Free The Importance of Being Kennedy by Laurie Graham Page B

Ann was born on Kick’s eighth birthday. We were having a little tea party for some of her friends from the day school when we got the telephone call. Mr. K was already on his way up to Boston to see the new arrival.
    Joseph Patrick said, “Nora, do you think I’m old enough to be the new baby’s godfather? I think I am.”
    He was a hard one to fathom. I’d had to read the riot act only half an hour before, because of his silly roughhousing, nearly pulling Jack’s arm from its socket, and then there he was, talking about standing godfather to his new sister. And he did it too. Mr. and Mrs. K thought it was a wonderful idea.
    Jean Ann was a month old before she was brought home from Boston, so Herself had been gone eight weeks complete.
    “Milking it for all she’s worth,” Fidelma said. “Well, I suppose it’ll be her last time.”
    We lined them all up outside the door like a guard of honor for her homecoming and young Joe carried baby Jean in from the car.
    Danny Walsh said, “Mrs. K’s done all right out of this. Your Man gave her a diamond bracelet, and when she feels up to it she’s going on a trip, anywhere in the world she fancies.”
    Gabe Nolan said, “But here’s the best bit. The lady friend only went and sent her flowers. A great big bouquet of roses that nearly filled the room. How about that for front?”
    Fidelma said, “See what I mean, Brennan? They’re the best of friends, Miss Swanson and Mrs. K. They’re in cahoots.”
    I said, “I wouldn’t believe everything Gabe Nolan told me. It could have been anybody sent her flowers.”
    She said, “Will you ask her or will I?”
    We went up to the nursery to give Jean her bottle. The nearest I could say, she had a look of Kick about her. Poor Jean. That’s how we always talked about her. “Like Kick but fairer, and a look of Joseph Patrick about her when she smiles.”
    Mrs. K said, “Now, dear hearts, I’m going to take a little nap, but later on I want to see the weight charts and bring my records up-to-date.”
    Fidelma said, “Oh Mrs. Kennedy, we heard you got roses after the baby was born. Is it true? Can you really get roses in February?”
    “Yes,” she said, “I did get roses, from Miss Swanson and her husband. It was a great extravagance but such a very kind thought. Of course I received letters and cards from so many of Mr. Kennedy’s business associates.”
    Butter wouldn’t melt.
    We went in convoy to Hyannis as soon as school was out, to the “cottage,” as Mrs. K called it, though it was hardly a cottage anymore. Two big new wings had been built on, and garages and an extra floor, with a deck. I was given the first weekend off, to go on up to Boston and see Margaret’s new baby and little Rudolf Valentino, who we all called Val. They’d already shortened “Ramon” to “Ray,” which Ursie said sounded common. She didn’t approve of pacifiers either, but then Ursie had never walked the floor all night with a child cutting his first teeth. Margaret wanted to know all about Miss Swanson.
    She said, “You’ve done all right for yourself, no mistake. I’m stuck behind Middleton’s counter every afternoon, weighing sugar and slicing bacon, and you’re rubbing shoulders with film stars.”
    Ursie said, “Just keep your feet on the ground, Nora. You know we get famous people coming to the office, senior figures from the business world, but I treat everyone the same.”
    Margaret said, “You kill me, Ursula Brennan. You’re not telling me you get anybody to top Gloria Swanson coming into the stuffy old place where you work.”
    When Margaret and Ursie saw each other they never stopped picking.
    I said, “I don’t rub shoulders with anyone. There are days I hardly set foot outside the nursery. We’ve eight of them to see to.”
    Margaret said, “Eight. Sweet Jesus. Could you not take my two as well? Just slide them in on the quiet? I’ll bet they’d never notice.”
    Mr. K was away in California most of the