The Lady

by Anne McCaffrey

  “You’re second, you’re second, Sean! You’ve done it. You’ve done it!” Under the guise of congratulating him, Catriona gave him such a fierce look that Sean almost recoiled from her. “You’ve done it, Sean,” she kept repeating.

  “That’s enough, Trina,” her father said, grinning, while Mick, nodding his head up and down, winked at Catriona.

  Then Sean had to mount up to receive his rosette, and she pinched him when he opened his mouth.

  “Enjoy it,” she urged him. “Enjoy it, Sean. You’re second.”

  As if something had just clicked this information into place, Sean sat more erect in the saddle and gathered the reins in steady hands to shorten them properly. This time Mick did not swat the pony on the rump, so the pair entered at a dignified trot in the van of the other winners.

  “Now maybe they’ll sell the pony and give the boy a break!” her father said.

  “Sure and that’s what they ought to do,” Mick agreed, at his most amiable.

  “Trina, c’mon.” Her father grabbed her hand and hurried her toward Ring One.

  Here the winning horses were cantering around. Catriona and her father could see Philip’s back as he and Teasle moved down the long side.

  “Teasle gave both judges a good ride,” her father said, half jogging, half limping in his haste. “He showed to advantage, yes, he did. He’s got first!” And her father slowed as he caught the flutter of the first-prize red ribbon streaming from Teasle’s double bridle. “The Italians’ll like that!” He stood on tiptoe, peering over the crowd to the far side, and grinned. “They do. C’mon, Trina. Selina’s doing the pretty along with my brothers.”

  The Italians did the pretty as well, for the deal was struck and the sale made on the way back to the Simmonscourt Hall. Vendor and buyer were deciding where to go for a drink when the Doherty contingent arrived. This reinforced the need for refreshment. Sean was wearing the second-place blue ribbon, looking both scared and proud, his father’s arm about his shoulders and his mother still a bit weepy from her child’s success.

  Quite probably, Catriona thought, Mrs. Healey’s hand in hers as they followed the others to the members’ lounge, this was the very best show she’d ever been in! Then she thought of the day before, and her mother “not yet cold in her grave,” and she moaned a little.

  “Catriona Carradyne,” Selina Healey said in a stern voice, glaring down at her, “don’t you dare! Cornanagh deserves today! You do, too.”

  17

  AS it turned out, Catriona spent the afternoon wandering about the exhibits in the Industries Hall escorted by her uncles. She had the suspicion that they were pretending to enjoy them far more than they did because of her recent loss, but she was quite willing to fall in with the deception. The two men joked a lot and made her laugh. And they wouldn’t let her spend her pennies but bought her small boxes of Chez Nous chocolates and bonbons, and larger boxes for Eithne and Bridie.

  Although they’d had the full luncheon at the members’ dining room, they purchased buns at Johnson Mooney & O’Brien’s stall, and pounds of coffee and tea in pretty canisters, and queen cakes at Bewley’s.

  “Christ,” said Uncle Pat, “doesn’t this take you back, and the colonel roaring at us not to fill our guts?”

  They had their Guinness while she dawdled, with many great sighs, before the main saddlery booths, Callaghan’s and the Beirne Brothers, ogling the magnificent saddles, bridles, and full-leather boots as well as the more plebeian rubber imitations, not to mention the gorgeous wool stable rugs with initials and the racks of fine bridles and arrays of bits.

  “You’re as bad as my Pat,” Uncle Eamonn said when they had finished their pint. “Bugging your eyes out over boots and saddles.”

  She saw them exchange mildly exasperated glances over her head and wondered if she dared ask about her cousin. They were both in such good moods after their pints: maybe they were enough like her father . . . It came out in a rush.

  “Uncle Eamonn, is my cousin still going to come over?”

  Surprised, her uncle touched her head in a brief caress and smiled down at her.

  “Yes, she is. Your aunt Eithne saw no reason why she couldn’t cope with two horse-mad girls. You’ll have company for the summer. You’ll like Patty. You’ve a lot in common.”

  “Horses!” Uncle Patrick said, but he grinned at her. “Thank God, my boys are into baseball!”

  “I knew I’d find Trina near the saddlery,” Philip said, suddenly appearing before them out of the crowd. “How’s she cutting, Sis?” And he tousled her hair. “Look, Dad phoned Eithne to tell her the good news, and she told us the bad. Bridie’s taken to her bed.” Everyone groaned, but then Philip brightened. “Actually, that’s good, too. Now we can eat out!”

  “So.” Eamonn rubbed his hands together with anticipation. “Where do we dine?”

  “All the places near the RDS are booked out, but don’t worry, Uncle Patrick, we won’t let you down.” Philip saw the hopeful look on his sister’s face and pulled her to his side for a quick hug. “And you’re coming, too, Trina. You’re part of Cornanagh’s success today: that pony never would have got round that course without all the schooling you’ve done with him.”

  Catriona felt her heart skip halfway through Philip’s sentence. She didn’t think Mick would mention the switch to anyone, and she wondered if she’d have to mention it in confession on Saturday. Mick would never make her do something sinful, or something that would harm Cornanagh’s reputation. And what would it be a sin of—pride? No, because she couldn’t admit to having done it. Covetousness? No, because she hadn’t had time to envy Sean. Mick had just made her change clothes. It certainly wasn’t a sin to follow the orders of one’s elders. Mick was even older than her father. So she hadn’t committed a sin. Possibly a transgression, but she only had to confess sins so she wouldn’t mention it to Father John. Relieved, she put the whole matter to the back of her mind.

  “I think we ought to stand young Philip a drink for the glory he brought Cornanagh today,” Eamonn said.

  “Not to mention a fat price for the gelding,” Patrick added.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to go see the jumping,” Catriona said wistfully. It was nearly three, and the big show-jumping competition of the day was about to start.

  Even Philip laughed, but they told her to meet everyone back at Teasle’s stable at six.

  Only the Glenview Hotel just down the road from Cornanagh could accommodate so large a group that evening. The management arranged their table across the bay window that overlooked the lovely garden and the cut through the mountains that was Glen o’ the Downs.

  To Catriona it was a splendid occasion: all her favorite people were here, for Selina had accepted Cornanagh’s invitation. Her husband had left a message that he’d had to go North. Auntie Eithne was waiting for them at the hotel, dressed in a lovely garnet wool suit that Catriona didn’t remember seeing her wear before. Of course, the men all wore black mourning bands on their coat sleeves, but they, too, looked so handsome and so big! She counted: seven Carradyne men, all with the same crisp black curly hair, most of them with blue eyes, if not the exact brilliant hue as her father’s, which she thought was the best shade ever.

  Her uncles insisted that she sit between them. It embarrassed her at first, but Uncle Eamonn was so kind and Uncle Pat kept making such ridiculous comments that she soon relaxed. She was even served a Shirley Temple cocktail. This was a special treat for Catriona, who had never eaten out at a such an elegant, adult restaurant before. She was relieved when the waitress took away the silver she wouldn’t need from the rather impressive assortment on either side of her plate. She also watched what Selina and Eithne were doing so as not to make any mistakes, determined not to disgrace her family.

  And Uncle Eamonn told her all about her cousin Patricia, that she went to a boarding school now and had a boyfriend, which astonished Catriona because none of the fourteen-year-old girls she knew were allowed to keep
company with anyone in particular. Patricia haunted a nearby stable that specialized in gaited saddle horses, and she’d managed to talk herself into riding them in local shows.

  “She’s got a couple of thirds and fourths,” her uncle confided, “and I don’t mean to poor-mouth her, but”—he sighed deeply—“well, I know Americans ride differently, but it’s not the way your grandfather taught me to ride. So, you and your daddy are to make a proper rider out of her, and then maybe she can get firsts. But she’s all Carradyne—horse crazy.”

  “Her mother doesn’t mind?” The question caused her uncle to give her a very sharp look.

  “No, her mother doesn’t mind.” He seemed about to add something else and then cleared his throat several times. “Do you win many firsts, Trina?”

  “Me?” Catriona swallowed abruptly. “No, I’m to have my first show this summer. Blister wasn’t a show pony, and besides, Dad doesn’t approve of children competing too early. He says it spoils them for riding horses. Ponies can give you very bad habits.”

  “They can?” Eamonn appeared surprised.

  “Well, for instance, Ballymore Prince is a right sod at times—” She broke off and covered her mouth because she’d used an improper word. She wasn’t quite prepared to hear both uncles burst into fits of laughter.

  “Chip off the old man’s block, this one,” Eamonn finally managed through tears of laughter. “Did you hear her, Mike? Ponies can be right sods. And doesn’t that bring back Father?”

  Catriona never got to expound on ponies, which, she decided, was just as well because her uncles and her father reminisced about their father. That brought back many memories to Catriona, too, and she thought how much she missed her grandfather and how pleased he would have been today. He’d’ve had a great laugh over her switching with Sean and coming in second. So she ate the roast lamb placed before her with great relish.

  Even when she was so tired she could barely keep her eyes open, she didn’t want the evening to end because it was such fun being allowed to stay at the table while the adults were enjoying liqueurs and port. Mostly, she didn’t want this day to end.

  “Look at Trina, Michael,” Eithne said finally. “You lot can stay on if you wish, but I’m taking her home.”

  However, everyone was willing to leave, the overseas Carradynes feeling travel fatigue and the younger Carradynes faced with work the next day. There had to be some organization to get everyone into the cars available, especially as Selina didn’t have transport. But with a minimum of crowding, Eithne and Philip managed the Cornanagh group so that Michael could drive Selina directly home to Dalkey.

  “God, I’ll be asleep the moment I hit the sack tonight,” Eamonn said as he ducked into the back of Philip’s Kadette. “Jet lag!”

  Michael found himself obscurely pleased at the way things had worked out. He had been exceedingly conscious of Selina all day. Conscious of her smart and fashionable appearance, of the oddly spicy perfume she wore, of the way she had handled the D’Albrettis, who had bought Teasle. The son had been very much attracted by her, but she had deftly avoided his attempts to detach her from the others at the ringside, pretending not to understand Italian. “And, Michael,” she said after lunch, “it took a great effort of will not to give them a proper farewell . . . in their own language. But they had paid such a good price for Teasle, I was afraid they’d renege.”

  “Oh, you needn’t have worried.” He grinned at her. “Philip cashed their bank draft promptly.”

  “Michael Carradyne!”

  He hadn’t liked David Healey, nor the proprietary way he treated Selina. In fact, he thought, there was something . . . not quite sound about Healey. If the man were a horse, Michael would be wary in the saddle.

  Now, as Michael handed Selina into the Austin, he was wondering just how slowly he could drive to Dalkey without being obvious. She smiled as she sank gratefully onto the leather upholstery.

  “This has been quite a day,” she said as he got into the car. She put a quick hand on his arm. “And Cornanagh deserved it. Did you see how much more animated Catriona was?”

  “You mean when she folded into Eithne’s car?”

  “No.” Selina pretended exasperation. “I still don’t understand how that Doherty boy managed to come second.”

  “Pure fluke, and hours of Trina’s patient schooling.”

  “Will she be all right?”

  Michael gave her a quick look, gratified. “We’ll see that she is. And did I hear her calling you Selina today?”

  Selina raised her eyebrows. “She and I made a pact the other day. A special one between us.”

  “Eamonn wants to send his daughter Patricia over for the summer. She’ll be another friend for Trina. I’m to teach Pat how to ride.”

  “But you don’t like teaching people.” Her voice rippled with good-humored mockery.

  “Sure, she’s a Carradyne and horse mad, or so my brother tells me. And it’ll be very good for Trina to have company this summer.”

  “Those brothers of yours! You Carradynes are a law unto yourselves,” she said, shaking her head. “It was a very good thing that Trina was half-asleep. Eithne didn’t miss much, though, did she? Does she know many Americans?”

  “I shouldn’t think so,” Michael replied, puzzled. “Why?”

  “Well, she understood a lot more of your brothers’ slang than I did. She got the punchline of that outrageous joke Paddy told while I was still struggling with the translation from the American.”

  Michael chuckled, for that particular joke had been not only hilarious but bawdy. He gave Eithne full marks.

  “Is a way with a joke another talent of the Carradyne family?” she went on. “Philip has some beauts. Even surprised your Madison Avenue brother.”

  “We’re full of hidden talents, we Carradynes. Perhaps I should ask Patrick if he can find a spot for Philip in the States.”

  “Which reminds me, Michael, Trina did some lovely sketches of Conker and a heartbreaking one of poor Blister. Were you aware of how good she is?”

  “I’m aware that she was called to task by the Mother Superior for scribbling in her school notebooks. Her mother was furious.”

  “Did you never look at what she does?”

  Michael felt his jaw clenching. “I found it advisable not to interfere with Isabel’s discipline of Catriona in domestic and school matters.”

  “Sunday Trina said that her mother hadn’t liked her.” Selina’s voice was stern, and all the comfortable friendliness between them had disappeared. “I assured her that her mother had loved her.”

  “I don’t think she did,” Michael said slowly. “She hadn’t wanted another child, and she had a very difficult pregnancy with Catriona. I always thought that was why she was so hard on her. My father complicated matters by making a special pet of Catriona while he was alive. But children don’t notice . . . .”

  “Catriona noticed!” Selina said bitterly. “She’s a very perceptive child.”

  “I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for her.”

  “I intend to go on doing for her. I warn you.”

  He grinned at her for her fierceness. “You should have children of your own, Selina.”

  “If I could be sure of having a son first, I might risk it,” she said in the affected tones of the bored society woman, a pose she didn’t often assume at Cornanagh. “David would be mortified if I produced a girl.”

  Michael winced at letting the conversation get out of hand.

  “So, I’ll borrow your Catriona to assuage my frustrated maternal instincts. Now, tell me, when will Conker be sound again? Or would you put her up on Charlie as a special treat?”

  Michael was immensely relieved to discuss Conker’s injury and the possibility of putting Catriona up on Charlie, or perhaps one of the quieter horses he had been training for a neighbor. He had by no means exhausted the possibilities by the time Selina handed him her front-door key and they walked up the shallow steps to the deep crims
on door, with its intricate fan light and well-polished brasses. He opened it for her, returning the keys, sorry that the evening was over.

  “A nightcap? Or is jet lag contagious?” she asked with an odd half-smile on her lips.

  Tired though he was, a jolt of elation lifted him as he followed her into the house. They’d all be asleep at Cornanagh. And Isabel was dead. He owed her no further loyalty.

  “Make yourself at home,” she said, gesturing to the beautiful salon at the left of the front door. “I’ll just get some ice.”

  “Make yourself at home,” his mind echoed as he entered the room and thought that he could be, in a setting as charming as this. The room was done in light, soft blues and grays with little touches of brighter blue and a vivid amethyst. The chairs and three-seater couch were upholstered in the sort of covering that would not wear well at all in Cornanagh with dogs, cats, and riding boots. There were elegant prints on the walls, again in soft pastels, and an oil painting of a watery landscape over the Adam fireplace. He sank onto one corner of the couch, legs crossed at the ankle.

  “Don’t you dare get up!” he heard her say. She put an ice-keeper on the drinks tray. “You look far too relaxed. Which you need to do more.” From her light tone, she had evidently forgiven him, and he was grateful. “There’s lager if you’d prefer that, but I brought the port. It’s an excellent vintage. My father sends it over every August to be sure it’s drinkable by Christmas. I’ve a fine brandy, too. What would you like?”

  She stood in front of him, her head slightly cocked to one side, a gently inquiring smile on her face. She’d taken off her jacket, and the silk shirt she wore outlined her upper body. He knew exactly what he wanted, what he needed.