Through the magnificent entrance and on to the Mediterranean Courtyard for welcoming cocktails, the group were astonished by the sheer vastness of the interior, the luxurious furnishings, exquisite décor, the hundreds of priceless chandeliers adorning this man-made miracle. The smell of opulence and splendour was everywhere and confirmed their belief that only the Americans could conceive and create something as majestic as this.
One of Global Life's Vice Presidents, Mr Bill Long, gave the welcoming address and also the history of 'The Breakers', concluding with this greeting:
'Ladies and Gentlemen of Global Life, this is your 'Palace' for our President's Convention. We hope you enjoy every minute.'
Reverse jet-lag caused Jenny to wake up at five a.m. on the morning of her first full day at 'The Breakers'. Ken slept on. She just lay there relaxed and happy, admiring the plush décor of the massive bedroom, almost as big as some houses back home. Looking across at Ken, snoring soft bass drones, she hoped he wasn't too disappointed at he opting out of lovemaking last night - she was just too jaded - sleep was all she wanted. The travelling and nine-hour flight had taken its toll. Normally it wouldn't, but it showed that she was only regaining her full strength. She felt great now though, ready for what would be the busiest day of the trip, a day filled with all kinds of everything.
An excursion to the Everglades and Loxahatchee Nature Reserve in the morning, mid-day lunch at the Beach Club Patio, and in the afternoon taking part in the big Underwriting Meeting in the Magnolia Room.
That meeting was very important. It was one of the reasons why they brought her there. She had her homework done, wouldn't need notes, worked better without them. Ad Lib was her style, always more comfortable that way, more intimate with her audience. She hoped it went well - felt confident it would.
Then in the evening, the highlight of the whole programme, the Accolades Dinner in the magnificent setting of the Mediterranean Ballroom, followed by dancing to the early hours. This was the evening when the Company recognised achievements. It would be a glittering affair with Black Tie/Formal wear, the whole extravaganza designed to leave a lasting impression on those 'Top Stars', motivating them to even greater success in the future.
Looking across at the open wardrobe she could see her dress, was looking forward to wearing it. Sheryl and herself purchased it after much soul-searching and debating. Sheryl was great - pity she wasn't here; she'd love it. Perhaps she could make it up to her - take her back something nice.
It was six-thirty, she slipped out of bed, grabbed her jeans and slippers, headed down to see the sunrise, get a cappuccino and Danish pastry at the Coffee Corner overlooking the Croquet Courts. A peaceful start to an exciting day ahead.
Ken was a bit apprehensive and up-tight as he straightened his purple bow-tie for the third time, while waiting for Jenny to put the finishing touches to herself. The next half-hour would be an unexpected pleasure. The trip around the Everglades was memorable, but the sealed envelope, waiting in their bedroom on their return was a big surprise. It invited them to Pre-Accolades Dinner cocktails with the President in the Mediterranean Courtyard at seven-thirty, before moving to the ballroom for the formal dinner.
This was a big honour, recognition by the President. Jenny knew it was special, felt good to be chosen - Ken felt a bit over-awed.
'Ah, for God sake, Ken,' Jenny reassured him, 'it's only the President ... isn't he privileged to get the opportunity to meet you. You look a million dollars Darling,' she flattered, putting on a mock American accent, 'come on, lets go.'
She was in great form, looked dazzling in her black evening dress and wonderful accessories, highlighting her stunning looks and perfect figure. Ken perked up too, felt proud and privileged to be escorting such a beauty. They headed for the lift.
Bob Taylor was a real regular guy, blessed with a lovely warm personality, put people at ease. He seemed to go overboard in welcoming Jenny and Ken. Introducing them to his Vice Presidents and the other dignitaries present, he referred to the Underwriting Conference earlier that afternoon.
'I wasn't able to be present,' he said, 'but I have been reliably informed that your contribution was excellent, Jenny. I'm not surprised. The performance of the Irish Division last year is testimony to your great ability and commitment. I want you to know that we are deeply grateful to you.'
Vice President, Bill Collins interjected: 'I'll second that.'
'Fine,' said the President, 'why don't we drink to that?'
All agreed, and twenty glasses clinked merrily in Jenny's honour.
Smiling gracefully, she thanked them for the kind words and hospitality, and expressed the hope that their confidence in her would continue to be justified.
Ken was hugely impressed. He was proud to be married to this beautiful young 'genius'. This was the living proof, the recognition, the confirmation of what he always felt. There was only one Jenny - she was the greatest - God, how lucky he was.
The Gala Dinner was a glittering formal affair, hosted by the President and Chief Executive, Bob Taylor, and attended by the 'Heads' of all the International Divisions. Jenny and Ken were impressed. They sat at round tables in the splendour of the Mediterranean Ballroom, bedecked for the occasion with masses of flowers, banners, enlarged hoardings, highlighting the company's logo, and huge blown-up photos of the 'Top Stars.'
The Menu was special too, a unique, artistic production. Embossed with the Coat of Arms of the company, specially designed on luxurious art board, adorned with gold cord, tassel, and ornate lettering. It was a work of art, a treasured memento, individually engraved with the name of each person present.
Each circular table sat eight. Jenny and Ken were ushered across to theirs, which was just a little way down from the podium, near the top table which was rectangular, seating all the big chiefs of the company. Jenny was pleased with her table's position - a great view of everything. She was less happy with the proximity of Don Lenihan, to the right of Ken, his wife Meg beside Jenny. Never mind, she told herself, he'll be on his best behaviour here. He'll be trying to impress the 'Chiefs.' No doubt, he'll be thinking of further promotion, perhaps Canada or America - Don isn't near finished climbing yet. They can have him as far as she was concerned; they are welcome to him.
The meal was a seven-course feast, the vintage wine flowing like waterfalls. Jenny wondered was it all too much - would they be able to rise from the table? 'Oh, never-mind, the dance afterwards will shake us up; it's a long night ahead.'
The speeches began. Toasts were proposed to the President of The United States of America, the Prime Minister of Canada, The Queen of England, and The president of Ireland. Bob Taylor gave a fine welcoming speech, eulogising the successes of Global Life over 150 years and looking forward to even greater times ahead for "this great company."
Then the presentation of the awards to the high achievers. This was always the pinnacle in the careers of those highly motivated Sales Executives, their moment of glory. Jenny always admired those special sales-people. They were at the coal-face, brought in the business, kept the whole show going. Their scrolls and awards would be cherished, as would the individual photos with the President of the company. The applause rang out for each recipient, the atmosphere was euphoric.
Then came the moment that silenced the ballroom - the revealing of the tightly guarded secret.
Mr Taylor explained. 'At every President's Convention, a special Award of Merit is presented to the person whom the company adjudged to have made the greatest contribution towards its overall success. The person' he said, 'that exceeded the call of duty, excelled in their particular role, and through their ability and commitment, provided a shining example for the rest of us.'
He opened the envelope to hushed silence.
'The Award of Merit of this President's Convention goes to a beautiful young lady from Ireland, the Head of Underwriting in Dublin: Jenny Howard/McKevitt.'
Thunderous applause followed - a standing ovation. Jenny held her hands
tightly against her face, stunned, bewildered and speechless. She looked at Ken, who was reaching over, arms outstretched to hug her. She was overwhelmed. Ken helped her to the rostrum, Bob Taylor embraced and kissed her, then presented her with the award. She held it up - just a little, it was so heavy. It was a huge 'Waterford' crystal vase with something special engraved on the side. Holding it out, she gazed at it in amazement, tears streaming down her cheeks.
The President took the microphone again.
'I better explain,' he said, ' The engraving that we chose for this magnificent peace of Waterford Crystal is from a photograph of Jenny and her father, Sam, taken outside our head office in Dublin on the day she began her career with Global Life. What makes it special is the fact that sadly, Sam is no longer with us.' He turned to Jenny. 'We want you to know, Jenny, that this presentation is in recognition of your great work, and also in remembrance of the wonderful contribution made to the success of our company by your late, great father, Sam Howard.
The crowd erupted again, cameras flashed from all sides of the ballroom, the second standing ovation lasted longer than the first. Jenny approached the microphone. She thanked the President, the company, her colleagues, and all present. She said she hoped and believed that her father was with them in spirit to enjoy 'this special moment.' On behalf of her mother, June, back home in Ireland, she thanked them again and assured them that she would cherish the memory of 'this wonderful night for the rest of her life.'
The dance was a joyous, swinging affair. With plenty of wine consumed, legs were well lubricated. The powerful sound of the big band was too good to sit out - the floor was full for every dance. Previously over-dressed men were now in their shirt-sleeves, sweating profusely, hot ladies endeavouring to keep their make-up intact. It was heavy going but wonderful enjoyment.
The band was something else, agreed Ken and Jenny. A multi-coloured ten-piece Showband, The Orlando Stompers. Their programme included everything: Trad, Jazz, Rock-n-Roll, Latin American, Glen Miller, and even a bit of Irish. A brilliant two hour programme without a second wasted.
Jenny slumped down in her seat completely jaded after a long session of wild jiving to a swinging medley of 'sixties' Rock-n-Roll. Ken was exhausted too and took a long swig of beer to cool down.
'Something slow and romantic now, said the bandleader.
'Come on,' Jenny grabbed Ken, 'couldn't miss this,' it was beautiful, a slow waltz.
They danced slowly, tightly, dreamily, to the hauntingly beautiful Tenor Sax solo, with the pianist and rhythm section exquisitely whispering behind. For Ken and Jenny, it was just heavenly, romantic would be an understatement.
'And now,' said the bandleader, 'our next number is a special request for a gentleman from Ireland, his name is Ken. A little bird told us he likes 'Glen Miller.' We hope, Sir, you enjoy this one: 'Moonlight Serenade.'
Ken was flabbergasted but delighted. Glen Miller was always his musical idol, saw the film at least six times, bought all his records, puts them on whenever he's a bit down.
As they danced to the marvellous unique sound, Ken knew the 'little bird' that gave up the request was Jenny. He would thank her later - in bed.
'The final number in this set is another special request,' said the bandleader. 'This time for a very beautiful and special lady, also from Ireland. We understand she has been honoured here to-night. This is at the request of none other than the President himself. It's for you, Jenny ... hope you like it.'
She wondered what it might be, waited in astonishment. Then, her all-time favourite melody, arranged in a magnificent orchestration filled the ballroom: 'Somewhere over the Rainbow.'
How did they know? Ken had something to do with it - that's for sure. She was overcome with emotion, the sound was so beautiful, filling every fibre of her being. All she could do was hold on to Ken tightly, as they slowly, romantically hugged around the floor, soaking up the magic and beauty of it all.
It was well after midnight when they made their way through the dimly-lit corridors to the lift and up to their bedroom. The air conditioning provided a welcome coolness as they staggered in and collapsed on the big double bed. Lying there motionless for a moment they were reflecting on all that had taken place earlier, letting it all sink in. It was just wonderful, beyond their wildest dreams. Now it was time to crown it all with blissful love that couldn't be suppressed any longer.
They undressed, urgently, hungry for each other, ready to give and love as never before. Kissing passionately, they explored each other with a new infectious curiosity, generating powerful charges of electricity that would demand to be released. Instinctively, their bodies fused in a magnetic coupling that made them one, banishing the sparks of friction and worry into oblivion. Now ready for the blissful trip of a lifetime, Ken checked himself, eased off slightly, moved back from the brink - concerned for Jenny's fragility. She was surprisingly strong, wanted more of him, ravenous for him, grabbing him, arching, thrusting upwards with new energy and urgency. Locked together, moving in rhythm faster and faster, deeper and deeper, frenzied, Ken wasn't holding back now. Hypnotised with ecstasy, he tried to make it last longer and longer, but he couldn't. Like a massive shock of electricity surging through him, he clutched her in a tight locking grip, feeling her strain frantically beneath him, they both moaned the hysteric cry of beautiful joint release, as their energies ebbed away in a rushing tide of golden syrup.
Breathless and elated, they basked together in the joyous aftermath of contented exhaustion. The thought flashed through Ken's mind. This surely must be what Dr Lucas meant: "given all the right circumstances." Could this be it? It certainly couldn't have been any better. Jenny had given her all. It was Heaven, a beautiful sensation of total love that must surely initiate life.
Mentally, Jenny was thinking the same. Could it be, she wondered, that this day had been so special in every other way, that it might prove even more special and important for the rest of their lives. It would be a dream come through, and to-night they were both in dreamland.
* * *
The sun was setting over a peaceful Dream Valley at the end of a sultry June day. The horses were munching contentedly, savouring their sweet hay. It was a pleasant, reassuring sound that Garry liked to hear as he did his tour of inspection of the stables, before retiring for the night.
All ten stables were now occupied. He looked over the half-doors of the new inmates. They were beauties, four-year-olds, good pedigrees, strong correct types - should pay their way. It was now a viable little operation, cash flow had improved, the work schedule better organised, and everything was going according to plans. Little Johnny Coady coming in for three hours every morning was a blessing. Garry and Emily could now concentrate on the training of the horses, while Johnny did all the mucking-out, washing down, and other odd jobs around the yard. A small little fellow, single, about sixty, living alone in a cottage nearby, Garry was delighted when he arrived in the yard offering his services. He was semi-retired, but with lots of experience, having worked on the Curragh for many years as a stable lad. Emily was pleased too, being relieved of the heavy work, which meant her bones didn't ache as much in the evenings.
Back in the house the hot humidity was overbearing. Garry let down all the little sash windows and left the half-door open. The coffee he usually had before bed didn't appeal to him - it was too warm. Remembering the two cans of 'Bud' in the fridge he grabbed one of them, lit a cigarette, got the 'Racing Post,' and spread himself across the sofa.
It was quiet and peaceful, so silent it almost felt eerie. Reaching over to the little radio on the dresser, he switched on the local station, eased back on the sofa to the strains of Tom Jones and 'It's not unusual.'
Every hour, on the hour, the station broadcast the national news, followed by a short bulletin of local news. Normally it didn't interest Garry, passed over him without really hearing it. The last item of local news grabbed his attention. He sat up, dropped the paper on his knees, removed the cigarette from
his lips.
'A woman, believed to be an elderly lady from South Kilkenny, was fatally injured in a traffic accident this afternoon on the Waterford/Kilkenny road. Her car was in collision with an articulated lorry at Clanmore, about one mile from Thomastown. She died instantly at the scene. The driver of the lorry was uninjured.'
Garry exhaled the long breath he was holding, and shook his head. He wondered who it could be? Someone from around here. Those big trucks, they were lethal, he thought angrily. They go far too fast - you've no chance with them if something happen - and they always come out best. That poor woman was probably driving along correctly, then smashed into oblivion. It's just not fair - something should be done about it.
He relaxed again, studying the race results in more detail: the owners, trainers, and the breeding of the winners. This was an important exercise. If he discovered relatives of his own horses winning, he would make notes of the 'conditions' of the races, distance, ground, weight etc. It all helped in evaluating his own horses and placing them to their best advantage.
The mobile rang. Bloody Hell! Who could this be at this hour of the night? It was Emily.
'What is it, Emily? Did you forget something?'
'No Garry, I just rang to tell you about Mrs Dilworth ... did you hear it on the radio?'
He didn't answer. He couldn't. He just sat there staring into space, speechless, mesmerised.
'Garry ... hello ... are you there?'
'Yeah, yeah Emily, I am ... I'm just so shocked ... God, this is awful ... I heard it ... I did ... never thought it would be Mrs Dilworth ... what happened?'
'Dad was coming home from Waterford, happened on it. She was driving along on her right side and all. This big truck was meeting her, coming behind a van. The van stopped suddenly, the truck couldn't stop and jack-knifed across the road and into Mrs Dilworth. Dad said they had to cut her out ... she was in bits. He said you wouldn't even know what kind of car she was driving. Terribly sad isn't it, Garry, and she such a lovely woman.'
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