Shannon's Daughter (53 page)

London—1961-71

Chapter Forty-eight

While
Peg was attending the inauguration of the first Irish-Catholic President in
Washington, Kendall spent a quiet weekend in Hertford.
 
He needed the time alone to assess his
position and lay his plans.
 
By the end
of the summer, he would either be leaving one job and taking another, or
helping Peg relocate her life to England.
 
They had talked over Christmas, and while she had shied away from a
formal announcement, he had flown home with the assurance that they would set a
date in the next month or so.

“You
know as soon as we do, neither of us will have any peace.
 
Weddings are awful enough without having to
deal with the distance.
 
It might be
simpler to have two, one here and one in London.
 
Or we could try what I heard of one couple
doing last year.
 
Have two
receptions.
 
That way the family wouldn’t
feel left out, but I could still have all my friends at the wedding.
 
What do you think?”

He
hadn’t thought much past the moment when Peg had agreed it was time to start
looking at the calendar.
 
“I’ll do
whatever you what.
 
As long as I get to
be the groom, we can have half-a-dozen weddings.”

“Ugh!
 
One will be bad enough.
 
I intend to keep it as small as possible, but
there are so many people we have to invite, it will still be a three-ring
circus.”
 
He hadn’t much comfort to offer
on that front.
 
Weddings, judging by what
he’d seen from his position in supporting roles through the years, were a means
to an end.
 
In their case nothing short
of a glittering spectacle would be expected.

He
could leave that part of things to Peg, but he was determined to have the final
say in his career move.
 
Silverman had
indicated continued interest, even sending him a copy of the coming season’s
program.
 
He had put the lads on notice
to keep their minds open to making a change.
 
Not that they seemed willing.
 
They had all but laughed at him.
 
Something to work on, as well as finally putting it plainly to his
mother that marriage, which she was in favor of, would likely involve permanent
relocation to New York, which he doubted she’d accept with a smile.
 

Then
there was his house, as he realized with mild surprise he’d come to think of
his grandparents’ home.
 
The thought of
parting with it, of strangers moving into its comfortable rooms and tramping
through its rambling gardens, lit a slow-burning fire in his gut.
 
Peg has suggested they keep it, perhaps lease
it to some carefully chosen tenant.
 
But
that would only be prolonging the inevitable.
 
In the end, he tabled the issue for later, once they’d chosen a date and
the job in New York was a reality and not just a dangling carrot.
 

He
admitted to some guilt over leaving the London Phil.
 
They’d become like family, particularly after
the contract vs. salary nastiness had been resolved.
 
And the thought of no longer being a member
of the Bleaker Quartet was more than he could honestly absorb.
 
A part of his mind actually toyed with the
thought of holding on.
 
Commuting wasn’t
out of the question, if they scheduled carefully, was it?
 
They’d been making money since their first
studio recording was released last year, not a lot, but enough to congratulate
themselves
on finally achieving one of their earliest
dreams.
 
Maybe that was something else he
could drag out a bit, in the name of loyalty to the three men who’d had faith
in his talent when no one else had.

His
quandaries lasted long past that weekend.
 
He decided making decisions wasn’t one of his strengths.
 
He liked his life.
 
If only Peg could be conveniently
incorporated into things as they stood now, he’d be completely satisfied.
 
That being out of the question, the time had
come to act, which proved more difficult than it had seemed when he’d first
declared his willingness to make any number of changes if they made a life with
Peg possible.
 
The willingness was still
there, but the number was daunting and his energy was increasingly threatened
by inertia.
 

Not
that he would admit that to anyone else, and certainly not to Peg.
 
When they sat down, each with their calendars
at the ready, in early February, he sounded firmly in control, even to his own
ears.
 
If he thought Peg came across a
shade too bright, he let it pass.
 
They
were on the home stretch now, a little anxiety and a few brittle nerves were to
be expected.
 
They agreed on a date to
announce their engagement, March 17, St. Patrick’s Day, at a party already
conveniently scheduled to raise funds for one of Michael’s favorite causes,
something to do with providing instruments for orchestral students.
 

“There
won’t be a huge crowd, but a lot of Dad’s oldest friends will be here.
 
He thought it would be a nice surprise for
them.
 
I suggested we could just put it in
the newspapers, but he wants an official announcement with pictures and toasts
and that sort of thing.”

“Sounds
like fun.
 
Are we setting the wedding
date now, too?”

“No.
 
I still have to talk to the church.
 
I did manage to convince Dad I’d rather not
use St. Patty’s.
 
But we have to get
clearance from the diocese to have it someplace else.
 
He’s disappointed that you won’t be
converting, but I assured him you’ll sign all the papers.”

“Is it
a big issue?
 
I mean, I suppose I could
go through all that, but if it isn’t really necessary. . .”

“It
isn’t.
 
You’re doing enough.
 
And it doesn’t matter at all to me.”

“You’d
tell me if it did?”

“I
would.
 
Now what about your mother?
 
Have you had that talk with her yet?”

“You
mean the one where I tell her I’m immigrating?
 
No.
 
But I will before we make the
announcement.
 
Only
fair.
 
And then I’ll hop on a
plane and let Patrick deal with the initial aftershock.”

“Dad
wanted to invite them to the party.
 
I
told him you’d take care of telling them and we’d celebrate when I’m over in
April.
 
By then she should have adjusted,
shouldn’t she?”

“One
hopes.
 
But back to the
wedding, love.
 
Can you at least
pin it down to a month?
 
I’ll need to be
in New York no later than August.
 
And I
shouldn’t be living under the same roof with my bride-to-be.
 
I need to start making arrangements.”

“September.
 
Late September, I think.
 
Assuming
we can get the church.
 
October at the latest.
 
How’s that?”

“Good.
 
Wonderful.
 
Maybe we can take our honeymoon in
Maine?
 
Nice and quiet
with all that glorious autumn color.”

“Sounds
lovely.
 
I can’t take too long.
 
I scheduled a series of chamber concerts in
November, showcasing some young musicians.
 
But maybe at least ten days.”
 
He
heard her flipping pages, no doubt already filled with appointments.
 

“Just
so you have a little time for your new husband.
 
Can we stop planning long enough for me to say how much I’m looking
forward to getting this out of the way and spending the rest of my life with
you?”

“Hm?
 
Oh, I just realized I have to be a bridesmaid in Mary Frances
Fitzpatrick’s wedding in October.
 
She
finally pinned down Jeff O’Hallaron.
 
Connie’s not all that thrilled, but Jeff will have a good, solid career
in Mr. Fitzpatrick’s law firm.”

“So
we’re back to September?”

“Looks
like it.
 
Do you care what time of day?”

“Not
at all.
 
Just tell me when and I promise to be there.”

“Well I
hope so.
 
After all the work that goes
into these things, the least the groom can do is show up.”
 
The smile in her voice eased his tension
somewhat.
 
He hated making such important
decisions without being able to see her expression.
 
Was she as distracted as she sounded, or was
he just projecting his own confusion?

When
the call ended with a few moments of commiserating on their mutual need for a
long cuddle, Kendall rang off satisfied that slowly but surely, they were
approaching the goal.
 
Nothing that
monumental could be accomplished simply, although he’d given more than one
passing thought to how thoroughly
married
he’d been to
Jenny after a quick trip to Scotland.
 
No
use thinking he could join his life to Peg’s without going through all the
motions.
 
He knew Peg would be under
enormous strain without a mother to help with the arrangements, not that she
would know how to let anyone else take charge.
 
Best not to add any of his worries to hers.

February
passed too quickly.
 
He spent far too
much time shopping for a
ring,
having decided his
grandmother’s wouldn’t do after seeing a few of the gems Peg’s friends flashed
about.
 
He even took Reggie with him when
he made the final choice, an emerald cut stone of respectable size set in
platinum, enduring his friends disapproving scrutiny.
 

“You
look done in, old man.
 
Have you been
ill?”

“No.
 
Fit as ever.”
 
He made a point not to press a hand to the nagging ache just above his
belt.
 

“Why
don’t you call the office and let me have a look?
 
I don’t care at all for your color.
 
And don’t think you’re fooling me.
 
You’ve got that pinched look, and it’s not
just the cost of that ring that’s paining you.”

“Just a
little upset.
 
I’ll be fine, I’m sure, as
soon as all this is behind me.
 
I
certainly don’t need to waste your time or mine having you poke about.”

It did
occur to him that a doctor might be in order, but he had no intention of
letting Reggie anywhere near him.
 
Not
that he wasn’t a good physician, but stripping down in front of his friend and
facing the inevitable questions about his history once Reggie saw
those old scars was
out of the question.
 
At the bottom of his to-do list he made a
note to find a physician, just as a precaution, and then promptly let it slide
in favor of a new antacid tablet his landlady recommended.
 

March
began with unrelenting rain, an overly heavy performance schedule and a problem
with the roof in Hertford.
 
He actually
looked forward to flying to New York to escape it all.
 
After sitting down to lunch with his mother
and enduring her martyred response to his announcement, he packed his bags and
dashed over to Maeve and Reggie’s for a small dinner party in honor of
Adelaide’s birthday.
 
He was nothing, he
decided, if not obliging.
 
If he wasn’t
such a nice fellow, he’d have gone to bed with a dose of something chalky and a
hot water bottle in preparation for his early flight the following day.

He
remembered picking at his salad, thinking the dressing was a bit too sharp, and
listening to Maeve brag about little Margaret until he tuned her out in
self-defense.
 
Adelaide asked about his
trip and he tried for the appropriate twinkle in his eye as he hinted at the
planned announcement.
 
He was laughing at
Reggie’s rather lame joke about one of Her Majesty’s race horses when the
lights seemed to dim and the pain in his side took on the sharpness of a knife
thrust, a sensation he’d unfortunately experienced.
 
Standing up seemed logical until he tried, at
which point the floor rose up to meet him.