“Have you decided whether you’re staying or not?” he asked. “We’ll probably want to book a flight by the end of the day if you’re leaving tomorrow.”
Meinwen nodded. Considering that she’d only toured around Dublin — and not even all of the city there — she had to admit that she was rather loathe to leave, but she had promised Grandmum she’d be on a flight back on Sunday afternoon, and she certainly needed to be in order to work and make money for her schooling.
“The drive between Dublin and Belfast is only about two hours, and border shouldn’t be any more of a problem than it was for our flight,” he said. “Additionally, if you’d like, you could even fly out from Belfast, which shouldn’t be terribly much longer of a flight, at worst a half-hour.”
But did she really want to sit through Dr. Stiles’ lecture again? It was dreadfully boring.
“If you’d like to leave Monday night — regardless of the airport — it should be easy to do without your getting home at midnight or one in the morning,” he added. “Or you could even fly back Tuesday morning and still be able to get to work.”
“I really don’t know,” Meinwen replied. “His lecture has been so boring.”
Mr. Sheahan-Carrington nodded, looking almost as if he was disappointed, but with his eyes hidden by the lenses of his sunglasses, Meinwen couldn’t really be sure.
She turned her gaze toward the pond, which was practically still except for the little wakes behind each swimming bird, or ripples around where one had dived beneath the surface to catch some tasty morsel.
Her mind didn’t stay in the present idyll, however, but instead turned back to the rain-looming evening that was just nearly a week ago, when she’d stepped into the telephone box.
Despite all that had happened since then, her mind rather clearly recalled the urgency in the voice of the man on the other end, as well as the crack and clatter suggesting the man had been shot — even killed — and collapsed, dropping the receiver on his end.
Even if Dr. Stiles’ lectures were dreadfully boring, and even if she felt uncomfortable around him because of the fact that he seemed intent to make what she considered overstated overtures about her appearance, someone had possibly died in a desperate bid to keep Dr. Stiles safe.
Besides, if she succeeded on the third try, that meant she wouldn’t have to fuss about him any more, and hopefully wouldn’t even have to worry about possibly being questioned or even arrested as the believed threat-leaver when, in fact, she wasn’t remotely involved.
She looked at Mr. Sheahan-Carrington, whose gaze was also now toward the pond, allowing her to see his eyes behind the lenses that shaded them and hovered close to the peak of his cheekbones.
His eyes shifted her way before his entire face turned to look at her, hiding his eyes and all their expressiveness away.
“I do hope I’m not applying undue pressure,” he said. “But it is important.”
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