Shannon's Daughter Page 8

  “It’s all an illusion. You know, the clothes, the makeup, the hair, and suddenly the ugly duckling can pass for a swan.” She faced the large mirror near the door and in their reflection, he was sure she would see the blatant admiration in his eyes. Avoiding her gaze, he took an extra minute to adjust the wrap on her shoulders, drinking in the fresh scent of lemon as she bent her head to expose the nape of her neck.

  “I see nothing but a swan. And an exceptionally elegant one, at that. I like your hair this way, very chic.” That should be safe enough, and the compliment was sincere. Her hair, drawn smoothly from her face, was bound at the back of her head in a snood dotted with the same rhinestones.

  “I should cut it, I know. But I can’t seem to part with it.”

  “Don’t you dare. Your hair is. . .well it’s part of your personality.”

  She shot him a curious glance as she pulled on a pair of short white gloves. “That’s a compliment, I think.”

  “Of course. Now how are we getting to this party? Is there a glass coach waiting outside?”

  “No, silly. There’s a car, and a chauffeur, of course. Simon will drive us, but we’ll have to take a cab home. I can’t let him wait around for me all night. Besides, if the party gets too rowdy, we may cut out for someplace quieter, where we can at least talk.”

  “Why does the name O’Halloran seem familiar?” he asked once they were on their way.

  “Connie’s been my best friend since we were six.” She seemed to search for an answer until her eyes widened and a grin spread over her face. “Oh, I know. You must remember Bill O’Halloran, Connie’s older brother?”

  “Why is that?”

  “Bill sleeps in the buff, just the way you do.”

  He choked on his own breath. “Good lord, Peg! I never know what’s going to come out of your mouth next.” As he tried to clear his windpipe, Peg playfully slapped him across the shoulders. “I hope you don’t plan to bring that up when you introduce me to Mr. O’Halloran tonight.”

  She sat back, patting her hair demurely. “Of course not. Do you still. . . ?”

  “No! Brat!”

  “Oh, I was hoping you’d still call me that! Oh, it’s going to be so wonderful having you here! I just know it!” She slipped her arm beneath his, nestling closer, and he caught another whiff of warm citrus. Wonderful no doubt, and likely a monumental test of his self-control.

  The party was well underway by the time they arrived. The O’Halloran’s apartment was spacious by New York standards, though modest compared to the brownstone. The living and dining rooms were separated by two sets of French doors, standing open to allow the guests to move freely from one to the other, and a balcony provided an unobstructed view of the city. A gleaming mahogany bar had been set up at one end of the living room, while in the dining room the carpet had been removed for dancing to music provided by a jazz combo stationed in one corner. The lighting was appropriately subdued and everywhere, young, well-dressed bodies seemed to be in motion of one kind or another.

  They were greeted by Connie and her older sister, Prudence, who then made the general announcement of their arrival. “Hey, everyone, Peg’s here with her Englishman!”

  “I told you they were dying to meet you,” Peg shouted in his ear as the crowd called out a variety of welcomes. “Come on, I want to dance. I’m much better than I used to be, I promise.” Tugging his hand, she headed toward the dining room.

  When he turned to her on the dance floor she swung into his arms, pressing much closer than he would have considered proper, given their relationship. Again, he caught a whiff of her perfume, and the singularly earthy scent of Peg herself. Falling easily into step, she curled her hand along the back of his neck and he felt her breath near his ear. “I told you I’m better now. All those hours of cotillion finally paid off. You’re really smooth. Do you dance a lot in London?”

  He had the unfortunate vision of a recent party, a very clingy partner and the evening’s concluding dance of a different sort. “Some.”

  When the number ended, Peg again took his hand, towing him toward the bar. After introducing him to the infamous Bill, she ordered a club soda. “Have whatever you like, Kendall. I don’t mind if you drink, as long as you don’t overdo.”

  “No. Club soda for me as well, please. I think a clear head may be essential to my survival in a crowd of this age.” He grinned at the bartender, a square, red-faced young man whose dark hair was unfortunately already thinning. “Nice to meet you, Bill. Peg’s told me quite a lot about you.”

  “That was naughty.” She shot a teasing glance over her shoulder as she started back toward the dining room. “Let’s dance some more. I see someone I’d just as soon avoid.” Before they passed through the doors, a young man caught up to them and took hold of Peg’s elbow.

  “I thought you weren’t coming tonight.” No hello, no how are you, just the slurred and surly statement as he forced her to turn in his direction or spill her drink. With one glance, Kendall surmised that the boy was drunk, possibly naturally bad-tempered, and someone he would love to toss into that earlier imagined gutter.

  “Tommy Canaday, I’d like to introduce my cousin, Kendall Gregg. This is Kendall’s first night in New York, so I thought he might like to meet some of my friends.” Peg’s composure was admirable, given the situation. Tommy on the other hand seemed flustered by the introduction. Probably a nice enough looking chap when sober, now his mouth twisted in a moist smirk and his eyes, slightly bloodshot, appeared unable to focus.

  “Is that right? Well, welcome to New York, Mr. Kendall Gregg. Come on, Peg, dance with me. There’s something I want to talk to you about.” If he hadn’t tossed out each word with drunken deliberateness, Kendall might have agreed to let go of Peg’s hand, but sensing some underlying threat, the hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention and he eyed her closely. He would take his cue from her, hoping to minimize her embarrassment, but this puppy was begging to be put in his place.

  “Not right now, Tommy. Why don’t you see if Bill has some coffee behind the bar? Maybe I’ll talk to you later, if you can sober up a little bit. Come on, Kendall. I just love this song. Let’s dance.” She set her glass on a low table near the door, and he followed suit with a nod to the seething Mr. Canaday.

  “What precisely is his problem, other than too much beer?”

  “He reeks of it, doesn’t he? Tommy can’t control himself around an open bar. And he’s mad because he asked to bring me to this party and I said I might not come because we had guests in town. Of course, Connie would never have forgiven me if I hadn’t come, but I refuse to be linked with Tommy Canaday, even at a party like this one.” The downward curve of her mouth suggested just how distasteful she found the idea.

  “Why, other than his obvious lack of manners and self-control?”

  “He’s graduating from Yale next year with a degree in finance. He thinks he’ll be guaranteed a job if he’s dating me.”

  “Ah. Well, I’m sorry he upset you. And I promise I won’t be polite if he tries anything further. I am your aged male relative, after all. If I can’t protect you, what good am I?” He was encouraged when she smiled up at him. “That’s better. Now what say we sit this next one out? I’m finding it a bit stuffy in here.”

  Retrieving their drinks, they elbowed through the crowd to the deserted terrace. “The view is spectacular. Is that the Empire State Building over there?” Peg was drinking deeply and he noticed the sheen of perspiration on her forehead. Taking the handkerchief from his breast pocket, he dabbed gently along her hairline. “There. Can’t have you melting. Too much dancing or too much Tommy?”

  “Oh, a little of both, I guess. I’m so sorry that happened tonight. I wouldn’t want you to think I can’t take care of myself.” She sighed, leaning her elbows on the railing. “It’s just a fact of my life, guys like Tommy.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, just that they see me as a way to get to my father.” She paused, b
linking slowly. “Ooh, I guess it’s the height. I feel a little woozy.” Taking a deep breath, she held up her glass. “I think this needs refreshing. The ice has melted.”

  “Why don’t you sit down while I go to the bar? Are you sure you’re all right?” As she turned toward a nearby chair, she swayed against him, reaching out to grasp his sleeve.

  “I’m just a little light headed. I’ll be fine.” Sinking into the chair, she offered an unconvincing smile.

  Instinctively, he raised her glass to his nose, the hairs on his neck once more standing on end. “Peg, I’m afraid someone may have tampered with your drink. Is it possible you’re feeling the effects of alcohol?”

  She blinked again, passing her tongue over her lips. “It’s possible. I told you I don’t have a head for it. One glass of champagne and. . .I felt just like this.” She turned her face up to him, realization washing over her features. “Tommy, that weasel! Oh, Kendall, I’m so sorry.” Tears swam in her eyes, and his blood approached the boiling point.

  “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” Scanning the crowd, he launched toward his target, long strides carrying him to the bar where Canaday was accepting a tall glass from Bill. “No more of that, sir. You’ll come with me, please.” He kept his voice low and his tone civil, but the firmness of his grip on the boy’s shoulder seemed to have the desired effect.

  “What!”

  “You don’t really have to ask, do you?” He set Peg’s glass on the bar. “Bill, I believe you’ll attest to the fact that this contained more than club soda.”

  Bill warily lifted the glass. “Vodka?”

  “Precisely. Conveniently tasteless. Easy to slip past a novice. Now, Mr. Canaday, there’s someone to whom you owe an apology. And then you’re going to leave this party quietly and stagger your pathetic way home.”

  They moved through the crowd without calling undue attention. Once on the terrace, the sight of Peg with her head in her hands caused his grip to tighten spasmodically on the collar of Tommy’s dinner jacket. “Now, what have you to say to Miss Shannon, Canaday? Something along the line of what an imbecilic, undeserving son of a witch’s jackal you are and how you promise by all that’s holy never to come near her again should do for starters.”

  “I’m sorry, Peg.”

  “What was that again? I’m sure she couldn’t hear you over the music.”

  “I’m sorry. That was a stupid thing to do and. . .I’m sorry!” Kendall sensed the boy was near tears himself now, while Peg was watching his performance with a barely concealed smile.

  “Peg? Is there anything you wish to say to Mr. Canaday before he leaves?”

  Straightening regally in her chair, Peg raised a finely arched brow. “I don’t forgive you, Tommy. And I may just have to tell my father about this if you ever dare apply for a position in our bank.”

  With a none too gentle shove, Kendall sent Tommy stumbling toward the living room, where a scowling Bill O’Halloran stood waiting to escort him to the door.

  “Like every good bartender, I’m sure Bill will call him a cab.” He took a seat in a chair opposite Peg’s and held out his hands. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better.” Her smile was only slightly shaky. “Sir Galahad.”

  “Ha! I felt more like a schoolmaster about to cane some hapless lad for skipping class. Good lord, but you and your friends make me feel old!” He was heartened by her soft laughter. “Now, seriously, can’t I get you something, some coffee perhaps?”

  “What you can get me is out of here. I think this party is over for me. I’ll find Connie and tell her I have a headache. Then can we go somewhere quiet and get something to eat?”

  “Your wish is my command. But let me find Connie for you. It won’t do for you to have to fight your way through that mob in there. Just sit here and continue to feel better.” He couldn’t resist laying a hand on her hair as he got to his feet. “Poor kid, that was a dirty trick and you handled yourself beautifully. As befits a princess, I suppose.” He was rewarded by a crooked but radiant smile which spread from her lips to ignite a blue blaze in her eyes. Before she could answer, he once again plunged into the crowd, driven by the desire to take her somewhere quiet and see her smile at him like that for the next several hours.

  In the taxi, which Peg directed to Columbus Circle, she leaned back with a sigh. “I’m afraid you got a bad impression of my friends. It’s usually not that bad.”

  “Don’t think any more about it, please. I’m just glad I was there to help.”

  “I never pictured you as such a tough guy.”

  “I’m not. But a public school boy with shiny black curls, a lisp and ridiculously long eyelashes, who also happens to play the violin, has to learn to stand up for himself or live in torment for the duration of his education.”

  She giggled, another sound he’d been hoping to hear again. “A lisp?”

  “Oh yeth. I had a gap between my front teeth wide enough to drive a cricket ball through. Thanks to my grandparents, that got fixed before I started Oxford.”

  “I can’t imagine you as anything but. . .well, forgive me if this sounds impertinent, but gorgeous.”

  “Ha! You should have had that coffee, Miss Shannon.”

  “No. I mean it. You’re awfully good looking, and very British in the best sort of way. I wanted to show you off tonight, and instead. . .you’re probably sorry you ever went to the stupid old party.” Her voice quivered as she turned away from him to stare out the window.

  He hesitated for an instant before taking her hand. “Listen to me, Anna Margaret Shannon. This night is still young, and we have a lot of catching up to do. All the Tommy Canadays in the world couldn’t make me regret coming out with you tonight.” In response, she curled her fingers gently around his.

  The cab drew up to the curb and Peg paid the fare. “Come on. You’re going to like this place, I think. It’s one of my favorites.” Pushing through the door of the small cafe, she led the way past a coat check station to the podium where a small, round man sporting a ruffled shirt and white wig looked up with a beaming smile.

  “Ah! Miss Peg! How beautiful you look tonight, and on the arm of such a handsome escort! My Friday night is now complete!” His far from refined accent was in startling contrast to his dress and manners.

  “Figaro, this is my cousin from London, Kendall Gregg. Kendall, this is Figaro Jones, owner of the Opera Café.”

  The man bowed low, taking Peg’s hand and raising it to his lips. “Miss Peg, any cousin of yours is a cousin of mine!” When he turned to Kendall, his grin revealed a sparkling gold eye-tooth. “Mr. Gregg! Welcome to Manhattan. And congratulations on having the loveliest companion in all of the boroughs. Come! Right this way.”

  The walls were painted a rich red and hung with large framed sketches depicting sets from various operatic productions. From hidden speakers, the overture to The Barber of Seville was reaching its conclusion. Bypassing numerous empty tables, Figaro led them to one by the window, ceremoniously whipping out a chair for Peg. “You’re in luck, my dear. Your favorite table is free. Mario will be right over to take your order.”

  “There are no menus? Don’t tell me the waiters come by and sing our choices?”

  “Oh, no. Only the special of the day.” She grinned, the sparkle in her eyes setting his pulse beating faster. He wasn’t sure when he’d lost the image of her former self, but now all he saw across the table was a woman he wanted to know better, much better if he were honest with himself. That thought jabbed painfully at his conscience for no more than a split second before Peg caught his attention again, reaching over to touch his hand.

  “Seriously? How quaint.” He swallowed hard, resisting the desire to weave his fingers into hers.

  “Oh, yes. But Figaro knows I don’t need a menu. The Opera serves the best hamburger in Manhattan. I’m sure their other dishes are good, but I only come here for the burgers.” She drew her hand away in a little wave. “Hi, Mario! This is my cousin from London, Mr.
Gregg. I want him to have his first American hamburger here, okay?”

  The waiter, a long, thin man with a drooping mustache and a face to match sidled up to the table. “Miss Peg, Mr. Gregg,” he intoned in a voice which could only be described as basso profundo. “You’re sure you wouldn’t like to hear the special for tonight?”

  “Oh, no thank you. Just two of the usual and I’ll have ginger ale to drink. Kendall, what would you like? They have an excellent bar here.” She eyed him quizzically. “Let’s see, single malt, no ice, right?”

  He grinned. “How did you know?”

  “Just a lucky guess. That’s what Uncle Sean always orders. You’re sure? You can order whatever you like.”

  He turned to the waiter. “Soda on the side?”

  “Yes sir! And will you be having your usual half-way through the meal, Miss Peg?”

  “Of course. And bring two straws, please. We’ll share a large. Extra shavings?”

  “Just for you. I’ll have your drinks right up.” As Mario backed away, Kendall couldn’t avoid seeing the less than subtle winks and nods cast in his direction.

  “He thinks you’re nice. I don’t bring dates here, so he probably thinks we’re an item. These guys have known me since I was just little. Dad loves their corned beef and cabbage.”

  “What’s coming half-way through the meal. . .with extra shavings?”

  “A chocolate shake, the thickest in New York. Whipped cream and chocolate shavings on top. I can never finish one, so you can help me tonight.” Resting her elbows on the table, she propped her chin in her palms. “This is so much better than that noisy party. Although I would have loved to dance with you some more.”

  The music had started again after a brief lull. Kendall recognized the opening bars of a Strauss waltz. “What’s to stop us? There’s hardly a crowd in here.”

  She instantly raised her arm, signaling to Figaro. “We can always ask! Figaro, would you mind if we danced, just one dance? My cousin is a wonderful dancer and. . .”