Shannon's Daughter

by Karen Welch

  She chuckled softly. “That’s right. You’ll be on my right, and Bernie Silverman will be on my left. I’m putting Mae Hanbury next to you. You’ll love her, everyone does. She and her husband just happened to be in New York right now, and we always try to get together with them when they’re here. So they’re sort of guests of honor too.”

  “Ah, yes, the philanthropists from Virginia.” He made his own brief scan of the table, noting the place cards hand lettered by Peg herself. “And let’s see, the von Rosenbergs are coming specifically to meet Silverman. Professor von Rosenberg has just accepted a position at Julliard. Mr. and Mrs. O’Hallaron are coming because your father is trying to persuade him to take a position on the foundation board, and Connie and Prue will even out the numbers, since you were stuck with two unattached males.”

  “Don’t forget the Smiths. She’s on the Philharmonic board, and he’s running for city council.”

  “That’s right. She’s the one I’m to watch out for, should she have too much wine with dinner.” He captured her mouth again, making the most of her silence. Their time together would be limited now that Michael had returned, and while he knew the importance of caution, opportunities like this were only the sweeter for their scarcity.

  By the time he released her, all thought of caution had given way to a desire to whisk her off to some private spot and pretend tonight could happen without either of them in attendance.

  “I should go. I should check on Dad.” Her protest was contradicted by the mesmerizing movement of her hands along his ribs. He was completely caught off guard when she looked up through her lashes and asked softly, “Kendall, what happened to you?” One finger traced a line just below his belt, and he sucked in his breath sharply, his desire replaced by sickened dismay.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The scars. I saw them last night. What happened?”

  There were any number of answers he’d given in the past, casual lies that had always come quite easily. Why he couldn’t think of a single one of them now, he had no idea. “It was nothing. It looks worse than it actually was. How did you. . .?”

  Her finger passed back and forth, brushing the pleats of his trousers. “I was curious. And I don’t believe you.” Her lower lip trembled suddenly. “Did someone do that to you?”

  “No, it was an accident. Peg, this is hardly the time or place to discuss this. And you shouldn’t have taken advantage of me while I was sleeping. You know what curiosity did to the cat, don’t you?” His lame attempt at teasing went resoundingly flat.

  “Whatever it was, maybe someday you’ll tell me about it. I just hate to think of someone hurting you like that.” Sliding her arms around him, she hugged him gently. The move unnerved him and he laid a tender hand on her hair.

  “Don’t think about it. It was a long time ago and it has nothing to do with us.” He knew he was talking more to himself than to Peg. When she raised her head, he was stunned by the look in her eyes. Women had a way of peering into a man’s soul, by-passing every arrogant attempt at masculine constraint. Just now, he could feel Peg reading his thoughts, probing the very core of his being, and he forced himself to shut her out. “Now go make yourself even more beautiful. I think I’ll practice a bit on the off chance that I can develop some real talent before tonight.”

  She drew his head down and brushed her lips across his. “I’m sorry you can’t tell me, but I’m not sorry I found those scars. Kendall, I. . .would you be upset if I said I love you?”

  “No, sweetheart, not upset. But please be very careful how you use that word.”

  “I’m not in love with you. At least I don’t think I am, but I care so much about you, I want so much for you.” She folded her hands over her heart. “I feel so much for you that it hurts, right here. Is that love?”

  “Quite possibly. I’m experiencing a similar sensation, I’m afraid.” He had never kissed her more tenderly. Her response was much the same, her hands gliding soothingly over his shoulders. “Go, Peg. We can only afford so much of this before we risk a great deal of regret.”

  Her answer was a brief, searching look before she turned and left the room. Everything about that look and her posture as she mounted the stairs suggested she would welcome that risk.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Kendall had expected to be in awe of a man like Bernard Silverman, so he was at first surprised to find him an unassuming fellow with a pleasant manner and quite ordinary conversational skills. But as the evening progressed from cocktails to dinner, his opinion began to change. Seated opposite Silverman, with Peg at the end of the table between them, he became increasingly aware that the man was flirting openly with his hostess, and more disturbingly, casting far from subtle glances over the neckline of her dress. Never mind that the dress was not particularly revealing, the way he was ogling her, she might as well have been half-naked. He was appalled that a man lauded for his genius and single-minded dedication to classical music appeared to be, at nearly forty, no better than the randiest teenager. By the time the prime rib was served, Kendall had decided Silverman might be brilliant and powerful, but he was no gentleman and deserved to be put in his place.

  When, during a lull in the conversation, Peg rested her hand on the tablecloth near his, he didn’t hesitate to grasp her fingers and give them a possessive squeeze, glancing across to be sure the gesture wasn’t lost on Silverman. “Everything going as you’d hoped?”

  “Oh, yes. Dad’s having a good time.” It was true, Michael had entertained his guests with gusto all evening, keeping the conversation light and the laughter flowing. “Are you ready?”

  He nodded with more confidence than he might have earlier. “Quite.” Ready, he wanted to add, to show Maestro Silverman what he was made of. Bravado was not something he’d had much experience with, but tonight it seemed to be coursing full strength through his veins.

  Turning to Silverman, Peg said softly, “What have you planned for our entertainment, Bernie?”

  Silverman looked pointedly across the table. “I took the liberty of bringing a number of pieces for Mr. Gregg to choose from, unless he already has something in mind. I thought we’d take a few minutes while everyone finishes dessert to make our selection.” His nod was much like the toss of a gauntlet, and Kendall answered in kind.

  “I’m sure we can agree on something. My repertoire is somewhat limited, but I’m game for whatever you like.”

  As if he’d picked up the thread of their conversation, Michael called down the table to them, “I trust you gentlemen have something spectacular in store for us after dinner? I’m eager for you to hear my nephew play, Bernie. And hopeful that you’ll be so impressed you’ll help us persuade him to make the move to this side of the pond.”

  Kendall felt himself blush, saw Peg’s color rise and heard the skepticism in Silverman’s laughter. If he hadn’t already been willing to push himself to the limit, that subtle slur was enough to do the trick. “I’ll do my best, Uncle Michael, to keep up with the maestro.” With a self-effacing nod to Silverman, he went on, “Not that I’m in the same league of course, but I’ll try not to embarrass you.”

  He thought he saw sympathy flare in Silverman’s eyes. “I wonder if we should excuse ourselves to discuss the program, Mr. Gregg? Take a few minutes to get better acquainted. Peg, with your permission?”

  Adrenaline starting to bubble, he pushed back his chair and followed Silverman across the entry toward the living room. What had initially been a terrifying opportunity to make a fool of himself had now become a challenge to prove himself the worthier man, although he acknowledged that a musical joust would likely prove who was the better musician, and that prize must certainly go to Silverman.

  Opening a large leather briefcase, Silverman laid out a number of scores, some of them apparently his own arrangements for piano and violin, along with Bach partitas, a Sibelius Romance and the Faure Sonata in A. A chill touched Kendall’s spine. Fate, it seemed, had made the decision for him.
“The Faure, I think.”

  Silverman seemed surprised. “The entire thing?”

  “Yes.” He turned to his violin, already laid out on the piano, as Silverman opened the score on a music stand. “I won’t need that, thank you.” More surprise, and now a glint of suspicion. Kendall shrugged, allowing a self-assured grin to twitch his lips. “Learned it years ago while at Oxford. I look forward to playing it with someone as accomplished as yourself.” Without another word, he started to tune, aware of the others beginning to file into the room. He sensed Peg watching him, heard Michael reeling off his educational credentials like a proud papa and felt as though he were floating high above the group settling on the semi-circle of chairs around the piano.

  It was imperative that he focus on the present and not permit his emotions to drift with the music. Above all, he couldn’t risk allowing memory to play tricks on him. He played with his eyes fixed on Silverman, who performed with a great deal of head wagging and showy fingering. Not that he wasn’t also note-perfect, but clearly he enjoyed impressing his audience with his showmanship as well. Kendall knew that in comparison, his own style was low-key in the extreme. But only measures into the first movement, he could see he had Silverman’s attention. As they began to play together, rather than separately, he saw the man’s gaze going from merely curious to genuinely interested and finally to openly respectful. In the course of the piece, he also discovered his petty jealousy giving way to admiration for the man’s obvious genius. So what if he too found Peg irresistible? Who could blame him?

  As for Peg, out of the corner of his eye he could see her sitting at the front, completely captivated by the music. He wondered what she would say if she knew the reason he had risked all to play this piece tonight. But to tell her that would reveal too much. He pulled up sharply, forcing himself not to think, only to play. Just a few more measures, some of the most moving of the entire composition, and he would have made his point to Silverman and survived this self-imposed ordeal.

  Applause, handshakes, shoulders clapped and Peg’s eyes shining with pride. Michael saying he’d never heard finer. Silverman pumping his arm and assuring him that if London didn’t have the good sense to offer him a position, he’d be welcome in New York. The room was rapidly closing in and he wondered if he could escape without Peg seeing his anguish. When Silverman agreed to sit down to the keyboard again, Kendall moved to the back of the room and silently slipped out.

  The entry seemed to spin above him as he blindly made for the kitchen thinking surely in the garden there would be enough air to fill his lungs. Tugging at the knot in his tie, he tore open his collar and pushed his way out into the near-darkness. Now the memories came, images flipping like pages in a book before his mind’s eye. Gulping in air, he dropped onto the low bench near the door and, throwing back his head, stared unseeing at the sky.

  He was unaware of Peg in the doorway until he heard her sympathetic gasp. Before he could say anything, she sank to the pavement at his feet, took his hands in hers and pressed them over her heart. “That was so beautiful. I had no idea. . .”

  “That I could play like that?” He pulled a hand free, cupping her chin. “I can’t. It was all smoke and mirrors.”

  “No. It was wonderful.” She leaned closer, touching his cheek. “Kendall, please tell me about her.”

  “Who?”

  “The girl you loved. You said she was a pianist. That music, you played that with her, didn’t you?”

  He should have known. She’d always been uncannily perceptive, even as a child. “Yes.”

  “And those scars, they have something to do with her too, don’t they?’

  “We should go back inside. They’ll wonder what’s happened to you.” He got to his feet, fingering his tie. Without a word, Peg brushed his hand away and carefully retied it.

  “When you’re ready. I think you need to tell me as much as I need to know.”

  He couldn’t meet her eyes, choosing to stare at the pattern of light from the kitchen windows. “Perhaps. But not now, not here.” Holding out his arm, he forced a smile. “The night’s still young. And your guests are waiting.”

  “The night is still young. And you can’t put me off that easily.” Tucking her hand in the bend of his arm, she tossed her head. “We’ll talk about this later. Right now, I think you could use a drink. Dad should have some whiskey in the study.”

  “Ah, so you think you can ply me with strong drink and have your way with me?”

  “Of course. Although I’m not sure the drink is really necessary.”

  By the time the last of the guests were gone, Kendall was exhausted. He had smiled and accepted their kind words, answered their questions and been, he hoped, appropriately gracious when Silverman offered the opportunity for an official audition. When Michael turned into his study, he declined the invitation to join him for brandy and cigars, said goodnight and caught sight of Peg, just coming from the dining room.

  “Are you going up?”

  “I am. You may still have some bounce in your step, but I’m feeling decidedly flat-footed. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “I’m going to sit up with Dad for a while, rehash the party.” Silently, she went on to mouth the word, “Later.”

  “No!” he mouthed back.

  Her eyes answered that she would have things her way. He mounted the stairs with the unsettling awareness that she would do just that, no matter the risk or how much he might protest.

  He had dozed off in the chair, hoping against hope that Peg wouldn’t come. When she slipped silently into the room, he opened his eyes reluctantly, seeing her through a blur of dim light and weariness. She was still dressed, looking ridiculously fresh after so many hours. When she knelt by the chair, he was mesmerized by the sight of her, the enchanting way her eyes reflected the deep blue of her dress, her skin glowed against the creamy chiffon circling her shoulders, and her hair, wound into a simple knot at the back of her head, shimmered like burnished wood in the lamp light. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered hoarsely, still not fully awake.

  “I’m sorry I took so long. Dad was really wound up. He’s so proud of you. And he’s determined that you’re going to move to New York. He plans to talk with you tomorrow about it.”

  He straightened in the chair, shaking off the persistent drowsiness. “What time is it?”

  “Just a little past midnight. I’m glad you waited up.” Peg seemed uncommonly shy, searching him with a gaze he couldn’t quite read. When he reached for her, she perched on the arm of the chair, resting her arm across his shoulders. “Kendall, please talk to me.”

  “What would you like me to say?” With a sigh, he resigned himself to the inevitable.

  “I want to know about the girl you loved. What was her name?”

  “Jenny.”

  “You said you met at Oxford?”

  “That’s right.” He took a deep breath and plunged ahead. Better to get it all out than go on chipping away. “We were assigned the Faure Sonata for a concert to be held at the end of the term. We got to know each other learning that music. At first I thought Jenny was just very intense, very dedicated, but as time went on, I began to see it was more. She drove herself, forgot to eat, didn’t sleep. Her moods were unpredictable and there were times when I thought I must have disappointed her, made her angry. She would lash out, and then afterward, she would be so loving, so apologetic, I’d forget all about it.”

  “The scars, she did that?”

  He paused, caution overriding the need to reach the end of his story. “What exactly is it you think you saw?”

  With her fingertip, she traced a line perpendicular to his waistband. “A surgical scar, here.” She continued to trace downward. “And three others.” Her precision sent a shiver through him. “No surgeon would make cuts like that.”

  Another deep breath and he found his voice suddenly unsteady. “We were invited to attend a house party together near the end of the term. Jenny had been so tens
e, I tried to convince her it would help her to relax, have some fun. At first I thought I’d been right, she seemed to be having a good time. We both had quite a bit to drink. We went to her room, started to make love, and then she suddenly started crying, saying things that didn’t make any sense. When I tried to calm her, she screamed at me to leave. Later, I went back because I was worried about her.” He closed his eyes for an instant, clenching his jaw. “She had a knife, something she must have taken from the party. She’d cut her wrist, not too deeply, but when I walked in, she threatened to do more. We struggled, and she turned on me. She was in such a frenzy, I couldn’t control her.” For the first time he dared to look into Peg’s face. Rather than horror, her eyes were filled with compassion, tears clinging to her lashes. “The next thing I remember is someone pulling her off me and seeing both of us covered in blood. I was trying to tell them not to call the police, not to call my mother, begging them to take care of Jenny. I remember in the ambulance I kept asking where she was and no one would tell me. My grandfather came to Oxford, saw to me and met with Jenny’s father. I never spoke to her again, after that night.”

  Sliding onto his lap, she silently drew his head to her shoulder, pressing her cheek to his forehead. He put his arms around her, refusing to think past the sweetness of the comfort she offered. When her lips traveled down to his, touching them only briefly, he pulled her lower, cradling her against his chest. “You must never tell anyone about this, Peg. My mother doesn’t even know.”

  “I promise.”

  “I meant what I said earlier, what happened then has nothing to do with us. I played that piece tonight not because of Jenny, but because of you.”

  “Why because of me?”

  He managed to smile down at her. “I didn’t like the way Silverman was looking at you. I started to feel very territorial and I suppose I was trying to show off. The Faure was the most difficult of the pieces he’d brought. So you see, sweetheart, if I’d fallen on my egotistical backside in front of the great maestro and all of your friends, it would have been all your doing.”