Gay Cavalier Page 18

  Fergus considered this, sipping his tea. Finally he grinned. "Sure, me grandmother could die," he suggested, "and herself being in the wilds of Kildare, 'twould take me till Monday to get to the funeral. If the Colonel would believe that a good enough reason, sure, I'd be willing to try it, so I would."

  "You'd lose your fee," Paddy pointed out, but he, too, was smiling.

  Fergus spread his hands. "I'd make it up, then, with a shilling or two staked on Petitioner in the big race. His price is long enough and when it's known I'm not to ride him, 'twould get longer. And Petitioner will win it, you need have no fear of that."

  "Would it not be taking a chance though," Bridget asked anxiously, "with you not riding him?"

  Both men turned on her. "Colonel Carmichael," Fergus said, "used to be one of the finest steeplechase riders in the country. He'll not have forgotten how to ride a race."

  "And Miss Deirdre? What will you tell her?"

  "Divil a word," Paddy put in explosively, "divil a word must any of us say to Miss Deirdre or 'twill spoil the whole scheme." He set down his cup and his gaze went expectantly to Fergus.

  The jockey rose. "I'll call on him now, on me way home," he promised, "but if this ever gets out, I'll lose me licence, you know."

  "It won't get out," Paddy assured him. He glared at Bridget. "So long as we all hold our tongues…"

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Deirdre had passed an almost sleepless night and she rose on Sean's wedding morning feeling unutterably weary and depressed.

  But, for her brother's sake, she did her best not to show it. Sean was so ecstatically happy and so anxious that she should share his happiness that it would have been heartless not to have made an effort to do so.

  They breakfasted together in front of a cheerful fire, attended by Bridget, who fussed over both of them like the agitated mother hen she so often resembled.

  Sean, immaculate in a pin-stripe London suit, looked unnaturally and all but unrecognizably well groomed, sporting a buttonhole of mammoth proportions, which Bridget had produced from somewhere and insisted on his wearing. He ate with one eye nervously on the clock and, as he ate, he outlined his plans to Deirdre.

  "The Hollises," he said, "are going straight to the Melchester. So I'll drop you there, as soon as we get up, and you can come on to the church with them. I'll go to the flat and pack a bag and dump my stuff and Penelope's. I've arranged for my best man to meet me at the flat and he and I will go on to St. Wilfred's from there. The wedding breakfast"—he made a wry grimace—"will be eaten, on Sir Henry's insistence, at the Melchester. No doubt we shall enjoy it and the Melchester will do us proud, but I can't help a homesick hankering for our original plan— which was that you and Penny and I should stuff ourselves on sausages and mash at the Corner House or somewhere equally Bohemian! Never mind, I expect we'll survive. Saints preserve us, Deirdre—is that the time?"

  "It's all right," Deirdre assured him, "Bridget always keeps that clock ten minutes fast. We've plenty of time."

  "Then I'll have another cup of coffee, child, if you'll pour me one."

  He was hunting frantically in his pockets and she asked: "Have you lost something?"

  "Cigarettes! Divil take it, I haven't got any—unless I left a packet in my overcoat last night. And I don't think I did."

  "We can buy some in Carfield," Deirdre pointed out. She added innocently: "I thought you were looking for the ring."

  "Ring?" He stared at her, dismayed. "Heaven help me, I've forgotten it! I'll have to buy that on the way up too. Whatever could have possessed me, to forget about the ring?"

  Deirdre laughed at him then. "I believe it's a thing bridegrooms do forget. Oh, Sean, Sean—you're as nervous as an unbroken colt! I'd never have believed you could be."

  "Well, I am then," Sean confessed a trifle shamefacedly. He drained his cup and rose. "Come on, I'm sure we ought to go. That clock may not be fast. Out of sheer perversity, it might be slow."

  "It's not, honestly," Deirdre objected, but she, too, got to her feet. "Sean—Sean darling, I do wish you all the happiness in the world, you know."

  "Ach, I know you do, child." He took her hand, held it for an instant and then, tucking it firmly under his arm, he made for the door. "However fast the clock is, I'm going. We may get held up, the traffic's awful in London these days. And we've to call at the hospital—if they'll let us in—and buy the ring. And I don't want to be late getting to the flat, because I have the key to it and my best man will have to hang about outside if I'm not there."

  Deirdre protested: "We'll be much too early," but she went with him. They bade Bridget good-bye, Sean wrung Paddy's gnarled old hand and Terence's bony one, and then, a few minutes later, were on their way down the drive.

  "Who," Deirdre asked curiously, as they turned left on to the Carfield road, "who is your best man, Sean?"

  "Ah!" Sean smiled, "you'll like him, Deirdre. And, I am sure, approve my choice."

  "Of course I shall. But who is he?"

  "A friend of mine. Chap I knew in Korea, actually. He's looking forward to seeing you. And now, child, don't be talking to me, if you don't mind, for I'm wanting us to get up to London more or less in one piece. All things considered, I think Penelope would prefer it!"

  Deirdre leaned back obediently and closed her eyes. In a matter of minutes she was asleep. Sean glanced down at her affectionately and then gave his attention to his driving.

  He decided, when he pulled up outside the hospital, not to wake her. She'd seen their father the previous evening and, on this occasion, Sean wanted Dennis to himself for the few minutes he would be able to spend with him. He wanted his father's blessing on what he was about to do…

  Deirdre stirred drowsily when they reached Chiswick, but it wasn't until Sean pulled up, in obedience to a light signal in Hammersmith, that she woke. Sean squeezed her hand.

  "We're nearly there, child. Feeling better for your sleep?"

  "Oh, yes." Deirdre sat up and looked about her. It was a lovely morning, even in London, with sunlight dappling the pavements and signs of spring in the barrow-boys' colourful wares and the jostling, lightly clad crowds. "How was Father? You saw him, didn't you?"

  "Yes, I saw him."

  Something about Sean's tone made her glance round at him in swift, questioning surprise. "Sean—he was all right, wasn't he? And pleased—about you and Penelope?"

  "Of course he was. In great spirits and very pleased. But—" His brow was puckered, Deirdre saw. "Deirdre, did you ever wonder why the Stud wasn't paying and why, when we took over, its finances were in so parlous a state?"

  "Well, yes," Deirdre admitted, "I did wonder, actually. But the Bank Manager seemed to think that Father was extravagant and I—oh I suppose I thought so too. Certainly he never seems to have any money, does he?"

  Sean's mouth twisted. "No," he agreed, "he doesn't. He told me why this morning. It was quite a shock."

  "A shock?" Deirdre repeated. "Why was it a shock? What do you mean?"

  "Twelve years ago, our mother walked out on us. You're too young to remember much about the occasion or, I suppose, to remember her very clearly. But I remember, I remember perfectly. Himself was heartbroken and so was I, at the time." Sean sighed. "But I got over it. He didn't. I gather he kept in touch through his solicitors, and when, about five years ago, he heard that she had contracted T.B., he arranged for her to go to Switzerland, to a sanatorium there, in the mountains. That's where his money's been going, to keep her there."

  "Oh," said Deirdre, with a catch in her voice, "oh!"

  "He told me," Sean went on, "that she's almost cured. And that, as soon as he's fit to travel, he intends to go out to Switzerland to see her. I think"—the lights changed, at last, and the line of traffic began to move slowly forward— "I think, Deirdre, that he's hoping she'll decide to come back with him—come back home, I mean."

  "Do you—do you imagine she will?" Deirdre asked faintly.

  Sean grinned at her. "I shall do what I
can to persuade her to."

  "You? But how? I don't understand—"

  "Penelope and I don't have to go to Venice, you know. A honeymoon in Switzerland would be just as pleasant. And I should like to see my mother again."

  He was silent after that, but when he drew up outside the imposing Park Lane entrance of the Melchester Hotel, he added softly: "You know, Deirdre, himself is rather a fine fellow, taken all in all. He never told anyone what he was doing. Even Mother doesn't know that it was he who paid for her to stay in Switzerland—he let her think it was her own family. And intends to let her go on thinking it! I find I am suddenly very proud to be his son. I— ach, never mind." He bent to kiss her. "This is where we part company for the time being, child—you'll be all right, won't you? The Hollises are expecting you. Give Penelope my love and—I shall be in the church, waiting for her."

  "Good-bye, Sean," Deirdre said. There was a lump in her throat as she watched him drive away.

  A page escorted her to the Hollises' suite. Inside, Penelope welcomed her eagerly, her mother, who was in tears, with restrained cordiality and Sir Henry with enthusiasm. Things took on an oddly dreamlike quality for Deirdre then, because her mind was a long way away.

  They had coffee and sandwiches, followed, half an hour later, by Sir Henry's idea of a light luncheon, to which no one else was able to do justice. After that, Penelope went to get dressed.

  She was being married in a coat and dress of palest eggshell blue, which bore the hallmark of a famous fashion house, and she looked quite lovely when she had donned it, the lines of petulance and discontent about her mouth smoothed away beneath the new-found radiance of her smile.

  Deirdre sensed, watching her, that the girl was as happy and sure of herself, now, as Sean had been last night.

  They were right for each other, she and Sean… Sean would protect and worship this young wife of his and she would appreciate his gentle diffidence, giving him, in return, the faith and trust he needed as incentive for success, and the background of security which, since his return from Korea, he had lacked. Penelope had had everything all her life and she had been discontented, because it had all come to her too easily: now she would have to fight for the things she wanted, for herself and Sean, but—having fought for them—she would value them.

  And she would value Sean too, because for his sake she had fought her hardest battle… and won it. And because victory had meant sacrifice.

  Deirdre smiled at her in understanding, and Penelope's kiss, as they prepared to go down to the waiting car, was spontaneously tender and affectionate.

  The church, when they reached it, seemed very quiet and peaceful: a small church, hidden away behind the plane trees in a deserted square.

  There were no guests—only Sean and his best man stood in a pew by themselves, the length of the aisle away, waiting for them. After the strong sunlight outside, it was dark in the church and a moment or two passed before Deirdre could accustom her eyes to the dimness. Then the organ pealed and she saw Sean step out of the pew and limp to his place in the aisle, towards which Penelope, on her father's arm, moved with slow, dignified grace, but with a smile on her lips that transfigured her, because it belied the measured pacing of her feet.

  She halted at his side and Sean's hand came out to touch hers. The organ faded into silence and the priest's voice, firm and mellow and musical, rose above the sudden stillness, repeating the age-old, familiar words which were the prelude to the marriage service.

  Sir Henry stood aside, joining his wife in her pew, and Deirdre took Penelope's bouquet and slipped into the place Sean had vacated.

  It was then that she looked up and recognized, for the first time, the man who stood with Sean—his friend, the best man at his wedding—and her heart leapt in her breast, wildly, like a small, lost bird, seeking escape. For it was Alan…

  His eyes met hers and the message in them was unmistakable, as if he had spoken it aloud.

  She knew then, beyond all shadow of doubt, that Alan Carmichael loved her and that whatever had gone wrong, whatever barrier had been between them, there was nothing now—nothing in the world—to keep them apart. Her heart ceased its frightened beating and was at peace: her head lifted proudly and her smile was the echo of his, as, from an infinity away, she heard the priest say: "Sean Patrick, wilt thou take this woman to thy wedded wife…" Sean answered, his voice steady and resolute: "I will."

  Later, a long, long time later, she was seated at Alan's side, and they were driving through the warm spring darkness, back to the Stud.

  The road was deserted and Alan's hand found hers.

  "Oh, Deirdre—Deirdre, my darling, I love you so! You are going to marry me, aren't you?"

  "I want to," Deirdre whispered, "more than anything in the world, I want to marry you, Alan."

  His fingers tightened about hers. "Soon?" he persisted. "My house is so terribly empty without its mistress. Just as my life has been, until I found you."

  "Has it?" She glanced up at him shyly.

  "Yes," he said and stopped the car. "Do you mind? I've never kissed you, you know, and I've wanted to— heavens, how I've wanted to!" He drew her to him. "Deirdre, I love you—love you, love you, love you. And this is to prove it!"

  Her mouth was soft and yielding under his, her arms crept round his neck. Alan held her close to his heart. "I've waited a long time for you, darling," he said, "all my life, I think. And then I nearly lost you."

  "Oh, no," Deirdre denied, "you couldn't have lost me. Because I'd have waited the rest of my life for you."

  "I don't believe it."

  Her fingers caressed his cheek. "It's true. Sean will tell you it's true."

  Alan captured the fingers, held them against his lips.

  "Thank heaven for Sean! If it hadn't been for him, I'd probably have gone on believing that it was Dwight you'd set your heart on."

  Colour flamed in Deirdre's face. "He didn't tell you—"

  "Oh, no, my darling, he didn't tell me. He didn't have to. Asking me to be his best man was enough. And there was something else, as it happens."

  "Something else? But—"

  "Fergus O'Ryan," Alan told her, smiling, "came to see me just after Sean had gone. He had some tale about the sudden demise of his grandmother who, it appears, lived in Kildare. How the news of her death reached him, at that hour and when he was away from home, he didn't explain and I didn't ask."

  "But why should Fergus tell you that? His grandmother died years ago!"

  "I rather suspected something of the sort, Fergus is a very unconvincing liar. But anyway, his idea was that, since he had to attend his grandmother's funeral and therefore would not be available to ride Petitioner at Melford next week, I should do so."

  "You, Alan?" Deirdre's eyes were wide.

  "Darling, in spite of your reluctance to employ me as a jockey or even to make use of my services to ride exercise —which I recall having offered you frequently—I have done quite a bit of it."

  "I didn't know."

  He laughed and drew her once more into his arms.

  "My sweet, innocent child, there are quite a few things you don't yet know about me. One of them is that I like kissing you… I like it so much that I don't think I shall ever get tired of it. But, for your peace of mind, darling, when I told Fergus about Sean's suggestion that I should act as his best man today, he went very red and decided that, after all, it might not be necessary to go all the way to Kildare to bury his non-existent grandmother… so Petitioner's chances of the Melford 'Chase won't have to be jeopardized in order to bring me back to you. Which I gather was the idea."

  "Whose idea?" Deirdre asked. "Surely Fergus didn't think of it himself?"

  Alan shook his head. "I imagine that Bridget and Paddy cooked it up between them. It was probably because of a conversation I overheard before you came home yesterday evening, when I was hanging about in the yard." He kissed her. "It concerned a little scene that took place yesterday between you and Dwight Nelson.
I am a jealous idiot, darling, and I received quite the wrong impression."

  "Oh, but, Alan, it wasn't like that at all. Dwight—"

  "Hush, sweet," Alan bade her fondly, "you don't have to explain—I got the story from Sir Henry this afternoon. In any case," he added huskily, "I don't think you could kiss me as you've just done if you were in love with someone else. Could you?"

  Deirdre raised her eyes to his and they were clear and steady and honest. "No," she told him, "I—I couldn't, Alan. And you know it, don't you?"

  "Of course I do," Alan exulted, "now! Which doesn't really excuse the idiotic way in which I've been behaving lately. But the truth is that I couldn't imagine why you should care for me or what I'd done to deserve you."

  "You were just—you," Deirdre told him, as if that were explanation enough.

  Alan said reluctantly: "I suppose I shall have to get you home. And my mother will want to see you. We shall have to tell her, about us. Would you mind if we called at the farm on our way back?"

  "I'd love to. But I thought your mother was going with you to London. You said—"

  "Darling," said Alan, "my mother has much more sense than I have. She refused to go." He leaned forward and restarted the engine. "She asked me to bring you back when I'd finally persuaded you to marry me. I'm afraid she won't be a bit surprised if we turn up this evening. She's more or less expecting us."

  They were both laughing as they continued on their journey.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  The spacious grounds of King's Martin Manor were crowded from an early hour on Monday morning.

  Tents sprang up as if by magic, mushrooms against the green of the turf—the Steward's Tent, a smaller one for the Secretary, changing tents for the riders, a weighing-in tent and several marquees, gay with bunting, in which all kinds of refreshments—from lunches for the gentry to pints of mild and bitter for the hoi-polloi—were served.