Beverly Byrne (11 page)

He
looked awful, unshaven and still in the clothes he'd been wearing the night
before. There was a stain on the front of his dinner jacket, and he'd removed
his tie and loosened his collar button.

"Have
you been sick?" she asked anxiously.

"Awful.
I still am."

"I'll
make you some tea. Where's the kitchen?"

It
was on the ground floor at the back. It looked as if no one had prepared a meal
there for ages. "The cleaning woman comes a couple of times a week,"
he said. "But there's no cook now."

"I
can cook a little," she said, opening the ice box. "You have some
eggs."

"I'm
not hungry."

"You
must eat something. Go take a shower and change while I get this ready."

He
came back in a few minutes, shaved and wearing a dressing gown. They put the
tray of food in the dumb waiter and collected it in the butler's pantry on the
floor above. Amy noticed a madonna and child of carved wood on a pedestal on
the landing. "Your family always has something like this, don't they? This
one's beautiful."

"Mother
found it in France years ago. It's an antique. I guess it's beautiful. Don't
blame me if all the Westermans are religious fanatics."

Tommy
carried the meal to a small breakfast room, gay with chintz and blue and white
tiles. Cecily Westerman had indeed possessed good taste.

"I
like your house," Amy said. "It's charming."

"Yeah,
charming." He ate quickly, as if he was suddenly ravenous. "Thanks,"
he said when he finished. "I feel better."

"You
need looking after," she said with concern. "You should hire a
housekeeper." He grinned. "That's one way. Or I could take a
wife." She didn't meet his eyes. "When are you going back to
school?" she asked.

"I'm
not."

"What
do you mean? You have another two terms before graduation."

"Well,
I've changed my mind. This war is spreading, we're bound to get into it. They
drop bombs from planes now, in case you didn't know. The whole world will
probably be blown up. I don't see any point in the groves of academe." He
rose from the table abruptly. "I'll show you the drawing room."

His
limp was very pronounced. He had not been lying about his leg.

The
drawing room was decorated in soft shades of beige and pale yellow. It was
lovely, and Amy said so.

"Yeah,"
he said. "Mother was good at decorating. She liked modern things as well
as antiques."

"Do
you miss her a lot?" Amy asked softly. "Can you get used to the idea
that you'll never see her again?"

He
knew that she was voicing her own feelings. "There's nothing else to do.
We have to get used to it."

He
sat on the sofa and took a cigarette from a box on the table. "I want to
ask you something," he said.

Amy
watched him and waited.

"You've
had a good time these last few weeks, haven't you? Do you still miss
Luke?"

"I've
had a marvelous time," she said quickly.

"What
about the Luke part?"

"I
don't want to talk about him." She got up and walked to the window. It was
dark and a few stars winked down on the brownstone houses. "Why do you
keep bringing up Luke lately?"

"Because
I have to know. Damn it, Amy, you must see that."

"I
don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm
talking about us. You and me." He crossed to where she stood and put a
hand on her arm. "I love you," he said softly.

"I
don't think we should be talking like this," she said.

He
spun her around and pulled her close. She was very stiff at first, but she
didn't pull away. He bent his head and kissed her, gently at the start, then
with more urgency. His hands moved along her spine, and he held her even
tighter until she could feel her breasts pushing against his broad chest.

Her
hands fluttered at his shoulders, then came to rest behind his head. She
tangled her fingers in his thick curly hair. It's like it was with Luke that
day on the beach, she thought. She waited, but she did not feel again what
she'd felt before. Her blood didn't sing. She did not tremble. It was Tommy who
broke off the kiss. He took her arm and tried to lead her toward the sofa.

"No,"
she said. Her voice sounded strangely dead in her own ears, but Tommy didn't
seem to notice. "I have to go," she said. "Aunt Lil's expecting
me."

"Ok."
He dropped her hand with an air of resignation. "You go home if you want.
I'll see you tomorrow."

As
she walked through the darkened streets she speculated that Luke would not have
allowed her to go home alone.

"I
understand Tommy isn't returning to Georgetown," Lit said at breakfast a
few days later.

"That's
what he says." Amy cracked the top of her boiled egg. "He claims it's
because of the war. But I don't know why that makes any difference."

"This
war's getting worse," Warren said. "Look here." He passed over
the Times and Amy read the headline about Verdun.

Lil
didn't want to talk about the war. "Tommy shouldn't interrupt his
education," she said. "I told Donald he was mad to allow it."
She grew more upset as she spoke. "Tommy has such a brilliant future. He's
making a terrible mistake. Can't you talk to him, Amy?"

"I
tried, Aunt Lil. He won't listen."

"No,
probably not to me either. He's always been stubborn. I think we should get in
touch with Luke. He should come home and try to make Tommy see sense. "

"I
don't think that would help." Amy stared at the tablecloth.

"Maybe
not." Lil reached out and patted Amy's hand. "Anyway, I'm sure you're
a good influence, my dear. You must do what you can."

She
told Tommy a bit about the conversation. "Aunt Lil's very disappointed
that you aren't going back to college. She thinks you're throwing away a
brillant future."

They
were watching the skaters in Central Park, and he flipped the butt of his
cigarette toward the lake. It lay sputtering on the thick ice. A skater looked
angrily in their direction. "Let's go," Tommy said. "This place
is getting me down. I hate winter."

"So
do I." She was remembering the first snowfall and the sounds of laughing
children and the snowman called Lord Frostbite. "I wish this war would end
and I could go home."

"That's
what you want, is it?" He took her arm and steered her toward the exit
from the park. "Home to the black natives and the diamonds and the hot
African sun."

"You
should be a writer," she laughed.

"No
point in being anything these days. No future in it. Don't you read the
papers?"

"The
war has to end sometime."

"I
guess so. Everything ends, doesn't it?"

"You're
making me depressed."

"Welcome
to the club."

Tommy
was supposed to have taken a job in Charles Westerman's old firm, the post Luke
had vacated, but he never seemed to go to the office. He spent most days with Amy,
but she didn't return to the Eighty-third Street house and he never tried to
kiss her, or talk about his brother. By mid-January society parties were less
frequent. They filled their time with "flicks" at the Regent or the
Rialto. Twice he took her to see Ziegfeld's Follies on Broadway.

Amy
was embarrassed by the scanty costumes of the Ziegfeld girls, but she loved
comics like W.C. Fields, Eddie Cantor, and Fanny Brice. Tommy laughed at her
objections to the gorgeous chorus line and said she mustn't be old-fashioned,
but when she mentioned bobbing her hair he objected and she gave up the idea.

They
didn't drink much when they were together, but sometimes he was a little drunk
by the time she saw him. And he was morose, not SO much fun. Amy decided that
she had to say something. She chose an afternoon when he was at the apartment.
They were alone in the small sitting room at the back of the house, sipping hot
chocolate and saying very little.

"What's
wrong, Tommy?" she ventured finally.

"You've
been so down since New Year's. Are you sorry about not returning to
Georgetown?"

"Not
about that."

"What
then?"

"Besides
the
Lusitania
and the war and the state of my finances, you mean?"
He leaned his head back wearily against the chair.

"I
didn't know you were worried about money. I thought that was all settled."

"Oh,
it's settled. I don't have any."

"But
Mr. Varley said he was making some new investments, for you," she said
without thinking.

He
sat up quickly. "Have you been discussing me with Donald Varley?"
There was a tic at the side of his mouth, and she knew he was furious.

"Not
the way you think. It came up months ago. When I was talking to him about my
own inheritance. He just said. . ."

"Forget
it." He cut her short. "I didn't tell you what else I'm depressed
about. You."

"Me!
But why?"

"Why?
Because nearly three weeks ago I said I loved you and you've never mentioned it
again. Not a word or a look or anything. What do you think I am, Amy? What do
you think I'm made of?"

"But
what could I say? There's the war, and everything's so uncertain. And we're
both so young." She wanted to cry. The look of pain and unhappiness on his
face wrenched her heart.

"I'll
be twenty-two next week. And we can't do anything about the war. Besides, that
didn't hold you back with Luke."

She
turned bright red. "That's a mean thing to say."

"Yes,
well, I'm tired of playing second fiddle to the golden boy."

"I
don't think of you like that at all."

"How
do you think of me?"

She
stared at her folded hands. The knuckles were white. "I don't know. I'm
confused." Her voice was a tiny whisper.

Her
uncertainty gave him confidence. He moved to sit beside her and put his arm
around her shoulders. "I'm sure. Enough for both of us."

She
shook her head. "I just don't know."

He
tilted her face and leaned forward and kissed her. It wasn't demanding and
urgent like the kiss on New Year's Day. There was gentleness in it. She
responded to that. Her lips trembled beneath his and he pulled her closer.
Their bodies pressed together on the soft down cushions of the sofa.
"There," he said when he released her. "You don't mind me
kissing you, do you?"

"I
like it," she admitted shyly. And this time she did. It wasn't the same as
with Luke, but it made her feel warm and protected and wanted.

Tommy
smiled. It was that soft warm smile of last summer which she'd not seen in many
months. "I do love you, you know," he said. "And we're a good
combination. We ought to get married, memsahib. Right away before this damn war
ends the world."

"Maybe
we should," she whispered. I won't be alone, she thought.
I'll be a
married lady.