The Kilternan Legacy (24 page)

I was never more sincere when I told them that tea had revived me: tea and these irrepressible, valiant, and sensible ladies.

As I drove into my lane (a sense of possession did a great deal to abet the restoration of my equilibrium), I saw that the roadblock had been drawn to the side. Then I was struck by the quiet. Horseface was grazing at the far side of his field, as if he wished to be dissociated from the goings-on in the houses, and there wasn’t the least sign of activity. Not even the cheerful chimney plumes of smoke.

I was getting concerned when I saw the tail end of the blue Jaguar in my driveway. I parked hurriedly and almost ran into the house. Now what?

Shay Kerrigan was seated on the steps, looking quite at home, chatting on the telephone.

“Here she is now. Told you not to worry, Simon. Now go enjoy yourselves!”

He hung up, grinning so broadly that my half-formed suspicions of worse to come dissipated.

“We’ve cleared the whole lot off. Kieron and George have absconded with a veritable gaggle of females.” From his expression, one was led to suppose an act of incredible heroism on the men’s part. “Simon and Snow have been carried off by Jim-lad, Betty, and Mark Howard, and I am taking you away from all this.”

He grabbed me around the waist and spun me about in such a vigorous fashion that I had to grab his arms to keep from falling.

“Were you at the Brandels’?” he asked, still whirling me despite my protests. “Simon said you’d likely end up there.”

“Yes, yes. Now unhand me, villain!”

He stopped suddenly, and I clutched to keep my balance.

“Why should I?” he demanded in theatrical manner. “For the first time, I have you alone! In my power!”

His extravagant lightheartedness was an antidote to the morning’s grimness—but then he kissed me! All part of the act—but I kissed him back! (Those reflexes—those yearnings—don’t die easily.) And he kissed most satisfactorily. How long had it been since a man—an attractive-to-me man—had kissed me? The end effect, however, put my feet squarely under me, and I felt obliged to push firmly free of that embrace. I also felt obliged to laugh—no, giggle—as if I were a fair maiden alone and in his power.

“Sir James, your queen must garb herself afresh.” I caught the look in his eyes and made myself whirl away in the best romantic Hollywood tradition. “Adieu, and for a little while adieu …”

I dashed up the stairs as if Alice Hegarty were behind me. I was rather surprised at the way my pulse was pounding as I flung open the wardrobe door to find something suitable to wear.

How could I have forgotten that kisses burn on the lips in afterglow? Yes, and how could I have forgotten that something turned my level-headed, fair-minded, friendly great-aunt against the charming Sir Shamus-James Kerrigan?

My composure restored, my make-up repaired, and my knees only a trifle jellyish, I minced back downstairs. Shay came out of the living room, smiling in appreciation at my quick-changery.

“My, my,” and he meant the linen sheath I was wearing, “you certainly have wrought changes in the house. What next?”

“Today the kitchen! Tomorrow the hallway!” I made the appropriate grand gestures. “And then,” I added, suitably prosaic, “the bedrooms!”

“That green in the dining room certainly sets it off. Were you an interior decorator in the States?”

“No, but I like doing houses up. The nest-building instinct.”

“I thought you were a women’s libber.”

Before I’d thought to control the impulse, I turned to him. “Please don’t label me. Please don’t generalize like that!”

He raised his eyebrow at my fierce tone, and I relented.

“I’m sorry. Teddie, the twins’ father, used to do that.”

“Well, I am sorry if I offended you, pet,” he said.

“I know you didn’t mean anything by it, I’m very sorry I took your head off. It’s just that it seemed so like the beginnings of other evenings that I…”

He ushered me out the front door, still reassuring me—or was I reassuring him?

“Fair enough, Rene. All Americans are not rich, all women who have minds of their own are not women’s libbers, all cats are not gray—”

“Don’t be outrageous!”

“Why not? The night is young and you’re so glamorous …” He opened the Jag’s door with a series of complicated flourishes and a bow worthy of the Palladium on Royal night. “Seriously, though, Rene, you are doing wonders with the house. Have you ever considered doing it professionally?”

“No, I think I’d hate it then. It’d be a job. Take all the fun out of it.”

“And you wouldn’t do it just for fun, would you?”

“That wouldn’t be wise. An artisan is worthy of his … or her … hire. I suppose it would be challenging to do a house or two, but I’d prefer to know the house and the people so the decoration would be them, not me or what the current ‘thing’ was in some magazine.”

He looked slightly puzzled, so I explained the American magazine scene and how to decorate at little cost from old attic remnants and be clever, and laughingly quoted the Flanders and Swann song: “There’s no place safe to dress!”

“I didn’t think you Americans knew Flanders and Swann.”

So we entered the dual carriageway to Bray singing a rousing chorus of “Mud, mud, glorious mud.”

WE’D HAD OUR DRINKS in an old hotel in Bray, went for a walk on the seaside, oblivious to others about us, had a delicious dinner—supper, Shay called it—at a seafood restaurant. We talked about nothing that mattered, and yet it seemed that we understood each other rather well.

As Shay drove me home, we were both silent, a tranquility born of a very companionable evening. A tranquility pierced by the fact that every light was burning in the occupied cottages and my house.

“Jasus, what’s happened now?” Shay asked under his breath as we drove cautiously up the lane.

A figure came out of the gloom, brandishing a flashlight and the shotgun.

“Kieron?” I cried, sticking my head out the window.

“Not to worry, Rene,” he said, stepping up to the car.

“Not to worry? With every light on in the place, and you running around waving that damned thing?”

“Someone’s been lurking about the place. Snow saw him when she was getting to bed. Simon routed him out of the stable, he ran toward Ann’s and then doubled back. You didn’t see anyone running down the road, did you? Or a parked car?”

I hadn’t been aware of anything but my peaceful feelings, the more fool me. Nor did Shay remember anything unusual.

“Well, so there we are!” Kieron shrugged. “Lock up everything well tonight, Rene. I’ll go tell Ann the scare is over.”

“Her husband?” I asked Shay as Kieron trotted off.

Shay shook his head. “He’s not supposed to know where she is.”

“That doesn’t mean much, judging by the way news gets about in this town.”

Shay laughed. “Don’t sound so sour. Sure and you’re news … ah… the rich American grass widow!” He was deft at teasing, all right. “Oh, you’re news, Rene.”

“I just hope it’ll be as much news when I leave. Which I’ve a mind to do!” I’m appalled to admit that I flounced out of the car in a very bad humor. It just wasn’t fair that our lovely time had been spoiled so quickly. It just wasn’t fair!

Shay caught up with me at the front door, and kept me from opening it.

“Rene! Rene!” There was real concern in his voice. He took me by the shoulders and gave me a little shake, to make me look him in the eyes. “You can’t abdicate.” Another shake. “Not at the first sign of hostility. Not strong-backed Irish-American queens!”

“Why can’t I? I only came here to get—”

“Away from what you were leaving behind?” He cocked his head to one side, giving me a long searching look. There was a slight smile on his lips, a cynical smile. “No one runs from trouble without it follows them, Rene. And you’ve a good defendable spot here, with loyal subjects.” Another squeeze on my arms. “Who need
you
as much as you need them. Irene had great hopes for your succeeding her here.”

“How would you know?”

The twilight was bright enough for me to see the hurt in his eyes, the earnest smile disappearing from his mouth, and I was instantly remorseful.

“Shay, I didn’t mean that.”

“Why should you mean other?”

“Shay, please, I really didn’t mean that. You’ve been so wonderful, so considerate …”

“Having you on, my dear.” I didn’t blame him for sounding so bitter.

“Oh, Shay, I just don’t trust anyone or anything, including myself.”

“Including yourself?” He gave a funny little laugh and then pulled me to him, bending his head to kiss me before I could struggle free.

It wasn’t fair of him to kiss me that way. It wasn’t fair because I had to kiss him back, wanted to go on being kissed and all that followed kissing … and loving …

“Especially myself,” I said, ruthlessly pushing him away. “And thank you for a lovely evening,” I added, shoving out my hand formally, because the door got yanked open behind me. By Simon.

“Hey, Mom, we had a prowler! Ann’s scared it was her husband.”

“Did you have fun this evening, Sim? How would he know where Ann is? Did you get a good look at him? And where are your manners? Say good evening to Shay. It was really a lovely evening, Shamus, thank you.”

Shay had taken my extended hand in both his, fingers caressing it. And Simon was giving me his “what are you blathering about?” look.

“I said good evening to Shay earlier. We had a smashing time, Mom, and may we go swimming tomorrow with the group?”

“I see no reason why not.”

“You’d better phone the Gardai and tell them about the prowler, Rene,” Shay said, and then, bidding Simon good night, he disappeared into the dark shadows.

Simon gave a snort. “We did that already.”

“Well, I don’t know what else we can do, except go to bed.”

Which is what we did.

* * *

The Garda came up the next morning and took full particulars from us and Kieron. When I tried to find out what had happened about Tom Slaney, I got a very polite and embarrassed evasion and Sean the Garda beat a strategic retreat.

“You don’t suppose they think I had something to do with her death, the way Alice says?” I asked the twins.

“Ah, fer carrying out loud, Mom.” Simon was disgusted.

The mailman came, quite willing to have a chat with me. I had about got used to the Dublin accent, but his, with flat broad A’s and a curious nasal quality, had me so fascinated that I really didn’t hear what he was saying—at first.

“She what?”

“‘Tis thought, missus, that the poor old thing died from her heart.”

“Her heart? With that hole in her head?”

He dismissed that with a “
bosh
!”

“I heard that the coroner himself said that ‘twas her heart give out, missus, not her head.”

“Then her son didn’t kill her?”

“Now I’m not saying that, missus. I’m only telling you what I heard.”

“She hit her head against something when she fell?”

Again he claimed ignorance. “Did you not get a good look at your prowler last night?” he asked.

“How did you hear that?”

He cocked his head at me, his bright brown eyes twinkling at my amazement. He patted his canvas postbag. “Not all the news that gets about is written, missus.”

“Evidently!”

He had, however, a stack of mail for me. “All from Ameriky, I see. All airmail. Desperate the cost of stamps, isn’t it?”

We discussed the weather then, and despite the innocent subject, I found I enjoyed the chat. As the twins had discovered their first time out, people took time to talk in Ireland, and they really seemed to be interested in what you were saying. The observation now had a double edge. I shook myself sternly as I watched the little postman amble back down my lane. Was I becoming paranoid? As Shay had said, the American was news.

I riffled through the letters. Most of them were for the children. I had letters from Betty, Mother, my sister Jen, and two bills. I’d a lot to tell Betty and Mother, certainly.

They had a lot to tell me first, however.

“What’s the matter, Mother?” asked Snow, briefly interrupting her stream of “oh nos,” giggles, and assorted monosyllables.

“Guess,” asked Simon sarcastically, waving his own letter, his expression one of deep disgust. “Or maybe he hasn’t bothered any of your friends yet?”

“Oh that!”

“What do you mean, Simon?” I asked, alarmed enough on my own account.

“Just that Dad’s been to Pete Snyder, Doug Nevins, Popper Tracey, and—”

“Whatever for?”

“Ahhh, had they heard from me in Ireland, where was I, what were we doing there, and-”

“Oh, Mom, don’t worry!” Then Snow made a face as she gave me a second, longer look. “Okay, what’s Aunt Betty saying?”

“That your father has been phoning constantly, wanting to know what we were doing, what I was up to, taking his children away from him.”

“I’ll bet I know what Aunt Betty told him,” said Simon, chuckling. He was very fond of Betty and her droll manner of speech.

“More or less,” I said by way of agreement but without elaborating. I reread Betty’s disturbing news:

Teddie-boy seems positive that you have a) gone off with another man, totally unsuitable as a stepfather for his children, b) inherited a fortune, which is amusing when you consider that he had categorized the Irish as a shiftless lot of do-nothings, ignorant, stupid, and lazy. Between you and me, I hope you did inherit a fortune. Frankly, you may need it. Teddie was raving about withdrawing support money until you capitulated. So I took the liberty of phoning Hank. Then if Teddie is day-one late, Hank can leap on him. I won’t tell you not to worry, because you will and do. But I want you to know that if there isn’t a pot of gold, and Teddieboy cuts off the support money, you need only wire Charlie and me for moral and financial assistance. I mean it, honey.

It was so like Betty to offer help. But Teddie couldn’t… or would he? I didn’t have all that much left in my checking account. I knew we shouldn’t have spent so much on paint!

Being a glutton for punishment, I hurriedly opened Mother’s letter. She had much the same news and suspicions as Betty, and had conveyed the same to Hank. I began to get angrier and angrier. Mother closed her letter by saying that I could always count on her for any financial help I needed to tide me over. And if I trotted obediently back to the States to placate Teddie-boy, I was no daughter of hers.