own.”
He must have noticed my sudden reaction. “What is it?” He took my hand. “You don’t want these things?”
This would have been the perfect moment to tell him the truth. How hard would it be to say, “Daniel, there’s something you should know. When you were in jail, I found I was in the family way.” I opened my mouth, but I couldn’t make the words come out. The whole horror of that situation came flooding back to me. I had lost the baby when I had to jump off a dock and swim for my life.
“Of course I do,” I managed to say. “At the right time. I just don’t want to be rushed into anything.”
He laughed. “I won’t rush you, I promise. I’m going to make it all right for us.” He stood up and pulled me to him. Then he took my face in his hands and he was kissing me with unleashed passion. I felt my own passion mounting. I could feel the warmth of his body pressing hard against mine. I wanted him desperately. How easy would it be to stay with him tonight, and if I did find myself in the family way again, then we’d get married in a hurry. God knows plenty of couples had done this before us.
But there was just that germ of hesitation. Daniel’s face as he had virtually ordered me to his automobile the other day came into my head and I pushed away from him. “Daniel, I have to get home,” I whispered. “What would Mrs. O’Shea think?”
“She’s got seven children. She’d have a pretty good idea,” he said with a chuckle. “Very well. I suppose you’re right. You should go.” He slapped my behind. “Go on then, before I weaken and drag you off over my shoulder.”
I went for my cape and gathered my belongings.
“Molly, I have a day off tomorrow,” he said, following me around like a small child. “I thought of going out to see my mother. Would you like to come?”
“I can’t,” I said. “I’ve promised to visit a client in the afternoon.”
“You blame me for having no time off work, and you’re just as bad. Clients on a Sunday?”
“She works all week.”
“Your client is a lady? That’s interesting.”
“Very interesting,” I said.
“So what does she want you to do for her?”
I raised an eyebrow. “You should know better than anyone that a professional detective can’t discuss her case,” I said. “My visit to her shouldn’t take too long, as I have little to report so far. So if you’d like to take me out tomorrow evening, when you return from your mother’s house?”
“You could cook me dinner again,” he said hopefully. “I have eaten on the run for the past three weeks. I long for home-cooked meals. And if you want me to keep saving up to buy you a house . . .”
“All right. I suppose I could cook dinner again,” I agreed.
“Wonderful. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
“Give my regards to your mother,” I remembered to say as I left.
Nine
On Sunday afternoon I made my way to Emily’s room on the Upper West Side. It was a delightful spring day and people were out in their Sunday best, strolling in squares amid the bright green of new leaves, or just sitting on stoops, their faces upturned to the warmth of the April sun. I rather wished that I had taken Daniel up on his invitation and gone with him to Westchester to see his mother. It would have been a delightful train ride, and we could have strolled in her large back yard or sat on her lawn drinking lemonade. But I was a professional woman and I’d made an appointment with a client. A man wouldn’t have broken it because of the weather, so why should I?
The twin spires of St. Patrick’s Cathedral glowed bright in the clear air, and I experienced that twinge of guilt that I had missed mass that morning. Even though I had not been to church in years and felt little love for the Catholic religion, those of us brought up as Catholics have been indoctrinated to believe that you go to hell if you miss mass. I don’t suppose I’ll ever be able to really shake it off.
Emily lived on the third floor of a rooming house. I suppose if it had been the Ansonia, around the corner, one would have described it as an apartment hotel, but this warranted no more than the rooming