The Omen (4 page)

"More than anything, Jeremy. To go where it's safe. To be where I belong."

A long silence followed; she lay beside him, nestled in his arms.

"It's safe here," she whispered. "In your arms."

"Yes."

She closed her eyes, her mouth upturning in a wistful smile.

"This is New Jersey, isn't it?" she whispered. "And isn't our little farm just over that hill? The one we've retired to?"

"It's a big hill, Kathy."

"I know. I know. We'll never get over it."

A slight breeze rose, rustling the leaves above them, and they watched in silence as rays of sunlight played on their faces.

"Maybe Damien will," whispered Thorn. "Maybe he's a budding young farmer."

"Not likely. He's your son through and through."

Thorn was unresponsive; his eyes were fixed on the leaves.

"He is, you know," Katherine mused. "It's as if I had nothing to do with him at all."

Thorn raised himself on one arm and regarded her saddened expression.

"Why do you say that?" he asked.

She shrugged, not knowing quite how to explain it.

"He's his own man. He doesn't seem to need anybody."

"He just seems that way."

"He's not attached to me like a child is to his mother. Were you attached to your mother?"

"Yes."

"Are you attached to your wife?"

Thorn's eyes met hers and he caressed her face; she kissed his hand.

"I don't ever want to leave this spot," she whispered. "I want to stay here like this."

And she moved her face upward until her lips touched his.

"You know, Kathy," Thorn whispered after a long silence, "when I first met you, I thought you* were the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen."

She smiled at the memory and nodded her head.

"I still think so, Kathy," he whispered. "I still do."

"I love you," she whispered.

"I love you so," he responded.

Her mouth tightened, moisture tracing the rims of her closed eyes.

"I almost wish you would never to speak to me again," she whispered. "That's what I want to remember hearing you say."

And when she next opened her eyes, darkness was upon them.

When they returned to Pereford that night, everyone was asleep; they built a large fire in the fireplace, poured themselves wine, and sat snuggled together,^ deep in a soft leather couch.

"Can we do this in the White House?" Katherine asked.

"That's a long way off."

"Can we do this there?"

"Don't see why not."

"Can we be disgusting in the Lincoln bedroom?"

"Disgusting?"

"Carnal."

"In the Lincoln bedroom?"

"Right in his bed?"

"If Lincoln will move over, I guess."

"Oh, he can join in."

Thorn chuckled and pulled her close.

"Have to do something about the tourists, though " added Katherine. "They come through the Lincoln bedroom three times a day."

"We'll lock the door."

"Hell, no. Let's just charge them extra."

He laughed again, delighting in her mood.

"What a tour!" she whispered enthusiastically. "See the President screwing his wife."

"Kathy!"

"Kathy and Jerry, going at it. And old Lincoln rolling in his grave."

"What's gotten into you?" he gasped.

"You," she hissed.

He gazed at her, somewhat perplexed.

"Is this you?" he asked.

"The real me."

"The real you?"

"Aren't I disgusting?"

She laughed at herself, and so did he. And for that day and night it was the way she had dreamed it could be.

The following morning dawned bright, and by 9:00 A.m. Thorn was dressed for the wedding and moving jauntily down the stairs.

"Kathy?" he called.

"Not ready," her voice replied from upstairs.

"We're going to be late."

"That's true."

"They might wait for us, you know. We ought to make an effort."

"I'm making an effort."

"Is Damien dressed?"

"Hope so."

"I don't want to be late."

"Ask Mrs. Horton to make us some toast."

"I don't want any toast."

"I want some toast."

"Hurry up."

Outside, Horton had already pulled the limousine into place; Thorn stepped out and gave him a wait-a-minute signal, then moved quickly to the kitchen.

Katherine hurried from her room, tying the sash on her white dress, and moved toward Damien's, calling ahead of her as she went.

"Let's go, Damien. We're all ready!"

She stopped in his room, for he was nowhere in sight. She heard the sound of bathwater running in the tub and quickly entered the bathroom. She gasped in dismay. Damien was still in the bath, Mrs. Baylock washing him as he played.

"Mrs. Baylock," moaned Katherine, "I told you to have him dressed and ready . . ."

"If you don't mind, ma'am, I think he'd rather go to the park."

"I told you we were taking him to church!"

"Church is no place for a little boy on such a sunny day."

The woman was smiling, apparently feeling it didn't matter.

"Well, I'm sorry," replied Katherine evenly. "It's important that he go to church."

"He's too young for church. He'll just cause a fuss."

There was something in her tone and manner, perhaps too calm and innocent as she openly defied her, that set Katherine's teeth on edge.

"You don't seem to understand," said Katherine firmly. "I want him to accompany us to church."

Mrs. Baylock tensed, offended by Katherine's tone of voice. The child felt it too, moving closer to his nanny as she gazed up at his mother from her position on the floor.

"Has he been to church before?" Mrs. Baylock asked.

"I don't see what that has to do . . ."

"Kathy?!" called Thorn from downstairs.

"In a minute!" she called back.

She gazed harshly at Mrs. Baylock; the woman gazed back calmly.

"Get him dressed at once," said Katherine.

"Excuse me for speaking my mind, but do you really expect a four-year-old to understand the gibberish of a Catholic wedding?"

Katherine sucked in her breath.

"I am Catholic, Mrs. Baylock, and so is my husband."

"I guess someone has to be," the woman retorted. Katherine stood stunned, outraged by the open defiance.

"You will have my son dressed," she said tightly, "and in the car in five minutes time. Or you can start looking for another job."

"Maybe I'll do that anyway."

"If you choose."

"I'll think about it."

"I hope you do."

There was a tense silence, then Katherine turned on her heel to leave.

"About going to church ... ?" Mrs. Baylock said.

"Yes?"

"You'll be sorry you took him."

Katherine left the room; within five minutes, Damien appeared, dressed and ready, at the car.

The drive carried them through Shepperton where the new highway was being: constructed, creating a massive traffic jam, which added to the charged silence within the Thorn limousine.

"Something wrong?" asked Thorn as he observed {Catherine's expression.

"Not really."

"You look angry."

"Didn't mean to."

"What's it about?"

"Nothing much."

"Come on. Out with it."

"Mrs. Baylock," said Katherine with a sigh.

"What about her?"

"We had some words."

"About what?"

"She wanted to take Damien to the park."

"Something wrong with that?"

"Instead of church."

"Can't say I disagree."

"She did everything she could to keep him from coming."

"She's probably lonely without him."

"I don't know if that's good."

Thorn shrugged, gazing at the construction beside the car as they inched along in the snarled line of traffic.

"Can't we get around this, Horton?" he asked.

"No, sir," Horton replied, "but if you don't mind, I'd like to speak my piece about Mrs. Baylock."

Thorn and Katherine exchanged a glance, surprised at Horton's request.

"Speak away," said Thorn.

"I hate to do it around the little one."

Katherine looked at Damien, who was playing with the laces of his new shoes and apparently oblivious of the conversation.

"It's all right," said Katherine.

"I think she's a bad influence," said Horton. "She's got no respect for the rules of the house."

"What rules?" asked Thorn.

"I didn't want to go into specifics, sir."

"Please."

"Well, for one thing, it's accepted that the staff eats meals together and takes turns washing the dishes."

Thorn glanced at Katherine. Obviously it was nothing serious.

"She never eats with us," continued Horton. "She apparently comes down when we're all finished and takes a meal by herself."

"I see," said Thorn, feigning concern.

"And she leaves her dishes for the morning help to do."

"I think we can ask her to stop that."

"It's also expected that after lights-out the staff stays inside," continued Horton, "and I've seen her on more than one occasion in the small hours of the morning going into the forest outside. It was still dark out. And she was definitely walking quiet so no one would hear."

The Thorns pondered all this, both puzzled.

"Seems strange . . ." muttered Thorn.

"This part's indelicate and you'll have to excuse me," continued Horton. "But we've noticed she doesn't use any bathroom paper. By the toilet, you know? We haven't had to change it since she arrived."

In the back seat, the Thorns again glanced at each other. The story was getting bizarre.

"I add two and two," said Horton. "I think she does it in the forest. And I think that's uncivilized. It is if you ask me."

There followed a silence; the Thorns were perplexed.

"One more thing, sir. One more thing that's very wrong."

"What's that, Horton?" asked Thorn.

"She uses the telephone and she calls long distance to Rome."

Finished with what he had to say, Horton resumed his driving, finding a gap in the traffic and quickly pulling away. As the landscape moved by them, Katherine and Thorn pondered in silence, eventually finding each other's eyes.

"She was openly defiant today," said Katherine.

"You want to dismiss her?"

"I don't know. Do you?"

Thorn shrugged.

"Damien seems to enjoy her."

"I know."

"That counts for something."

"Yes," sighed Katherine. "I guess it does."

"You can let her go if you want."

Katherine paused, gazing out the window.

"I think perhaps she'll go on her own."

Sitting between them, Damien stared at the floor, his eyes unmoving as they sailed toward town.

All Saints Church was a mammoth building. Seventeenth-century architecture, melded with eighteenth, nineteenth, and twentieth in an ongoing flow of construction. The massive front doors were always open, the inside lighted day and night. Today the staircase leading to the doors was knee-deep in iris, and morning-coated ushers creating a stately path. The event had brought a crowd of people, some of them carrying picket signs with Communist party slogans, obvious defectors from a rally in Piccadilly who preferred to gawk here instead. The one great leveler for people of all stations and political persuasion was the presence of celebrities. People were gathered there in swarms; the crowd was beginning to burgeon, and security guards were having difficulty holding them back. It delayed the proceedings, and the arriving limousines had to queue up in single file and wait until they were directly in front of the church before they could discharge their passengers.

The Thorn limousine was a late arrival, taking its position near the end of the block. The security forces were thin here, and people crowded around the car, staring in unabashedly. As they inched through, the mob thickened, and Damien, who had dozed, began to rouse, startled and confused by the faces peering in. Katherine pulled him close, gazing uneasily ahead, but the bodies around them multiplied and began to push; the grotesque face of a hydrocephalic shoved close to the window beside Katherine and began to knock as though trying to get inside.

She turned to the face and flinched, for the man had begun to laugh, emitting a cascade of drool.

"Good lord," she gasped. "What is going on?"

"It's jammed up here for a good long block," replied Horton.

"Can't you get around it?" Katherine asked.

"We're bumper to bumper, front and back."

The knocking continued beside her and she closed her eyes, trying to shut out the sound, but it only grew, as others outside became amused by it and began to knock on the other windows as well.

"Look up ahead," said Horton. "Communists."

"Can't we get out of here?" begged Katherine.

And beside her Damien's eyes began to register fear, picking up his mother's alarm.

"It's all right . .. it's all right," soothed Thorn, seeing the fear in the child's eyes. "These people can't hurt us, they just want to see who's inside."

But the child's eyes began to widen, and they were not focused on the people but on a point high above them; the towering spires of the church.

"There's nothing to be afraid of, Damien," said Thorn. "We're just going to a wedding."

But the child's fear grew, his face gripped with tension as they inched inexorably closer to the massive, towering church.

''Damien .. ."

Thorn glanced at Catherine, directing her eyes to the child. His face was stony, his body tightening as the crowds slid away and the cathedral suddenly loomed into view.

"It's all right, Damien," whispered Katherine, "the people are gone .. ."

But his eyes were riveted to the church, growing wider with each moment.

"What's wrong with him?" asked Thorn quickly.

"I don't know."

"What is it, Damien?"

"He's frightened to death."

Katherine gave him her hand and he clutched at it, gazing desperately into her eyes.

"It's a church, darling," said Katherine intensely.