The following morning she went outside the cottage to use her cell phone, then came back in and handed a piece of paper to Jed. "That's the number," she said.

Jed was reading the morning newspaper that one of the agents had brought up to the cottage. He looked at her over his glasses. "What number?"

"NUI, Galway."

"Okay, thanks."

"Give them a call."

Jed frowned slightly. "Abbey, why are you doing this?"

"What?"

"Handling me."

"Am I?"

"Yeah. You're pushing me to contact Alan again. Why?"

"Because he's an old friend – because he's here, and you're here too."

"Is that it?"

"Yeah. Well, maybe not completely–"

"Go on."

Abbey looked at him. "I just thought that you needed some time out to meet with an old friend and – well, okay, talk to him about whatever it is that you economists talk about to each other."

"You're handling me," Jed said dryly. "And now I'm trying to work out why – and it's either to distract me from the events of the other day – or because you think that I'm getting withdrawal symptoms and that I need some deep intellectual discussion to get me back on track again."

"You always did analyse things too much, Jed. Just go make the call."

After he'd gone outside with the cell phone, Abbey felt a momentary sense of guilt, knowing that she hadn't been totally honest with him. But there was no way that she could tell him – or that he could even guess – that she had homed in on the thought of him meeting up with an old friend because it would give her the chance to go back to Ballykane and meet with Mary Cavanagh.

Jed's face was alight when he came back into the cottage. "Hey, that was great – they put me straight through to Alan – and it was just as if we had last talked a couple of days ago!"

"You gonna meet up then?"

Jed looked at her. "Well, he doesn't have any classes this afternoon – and I did say that we could go back to Galway City today. Is that okay with you?"

"You want me to sit in on a discussion about economics?"

"Not your scene, huh?"

"Do you need to ask? No, it's okay, Jed – you go. I'm fine – anyway, I need some time to – you know – do my own thing."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

As soon as Jed had left that afternoon, with one of the agents accompanying him, Abbey made her way across to the cottage where the agents were quartered.

"Mrs Bartlet – can I help you?" Charlie said as he opened the door.

"Yes, you can, Charlie," Abbey replied. "I need you to drive me to Ballykane please."

"Of course, ma'am."

On the way Charlie glanced round at his passenger. "Can I ask why you want to go there again, ma'am?"

"I need to see someone," Abbey replied.

"You want me to come with you?"

"No," Abbey said. "But I do need your skills in tracking down someone that I met there the other day."

"Who?"

"There was a young man working outside the church, he's the grandson of a lady called Mary Cavanagh and I'd like to find him again."

"I'll do my best."

"Thanks, Charlie."

When they reached Ballykane, Charlie parked up in the main street. "If you stay here for a few minutes, ma'am, I'll see what I can find out."

"Okay."

Abbey strained round to look at the stone cottage next to the Post Office. Where Mary Cavanagh had lived for all of her life – where Abbey was hoping almost beyond hope that she would find some of the answers.

It was only a few minutes before Charlie returned to the car. "I think I got it, ma'am. The young man who usually looks after the church grounds is called Rory Cavanagh and he works at the local garage – that's gas station to you and me."

"Let's go then."

Charlie drove the short distance to the gas station at the far end of the main street, and as he pulled up, Abbey saw the young man that she had talked to outside the church. "That's him."

She opened the door and stepped out "Hello again," she said with a smile.

The young man was startled for a moment, then recognised her. "Ye was here a coupla days ago."

"Yes, that's right – and you told me all about your grandmother and her stories."

"Aye, I remember that."

"Well, Rory – it is Rory, isn't it? – I read the book with her stories about the town – and I would just love to meet her."

Rory's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Really?"

"Yes, really – but I didn't want to knock on her door without an introduction, so could you possibly get some time out to take me to visit with her?"

"Aye, I can do that. I'll just let my Da know where I'm going."

Abbey turned back to the car. "We'll walk now – so you're off duty, Charlie," she said to him through the open window.

"You got your–?"

"Of course. Could you meet me outside the Post Office in about an hour?"

"No problem, ma'am."

As Abbey walked up the main street with Rory, she could feel the tension increasing inside her. Okay, she thought, this might be a fool's errand, but it was something she'd known she just had to do after meeting Rory two days before.

They reached the cottage and Rory produced a key and opened the door. 'Gran'ma!" he called. "I've brought you a visitor."

"Who's that then, Rory?"

A white haired lady with a round face and alert blue eyes came through from the kitchen into the narrow hallway.

Abbey smiled and held out her hand. "Hello, Mrs Cavanagh, I'm Abbey." Deliberately she did not add 'Bartlet' – there was time enough for that later.

"Well, come in, m'dear, ye're very welcome. Would you like a cuppa tea?"

"I'll do that," Rory said. "You go talk together."

Abbey followed Mrs Cavanagh into the front room of the cottage, obviously the 'best' room of the house that was kept for visitors – with two well-stuffed armchairs either side of the old-fashioned hearth, and a low couch piled with patchwork cushions.

"Sit ye'self down, m'dear, I don't get a lot of visitors these days."

Abbey sat down in one of the armchairs. "Mrs Cavanagh–"

Mrs Cavanagh sat down opposite her. "Call me Mary, everyone does."

"Okay – Mary – I read the book about the town and your stories about the past, and I thought they were so interesting."

"Aye, well, I just told them the t'ings I remembered."

For a few minutes they chatted about some of the stories in the book. Then Abbey drew in a quick breath. "Mary–" she hesitated for a second, "you've probably guessed already that I'm American? My surname – my husband's surname – is Bartlet. Does that mean anything to you?"

The old lady looked at her. "Bartlet? The same as the President?"

Abbey decided it was time to come clean. She nodded. "Yes, exactly the same – my husband is – was – President Bartlet."

Mary was clearly taken aback. "Ye're the wife of the President of America?"

Abbey smiled. "The former President," she corrected her.

Mary was still staring at her. "But that means ye're the First Lady!"

"Mary," Abbey said gently, "I was the First Lady, but right now I'm just Abbey Bartlet, and I'm trying to find out about my husband's mother who lived in Ballykane – and I think you may have known her."

Rory came into the room carrying a tray with teapot and cups.

"Rory, did ye know that this lady was–"

Abbey stopped her. "No, that's just between you and me, Mary. Thanks, Rory," she said as the young man poured the tea and handed her a china cup.

"Get outa here, Rory," the old lady said briskly. "Me and – er, Abbey – we got things to talk about here."

As Rory closed the door, Mary looked across at Abbey again. "So ye're Josiah Bartlet's wife?"

"I call him Jed."

"Jed – Josiah Edward – t'at's what Annie said she would call him." Mary looked straight across at her.

"So you know?"

"Aye, I've known ever since he became President. I knew t'at he was Annie's son."

"And you've said nothing?"

"Not my place. I mentioned it to the family once but they t'ought I was ramblin', makin' it up. People don't pay much heed to old folk these days."

"So can you tell me about Annie Egan and Eddy Bartlet?"

TBC