Shannon's Daughter

by Karen Welch

  Gradually, the image of her intelligent eyes and impudent smile faded. He ceased to hear the echo of her voice in his mind and the worry stilled to mild concern. She was not his responsibility, and he held no influence over any aspect of her life, he reminded himself regularly. What happened during those days in Ireland—he still wasn’t sure how to label it—had little to do with his real life. It had, however, spurred him to new hope for that life, for which he was profoundly grateful.

  During his remaining time at university, he discovered something quite encouraging about himself—a genuine desire to become a success. Ambition seemed to seize him by the collar and force him to strive harder than he’d ever believed he could, with the result that he caught the attention one of the dons, whose connections with the London Philharmonic led to an audition. He hadn’t been offered a chair, that was too much to hope for so soon, but he knew he’d made an impression, and that served to further fuel his ambition. With focus and determination, he began to think he might build a life around his work, if nothing else.

  Patrick Shannon had been wholeheartedly supportive of Kendall’s ambition, that support taking the form of purchasing a very fine violin as a graduation gift and providing a temporary monthly supplement to the income from private lessons and his meager earnings with a loosely organized quartet. That, combined with the small income from a trust fund left him by his father enabled him to lease a quite decent flat, where he could give lessons by day and entertain friends by night. The students, youngsters whose parents had at least a passing interest in music and funds to waste, and the friends, mostly female and rarely the sort he’d ever introduce to his mother, kept him sufficiently occupied to take his mind off weightier matters. For the first time in years, he was content and felt more his old, optimistic self than he’d ever dreamed possible.

  He discovered there were a surprising number of women who admired a musician’s ambitions while respecting his limited means. He seemed to attract slightly older women, thirtyish—often married to by their account boring barristers or businessmen—who liked his looks, his manners and his skill on the dance floor. They invited him to clubs and parties and then invited themselves back to his flat where they took advantage of whatever other talents they felt he possessed. Many nights, he was no more than a shoulder to cry on, a sounding board or someone to sympathize with the humdrum of their lives. Other times, he was called upon to provide support of a more intimate nature, which he’d learned to do with sensitivity while resisting emotional involvement. If he occasionally looked in the mirror and called himself a pathetic gigolo, the taunt was something he could live with in the short term in light of the material benefits, the meals, theater tickets and even gifts of clothing and jewelry his grateful friends provided. It wasn’t as if he had hopes of meeting a nice girl to fall in love with and marry. Perhaps someday he might consider a more permanent arrangement, but only if he had the good fortune to find that rarest of creatures, an undemanding and open-minded woman.

  In July of 1952 he was called to audition again for the Philharmonic. Cautiously hopeful, he’d given what he felt was his best performance, had a nice chat with the conductor and the first violinist, and then, with breakneck determination, finished his packing, wrapped up a final social commitment or two, and with his mother and stepfather boarded a train for Southampton and from there a boat to New York City.

  Michael Shannon had been in poor health for the past two years, advised by his physician against traveling overseas. While the family gatherings in County Carlow were now a thing of the past, with the farm leased and Adelaide relocated to London, the siblings continued to meet at least once a year. Adelaide and her daughters made the trip to New York earlier that spring, in time for Peg’s debutante ball, and Patrick chose to go in July, planning to meet up with Sean and Maureen, currently on an extended vacation in Canada. At Patrick’s insistence and expense, Kendall was included, with the understanding that Michael intended to introduce him to at least a few of his impressive list of acquaintances in New York’s classical music community.

  In the frantic preparations for departure, Kendall had worn himself ragged. The stress of the audition alone cost him sleep, and his social commitments further deprived him of rest. In fact, on the morning of their departure, he’d barely sent his bleary-eyed but immensely grateful companion packing, before the taxi occupied by his mother and Patrick pulled up to his door.

  “Kendall, you look positively awful, darling!” was his mother’s chipper, pre-dawn greeting.

  “Sorry, Mum. But I’ve been over-booked this week, trying to get all the lessons in and then there was the little matter of the audition.”

  “You look as though you haven’t slept a wink. You really need to relax a bit on this trip, dear. You can’t burn the candle at both ends and hope to keep your looks, you know.”

  The plausible excuse, which wasn’t quite a lie, came easily to mind. “I was too excited to sleep last night, first trip to the states and all. I’m fine, Mum, really. Don’t fuss.” He added a fond pat of the hand for good measure.

  “Leave the lad alone, Eloise. He’s a good-looking single man in London. Why should he sleep?” Patrick’s wink left him with the uncomfortable suspicion that his reputation might have sprung a leak.

  Despite the fact that he was still not the steadiest of sailors, even on a luxury cruise ship, he enjoyed the crossing, in particular the lively and eclectic society on board, with the result that he lost further sleep. Upon arrival at Michael’s palatial brownstone, he begged off dashing out for a late lunch and when shown to his room, fell gratefully across the bed. A two-hour nap, a pounding shower and he felt almost human and eager to explore what at first glimpse had looked more like an art gallery than a domicile.

  Michael had said something about Peg and tennis, so Kendall assumed she was expected in later that afternoon. If the flutter in his stomach wasn’t simply hunger, he admitted he was curious to see what an eighteen-year-old version of that captivating girl must look like. Maybe she was still knobby-kneed and freckled, one of those raw-boned, athletic types. The tennis would suggest as much. He couldn’t imagine she’d blossomed into a real beauty, given the sharp chin and fly-away brows he remembered. Still, he was pleasantly anxious to see her again.

  He found his way downstairs, studying the art work on the wall step by step. The three-story entry way was hung from top to bottom with an astonishing collection of paintings and drawings. He wouldn’t have been surprised to find an armed guard stationed by the front door. At the lower landing, he caught sight of a large portrait framed in gilt occupying an obvious place of honor on the wall opposite. The slender young woman, elegantly posed on a red chaise and wearing a formal gown of white tulle, smiled down with an oddly familiar gleam in her bright blue eyes. “Peg?” he gasped loudly enough to create an echo in the stairwell.

  At that instant, the front door burst open and he turned toward the arrival so quickly he was momentarily dizzied looking down the remaining flight of stairs. His initial impression was one of long brown legs and arms, a swish of very short skirt and twin sapphire lights flashing in his general direction. Grasping the banister, he repeated his question in the same breathless tone.

  She came toward him, hand extended, eyes sparkling, much as she had at their first meeting in Carlow Town three years earlier. But this Peg, unlike that first version, came much closer to matching the warm, throaty voice calling his name as she bounded up the stairs. “Kendall! You’re here! I was afraid Dad had whisked you away before I could get a look at you!”

  He took her hand with the thought that she should become a politician with a handshake like that, reassuringly firm and insinuating familiarity while leaving an indelible impression on his palm.

  “Peg?” He winced at the catch in his voice. “Good heavens, look at you!”

  “Have I changed? You haven’t. Well, maybe a little, but I’d have known you anywhere. How was your crossing?”

  “Fine, altho
ugh I must admit I’m glad to be on dry land again. Who knew there was so much ocean out there?”

  She laughed, a trifle nervously he thought, and glanced around the entry. “Has everyone abandoned you?”

  “They went to lunch. I was frankly too exhausted to join them.” He wondered if she was disappointed, as she turned to bounce back down the stairs. For the first time, he noticed her hair. The braids at least were still there, now wound into a regal crown at the back of her head.

  “Would you mind following me to the kitchen? I’m dying to catch up, but I’m also dying for a cold drink. We were on the courts for hours. I’m parched!” She spun toward the back of the house, and he sped down the stairs thinking any normal man’s response to her invitation would be that he’d follow her anywhere. That thought set off an alarm bell in his brain which competed with the racing pulse in his ears. Nothing could have prepared him for this version of Peg Shannon, but it occurred to him that it wouldn’t do to let her see the effect she had on him.

  The kitchen was dim and cool, a cavernous space with a huge bay window overlooking the garden. Peg pointed to the table in the bay. “If you’re hungry, I could find you something to eat. I still don’t cook, but there’s always food in the fridge.”

  “No, thank you. I’m fine.” He took a seat, determined to regulate his breathing before he said much more.

  She poured a bottle of ginger ale over ice. “Drink, then? If you don’t want ginger ale, there’s coke or beer.”

  “The ginger ale would be fine, thanks.” He felt awkward, watching her moving about the room. How had she grown into such a vision of feminine perfection? That skinny, shapeless girl, all elbows and knees, had developed curves in precisely the proper places, stretched them to just the right height and filled them to elegantly slender proportion. His hands involuntarily spread over the table cloth, as though performing an exploration spurred by his wretched imagination.

  “There you go. Sure you’re not hungry?” She sat across from him, sipping her drink.

  “No. Thank you.” Now that he could look into her face, with those legs safely hidden beneath the table, he felt a little calmer. “So, how have you been?”

  “Fine. Busy. You know I graduated, from high school, that is. I start Columbia in September. And I did the whole debutante thing. That’s almost over, thank God.”

  “I got a full report from Maeve. Frankly, I think she was a bit jealous. Agnes, of course, had nothing to say other than to scold Maeve for trying to steal your spotlight.”

  Peg chuckled softly. “They’re funny. I’m afraid I was so busy I didn’t have much time to spend with them. Do you see a lot of them in London?”

  “Quite a lot, as a matter of fact. I’ve been designated official escort for the two of them. If Maeve would find herself a suitable chap, I’d be happy to give up the job. So far, she’s managed to cause Aunt Adelaide to go prematurely gray and Agnes to swear off men forever.” Her chuckle turned to delighted laughter. “So tell me what else you’ve been up to.”

  “Let’s see. Oh, I turned eighteen last week. You just missed my birthday.” She made a face, much like that funny nose-scrunching thing the former Peg had favored.

  “Did you have a party?”

  “Oh, yes.” She rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “I told Dad, what with all the parties we’d endured already, the deb thing, you know, I just wanted him to take me somewhere nice for dinner. Well, he did, but then when we came home, there were at least a hundred people here, all shouting ‘surprise’ and blowing noise makers. It was awful, but I should have known Dad would do something like that.”

  Kendall started to relax, relieved to see that inside the vision, the old Peg seemed to be alive and well. “So you’re all grown up now?”

  “Oh, yes. Legal and everything. We had champagne at dinner, and again here at the party. I’m afraid I don’t have much of a head for that sort of thing. Now tell me about yourself. I hear your career is taking off.”

  “I don’t know about taking off. I’ve auditioned for a real job, but I doubt I’ll get it.”

  “The London Philharmonic, very impressive. Uncle Patrick keeps us informed. He’s really proud of you, you know. He’s asked Dad to introduce you to Bernie Silverman while you’re here. Maybe you could audition for him. Wouldn’t you like to come to New York?”

  “Bernard Silverman? Good lord, your father’s friends with Silverman?” His pulse stepped up a beat, in part at the mention of such a famous name, and also, he realized, because watching her eyes as she talked, he’d been drawn into their shimmering blue depths. There was something dangerously hypnotic about her eyes, something he’d have to watch out for.

  “Oh, yes. Bernie’s a cool guy, very driven, of course. Did you know he’s the youngest conductor of a major orchestra in the entire world? And he can’t even keep his suits pressed half the time. He showed up to dinner last week looking like he’d slept in his clothes.” She laughed again, a softly polite but very honest laugh, yet another means of captivating a man’s attention and causing him to lose his focus, Kendall noted.

  Getting up to pour her ice in the sink, her expression turned serious. “I have a huge favor to ask, but if you don’t want to, I’ll understand.”

  He swallowed the instant response that no favor would be too great. Maybe he hadn’t had enough sleep after all. His brain seemed to have turned to bizarre thoughts of poetry and flowers. “What sort of favor?”

  “There’s a little party tonight at the O’Halloran’s. Connie’s going away to college and this is sort of an early farewell before we all split up. Nothing too formal. If you brought a dinner jacket that would be great, or just a suit will do. I sort of told her I’d bring you, if you were willing. They’re all dying to meet you.”

  “Really. Dying?” He grinned at her wide-eyed explanation, again glimpsing the old Peg in her eagerness.

  “Of course. I told them all about you.” She looked away, blushing slightly. “Thank goodness you haven’t changed much. After all I said about how good-looking you were, I was worried you might have gotten fat, or started losing your hair.”

  He tossed back his head, laughing out loud. Thank goodness, indeed. Here was the Peg he’d known after all. He’d have to get past her incredible outward transformation, but there was hope that he wouldn’t be reduced to panting and drooling after her for the next two weeks. “I’d be happy to go if you’re sure I won’t embarrass you, old geezer that I am.”

  Her smile was practically blinding, full lips spread over perfect teeth, blue eyes twinkling. “That’s super! We’ll leave around seven-thirty. There’ll be lots of finger food and stuff, and then there’ll be a buffet at midnight. You might want to eat before we go, though, in case you want to drink. There’ll be plenty of that too, I’m sure. Connie’s brother Bill runs a real bar at all their parties. He’s kind of a show-off, playing bartender with his cocktail shakers. There’ll be dancing, too.” She bounced on her toes like a delighted child. “Oh, Kendall, I’m so glad you’re here!”

  “I’m glad you’re glad. I wasn’t sure what to expect. I thought you might have fallen in love with some college man and. . .well, not have time for your old cousin anymore.”

  “Don’t be silly. I’m not going to fall in love with anybody. Ever. And I’d always have time for you anyway.” The smile turned affectionate for an instant. “Now I’m going to shower. I’m rank! See you later!”

  She was gone, leaving a draft of energy and a slightly earthy aroma in her wake. He sat at the table for a while, staring out at the manicured garden and trying to superimpose one image of Peg over the other. She was only eighteen, he cautioned, although she’d always been mature beyond her years. Just because she looked like the Hollywood-bred, All American fantasy of burgeoning sexuality did not change the facts of their relationship. If any other male showed signs of sharing his primal response to her, he’d be forced to take him by the collar and toss him to the nearest gutter. A place he might have to throw
himself if he couldn’t keep his mind from wandering up those legs of hers.

  Chapter Nine

  When he advised his mother of his plans for the evening, she smiled wanly, told him to have a nice time and closed the conversation by pointing out that Peg was quite the young lady now. She then closed her bedroom door with the promise of sleeping until noon the next day. Patrick and Michael, enthroned in the latter’s study with brandy and cigars, wished him a pleasant evening and then ignored him as he strolled aimlessly around the foyer wondering if seven-thirty actually meant seven-thirty in New York.

  He was totally unprepared for the impact of yet another version of Peg. That slightly sunburned outdoorsy type had transformed into a different variety of breathtaking vision, this one gracefully descending to the swish of silk and the tapping of high heels. Her cocktail dress, a soft golden brown cut to accentuate every fluid curve, set off her eyes and brought out glints of red in her smoothly coifed hair. Here again was that Hollywood fantasy, this one sleek and poised, as she paused on the bottom step to smile down at him.

  “You look nice,” she said. Reaching out, she gently brushed the lapel of his dinner jacket, her touch triggering an electric current through his chest.

  He swallowed carefully. “So do you. My word, Peg, who knew you’d grow up to be such a beauty?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not a beauty, Kendall. It’s all smoke and mirrors.”

  “What?” She held up a strip of gauzy fabric, which he realized was intended to cover her shoulders, bare at the moment except for two thin rhinestone straps. He took the scarf from her hands, waiting as she turned her back to him.