Beverly Byrne Page 8

  She waited in her room until she heard him arrive. The timbre of his voice told her his mood was nothing like it had been. This was a more familiar Luke, without the hardness and the anger that had lurked behind his words the previous evening. Amy took a last look at herself in the mirror, then went to join him.

  "How lovely you look," he said.

  There was the faintest catch in his voice, and when he looked at her his eyes were filled with longing. Luke could never hide what he was thinking. "We should be going out someplace special," he added, gesturing to her gown.

  "Oh, no, I want to stay right here." He mustn't imagine she required a lot of expensive outings. "I'm just feeling happy. A little like celebrating." She glanced at him from beneath demurely lowered lashes, hoping he'd respond to her barely disguised excitement before he knew its source. Instead he turned away, and she saw his shoulders tense as if in pain. Don't worry, she wanted to say. I understand, everything's all right. Instead Maureen announced dinner and Amy said nothing.

  She was conscious of his eyes on her all the while they ate. Lil and Warren disappeared soon after dinner. "You two young people must excuse me," Lil said. "I've a couple of letters to write." For a moment before she left the room Lil looked disturbed and a little sad. Amy put it out of her mind. She had no time for Lit's vagaries tonight. Warren muttered something about his cuttings. The door to the drawing room was left ajar, but she was alone with Luke.

  Amy drew in a deep breath and mustered all her courage. She had decided to speak, and she didn't intend to back down. Still, her hands trembled where they lay folded in her lap. "I saw your Uncle Donald today," she began.

  "Oh, what did he want?" Luke seemed surprised.

  Amy had rehearsed this part carefully. She knew exactly what she wanted to tell and what she should keep secret. She and Mr. Varley had agreed that the Westerman boys mustn't know about the loan or the new investments. That would embarrass them. "He wanted to tell me that my inheritance appears safe now," she said. "The English have taken control of Dar es Salaam, and they've promised to deal honorably with all the foreign business interests in German East. So I'll have the mines back as soon as the war is over. "

  "That's wonderful, Amy, I'm glad for you. Listen, I want to talk to you about something else...."

  "Not just for me," she interrupted. "It's wonderful for both of us, Luke." Nervous excitement made her rise and walk to where he stood by the fireplace. A log sputtered into flame, and she leaned forward and prodded it with a brass handled poker.

  "Here, let me do that. You'll burn yourself." He took the poker from her and their hands touched. The poker dropped unheeded on the hearth. It seemed to Amy that sparks rose from their joined fingers.

  "You must come with me to Africa just as soon as we can travel," she said breathlessly. "You'll love Jericho. I know you will. And you can manage the mines. I think you'll like that much better than the work you're doing now. I know you don't like the finance business."

  "No," he said softly. "I don't. And you are very sweet and generous. But I can't do that, my dearest Amy. I would if I could."

  "Why can't you? Oh, Luke, I know how things are. I'm trying to tell you it doesn't matter. The Norman mines are very profitable, and they belong to me. At least they will."

  He drew his hand from hers and walked to the sideboard and poured himself a brandy. This was unusual, because he seldom drank. She remained where she was and stared at his rigid back.

  "Listen," he said. "I was very sick when I was a kid."

  "I know, Uncle Warren told me. He said you almost died. He said that's why you're so religious now. Is it because of your religion, Luke? Is that why you don't want to come to Africa?"

  "That's not what I'm talking about. The sickness I had ... Oh, Lord! This is impossible!" He turned to her in anguish. "No, don't move. Stay over there. It's easier to say this if you're not close. I thought of asking Aunt Lil to tell you, but I'm afraid she'd faint with shock if I suggested it. Amy, I had mumps. A bad case."

  "But you're fine now. I've known you for ages and you're never sick."

  "Not the way you mean." He tossed back his head and downed the brandy. "I can never be a father, Amy," he blurted out. "I'm sterile."

  She stared at him for a long moment, then she laughed. "Oh, Luke! Is that all? I don't care and it's nothing to do with running the mines, so I suppose" -she grinned at him with gamine wiles-"you're finally proposing to me."

  He didn't respond to her laughter. He was pale and his face was stiff with pain. "No," he said. "That's just what I'm not doing. I'm trying to tell you I intend to be a priest. I told you the other thing because I hoped it would help you understand."

  "A priest ..." Her voice was a whisper. "But why? Catholic priests can never marry. Aunt Lil told me that. "

  "Yes, she was trying to prepare you. She's always known my plans. Please forgive me, Amy. I should have told you sooner. At first there just never seemed a right time. Then, when I realized how you felt, how we both felt. .. I simply couldn't bear to hurt you."

  Amy's face burned with shame, but every instinct told her not to give in. "Then you admit you feel something for me."

  "Something! Oh, Amy, I care for you very much. If I were going to marry anyone, it would be you, if you'd have me. For a while I thought maybe you were a sign and I was kidding myself about having a vocation. Sometimes I was high as a kite just being near you, and other times I'd get so damned mad I couldn't see straight. I've been going to confession over and over, and getting the same answer. Pray to know the will of God." He ran his hands through his hair in a gesture of despair and poured himself another brandy.

  Amy seemed to hear him through a dark tunnel, as if he were far away. Her mouth felt full of cotton, but she struggled to speak. "How can anyone know God's will?" she managed to say. "Do you have visions? Or do priests tell you?"

  "You just know. I've tried to fight it for years. I'm an ordinary man. I feel things." He turned red and didn't meet her pleading eyes. "You know I do. When I touch you I explode inside. I don't even want to be a priest. But I can't fight it anymore. The Dominicans have accepted me into their order. I begin the novitiate right after Christmas."

  She thought about throwing herself into his arms, making him feel what she knew he'd feel, and forget all these mad ideas. But she knew it wouldn't last. Whatever he said or did now, in a little while he'd change again. His church had a stranglehold on him.

  She couldn't fight it anymore than he could. When he stretched out his hand she put up her own in selfdefense. His words were whips flailing her flesh; she could not bear his touch too.

  "Get out," she said. "Go away and leave me alone. I never want to see you again."

  7

  AMY FELT BATTERED, PHYSICALLY BEATEN. SHE LAY awake for hours each night and slept only to wake to agony once more. Worst of all was the shame. When she remembered how she'd thrown herself at Luke she grew nauseated. She spent endless time in the bathroom, crying and retching by turn. Twice Lil tried to speak to her, but Amy met those attempts with stony silence and Lil backed off.

  Amy realized that Warren and Lil might not know the details, but they certainly knew what had happened. Even Maureen must know that Luke didn't want her. She'd made a fool of herself while everyone else saw perfectly well that Luke Westerman wasn't interested. He wasn't like other men. He wanted to be some kind of holy monk. And she'd gone blithely ahead with her childish fantasy while they all watched and laughed behind her back.

  Humiliation was the worst of her torments, but it wasn't the only one. Amy kept remembering the way she'd felt when Luke was near and the way her mouth tasted after he kissed her. It was unbearable to realize that she'd never feel that way again.Months before, she'd thought that she would never get over her parents' death and the separation from Jericho. Then Luke had filled her life. Now, once more, she had nothing.

  She was dimly conscious that while she remained closeted in her room, the rest of the household continu
ed its normal routine. Six days passed. Then one afternoon she heard the doorbell ring. No one answered, but it didn't stop. Apparently she was the only one home. It must be Thursday, Maureen's day off. She tried to ignore the summons, but it went on and on. Amy dragged herself to the foyer and opened the door.

  "Hi, memsahib, how's tricks?" Tommy was wearing his jaunty gray fedora. It was pushed back on his head, and his coat and white silk scarf were open. He leaned against the wall. "Aren't you going to ask me in?"

  "Of course." She stepped aside. "I didn't know you were back from school," she said dully. Tommy must know too. Now he'd come to gloat.

  "Just got in this morning, Christmas vacation started early this year." There was irony in his voice, but she was too preoccupied to notice. He tossed his hat at the clothes tree in the hall and shrugged off his coat. "Where's the clan?"

  "I don't know. Out I guess."

  "Good," he said. He stared hard at her. "You look like hell. I'm not going to apologize. That is what you look like."

  "I haven't been feeling well." Her voice sounded tinny and far away.

  "So I've heard. Good old brother Luke, I gather. Don't deny it. He left town a few hours ago. He admitted that he finally told you about the priest business. A real charmer my brother. Set 'em up and knock 'em down, that's his motto."

  "Please, Tommy, I don't want to talk about it. I can't. "

  "Read this." He took an envelope from his pocket and handed it to her. "I was asked to give it to you. Go on, read it."

  She opened the note with trembling fingers, conscious that Tommy was watching her. It was written in black ink, like a letter of condolence.

  My very dear Amy,

  I'm more sorry than I can say about hurting you. Believe me, it is the will of God, and best for both of us. Someday you'll see that. By the time you read this I'll have left for the Dominican novitiate. It seemed wise for me to go early. Please remember that you will always be in my prayers. God bless you.

  Luke.

  "Where is this Dominican whatever it's called?" she asked.

  "Dover, a little town south of Boston. You planning to chase after him up there?"

  She gasped. "How dare you!"

  "Oh, my God!" He pounded his fist on the table and a cut-glass bird fell to the floor. "You're going around like a heroine in a Greek tragedy and you're mad at me. Look at yourself!" He grabbed her shoulders and spun her around so she faced the mirror over the mantel. "Is it my fault you feel like you do? What did he say anyway?"

  Tommy snatched the note from her hand. Amy remained staring into the empty fireplace. They never had a fire on the maid's day off.

  "The supercilious bastard." Tommy took a gold lighter from his pocket.

  "Don't burn it," she whispered.

  "Why not? So you can sleep with it under your pillow? No chance, memsahib. I'm not going to let you pine away for brother Luke. He's chosen the arms of holy Church. So to hell with him. Or to hell with us. What difference does it make?" He lit the corner of the note and dropped it on the bare stones between the andirons. It flared up, then curled into black ash. "Over," he said. "Done. Finished. Now you and I are going out."

  She shook her head.

  "Damn it, lady, I'm not asking you, I'm telling you. Get your coat."

  She didn't move, so he got it for her, yanking it from the hall closet and buttoning her into it as if she were a helpless child. "Move. Come on or I'll carry you."

  They went by cab to the Plaza Hotel, and he led her to the most conspicuous table in the Palm Court. He ordered champagne, and when it came he made her drink two glasses in quick succession. "Now," he said, pouring a third for each of them and signaling for another bottle, "you listen to me. You are the best-looking girl in this room. And every man here is wishing he was me. You got that, memsahib?"

  She nodded.

  "Good, keep it. And something else, there's only one way to handle things like this. Don't get mad. Get even."

  "How can I do that?"

  "By having a good time. By being happy. Leave the sackcloth and ashes to my brother. That's what he's after, isn't it? Let him have the lifetime of penance, and you and I will have the fun. Now for heaven's sake, smile. C'mon, do it or I'll punch you right in that turned-up little nose."

  She raised her eyes and looked directly at him for the first time that afternoon. A smile began, a stiff effort at the corners of her mouth.

  He was watching her anxiously. His recalcitrant curls fell over his forehead as usual. Tommy stuck out his lip and blew them away in the familiar, funny gesture. Amy's smile reached her eyes.

  "That's better," he said, grinning. "Drink up memsahib. You and I are going to do a little advance celebrating of the holiday. In fact, we're going to get discreetly blotto."

  She had a terrible hangover next day, hut the cold ache in the pit of her stomach began to subside.

  Amy drank a lot of champagne in the next weeks. Tommy's idea of having fun in New York was different from Luke's. He knew many more people, and they all gave parties. She was led through a succession of drawing rooms filled with what the society pages called "smart young things." When they weren't being entertained in someone's house they joined them in hotels. They went to the St. Regis, the Sherry Netherland, or the Plaza for a late afternoon "tea dance," followed usually by dinner at Delmonico's. Tommy never seemed to pay for these excursions, though sometimes she saw him sign a bill. He always did it with a flourish and a smile.

  At first she danced with some of the other men; then she realized how much that upset him and she stopped it. It wasn't that Tommy wanted her always at his side. "Circulate, sweetheart," he told her. "Have a good time." But she mustn't seek any pleasure that was, by its nature, forbidden to him. She didn't really mind.

  "You and Tommy are having quite a whirl," Lil said.

  "We are rather, aren't we?" Amy smiled even though her head ached from the wine of the night before. "Tommy says I mustn't tell anyone how old I am. Because I haven't 'come out' officially."

  Lil toyed with her pearls. "There's that," she said. "You're too young to be in society. And it's not a year yet, you know."

  Amy flushed. "You said I wasn't to mourn, that none of us were." She didn't admit that being with people helped her forget her disappointment. When she saw Tommy and other men look at her admiringly the sting of rejection eased.

  "No," Lil agreed. "I don't want you to mourn. I suppose this is better."

  December twenty-fifth finally came. Amy didn't let herself remember the dreams about becoming engaged to Luke on Christmas Day. She gave Tommy a cashmere scarf, and he presented her with a small evening purse covered in bugle beads. She had seen similar things in Altman's and she knew the gift had cost a great deal. For Tommy's sake she was glad that apparently Donald Varley's new investments were successful. Never mind that they hadn't helped her get what she wanted. She'd put all that in the back of her mind.

  The round of parties grew yet more hectic in the week between Christmas and New Year's Eve. Sometimes there were two or three in one day. They welcomed 1916 at a ball in the Sherry Netherland, and went from there to a dawn breakfast in someone's Fifth Avenue home. As was often the case, Amy didn't know the name of her host or hostess. Having a good time, fun-those were the only bonds between herself and these New York socialites.

  When she and Tommy walked home it was New Year's Day and the sun was shining. Amy giggled. They were still in evening clothes and the milkman was making his rounds.

  "Decadent," Tommy said. "That's what we are. Wouldn't brother Luke be mad." He was a little drunk; otherwise he wouldn't have mentioned Luke. It was a subject they avoided.

  Amy felt a remnant of the old pain begin to surface. She probed, as if it was a sore tooth. "What's he doing right now do you think?" She must be a little drunk too.

  "Praying of course. Kneeling on a cold stone floor and berating himself for his sins."

  "What sins? Luke's holy, haven't you heard?"

  They tu
rned into the entrance of Lil's building, and the doorman wished them good morning, as if arriving home at breakfast time was quite normal. "Yeah," Tommy said. "People like Luke leave the sinning to the rest of us. But they feel guilty just the same. They like feeling guilty."

  She was suddenly too sleepy to talk. "It's all too complicated for me," she said, covering a yawn with a gloved hand.

  He left her at the elevator. "I'll call you later, memsahib. Get some sleep."

  She did, until Maureen came and woke her and said that Mr. Tommy was on the telephone.

  "What time is it?"

  "Five o'clock." Maureen didn't actually sniff, but she might just as well have.