Her Name Will Be Faith (4 page)

It was a bit rough on the kids,
though. Marcia thought back to her
own childhood and the weekends with Big Mike and Babs. At
the time
she hadn't
always wanted to go sailing, or skiing, depending on the
season, and would have preferred more time for
sketching and painting. She had been thankful for boarding school and then
college to take her away from what she had called 'cloying family'. Only
recently had she
begun to appreciate all
the loving and caring her parents had offered their
young family. She
was always keen, nowadays, to find excuses to 'come home'. And tonight was
extra special. When she heard the knock on the
door she ran to open it, and pull the dark young man proudly into the
room.
"This is Benny," she announced.

The party became noisy. But the children were
beginning to yawn and the meal had not yet started.

"They're late," Jo observed, glancing at her
watch.

"They're always late," Dale retorted.
"They've never been on time for anything in their lives."

They were referring to the
Robsons, but Babs was quite pleased about
her guests' lack of punctuality on this occasion; it had
given the family a
chance
to get to know Benny. And appreciate him. He was quiet and
good-humored, and he certainly seemed to worship
Marcia – which was
reciprocated. How
grand it would be if Marcia could finally settle down…
but Benny was also an art student, so it didn't look
likely to happen
for a while yet.

Nor would he gain a good idea of
his possible future mother-in-law if
his first dinner at Pinewoods were spoiled, especially
with Marcia carrying on about the spaghetti Bolognaise Benny's mother made. But
just as Babs
was
despairing, there was a `cooee' from the front of the house. "Hope
we're not la-ate?" Margaret
Robson's head appeared round the kitchen
door.

"Not more than usual." Big Mike left his
chair to kiss her.

"Oh, good." She hugged
Babs. "I was so worried, and kept nagging
Neal. Jason couldn't make it, Babs; he sends his
regards, and apologies."
Jason was the eldest of her two sons. "James is just shunting the
car
around that
great big Mercedes in the yard. Whose is it..? Oh, yours,
Josephine," she said as Jo
came down the stairs. "My dear, how nice to
see you. Is Michael still racing?"

"He's in Newport." Jo
determined not to get irritated; Margaret
Robson was the only person in the world who still insisted
on calling her
Josephine. "He had to..."

"Well, never mind. Where are
those lovely kids of yours?"

"In bed. I've just kissed them good night."

"Not ill, I hope?"

"No, Meg, not ill,"
Babs interrupted. "Just sleepy. It's nearly nine,
and..."

"No! Is it? We are late. I
knew it. Neal! We are late. I told you..."
"Never mind, Meg." Mike handed her a gin
and Martini. "Get yourself
outside
that and we'll go eat."

Meg was Babs' total opposite.
Slim – skinny, Mike called her – nervous
and excitable, she exuded energy
and tensions. Her black hair would
have been grey without help, but her blue eyes were as
lively as they had
been
thirty years before. Meg worried about everything. She loved her children, and
worried for them; loved her husband, worried about him.
Her home, business, elderly
mother, tomorrow's lunch… everything
was
of vital importance and a big problem.

Neal adored her. Not much taller,
smooth, smiling features belying his
white hair, he was one of those quiet, calm, confident
men who make
nervous
women feel safe. Meg felt safe, most times. Except when he'd
gotten some idea, some project in
mind, like now. She knew he was dying
to
tell his friends about it, but he was waiting until they were all assembled.

James and Suzanne, the two younger Robson children,
came in. "Hi,
everybody." They
gave a general greeting. "Hi, Dale," Suzanne added
softly.

"Oh, hi there, Suzanne. How're you doing?"

"Okay, I guess." She
sidled over to the bench around the breakfast
table where he was sitting and parked herself on
the end, trapping him.
She was plump and curvy with an uncooked pastry complexion, but her
eyes were gentle and smiling and
everyone knew her for a sweetheart.

Dale made a big effort to talk
about subjects which might interest her,
knowing he'd regret it later when she'd had a drink or
two. She'd never
needed much
encouragement.

Jo and Marcia helped Babs to
carry the serving dishes through to the
antique sideboard in the dining room where Big Mike
sharpened the
carving
knife and set about the meat. When everyone had a heaped plate
in front of them and Mike had
said grace, Neal Robson rose to his feet.
"Before
we eat," he said, "I have something to say."

"Make it brief," Mike
recommended; he and Neal had been in the
army
in Korea together.

Neal grinned at him. "We have done it," he
said.

They stared at him.

"Bought that place in
Eleuthera," he explained. "The one you've been
trying to talk me into for years."

"Well, son of a gun,"
Mike said. "I never thought you'd go through
with it."

"I'm so scared," Meg squealed. "I think
it's a crazy idea."

"You'll love it," Babs
told her. "Oh, I am so pleased. We'll be down
there together... oh, the
swimming, and the snorkelling..."

"And the diving," Dale added.

"And the sun," Jo put in.

"We'll be down in July, as
usual," Mike said. "When are you planning
on getting there?"

"Well," Neal said.
"We rather thought we'd go down next month.
According to your Lawson, that house hasn't been
lived in for ten years."

"At least that," Mike agreed.

"It'll be full of crawly bugs," Dale
grinned.

"Ooh!" Meg shrilled.

"Dale!" Babs
remonstrated. "All you have to do, Meg dear, is shut the
place up and have it fumigated."

"Yeah, but there's a lot to do to it," Neal
said.

"Oh, I'm so scared," Meg said again.

"What about?" Mike inquired.

"Well, snakes, and..."

"There are no dangerous
snakes in the Bahamas," Mike declared.

"But some of them are so big."

"Chicken snakes," Mike
said reassuringly. "They won't trouble you."

"But what about things like hurricanes?" Meg
squeaked.

"Hurricanes? They're no hassle."

"Oh, but when one reads the newspapers..."

"You don't want to believe
everything you read in the newspapers,"
Mike announced. "We had a hurricane down
there. Three years
ago."

"Well," Babs said.
"I don't think it was actually a hurricane. Didn't
they call it a tropical depression, or
something?"

"It was a hurricane,"
Mike said firmly. "Don't you remember that
wind howling?"

"And the rain," Marcia
said, squeezing Benny's hand. "So much got
in we had to sleep in the lounge."

"It must have been awful,
but awful. Weren't you terrified?" Meg
asked.

The Donnellys exchanged glances.

"I'll confess I was a bit
worried at first, but providing one is sensible
and takes the proper precautions, like boarding up
the windows, why..."
Mike spread his
hands expansively. "It's a doddle."

"Read three books by candlelight," Dale
said.

"You read through a hurricane?" James Robson
was aghast.

"Sure. Not easy, mind you,
because the candle flame kept blowing
out."

Marcia kicked him under the table
but the Robsons didn't realize they
were
being roasted.

"Believe me," Mike declared.
"Hurricanes aren't all they're cracked
up
to be."

"Then how come people die in
them?" James wanted to know. "They
do, you know."

"Oh, sure they do. When
they're living in some shantytown in Haiti
and the whole house comes down on them. It shouldn't ever
happen to
a proper building."

"Anyway," Dale said,
"hurricanes hardly ever hit the same place again
for years and years. So Eleuthera
has got to be the safest place in the
Bahamas
for a long time to come."

"I think you're talking about
lightning," Marcia objected. "So how
come the house gets struck by lightning every year?"

"You get struck by lightning?" Meg gasped.

"Does no more damage than that storm," Mike
asserted.

Jo remained silent as the
conversation continued. Perhaps she was
just irritated with Michael, but the whole family was
being a bit over the
top
tonight. She could remember that storm. It certainly hadn't been a
hurricane; the winds had never
risen above 5o mph. Yet it had been
terrifying, out on Dolphin Point, with the waves crashing
on the rocks on
one side and rolling up
the beach on the other, and the wind howling,
and
the trees bending, and the rain teeming down as the thunder and
lightning had been continuous. They had all been
scared, not least Big
Mike; she had
been more afraid for the children than herself, had first
really felt the bitterness that she should be
there, coping, while Michael
was
racing
Esmeralda
in the relatively calm waters off Bermuda. But in
fact no real damage had been done, although Mike
was gradually increas
ing the wind
strength every time he talked about it. She wondered what
his reaction
would be to a real hurricane.

"Hello there!" The
front door opened and Michael stalked in. "Not
too late for some food, I hope?"

"Mike!" His father leapt
up and seized his hand; he was the only person allowed to call his eldest son
by the diminutive, as Michael
Donnelly junior was determined to grow away from his Irish roots.
"Jo
says you had trouble."

"Defective gear." He
kissed Babs, blew one at his wife. "Kids in
bed?"

"Yes," she said.

The rest of the party was already
on their dessert, but Mike provided
his son with a plate of roast beef, and the conversation
became concerned
with
yachts and racing. Mike could hardly wait for the meal to end. As
soon as they left the table, he
pushed Michael into the little study. "Boy,
am I glad you're back."

Michael raised his eyebrows. "Problems?"

"You have got to be kidding.
Calthrop White wants to float a stock
issue."

"So?"

"By August."

Michael sat down and lit a cigarette. "He has to
be nuts."

"I told him. But he has to
have it going. He's trying to buy some British
TV station. Seems the franchise comes up in the
fall and he reckons he
can get it for
$125 million."

"What the hell does he want another network
for?"

"He's ambitious, I guess. So
there's work to be done. He's our best
customer."

"But, Dad..."

"Okay, okay. It shouldn't
interfere with the racing. I'm letting Palmer
handle most of the work on it. Now let me give you
the big one."
Michael raised his
eyebrows. "Bigger than that?"

Mike winked. "For us, maybe.
I had a phone call from Lawson this
morning.
Let me tell you what he has in mind."

Michael listened, pulling his chin. "Sure it's
not one of his get-rich-quick schemes?"

"Sure it is. But this one could just work."

"A million bucks? Can we raise that?"

"Could be. What do you think?"

"A million bucks,"
Michael said again. "Holy shit, Dad, that wouldn't
be too bad. You talked to Babs?"

"I haven't talked to anyone except you. But if
you're for it..."

Michael Donnelly considered a moment
longer, then stretched out his
hand. "Count me in. But... just let's keep it between ourselves for
the
time being, eh?"