Murphy’s law, she’s not good on dates
If Mahon Tribunal counsel Henry Murphy was surprised by the intimacy of how the Taoiseach’s ex-partner addressed him, he didn’t show it.
It was just minutes since she had walked pensively to the stand, tightly clutching a white tissue in her left hand, now she was assured and poised. Clearly unhappy to be in this position, but determined to give no quarter.
The more the questioning wore on relentlessly for five hours, the further she blossomed into a steel magnolia — genteel and refined on the surface, tough as old nails underneath.
Her interplay with Henry weaved and flowed through the day, at times she used his first name in an almost coquettish way, at others as a handy weapon to verbally strike him with — such as the delicious swipe with “I accept your apology Henry” when Mr Murphy had offered no such thing.
When Henry, sorry, the tribunal counsel, admitted he did not know if mobile phones were in use 14 years ago, she pounced without hesitation: “And you’re giving out to me about not being able to remember detail?”
However, there were also moments when she behaved almost as if she had just met him at a dinner party, as opposed to the fact she was actually the target for his hostile questioning at a corruption probe.
An Taoiseach was only ever referred to by her as “Bertie”, except for the occasional “my life partner”.
Quizzing her about the curious lack of knowledge shown by anyone involved as to exactly how much sterling cash Michael Wall plonked down on Bertie Ahern’s desk for Ms Larkin to deposit in a bank account in her own name, Henry, sorry, Mr Murphy, tried a neat little trick.
Ms Larkin knew she had ended up with IR£28,772.90 after the deposit, but was she not keen to find out how much she had taken into the bank in case any of it went missing?
The faint sizzle in the rapport with Henry suddenly froze into ice.
“I don’t think there was any question with my life partner that I would have taken any money at all. Are you suggesting I did?” she demanded, the purr now more like a growl.
Her knack for turning an interesting turn of phrase caused much laughter in the shabby Dublin Castle basement when she described taking IR£50,000 out of another account (oh, do keep up!) which she had opened in her name for Mr Ahern’s money in January 1995. Why had he asked her to do that?, Henry, sorry, Mr Murphy inquired.
“Bertie dealt in cash. I think he felt more comfortable with it,” she opined as the public gallery guffawed.
With this came the only new fact of the day, that Bertie, sorry the then leader of the opposition, had personally driven her to the AIB and waited outside while she collected the fifty grand in cash — causing some of my unkinder colleagues on the press benches to immediately refer to the vehicle as “the getaway car”.
This could lead to yet another headache for the ever embattled Mr Ahern as there is some confusion over whether he actually had a valid driving licence at this time. As the interrogation ended, it was difficult to tell who was more relieved, Celia or Henry. However, Ms Larkin momentarily lost her cool when wrong-footed by the news she would be required to delight the tribunal with her attention once again in the near future regarding “other matters”.
“What other matters are they?” she demanded to know, though went strangely quiet when told it was yet more intriguing questions over that damn house in Drumcondra.
Celia and Bertie are history, but Celia and Henry have another date with destiny.
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