Shannon's Daughter (29 page)

“Peg, I’m
not sure about your room.
 
I mean, all
that pink.”
 
He hesitated at the top of
the stairs, pulling back on her hand.

“Don’t
worry.
 
I’ll take your mind off it.”

“My,
aren’t we confident of our charms these days?” he teased, relenting and
following down the hallway toward her room.
 

“Shouldn’t
I be?
 
Or have you lost interest
already?”
 
She stopped abruptly, turning
to him with a pout that set his pulse racing.
 

“Oh
no.
 
That beautiful mouth of yours alone is enough
to ensure my undivided attention.”
 
Pulling
her into his arms, he nibbled her lower lip.
 

“Um.
 
That’s nice.
 
I feel the same
about yours.
 
I never realized what could
be achieved, just by kissing.
 
Have I
told you how grateful I am for all you’ve taught me?”
 
Sliding her hands beneath his jacket, she
lifted it off his shoulders, pushing him toward the wall.
 
“Let me show you how much I’ve learned?”
 
She brushed her lips across his chin, moving
along his jaw until her teeth nipped at his earlobe, her hands easing the
jacket down his arms to pinion him against the wall.
 

“Right
here in the hallway?” he gasped.

“Why
not?”
 
On tiptoe, pressed full length against him, she
swayed from side to side.
 
“Although I really wanted to see you in my bed.”

“Fine!
 
Pink is suddenly my favorite color.”
 

Sated, spent
and unwilling to stir a muscle, he lay beside her, drifting in the
twilight.
 
If he never made love again in
his life, he would go out a satisfied man.
 
Not that he had made love to Peg, precisely.
 
She hadn’t been teasing about taking control.
 
The fact was Peg had taken him to places he’d
never been, put him through hoops and over jumps like an over-eager show dog,
all the while watching his response with an innocent gleam of expectation in
her eyes.
 

From
the moment they’d entered her room, as soon as she’d turned the lock and drawn
the drapes, he’d sensed he was in for something new and dangerous.
 
Through the slow, methodical disrobing—garment
for garment, dress for jacket, slip for shirt, stockings and garters for
trousers, until very little remained—he’d foolishly believed himself sharing in
her game.
 
But when she led him to the
bed and urged him to lie face down, a tingle of warning skittered along his
spine, right beneath her fingers sketching gentle circles across his shoulders,
down past his waist where she eased astride him.

“I love
your back.
 
Of course, I love your front
too, but you have such a beautiful, strong back.”
 
When her lips joined the assault, her hair
trailing softly over his skin, he fought the urge to toss her over and regain
at least the semblance of control.
 
But
very quickly, he gave himself over to the mesmerizing tactile pleasure of her
hands and then her body stroking what seemed every inch of him.
 
“You’re like a big cat,” she whispered near
his ear, when he hummed his appreciation.
 
What followed was a litany, warm and breathy, as she worked her way back
and forth, up and down, branding each word into his skin.
 
“Just think what it would be like to have
this whenever you wanted.
 
Not that you
couldn’t find some girl in London to do this for you.
 
Still, would she love you the way I do?
 
I doubt it.
 
Because I love you with everything in me, Kendall
Gregg.
 
There’s not a single part
of me that you haven’t touched and made your own.”

Before
he knew what was happening, she was beneath him, opening herself to him, inspiring
a tenderness and passion beyond any he’d ever known.
 
Words of love, promises and vows, fell from
his lips as their bodies joined.
 
Eyes
open, gazing up as though challenging him to give his all and more, Peg matched
his intensity, clasping him to her triumphantly as they spiraled together in orgasmic
bliss.
 

“Did
you mean it?”
 
Her husky whisper woke him
from his drifting.

“Mean
what?”

“What
you said?”

“I seem
to recall saying quite a lot in the heat of the moment.
 
What precisely?”

“That
you’re thinking of coming to New York.”
 
She stirred, shifting her head on the pillow to look up at him.

“Honestly,
I’ve thought of little else the past two days.
 
But a move like that requires much more than just thinking.
 
I don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

“Just
knowing you’re thinking about it is enough for now.”
 
She settled her head in the hollow of his
shoulder, her hand sweeping lightly up and down his body with surprisingly
instantaneous results.
 
He was about to
turn to her, with thoughts of a different nature, when she said, “And that
other thing, the part where you said you’d love me always and forever, did you
mean that too?”
 

He
sighed, weighing the truth against pleading temporary insanity in the throes of
passion.
 
“That too.
 
Peg, you’ve caused me to feel and say things
I never believed myself capable of.
 
No
matter what our future may be, I will always love you.”

Her
hand came to rest over his heart.
 
Curling closer, she murmured against his skin, “No matter what our
future may be, that’s enough.”

London—1955

Chapter
Twenty-seven

Those
words would echo in his head for the next three years.
 
Her letters, sporadic and not particularly
revealing, invariably closed with “Always and
Forever
.”
 
No signature, just the reminder of his
promise.
 
Just as profound a reminder was
his persistent drive to do better, to be stronger,
to
become something other than what he had been.
 
He was never quite sure of his ultimate goal, but he woke every day with
the need to reach toward it.
 

Reinforcing
that need was the memory of Peg’s face, the momentary shadow of pained disappointment
in her eyes before she’d produced a convincing smile and joined in the
congratulations.
 
The very day after he
promised to consider the move to New York, a telegram irrevocably erased that
possibility.
 
The fact that he opened it
in front of his mother eliminated any chance of forestalling the announcement,
and he’d been cornered with the damning evidence for all to see.

“The
London Philharmonic!
 
Oh, Kendall, this is my dream coming true,
darling!
 
Look, Patrick, he’s been
offered a chair!”
 
She’d run around the
room like a deranged brood hen, rattling the innocent looking scrap of paper in
everyone’s face while he stood stunned and wavering between laughter and
tears.
 

“Well,
now, that is good news, although I was hoping he’d audition for Bernie Silverman.
 
Not too late, Kendall.
 
You can always tell London you’ve had a
better offer.
 
Nothing
like competition to up the ante.”
 
Michael had seemed genuinely put out, although his disappointment was
short-lived.
 
He’d soon joined in the
spirit of Eloise’s celebration and offered to take everyone out to dinner.
 
While Michael made for the telephone to book
a reservation, Kendall found Peg standing before him, offering a perfunctory
hug and saying softly, “That’s wonderful.
 
Congratulations,” in a tone so cool and detached he’d actually
shivered.
 

“We’ll
talk later, I promise,” he’d whispered as he accepted her stiff hug.

“No.
 
It’s fine.
 
I’m happy for you.”

He had
blurred but agonizing memories of the remaining days in New York.
 
Peg seemed to withdraw into a shell of
brittle goodwill, her eyes dull behind a frozen smile.
 
Even her hands, when she offered a sisterly
hug in farewell, sent a chill through his clothes.
 
He would have much preferred an angry tirade
or even heartbroken tears to the awareness that she had closed herself away
from further harm, cutting him off without a chance to plead his case.
 

Once
back in London, he’d retreated for days, brooding in his darkened flat,
fighting guilt and grief with the argument that Peg would recover and he would
eventually find a new sense of normalcy.
 
The job proved a godsend, once it started.
 
Even the quartet had required more of his
attention with a welcome spurt of bookings.
 
He’d picked up several new students courtesy of a colleague who’d given
birth to her third child and wanted more time for her family.
 
Life, as he knew it had a way of doing, went
on.
 

Peg’s
first letters were reserved, vaguely alluding to her own painful attempt to
find her footing.
 
Once she started
classes, the tone changed to one of growing enthusiasm for her studies and even
the occasional reference to her social life.
 
Never once did she mention their recent intimacy.
 
Rather than love letters, these were the sort
of confidences she might have shared while walking hand in hand, trusting and
ingenuous.
 
Somehow that moved him more
than flowery phrases or suggestions of desire could have.
 
He almost dreaded reading them, knowing how
they would twist his emotions and
arouse
the need to
hold her, to comfort her and most of all to prove himself deserving of such
selfless devotion.

Unconsciously,
at least in the beginning, he set about reshaping his life.
 
Everyone who’d known his previous nocturnal
habits remarked on the changes, especially his abandonment of all female
companionship and his absence from the pubs and clubs.
 
Laughing off their bemused concern, he
explained his monk-like existence as dedication to his advancing career,
pointing out that at his age, approaching
thirty,
it
was time to take things seriously.
 

The
fact was Peg had ruined him for other women, particularly the sort he’d enjoyed
previously.
 
He’d tried, in those first
months, thinking casual release might help ease his misery, but after an
awkward failure or two, he’d avoided his old haunts and taken himself out of
circulation.
 
No tawdry turn between the
sheets, no matter how willing the partner, could begin to erase the image of
Peg in his arms.
 
Accepting his punishment,
he found a sense of redemption in this new lifestyle and he went even further,
pursuing a healthy diet and increased exercise, even insisting on being in bed
before midnight most nights.
 
None of
those things eased his longing or lessened his regret, but they did give him
hope of one day becoming a man worthy of Peg Shannon.
 

Three years
passed—three autumns, winters and springs, and two summers—until June of 1955, when
Maeve Finola McGill’s wedding to Reginald Chatsworth Houghton was scheduled at
St. Patrick’s Church in Soho.
 
The event
had been in the works for over six months, since the announcement of their
engagement at Christmas.
 
No expense was
to be spared, and the entire Shannon clan was called to gather for the
occasion.
 
Kendall, by virtue of having
introduced the happy couple, was standing as his former prep schoolmate’s best
man.
 
Peg and Agnes would comprise the
supporting lineup for the bride.
 
After
three years, they would find themselves once again on the same side of the
Atlantic, attending the flurry of pre-wedding parties and flanking the bride
and groom at the altar.
 
At that
prospect, Kendall was undeniably terrified.
 

When
the week preceding the wedding arrived, he was in more serious need of support
than the bridegroom and considering a lapse to some of his old habits.
 
He agreed to meet Reggie at a pub near his
flat, thinking a pint or two and a good heart-to-heart might be in order.
 

“Look,
old man, the girl is three years older now.
 
There’s always the chance she’s fallen in love with some rich American
and won’t give you a second look.”
 
Reggie, a good friend but rarely insightful, was among the select few
Kendall told of his involvement with Peg, and even they knew only that they had
grown “closer” during his visit to New York.

“I
almost wish she had.
 
I’ll never be the
man for her.
 
There’s no use fooling
myself.
 
All the clean living in the
world won’t make up for the kind of bounder I
was.
.
.am, if the truth were known.”

“Now
see here, Kenny, you’re a positive model of upstanding manhood.
 
You reek of clean living, not to put too fine
a point on it.
 
That’s the first strong
drink I’ve seen you near in, what six months?”

“Two
years, Reggie.”
 
He slid the barely
touched ale across the bar, unable to bring himself to drink, in part due to
the lump of anxiety in his throat.
 

“Good
lord, has it been that long?
 
I must say,
I never expected you to go rogue on us.
 
If anything, you were the one to set the pace.
 
You’re not keeping anything from me, are you?
 
I mean, I am a physician, after all.”

“What
are you talking about?”

“Well,
I know about your
father.
. .you’re not. . .well, if
there were any sort of problem, you know you could tell me, Kenny.
 
Strictest confidence.”

He
laughed, which seemed to offend Reggie a bit.
 
“No.
 
Thanks for worrying about
me, but I’m fine.”

“Well,
it certainly
seems
to agree with you,
all this clean living.
 
You’re still the
best looking of the lot of us, and all that time at the gym is putting some of
us to shame.
 
Even Maeve suggested I
might give it a go.
 
She went so far as
to say she didn’t fancy the idea of my getting fat.
 
Fat!
 
But I suppose it couldn’t hurt.
 
I
don’t mind her comparing me to you, but if you’re going to insist on setting
the bar so high. . .”
 
Reggie downed his
ale with resignation, as if it might be his last.
 

“Don’t
worry.
 
Maeve is mad for you.
 
And that’s saying quite a lot.
 
Now, tell me about this do tonight.
 
How many of the Shannons are you expecting?
 
You might want to make a list of who belongs
to whom and keep it handy.
 
I’ll warn
you, it’s a trifle staggering once they’re all in the same room together.”

“Not
sure.
 
Maeve’s in such a muddle these
days, but I’m sure she said something about some of the more distant Irish
cousins.
 
The Edinburgh
lot, of course, Edwin and Jack and their wives.
 
Aggie mentioned that her Uncle Michael’s been
delayed, won’t get in from Rome until next week.
 
So he definitely won’t be there tonight.”

“Rome?”
 
Kendall’s stomach tightened
uncomfortably.
 
“He’s not coming from New
York then?”

Reggie
appeared to check his memory, staring into the bottom of his glass.
 
“No.
 
I’m sure she said Rome.
 
Why?”

“I just
thought he and Peg would be coming together.
 
Reggie, did Agnes say anything about Peg?”
 
He balled his fists to keep from pounding the
bar.
 

“Oh, I just
assumed you knew.
 
She got in this
morning.
 
Flew in from
New York.
 
She’s at Brown’s.
 
Aggie said she was planning to sleep all day,
time difference and all.”
 

An
electric current of foreboding, along with the desperate need for fresher air,
sent him to his feet.
 
He dropped some coins
on the bar and clapped Reggie on the shoulder.
 
“I’m off.
 
I’ll see you
tonight.
 
Oh, and I wouldn’t advise
another of those.”
 
He nodded toward the
refill the barmaid had set before Reggie.
 
“You’ll need to start with a clear head if you hope to hold your own
with the Shannon clan.
 
They’ll drink
even you under the table if you’re not careful.”
 

On the
street, he gulped in air, setting his stride to a near run.
 
Not sure where he was going, he decided home
would be safest.
 
With hours to go before
the party at Claridges, he would find something constructive to do, maybe tidy
the flat and make himself a decent tea.
 
A long shower, careful shave, make
sure his dinner jacket
was pressed, anything to occupy his mind.
 
If he gave any thought at all to that moment they came face to face
again, he felt certain he’d fall to pieces, cold sweat, hands shaking, heart
palpitations, the lot.
 

He had
started up the stairs when Miss Elvira Hastings, one of the pair of spinster
sisters whose family home had been turned into flats after the war, popped her
head out of her door and hailed him.
 
“I
do hope you won’t mind, but I let your cousin into your flat, Kendall.
 
The poor thing said she’d been traveling all
night and needed a place to rest until her hotel room was ready.”

Clutching
the bannister, he whirled to look down on her wrinkled face, further creased by
a concerned frown.
 
“What time was that?”

“Oh,
around noon, I think.
 
Yes, it must have
been because the postman came about the same time.”

“I
see.”
 
He turned to stare up the open stairwell
toward the third floor, toward his own door where Peg, for better or worse, was
waiting for him.
 
“Thank you, Miss E!”
 
His feet had obviously not taken heed of his
frozen panic.
 
They propelled him upward
with determined speed, barely making contact with the floorboards.
 
By the time he reached the landing, the hand
that held his key was shaking and his breathing was a shallow pant.
 
For an instant, he saw stars and pressed his
forehead against the door to steady himself.