The Lady

by Anne McCaffrey

  He got to his feet before she realized what he was doing and pulled her to him. He heard her gasp of surprise, but not denial, and quickly bent his head to kiss her slightly open mouth. His left hand cupped a silk-covered breast. He felt her stiffen and would have released her had she not, in the next instant, melted against him, her hands reaching up to his neck.

  He could feel passion flaring up, so abruptly that it startled him. To get control of himself, he forced himself to release her, but she clung and buried her head against his chest. He allowed himself the luxury of holding her closely, feeling her slender, vibrant body pressing against him.

  “Selina . . . ” He was desperate not to say the wrong thing.

  “Come,” she whispered, abruptly releasing her hold to take his hand and lead him up the stairs.

  He needed no further invitation, and then she was beside him on the silken cover of her bed, her warm, naked skin against his own with no memory of having stripped, so great had been their urgency. Michael hadn’t known how keenly he had needed sexual relief until he had plunged into her willing body. To his delight, her rhythm was as fierce as his own, seeking, seeking, seeking the release that broke over them both, so exquisite he cried aloud with the pain of it. Her voice joined his.

  He was strengthless when it was over. When he had recovered enough to move away, her arms held him.

  “I’ll crush you,” he whispered.

  She shook her head. But, mindful of having bony hips, he moved just a bit to one side and propped himself up on his elbows so he could see her face. She looked beautiful in the soft light of the May evening, a marvelous smile lifting the corners of her mouth. She reached up and ran a finger lightly over his lips. He kissed the searching finger, and her smile deepened.

  Thought or speech seemed unnecessary until they both became aware of the cool breeze coming from the open window.

  “I had better go,” he said in a reluctant whisper.

  “Thank you, Michael, for a marvelous day,” she said, the innocuous phrase contrasting with a grin of pure sensuality.

  With a laugh he embraced her once more, able to kiss her lightly before he rolled to a sitting position. As he reached for his scattered clothes, he felt her hands caressing his bare flesh, and he gently but firmly lifted them off.

  “I have got to leave, Selina.”

  She gave a low sensual laugh but did not interfere again. When he had dressed, he turned to look once more at her naked slender body, stretched in an alluring pose on the bed.

  “Good night, sweet wanton. It was a marvelous evening, too.”

  Her laughter followed him down the stairs and out of the house.

  18

  WHEN habit roused Michael the next morning, light was streaming into the room, which was unusual as Isabel always kept the heavy brown drapes pulled shut. It took him a moment to realize that they were not Isabel’s drapes. They were, however, familiar, and his sleepy mind managed to identify them: the old cream-and-crimson-striped drapes from his father’s tenancy of this room. He flipped onto his back, now aware of the empty space on his left, and, stuffing the pillows behind his head, looked about him.

  He smiled as he noticed other changes. How very considerate of Eithne. She had taken down all the religious pictures, even the heavy wooden cross. He was most grateful to see that the prie-dieu was gone. Isabel’s dressing table had been removed as well and his press repositioned between the windows. He must remember to thank Eithne. He hadn’t realized just how much the room had depressed him.

  He lay for another moment, listening to an aimless whistle: Mick walking down the Ride to the yard for the beginning of the day. Resolutely he thrust back the blanket, then swore under his breath.

  He’d have to take the brothers into the airport this morning, right about the time Selina was likely to arrive. And he very much wanted to be here and gauge her mood. Jesus, but last night had been marvelous! And a surprise. He hadn’t intended to chance his arm that way: not with Selina Healey. But God, it’d been good. She had been as eager as he. Pulling on corduroy slacks, Michael frowned. Why had she been as eager? Was Healey a cold bastard in bed as well?

  He shaved quickly, for once managing not to nick himself in his haste. Then he looked at himself in critical appraisal. Well, he didn’t look as dissipated or cynical as Paddy, nor had he developed Eamonn’s jowls. In fact, he looked younger than they did. Clean living, lots of exercise, fresh Irish air, and not many opportunities for the high living his brothers enjoyed. But was it enough to attract a woman who was—and he made himself think it—younger than his eldest son?

  Michael cleared his throat, amused and slightly dismayed by the tenor of his thoughts. Yes, he was attracted to Selina. Who wouldn’t be? But last night, he told himself, Selina was kind to you, responding honestly to a creature need. Leave it at that. She certainly will.

  He splashed after-shave on his face, winced at the sting, and dried his hands. He heard Philip coming down the hall and opened the bathroom door. Philip wasn’t there. Surprised, Michael heard the faintest creak of a door being opened. He peered around the corner and saw Philip checking quietly on Catriona.

  “Sleeping?” he asked quietly.

  “And looking a lot better, Dad.” Philip smiled with relief, sleepily scratching at his head. “The uncles saw she had a good time yesterday.”

  “You gave Teasle a great show, Philip, a great show!” He gave his son a friendly slap on the back before he went on his way down the steps.

  Michael reminded himself to get Teasle’s papers and vet records from his office. He could drop them off to the D’Albrettis on his way back through town and check to see if Artie had taken good care of the gelding and the pony. He had no doubts that the boy had, but it was up to him to check.

  “You’re to eat in the dining room, Captain,” Bridie said with a mild sniff. “There’s too many of you cluttering up m’kitchen.”

  “In good form today, are you, Bridie Doolin?”

  “No better’n I should be.” She sniffed more emphatically. “G’win with ya. She can pour your coffee.”

  Michael gave a mental twitch: so Eithne was not in Bridie’s good books today. If his sister-in-law had been disturbing Isabel’s ordering of Cornanagh, that was to be expected. Maybe now was the time to get in a proper housekeeper. Last Christmas Isabel had been saying that Bridie was getting on and really shouldn’t be asked to do more than the cooking.

  “Is Catriona awake yet, Michael?” Eithne asked, looking up from her perusal of the Times. “I really don’t think she should go back to school this week at all. She was exhausted last night.”

  “Everyone was,” he began carefully. “And let me thank you for rearranging”—he hesitated only briefly, still unaccustomed to Isabel’s absence from his life—”my room. It can’t have been an easy task for you.”

  “Well, it had to be done, and I felt that the sooner the better,” she said, looking both troubled and grateful as she poured his coffee. “I’ve given most of her clothes to St. Vincent’s: easier that way. But I saved out some of her lovely jumpers. Catriona will grow into them. That child is growing, Michael. Anything personal I’ve put together for you to go through—later on. Did Isabel leave a will of any kind?”

  Michael shook his head. “I doubt that it ever occurred to her.”

  “Any word from Jack?”

  Again Michael shook his head: he was beginning to worry. At that point Bridie arrived with his breakfast, and Owen appeared, yawning mightily.

  “You’ll be late, dear,” Eithne said, glancing anxiously at the clock on the breakfront.

  “Ah, sure, the old man’ll be understanding today. Got to wish the uncles a safe trip, you know.”

  Eamonn and Patrick reached the dining room just as Philip left for work, with “safe trip home” to the uncles and a cheerful “God bless” to the entire room, and Catriona appeared shortly after.

  “Trina,” Michael began, “when Selina comes, would you ride out with her?
”

  Catriona started to agree, then stopped. He suppressed a smile because his question had completed her waking up. “Who? I didn’t think Conker was sound yet.”

  “No, I’d like you to ride Charlie this morning.”

  “You mean it, Daddy?”

  “I mean it,” he said, smiling broadly now at the delighted surprise on her pretty face. It had suddenly occurred to him that Catriona was pretty: certainly now, when she was so animated at the prospect of riding Charlie. “Emmett needs a good long hack, and I’d rather Selina had company. You’re elected. I’m taking your uncles to the airport, and I’ll have to stop off with Teasle’s papers . . . .”

  “Oh, Daddy, say good-bye to him for me.” Catriona’s face reflected her regret.

  “I will, so if you and Selina can take some of the edge off the two geldings, we can get back to some real schooling tomorrow.”

  “The leg pond hill?” Catriona asked, brightening again, for that was one of her favorite long rides. When Blister’s shins had been bucked, she often walked him over to the little stream, standing him in the pool, which, most seasons, was knee-deep for horses. They could nibble cress on the banks and would stand quite quietly while the running water soothed their legs.

  “And see if you can trot both horses to the crest.” He glanced at the ormolu clock on the sideboard. He hated the thing, a wedding gift from one of the Marshall relations, but it kept the most accurate time in the house. “C’mon, brothers. Traffic across town can be heavy.”

  While Owen went up to collect their luggage, Michael had a chance to speak to Eithne.

  “I think we ought to pack away Isabel’s knicknacks, too, Eithne,” he said. “Mrs. Marshall has so often told us how valuable they are. Perhaps she’d like to keep them.”

  Eithne met his eyes squarely, her own startled. “Why, I think that’s a very good idea, Michael. I didn’t want to suggest . . . ” She faltered.

  He touched her arm. “Eithne, I’ll support any changes you care to make here at Cornanagh. And d’you have any idea where those hunting prints of my father’s disappeared to? I’d like them back in my room.”

  “Yes, I can certainly do that,” she said with a quick smile. “They’re in the attic. The whole house wants a good turning out.”

  Michael drove out of the courtyard with his brothers, while everyone sent them on their way with good wishes and God blesses. Eamonn was in the passenger seat while Patrick sprawled his long legs across the back.

  “I don’t think I’ve had a chance to mention it, Mike,” Eamonn said as they turned up the Kilquade road, “But the old place looks great. The father would be pleased.”

  “His ghost makes certain I do a good job,” Michael replied, gratified that Eamonn, at least, had noticed.

  “Any word yet from Father Jack in Central America?” Patrick wanted to know.

  Michael shook his head. “It’ll hit him very hard indeed. He adored his mother.”

  “Ah, sure he can say a daily mass for the repose of her soul for the rest of his life.” Patrick had never been devout and considered the priesthood an escape from reality.

  “On the subject of my sons,” Michael said, glancing in the rearview mirror to see Patrick’s reaction, “I noticed you and Philip talking a fair bit over the past few days. It was one of Isabel’s hopes that perhaps he could do better for himself in the States. Would you have any ideas on that score, Paddy?”

  “As a matter of fact, Mike”—Patrick leaned forward—“I was very much impressed by Phil. He’s got all the family charm and most of the looks. Said he didn’t get much of a challenge selling cars for Crawford’s, especially as the son would take over when the old man retires. Did you make enough out of horses to send him to college?”

  There was just a faint tinge of bitterness in Patrick’s voice. He had never forgotten, or forgiven, old Tyler that after the war there hadn’t been enough money to pay college fees.

  “I did. He went to UCD and took a second in liberal arts. Lord, Paddy, he doesn’t have to go into advertising. There’re plenty of horse farms out on Long Island . . . .”

  “And plenty of rich and useless young female equestriennes, too, riding all kinds of mounts,” Patrick said. “Is that what you have in mind for Phil?”

  “God, but you’re American,” Eamonn said, rather disgusted.

  “I’d rather he and Owen had more opportunity than they have here in Ireland, and what else are well-placed relatives good for?” Michael grinned into the rearview mirror.

  “Phil, yes,” Patrick said, “but Owen, no.” He leaned back again. “I have enough people sucking up to me in the office. I don’t need it from my relatives, too. Now Phil has a lot of charm and I expect he has sufficient chutzpah to do well. Nephew Owen comes on too strong.”

  “It’s because he’s a posthumous baby,” Eamonn said, mimicking Eithne’s breathy, apologetic tones. The brothers all chuckled.

  “I’ll toss it around a bit, Mike, and see what I can do for Phil,” Patrick said, and his older brother was content to leave it at that.

  “Speaking of Eithne,” Eamonn began, clearing his throat as one does before introducing a delicate subject, “is she staying on?”

  “I certainly hope so.” Michael shot a quick concerned look at Eamonn, who appeared embarrassed. “Why? She’s settled at Cornanagh, and where else would she go? Longford and that father of hers?”

  “It’s not that, Michael, it’s . . . well . . . ”

  “Something your mother-in-law, that bitch, let fall,” Patrick finished what his brother could not.

  “What do you mean?”

  “About how convenient it was now for Eithne and you.”

  “What!” The Austin swerved suddenly, but he recovered with a deft adjustment of the wheel. “Eithne lives in the mews house,” he said crisply.

  “Sure, sure, Mike, we know that,” Eamonn said soothingly, “but I did notice that Eithne’s still a damned attractive woman. And you’re now single.”

  “Christ, man, the flowers on my wife’s grave are still fresh! You can be sure I’m not thinking of marrying for a long time.”

  Patrick gave an appreciative snort. “Just to warn you.”

  “Did Eithne hear this?”

  “I suspect Mairead Marshall took pains to see that she did.”

  “Damn!” Michael slapped the steering wheel in frustration. He had been very naive to think that his mother-in-law had gone out of his life. “I’ll get a housekeeper. A woman of unassailable virtue. She can even lock me in at night, but I am not asking Eithne to leave Cornanagh, not after everything she’s done for the family all these years.”

  “And everything, might I add, that the family has done for her,” Patrick murmured. “Wicklow is a touch better than Longford.”

  “God, you are cynical, Paddy,” Michael said.

  “Pragmatic.”

  “Sorry, Mike, but we thought we ought to warn you,” Eamonn said unhappily.

  “I’m glad you did. Damn that woman!”

  “Just don’t let her get her hands on Trina,” Eamonn went on.

  “You’re not changing your mind about sending Patricia over, are you?” Michael shot his brother a frown. “Trina’s counting on it, and I don’t want her disappointed.”

  “Hell, Mike, of course she’s coming.” He hesitated.

  “G’wan, tell him,” Patrick said, grinning slyly at his brother’s hesitation.

  “Tell me what?”

  “I’ve decided to file for a divorce,” Eamonn said quickly, and then glanced at his older brother. “Shirley’s got a serious drink problem, and she’s ruining the kids’ lives. That’s why Patty goes to a boarding school and why I asked you to take her for the summer.”

  Michael glanced back at Patrick and saw from his expression that he knew all of this and approved of Eamonn’s decision.

  “I hadn’t any idea it was like that,” Michael said, seeking a diplomatic response.

  “Legal divorce is just anot
her advantage of living in the United States,” Patrick said.

  “The divorce proceedings may be dirty,” Eamonn went on, shooting a quelling glance at Patrick. “Shirley will contest it. Once I’ve got Patricia off to you, as soon as school’s out, I’ll file the papers. But I don’t want Patty in the middle of the mess. I know she’ll be safe and happy in Ireland. Is that okay with you?”

  “I see no reason to change my mind. You’re lucky you can get a divorce, Eamonn.”

  They were in the center of Dublin now, the brothers keenly interested in the changes they noticed. They reached the airport with sufficient time to spare for a quick farewell pint. Patrick was particularly pleased to sink one more Guinness.

  “God, if it only tasted as good when it gets across the Atlantic!” Wistfully he turned his pint, admiring the foam and the deep rich brown of the stout. “What a campaign I could mount!”

  “You’d be stones heavier in no time,” Michael said, giving Patrick’s incipient paunch an affectionate punch. He had to keep a light touch in conversation or he’d get maudlin. He’d forgotten how much he liked his brothers and how easily they had reestablished old bonds, and arguments. He was more grateful for their support the past few days than he could ever express.

  “Oh, a couple of saunas and few games of handball, and I’ll have that all worked off.” But Patrick’s hand stayed at his middle, and his eyes flickered to Michael’s trimmer figure. “Leg give you any trouble, old man?”

  “Only when I laugh!”

  At that old tag line all three laughed, just as the departure of the New York flight was announced. With masculine dignity, they embraced, thumping each other soundly.

  As Eithne went back into the house with Catriona, the girl said, “I’ll be with Conker, Auntie Eithne.” She was still joyous over her father’s permission to ride Charlie, but Eithne was worried about her. She didn’t believe that Catriona truly realized yet that her mother was dead. Even Michael, she thought, had a sort of dazed look this morning.

  “D’you need the paper, missus?” Bridie’s question recalled her to her own reality.