Beverly Byrne (9 page)

It
was late when she woke. There was a message for her. Donald Varley wanted to
see her as soon as possible, today if she could arrange it. She telephoned his
secretary and made an appointment for the same afternoon. There was no word
from Luke, and she was glad that he didn't arrive for lunch as he sometimes did.
She needed more time.

When
Amy was seated by Varley's desk he told his secretary to bring tea. He insisted
that Amy have a cup right away, as if she'd braved an exhausting and perilous
ordeal to join him. She thought of telling him about riding alone through the
African bush, but decided against it.

"I
understand you are very friendly with my nephew Luke," Varley said.
"You like Tommy too, don't you?"

Amy
nodded at him over the rim of the teacup. Her large brown eyes grew wary.

But
Donald Varley didn't sound a warning. Instead he said, "I think it's a
fine thing, considering how close your parents all were. Fine to see that kind
of loyalty continued. Gives me hope for the modern world."

She
set down her cup and waited.

"Amy,
I must speak very frankly, and in a manner no gentleman likes. If your poor
mother and father were alive, none of this would be necessary. But since they
aren't and you're alone, I have no choice but to do my duty."

She
stiffened her spine. She was ready to flee or deny or fight back-whatever was
required. There was a shining inside her, a fire of love and wanting. Nothing
Donald Varley could say would extinguish it.

He
cleared his throat. "Before Charles died he made some unfortunate
investments. My brother-in-law was brilliant, but on this occasion he was
unlucky. It means that he died in straitened circumstances. Do you understand,
my dear?"

"You're
referring to money," Amy said. Relief flooded up from her toes to end in a
bright flush on her cheeks.

Varley
interpreted the blush as embarrassment. "I am. It pains me dreadfully to
discuss such a matter with you. Please forgive me, but..."

"Are
Luke and Tommy in some difficulty?" she interrupted quickly. "You
must tell me if there is any way I can help." She was thinking of her ring.
She could give it to him to sell. It was only two carats, but it
was
perfect. She had thought of it as her own insurance against the dreaded debts
at the bank.

"How
easy you make it, my dear child. Bless you. Yes, they're in a tight place, and
yes, you can help. I want to make some investments for them. If I do, their
future will be more secure. But there's simply no cash available in Charles's
estate. I had to use the proceeds of the sale of Balmoral to payoff past
debts." He poured another cup of tea while he spoke.

"I've
examined every option I can think of," he continued. "The only
solution I see is to borrow funds to make these investments. I'm wondering if I
dare ask to use your estate as collateral for such a loan."

"But
of course you can!" she said instantly. "That would be a splendid
solution." She thought of Tommy's black mood at Thanksgiving and the fight
about business matters Luke confessed. It must have been about their poverty.
Now that source of friction could be eliminated. Then she remembered something
else.

"But
you said my inheritance was uncertain. You said after the war I might not have
anything."

"Ah,
yes, so I did. And how happy I am to say that things look much better on that
score. The British have secured Dar es Salaam. Almost all German East is in
their hands. The British can be relied on to deal honorably. Quite a different
case from the Huns."

"I
knew lots of German people at home," she said softly. "They were all
fair and honorable too."

He
patted her hand, and she noticed that he wore a large gold signet ring.
"Don't you worry about any of that. Just leave it to me. Now, do I have
your permission to go ahead? Good, then there are just a few things for you to
sign."

He
pushed some documents across the desk. Amy scrawled her name hastily, without
bothering to read them. She was conscious only of doing something to help Luke.
Not until she was out of the office and descending the stairs did the true
implication of the conversation dawn on her.

How
could she be so stupid! This was the explanation of everything, not just
Tommy's bad temper. The rush of understanding made her dizzy. Amy put out a
hand and steadied herself against the wall. Luke believed that he had limited
prospects, and was in debt. No wonder he didn't think he could admit his
feelings, much less take a wife. He was a man of honor, and more than a little
stubborn. He must think he'd be asking her to wait for years. But it wasn't
like that at all! Not now that Donald Varley believed her inheritance secure.

By
the time she reached the street Amy was laughing with excitement. A few
passersby looked at her strangely, but she ignored them. No one in the whole
world mattered except Luke. She wanted to shout his name aloud, to run and
dance. She was alive to joy, every nerve in her body tingled and sang.

Her
mood hadn't changed when she let herself into the apartment.

"There's
a message for you, Miss Amy," Maureen said. "From Mr. Luke."

"Oh,
thank you! I'll call him back right away."

"Ah,
there's no need for that. Sure didn't he just say he hoped you were feeling
better, and he'd be seeing you at dinner tonight."

"Thank
you," Amy repeated. Then, impulsively, she planted a large loud kiss on
Maureen's cheek. "Thank you for everything. You'll make something specially
good tonight, won't you? Something Mr. Luke likes. It's a sort of
celebration," she added shyly. "

And
aren't all my dinners good?" Maureen demanded a trifle huffily, but she
smiled at the girl.

Amy
took a long bath before she dressed. The newly modernized bathroom adjoining
her bedroom had a deep porcelain tub, and the walls were covered in shiny black
paper splashed with pink lily pads. She gazed at the flowers through the haze
of steam and hummed softly to herself. The tune was a Kikuyu lullaby. One of
Amy's earliest memories was being rocked to its rhythm in the arms of a huge
African woman.

She
seemed to see Jericho in the bubbles of the tub, and she lifted the shimmering
mirage in her fingers and saw herself and Luke walking hand in hand up the
avenue lined with flame trees. "This is my husband," she would tell
the servants. "We've come home to stay. "

She
dressed with great care in a gown of ecru silk trimmed with brown velvet-Lil
and the dressmaker confirmed what Mummy always said: Cream was her best color.
She had few jewels except her ring, so she tied a brown velvet ribbon around
her neck and pinned a gold locket to it. Amy knew she looked beautiful and she
was glad. She wanted to be perfect for Luke.

She
waited in her room until she heard him arrive. The timbre of his voice told her
his mood was nothing like it had been. This was a more familiar Luke, without
the hardness and the anger that had lurked  behind his words the previous
evening. Amy took a last look at herself in the mirror, then went to join him.

"How
lovely you look," he said.

There
was the faintest catch in his voice, and when he looked at her his eyes were
filled with longing. Luke could never hide what he was thinking. "We should
be going out someplace special," he added, gesturing to her gown.

"Oh,
no, I want to stay right here." He mustn't imagine she required a lot of
expensive outings. "I'm just feeling happy. A little like
celebrating." She glanced at him from beneath demurely lowered lashes,
hoping he'd respond to her barely disguised excitement before he knew its
source. Instead he turned away, and she saw his shoulders tense as if in pain.
Don't worry, she wanted to say. I understand, everything's all right. Instead
Maureen announced dinner and Amy said nothing.

She
was conscious of his eyes on her all the while they ate. Lil and Warren
disappeared soon after dinner. "You two young people must excuse me,"
Lil said. "I've a couple of letters to write." For a moment before
she left the room Lil looked disturbed and a little sad. Amy put it out of her
mind. She had no time for Lit's vagaries tonight. Warren muttered something
about his cuttings. The door to the drawing room was left ajar, but she was
alone with Luke.

Amy
drew in a deep breath and mustered all her courage. She had decided to speak,
and she didn't intend to back down. Still, her hands trembled where they lay
folded in her lap. "I saw your Uncle Donald today," she began.

"Oh,
what did he want?" Luke seemed surprised.

Amy
had rehearsed this part carefully. She knew exactly what she wanted to tell and
what she should keep secret. She and Mr. Varley had agreed that the Westerman
boys mustn't know about the loan or the new investments. That would embarrass
them. "He wanted to tell me that my inheritance appears safe now,"
she said. "The English have taken control of Dar es Salaam, and they've
promised to deal honorably with all the foreign business interests in German
East. So I'll have the mines back as soon as the war is over. "

"That's
wonderful, Amy, I'm glad for you. Listen, I want to talk to you about something
else...."

"Not
just for me," she interrupted. "It's wonderful for both of us,
Luke." Nervous excitement made her rise and walk to where he stood by the
fireplace. A log sputtered into flame, and she leaned forward and prodded it
with a brass handled poker.

"Here,
let me do that. You'll burn yourself." He took the poker from her and
their hands touched. The poker dropped unheeded on the hearth. It seemed to Amy
that sparks rose from their joined fingers.

"You
must come with me to Africa just as soon as we can travel," she said
breathlessly. "You'll love Jericho. I know you will. And you can manage
the mines. I think you'll like that much better than the work you're doing now.
I know you don't like the finance business."

"No,"
he said softly. "I don't. And you are very sweet and generous. But I can't
do that, my dearest Amy. I would if I could."

"Why
can't you? Oh, Luke, I know how things are. I'm trying to tell you it doesn't
matter. The Norman mines are very profitable, and they belong to me. At least
they will."

He
drew his hand from hers and walked to the sideboard and poured himself a
brandy. This was unusual, because he seldom drank. She remained where she was
and stared at his rigid back.

"Listen,"
he said. "I was very sick when I was a kid."

"I
know, Uncle Warren told me. He said you almost died. He said that's why you're
so religious now. Is it because of your religion, Luke? Is that why you don't
want to come to Africa?"

"That's
not what I'm talking about. The sickness I had ... Oh, Lord! This is
impossible!" He turned to her in anguish. "No, don't move. Stay over
there. It's easier to say this if you're not close. I thought of asking Aunt
Lil to tell you, but I'm afraid she'd faint with shock if I suggested it. Amy,
I had mumps. A bad case."

"But
you're fine now. I've known you for ages and you're never sick."

"Not
the way you mean." He tossed back his head and downed the brandy. "I can
never be a father, Amy," he blurted out. "I'm sterile."

She
stared at him for a long moment, then she laughed. "Oh, Luke! Is that all?
I don't care and it's nothing to do with running the mines, so I suppose" -she
grinned at him with gamine wiles-"you're finally proposing to me."

He
didn't respond to her laughter. He was pale and  his face was stiff with pain.
"No," he said. "That's just what I'm not doing. I'm trying to
tell you I intend to be a priest. I told you the other thing because I hoped it
would help you understand."

"A
priest ..." Her voice was a whisper. "But why? Catholic priests can
never marry. Aunt Lil told me that. "