'Mr Healy? Mr James Healy?' A young woman in jeans and a blouse, a sweater draped over her shoulders stands by Eamon.
        'No,' he says coldly. 'My name is Delaney.'
        Quickly she shuffles through the papers on her clipboard. 'I am so sorry! You are Mr Delaney.' She smiles sweetly. 'I mean Mr Delaney.'
        Eamon nods. He has to admire the speed, the dexterity which she changed the names. As he curses Davin, he wonders if this is deliberate. James Healey was the cover name Davin wanted him to use. Can Davin be slipping, or is this part of his plan, to unsettle Eamon, keep him on his toes, a ploy favoured by Ignatius Davin?
        He goes outside with her to inspect the car. She hands him a folder with the details, takes an imprint of his credit card. Eamon listens carefully.
        After she has left him, he stands, looks around the Praza, waiting and looking. A man walks past him, and says to the woman with him, 'Nil aon tinteán mar do thineán féin.' She laughs and they head for the queue at the bottom of the steps to the cathedral.
        There is no fireplace like your own fireplace, Eamon thinks as he hears the familiar quotation in Irish. He breathes more easily and returns to Mary.

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