by Karen Welch
Sometime during the night he woke to an alarming realization. Peg seemed convinced her father expected her to dedicate her life to sustaining his empire, but Michael had all but bribed Kendall to consider marrying her. Not that he could tell Peg that, and in the same breath admit that he’d refused the offer. Still, why would Michael give her such an impression and then speak so offhandedly of her marrying, not for money, but for love and security? There could be only one reason, as far as he could see. Michael wanted to choose a husband for Peg, and until he succeeded, he was content to let her think marriage was not in her future. Control, of his daughter and his fortune, depended on her marrying a man hand-picked by Michael Shannon himself. Apparently he had decided Kendall was that man.
He spent the day with that thought never far from his mind, following Peg through her Sunday routine of church, lunch at yet another fine restaurant, and an afternoon concert at the home of some friends. The performance, by an up-and-coming young pianist, seemed to bore Peg. She fidgeted in her seat and cast longing looks in his direction, as though begging for an excuse to leave. During the interval, when her father was occupied at the buffet, she whispered, “If I say I have a headache, will you offer to take me home in a cab? Don’t make a fuss, but I really don’t want to stay any longer.”
“I suppose. Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Fine. There are just other things I’d rather be doing.” With a subtle slump to her shoulders, she started toward her father and Kendall followed obediently.
Michael expressed suitable concern, but in the end agreed that the room was stuffy and she might do well to go home and rest. “See to her, will you Kendall? I may go to the Oak Room for supper.”
Typical, he thought grudgingly as he stood by while Peg called a cab. If she were actually ill, he wondered if Michael would do more than make sure someone else was there to care for her. Once again, his mind went to the possibility of returning to New York. The sight of Peg, coming toward him with a smile in her eyes did nothing to discourage that notion.
“You’re sure you’re not ill?” he asked as they stood waiting for a cab.
“No, of course not! Although I was getting pretty sick of Chopin.” She made a face, complete with scrunched nose, and Kendall laughed in relief.
“He was giving it his all, you have to admit. Maybe just a smidge less rocking over the keyboard and a tad more attention to the notes. So what is it you would rather be doing this evening?”
“I was hoping you might have some suggestions.” Eyes glittering, she ducked into the cab as he held the door.
“Ah. Well, let’s see. I’ve seen most of the major attractions, have I not? Although I have yet to make it to the top of the Empire State Building. Not that I’m all that fond of heights.” He straightened his jacket and pretended to brush lint from his shoulder.
Peg slapped him lightly on the thigh. “You know very well that’s not what I meant. It’s less than twenty-four hours before your mother gets back. And I’m betting you’re not going to let her know what’s been going on between us. I want to make the most of the time we have left.”
“By make the most. . .you’re surely not suggesting. . .?” He withheld a grin at her obvious impatience.
“I’m not suggesting, Kendall,” she said through clenched teeth.
He chuckled, laying a hand over hers and pressing it into his thigh. “I see. Shouldn’t we at least wait until we get home, or would you like for me to make unsuitable advances right here in the back of the taxi?”
“Oh, no! Today I’m in control. Unsuitable doesn’t even begin to describe. . .” Before she could go further, he grasped her chin, capturing the last of her words in a deep kiss.
“Just hold that thought, love. I can wait for the details.”
“My room this time.”
“Really? Is that wise?”
“There’s no one home. And even if they were, they’d never check on me. I left a note for Mrs. Leary that I’m resting and will want a light supper later. Dad will be out, probably until late. When he goes to the Oak Room, it’s because he knows some of his cronies will be there.”
“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 sti
rred, 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.”
