The Omen Read Free

Easter, but more out of superstition and sentiment than a belief in Catholic dogma. Thorn himself was lapsed and did not take seriously, as Katherine did, the fact that their son Damien was never christened. It wasn't that they didn't try. Immediately after his birth they dutifully brought the infant to church, but so abject was his terror upon entering the cathedral that they cut the ceremony short. The priest had followed them out to the street with water cupped in his hands, warning that if the child were not christened he could never enter the Kingdom of Heaven, but Thorn refused to continue, seeing clearly that the infant was in a state of terror. To satisfy Katherine they improvised a ceremony at home, but she was never totally reassured, intending one day to return with Damien and make sure it was done right.
    That day never came, for they were swept into a whirlwind of distractions, and the christening was forgotten. The Economy Conference had ended and they moved back to Washington, Thorn resuming his duties as a Presidential advisor and becoming a political entity in his own right. Their rambling estate in McLean, Virginia, became the scene of gatherings that made the columns from New York to California, and the Thorn family became familiar to readers of national magazines all over the country. They were photogenic, they were rich, and they were on the way up. And, more important, they were often in the company of the President. It was plain that Thorn was being groomed, and it came as no surprise to political speculators when he was appointed Ambassador to the Court of St. James, a key position in which he could display his charismatic potential to advantage.
    Returning to London, the Thorns took up quarters in the seventeenth-century mansion at Pereford. Life became a beautiful dream, for Katherine especially; so perfect it was almost frightening. At their country house she could remain in seclusion being nothing more than a mother to her adored child; then, when she chose, she could emerge to be her husband's hostess at diplomatic functions. Now that she had her child, she had everything, including her husband's adoration, and she blossomed like an orchid; fragile, yet in full flower, pleasing everyone with her freshness and beauty.
    The Pereford mansion was elegant and steeped in English history. It had a cellar where an exiled duke had hidden until he was found and executed, and it was surrounded by a forest where King Henry V had hunted wild boar. There were secret passages and drafty crawlways; but mostly there was joy, for the house was filled with company and laughter at all hours of the day.
    For household duties, there was a staff of day help as well as a permanent couple, the Hortons, very English, very dignified, who acted as cook and chauffeur. To entertain Damien when Katherine was occupied with official chores, there was a plump English girl named Chessa, no more than a child herself, but a delight to everyone and an indispensable addition to the family. She was bright and full of play, and adored Damien as though he were her own. They would often spend hours together, Damien toddling after her on the vast lawn or sitting quietly by the pond where she would catch tadpoles and dragonflies for them to bring home in jars.

    The boy was growing into an artist's rendering of the ideal child. In the three years since his birth the promise of physical perfection had been fulfilled, and his health and strength were phenomenal too. He had a kind of composure, a contentment, that one rarely sees in the young, and visitors occasionally found themselves unnerved by his gaze. If intelligence could be measured by attention span, then he was a genius, for he would often sit for hours, positioned on a small wrought-iron bench beneath an apple tree, his eyes trained on the people who came and went, absorbing every detail of what took place before him. Horton, the chauffeur, occasionally took him out on errands,