Heirs Book Two: American Lady (3 page)

“Feet please, Jo!” Barbara shrilled. “How
many times do I have to tell you not to run in the house and to
keep those animals outside?”

On her way into the kitchen to supervise the
final details of dinner she swooped on her youngest sons and their
cousins snickering in a corner of the room.

“Brodie, Jimmy! Blaz, Dieter! Give that to
me! I knew you were reading a pornographic magazine,” she cried.
“What kind of filth is this?” She wrenched Scarlett’s
Cosmopolitan
out of their hands. A full page glossy blue and
black photo of a naked woman and three apparently naked suitors hit
her in the eye. “I shall tell your fathers about this so they can
have a word with you. This picture is Absolutely Indecent,” she
intoned.

“No it’s not, mom,” Scarlett had bopped over
to sneak a peak. “It’s Obsession. That’s a Calvin Klein ad for his
new perfume.”

“Disgusting!” And despite Scarlett’s
protests that the boys had stolen her magazine, Barbara marched
into the kitchen to stuff the offensive pages in the trash.

Charley and Declan stood on the sidelines.
Since their move to Paris they had hardly mixed with their cousins
and the rowdiness with which they had been comfortable as toddlers
and youngsters had long been outgrown in their mother’s
company.

“Ah, now that sight does make me feel right
at home,” Declan murmured, catching sight of his cousin Sebastian
with the latest
Sports Illustrated
annual swimsuit
edition.

Liam, Sebastian, Albert and Frederick, the
older cousins, plus Drew Fairbrother who had recently married
Courtney Cassidy, were clustered around a table with Paddy’s
son-in-law Jaeger Schiller at the head, overseeing their political
discussion.

“Gorbachev is going to be a man to watch out
for,” Jaeger was saying as Declan slipped into a vacant seat, after
a quick glance over Seb’s shoulder as he passed.

Jaeger Schiller was a prominent
Pennsylvanian human rights lawyer who was heavily involved in
humanitarian pursuits such as the Peace Corps, working with
juvenile delinquents and running the National Center on Abating
Poverty. His association with the Cassidy family had begun when
Paddy Cassidy hired him to manage their legal section in New York
and he had eventually married daughter Clodagh in 1958 after a
seven year courtship and just when Clodagh was despairing of ever
getting to the altar and starting a family of her own. They had
quickly had five children in succession, Frederick, Gretchen,
Albert, Blaz, and Dieter. Jaeger had been an invaluable help during
the Cassidys’ political campaigns and was considered an integral
part of the Cassidy clan.

“The more things change the more they stay
the same. Soviet leaders all come from the same mold,” Frederick
contradicted his father.

“Thatcher was impressed with him,” Rory
said, coming over to join the discussion. The Cassidys discussed
politics the way other families talked about their favorite
television shows. “And while I don’t admire the lady herself, she’s
certainly no fool. Gorbachev and Rula were sure out to impress on
their British visit last year. The Gorbachevs definitely have a
Western style and feel to them. Didn’t the Brits call them the
Gucci Comrades?” Rory grinned. He was the oldest of his generation
and since he’d just been elected to the House of Representatives he
liked to think his opinions carried weight. “I agree with Uncle
Jaeger, I think we could be seeing some changes in our relationship
with the Soviets.”

“Well, I certainly like what I’m seeing
now,” Declan said, blissfully eyeing sleek bronzed bodies in
negligible clothing as Seb continued turning pages.

“Male chauvinist pigs,” muttered Charley as
she gingerly picked out a spot for herself on the sofa between her
cousins and their in-laws. Courtney, somewhat pudgy and with huge
black-rimmed YSL glasses which she thought made her look seriously
intellectual, was trying to involve her sisters-in-law Deborah and
Josie and her cousin Gretchen in an earnest political discussion on
feminist rights. Deborah, a flexible, long-limbed, dark-haired WASP
immediately turned her bored attention to Charley.

“Is that tan real or faked?”

“A Trinidad and Tobago special,” Charley
smirked.

“What do you think about the rumors that
Jeane Kirkpatrick is about to switch allegiance to the
Republicans?” Courtney interrupted.

“Who cares whether she makes the change
formal? She’s been behaving like a Republican for years, in spite
of her Democratic registration.” Charley shrugged, as comfortable
talking about affairs of state as fashion accessories.

Squeals of protest erupted from Courtney and
Gretchen.

“Say, Declan,” Deborah wandered over to the
men’s table. “Are you coming with us to The Palladium after the
wrinklies go to bed? No offense Uncle Jaegar!” she kissed her
husband’s uncle on the cheek soothingly. “I hear it’s the latest.
They use the same lights that Prince uses on tour for the dance
floor. It should be cool.” She casually leant over her husband
Sebastian and closed the
Sports Illustrated
.

Courtney turned her head and shouted from
the couch. “Declan, don’t be caught dead in The Palladium! It won’t
do your political aspirations any good. They have photographers
hanging around there just waiting to catch your indiscretions. If
you want to go clubbing you should come with Drew and me to the
Surf Club. It’s on the Upper East Side. We can talk politics and
finances all night.” Her husband Drew Fairbrother was a banker with
his family’s company.

“Full of yuppies and Trust Fund Babies,”
Deborah hissed. “You’d hate it, Declan.” She returned to the sofa
with the magazine.

“Still going out with Chase Elliott?” Rory
enquired reprovingly.

“No I’m not,” Declan snapped, annoyed at the
rebuke and thinking bitterly that there was only one woman he
wanted to ask out although he was damned if he would give her the
satisfaction of turning him down. He wondered how long Jazz Bradley
would stay hung up on St John.

“Great. No need to load up on liabilities if
you plan to enter politics,” Rory chided.

At the same time, on Charley’s other side,
Josie asked, “Do you know anyone who’s been invited to Billy Joel’s
wedding?”

“Who’s he marrying?”

Josie and Deborah exchanged scornful
glances. “I guess it’s hard to keep up with things when you live in
the country,” Deborah said pityingly, as though Westchester County
was still farmland.

“I don’t suppose you’re going to the Oscars
either,” Josie raised her plucked eyebrows condescendingly.

“Absolutely not. They’re too boring for
words,” Charley snapped, thinking the same thing about her cousins
and wondering how her mother was surviving her tête-a-tête with
Paddy Cassidy.

* * *

“Sit down, Dominique. You make my neck ache
looking up at you,” Paddy grumbled.

Nikki sat opposite the old man. She looked
around the room. Paddy’s den didn’t seem to have changed since
she’d first seen it nearly thirty years ago. Three walls were lined
to the high ceiling with heavy legal tomes, political treatises and
leather bound American and Irish classic literature including
William Butler Yeats, Walt Whitman, Ernest Hemingway and Ralph
Waldo Emerson.

Against the far wall sat a huge roll top,
Victorian pedestal desk in glowing mahogany. Nikki could just see a
corner of the embossed green leather writing surface from whence
Paddy had once sent out orders on the political campaigns and which
now held an electric typewriter. Although his handwriting was shaky
he could still punch out his personal letters with two fingers.

Behind the desk on an ornate walnut American
Victorian sideboard incongruously sat a fax machine. A small
television hid inside the upper cupboard while a bank of telephones
slotted onto the shelf on the other side. Paddy still liked to keep
abreast of world affairs and had no hesitation in faxing off
bullying letters to presidents, politicians and prime ministers,
calling in favors when it suited. It was a wonder his arms weren’t
twice as long from all the back scratching he had done in his
lifetime, thought Nikki.

At Waterford she found it hard to throw off
the veil of time and to remember she was no longer an integral part
of this political family. Not that Paddy had ever treated her any
differently since Alex’s death. He trod on her toes just as
carelessly as he did any of his other relatives. He had called her
into the den to give her a dressing down just before she flew off
to France. But he had ended the conversation with a huge bear hug,
saying gruffly “Don’t stay away so long you forget your
family.”

She resented his heavy-handedness in
disposing of his children’s and his grandchildren’s lives, yet she
always melted at his brusque charm. He’d manipulate anyone in the
family, and outside it, to achieve his political aims, yet she
couldn’t help admiring his forthrightness.

“How was your day, Paddy?” she asked
him.

“Grand as usual. Did you and the children
attend the parade?”

Nikki shook her head.

“Ah, well, that’s a pity. It was a grand
sight. I wasn’t quite up to scratch to attend the breakfast this
year but I roused the boys early this morning so we could continue
the tradition at Waterford,” he cackled with good humor. Paddy was
a member of the Ancient Order of Hibernian. The Hibernians had been
responsible for organizing New York city’s St Patrick’s Day parade
for nearly a hundred and fifty years. Every year it started off
with a traditional breakfast in honor of the parade’s Grand Marshal
and every year Paddy was invited to share the breakfast. They said
it brought good luck to celebrate Paddy’s birthday on St Paddy’s
day.

“Connor’s in New York representing the
family. I had to watch the parade on television myself this year,”
he sighed. “But still, it was a grand sight. It’s the only time of
the year I get to see men in tam-o’-shanters and kilts. I miss
going to St Patrick’s Cathedral for Mass. Did you go, Dominique?”
Paddy’s eyes bored into hers.

“Maybe next year, Paddy,” she said.

“Well I hope so, though I won’t be around to
see it. I swear this is my last year.” He sipped his whiskey.

“Paddy, you’ll outlive all of us.”

“Well, I’ve outlived my wife and my oldest
boy. I don’t want to outlive any more of you.” He shook his
head.

Silently Nikki reached out to grasp one
frail, deeply veined and brown spotted hand. And then,
instinctively, she was kneeling by the side of his chair, her head
against his knees.

“There, there, Dominique. I didn’t mean to
bring back memories.”

“I know. But it can’t be helped in this
house, Paddy. Alex is around me everywhere here. That’s why I don’t
visit more often. I have to get on with my own life. I can’t live
in the past and I can’t live on memories any more.” She was feeling
self-conscious about being overly dramatic. But there was never any
lack of drama in this Italian-Irish household.

“Then I guess the rumors I’ve been hearing
for the last decade that you’re living in sin are untrue,” Paddy
said wryly.

Nikki looked up quickly, catching the
twinkle in blue eyes so faded they were almost white.

“The world is always hard on a single woman,
especially when she’s famous,” Nikki snapped, rising to her
feet.

“Ah, you’ll be more comfortable sitting down
and breaking the news to me gently then. Remember I’m an old man.”
He gave her a devilish grin.

“How do you know I have any news?” Nikki
demanded crossly.

“Well now, I know you’re not in a position
to buy expensive jewelry for yourself, and a shamrock’s for good
luck. So someone is wishing you good luck today. And what’s
happening today – today you come to visit old Paddy Cassidy and his
family of hooligans.” There was nothing wrong with Paddy’s
reasoning abilities in spite of his age.

“I’m surprised you don’t know already,”
Nikki said irritably.

“Well, I probably do. But I’d like to hear
it from your very own mouth. And another glass of whiskey wouldn’t
go astray.” He held out the glass with a shaking hand. It was one
of his great pleasures in life.

“You’re an old devil for sure, Patrick
Cassidy,” said Nikki. As she handed him the shot glass she said,
“I’m going to marry Lorenzo De Angelis.” She almost hoped he would
choke on his whiskey, but he drank it down in one satisfied
gulp.

“I thought that’s what you were going to
tell me. Is there anything I can say to change your mind?”

“Absolutely nothing,” she shook her head.
But she knew it wouldn’t stop him from trying.

“Well, it breaks my Irish heart to see you
leave the family. Especially for an Argentine. Everyone knows
they’re cruel to their horses and mean to their women.”

Irish heart baloney, Nikki thought to
herself. Paddy always talked about missing Ireland but in fact,
having been born in America, the first time he’d ever set foot in
Dublin was when Alex made him Ambassador to Ireland.

“Paddy, please, you’re talking about my
future husband,” she demurred.

“Alright then. And I suppose you’ve been
seen in public with him long enough it’s about time he made an
honest woman of you. But I hope you realize that you’ll be hurting
Rory’s political chances in the next election. He’s decided to run
for the Senate.”

“But he’s only just won his seat in
Congress,” Nikki protested.

“Politics is a game of planning. To win you
have to plan well in advance and try, try, try again. When are you
making the official announcement?”

“Tomorrow. I just wanted to let the family
know first.” Nikki was worried sick that delays might cause Lorenzo
to change his mind.

“Very kind of you,” Paddy said dryly. “Have
you set a date for the wedding?”