Shannon's Daughter (11 page)

Instinctively,
he raised her glass to his nose, the hairs on his neck once more standing on
end.
 
“Peg, I’m afraid someone may have
tampered with your drink.
 
Is it possible
you’re feeling the effects of alcohol?”

She
blinked again, passing her tongue over her lips.
 
“It’s possible.
 
I told you I don’t have a head for it.
 
One glass of champagne and
.
.
.I felt just like this.”
 
She
turned her face up to him, realization washing over her features.
 
“Tommy,
that weasel
!
 
Oh, Kendall, I’m so sorry.”
 
Tears swam in her eyes, and his blood
approached the boiling point.
 

“Don’t
move.
 
I’ll be right back.”
 
Scanning the crowd, he launched toward his
target, long strides carrying him to the bar where Canaday was accepting a tall
glass from Bill.
 
“No more of that,
sir.
 
You’ll come with me, please.”
 
He kept his voice low and his tone civil, but
the firmness of his grip on the boy’s shoulder seemed to have the desired
effect.
 

“What!”

“You
don’t really have to ask, do you?”
 
He
set Peg’s glass on the bar.
 
“Bill, I
believe you’ll attest to the fact that this contained more than club soda.”

Bill warily
lifted the glass.
 
“Vodka?”

“Precisely.
 
Conveniently tasteless.
 
Easy to slip past a novice.
 
Now, Mr. Canaday, there’s someone to whom you
owe an apology.
 
And then you’re going to
leave this party quietly and stagger your pathetic way home.”

They
moved through the crowd without calling undue attention.
 
Once on the terrace, the sight of Peg with
her head in her hands caused his grip to tighten spasmodically on the collar of
Tommy’s dinner jacket.
 
“Now, what have you
to say to Miss Shannon, Canaday?
 
Something along the line of what an imbecilic, undeserving son of a
witch’s jackal you are and how you promise by all that’s holy never to come
near her again should do for starters.”

“I’m
sorry, Peg.”

“What
was that again?
 
I’m sure she couldn’t
hear you over the music.”

“I’m
sorry.
 
That was a stupid thing to do and
. .
.
I’m
sorry!”
 
Kendall sensed the boy was near tears himself
now, while Peg was watching his performance with a barely concealed smile.
 

“Peg?
 
Is there anything you wish to say to Mr. Canaday
before he leaves?”

Straightening
regally in her chair, Peg raised a finely arched brow.
 
“I don’t forgive you, Tommy.
 
And I may just have to tell my father about
this if you ever dare apply for a position in our bank.”
 

With a
none too gentle shove, Kendall sent Tommy stumbling toward the living room,
where a scowling Bill O’Halloran stood waiting to escort him to the door.
 

“Like
every good bartender, I’m sure Bill will call him a cab.”
 
He took a seat in a chair opposite Peg’s and
held out his hands.
 
“How are you
feeling?”

“Better.”
 
Her smile was only slightly shaky.
 
“Sir Galahad.”

“Ha!
 
I felt more like a schoolmaster about to cane
some hapless lad for skipping class.
 
Good lord, but you and your friends make me feel old!”
 
He was heartened by her soft laughter.
 
“Now, seriously, can’t I get you something,
some coffee perhaps?”

“What
you can get me is out of here.
 
I think
this party is over for me.
 
I’ll find
Connie and tell her I have a headache.
 
Then can we go somewhere quiet and get something to eat?”

“Your
wish is my command.
 
But let me find
Connie for you.
 
It won’t do for you to
have to fight your way through that mob in there.
 
Just sit here and continue to feel
better.”
 
He couldn’t resist laying a
hand on her hair as he got to his feet.
 
“Poor
kid, that
was a dirty trick and you
handled yourself beautifully.
 
As befits
a princess, I suppose.”
 
He was rewarded
by a crooked but radiant smile which spread from her lips to ignite a blue
blaze in her eyes.
 
Before she could
answer, he once again plunged into the crowd, driven by the desire to take her
somewhere quiet and see her smile at him like that for the next several
hours.
 

In the
taxi, which Peg directed to Columbus Circle, she leaned back with a sigh.
 
“I’m afraid you got a bad impression of my
friends.
 
It’s usually not that bad.”

“Don’t
think any more about it, please.
 
I’m
just glad I was there to help.”

“I
never pictured you as such a tough guy.”

“I’m
not.
 
But a public school boy with shiny black
curls, a lisp and ridiculously long eyelashes, who also happens to play the
violin, has to learn to stand up for himself or live in torment for the
duration of his education.”

She
giggled,
another sound he’d been hoping to hear again.
 
“A lisp?”

“Oh
yeth.
 
I had a gap between my front teeth wide
enough to drive a cricket ball through.
 
Thanks to my grandparents, that got fixed before I started Oxford.”
 

“I
can’t imagine you as anything
but.
. .well, forgive me
if this sounds impertinent, but gorgeous.”

“Ha!
 
You should have had that coffee, Miss
Shannon.”

“No.
 
I mean it.
 
You’re awfully good looking, and very British in the best sort of
way.
 
I wanted to show you off tonight,
and
instead.
. .you’re probably sorry you ever went to
the stupid old party.”
 
Her voice
quivered as she turned away from him to stare out the window.

He
hesitated for an instant before taking her hand.
 
“Listen to me, Anna Margaret Shannon.
 
This night is still young, and we have a lot
of catching up to do.
 
All the Tommy
Canadays in the world couldn’t make me regret coming out with you tonight.”
 
In response, she curled her fingers gently
around his.

The cab
drew up to the curb and Peg paid the fare.
 
“Come on.
 
You’re going to like
this place, I think.
 
It’s one of my
favorites.”
 
Pushing through the door of
the small cafe, she led the way past a coat check station to the podium where a
small, round man sporting a ruffled shirt and white wig looked up with a
beaming smile.
 

“Ah!
 
Miss Peg! How beautiful you look tonight, and
on the arm of such a handsome escort!
 
My
Friday night is now complete!”
 
His far
from refined accent was in startling contrast to his dress and manners.

“Figaro,
this is my cousin from London, Kendall Gregg.
 
Kendall, this is Figaro Jones, owner of the Opera Café.”
 

The man
bowed low, taking Peg’s hand and raising it to his lips.
 
“Miss Peg, any cousin of yours is a cousin of
mine!”
 
When he turned to Kendall, his
grin revealed a sparkling gold eye-tooth.
 
“Mr. Gregg!
 
Welcome to Manhattan.
 
And congratulations on
having the loveliest companion in all of the boroughs.
 
Come!
 
Right this way.”

The
walls were painted a rich red and hung with large framed sketches depicting
sets from various operatic productions.
 
From hidden speakers, the overture to The Barber of Seville was reaching
its conclusion.
 
Bypassing numerous empty
tables, Figaro led them to one by the window, ceremoniously whipping out a
chair for Peg.
 
“You’re in luck, my
dear.
 
Your favorite table is free.
 
Mario will be right over to take your order.”

“There
are no menus?
 
Don’t tell me the waiters
come by and sing our choices?”

“Oh,
no.
 
Only the special of the
day.”
 
She grinned, the sparkle in
her eyes setting his pulse beating faster.
 
He wasn’t sure when he’d lost the image of her former self, but now all
he saw across the table was a woman he wanted to know better, much better if he
were honest with himself.
 
That thought
jabbed painfully at his conscience for no more than a split second before Peg
caught his attention again, reaching over to touch his hand.
 

“Seriously?
 
How quaint.”
 
He swallowed hard, resisting the desire to weave his fingers into
hers.
 

“Oh,
yes.
 
But Figaro knows I don’t need a
menu.
 
The Opera serves the best
hamburger in Manhattan.
 
I’m sure their
other dishes are good, but I only come here for the burgers.”
 
She drew her hand away in a little wave.
 
“Hi, Mario!
 
This is my cousin from London, Mr.
Gregg.
 
I want him to have his first
American hamburger here, okay?”

The
waiter, a long, thin man with a drooping mustache and a face to match sidled up
to the table.
 
“Miss Peg, Mr. Gregg,” he
intoned in a voice which could only be described as
basso
profundo
.
 
“You’re sure you wouldn’t like to hear the
special for tonight?”

“Oh, no
thank you.
 
Just two of the usual and
I’ll have ginger ale to drink.
 
Kendall,
what would you like?
 
They have an
excellent bar here.”
 
She eyed him quizzically.
 
“Let’s see, single malt, no ice, right?”

He grinned.
 
“How did you know?”

“Just
a lucky guess.
 
That’s what Uncle Sean always orders.
 
You’re sure?
 
You can order whatever you like.”
 

He
turned to the waiter.
 
“Soda
on the side?”

“Yes
sir!
 
And will you be having your usual
half-way through the meal, Miss Peg?”

“Of
course.
 
And bring two straws, please.
 
We’ll share a large.
 
Extra shavings?”

“Just
for you.
 
I’ll have your drinks right up.”
 
As Mario backed away, Kendall couldn’t avoid
seeing the less than subtle winks and nods cast in his direction.

“He
thinks you’re nice.
 
I don’t bring dates
here, so he probably thinks we’re an item.
 
These guys have known me since I was just little.
 
Dad loves their corned beef and cabbage.”

“What’s
coming half-way through the
meal.
. .with extra
shavings?”

“A
chocolate shake, the thickest in New York.
 
Whipped cream and chocolate shavings on top.
 
I can never finish one, so you can help me
tonight.”
 
Resting her elbows on the
table, she propped her chin in her palms.
 
“This is so much better than that noisy party.
 
Although I would have loved
to dance with you some more.”

The
music had started again after a brief lull.
 
Kendall recognized the opening bars of a
Strauss waltz.
 
“What’s to stop us?
 
There’s hardly a crowd in here.”

She
instantly raised her arm, signaling to Figaro.
 
“We can always ask!
 
Figaro, would
you mind if we danced, just one dance?
 
My cousin is a wonderful dancer and
. .
.”