CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Tell me all about Sam. Is he drop-dead gorgeous? Or,” Jo curled her stockinged feet up under her on the armchair in Aisling’s sitting room and adjusted her huge grey woollen cardigan until she was comfortable, ‘does he have any brothers?”
“Not that I know of replied Aisling, ‘but then, there are lots of things I don’t know about him.”
It was true. Since the party seven days ago, Aisling had spoken to him on the phone twice and both conversations had been funny, jokey and absent of any information. It had been so blissfully unlike all those stilted boy girl conversations she’d had years ago when she started going out with boys. You talked about what school you’d gone to, or what courses you were doing in college and where your parents came from. So you could ‘place’ the person and figure out if it was safe to bring him home.
She’d been married so long that she could barely remember life before Michael, life when she had gone on dates with a variety of men who were always unsuitable in her father’s opinion. Dating as a grown-up was much more fun. No one had to approve of her choice, except herself.
“No,” she said thoughtfully, “I’m pretty sure Sam has a couple of sisters but no brothers.”
That’s perfect.” Jo reached for another chocolate-chip cookie.
“If he has sisters, he’ll understand women. Not like those MCPs who’ve grown up with an adoring mammie and no female company to educate them about the ways of the world. These biscuits are delicious she added, taking a big bite.
“Did you make them yourself?”
Aisling laughed. These days I’m lucky if I get to make the bed in the morning, never mind bake biscuits.”
“Well, they look homemade.”
They are homemade but not from my home. I got them at the boys’ school fete along with a ton of apple tarts and fairy cakes I’ve frozen so I can drag them out and impress people with my home cooking all year long. Pity I never copped on to that when I was a housewife,” Aisling remarked drily.
“You’re not having any,” said Jo. While she’d been enjoying a mug of frothy hot chocolate and biscuits, Aisling had been sipping black coffee.
“I never eat biscuits any more, unless I can see the pack and know exactly how many calories there are in each one,” Aisling explained.
“It took me long enough to get the weight off, so I’m not putting it back on again.”
“You look great,” Jo said with sincerity. The slightly plump, out-of-shape Aisling was a thing of the past. She was svelte in a pair of slim black trousers and a soft angora jumper in a caramel colour which matched her newly dyed hair. It wasn’t even how Aisling looked that made the difference, Jo realised. , She had changed from the inside out.
The nervous, miserable woman of four months ago, constantly on the verge of tears, had gone to be replaced by an attractive woman who had learned to live life on her own terms.”
Jo remembered when she’d felt that she was living life on her terms. That had been before she’d become pregnant, before Richard had showed his true colours, before she’d fallen, disastrously, for Mark. Now, she hurtled along a path she hadn’t chosen, scared and exhilarated at the same time.
She felt Aisling’s hand on her shoulder and looked up to see her friend sit on the arm of the chair with a concerned expression on her face.
Are you all right?” Aisling asked gently. ” “Yes.” She snuffled.
“I was thinking about this time over three months ago when I thought everything was fine. When I first got pregnant and I thought he’d want the baby as much as I did.” She stroked her belly lovingly.
“I want the baby so much, I can’t understand how he didn’t. I thought
it was all going to be so perfect. ““But it wasn’t, he wasn’t. Richard was lying and sooner or later he’d have shown his true colours,” Aisling said earnestly.
“You couldn’t have lived with the sort of man who’d want you to have an abortion so you could both go abroad to work with no strings attached.”
“I know,” Jo said simply.
Aisling wasn’t finished.
“The life you had was a house of cards, Jo. Mine was the same and it was bound to tumble down sooner or later. I know it was agony when it all fell apart, but let’s be honest, there’s no easy way to break up a relationship. And we’ve passed that horrible, depressing stage, both of us,” she insisted.
“We’re on to the next stage. I know you’re in bits about having the baby on your own and of course it would be better to have a father for him …”
“Her,” said Jo with a grin.
“I know it’s a girl, I just feel it.
Aren’t you, my darling?” she cooed at her bump.
“I understand what you’re saying, Ash, I really do. No father is better than a father like Richard,” she recited, as if she was repeating a mantra she’d said to herself many, many times before.
“At least if you’re on your own, you’ve got the chance of meeting someone else and finding a good dad for her Aisling said.
“I thought I’d found him,” Jo explained.
“Mark Denton?” asked Aisling.
“Yes. Dear, dear Mark. And I screwed it up. Oh God, I hate to even think about it.” Jo leaned back in the chair and massaged the bridge of her nose with her right hand. She felt tired, exhausted even. It had been a horrible week. She hadn’t even had to avoid Mark because he studiously avoided the office. He phoned Rhona when he needed to talk to her instead of dropping in as he usually did. To make matters worse, she couldn’t go home until late every evening as the estate agent was showing the apartment to prospective buyers.
So she’d ended up sitting in the office with a take away until eight on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday.
If she hadn’t promised to visit Aisling this Saturday morning, she
wouldn’t have got out of bed at all. Even then she’d only managed to drag on her ancient woolly cardigan, a faded pink T-shirt and her grey jogging pants. She hadn’t had the energy to wash her hair and knew it fell in lank waves around her shoulders.
Aisling contemplated her for a moment and then got up.
“Come on into the kitchen and I’ll make you something decent for lunch she said firmly.
“You can tell me all about Mark while I’m cooking.”
The scent of the herb and mushroom omelette she’d made Jo still lingered in the air as Aisling hurried round the house that evening, collecting tights, socks, knickers and jumpers off the radiators. Sam was picking her up at half seven and she only had an hour to dry her hair, dress and put on her make-up. It was her own fault for spending too long planning the menu for her first catering dinner.
When Rachel Coughlan had rung on Monday morning, tentatively booking Aisling for a dinner party for twelve, she’d been so stunned she’d been speechless for the first minute.
“I thought I’d book early in case you’re really busy Rachel said on the phone, not sounding anything like a high-powered businesswoman who’d just set up her own PR agency.
“Jim said everyone was thrilled and very impressed with your cooking and he’s sure you’re already madly busy. I do hope you can fit me in. It’s for my brother’s forty-fifth birthday.
He’s coming home from the States and his wife is so fussy, I’d love to outshine her.”
Thrilled to be asked, and even more thrilled that Jim Coughlan thought so highly of her that he assumed she’d be snowed under with work, Aisling said she’d dream up a very posh menu if that’s what Rachel wanted.
“Yes.” the other woman said enthusiastically, delighted to have found an ally.
“You can’t imagine what it’s like to feel like a second-class citizen to this New York career woman who can whistle up a four-course meal at the drop of a hat and still look like something from a fashion magazine at dinner.”
“Oh yes I can said Aisling grimly.
“Don’t worry, Rachel. She be dumbstruck when she sees what we’ll do.”
“Unfortunately, my sister-in-law has never been dumbstruck in her entire life, more’s the pity,” muttered Rachel.
Aisling had been so engrossed in deciding whether rack of lamb would be suitably classy for the meal, or if she should try something more difficult like pheasant in Calvados, that she hadn’t noticed the time. When she finally looked at her watch, she abandoned the menu and raced upstairs to the bathroom.
An hour later, wearing the crossover bronze body Fiona had given her, she sat in the kitchen picking cat fur off her long black skirt. Flossie, disgusted at the prospect of being left alone, wove herself in and out between Aisling’s ankles, leaving enough fur on her owner’s sheer black tights to knit another cat.
“I’m sorry, Flossie.” She stroked the cat’s silken chin and wondered how Flossie always knew when she was going out.
“I
won’t be out late. Wait till you see the treat I’ve got you.”
She checked her make-up one last time, gave herself a blast of Magic Noire and got up to feed Flossie.
“Isn’t that nice?” she asked as the cat tucked into a bowl of tinned salmon.
When the doorbell rang at a minute after half seven, her stomach was rumbling with nerves. She had no idea how she was going to be able to eat anything at all, but she didn’t care.
Sam stood on the doorstep, holding a small bouquet of flowers in his hands. For a moment Aisling was stunned. She’d forgotten how heart-stoppingly attractive he was. He wore a pale blue cotton shirt that brought out the bright blue of his eyes and set off his tan. A well-cut dark jacket and jeans showed off a physique that spoke of many hours in the gym.
He looked like a Calvin Klein aftershave advert come to life, from the tips of his brown suede boots to his all-American grin.
“You look lovely, Aisling.” His eyes glinted in admiration.
“Can I come in?” he added.
“Oh God, yes, I’m sorry.” Blushing bright pink, Aisling stood back and let him in. She’d been so busy staring at him that she’d quite forgotten to ask him in.
These are for you he said, handing her the bouquet, ‘for making me feel at home in Ireland again.”
To hide her red face, she buried her nose in the flowers, breathing in the heady scent of pale yellow roses and the fragrance of the forest green ferns. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had given her flowers, apart from Michael’s guilt-ridden garage forecourt arrangements.
“They’re beautiful,” she said fervently.
“So are you.” Sam looked deep into her eyes and gave her another slow, lazy grin.
Aisling felt the fluttering in her stomach move lower. God only knew what it would feel like if he actually touched her.
The table is booked for eight,” he said.
“Do you want to go out or aren’t you hungry?” he asked, one eyebrow raised in amusement.
“Oh, of course. I’ll just put these in water she muttered.
She wondered if he could tell what she was thinking. She hoped not.
He held the door for her to climb into the taxi. She’d been sure he’d have a car.
“Can’t drink and drive he said.
“I thought we’d have champagne and you simply couldn’t drive after drinking that.”
“No, of course not replied Aisling in a knowing tone, as if she had champagne all the time. She wasn’t sure she believed that stuff about him not drinking and driving. Sam had the air of a man who never did anything by the rules. There was something about him, a sense of recklessness, that made him very, very attractive. And just a little bit dangerous.
He’d chosen a small French restaurant, with dim lighting and small tables set far enough apart from each other to allow couples to talk privately. Their table was in one corner, the golden glow of a candle cast flattering light on the snow-white damask tablecloth and gleaming silverware. Good, thought Aisling. Candlelight was much more
flattering to crow’s feet than harsh lighting. The waitress handed them the menus and then disappeared, leaving them alone. The place was jammed with couples, obviously enticed in by the fact that the restaurant was dark and dim, making it perfect for illicit encounters.
Probably the sort of place Michael had taken that cow to.
The staff kept firmly in the background while Ella Fitzgerald’s rich voice crooned love songs in the background.
“Do you like this place?” asked Sam softly.
“I love it,” she answered.
“Good. We should come here every Saturday night,” he replied.
Aisling’s pulse raced. It was only their first date and he was already talking about a future together! She couldn’t wait to tell Fiona and Jo.
She shot him what she hoped was a sexy smile, and looked at her menu. Who needed food on an occasion like this?
They drank Moe’t from elegant crystal champagne flutes and Sam told her all about working in Texas and Louisiana.
“I’d love to bring you to New Orleans.” he said, sliding his hand past his empty soup bowl to grasp Aisling’s hand.
“You’d love it.
It’s so atmospheric and European, it’s the most European city I’ve ever been to in America. You can walk along the streets in the French Quarter and it’s like being in Paris or Budapest.”
“You’ve travelled so much,” said Aisling enviously.
“I’ve been to Greece, Portugal, France and Britain, and that’s it. You’ve been everywhere.”
He shrugged.
“I travelled for a couple of years after leaving college, that’s how I’ve seen so much. You simply didn’t have that chance, you were bringing up two kids.”
“I can’t wait for you to meet them,” Aisling said eagerly.
“They’ll love you.”
Oh no, she thought in horror. She couldn’t believe she’d just said that. Single men were not fascinated by the notion of other men’s children.
“I can’t wait either Sam said.
“I love kids. My sisters’ children are fantastic and the two older ones Jerri’s boys came out to stay with me last year for a month. They
went wild for New Orleans and had me down at the aquarium for two days solid.”
“It sounds fascinating.” said Aisling, mentally giving him ten out of ten for loving children. Handsome, kind, funny, romantic and dying to meet the boys. What more could a woman ask for?
“It is fascinating,” Sam was saying.
“It’s got every sort of sea creature you can imagine, apart from whales, that is. You walk along these corridors with glass overhead and around you and you can see sharks, stingrays, giant squid swimming around these massive tanks.”
He stopped as the waitress placed their main courses in front of them and refilled their glasses with Moet.
“Anyway, that’s enough about sharks. My favourite sort of wildlife doesn’t reside behind glass.” Sam flashed her a killer smile.
“What do you mean?” Aisling asked demurely.
Sam slid one hand across the table and grasped hers, his fingers putting gentle pressure on the palm of her hand.
That I enjoy life, in every sense of the word. I’ve always believed that you’ve got to live life to the full, take all the pleasures and passion from life while you can. That can mean being a little wild sometimes,” he said, gazing at Aisling intently, leaving her in no doubt as to what he meant.
She felt herself grow pink under his scrutiny.
“I don’t get much of a chance to be wild,” she said, picking up her glass with the hand he wasn’t holding.
“Work, kids, exhaustion none of it leaves time for acting wild. Coming out to dinner instead of staying at home doing the ironing is my idea of wild these days!”
Aisling knew that this wasn’t what he’d meant but she wanted to change the subject rapidly. The whole conversation had taken a distinct dive into territory she wasn’t either comfortable or familiar with, and she wanted it back on track.
Until she’d had another couple of drinks, anyway.
“Of course, there was another reason for the boys’ fascination with the
aquarium,” Sam said with a smile, returning to their original conversation. They came during their summer holidays in July and in the summer walking around New Orleans is like being baked in a hot oven with ninety per cent humidity thrown in to make it worse. After an hour meandering around the markets by the river, the aquarium is beautifully cool!”
As they ate he told her about his two years of travelling with a college friend. Aisling listened wide-eyed as he recounted tales about backpacking in India ‘an unbelievable experience’ driving across America in a rent-a-wreck “New Mexico has got to be one of the most beautiful places on earth’ and working on a kibbutz in Israel.
He made her laugh telling her stories about ending up in cockroach-infested motel rooms, and how he ended up in hospital in Ecuador thanks to a virulent stomach bug.
Aisling couldn’t help but notice that he never talked about his feelings. There was no mention of the woman he’d been involved with in Texas, or of their split-up. Still, Aisling thought, there was plenty of time for those sort of confessional conversations later.
Accustomed to being a listener after years of marriage to Michael, she sat in rapt silence as Sam talked her through all the places he’d seen in his thirty-nine years. Everywhere he went, he tried some new sport or pastime to fulfill his love of danger.
His favourite had been rock-climbing in Colorado.
That sounds terrifying,” she said with a shudder, as he explained how difficult it was to scale a two-hundred-metre cliff-face with a deadly overhang at the top which had claimed the lives of two climbers.
The adrenaline buzz is something else,” Sam said, his eyes distant as if remembering.
“I can’t explain it, it’s primeval, the feeling that it’s just you, one man, against nature. When you’re up there, you can imagine what it must have felt like for primitive men battling the earth just to survive.”
For a moment he stared into space. Then, just as quickly, he came back to her.
“There’s a climb in Arizona every year, in one of the canyons off the Grand Canyon,” Sam said.
“I’ve never done it but I’d like to. You see, I always dreamed of being a stunt man when I was a kid,” he explained.
“It was all those years of watching Steve McQueen movies or Clint Eastwood ones. But my mother told me not to be stupid and to go to college. Still, I think I would have made a pretty good stunt man what do you think?”
Aisling didn’t even need to consider it. The more Sam talked, the more apparent it became that he’d love risking life and limb every day with lots of people watching. For a moment, she wondered why Sam had come back to Ireland since he loved the States so much. But she didn’t want to ask him difficult questions, any more than she wanted him to ask her awkward ones. Tonight, she merely wanted to feel good, sexy and wanted.
“It was the biggest goddamn shark I’d ever seen in my life,” Sam said, telling her about the weeks he’d spent shark-fishing the previous summer, when he’d caught a monster shark.
A little voice in Aisling’s head reminded her that Sam in ‘action-hero mode’ was not a million miles away from Michael telling her about the brilliant political profile he’d just written. But then Michael wouldn’t have been feeding her strawberries from his plate while he did it.
She loved the way Sam carefully coated each strawberry in cream before gently holding it to her lips, letting her take a huge bite before he finished the half-eaten fruit. There was something very sensuous about the whole thing. Aisling found herself responding to it. Her inhibitions drained away as she tasted strawberries and champagne, and enjoyed the heady atmosphere between them.
When Sam went to the bathroom, she sat back in her chair and took a quick glance around the restaurant. She was enjoying herself hugely. It had been a long time since she’d enjoyed a meal out like this, an intimate dinner where she didn’t feel frumpy, boring and, eventually, plastered. When Michael brought her out to dinner, she felt so
depressed at her size and miserable because she hated whatever dreadful outfit she was wearing that she ate everything put in front of her and drank like a fish.
It was a glorious change to feel confident and slim, to dine with an attractive man who looked deep into her eyes.
They worked their way through a second bottle of champagne and four Irish coffees, by which time Sam was gently playing with Aisling’s fingers across the table and giving her veiled looks from heavy-lidded eyes.
“Do you miss your husband?” he asked suddenly.
Three months ago, Aisling would have burst into tears at that question. Now she watched Sam’s fingers gently stroke the fleshy part at the base of her palm and answered, “Yes and no. I miss him because we were together so long, I miss the person in the bed beside me at night, the man who put out the bins. Sometimes,” she added, ‘sometimes, I don’t even think about him, when I’m very busy and I don’t have time.”
That’s not quite what I meant,” Sam whispered, increasing the pressure with his fingers.
She looked up at him. It was strange and exciting to watch his want for her. Curiously liberating. It made her feel free from the past, free to say what she wanted instead of saying the right thing.
“I haven’t even thought about sex since he left,” she replied candidly.
“Until I met you.” She gasped.
“I can’t believe I said that,” she said, laughing.
“That’s the effect you have on me, Sam Delaney.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Didn’t you ever feel the need to break out when you were married? The desire to do something different?” Sam asked idly.
“Or do someone different? Isn’t that what you mean?”
Aisling said. That’s not me. Well,” she corrected herself, ‘that wasn’t me.” It is now, she thought silently.
She caught the waitress’s eye.
“Could I have a brandy? Do you want one, Sam?” If she was going to do this, she needed some more liquid confidence. Her head was definitely going to ache in the morning.
“Is the new Aisling ready for something different?” Sam asked in a low voice when the waitress had placed two brandy balloons in front of
It was now or never, she told herself. Go for it. She finished her brandy in a couple of burning gulps before answering.
“Yes.”
Sam grinned and drained his glass.
“Shall we go and continue this conversation at home?”
“Sure.”
Amazed at her own audacity, she sat in the back of the taxi and held Sam’s hand. Hand-holding wasn’t what he had in mind. He didn’t seem to care what the taxi-driver saw, he simply slid his arms around her and kissed her passionately.
Once, Aisling would have died of shame thinking about the driver watching them in his rear-view mirror, two adults behaving like sex-mad adolescents. But, insulated by alcohol, she didn’t care, even when Sam’s hand slid up her skirt to stroke between her thighs.
When she fumbled with her keys before finding the right one to open her front door, Aisling briefly wondered if the neighbours were watching her arrive home with a strange man.
At least they wouldn’t know how late he stayed, she reflected, since he hadn’t brought his car. Nobody could squint out of their windows and tut-tut if a strange car was parked outside the Morans’ in the morning.
Fiona was probably peering out, Aisling realised and stifled a laugh. She should have come up with a secret signal with her neighbour two flashes of the torch from the bedroom if Sam made mad passionate love to her, and one flash if he fell asleep on the settee after too much booze.
Sam ambled into the sitting room and lounged on the settee.
“Nice place. Sit down, darling,” he said patting the space:
beside him.
Suddenly, she felt stone-cold sober. Here she was bringing a strange
man into her home, the home she’d shared with Michael and the boys, and this man was sure that they’d make love. So sure, that he was making himself completely at home, taking over her settee possessively.
What am I doing? She thought.
“I have to let the cat out,” she muttered nervously, backing out of the room and into the kitchen.
“Flossie, Flossie, where are you?” she called.
Typically, Flossie had vamoosed when she was required. She wasn’t in her wicker basket beside the double radiator. She couldn’t be used as an excuse or plonked on Aisling’s lap so Sam couldn’t drag her onto his.
“D’you have any brandy?” he asked, appearing behind her in the kitchen.
“Of course,” she answered.
“Funny, I always thought I was the only one who wanted another drink after a meal out.” “Me too. Brandy makes me want more brandy,” he added, looking around the kitchen.
“No cat, huh?”
“She must have gone upstairs to the hot press Aisling rummaged around in the cupboard for decent glasses.
“She loves snuggling up on the socks at the bottom. Here we are,” she said triumphantly. She took two whiskey tumblers made of heavy glass with a green tint.
“Damn, I’ve just remembered I’ve no brandy. There’s whiskey in the cupboard beside the notice board
She rinsed the glasses and turned to find him examining the photos and notes stuck to the cork notice-board. There was a picture of the boys in Portugal, sliding down a huge water slide, their hands in the air and their mouths open as they shrieked in delight. It was three years old, but Aisling loved it. There was a picture of the boys and their soccer team after winning a cup match, faces dirty and proud. And there was a photo taken at a barbecue in Fiona’s garden the summer before, a shot of Fiona dancing with Nicole with Pat in the background wearing an apron and waving a large fork with a sausage on each prong. There weren’t any pictures of Michael. There had been a really nice one of him and the boys in Portugal, lying on the beach pretending to
pose like body-builders with white zinc striped down their noses to protect them from the sun.
She had taken it down and stuck it at the back of the drawer in the dining-room sideboard. She had briefly thought of cutting Michael out of the picture altogether, but decided that was a bit childish.
Sam stared at the photos and notes, looked at the postcard from Sorcha in Istanbul and the Mickey Mouse one from the Finucanes in Disneyland, and Aisling’s shopping list reminders to get loo roll and fabric softener.
There are none of you here,” he remarked, turning to her.
Aisling took a half-full bottle of Jameson out of the cupboard and sloshed some into each glass.
“I’m not photogenic.”
“Don’t say that,” he said firmly.
“I’m telling you, Aisling, you mightn’t think so but you’re one gorgeous lady.”
She was about to contradict him when she remembered an article she’d read in a magazine about compliments and how to take them graciously. You’ll never have confidence in yourself if you can’t take a compliment. Your lack of confidence will eventually convince people that they’re wrong and you’re right about yourself.
“Thanks,” she said. That wasn’t so hard, now was it? she thought.
“I guess nobody’s told you you’re beautiful often enough,” Sam said.
He leaned back against the work top and took a long draught of whiskey. Aisling did the same. The fiery liquid hit her system with a jolt.
“Come here,” Sam said.
Still holding her glass, she stood in front of him. He stroked her cheek and let his hand lazily slide down her face to caress her neck. She could feel her skin burn where he’d touched her and she unconsciously leaned forward so he could touch her some more.
“You are beautiful,” he murmured, taking her glass away from her. He
slid both arms around her waist and pulled her forward Their lips met and it was as if Aisling had never been kissed before. His mouth was hungry on hers and she pressed her body close to his, throwing reservations to the wind. They clung together, bodies melting into each other. His body was solid, from, all that rock-climbing, no doubt.
She held his head close to hers, her fingers running through his chestnut hair while she kissed him openmouthed. He tasted good. Fantastic, in fact. She kissed him again, lots of small kisses melting into one long one.
It was the previous week all over again. Her nervousness had gone and she felt greedy for him, eager to feel his body pressed up against hers, inside hers.
“You’re something else, Aisling,” he breathed, pulling his mouth away from hers for a moment.
“Should we continue this upstairs?”
“Yes.” Aisling couldn’t believe what was going to happen.
Here she was, a separated woman of thirty-five clinging to a man she barely knew ready to have sex with him. On the first date, too. Did that make her the ultimate trollop, a complete slut? Probably. But who cared? She could do what she wanted. But it had to be safe. If she was going to do something this crazy, she’d better think about pregnancy or AIDs.
“Do you have condoms?” she asked bluntly, amazed at her own daring.
“Yes. Are you sure you want to do this?” he whispered, as he covered her in tiny, hot kisses.
“Yes. Come on.”
She’d made the decision, there was no going back. So what if she was about to have sex in her marital home with someone who wasn’t her husband. Her bloody husband had shagged off with someone else. God, she needed a drink.
She moved out of Sam’s embrace and picked up her glass, draining it. He smiled and drank his down too, proffering his glass for a refill. She poured two more huge whiskies, then took him by the hand and led him upstairs.
The bedroom was in darkness. Before she’d had a chance to turn on the bedside lights, more flattering than the overhead one, he put his glass down and took hers away from her, then put his arms around her again.
They fell on the bed and rolled over until she was on top of him. He kissed her ardently while one hand burrowed under her skirt, sliding it up her thighs. Stockings and suspenders, Aisling thought, I should be wearing stockings and suspenders.
Not tights.
Sam tried to reach the waistband of her black sheer tights but couldn’t manage to hoist her skirt up high enough.
They’d be there all night if she didn’t help.
“Hold on,” she whispered. Why am I whispering anyway?
She wondered. There was nobody to hear them.
Aisling kissed him again and then wriggled off him, getting to her feet shakily. God, she’d had too much to drink. She was pretty pissed.
He gazed up at her expectantly as she unzipped her skirt slowly. Damn. There were few sights more un erotic than a pair of tights worn over knickers. Or a body. She didn’t want him to see her like that.
“I’m waiting,” Sam sounded amused. Turn on the lights so I can see you.”
Aisling walked around the bed to turn on her bedside lamp.
As she switched it on, Sam grabbed her, one hand unzipping her skirt. It slid down to her ankles and she quickly dragged off her tights before he pulled her into his arms. They kissed again, his tongue exploring her mouth while his hands gently explored her body. Thank God she’d shaved her legs earlier.
“Can I take this off?” Sam asked, fingers at the snap fasteners at the crotch of her bronze body.
“Only if you take everything off as well.” Aisling unbuttoned his shirt, her fingers clumsy as they fiddled with the small buttons. She’d nearly finished and was sliding her hands under the fabric to touch his chest, when she felt him un pop her bronze body. She shuddered with pleasure as she felt his fingers on her bare flesh, stroking and probing her intimately.
“Oh Sam,” she murmured.
“Is it good?” he asked.
“Wonderful.” she replied, giving herself up to sheer pleasure.
Sam pushed the body up until he’d exposed her breasts encased in a cream cotton bra.
“You’re gorgeous,” he said, nuzzling the soft flesh of her breasts.
“Help me get this thing off.”
Aisling sat up and pulled the body off over her head. Sam reached behind her back and unclasped her bra swiftly.
“Now you she demanded, pulling his shirt tail out of his jeans. He stripped off quickly, then pulled down the duvet, and slid into the bed. Aisling got in beside him and snuggled up to him, loving the sensation of his warm silky skin on hers.
“You’re beautiful, Aisling.” he repeated, tracing soft kisses down to her breasts, kissing her until Aisling was wild with pleasure.
That’s wonderful she said softly.
“Your turn.”
“No.” He propped himself up on one arm and gazed at her.
Tonight I’m in charge and my job is to make you come over and over again he added.
“So lie back and think of the Empire!”
He kissed her breasts again as one hand gently stroked the sensitive skin on her inner thighs.
Aisling moaned with pleasure.
“If you insist, Mr. Delaney.” she said.
“I do.”
Wow, thought Aisling for the second time as she lay propped up on the pillows with Sam sprawled out in the bed beside her. He was snoring, not loudly but still enough to keep her awake.
After two orgasms, she should have been out for the count, but she couldn’t sleep. Even though it was four in the morning, she felt incredibly awake, utterly relaxed and totally sated. She hadn’t realised quite how boring and mundane sex with Michael had become until now.
He’d been unstoppable, determined to send her into paroxysms of pleasure twice. Twice. Wow.
She slid out from under the covers. Sam wouldn’t miss her.
Even if he did, she just had to have a drink of water. All the alcohol she’d consumed was taking its toll and she was madly thirsty. She took her dressing-gown off the hook on the door and went downstairs for a drink of water.
After draining the second glass, she refilled it and crept quietly into the downstairs toilet.
Aisling was amazed to find that she actually looked good.
She glowed. That was it. Her hair was tousled, her lipstick had been completely kissed off, her eyes were red-rimmed with rivulets of mascara under them and she felt very tired, but the face in the mirror shone back at her.
She’d done it. She’d broken the curse of Michael by sleeping with another man in their bed. Thank you so much, Sam, she whispered to her reflection.
When she slid carefully under the duvet, Sam grunted and moved till he was curled up against her, his body moulded to hers. He moaned again, wrapped one arm around her and nuzzled into her neck.
“All right?” he muttered sleepily.
“Wonderful,” she whispered back, cuddling into him happily.
“Wonderful.”
He woke her by kissing her gently, starting on her mouth and working his way down her neck until she opened her eyes groggily. This is your wake-up call, Aisling.” Sam moved further down her body to cup her full breasts in his hands.
“What time is it?” she asked, closing her eyes.
Twenty to two.”
Two! In the afternoon?” She shot up in the bed.
“The boys will be coming soon, you’ve got to go, Sam,” she said urgently.
“Relax.” His voice was amused. They’re not coming home until six, you told me that last night. So what’s the rush?”
“I know, but…” Aisling couldn’t explain her panic. Last night, it had been different. How could she explain that she .
wanted Sam out of the house because she felt guilty, as if she’d done something wrong. She wanted him out so she could sort out her muddled feelings, so she could wash up the glasses, change the sheets and rinse him off her body. The boys mustn’t see him yet, it was too soon.
“Please understand, Sam,” she began, “I’ve never done anything like this before and it feels strange. I can’t let the boys meet you yet. It would be too confusing for them, you must see that.”
“Did you enjoy last night?” he asked softly. His fingers played with her hair. He had the most amazing eyes.
“Of course …”
He stopped her words with a kiss, a gentle kiss which turned into a long, deep passionate one. Aisling couldn’t help responding. The stubble on his chin grazed the soft skin on her neck as he moved down to nuzzle her breasts.
“I love your breasts, Aisling,” he said huskily. She couldn’t resist him. He was so sexy and he seemed to know exactly how to turn her on. Before she knew it, they were wrapped up in the duvet, limbs intertwined as they made love.
“I’ll go at three. That’ll give you loads of time,” Sam murmured.
An hour later, she lay in the bath and watched him finish shaving. He splashed water on his face, dried it and looked at his reflection in the mirror, turning sideways to make sure he hadn’t missed a bit with her old razor. Satisfied with what he saw, Sam ran a comb through his hair before pulling on his shirt.
“I’ll see myself out he said and leaned down to caress one breast.
“God, you feel great. I want to drag you back to bed again.
But not that bed, of course.” He straightened up abruptly.
“It’s got to go, don’t you agree?”
“Why?” asked Aisling, completely at a loss to know what he meant.
“We can hardly make love in the bed you shared with your husband he replied in astonished tones.
“Oh. I see,” Aisling said, although she didn’t. Making love in Michael’s bed hadn’t worried him too much the night before.
But then, they’d both been so plastered that they could have been making love on O’Connell Bridge with a paying crowd watching.
“We could go shopping next weekend,” he said.
“We’ve got to get some decent booze as well. I’ve got a real taste for bourbon after living in the States.”
“Fine,” Aisling said automatically.
Sam leaned down and kissed her gently on the mouth, a lingering gentle kiss.
He blew her another kiss from the bathroom door.
“See you soon,” he said.
She heard him slam the front door and sank happily back into the bubbles. Who cared if he wanted a new bed or bourbon instead of whiskey? He was wonderful, he was crazy about her. Hell, he could redecorate the bedroom if he felt like it. Aisling closed her eyes and thought about Sam making love to her. She’d get up and tidy the house later.
“Well, how was dinner?” demanded Fiona, the moment Aisling picked up the phone.
“Where did you go? Tell me everything.”
“Everything?” asked Aisling innocently, trying not to burst with excitement.
“Sam arrived at just after half seven and he was wearing a blue shirt…”
“Bugger the blue shirt!” said Fiona in exasperation.
“How did you get on? Did he kiss you, did you kiss him, did you have mad, passionate sex to Ravel’s Bolero?”
Aisling snorted down the phone.
“The answers to those questions, in order, are, Marvellously, Yes. Yes and Yes although we didn’t have any music. You know I don’t have a stereo in the bedroom.”
“Aisling Moran,” shrieked Fiona.
“I don’t believe you. You slept with him? You didn’t, did you?” she asked, “Yes, I did. I know I’m a trollop but who cares, it felt absolutely wonderful and I’m glad I did sleep with him. Not that we got that much sleep …”
“Has he gone?” asked Fiona.
“Yes.”
“Right. Put the kettle on, I’m coming over. If you can walk into the kitchen without crutches, that is.”
“He’s very attractive, of course,” Fiona said five minutes later, as she. sat in Aisling’s kitchen and lit a cigarette.
“And let’s face it, straight, good-looking, single men are practically extinct in this country these days. Since you have me to thank for introducing you to him, I want all the juicy details. I mean all:
“Thank you, darling Fiona, for introducing me to him Aisling said with a giggle.
“I certainly owe you. Sam is a fantastic lover. Not that I have anything to compare him with,” she added.
“But it was wonderful. Three times, Fiona, three times. I’m exhausted.”
“You don’t look exhausted, Fiona remarked wryly.
“You look like they’ve turned a light on inside you.”
“I know. It’s amazing, isn’t it?” Aisling sat back in her chair with a practically untouched cup of coffee in one hand.
“We were awake till at least four and I should have a thumping great hangover after all we drank, but do you know what?” She grinned at Fiona.
“I feel fantastic. And different. I can’t explain it, but being with Sam, it was as if all this pressure that’s been building up inside me since Michael left was suddenly released, I could relax and let go. It was amazing.”
“You’re in love,” Fiona said with a laugh.
“No,” corrected Aisling.
“I’m not. I fancy Sam and he fancies me, but that’s not love. I don’t want to be in love again, not for a long time.” She was suddenly serious.
“Love is just trouble. If you love someone, they have the power to hurt you and I don’t want to go through that ever again.”
That’s perfectly understandable,” the other woman said.
“But don’t think you can control love, Aisling. You can’t.”
“I know that.” Aisling got up and filled up the kettle. The washing machine shuddered to a stop beside her, ending its final spin. She
really should hang out the clothes but she couldn’t be bothered. Tomorrow would do.
“Getting a job, losing weight and learning how to live on my own they were all important things, but no matter what I did, I was still tied to Michael,” Aisling explained.
“Now I’m not. I was tied to him even though he wasn’t tied to me. He’d escaped but I couldn’t. Sam helped me to escape.”
“When are you seeing him again?” Fiona asked.
“Next weekend, for dinner. He wanted to see me tomorrow but he’s got to go to Cork for the week. He’s ringing later.”
Fiona raised one eyebrow expressively.
“He’s keen.”
The last globule of cream squelched out of the piping bag onto the strawberry cheesecake. Aisling dumped the bag in the sink and carefully carried the plate over to the fridge.
Dizzy, the Coughlans’ fat black spaniel, watched Aisling’s every move, big brown eyes fixed on the woman who’d been cooking all sorts of delicious things in the kitchen all afternoon.
“No, you can’t have anything, Dizzy,” Aisling admonished the drooling dog.
“You’re on a diet.”
“I’m the one who should be on a diet wailed Rachel. She hurried into the kitchen wearing a pink candlewick dressing gown with a wet towel wrapped, turban-style, around her head.
Rachel was short, plump, very pretty and looked at least ten years younger than her husband, who had to be around forty-five. She was also very disorganised, as Aisling had found out when she arrived in the Coughlans’ kitchen a few hours earlier and started a lengthy search in hopelessly untidy cupboards for a large plate for the cheesecake.
The zip on my black crepe dress won’t close. I know I should have bought those tummy-flattener pants,” Rachel said miserably.
“Have I time to race off to Spar and get a pair of control tights, do you think?”
“You have the time,” Aisling said slowly, thinking of the calorie-laden meal she’d been preparing.
“But you’ll be awfully uncomfortable by the time you’ve eaten dinner if the dress is too tight in the first place.”
‘ “You’re right.” Rachel stomped over to the fridge and took out a bottle of white wine from the half-dozen on the bottom shelf.
“Oh, the cheesecake looks delicious.” she squealed as soon as she saw it.
“I can’t wait to try it. Let’s have a glass of wine, Aisling,” she wheedled.
“You’ve been busy all day and you need a break.”
Aisling had been working hard in Rachel’s huge old-fashioned kitchen for over two hours, slicing vegetables, finishing off the cheesecake she’d made at home and preparing the pheasant with apples and Calvados. She’d nearly gone mad making the fiddly timbales of smoked salmon with dill salad Rachel had wanted to impress her snooty American sister-in-law, Antonia.
“When she’s gone, I’ll tell everyone else that you cooked the meal. Antonia will want to leave early, she always does.
Doesn’t like spending too much time with her in-laws,” Rachel revealed.
“But I want to pretend that I did everything just to shut that cow up. Do you mind awfully?”
As long as you sneak my cards into everyone else’s pockets when they’re going Aisling replied, fishing several cream printed cards out of her handbag.
“Reservations” Why slave over the cooker when you can relax at your own dinner party? My team and I can cook you an exquisite, mouth-watering menu from fresh ingredients and you won’t have to lift a finger. Phone Aisling Moran for details.
This wasn’t strictly true. Aisling’s team was herself and herself and herself. Still, she could get help if she really needed it. Her mother had offered to give her a hand with desserts.
“This looks very impressive.” Rachel admired the rich creamy paper and the elegant copperplate lettering Aisling had picked in the printing shop.
She’d had a hundred made up and was now crossing her fingers that
they’d pay for themselves. She took a cautious sip of wine from the glass Rachel handed her. Catastrophic if she ruined her first dinner by getting tiddly with the hostess before the meal.
“Is there anything I can do?” Rachel sat down at the kitchen table and took a bottle of flamingo-pink nail varnish from her dressing-gown pocket.
“No thanks, you relax,” said Aisling quickly. She’d seen Rachel’s hopelessly untidy cupboards and the large collection of ready-made microwave able meals in the freezer. The other woman was obviously not a dab hand in the kitchen.
By half seven everything was ready. The guests were due, the pheasant was cooking gently in the oven, the damned timbales were perfect and even Rachel was ready, resplendent in an expensive-looking gold silk blouse, black trousers and plenty of gold jewellery.
Her daughter, Amy sixteen and pretty despite the sulky, expression on her face had been pressed into service to help serve the meal. Either Rachel had been around fifteen when she had Amy, or she used lots of miraculous wrinkle preventing eye cream, Aisling decided.
In a tattered pair of 501s, a skinny black polo neck that was turning grey, and black suede boots with stack heels, Amy looked like a younger, slimmer version of her mother.
“You could have dressed up, Amy.” Rachel marched into the kitchen to find her offspring enjoying a sneaky vodka tonic.
“You certainly shouldn’t be drinking. I said one glass of wine, if you remember. And those jeans are dreadful.”
Amy shot Rachel a venomous look.
“Don’t look at me like that, Madam,” started Rachel crossly.
Aisling knew that a row was brewing. Maybe I should ‘cook the stuff at home and just drive it over, she thought silently Maybe I should forget the idea of running a catering company at all.
The doorbell rang loudly. Row instantly forgotten, Rachel roared for her husband to answer the door and hurried out to welcome her guests.
It was eight by the time everyone was seated. Jim was on wine service and winked at Aisling when he rushed past her with two bottles of white and the corkscrew under his arm.
Rachel bustled back into the kitchen to help Amy carry in the twelve plates.
“I don’t want Antonia to see you she whispered to Aisling.
Aisling was grateful that she didn’t have to go in and serve the guests. Cooking a meal and looking fresh as a daisy when serving it, simply wasn’t possible. Her grey T-shirt was damp with sweat and her hair had flopped in the heat of the kitchen, strands stuck to her forehead. She longed for a long warm bath, a nice book and a glass of sweet white wine.
But it would be at least half ten when she got home and she knew that she’d barely have the energy to slump onto the settee and watch some mindless rubbish before going to bed.
When the guests were all eating, she pushed the door between the kitchen and the dining room open just a fraction, and listened.
She heard murmurs of “Delicious, Rachel’ and This salmon is fantastic, how did you do it?” They liked it. She only hoped the pheasant went down as well.
“Would you like some pheasant?” she asked Amy when the girl returned to the kitchen after delivering the last plate.
“I’m a vegetarian Amy said, then added, ‘but everyone in there is gobbling the pheasant up like mad. Even Aunt Antonia.”
“Not a woman easily pleased, I believe.” Aisling filled the sink with hot water.
Amy grimaced.
“She’s a cow. I hope she chokes on it. Not because of your cooking she added quickly.
“No offence.”
“None taken. If you’re hungry, I could make you some nice cheese sauce for the broccoli and cauliflower, or an omelette?”
Aisling had noticed that the girl looked tired and pale under her heavy pancake foundation.
“No, but thanks anyway.” Amy was really very pretty when she smiled.
“D’you want a hand with the washing-up?”
Aisling scrubbed and Amy dried.
“Do you cook all the time, for a living, I mean?”
“Actually, this is my first dinner party Aisling explained, I work as a secretary in a legal firm and I ended up catering for!
a special lunch when the original caterers made a mess off things. That’s where I met your father and he said your mother would love some help with parties and dinners for her new business.” “That’s true. She can’t even make tea. So you never did anything like this before?”
- “I love cooking and I’ve done cooking courses but I never actually thought of doing it professionally. Until this year, anyway.”
“Why is that?”
“I was a housewife and I went back to work when my husband and I split up earlier this year Aisling said matteroffactly.
She didn’t feel her heart ache when she said it, didn’t feel the lump in her throat at the thought of Michael. Thank God. She rinsed a copper-bottomed saucepan and placed it on the drainer.
“When people congratulated me on my cooking after the lunch, I decided to do something about it and then your mum rang. With a bit of luck, and if people get my cards when they’re leaving, I’ll get more jobs like this.”
“Wow, that’s amazing. You’re a career woman.” Amy dried a wooden spoon carefully.
Aisling smiled at the girl.
“I suppose I am. Strange, I never thought I’d be one.”
That’s what I want to be Amy said.
“I don’t want to sit around like Mum did for years waiting for something to happen before Dad pushed her into doing something.”
That’s hardly fair, Amy.” Aisling rebuked gently.” If your mother hasn’t worked for a few years, it’s very, very difficult going back. I should know.
“My first few months back at work were a nightmare. Imagine if you’d been off school for two years and then had to go back to class with girls two years younger and start again …”
“I suppose you’re right Amy said reluctantly.
“I know I’m right Aisling said firmly.
“You’d feel totally threatened and stupid, because they’d know more than you.
You’d be paranoid about not fitting in. It’s a horrible feeling, believe me. Take it from me, your mum’s been really brave setting up this PR company and I’m sure she could do with your support.”
“Suppose.” Amy dried a saucepan.
“Everything’s going wonderfully, Aisling.”
Rachel rushed into the kitchen clutching four empty bottles of wine.
“It is if you’ve gone through all that booze already reproved Amy, as if she hadn’t been drinking herself.
“That’s nine bottles at least.”
“It’s a party. And there are twelve of us,” Rachel retorted.
They love the pheasant, especially Antonia. She says she’s “amazed it’s so good”. Bitch. Can you put cyanide on her cheesecake,
Aisling grinned.
“I’m not sure how good that would be for my reputation as a dinner-party cook. I’ll do salmon timbales but I draw the line at cyanide.”
“They were gorgeous,” Rachel sighed.
“Everyone wanted to know how I did them. And the pheasant too. I think they’re all convinced I cleaned out Marks and Spencer’s food hall. As soon as Antonia is gone, do come in and I’ll introduce you, won’t you?”
Aisling didn’t really want to but then she thought about her business.
“Of course. I’ll need to freshen up first.”
“Use my room,” volunteered Amy.
It was half twelve when Aisling turned the key in her front door lock. The pots and pans would just have to stay in the hall overnight, she decided, dumping everything onto the hall carpet.
Antonia and her husband had stayed at the Coughlans’ until eleven, so Aisling and Amy had sat in the kitchen watching Tom Cruise in Top Gun on the small TV beside the microwave until they’d left.
When Aisling finally walked into the dining room, everyone clapped.
“The best meal I’ve had in years said one woman, holding up a large glass of port as a toast.
“I do hope you can cook for me sometime.”
“Of course Aisling said.
“I’ll give you a card.”
The meal had been a huge success and, as she went into the kitchen to look for Flossie, she felt elated but dog-tired. She switched off the lights downstairs and went to bed, not even bothering to take off her eye make-up. Just before turning out her bedside light, she switched the alarm clock off. She was going to have a lie-in in the morning. She deserved it.
“Aisling, that really isn’t you. It doesn’t suit you.” Sam stood a few feet away from the changing cubicle, eyes narrowed as he , looked at the fitted navy dress Aisling had just tried on. She sighed in exasperation. This was the third item she’d tried on and he’d hated the other two as well.
The cream woollen dress with a matching long cardigan was ‘too tight’, the elegant black shirt was ‘too short’, and she’d thought he was going to have a seizure when he saw the clingy red lycra top that went with it. They’d been shopping in the Stephen’s Green Centre for just an hour and Aisling was already wondering what sort of illness she could fake so she could go home. She’d been so thrilled with Sam’s present of a clothes voucher to celebrate their first month of going out together. It was such a thoughtful gift, she’d told Fiona happily.
Aisling cooked a special dinner for the occasion and she was delighted when Sam gave her the voucher which was hidden in a big box of chocolates. It was the sort of gesture Michael would never have made.
“We can go shopping next Saturday Sam had said, unwrapping a coffee creme for her.
“I’d love that she said truthfully, wondering how to avoid eating too many chocolates without upsetting him. A whole box of Dairy Milk would mean she couldn’t eat a proper meal for at least a month.
“I’d love to go shopping with you.”
Famous last words.
“What would look good on me, Sam?” she demanded now, irritated beyond belief.
“A yashmak?”
“Honey, don’t get upset.” He looked pained, his eyes troubled, as if she’d really upset him.
“I just want you to buy something suitable, that’s all.”
“Suitable for what?”
“For going out to dinner with me, for the office. You needn’t be so defensive. I’m only trying to help.”
“Listen, Sam.” Aisling looked at him with eyes blazing.
“You and I have very different ideas about what’s “suitable”. I have the sort of figure I can show off. And I want to show it off!”
she hissed.
“Have you got that?”
“Fine. I just want you to look nice.”
The cheek of him, Aisling thought crossly as she retreated into the changing room and pulled the curtains. As if she didn’t look nice before.
Men always thought they knew better than you. She hoped this particular phase turned out to be just that a phase a brief one. For all his faults, Michael had never been particularly interested in her wardrobe. Then again, maybe that had been part of the problem. Perhaps men were supposed to be fascinated by what their women wore. Perhaps it was a caveman thing, a flattering thing.
Aisling stood in her bra and knickers and looked at the three very nice outfits that Sam had condemned. They all looked nice. But after years of wearing sloppy Tshirts and elastic-wasted trousers, she probably wasn’t the best fashion expert in the world.
Wearing anything clingy was a thrill for her. But maybe Sam was right and she shouldn’t indulge her taste for spray-on lycra garments in case she ended up looking like mutton dressed as lamb.
“Aisling.” The curtain shook.
“Look what I’ve found.”
She stuck her head out of the cubicle.
“This,” Sam produced a clothes-hanger from behind his back, ‘would be lovely on you.”
This’ turned out to be a long, highly patterned pale peach dress that
flowed and billowed like a sail, a dress which would undoubtedly make her look like an over-the-hill bridesmaid.
Six months ago, Aisling would have loved it, mainly because it was big enough to accommodate a size sixteen. However, she wasn’t a size sixteen any more and she wanted to wear something which showed off the fact. Sam didn’t know anything about this. He had no idea she’d lost so much weight, she hadn’t told him. Aisling had felt it might change his opinion of her, as if he’d go off her if he found out she hadn’t always been the slim blonde she was now.
It wasn’t fair to expect him to understand her hatred for anything baggy. Keep calm, she told herself. Don’t let the sins of Michael Moran be visited on every man after him.
She reached out and took the dress from Sam.. His face creased into a smile and she grinned back at him. She impulsively leaned out and kissed him on the cheek. There was something utterly charming about Sam’s smile, that mischievous grin which lit up his face. He was quite irresistible standing there in a snow-white cricket jumper and faded denims which clung to his long legs. One of the shop assistants had eyed him up the moment they walked into the shop until Aisling shot her a proprietorial ‘hands off’ look.
“Bet you a tenner it looks lovely on you,” said Sam confidently, as she slipped back behind the curtain.
His attitude to clothes was probably because he’d lived in the States for so long, Aisling decided as she took the dress off the hanger and stepped into it. Apart from places like California, people in the US dressed in a much more conservative manner than their European cousins, didn’t they?
Aisling wasn’t sure. But she ought to give Sam the benefit of the doubt. Definitely.
“It’s beautiful, Aisling.” He held one of her hands high and made her turn so he could admire the dress from every angle.
Privately, she thought it made her look like some sort of child-woman instead of a mature woman of thirty-five. But Sam loved it.
“It’s so sexy he cried with delight.
“You look amazing.”
He grabbed her in a bear hug and whispered in her ear.
“Good enough to eat. Let’s take it.”
“And then we can stop shopping?” Aisling asked.
“Absolutely.”
“I’ll take it. “