Like One of the Family (38 page)

Antonio was shown in after the nurse had settled her down for her nap. Quite unprepared for the sight of him as he came around the door, Jane tried to struggle upright and gasped with pain at the effort it cost her.

‘No... please do not disturb yourself,' Antonio beseeched, his expression concerned. He took a step forward then stood where he was, helplessly gazing at her.

Jane sank back on the pillow, weak tears stinging her eyes. ‘I'm not as recovered as I thought,' she whispered forlornly, but even these few words cost her an effort.

Antonio laid the flowers he had brought her on the washstand. He drew the chair to her bed and sat down.

‘Your son telephoned my house last night...' he began.

‘Terry rang? Tell me how they all are,' she begged. ‘Are they managing all right? Did they get my letter? Do they know I am being moved to Nerja?'

Antonio laughed. ‘So many questions.' He crossed his knees and sat back regarding her serenely. ‘Which will I answer first?'

‘My letter, did they get it?'

‘Yes, but they were troubled because it was not in your handwriting.'

‘I could not write myself,' Jane said simply, relieved that Terry was so practical. Antonio smiled. ‘Terry hopes to fly out and visit you very soon,' he went on, watching her face. ‘Perhaps next week.'

Jane stared. ‘But how? He has no money.'

Antonio shrugged. ‘I do not know exactly. Perhaps the Air Corps are arranging it for him. He seemed hopeful it could be done and said he will ring me when he has all the details!'

How wonderful to see Terry. My son, she thought with a rush of emotion. They had shared those lovely few days together and then for it to end like it did. Remembering his courageous little farewell wave, tears sprang to her eyes. To her dismay they overflowed and poured down her cheeks. Antonio's smile faded and his dark eyes brimmed with concern.

‘You are overwrought,' he said gently. ‘I did not mean to upset you.' He got to his feet. ‘Forgive me! I have stayed too long.'

‘No, don't go,' she wanted to say but only cried all the harder, She felt him stoop over her and his lips brushed fleetingly against her forehead. Then he pressed his handkerchief into her hand and with a murmured,
‘Hasta luego, mi preciosa,'
he was gone.

Jane mopped her eyes with Antonio's handkerchief and cursed her weakness. Her tears dried and she lay very still. Had he really called her his ‘
preciosa'?
The crumpled piece of linen lay forgotten in her hand. Oh please God let him come again.

She lay in the sun-filled room and gazed for a long time at the sheaf of crimson carnations he had brought her before pressing the bell for a nurse to come and put them in water.

These days Claire was in a state of perpetual bliss. She felt she was experiencing happiness at last. Terry was a vigorous but tender lover and he told her that she was beautiful, that he was crazy about her, that he had never been happier himself.

She still felt guilty about sleeping with him in his mother's bed. While his was nothing like so roomy, she felt happier there and the narrow divan was an excuse to cling close together. She was careful to launder Jane's sheets and neatly make up her bed again, so everything was in order. Although Terry's room was at the furthest end of the landing from his sisters' rooms, Claire was tortured by fears that Sheena or Ruthie would surprise them in bed together, and made a point of getting up early each morning and returning to her own room, to be there when Ruthie awoke. Terry felt that Claire was making too much of it, but when he saw how upset she was, he agreed to keep their lovemaking concealed, in so far as they were able, from his sisters. Claire realised very soon, however, that Sheena knew what was going on. Although she never actually put it in words Sheena made it clear that their liaison had her full approval. The only oblique reference Sheena ever made to Claire's affair with her twin was one as they sat in the kitchen one evening.

‘I always knew Terry was your type rather than Hugh,' Sheena said apropos of nothing. ‘Hugh was far too sensitive and introspective for his own good. That's why he did what he did, you know.'

Claire stared at her. Her friend had never once mentioned that grim time in all the years since it happened.

‘I remember when Hero had her pups and you were so matey with Hugh,' Sheena continued. ‘Terry was always grumbling to me about it. He was as jealous as hell and he couldn't hide it.'

Claire felt a rush of delight and stored away the information to examine later. She returned to her studies and sat with her head bent, her hair touching the page. She tried to analyse a passage of prose but her mind kept returning to Terry and the night he had returned from Spain and made love to her. He had never once mentioned the fact that she was not a virgin but he must have noticed. It wasn't as though he were inexperienced, Claire thought. Far from it. She blushed behind the screening curtain of hair at the memory and her flesh tingled and she felt a warm shivery feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Claire had had seen the first signs of the immense power of Terry's physical attraction for girls in her early teens, when she was away on holidays with the McArdles and observed Susan Deveney waylaying him every chance she got. Later, when Sheena had told her that he'd made Grainne pregnant, Claire had felt relief rather than shock. It made it easier for her to contemplate some day confessing what had burdened her own soul for so long. She wondered if, indeed, she would ever find the courage to tell Terry about Eddie and that dark area of her life.

Since she had experienced an untrammelled and mutual love, Claire clearly saw that Eddie had taken from the near-child she had been what she had hardly understood or valued at the time. But in Terry she had found the mate who matched her soul's craving. She had experienced with him what she had only read about in books, but what would he think if her knew of her past?

She could never tell him. He would not... could not ...understand even though he had voluntarily revealed the skeletons in his own past. Claire wished there was some way that she could so easily clear her own conscience with a similar confession, but she was not willing to chance it. Her eyes grew sad as she recognised that there could never be a true blending of spirit while anything remained hidden between them.

When they met one evening in town Claire saw at once that Terry was bursting with news. First he insisted on going into St Stephen's Green and the pair of them sitting down on a bench overlooking the duckpond.

‘Go on,' Claire prompted urgently, and unable to contain his elation any longer, Terry laughed and told her.

It seemed there was a shortage of trained pilots for the Dauphin helicopter and the Air Corps were offering a brilliant chance for three young pilots to circumvent the normally slow and restrictive regulations and to gain promotion, all in one go.

‘Dinny Monahan is recommending three from our squadron and just guess who one of those lucky pilots will be?' Terry asked, hugging Claire to him jubilantly.

‘Can't for the life of me think,' Claire teased, ‘Could it be you?' she asked with seeming innocence.

‘None other, Miss Shannon. You see before you a future rotary pilot, soon to be ranked as Flight Lieutenant McArdle.' He dropped his lofty pose and jumping up, swung her round and round, oblivious of staring onlookers.

Claire laughed breathlessly and shyly tugged him down on to the bench again.

When he got his own breath back he said eagerly. ‘The minute we get our wings we start training on the Gazelle. Dinny says it has the most sophisticated flight instrumentation for fixed wing pilots making the transition to the Dauphin. We went aboard her today and she's a real neat little job.'

Claire listened with her eyes fixed attentively on his face, trying to share his enthusiasm, but as always when he spoke about flying, she felt distanced from him.

It was the beginning of May and a sudden mild spell was encouraging everyone to behave as though it was already summer. Terry was wearing Bermuda shorts and a denim shirt opened at the throat. Claire had cut off the sleeves of an old poplin blouse and knotted the ends at her waist, showing bare midriff above blue jeans. She glanced down at herself as they wandered back on to the street, regretting the fact she had nothing new and summery to wear.

‘What do you bet this is every bit as hot as Spain,' Terry said, changing the subject at last.

‘Did you hear yet when you're going?'

‘Nope. Should know in another few days,' he grinned. ‘Like to come with me? You could stow away in the hold. I'd smuggle you on board in a hamper.'

Claire looked askance. ‘On a government jet! Think what the penalty would be.'

‘Only kidding.' Terry protested, intrigued to see she was serious. ‘Little Miss Perfect,' he teased.

Claire was troubled. ‘Please don't think so well of me,' she said. ‘If you only knew I'm not good at all. Quite the opposite.'

‘Oh yeah.' Terry rumpled her hair fondly. ‘Listen to her! A real baddie-waddie.' He kept her hand in his as they swung along by the park railings. Since becoming her lover he was more tender, more tolerant, less moody. ‘You would have me believe you're a real
femme fatale
- a right little raver without a heart - when I know you to be the most tender-hearted creature alive.'

Claire blushed and looked away.

‘You mightn't like me quite so well,' she began, casting a sideways look at him, ‘Not if you knew everything.'

‘Everything! Now that sounds really sinister.' Terry laughed. ‘Like you had chopped up your mother and hidden her under the bed. Come to think of it I haven't seen her lately,' he added thoughtfully.

Claire was forced to smile. ‘Well, maybe nothing quite so drastic,' she conceded, pinching his hand to get his attention. ‘But years ago when you were all away on holidays...'

‘Go on... really... years ago,' he intoned melodramatically.

‘No but listen...' she interrupted him. ‘I... I was in your...'

Claire's breath quickened.

‘Okay... you were in my... what?'

‘I used play in your garden when you were away on holidays and pretend it was mine.'

‘So - why should that make me like you any less?'

‘I was trespassing. I shouldn't have been there.'

He laughed.

‘What a funny girl you are. Do you really think any of us would have minded if you had? Must have been years ago. I can't remember a time when you didn't come away with us.'

‘I didn't come the first year.'

‘What a good memory you have.' He pulled her close to his side. ‘And this was the dread secret. You pretended you were little Claire McArdle playing in her family garden. Disgraceful!'

Her courage had deserted her at the last moment

‘Claire McArdle,' Terry repeated gently. ‘I like the sound of it. Do you think we'll get married, Claire? I hope I've got the good sense not to let you get away from me.'

Claire was silent. Marriage? The thought filled her with joy and terror. But how could she ever marry him with this obstacle between them? And what if she lost him because of it? It was too painful to contemplate so she tried to make a joke of it.

‘Hey! You've just had a lucky escape from Grainne. You surely don't want to become involved with me.'

Terry frowned. ‘Don't mention yourself in the same breath as her,' he said. ‘Anyway, I am involved with you.'

Claire flushed and looked away. She was very quiet as they finished their walk and went into a pub.

A couple of fellows coming out jostled past them. Terry recognised Stephen Rigney whom he hadn't seen him since they had graduated the previous year. Terry noticed Stephen look at Claire and was outraged when he heard him mutter to his companion words to the effect that Claire might look like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth but she and her mother were a
couple of tarts

‘That chap was just begging for a belt in the gob,' he growled, putting his arm protectively Claire but she was so deeply enmeshed in her own unhappy thoughts that she did not notice the incident
.

As she followed Terry into the pub she was wondering why she hadn't been able to tell him about the past. If he really cared for her he wouldn't think any the worse of her. She sat beside Terry, feeling slightly depressed. If only she'd had the courage to speak out, she thought, only half-hearing what he was saying, vaguely aware that he was talking about helicopters and the Air Corps again.

Jane travelled by ambulance to Nerja, arriving late in the evening. When she awoke next morning in the new hospital she had momentary amnesia until she saw Antonio's carnations on her sidetable. Then it all came back to her.

Hospital Belen was privately owned, small and exclusive, with about eighty patients, most of them recovering from surgery, as well as two or three semi-invalided old ladies with broken brittle bones, who permanently resided in the nursing home wing. Jane would come to know them all in the weeks of her convalescence.

Sarah Lewis, the nurse on duty, brought Jane's breakfast tray and lingered to chat as Jane drank her juice and nibbled toast. Jane felt an instant rapport with the friendly Yorkshire woman and began telling her all about the accident and about her children too. She was missing them all and felt hungry for conversation.

Jane found herself looking forward more and more to the times when the English nurse came on duty. The other nurses were all Spanish, and although pleasant enough, were too young to have much in common with her. Sarah was in her late fifties.

One morning she came in early with a letter for Jane. ‘Maybe it's from your son,' she said. ‘Didn't you tell me he'll be coming to see you soon?'

Jane nodded wistfully. ‘I'm almost afraid to hope in case it doesn't happen. This is an invitation to his Wings.' Jane sighed. ‘I was really looking forward to being there.'