Read Online The Kilternan Legacy by Anne McCaffrey - Free Book Online
Authors: Anne McCaffrey
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Bay has to be seen. Oh, grand”—he broke off to return a greeting—“how’s yourself?” When the man smiled pleasantly at us and moved on, Shamus Kerrigan remarked that he owned the restaurant. “I used to race motorbikes with Reg, before he gave it up.”
If Simon wanted anything in the world more than a gun, it was a motorbike.
“
You
ride motorcycles?” Simon shot me a glance that said, “You see, good guys ride bikes too.”
Kerrigan grinned at Simon’s reaction. “Got a Bultaco 250cc right now.”
“A trial bike?” Simon was ecstatic.
“Spot on.”
“Would there be any scrambles or trials going on here soon?”
Kerrigan was grinning more broadly now, with sideways glances at my reaction. “Every Saturday and Sunday, somewhere in Ireland, there’s something going on. In fact, there’s a trial on at the Curragh this Saturday. If you’d really like to go …”
Simon turned pleading eyes to me, his face screwing up the way he had had as a small boy desperately wanting what seemed unreachable. I groaned inwardly, wondering what expression on my face was being read by the others. Conflicting emotions, I hoped. Certainly Simon must realize the awkwardness in my being beholden to this man. And it would be—for Simon—a slap at his father, for Teddie had been almost apoplectic that
his
son could be interested in anything so plebeian and disreputable as motorbikes. Evidently bike racing was in better odor in Ireland than in the States.
“I’ve promised to take my nephew, Mrs. Teasey,” Kerrigan was saying, his expression bland and innocent. Then he winked at Snow. “He’s fifteen. If you’d like to come too, Snow?”
She played it cool. “Thank you very much, Mr. Kerrigan, but if Simon cares to go, I think I ought to keep Mother company.”
“If we could persuade your mother to join us, would you come then?” That dratted man was clever enough not to condescend to my daughter but to approach her on a conspiratorial level that suggested I’d be missing a treat by refusing.
Snow rolled me a look of, “What can we lose, Mom?”
“The Curragh is really worth the trip, Mrs. Teasey. I’d be obliged if you came. Think of me outnumbered by,
three
teenagers!”
He was a guileful soul, was Shamus Kerrigan. I’d half a mind to say no thank you, but both children were so intense suddenly that I stammered out an acceptance. No sooner had I done so than I saw the gleam of what could only be triumph in his eyes, and regretted my capitulation. I might have stymied him from talking business at dinner tonight, but he’d neatly manuevered me into a more vulnerable position.
Then he and Simon got into a discussion about motorbikes until the headwaiter announced that our table was ready.
“Are your children too young for bike races?” I asked him after we were settled.
Kerrigan gave me a stunned look before he smiled. “I’m not married yet, Mrs. Teasey.” His smile became self-mocking. “You’ll find that Irishmen tend to marry fairly late, sometimes not till they’re forty, forty-five.”
“They should be old enough to know better, then,” said Simon with unexpected bitterness. He’d started making such remarks even before I’d given the twins any idea that I was thinking of divorce. They’d always seemed fond of their father, which was one reason I’d hesitated long after I knew our marriage had turned into a sham. But suddenly their affections for Teddie had suffered quite a change. Ever since the night of the Harrisons’ party …
“I shan’t marry until I’m at least thirty,” said Snow loftily. “And only if I’ve known the man a long, long time and can assess his weaknesses.”
Simon snorted, but Shay Kerrigan, to my surprise, took Snow’s comment seriously and agreed that it was very wise to look for weaknesses. If you loved someone in spite of such flaws, the affection must be secure.
“Of course, you have to be able to
admit
you can make mistakes, which is a
If Simon wanted anything in the world more than a gun, it was a motorbike.
“
You
ride motorcycles?” Simon shot me a glance that said, “You see, good guys ride bikes too.”
Kerrigan grinned at Simon’s reaction. “Got a Bultaco 250cc right now.”
“A trial bike?” Simon was ecstatic.
“Spot on.”
“Would there be any scrambles or trials going on here soon?”
Kerrigan was grinning more broadly now, with sideways glances at my reaction. “Every Saturday and Sunday, somewhere in Ireland, there’s something going on. In fact, there’s a trial on at the Curragh this Saturday. If you’d really like to go …”
Simon turned pleading eyes to me, his face screwing up the way he had had as a small boy desperately wanting what seemed unreachable. I groaned inwardly, wondering what expression on my face was being read by the others. Conflicting emotions, I hoped. Certainly Simon must realize the awkwardness in my being beholden to this man. And it would be—for Simon—a slap at his father, for Teddie had been almost apoplectic that
his
son could be interested in anything so plebeian and disreputable as motorbikes. Evidently bike racing was in better odor in Ireland than in the States.
“I’ve promised to take my nephew, Mrs. Teasey,” Kerrigan was saying, his expression bland and innocent. Then he winked at Snow. “He’s fifteen. If you’d like to come too, Snow?”
She played it cool. “Thank you very much, Mr. Kerrigan, but if Simon cares to go, I think I ought to keep Mother company.”
“If we could persuade your mother to join us, would you come then?” That dratted man was clever enough not to condescend to my daughter but to approach her on a conspiratorial level that suggested I’d be missing a treat by refusing.
Snow rolled me a look of, “What can we lose, Mom?”
“The Curragh is really worth the trip, Mrs. Teasey. I’d be obliged if you came. Think of me outnumbered by,
three
teenagers!”
He was a guileful soul, was Shamus Kerrigan. I’d half a mind to say no thank you, but both children were so intense suddenly that I stammered out an acceptance. No sooner had I done so than I saw the gleam of what could only be triumph in his eyes, and regretted my capitulation. I might have stymied him from talking business at dinner tonight, but he’d neatly manuevered me into a more vulnerable position.
Then he and Simon got into a discussion about motorbikes until the headwaiter announced that our table was ready.
“Are your children too young for bike races?” I asked him after we were settled.
Kerrigan gave me a stunned look before he smiled. “I’m not married yet, Mrs. Teasey.” His smile became self-mocking. “You’ll find that Irishmen tend to marry fairly late, sometimes not till they’re forty, forty-five.”
“They should be old enough to know better, then,” said Simon with unexpected bitterness. He’d started making such remarks even before I’d given the twins any idea that I was thinking of divorce. They’d always seemed fond of their father, which was one reason I’d hesitated long after I knew our marriage had turned into a sham. But suddenly their affections for Teddie had suffered quite a change. Ever since the night of the Harrisons’ party …
“I shan’t marry until I’m at least thirty,” said Snow loftily. “And only if I’ve known the man a long, long time and can assess his weaknesses.”
Simon snorted, but Shay Kerrigan, to my surprise, took Snow’s comment seriously and agreed that it was very wise to look for weaknesses. If you loved someone in spite of such flaws, the affection must be secure.
“Of course, you have to be able to
admit
you can make mistakes, which is a
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