The Devil I Know

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Don’t be coy, Fergus. You’ve known me since I was yay high. I beg your pardon? Oh. It’s like that, is it? I see. Very well. As you wish. This is going to take longer than expected, but then, you lot are running on a pricey meter. Two and a half grand a day, I hear. Well, Fergus — I mean Justice O’Reilly — my name, for the record, is Tristram St Lawrence. Tristram Amory St Lawrence, the thirteenth Earl of Howth, Binn Eadair, hill of sweetness. I was — I am — the only son your old pal, the twelfth Earl of Howth, managed to sire, and not from lack of trying. People have been saying a lot of bad things about me in the press. I am here to say a few more.

What brought me back to Ireland? Good question. An act of God, or maybe the other fella. That was back in 2006. I had not set foot on this green isle for twelve years. I agree, Fergus: it is a long time in the lifespan of a comparatively young man, particularly one with such ties to the locality. Personal reasons kept me away. Personal, personal, unspeakably personal. This is neither the time nor the place.

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