‘Goldman…Maurice Goldman?’ Patrick Reilly was leaning back against the desk in Maeve’s small domain. She’d smiled at the sudden outbreak of activity on the warehouse floor at his appearance. ‘Yes. sure, I think I know the fellow’s father.’ He grasped his chin. ‘It’s Goldman and Cohen. And it’s the boy, Maurice, will give you free legal advice, eh?’ He laughed quietly, ‘The Jewish lawyers.’
‘Yes.’ Maeve watched; the curl of Patrick Reilly’s mouth was not as pronounced as Father Forsyth’s. ‘He is qualified. And we are grateful for any help.’ Even yours, she added silently.
‘Well, good luck to ye lass, you’ll keep me posted, I’m sure.’ He folded his arms. ‘Anyway, I came to tell you what I"ve found out about your ‘major’.’ He stressed the word.
Maeve said, ‘What…is he not…?’
‘No, not a ma
