Читать книгу The Mighty Quinns: Rourke - Kate Hoffmann - Страница 10

Prologue

“IT’S BEEN SO long. I’m beginning to lose hope that we’ll ever find them.”

Aileen Quinn stared out the window of her office at the slate-gray sky. Autumn was quickly turning to winter and she dreaded the damp cold that would settle into her bones. In her younger days, she’d traveled to the south of France during the worst of the Irish winter, soaking up the sun along the Mediterranean coast. But she hadn’t traveled for years, finding herself more comfortable in familiar surroundings.

“I have one more lead to check on your brother Diarmuid,” Ian said, leafing through his notes. “But I’m sad to say that we’ve found nothing on Lochlan. I have researchers on four continents looking for him, but he just disappeared. Off the grid, they call it.”

Aileen had hired Ian Stephens months ago to help her research the parents she’d never known for a chapter in her autobiography. She had grown up in an orphanage, believing that she’d been the only daughter of a destitute Irish widow who’d died of consumption—after her husband had been killed in the Easter Uprising. But Ian had discovered four older brothers—siblings she hadn’t remembered—whose fates had been scattered to the winds when their mother couldn’t care for them.

“I’m another year older,” Aileen said. She forced a bright smile. “I never intended to live to see my ninety-seventh birthday. Good Lord, I’ve lived far too long.”

“You’re the youngest ninety-seven-year-old I’ve ever met,” Ian said with a smile. “Look at you. You’re still writing, still active.”

“That’s lovely of you to say, but it doesn’t make this old body of mine feel any younger.” Aileen laughed softly. “In my mind, I’m still a young woman. When I look in the mirror these days, I barely recognize myself. I wish I could have some of those years back.”

“You’ve led a full life, Miss Quinn. An important life. Your books have meant a lot to so many people. You’re one of Ireland’s most beloved novelists.”

“And yet, I’m searching the ends of the earth for a family, desperate to give myself a legacy beyond my books. I could have had my own family if I hadn’t put my work first.”

Ian had found the descendants of two of her brothers—Tomas’s family near Brisbane, Australia, and Conal’s family in Chicago in the U.S. But it had been five months since he’d brought good news about the other two. She’d planned a festive family reunion for the holidays at Ballyseede Castle, leasing out the entire castle and its twenty-two bedrooms. She wanted the rooms full.

“What do you know of Diarmuid so far?” Aileen asked.

“We’ve come across a clue in a 1945 Canadian census. The age seems to be right and the individual lists his birthplace as Ireland. His name is registered as Dermot, but that is the anglicized version of the Gaelic name. Sometimes the census takers didn’t always get a spelling correct.”

Aileen leaned forward in her chair. “That does sound hopeful.”

“If this Dermot is the one, he settled on Cape Breton, worked as a fisherman and had three sons. The eldest, Alistair, died in the Second World War. The next son, Brian, or Buddy, as he was known, died about five months ago, a bachelor. And the youngest, Paul, died about eight years ago. His son, Rourke, is the only heir.”

“Rourke?”

“From our research, that’s his mother’s maiden name. She was quite a bit younger than her husband and has since remarried.”

“When will we know for sure if Dermot is Diarmuid?” Aileen asked.

“It’s difficult to say. But we’re getting closer. I have a genealogist in Halifax who will be traveling to Cape Breton this week to check the records and ask some questions. Hopefully someone will remember something about Dermot.”

A soft knock sounded on the door and Sally stepped inside Aileen’s office. “I have lunch laid out in the breakfast room whenever you’re ready, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Sally,” Aileen replied. “We’ll be along in a bit.” She turned to Ian. “I hope you’ll stay. I wanted to tell you about my plans for a grand family reunion over the Christmas holidays. I’ve rented a castle.”

Ian blinked in surprise. “A castle? Well, in that case, I’m not sure I should pause for lunch. I have a lot to accomplish over the next few months.”

“Of course, I want you to be there,” Aileen said. “I want you to put together a book on the family history. The reunion will be the final chapter in my autobiography.”

“It would make a perfect ending.”

“Much better than a funeral, don’t you think?” Aileen teased. She pushed up from her chair, wincing at the ache in her hip. “Come,” she said. “Let’s see what Sally has for us. I smelled bread baking this morning.”

Ian circled her desk and held out his arm. Aileen took it, clutching her cane in her other hand. “Did I tell you someone at the RTE network contacted me when they learned about our search?” he asked. “They have an American production company that wants to make a documentary about your life.”

“Imagine that,” Aileen said. “I can’t think it would be a very interesting documentary.”

“I beg to differ,” Ian said. “I think it would be wonderful. And that’s what I told the producer when she called me.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Aileen said. “I’ve managed for so long to keep a private life. You don’t think a documentary might be...unseemly, do you?”

“I think your readers would love to know more about the woman behind the books.”

“I’ll have to think about that,” Aileen said. “Perhaps you can convince me over lunch.” They walked out into the foyer. “And we can discuss hiring more investigators to search out Lochlan. One just doesn’t go missing in the modern world. There’s always something left behind, some piece of paper that will give us a clue. Perhaps if we find Diarmuid, that branch of the family will know about Lochlan.”

“We’ll fill those twenty-two bedrooms in Ballyseede Castle,” Ian said. “Mark my words.”

“Yes. I believe we will,” Aileen replied.