She heard him go out of the room and close the door. And she just sat there, totally enthralled. Outside, she heard unseen cars arriving, and then below, the voices of their guests as they began to arrive.
And still Cassie sat there, her hands in her lap, totally ignorant of what she was wearing and how she looked. She could quite easily have removed the blindfold, looked at her dress and replaced the blindfold again, but she didn’t.
She had no idea how long she must have sat there, as car after car rolled up the drive and parked in the field opposite. She heard raised voices, laughter, feet on the gravel and an increasing swell of noise from below. She didn’t hear the bedroom door reopen and Tyrone come back in.
All she knew was that suddenly someone was at her side. And that someone was Tyrone.
‘Ty?’
He said nothing. He just put one hand under one of her arms and lifted her gently from the chair. Then he led her across the bedroom and stopped her by the door.
He took off her blindfold.
‘May I look now?’
Tyrone shook his head.
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘I want you to see how beautiful you are from the way everyone will look at you.’
He touched her hair, rearranging it where the scarf had been.
‘Happy birthday, Cassie McGann,’ he whispered. ‘Happy birthday, my love.’
He took her hand and opened the door. Below, the hall was full of their friends and guests, everyone dressed in white suits and dresses. They all looked up as Cassie appeared at the top of the stairs, hand in hand with Tyrone, and fell silent, as if on cue. Cassie frowned round at Tyrone, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was nodding to somebody across the hall, who was nodding back to someone else, out of sight to them.
Suddenly there was an explosion of music, as a twelve-piece swing band, hidden away under the fold of the staircase, burst into the Glenn Miller arrangement of Pennsylvania 65000. Cassie burst into laughter and hugged Tyrone’s arm. She’d always told Tyrone that when they were rich and famous, or just rich, or just famous maybe, they’d have a party, just like the one in one of her all-time favourite movies, The Glenn Miller Story; and Tyrone and she would walk down the staircase just as they did in the movie, while a band played ‘In the Mood’. And now here she was, walking down the stairs towards a sea of smiling faces, in what she now saw was a vivid scarlet silk dress, through a throng of friends who caught her hands, kissed her and wished her happy birthday, while Dublin’s top swing band played Glenn Miller. Tyrone took her in his arms and started to dance with her.
‘Isn’t this what they did in the film as well?’ he asked.
‘I guess so, Mr Rosse,’ Cassie sighed, looking up at him. ‘But just don’t get any funny ideas about taking up flying.’
‘Who needs to fly,’ he replied, ‘when I can dance with you?’
The guests who had filled the hall all started dancing, unable to resist the music of the band. Tyrone steered Cassie into his study and shut the door behind them.
‘Thank you for this wonderful present, Ty,’ Cassie said, smoothing down her dress. ‘Where on earth did you buy it?’
‘I had it sent from Paris,’ he replied. ‘And it’s not your present. That’s just part one.’
‘But it must have cost a fortune.’
‘Jesus. You Americans. Sometimes you’re awful vulgar.’
‘It’s the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen.’
Tyrone laughed with delight. ‘And you’re not to see it either,’ he told her. ‘Not till the party’s over. If I catch you looking in a mirror once, I’ll take the dress off you in front of everyone.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Cassie replied. ‘I won’t. I wouldn’t dare.’
Tyrone took something out of a drawer in his desk and handed it to her. It was a small box tied up with a scarlet ribbon.
‘Here’s part two of your birthday present,’ he said.
Inside the box, Cassie found a gold locket in the shape of a heart, with her initial engraved on one side and Tyrone’s on the other. Inside – when prompted by Tyrone, she opened it – there were two photographs, one of Josephine and one of Mattie.
‘In celebration of our family,’ Tyrone said.
He promised her part three of her present after they had eaten. The food was stupendous: an enormous buffet of fresh Irish salmon, lobster, chicken and beef, served against the music of a Palm Court Orchestra. Cassie and Tyrone sat side by side at a round table in the middle of the main marquee, Cassie a splash of vivid red in an ocean of white. The flowers were lilies and white roses; the musicians were in white tie and tails; and the solo violinist who stood behind Cassie, serenading her through dinner, played a white violin. Afterwards they danced again to the Swing Orchestra, who were all dressed in white tuxedos, and whose black singer had to everyone’s delight made her face and arms up blindingly white.
Cassie danced every dance with Tyrone, who looked resplendent in a perfectly cut pair of white tails and white patent-leather dancing pumps. Cassie still had little idea of the whole look of her dress, as she had been true to her promise and only seen it through the eyes of her guests, all of whom had admired it unequivocally. She had also, of course, looked down at it as she sat, or as she danced; and besides being enthralled by the sensuality of the brilliant colour against her pale skin, could see even from such a difficult angle and feel when she moved and danced how perfectly cut it was.
The only person Cassie had failed to spot was Leonora. She and Tyrone had talked long and hard in the first place about whether or not to invite her, and it was Cassie, forgiving as always, who had pointed out the diplomatic necessity alone of not witholding an invitation to her.
‘She represents over one third of your yard,’ she reminded him. ‘You told me yourself.’
But after the discovery of the letter at the adoption hearing, Tyrone became quite adamant that Leonora’s invitation should be rescinded. Cassie was for once inclined to agree, not from a sense of revenge, but because she wasn’t sure how she would be able to deal with Leonora now that she knew how far Leonora was prepared to go to spite her. Finally discretion overcame both their valour, when they realised that if they banned Leonora from Cassie’s birthday party, she would dominate the proceedings even more by her enforced absence. It would be the talk of Dublin society, and consequently of the party.
As it was, it seemed that quite voluntarily she was not going to appear at the party after all. But Cassie liked this even less. She would rather have known definitely one way or the other. She couldn’t believe that Leonora would stay away from her party unless she had a very good reason for it.
She didn’t. Leonora was just timing her entrance.
Tyrone had called a halt to the dancing and ordered the lights to be lowered completely. Once they were down, a spotlight came on, trained on the far corner of the huge marquee. Into the light a gigantic birthday cake was wheeled, a confection Tyrone had ordered to be made in the old Hollywood proportions. It was huge, and quite obviously phoney, but was so wonderfully constructed and decorated that it brought the party to its feet, as it was wheeled across to Cassie’s table amidst wild applause.
The drummer rolled a long crescendo roll. Then to a fanfare from the band the top of the cake flew open. But instead of an actor dressed as A1 Capone with a toy machine gun loaded with ping-pong balls, as Tyrone had intended, out stepped Leonora, armed with the toy gun which she pointed at Cassie and fired. Cassie put her arms to her head as she was peppered with the plastic table-tennis balls, and Tyrone got to his feet. Leonora saved the last round for him and, aiming the toy gun carefully, popped the plastic ball at him so that it bounced off his forehead. All the guests roared with laughter, and applauded even more, thinking that Leonora’s appearance was all part of the act, while Leonora, incredible in a brilliant white full-length Courrèges cape and bonnet, and quite obviously drunk, blew kisses and took a series of bows from the top of the cak
e.
Two waiters, in answer to her imperious command, helped her down out of the cake and on to the table, where she stood for a few moments more so that the party could fully appreciate her stunning but vulgar outfit. The bonnet was deliberately absurd, fashioned like Bo-Peep’s, but in the same heavy material as the dress, and held together by an enormous white bow, practically concealing her mouth. The cape itself was ankle-length, with gold bobbles running from either side of the collar down to the hem, and was also fastened by a bow, across her half-exposed breasts. Underneath the cape she wore nothing else other than a pair of skin-tight glittering gold pants, tied enticingly at the waist with another large white floppy bow. She swung round once, so that the air lifted the cape away from her body and revealed her state of half-nakedness beneath.
Some of the younger but more of the older guests wolf-whistled before Tyrone held up his hand for silence.
‘On behalf of us all,’ he announced, as the noise subsided, ‘I would like to thank the Principessa for taking us so completely and dramatically by surprise. But then, that is fast becoming a habit with her.’
Tyrone turned and gave her a little ironic bow. Leonora ignored the irony and blew him a kiss in return instead.
‘However, I would like to point out to the Principessa,’ Tyrone continued, ‘that the invitation states quite clearly this was to be an all-white party. And that by the wearing of a colour, in the Principessa’s case her gold pants, as I believe she calls them, the rules of the party have quite clearly been transgressed, and retribution must follow, just as surely as night follows day.’
A buzz started round the marquee as some of the more forward-thinking guests anticipated what might well be in store for Leonora. They weren’t to be disappointed.
‘Therefore I invite whichever of the Principessa’s friends who may feel like it to help her to divest herself of the prohibited item of clothing.’
Tyrone had barely finished issuing his invitation before Leonora, unable to escape in time, disappeared under a scrum of both men and women. Soon there was one almighty and joyous shout, as Leonora was debagged and her gold pants hurled high into the air above the scrum.
Everyone who had been involved returned roaring with laughter to their tables in search of immediate refreshment, while Leonora got slowly to her feet. Standing there in her crooked Bo-Beep bonnet and shiny plastic boots, with just a brief pair of white bikini knickers showing under her cape, her expensive and once outrageous outfit now just looked absurd. The cape was cut in such a way that it was impossible to close it over completely at the front and thus cover Leonora’s embarrassment. So she stood by Cassie and Tyrone’s table, half-dressed and looking murderous. Then she turned on her heel and walked quickly out of the marquee.
Tyrone blew a kiss to her departing back.
‘I’m not sure that was the wisest thing you ever did, Mr Rosse,’ Cassie said after a moment. ‘Funny, you bet. Diplomatic, I don’t think.’
‘Nonsense, woman,’ Tyrone laughed. ‘She’s so legless I doubt if she’ll even remember it. Anyway, I’m not having her upstaging you at your party. Now come and dance.’
Later he danced her out of the marquee and on to the lawns. It was a warm, balmy night, and the gardens were lit with old-fashioned flares. He danced her away from the house until the music grew faint, and when it could barely be heard, he sang softly to her instead, until he had danced her away down the path to the yard.
‘Where are you taking me now?’ asked Cassie, with the starlight reflected in her eyes.
‘Part three of your birthday present,’ Tyrone whispered in her ear.
He led her by the hand to the row of new boxes. They went very quietly so as not to disturb the sleeping racehorses. Tyrone stopped by the end box, which had a huge pink bow nailed on the door.
‘Happy birthday, pilgrim,’ he said.
‘Why pilgrim?’ Cassie asked, staring at the bow.
‘Because one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,’ Tyrone answered, ‘that’s why. Go on now. Aren’t you going to open the box?’
Cassie smiled, bit her lip, and quietly opened the top of the closed box. For a moment there was silence, then she heard a horse scrabbling to get to its feet, and a moment later a head came over the door. Round and through its head collar was another huge pink ribbon.
Cassie turned and frowned at Tyrone.
‘Well?’ he demanded.
‘You and your “well’s”,’ Cassie sighed. ‘Well, what is this?’
‘What do you think it is, you lunatic? A motor car?’
Tyrone opened the doors completely and led the horse out.
‘This is for you, Cassie McGann,’ he said, handing the horse over to her. ‘Happy twenty-seventh birthday.’
‘I have a horse, Tyrone. I have two in fact. No, three now, with the yearling.’
‘You haven’t a horse to ride, Mrs Rosse. This is a riding horse.’
Cassie looked at the horse she was holding. He had the kindest face she’d ever seen on an animal, with big liquid eyes and large ears that flopped forward over his brow. From what she could see, he was a light bay, and probably no more than five years old.
‘Four actually,’ Tyrone corrected her. ‘And he’s a Christian. Sheila Meath bred him, and she backed and broke him specially for you. He’s perfectly schooled for a youngster, like all of her horses. And he’s only half-bred, so he’s not going to play silly buggers. He’s out of that lovely Welsh mare of hers, by None Better whom I used to train. And you could put a baby on his back, even on the day he was going racing.’
‘Tyrone,’ Cassie said. ‘He’s beautiful. Really. But why do you want to give me a horse?’
‘So as we can ride together.’
‘I can’t ride.’
‘Yes you can. You’ve just lost your nerve. Girls do, once they’ve had babies.’
‘How do you know I can ride?’
‘For crying out loud, Cassie! I stayed with the blasted Christiansens, didn’t I? And all I heard was how brilliant you were with horses! And not only with them, on them, too!’
‘Why did you never say?’
‘Because if you didn’t tell me, Mrs Rosse, I reckoned you didn’t want me to know.’
At that moment, if it were possible, Cassie loved Tyrone more than ever. He’d never once mentioned her riding, nor asked if she did ride, and if so why she didn’t. He’d just waited till he felt the time was right for her to start again, and then quietly and patiently set the whole thing up with Sheila Meath, down to finding the right horse for her and making sure it was broken the right way.
She put the horse back in his box and stood for a moment looking at him, before once more shutting him away.
Then she turned and hugged Tyrone, her heart full to bursting. ‘You know you’ve made me the happiest person in the world?’ she said.
‘You mean you’ve been going around asking?’ Tyrone laughed.
One or two of the other horses in the boxes further down started to stir, so Tyrone led her out of the yard and back up the path towards the house. Once in sight of the house, he held back and took Cassie in his arms and kissed her. Cassie put her arms around his neck and kissed him back.
‘When can I see my dress?’ she pleaded.
‘When I take it off you,’ he answered.
They rejoined their party and started once more to dance. The main band finished its last set, and then for an hour the Dubliners performed a cabaret. After that there was dancing in the two main marquees to two quartets, both consisting of tenor saxophone, piano, bass and drums. People started leaving about three, although most weren’t gone till well after. For those who stayed, Erin and Mrs Muldoon made scrambled eggs and bacon, with eggs laid that day. When Cassie and Tyrone had bid their last farewell, and the band were packing up, Tyrone asked the pianist to play ‘One For The Road’ before they went. He duly obliged, and Cassie and Tyrone danced slowly round the empty dance floor, with Tyrone quietly crooning the words. Then the h
ouse was empty of guests, but full of memories of the best night Cassie had ever had.
‘Except, that is, for the first time we went out,’ she said. ‘When we danced while they were putting up the tables and you sang to me as you walked me all the way home.’
‘It has to have been the best party you’ve ever had.’
‘Far and away,’ Cassie laughed. ‘Far, far and away.’
Tyrone fetched her a wrap, then took her outside to watch the dawn break. They walked down the long avenue between the trees, and past the woods where they sometimes secretly made love. Tyrone suddenly stopped, and cocking his head like a dog, bade Cassie to listen. From deep within the woods she heard a sound she would remember for the rest of her life. A bird song. The song of a nightingale.
Tyrone whispered the one word, the name of the bird to her, then pressed a finger to his lips as they both stood motionless. The song was surprisingly loud, and very clear as it echoed round and through the woods. There were deep, full notes, surprisingly rich and powerful for such a shy, timid bird; and then there were trills, and warbles, of such beauty and clarity that Cassie could feel the hair on the nape of her neck prickle, and the tears well up in her eyes.
The bird sang on and on, its wondrous song floating on the early morning air. It was so heavenly that Cassie thought she must be dreaming. She had never in her whole life heard such astounding music from such a tiny creature. Tyrone was transported with the delight of it, his brow furrowed deeply, and his eyes full of amazement.
Then he turned to her, and taking her hand in his, sat down together with her to hear the nightingale sing.
As they walked back to the house, dawn had broken.
‘What do you want to do now?’ Tyrone asked her.
‘I don’t know,’ Cassie answered. ‘It’s such a wonderful morning. It’s been such a wonderful night.’
‘If we go to bed now, we won’t get up again.’
‘I know. Are you tired?’
‘Not in the slightest, Cassie McGann. Are you?’
‘No. You know me,’ she said as she leaned her head on his shoulder, ‘I won’t be tired until tonight. Then I’ll sleep for a week.’
To Hear a Nightingale Page 45