adding to the illusion that he was on the inside.
The only shot missing was that of the Ambassador himself, and Jennings hoped that tomorrow might be the day. There was an important wedding at All Saints Church which the Thorn family would be likely to attend. It wasn't Jennings' kind of setup, but he'd been lucky so far and perhaps would be again.
The day before the wedding Thorn dispensed with his customary Saturday chores at the Embassy and took Katherine for a drive in the country instead. He had been deeply disturbed by their argument and the strange lovemaking that had followed it, and he wanted to be alone with her to attempt to sort out what was going wrong. It appeared to be the right medicine, for she seemed relaxed for the first time in months, enjoying the drive, the simplicity of holding his hand as they wound their way through the English countryside. At noon they found themselves at Stratford-Upon-Avon and attended a matinee performance of King Lear; Katherine sat enrapt, the play moving her to tears. Lear's soliloquy over the death of his child: "Why does a dog, a rat, have breath . . . and Thou no breath at all. . .." struck a chord deep within her, and she wept openly, Thorn comforting her in the silence of the theater long after the play was over.
They returned to the car and drove on; Katherine held tightly to Thorn's hand, the release of emotions having created an intimacy that had long been absent in their relationship. She was vulnerable now, and as they stopped by a stream her tears came again. She spoke of her fears, her fears of losing Damien. She said that if anything happened to him, she would not be able to carry on.
"You won't lose him, Kathy," Thorn gently assured her. "Life couldn't be that cruel."
It was the first time he had called her Kathy in a long while, and it stung, somehow accentuating the distance that had come between them in recent months. They sat on the grass beneath a towering oak tree and Katherine's voice came in a whisper as she watched the . movement of the stream. "I'm so afraid," she said. "There's nothing to be afraid of." "Yet I fear everything."
A June bug was crawling beside her and she watched it wind its way across the vast landscape of grass.
"What's to fear, Katherine?" "What isn't to fear?" He gazed at her, waiting for more. "I fear the good because it will go away ... I fear the bad because I'm too weak to withstand it. I fear your success and I fear your failure. And I fear that I have little to do with either. I fear you'll become President of the United States, Jeremy ... and you'll be saddled with a wife who isn't up to it."
"You've done beautifully," he reassured her.
"But I've hated it."
The admission was so simple, yet it had never been said. And it somehow cleansed them.
"Doesn't that shock you?" she asked.
"A little," he replied.
"You know what I want for us more than anything?" she asked.
He shook his head.
"I want for us to go back home."
He lay back in the grass, staring up into the leaves of the great oak.
"More than anything, Jeremy. To go where it's safe. To be where I belong."
A long silence followed; she lay beside him, nestled in his arms.
"It's safe here," she whispered. "In your arms."
"Yes."
She closed her eyes, her mouth upturning in a wistful smile.
"This is New Jersey, isn't it?" she whispered. "And isn't our little farm just over that hill? The one we've retired to?"
"It's a big hill, Kathy."
"I know. I know. We'll never get over it."
A slight breeze rose, rustling the leaves above them, and they watched in silence as rays of sunlight played on their faces.
"Maybe Damien will," whispered Thorn. "Maybe he's a budding young farmer."
"Not likely. He's your son through and through."
Thorn was unresponsive; his eyes were fixed on the leaves.
"He is, you know," Katherine mused. "It's as if I had nothing to do with him at all."
Thorn raised himself on one arm and regarded her saddened expression.
"Why do you say
The only shot missing was that of the Ambassador himself, and Jennings hoped that tomorrow might be the day. There was an important wedding at All Saints Church which the Thorn family would be likely to attend. It wasn't Jennings' kind of setup, but he'd been lucky so far and perhaps would be again.
The day before the wedding Thorn dispensed with his customary Saturday chores at the Embassy and took Katherine for a drive in the country instead. He had been deeply disturbed by their argument and the strange lovemaking that had followed it, and he wanted to be alone with her to attempt to sort out what was going wrong. It appeared to be the right medicine, for she seemed relaxed for the first time in months, enjoying the drive, the simplicity of holding his hand as they wound their way through the English countryside. At noon they found themselves at Stratford-Upon-Avon and attended a matinee performance of King Lear; Katherine sat enrapt, the play moving her to tears. Lear's soliloquy over the death of his child: "Why does a dog, a rat, have breath . . . and Thou no breath at all. . .." struck a chord deep within her, and she wept openly, Thorn comforting her in the silence of the theater long after the play was over.
They returned to the car and drove on; Katherine held tightly to Thorn's hand, the release of emotions having created an intimacy that had long been absent in their relationship. She was vulnerable now, and as they stopped by a stream her tears came again. She spoke of her fears, her fears of losing Damien. She said that if anything happened to him, she would not be able to carry on.
"You won't lose him, Kathy," Thorn gently assured her. "Life couldn't be that cruel."
It was the first time he had called her Kathy in a long while, and it stung, somehow accentuating the distance that had come between them in recent months. They sat on the grass beneath a towering oak tree and Katherine's voice came in a whisper as she watched the . movement of the stream. "I'm so afraid," she said. "There's nothing to be afraid of." "Yet I fear everything."
A June bug was crawling beside her and she watched it wind its way across the vast landscape of grass.
"What's to fear, Katherine?" "What isn't to fear?" He gazed at her, waiting for more. "I fear the good because it will go away ... I fear the bad because I'm too weak to withstand it. I fear your success and I fear your failure. And I fear that I have little to do with either. I fear you'll become President of the United States, Jeremy ... and you'll be saddled with a wife who isn't up to it."
"You've done beautifully," he reassured her.
"But I've hated it."
The admission was so simple, yet it had never been said. And it somehow cleansed them.
"Doesn't that shock you?" she asked.
"A little," he replied.
"You know what I want for us more than anything?" she asked.
He shook his head.
"I want for us to go back home."
He lay back in the grass, staring up into the leaves of the great oak.
"More than anything, Jeremy. To go where it's safe. To be where I belong."
A long silence followed; she lay beside him, nestled in his arms.
"It's safe here," she whispered. "In your arms."
"Yes."
She closed her eyes, her mouth upturning in a wistful smile.
"This is New Jersey, isn't it?" she whispered. "And isn't our little farm just over that hill? The one we've retired to?"
"It's a big hill, Kathy."
"I know. I know. We'll never get over it."
A slight breeze rose, rustling the leaves above them, and they watched in silence as rays of sunlight played on their faces.
"Maybe Damien will," whispered Thorn. "Maybe he's a budding young farmer."
"Not likely. He's your son through and through."
Thorn was unresponsive; his eyes were fixed on the leaves.
"He is, you know," Katherine mused. "It's as if I had nothing to do with him at all."
Thorn raised himself on one arm and regarded her saddened expression.
"Why do you say
Similar Books
Through the Whirlpool
K. Eastkott
Someone Like me
Lesley Cheetham
The Clockwork Scarab
Colleen Gleason
The Turtle Mound Murder
Mary Clay
Welcome to Forever
Annie Rains
Payback Is a Mutha
Wahida Clark
Wildflower Wedding
Luann McLane
Bermuda Schwartz
Bob Morris
Enchantment
Pati Nagle
A Fair to Remember
Barbara Ankrum