Not My Thing

At least, one, real faithful friend, Shannon thought. She spent some time sipping coffee and thinking, feeling in a depressed mood. Friends? she thought. Not real friends. The people she mixed with were so obviously aware that she was the wife of this powerful rich tycoon. They were, of course, music-lovers, but if she had been plain Mrs Joe Doe would they bother to come to the concert hall to hear her play? She thought not. Plain Mrs Doe would be just another amateur cellist. Then she thought of Jay and Meg Wilbur. They were true friends. She recalled their warm congratulations last night. She had known from the pleasure on their faces how much her music had meant to them. Yes, her real friends!

She needed so badly to talk about Sherman, and who better than Meg who, she knew, would move cautiously, consult Jay, then give sound advice.

Shannon got to her feet and walked over to the French windows. If she left Sherman, half her way of life would come to an end, but the remaining half could be much more alive. She would no longer be the Mrs Sherman Jamison with servants, two luxury homes, no money problems, and with a captive audience to listen to her cello playing. If she separated from Sherman, the snobs would drift away. Although Sherman would have to provide for her, her present life-style would come to an end.

Would she mind? she asked herself.

She felt she needed to talk to Meg before making up her mind. This was a weakness, she told herself. She should be able to decide for herself, but this would be an enormous step.

Still thinking, she undressed and walked, naked, into the bathroom and looked at herself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. Her reflection gave her confidence. God! If only I could have children! she thought. My body is good enough to keep any man attentive, but not Sherman.

Bitterly, she turned away, put on her swim-suit and went down for her morning swim.

***

At 07.50, the following morning, Ernie Kling did something he had never done before in his evil life.

Dressed in a dark grey suit, wearing dark sun-goggles, he mounted the steps that led to the Church of the Blessed Virgin, entered the big church and took a seat where he could observe and not be seen.

An altar boy was lighting candles. A concealed organ was playing Bach. Incense hung in the air. There were already a number of people sitting in the front pews: mostly elderly women with a scattering of elderly men.

Kling regarded the scene with cynical eyes. He waited patiently, like a coiled snake. Then he saw Shannon Jamison come down the aisle. He recognized her from Lucan’s description and eyed her. Some woman! he thought. He liked her tall, upright figure and the way she moved. With her was a bulky man with flaming red hair who saw her to her seat in a pew, then took a seat away from her.

Kling sat through the service, observing the fat, pleasant-looking priest who officiated. He watched Shannon go up to the altar rails and again nodded his approval.

The service over, Kling still remained seated. He watched the congregation leave, pausing at the doorway of the church to shake hands with the priest. He watched Shannon’s smile as she paused for a moment to say something to the priest before moving on. He watched the red-haired bulky man grip the priest’s hand firmly and say something, then hurry after Shannon.

Kling got to his feet and walked towards the priest as he turned.

‘Fine service, Father,’ he said. The priest regarded him.

‘This must be your first visit, my friend,’ he said. ‘I am good at remembering faces.’

‘That’s right. I’m on vacation,’ Kling said. ‘I like to attend church when I can. I don’t often get the chance. It’s good to see you have such an attendance. These days…’ He shrugged.

‘We have our faithful,’ the priest said. ‘I wish more of the young would come. We have a better attendance on Sunday.’

‘I seem to recognize that gentleman with the red hair,’ Kling said.

‘Mr O’Neil. He is the Irish representative to the United Nations. He is here for a brief vacation, and attends Mass every morning. A fine man.’

‘Of course.’ Kling nodded. ‘I have seen his photograph in the papers. Well, Father, have a nice day.’ He shook hands. ‘I’ll be seeing you.’

‘God go with you, my friend,’ the priest said.

Stupid, fat old fool, Kling thought as he ran down the steps to where he had parked his car. He then drove to the beach where Jamison and Lucan held their talks. At that hour the beach was deserted. Kling walked around, found what he hoped to find and then drove back to the Star Motel.

At 10.30, Lucan came to Kling’s cabin. Kling could see he was in a nervous state.

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Lucky, relax,’ he said. ‘Hey, kid, give this guy a stiff drink.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Ng said, and quickly produced a double Scotch and soda.