Redemption - Leon Uris [37]
Seamus wrote a half-dozen short readings for her, each demanding her to probe a different emotion. She was often asked to play someone she feared or loathed…to be devious, bigoted, hateful, of loose values. The game was to turn herself believably into the anti-Atty.
To go along with her dynamic stature and commanding voice, Atty added nuances and dimensions and range and a command of subtle moments and movements. All of this, to do the utmost with her talent.
Seamus had done wonders and Atty was pleased. However, both of them realized that she had only so much capacity to give. She always had to retain the ability to become Atty again, in the blink of an eye.
She was a good actress, now easy, now humorous, now filled with confidence…but always in control. She adored what she was doing as life itself. She adored the adoration that went with it and the centerstage world she occupied.
Yet, there was a locked vault inside her that held all of her demons, and she feared to enter it onstage or offstage. Maybe she might never open the door to the vault. Only if she chanced it would she ever ascend to immortality on the stage. It was the only dare she ever shied from.
Jack Murphy’s dad, Darby Murphy, kept things well in hand aided by Atty’s constant visits. A competent solicitor in Galway kept the operation profitable. Lord Charles and Lady Royce-Moore felt confident enough to make their long desired move to London.
His lordship had no sooner sunk into that deep leather chair of London’s Standard Club than he snoozed off and never awakened. At the very same tick of the clock, Darby Murphy died of a heart attack as well.
When the grief and turmoil of the double deaths had eased, Atty had to make decisions. Lough Clara would not be hers for three more years, and trying to modernize without displacing the tenants was a tricky bit of business. It would mean that she would have to spend more time away from Dublin.
She closed the manor house and moved into Darby Murphy’s lovely cottage, set in a rare stand of oaks near the stables and horse training grounds. No harm. The entire Murphy family was gone from Lough Clara forever and the cottage was far more to her liking than the big House.
She made it cozy and delicious, using it as her “western” office, where she could read far into the nights, receive wayward republicans passing through, and keep the estate on firm ground, working things out to allow her to go to Dublin often.
Six months into her new routine the postman handed her a cable along with the daily mail. She tore the envelope open and saw the signature…Jack Murphy…and she felt entirely weak with a thundering flush of passion.
MY FAMILY HAS ELECTED ME TO SETTLE MY FATHER’S AFFAIRS STOP RETURNING TO IRELAND SOONEST STOP CAN WE MEET AT LOUGH CLARA FEBRUARY 24 STOP PLEASE CABLE AFFIRMATION STOP LOOK FORWARD TO SEEING YOU STOP LOVE JACK MURPHY
Everything she had managed so meticulously and determinedly to suppress could no longer be suppressed. She knew by the cable that nothing had changed in the way she felt about him. Damned, Atty, she challenged, you will not fling yourself at him.
Nonetheless Atty dotted the final “i” and crossed the final “t” to make things ready, to make things perfect. Jack would be twenty-eight now. How would he look? She almost hoped, but at the same time did not hope, sight of him would do nothing to arouse her.
She studied herself with no less intensity than the lovelorn men in her audience had studied her up on the stage. How can he turn me down?
Or was he desperately in love with someone? Dear Lord. Atty realized that a totally new sensation was overwhelming her. It was fear.
The stately queen of the Dublin stage bit her nails and became teary over nothing several times a day…each day one day closer. She was flighty at the meetings with her solicitor and estate manager. She yelled needlessly at an actor or director, followed by yards of apology.
The day came. Yes, the ship arrived at Galway. She managed to remain calm as he came down