The House On Willow Street (59 page)

Early the next morning, Cashel had come up to the house again. Tess was exhausted. Her father had been coughing much of the night and she’d been terrified, so terrified that she’d stayed up in the chair in his bedroom, blankets wrapped around her. Drifting in and out of sleep. Hearing that frightening noise in his chest. Recalling the doctor’s words:

“I don’t know if there’s much more I can do, Tess. He needs to go to hospital. You’re going to have to override him, if you can.”

When morning came, his breathing seemed easier, as if the medicine was finally kicking in. She had gone down to the kitchen, of two minds about whether to ring an ambulance to take him into hospital.

And Cashel had been there in the doorway, his bag packed. He was going back to London now, he said, and then on to New York—alone, if she wouldn’t come with him. He stood there in the kitchen as she boiled water on the stove, white-faced and shaking with exhaustion.

“I need to talk to you,” Cashel had said, standing there. Not even sitting down. Tess wanted him to put his arms around her. She wanted to rest her head against his shoulder and feel him comforting her. He was wearing her favorite jumper. The beautiful Aran sweater his mother had knitted for him. How many times had she lain against it on dates, when they’d been to the cinema, out to dinner, or even those nights when he’d taken it off and they’d lain in each other’s arms and made love.

She needed him to say he was sorry for all the things he’d said before, that he knew it wasn’t fair to expect her to choose right now, with her father terribly ill. On top of that Suki was driving her mad, so wrapped up in her own concerns she was totally oblivious to how close they were to losing the roof over their heads.

“I need you to decide, Tess,” said Cashel, his voice a throaty growl. And Tess had turned from the stove and looked at him. “I’m going to go and this is your last chance. I want to see the world. I want to make something of myself.”

“But you don’t have to go yet. I don’t have to decide now, Cashel. My father is sick.” Tess put her hand up to her forehead. Her head ached from the sleepless night. She was so tired. A cup of coffee might bring her back to herself.

“No, you
do
have to decide,” Cashel said. “Have you been messing with me all along? You’re a Power, you’ve got Avalon House—you’ve always had that, while I have nothing. My mother cleaned your house, cooked your dinners. Years ago, I wouldn’t have been allowed inside this house, I wouldn’t have been allowed to touch you.

“Now I need you to choose me. Don’t you understand?”

“But, Cashel,” Tess said wearily, “all that stuff means nothing to me. I love you. I love who you are. You know I don’t think that I’m different or special because I’m a
Power and my family own the big house—I’ve never thought that.”

“Then come away with me. Come away with me now.”

She had stared at him in exasperation, had run her hands through her hair. “You don’t understand, I can’t come now, Dad is ill, the bank is threatening him, we have to work out if we need to sell the house. Give me some time . . .”

“Oh, I understand all right,” Cashel said. “Suki and I were talking about it last night. This house, your father, they’re the only things you care about. There will never be a right time for you to leave. I’ve been asking you to come away with me for the past year now.”

“Suki’s stirring things,” Tess said angrily. “She’s annoyed because I didn’t want to listen to her tale of woe about those damn Richardsons.”

“She’s right this time,” Cashel said, “you don’t care about anyone else except you and your father and this bloody house. Are you coming or not?”

Tess’s temper, rarely roused, flared up and she pulled herself up to her full height.

“If you think you can make me abandon my father or my principles just because you lay down an ultimatum, then you don’t understand me at all, Cashel Reilly.” Her voice was icy.

His face darkened, he looked at her in a way he’d never looked at her before. “It’s clear that you don’t understand me very well, either, Tess Power.” He almost spat out the words. “That was your chance. You obviously don’t love me enough. I’ll always be the Cottage Row boy to you, that’s it, isn’t it?”

“If that’s what you want to believe of me, then carry on,” said Tess, trying not to cry. “That’s not who I am and you should know it. Clearly you don’t.”

“Goodbye, Tess.” And he had turned on his heel and left.

She stood in the kitchen, staring after him while the kettle on the stove began to hiss, telling her it was boiled, the lid clattering loudly. He didn’t understand her at all: she loved him with all her heart. If Cashel was so ambitious and hell-bent on success that he couldn’t let her stay with her father for a few months, then he wasn’t the man for her. Despite the love and the passion and the wildness they’d experienced together, the fierce intensity of his touch, how he made her feel . . . Despite all that, he didn’t understand her at all.

And then the tears came. She had waited in the kitchen for him to come back to her, to tell her he knew that she loved him and that he’d wait. But when he didn’t come back, she knew he never would. Cashel Reilly had never changed his mind in his life.

Later that day, finding Tess in floods of tears, Suki had felt guilty.

“Oh, go on, follow him to London, you idiot,” she’d said, trying to assuage some of her guilt.

Tess shook her head. “It’s too late. He’s gone and I won’t run after him. Either he comes back or it’s over.”

“Oh shit,” said Suki, sitting down and putting her head in her hands. “I’ve messed up on two continents.”

Tess looked up finally. “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice dangerously low.

“I was angry with you for not listening to me yesterday,” Suki admitted. “I may have stoked Cashel’s fire a bit when it came to how annoyed he was with you for not leaving Avalon.”

“How?”

“It’s not my fault,” Suki said. “I said he ought to give you an ultimatum. My road or the high road.” She laughed bitterly. “Something along the lines of what Kyle Senior explained
to me when it turned out his bitch of a wife knew about us. Except in his case, it was Antoinette’s road or the high road.”

“You said what?” Tess wasn’t sure what part of the news was more shocking—Suki blithely admitting that she’d had a hand in wrecking Tess’s relationship with Cashel, or the fact that Suki had been having some sort of sexual liaison with her father-in-law.

“If only you’d listened yesterday, none of this would have happened,” Suki muttered defensively.

Suki always thought that the reason Antoinette didn’t like her was because Kyle Senior did.

“You’re the prettiest little daughter-in-law I’ve ever seen,” he used to say, every time he set eyes on Suki. Taking in the curvaceous figure, liking the raw sexuality that emanated from his son’s Irish wife.

“I’m the only daughter-in-law you have,” Suki would reply cheekily, and he liked that even more. Few people were ever cheeky to Kyle Senior, but it was acceptable in a sexy-looking girl.

Kyle Junior never stood up to his father. No matter what Suki said, it seemed nothing could persuade him that they were perfectly entitled to spend their money the way they wanted to.

“If we want a house in New Mexico, we should have a house in New Mexico,” she said. “It’s your money. It’s not as if it’s in trust, waiting until you hit thirty-five or something.”

“I’ve told you before: Dad controls everything. We do something he doesn’t like, he cuts off the money. Don’t you get it? Then we’ll both have to go out and get jobs. Not so much fun redecorating the beautiful house in New Mexico if you don’t have a dime to your name, huh, Suki!”

“Oh, Kyle,” she’d said, disgusted with him. “You are so weak.”

He’d stormed out of their house that night and hadn’t come back until the following afternoon. She thought perhaps he’d been with another woman, there was a scent of perfume on him, but maybe he’d been in a bar or something. That hurt, because she loved him, she didn’t want him to go to other women. Not the way Kyle Senior did.

Antoinette had to be the only woman in America who didn’t know her husband had a mistress. But then, on the subject of mistresses, Antoinette probably worked on the same theory as Queen Victoria did about lesbians: she refused to countenance such a thing, therefore it didn’t exist.

If Antoinette decided not to believe in the existence of a mistress, there could be no mistress.

“Did you sleep with another woman?” Suki demanded.

Kyle looked up at her, his eyes bloodshot from a night of drinking too much bourbon. “So what if I did?” he said. “I’d prefer to sleep with another woman than sleep in the same bed as a wife who tells me I’m weak.”

That was it as far as Suki was concerned; she’d had it with this family, totally had it. She didn’t want to stay with a man who was gutless and would sleep with other women. She would not become another Antoinette, betrayed and pretending not to know.

And then she had an idea: if Kyle couldn’t manage his father, she would. She’d show him exactly how to deal with Kyle Senior, and then maybe they could get on with their life—provided he swore never to cheat on her again.

She took time figuring out what to wear; something elegant but sexy at the same time. She phoned Kyle Senior on his private line in the Senate and got him immediately.

“Senior,” she said. He loved them all calling him Senior. “I need to see you, if you can squeeze me in. It’s about me and Kyle and . . . well, a few important things. Maybe you can help?” She left the word help dangling in such a way that no man could resist it.

“Sure thing, baby doll. How about you meet me at my club tonight?”

He gave her the address. She was there at eight o’clock. He was having a pre-dinner drink. “Care to join me, pretty lady?” he said.

“Why sure,” said Suki, playing along. If this was what it took to handle Senior, she could do it.

He could sure pack away a lot of alcohol, she thought, as the evening progressed. There were two bottles of wine gone and several after-dinner liquors by the time they left the restaurant. Suki, who was well able to take a drink, could feel herself getting very wobbly.

Senior had deliberately kept off the subject of his son. Every time she brought it up, he said, “Nah, we’ll talk about that later. Let’s have a little bit of fun, you and me. Tell me about yourself.”

It was flattering, and when they got into the vast limo he used to be driven around in, he said to the chauffeur: “Gotta get this little lady home.”

Suki felt both pleased and happy. He’d do exactly what she wanted, she knew it. Kyle simply had no clue how to handle his father. All you had to do was butter him up, which she’d been doing all night, then ask him for a teeny-weeny house in Taos, which she planned to do now. How could he refuse?

In the car she did her best: “You see, Senior, Kyle thinks that he can’t spend so much as a quarter without going to you.”

“Right. Let’s not spoil the mood,” Senior said. “George,” he commanded the driver, “screen.” Suddenly the screen came up between the driver and the back of the limo.

Suki felt a faint flicker of alarm. From a compartment, Senior produced a bottle of brandy. “Very special stuff,” he said, getting out two beautiful cognac glasses. “Wouldn’t like to tell you what this costs for a snifter, but it’s the business, honey.”

She didn’t like the taste, but it would have been rude to say no. The next thing she knew, Senior’s arm was around her shoulders. He’d finished his brandy, his glass was nowhere to be seen and his hands were sliding up between her thighs.

“Senior, this wasn’t . . .”

“Come on, little Suki, I know you’ve wanted me from the moment you saw me, and if you want to get what you want from me, this is part of the deal. Otherwise, of course, I could always tell Junior that you came on to me—but that’s gonna look pretty bad, isn’t it?” He leaned in and now he was kissing her.

He was big and strong and Suki wasn’t sure what to do. “Relax, honey, you’re gonna enjoy this,” he said. And she thought, as he began pushing up the black crepe dress she’d worn, that this was all her own fault. How could she not have seen this coming? Nobody would believe she hadn’t wanted this, and if she protested . . .