Shannon's Daughter

by Karen Welch

  Maeve provided material when it was announced that she was pregnant. Kendall reported that Reggie was taking an overly clinical attitude toward the situation, his conversations now peppered with far too much detail for his single mates to tolerate. Maeve on the other hand seemed uncharacteristically serene, decorating the nursery and if not actually knitting booties, shopping for them. “I’m just a bit jealous of Reggie and Maeve, if the truth were known. They’ve settled into married life so naturally, they make it look quite idyllic. You don’t suppose I’m getting sentimental with age do you? I always imagined I’d just be hitting my stride in my thirties, but the idea of settling down in that ivy-covered cottage you once mocked grows more appealing all the time.”

  Peg wrote back that he should spend less time with Reggie and Maeve until after the baby came, when things would surely be more chaotic and less idyllic. “You’ll be counting your blessings when you can go home to a quiet flat leaving Reggie to walk the floor all night with the little darling.”

  They struggled along, each seeming to feel compelled to respond to the other’s letters, until at the end of June, Peg abruptly went silent. Kendall went so far as to write a second time, thinking his last response might have been lost in the mail. She had written a lengthy description of her graduation from Columbia, closing by saying she planned to spend the summer refurbishing some of the rooms in the brownstone. Michael had given her free reign and after twenty-odd years, it was high time for some changes.

  If her silence worried him, he tried to convince himself it was for the best. His instant assumption was that she had fallen in love and couldn’t bring herself to tell him. She’d mentioned several trips to Cornell with her father, but he’d sensed something between the lines. Not precisely happy for her, he was nonetheless resigned to the idea that it was bound to happen eventually, and if some dashing Cornell man had won her heart, then at least Michael should be pleased.

  The summer’s pace was hectic, with the addition of a tour of Scotland with the Glyndebourne company in August. Kendall had little time to waste nursing a bruised heart, although if he’d been honest, Peg’s sudden disappearance from his life left an aching void he had no ambition to fill.

  On the night of August 20, on his return from Scotland, he’d had a late dinner with his mother and Patrick. Finally heading home, he was brooding over his mother’s accusation that he had become a virtual recluse, unwilling to put forth any effort to cultivate a social life. She’d gone even further, suggesting Peg had only used him the previous summer, and while her help had been appreciated, she felt sure he must have known a girl like Peg would never give up her life in New York. “You must get on with your life, darling. There’s a lovely woman out there just waiting for you to find her. But I doubt very much she’ll wait forever while you bury yourself in your work.”

  As he lugged his bags up the stairs from the entry, where he’d hastily deposited them on his run from the station to his mother’s, he silently cursed himself for accepting the invitation in the first place. Better to have come home, gotten a good night’s rest and settled in before facing the inevitable grilling. He banged his shin as he dropped the largest of his suitcases and muttered the responding curses aloud to the empty stairwell, jamming his key into the lock with more force than necessary.

  The flat was stifling after being closed up for the past three weeks. It took him a moment to orient himself, before two things struck him in quick succession. First, the room was uncommonly dark, as though the drapes had been drawn, although he never closed them. No need for privacy on the third floor overlooking an alley. Secondly, and setting his heart racing irrationally, he smelled lemons on the warm stale air.

  Taking a step toward the lamp, he banged his shin again, nearly losing his balance. “Blast! What in . . .?” Switching on the light, he blinked down at a disorderly pile of luggage heaped just inside the door. His gaze went to a stack of dishes on the kitchen counter, traveling on to something blue draped over the back of an armchair. Warily, his eyes moved around the space, spotting a pair of high heeled shoes tucked under the end table. Taking a cautious step, he peered over the back of the couch.

  “Peg?”

  There was no response. She was stretched on her back, arms flung above her head, wearing nothing but a white silk slip, which clung damply to her body. In the dim light, he could see the iridescent sheen of perspiration on her skin. He repeated her name, this time in a tone of awestruck wonder.

  She came to consciousness abruptly, sitting up with a gasp, her arms crossed over her chest. “Oh, thank God, it’s you!”

  “Were you expecting someone else?”

  Scrubbing her hands down her face, she shook her head. “No. I just didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Would I be out of line to ask what you’re doing here?”

  She looked up with an apologetic half-smile. “No.”

  He stared at her, drinking in the sight of glistening flesh and the tumble of hair curling around her shoulders. The bone-weariness of just moments ago was replaced by a visceral surge of adrenaline. Striding across the room, he whipped aside the drapes and lifted the nearest window, relieved to feel the breath of cooler night air cross his face. “Why didn’t you open the windows? It’s unbearable in here.”

  “I was afraid someone could see in.”

  He shot her an incredulous scowl, moving to the other windows. “Highly unlikely. Nothing but a brick wall opposite.”

  She shrugged, swinging her feet to the floor. For the first time he noticed the change in her. Always slender, now she seemed fragile, the delicate bones of her shoulders visible as she lifted her hair off her neck. In the dim light, she was unnaturally pale and dark crescents were obvious beneath her eyes.

  Joining her on the couch, he studied her face, wondering how to proceed. “What’s going on, Peg?” he asked gently.

  “What do you mean? Oh, I know I should have let you know I was coming, but there wasn’t really time.” When he didn’t respond with another prompt, she sighed. “Are you upset? I mean that I let myself in? I still had my key from last year.”

  “No, of course not. How long have you been here?” He nodded toward the dishes.

  She paused, as though to calculate. “Three days.”

  “Why here? It can’t have been very comfortable for you.”

  “It was fine. I was disappointed you weren’t here, but your neighbor downstairs, the nice old gentleman, said you’d be back any day.”

  “Ah. Mr. Kemper.”

  “He seems to be the only one here.” She fidgeted with the lace edging her slip.

  “Yes. My landladies go to the Isle of Wight in August.” He couldn’t resist lifting a curl that clung to her shoulder. “I repeat, what’s going on, Peg?”

  “It’s a long story. Maybe I should save it for tomorrow. You look tired. Where have you been the past few days?”

  “Weeks. On tour with the orchestra. And don’t change the subject.”

  Her face twisted in a pained frown. “I’ve been so anxious for you to come home, and now I don’t know what to say.”

  “Unusual for you. Why not just tell me why you came all the way to London to hide out in my flat?”

  “I’m not hiding.” Her chin went up defiantly.

  “Aren’t you? From the looks of things, you’ve been closed up in here as though you were doing precisely that.”

  Her voice dropped to a near whisper. “I didn’t tell anyone where I was going when I left New York.”

  “I see. Why was that?”

  “Because I didn’t want them to follow me.”

  “Them?”

  “My. . .Michael.” Her lower lip trembling, she dropped her head.

  “Michael?” He waited, watching her face crumble, before pulling her close. “There now. Don’t tell me you’ve had a falling out with your father?”

  She shook her head. “No. I just needed some time away from him.”

  “Why?” He was beginning to feel
slightly ruthless, but obviously she wasn’t going to volunteer anything.

  “It’s a long story.”

  “We have all night. Tell me.”

  Instead of answering, she turned her face up and kissed him. At the first tentative meeting of their lips, in the insistence of her hands tilting his head to deepen the kiss, he sensed the further difference in her. This kiss was not fueled by desire so much her need to turn the moment from something she couldn’t bring herself to face. When she did speak, it was to whisper, “I’ve missed you so much. Tell me you’ve missed me just a little?”

  Reason cautioned this was not the time to let her have her way. Reason however had little influence over his response to Peg in his arms. Reason could not prevent him from following her lead and greedily accepting what was offered.

  After a few frantic moments of groping and tugging at his clothes, she slipped out of the embrace. “Pull down the bed. I’ll be right back.” She started for the bathroom, turning back to see that he was obeying. “We’ll talk later, I promise. But right now I need you too much to worry about anything else.”

  A bucket of ice water could not have more effectively chilled his ardor. Whatever had brought her here, it was serious. He should make an effort to find out more before giving in to the promise of a night of passion. On the other hand, he argued as he lowered the bed into position, if she was as emotionally fragile as she’d seemed moments ago, he should let her come to him with the details in her own time. If she needed that night of passion so desperately, who was he to deny her? The faint echo of his conscience faded as she came through the door, her eyes dark with desire and her arms outstretched as though she couldn’t reach him quickly enough.

  Their lovemaking that night was unlike any in the past. There was a new, feverish intensity in Peg, a frenetic determination to pleasure and be pleasured. She was at once demanding and vulnerable, as though she half-expected him to refuse her. He found himself distracted by the obvious loss of weight, as beneath his hands he felt the outline of her spine and ribs. Within the narrowed contours of her pale face, her eyes appeared huge, a shadow of something pained and wary present even in passion. Peg, who had always been so self-assured, appeared to watch him as they made love, seeking approval.

  “You do want me,” she breathed against his neck when they finally collapsed, sated and drenched in sweat.

  “Of course I do. I think I’ve made that abundantly clear any number of times.”

  “But things change. I was afraid. . .”

  “Peg, nothing has changed here. What is it that’s changed with you?”

  She sighed, turning her head away from him. “I don’t want to talk about it now. For tonight, just let me sleep in your arms. Please? I feel so safe when you’re holding me.”

  He gathered her closer, stroking her hair until she finally relaxed against him. If his heart hammered at the questions she’d refused to answer, he at least had the satisfaction of knowing, whatever she was running from, she had run to him.

  Chapter Forty-one

  He woke to roaming, insistent hands and the tingle of teeth on his earlobe. Without opening his eyes, he smiled. “You didn’t get enough of that last night?”

  “That was last night.” When she would have rolled on top of him, he held her off.

  “Not so fast. I think we both need food, not to mention a shower, before we start that again.”

  She fell back on the sheets with a groan. “You’re no fun, you know that?”

  “That’s not what you said last night. Let me see, if my memory serves you said I was wonderful, amazing and what was that other thing. . .insatiable?”

  “No, you said I was insatiable.”

  “Ah, well, it goes both ways. You had me responding in kind more times than I could count.”

  “And yet now you want food more than you want me?” He rolled his eyes to the ceiling in mocking consideration. “Fine! I get the shower first.” Throwing aside the sheet, she got as far as the edge of the bed before he hauled her back. Arms wrapped tightly around her waist, he knelt behind her with his face in the curve of her shoulder.

  “I have no idea what brought you here, brat. But I hope you know how happy I am to see you. Life without you is not quite living, I’m afraid.”

  She sagged against him, humming softly. “I missed you so much, Kendall. Please don’t send me away.”

  “Not a chance. I’m a selfish, greedy brute, and now you’re here, I intend to take full advantage.” He considered giving in to the moment’s opportunity, but instead gave her a little shove. “Shower while I find us something to eat.”

  He stepped into his wrinkled trousers and padded to the kitchen. “I don’t suppose you’ve done any shopping since you’ve been here?”

  From the bathroom, Peg responded, “No. There’s not much here. I ate the last of the canned soup last night.”

  A brief futile search and he called back, “I’ll run out to the market. Unless you’d like to go somewhere for breakfast?”

  “No.” She reappeared in the door, a towel loosely draped around her. The only word to describe the look in her eyes was fearful. “I don’t want to go out.”

  Unable to resist, he crossed the room to her, laying a hand on her tangled hair. “I won’t be long. And after we’ve eaten, we have the whole day here, nowhere to go, no one to see. But we do need to talk, love. All right?”

  She nodded solemnly, not quite meeting his eyes. “All right.”

  They ate a leisurely if mostly silent breakfast. Kendall showered and unpacked his bags. For much of the time he was busy puttering around the flat, Peg sat on the couch staring at a book but rarely turning a page. Finally taking a seat beside her, he took the book from her hands and set it aside.

  “It’s time to talk, sweetheart.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yes. You didn’t come all this way just to sit in silence. What are your plans?”

  She shrugged half-heartedly. “I don’t have any.”

  “I see. You just threw some things in a suitcase, hopped on a plane for England with nothing in mind. Surely New York wasn’t that boring?”

  “No.” She finally looked up to meet his eyes, clearly begging for a reprieve.

  “What happened? Was it a man?”

  She blinked in surprise. “No, of course not. Why would you ask that?”

  “You haven’t written in over six weeks. I figured you’d met someone and just couldn’t bring yourself to tell me.”

  “Oh, Kendall, no! That’s the farthest thing from the truth.” A sad little laugh caught in her throat. “The truth isn’t nearly so simple.”

  “Then what is the truth?”

  “It’s almost funny, really. I used to take such pleasure in pretending.” When he made no response, she sighed to fill the silence. “Turns out I’ve been pretending all my life. I just didn’t know it.”

  She looked away again, but this time he took her chin firmly, forcing her to meet his eyes. “I’ve never been very good at riddles. Why don’t you start at the beginning? Just tell me what happened.”

  “All right.” She drew a deep breath, blinking several times. “Remember I told you I was going to redecorate the house this summer?” He nodded. “Among other things, I was determined to redo my mother’s rooms. It was long overdue, but I also wanted those rooms for myself, so I’d have more space. Mrs. Leary said she’d help me go through everything, the clothes and books and all the things that hadn’t been touched since she died.”

  She paused, her eyes shifting to a spot over his shoulder, as though she were envisioning the scene. When she didn’t go on, he prompted gently, “I remember the day you showed me those rooms.”

  With another sigh, she went on, “I didn’t want to keep much of what was in there, but there was a French writing desk I’ve always loved. I must have looked in the drawers a hundred times, but I guess I’d never noticed the little book tucked at the very back of one of them.” Holding out her hands, she seemed
to be weighing some invisible object. “It was one of those cheap leatherette diaries, the kind with a locking clasp. I couldn’t find the key, so I used a hairpin to open it. It was so innocent, really. Just a young woman writing about her adventures in New York City, her ambitions and her disappointments. I was fascinated with the details and I took it to my room to read it all the way through.”

  When she paused, swallowing back what he suspected were tears, he rubbed a hand across her shoulders. “It seemed sort of mystical that it had been there all my life, and I’d never found it until now. I didn’t tell Mrs. Leary about it. I wanted it to be our little secret, my mother’s and mine.” Losing the battle, she wiped at the tears that pooled and flowed down her cheeks. “She wrote about being in love, but she never used the man’s name. She wrote about making love with him, about being a little bit ashamed, but how it would be all right, because they were going to get married as soon as he’d made enough money with some mysterious business deal in Chicago. Then there were a lot of blank pages, over three weeks without any entries. I thought at first she’d just stopped writing and I almost put the book back. But then I leafed to the back. She’d written one last time, several pages. The man she’d loved had been killed in an accident, she didn’t say how, and she was going to marry another man, a man she described as kind and understanding, a man who could give her everything a woman could dream of. A man who would be a good father to her child.”

  While he tried to piece together what she was saying, he waited, laying a hand over hers where she’d clenched them so tightly in her lap that the knuckles were white.

  “I was so confused. I read it through again, thinking I’d missed something that would explain it all. But I knew the man she was in love with was not. . .Michael Shannon. I finally went to Mrs. Leary. At first, she wouldn’t tell me anything, but when I threatened to go to him, she gave in.” Her eyes drifted to meet his and she shook her head slowly. “Isn’t it ironic that the things I was so sure of, the things that dictated the way I’d planned to live my life, were all a lie? It turns out I’m not Michael Shannon’s daughter after all.”