Shannon's Daughter (43 page)

“Ah,
now that’s just the kind of question that has my heart rate jumping about.
 
But there’s no help for it, Peg.
 
We’re going to have to see
less
of one another, and by less I mean
not only spend less time together, but spend that time in less intimate
circumstances.”

“But. .
.”

“No
buts, brat.
 
They’re on to us.
 
And for them, the fact that we’ve been
sleeping in one another’s beds can have only one acceptable outcome.”

“We’ll
just have to more discreet then.”

“No,
we’ll have to spend some time apart.
 
As in miles apart.
 
Where is Connie these days?”

“In
Rome,
or maybe Spain by now.
 
But what does Connie have to do with this?”

“You’re
going to join her, wherever she is.
 
To
make up for missing out on Paris, you’re going to hop on a plane and spend some
time basking in the Mediterranean sun.”

“And
what will you to be doing, assuming I agree to go?”

“Working,
of course.
 
And there’s no assuming, brat.
 
You’re going.
 
I’m closing up the house when we leave on Sunday.
 
Your work done here, you’re going to finish
up your summer holiday in style.”

“Is
that right?”
 
No mistaking the rebellion
in her voice.

“Yes,
it is.
 
We can’t talk them out of what
they think we’ve been doing, since they’re in fact correct.
 
All we can do is stop
doing
it, get on with our respective lives and let the notion die a
natural death.”

“And
what about Christmas, when I come back to England?
 
They’ll know nothing’s really changed.”

He
hesitated.
 
That was something he’d hoped
to ease into later, once phase one of his plan had proven its merit.
 
“Look, sweetheart, maybe Christmas is too
soon.
 
And you’ll have so little time. .
.”

“You
don’t want me to come?”

“Of
course I
want
you to, but it might be
better not to.
 
We have to accept that
this thing goes beyond the two of us.
 
Much of my life is a lie as it is.
 
I refuse to expand the deception to include everyone who cares about
us.
 
And most of all, I refuse to drag
you deeper into the lie.”
 

She
expelled a long sigh and for a time lay quietly in his arms.
 
He heard the sound of a car’s engine below
the window and voices suggesting Alice and Hammonds were preparing to leave.
 
Shortly thereafter, the front door closed,
the car drove away and he thought he detected a final click of the front gate’s
latch.
 
Mrs. Beatty had promised she’d
return in the morning to see to their needs.
 
He could picture her trudging off down the drive, as she’d done each
evening for so many years.

“Are
you hungry, love?
 
I’m sure supper’s in
the oven for us.”
 
He hugged her closer,
suddenly craving her warmth.

“I
guess.
 
We can’t stay here all night like
this, can we?”

His arm
was numb beneath her.
 
“Hardly.
 
Much as I love having you in my arms, one of
said limbs has lost all sensation.”

She
sprang up, turning to face him.
 
“I’m
sorry!”
 
Another second and tears welled
in her eyes.
 
“I really am sorry.
 
I never meant to put more pressure on you.”

“I
know.
 
And it isn’t as if I haven’t been
a willing participant in this affair.
 
But the time has come to slow things down, don’t you agree?”

“If
that’s what you think we should do.
 
I’m
not sure it will really convince them, but maybe after a few months. . .”

“Let’s
not plan.
 
Let’s just see what
happens.
 
Who knows, there’s always the
chance my situation might change and I’ll be able to do the proper thing
eventually.”

“The
proper thing?”

“Marry
you, brat.”

She
stared for a moment, tears still clinging to her lashes.
 
“You really want to be married, don’t you?
 
That’s what would make you happiest?”

“Of
course it is.
 
Call me old-fashioned, but
I’ve always believed in marriage, as an institution and as the best way to
achieve contentment.”

“And
you think we could have that.
 
Contentment,
I mean?”

“Of
course I do.
 
Peg, I love you.
 
And I think you love me.
 
We’re compatible in every sense of the
word.
 
I know there are some logistical
issues, but nothing we couldn’t work out.
 
It’s only the fact that I made a horrible mistake all those years ago
that’s forced us to this unholy arrangement of ours.
 
Yes!
 
I
believe we could be truly content together, downright happy, if we gave it half
a try.”

Watching
as she gazed past him out the window, he imagined she was digesting the
idea.
 
Noting the grim set of her lips and
the dullness in her eyes, he wondered at her thoughts, but decided not to push
the subject.
 
It wasn’t as though such a
happy ending seemed likely.
 
But a man
could dream, couldn’t he, if dreaming
eased
his
conscience?

London—1956

Chapter Forty

Those
days following his grandmother’s funeral would provide Kendall with bittersweet
memories in the months to come.
 
By the
time Peg returned to London and he to Glyndebourne, she had arranged to fly to Rome
to join Connie and her mother, eventually returning to New York with them in
mid-August.
 
Their final farewell was
awkward and rushed after the sweet pretense of the previous days, said on the
threshold of her suite at Brown’s before he dashed back to Victoria to catch
his train.
 
With no idea what the future
held, neither seemed to find the energy for more than a lingering gaze and one
last tender kiss.

They
wrote, at first long, thoughtful letters which soon dwindled to less frequent
missives padded with unnecessary details and gossip.
 
Agnes was the subject of their correspondence
for a time, after she abruptly decided to take a position in Dublin at the end
of the first school term.
 
Her decision,
she wrote to Peg, was due to the fact that Devin O’Rourke ran off to marry his
heretofore unheard of fiancée, whom he’d somehow gotten in the family way.
 
“Agnes is done with men, she says,” Peg wrote
in her first letter of the New Year.
 
“She still thinks you may be one of the few ‘good guys’ around, but she
warns me to be careful.
 
Even ‘good guys’ are men.”

Maeve
provided material when it was announced that she was pregnant.
 
Kendall reported that Reggie was taking an
overly clinical attitude toward the situation, his conversations now peppered
with far too much detail for his single mates to tolerate.
 
Maeve on the other hand seemed
uncharacteristically serene, decorating the nursery and if not actually
knitting booties, shopping for them.
 
“I’m just a bit jealous of Reggie and Maeve, if the truth were
known.
 
They’ve settled into married life
so naturally, they make it look quite idyllic.
 
You don’t suppose I’m getting sentimental with age do you?
 
I always imagined I’d just be hitting my
stride in my thirties, but the idea of settling down in that ivy-covered
cottage you once mocked grows more appealing all the time.”
 

Peg
wrote back that he should spend less time with Reggie and Maeve until after the
baby came, when things would surely be more chaotic and less idyllic.
 
“You’ll be counting your blessings when you
can go home to a quiet flat leaving Reggie to walk the floor all night with the
little darling.”

They
struggled along, each seeming to feel compelled to respond to the other’s
letters, until at the end of June, Peg abruptly went silent.
 
Kendall went so far as to write a second
time, thinking his last response might have been lost in the mail.
 
She had written a lengthy description of her
graduation from Columbia, closing by saying she planned to spend the summer
refurbishing some of the rooms in the brownstone.
 
Michael had given her free reign and after
twenty-odd years, it was high time for some changes.
 

If her
silence worried him, he tried to convince himself it was for the best.
 
His instant assumption was that she had
fallen in love and couldn’t bring herself to tell him.
 
She’d mentioned several trips to Cornell with
her father, but he’d sensed something between the lines.
 
Not precisely happy for her, he was
nonetheless resigned to the idea that it was bound to happen eventually, and if
some dashing Cornell man had won her heart, then at least Michael should be
pleased.
 

The
summer’s pace was hectic, with the addition of a tour of Scotland with the
Glyndebourne
company
in August.
 
Kendall had little time to waste nursing a
bruised heart, although if he’d been honest, Peg’s sudden disappearance from
his life left an aching void he had no ambition to fill.
 

On the
night of August 20, on his return from Scotland, he’d had a late dinner with
his mother and Patrick.
 
Finally heading
home, he was brooding over his mother’s accusation that he had become a virtual
recluse, unwilling to put forth any effort to cultivate a social life.
 
She’d gone even further, suggesting Peg had
only used him the previous summer, and while her help had been appreciated, she
felt sure he must have known a girl like Peg would never give up her life in
New York.
 
“You must get on with your
life, darling.
 
There’s a lovely woman
out there just waiting for you to find her.
 
But I doubt very much she’ll wait forever while you bury yourself in
your work.”
 

As he
lugged his bags up the stairs from the entry, where he’d hastily deposited them
on his run from the station to his mother’s, he silently cursed himself for
accepting the invitation in the first place.
 
Better to have come home, gotten a good night’s rest and settled in
before facing the inevitable grilling.
 
He banged his shin as he dropped the largest of his suitcases and
muttered the responding curses aloud to the empty stairwell, jamming his key
into the lock with more force than necessary.
 

The
flat was stifling after being closed up for the past three weeks.
 
It took him a moment to orient himself,
before two things struck him in quick succession.
 
First, the room was uncommonly dark, as though
the drapes had been drawn, although he never closed them.
 
No need for privacy on the third floor
overlooking an alley.
 
Secondly, and
setting his heart racing irrationally, he smelled lemons on the warm stale
air.
 

Taking
a step toward the lamp, he banged his shin again, nearly losing his
balance.
 
“Blast!
 
What in . . .?”
 
Switching on the light, he blinked down at a
disorderly pile of luggage heaped just inside the door.
 
His gaze went to a stack of dishes on the
kitchen counter, traveling on to something blue draped over the back of an armchair.
 
Warily, his eyes moved around the space,
spotting a pair of high heeled shoes tucked under the end table.
 
Taking a cautious step, he peered over the
back of the couch.

“Peg?”

There
was no response.
 
She was stretched on
her back, arms flung above her head, wearing nothing but a white silk slip,
which clung damply to her body.
 
In the
dim light, he could see the iridescent sheen of perspiration on her skin.
 
He repeated her name, this time in a tone of
awestruck wonder.

She
came to consciousness abruptly, sitting up with a gasp, her arms crossed over
her chest.
 
“Oh, thank God, it’s you!”

“Were
you expecting someone else?”

Scrubbing
her hands down her face, she shook her head.
 
“No.
 
I just didn’t hear you come
in.”

“Would
I be out of line to ask what you’re doing here?”

She
looked up with an apologetic half-smile.
 
“No.”

He
stared at her, drinking in the sight of glistening flesh and the tumble of hair
curling around her shoulders.
 
The
bone-weariness of just moments ago was replaced by a visceral surge of
adrenaline.
 
Striding across the room, he
whipped aside the drapes and lifted the nearest window, relieved to feel the
breath of cooler night air cross his face.
 
“Why didn’t you open the windows?
 
It’s unbearable in here.”

“I was
afraid someone could see in.”

He shot
her an incredulous scowl, moving to the other windows.
 
“Highly unlikely.
 
Nothing but a brick wall
opposite.”

She
shrugged, swinging her feet to the floor.
 
For the first time he noticed the change in her.
 
Always slender, now she seemed fragile, the
delicate bones of her shoulders visible as she lifted her hair off her
neck.
 
In the dim light, she was
unnaturally pale and dark crescents were obvious beneath her eyes.

Joining
her on the couch, he studied her face, wondering how to proceed.
 
“What’s going on, Peg?” he asked gently.

“What
do you mean?
 
Oh, I know I should have
let you know I was coming, but there wasn’t really time.”
 
When he didn’t respond with another prompt,
she sighed.
 
“Are you upset?
 
I mean that I let myself in?
 
I still had my key from last year.”

“No,
of course not.
 
How long have you been here?”
 
He nodded toward the dishes.

She
paused, as though to calculate.
 
“Three
days.”

“Why
here?
 
It can’t have been very
comfortable for you.”

“It was
fine.
 
I was disappointed you weren’t
here, but your neighbor downstairs, the nice old gentleman, said you’d be back
any day.”

“Ah.
 
Mr. Kemper.”

“He
seems to be the only one here.”
 
She
fidgeted with the lace edging her slip.

“Yes.
 
My landladies go to the Isle of Wight in
August.”
 
He couldn’t resist lifting a
curl that clung to her shoulder.
 
“I
repeat, what’s going on, Peg?”

“It’s a
long story.
 
Maybe I should save it for
tomorrow.
 
You look tired.
 
Where have you been the past few days?”

“Weeks.
 
On tour with the orchestra.
 
And don’t change the subject.”

Her
face twisted in a pained frown.
 
“I’ve
been so anxious for you to come home, and now I don’t know what to say.”

“Unusual
for you.
 
Why not just tell me why you came all the way
to London to hide out in my flat?”

“I’m
not hiding.”
 
Her chin went up defiantly.

“Aren’t
you?
 
From the looks of things, you’ve
been closed up in here as though you were doing precisely that.”

Her
voice dropped to a near whisper.
 
“I
didn’t tell anyone where I was going when I left New York.”

“I
see.
 
Why was that?”

“Because
I didn’t want them to follow me.”

“Them?”

“
My.
. .Michael.”
 
Her
lower lip trembling, she dropped her head.
 

“Michael?”
 
He waited, watching her face crumble, before
pulling her close.
 
“There
now.
 
Don’t tell me you’ve had a
falling out with your father?”

She
shook her head.
 
“No.
 
I just needed some time away from him.”

“Why?”
 
He was beginning to feel slightly ruthless,
but obviously she wasn’t going to volunteer anything.

“It’s a
long story.”

“We have
all night.
 
Tell me.”

Instead
of answering, she turned her face up and kissed him.
 
At the first tentative meeting of their lips,
in the insistence of her hands tilting his head to deepen the kiss, he sensed
the further difference in her.
 
This kiss
was not fueled by desire so much her need to turn the moment from something she
couldn’t bring herself to face.
 
When she
did speak, it was to whisper, “I’ve missed you so much.
 
Tell me you’ve missed me just a little?”

Reason
cautioned this was not the time to let her have her way.
 
Reason however had little influence over his
response to Peg in his arms.
 
Reason
could not prevent him from following her lead and greedily accepting what was
offered.

After a
few frantic moments of groping and tugging at his clothes, she slipped out of
the embrace.
 
“Pull down the bed.
 
I’ll be right back.”
 
She started for the bathroom, turning back to
see that he was obeying.
 
“We’ll talk
later, I promise.
 
But right now I need
you too much to worry about anything else.”

A
bucket of ice water could not have more effectively chilled his ardor.
 
Whatever had brought her here, it was
serious.
 
He should make an effort to
find out more before giving in to the promise of a night of passion.
 
On the other hand, he argued as he lowered
the bed into position, if she was as emotionally fragile as she’d seemed
moments ago, he should let her come to him with the details in her own
time.
 
If she needed that night of
passion so desperately, who was he to deny her?
 
The faint echo of his conscience faded as she came through the door, her
eyes dark with desire and her arms outstretched as though she couldn’t reach
him quickly enough.