“I don’t think so. Get yourself ready. We’re due at the church in an hour and a half.”
She retired, and Dillon said, “Kilburn?”
Tad nodded. “Mary and Joseph in Flood Street. It was her church for all those years, good and bad, so it seemed fitting. The present priest is a nice boy, but I’ve got old Father Sharkey to agree to take the service. Eighty-five, but he’s up for it. The organist’s in hospital and there’s no choir available, which is unfortunate.”
“I can manage the organ,” Hannah said. “I’ve been playing the one in my parish church in Drumgoole since I was fourteen. I can’t help with the choir. Was there any special piece of music your mother liked to hear?”
It was Larry who answered. “‘Danny Boy.’ She used to sing it around the house when we were boys.”
“I remember it well,” Dillon said.
“Then ‘Danny Boy’ is what you get.” Hannah turned to Dillon. “We’d better be off. We need to change into something suitable.”
“We’ll go to my place,” Dillon said. “There’s a boutique around the corner that can find something for you.”
Tad moved out ahead and went upstairs; Larry escorted them to the front door and opened it. “Our lawyers have made it clear to us that my father will be charged with only the minimal offense of drunk driving. That means he walks free.”
Dillon said, “It stinks, but there’s nothing to be done about it.”
“I could have him taken care of.”
“Oh, no, you don’t.” Hannah grabbed him by the lapels and shook him. “I imagine Special Branch at Scotland Yard will already be waiting to see if anything happens to him. Your mother wouldn’t like it, but they’d love catching a Magee at last.”
Dillon said, “Finbar’s not worth putting yourself in harm’s way over, Larry.”
“I