The Lady

by Anne McCaffrey

  He smiled gently at her, fondling her hand in both of his, feeling the firmness of the flesh beneath the soft skin. After a moment she continued.

  “If it was just a tumble in the hay I wanted of you, it’d be very simple. I could lure you into my bed often enough to bore you. Or me.” She gave him an impish grin. “But it isn’t just you. It’s Cornanagh and the horses and Catriona. And Patricia, Eithne, Philip, Mick—and I can’t leave Charlie right now, and I don’t want to board my mare anywhere else but Cornanagh because that’s where life seems to be these days.” Her gaze met his, wistful, yearning. Then she straightened herself up in a purposeful way, as if to dismiss her sweet fantasies. “Michael, what is the matter with Trina lately? She’s so quiet all the time, so . . . sad. Or is it just that Pat talks nonstop and Trina has given up trying to get a word in edgewise?”

  Michael shook his head thoughtfully. “I thought at first she might feel that she should have had the ride on the Prince, but Sybil feels it’s because she hasn’t quite absorbed Isabel’s death.”

  Selina remembered all too clearly her conversation with the girl. “No, I think she’s as relieved her mother’s dead as you are. Only it’s not the sort of thing she can admit, is it?”

  “No, it isn’t,” Michael said slowly. “I don’t think she could be upset over the way Conker’s going, either, and I don’t think it’s Pat. I’ll see what Sybil can find out.”

  “Or what I can. Because whatever it is is recent. And I do hate to see her so blued.”

  “Yes, maybe she’ll talk to you where she won’t to her old father.”

  Selina gave him a jab in the ribs. “The dear old dad who’s been attracting swarms of eager unattached women at the local horse shows, all setting their caps for the handsome widower of Cornanagh!”

  “It is not amusing,” Michael said sourly, then paused as a new thought struck him. “I wonder . . . ”

  “You mean, Trina might be worried about you remarrying?” Selina asked insightfully. “If the intended likes horses, I don’t think you’d have trouble with Trina. A point to remember when you consider the second Mrs. Carradyne.” She grinned slyly at him.

  “Selina, I have no intention of remarrying.” He caught her eye in a stern gaze, and the levity disappeared from her expression. “Unless you’re free.”

  “We Anglicans do not regard divorce with the same aversion as Catholics,” she said, trying to control the surge of joy at his declaration, “but I don’t even have grounds for a separation, much less a divorce. You can’t really present boredom as grounds. After this weekend, I know we’re not even compatible. If there’d been children . . . ” She shook her head. “But I did marry David in full possession of my senses.”

  “And Anglican or Catholic, there’s no divorce in Ireland.”

  “No state divorce, that is.”

  “I am much older than you, Selina,” he said, “too old to be romantic—”

  “You are too romantic! And marvelous in bed.” She grinned unrepentantly up at him, thinking how very handsome he was.

  “Selina!” Michael protested, torn between embarrassment and amusement. But the more he thought about it, the stronger he felt about their relationship. Selina had confirmed that her attraction for him was more than physical, that there was already a deep and lasting bond between them. She wanted to continue their liaison despite everything. And he . . . well, he intended to cultivate that bond as deftly as he could, whatever the future might bring.

  “All right, pet,” he said at last. “We will be discreet and sensible. But if I find a handsome widow with a fine dowry . . . ”

  She laughed softly, aware that Michael was feeling the intensity of their situation as keenly as she, and so had to conceal his vulnerability with flippancy.

  “Now, do tell me about Mrs. Comyn,” she asked conversationally, to give them both time to recover.

  Michael gestured to the barman for a second round, laughing as he recalled his sense of inadequacy during that interview. He proceeded to render an amusing account of the afternoon, suffering Selina’s sly teasing good-naturedly.

  When the story had been told and the second round polished off, Michael turned decisively to Selina.

  “To prove I’m unromantic, my dear, I will now tell you that I am knackered. I intend to go home and get a good night’s sleep.”

  She grinned. “Sounds like a good idea. I’m knackered, too.”

  They parted, after a lingeringly gentle kiss, with considerable ease of mind—two people who had just decided to continue an affair.

  Selina turned the Lancia up the narrow streets of Dalkey toward home, tremendously relieved to know that she would not have to give up either Michael or Cornanagh. Thank goodness David was so immersed in his business! And how fortunate that she had established the routine of visiting Cornanagh frequently and at length. But she must be very careful. David might one day look up from his earnest contemplation of strike, trouble, and crisis and notice her preoccupation. Insensitive he might be, but he was not stupid.

  She was annoyed rather than alarmed when she climbed the shallow steps to her front door and found it slightly ajar. Surely she’d closed it behind her when she’d left earlier that evening. Had David returned unexpectedly?

  She pushed open the door, listening hard. David, as was his custom, should have left briefcase, hat, and raincoat on the hall table. But she heard sounds, and though she did not later remember the action, she grabbed her crop from the table and strode across to the lounge. That door was also ajar, and she could see signs of disturbance inside.

  “Who’s in there?” she shouted, moving forward, crop raised.

  Muffled oaths greeted her call, and she ran toward the sound, through the lounge, into the dining room, and down the hall toward David’s office. She was halfway down the hall when the office door flew open and several figures darted out toward the kitchen. Instantly she gave chase, flailing with the crop. She caught one lad across the back, but he turned on her, striking out with what he held in his hand. She cried out, for the heavy metal box caught the side of her face and shoulder.

  The blow stunned her, but a surge of anger cleared her head quickly enough, and she charged after the burglars. They made it out the back door and were halfway across the garden to the high wall, two of them with sacks banging their sides, the third with the cash box clutched in one hand. All three were dressed scruffily with heavy boots on their feet. They had the leanness of youth, and none of them was very tall. They were too far ahead for her to give chase now. And even as she watched, they had flung themselves over the rear wall. She tried to memorize details that might help her identify them: the boots, the scruffy jerseys, their size, and the color of their hair.

  Then, cradling her battered cheek, she returned to the house and dialed the emergency number on the kitchen extension. It took far too long, she thought savagely, for the call to be answered. Later she was pleased at how calmly she reported the burglary. Yes, she would remain in the house for the detectives. No, she couldn’t tell what had been taken, apart from a cash box that was kept in her husband’s desk. No, she didn’t know how much it might have contained.

  The moment the call was disconnected, she phoned Cornanagh. Though she knew that Michael could not yet have reached home, she desperately needed reassurance. Philip answered.

  “Dad’s not here, Selina. What’s up?” She gave him a quick rundown. “My God! All right, now, don’t panic. Just be calm. Get yourself a stiff drink. I’ll leave a message for Dad and be right over.”

  She gave a little laugh as she stared at a phone gone suddenly dead. Then, abruptly, she began to tremble. With both hands she put the phone back in its cradle and dropped, rather than sat, onto the chair, shaking violently. Her face began to sting and throb. Annoyed, she took several deep breaths to steady the tremors and touched her cheek. Her fingers came away bloody, and she stared at the stain objectively. She reached for the box of tissues on the telephone table and extracted a wad,
which she then pressed carefully against her cheek.

  Her legs were rubbery, but, supporting herself with one hand on the wall, she made it to the mirror in the front hall. The whole side of her face was beginning to swell, and when she took away the tissues, she saw a long shallow gash from the corner of her eye to just above her mouth.

  It was then she realized that she also had to tell David about the burglary. She started to close the front door and then laughed. The Gardái would arrive shortly.

  It took two double scotches before the shaking in her midriff settled. She was unsuccessful in trying to reach David and left messages at the various numbers he had given her. She had just replaced the phone when the two Gardái arrived. Michael, Philip, and Eithne pulled up behind the police Renault before the Gardái had emerged from it.

  Eithne took one look at Selina’s face and disappeared to the back of the house. Michael poured her another drink while the detective, who introduced himself as Brian Clooney, tried to take control of the situation. Halfway through Selina’s account, Eithne reappeared with a towel full of crushed ice, which she placed gently along Selina’s injured cheek.

  “They got in the side window, Sergeant,” said the second gardá, having returned from a tour of the premises. “There’s nothing disturbed upstairs. You must have surprised them before they’d done much, missus.”

  “You took a terrible risk, Mrs. Healey,” the detective said. “What if they’d been armed?”

  “They were in my house, Sergeant, stealing my possessions. Of course I went after them. And it gave me a great deal of satisfaction to know that one of them will have a painful weal on his back from my crop. I just wish I’d had a lunge whip.”

  Michael and Philip chuckled, but Eithne clucked her tongue in dismay. “I’d like to get you settled in bed, Selina,” she said firmly, and gave the detective a pointed look.

  He shook his head. “First we’ll need to know what’s missing from Mr. Healey’s study.”

  “I’m not sure if I could tell you or not,” Selina said, grimacing. “It is his private office.” It annoyed her that Clooney reacted as if her attitude were only proper. “He’s in the North on business, and I haven’t been able to reach him yet.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to see the study, please.” The detective gestured politely but firmly for her to lead the way.

  Selina rose as gracefully as possible despite uncooperative legs, but she was relieved when Michael’s hand appeared suddenly under her arm, supporting her.

  The young burglars had had a time of it in David’s study. Every drawer of the fine old Sheraton desk had been jimmied open, their contents strewn about the floor. David’s neat shelves were empty and his priceless first editions scattered about. Some looked torn, and certainly the thieves’ roughness had done the fragile bindings no good.

  “The desk set and clock and the calculator are gone,” she said. “And I don’t see some of the ornaments. There should be a green jade statue of a Chinese mandarin, eight inches high, quite old and valuable. And easily broken. And an enameled Fabergé egg, an alabaster box with gold filigree edging, and a carved ivory Chinese street scene.” She described three more pieces of small but valuable statuary that had been David’s particular treasures. “Mr. Healey is going to be furious about this.”

  “I’ve rarely met someone pleased by a burglary, Mrs. Healey,” Clooney said wearily. “But some of this”—he tapped the list—“is unusual enough so that we should hear if it goes through a known fence.”

  “Otherwise?”

  The detective shrugged. “You might be lucky enough to find ’em in a ditch.”

  The phone rang, breaking the silence. Clooney raised his hand when Selina made a move toward the kitchen and signaled his partner to take the call.

  “Yes, Mr. Healey,” they heard him say, “this is Constable Varney. I regret to inform you that there has been a burglary in your residence. Mrs. Healey is giving the detective particulars . . . . No, sir . . . . Yes, sir . . . . We’ll certainly do our best, sir, you may be sure of that . . . . Yes, sir, I’ll put her on directly, sir.”

  Selina lifted her chin as she walked to the kitchen. She smiled at the gardá and caught his sympathetic glance as he handed her the receiver.

  “Yes, David.”

  “Where the hell were you when the house was broken into, and what was taken? Did they get into the safe?”

  “I went out after tea on an errand. I was home at nine-thirty and surprised them at their work. No, they did not get into the safe, but they got whatever you had in the cash box in your study.”

  His explosion at the other end of the line made her take the phone from her ear. “That is quite enough of that, David,” she interrupted when it began to look as if he had no intention of winding down. “Just tell me how much was in the cash box, and then the detective will go away and I can go to the hospital and get my face treated.”

  He paused. “Your face treated?”

  “I told you I interrupted them. I also nearly caught one of the little buggers, only he stunned me with the cash box. My face is cut.”

  “Well! Well, I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Thank you. Are you coming down?”

  “There is no possible chance of that, Selina. I’m in the middle of some extremely delicate negotiations. Have one of your friends stay with you until you get over your fears.”

  “Thank you, David. You are all consideration.” She dropped the phone rather forcefully back into its cradle. Her face was throbbing, the ache in her shoulder was more insistent, and she had discovered that she actively hated her husband.

  “Selina?” Michael was standing there, his face drawn with concern. She bit her lip to control the desire to seek comfort in his arms. Instead, she took a deep breath and walked past him into the study.

  “My husband said he had only about a hundred pounds in the cash box.”

  The sergeant nodded. “You’ve been lucky, then, Mrs. Healey. Too many people are keeping a lot of cash in their homes, what with the bank strike and all. It just encourages young gurriers to chance their arm. It’s no consolation, I know, but you’re not the only house to be hit hereabouts.” He folded up his pad and replaced it in his coat pocket. “If you think of anything else, please let me know. I’ll circulate the list of valuables. Don’t count on getting the cash box back, though. And,” he added as an afterthought, “if you keep anything valuable upstairs, put it in a safe place.”

  “D’you mean there might be a repeat of this break-in?” Michael demanded.

  “I hope not,” the sergeant replied, but his tone of voice was not reassuring.

  Philip saw the man to the door as Selina sagged wearily onto the sofa.

  “Look, Selina,” Michael said, sitting down beside her, “would you like one of us to stay with you tonight?”

  She dared not look at him. “I’m not worried, no matter what the sergeant said.”

  “Well, I am, and I’m staying,” Eithne said firmly. “I’ve no intention of leaving you alone here. And I think that a doctor should see to that cut.”

  Gently Michael moved the ice pack away from Selina’s cheek and peered at the cut. “It’s not very deep,” he said, “more a scratch than a cut. But you’re already coming up in vivid bruises.” His eyes flicked to hers and held them for a moment before the corners crinkled in amusement. “D’you have any honey in the house?”

  “Michael!” Eithne was disgusted. “As if Selina were a horse!”

  Selina laughed. “I do have honey, and if it works for horses, it’ll be just fine for me. So long as I can get to bed. Between the fuss and all that scotch, my head’s spinning.”

  “Look, Dad, I’ll stay, too,” Philip suggested. “It’s convenient enough because I can just walk down for the bus tomorrow morning. That is, if Selina would like a man in the house tonight.”

  “I’d be very grateful, Philip, very.”

  “Then we’d better let Eithne settle you in bed. And
I want you to stay at home tomorrow,” Michael said.

  “Nonsense. Cornanagh’s exactly what I’ll need, to clear my head of all this!” She moved to the fireplace and pushed aside the seascape to the left of the mantel, revealing a wall safe. “But I’ll sleep a lot more securely if you could store some things at Cornanagh for me.”

  When she had worked the combination and opened the safe, she was rather surprised to find large packets of banknotes as well as David’s securities folder and her jewel cases.

  “Oh, dear, there’s rather more than I thought.”

  “I’ll get a sack from the kitchen,” Philip offered, and disappeared.

  “The safe at Cornanagh is a little better disguised,” Michael remarked as he took possession of the sack. There was a distinct twinkle in his eyes. “Your valuables will be secure there.”

  She smiled back at him. “And that will be a tremendous relief.”

  “All right, now, off with you. Eithne, get her up to bed. Philip will fend for himself.”

  That night Selina slept sweetly and deeply, without a single nightmare.

  When Michael got back to Cornanagh, he found all the yard lights on. Mick, Barry, and the two girls were rushing around, and Tory was barking up a storm.

  “Tory got us up,” Patricia told him, rushing to the Austin as Michael drove into the yard. Her eyes were sparkling with excitement, but Catriona looked terrified. “I ran for Mick and Barry, and then we all went to investigate.”

  “Can’t find anything wrong, Captain,” Mick said, coming up to the car. “All the horses is fine.” He looked accusingly at Tory as if the dog might have been misleading them.

  “Tory doesn’t sound false alarms.”

  “No, he doesn’t,” Mick agreed, patting the collie apologetically. “He don’t bark like that unless it’s someone he doesn’t know. Like Fitzroy!”