CHAPTER NINETEEN
The answering machine switched on seconds before Aisling reached the phone. She’d only had the machine for a month and she still found herself racing out of the shower or hurrying from the depths of the settee when the phone rang, having forgotten that people could leave messages. She decided to wait to see who was calling before she picked up the phone and carried the groceries over to the fridge and began to unpack what felt like a ton of cat food and an equal weight of the from age frais that the boys were currently eating by the bucket load
“This is Carla De Paor,” said the caller, in a high, rather posh accent.
“I’m phoning to see if you can cater for a party before Christmas. Do give me a ring if you can help. My number is …”
“Hello, Ms De Paor,” said Aisling, snatching up the phone and turning the machine off.
“This is Aisling Moran. You want to book Reservations to cater for a party? When is the party?”
“Friday, December thirteenth. For about fifty people. I know it’s terribly short notice, only asking you two weeks before, but my friend Yvonne recommended you so highly. I do hope you can help me the caller added.
Aisling looked at the Cat’s Companion calendar hanging by the phone and did some quick calculations. She had a midweek dinner party for ten that week, her second for Jim and Rachel Coughlan, and a buffet to get organised for the following Saturday, a day after the De Paor party. But the buffet would be very simple and she could always rope someone in to help with the party catering. She’d need to get off work early, of course, but she was owed plenty of time off.
“Yes, I can probably fit you in, Ms De Paor.” she said in the cool, businesslike manner she’d learned to use on the phone.
“A lot depends on how elaborate the party is. What are you planning?”
“Nibbles, a finger buffet really,” the other woman replied.
The party isn’t until nine and it’s not dinner, you know. Just something to have with the booze. Oh you’re so good to take me on,” she gushed.
“My other people said they couldn’t do it at the last minute. If Yvonne hadn’t told me about you, I don’t know what I’d have done!”
“Reservations won’t let you down,” Aisling said firmly.
“Once we’ve taken a client on, we provide a first-class service.”
Unless I get sick, she thought privately, in which case the whole thing falls apart at the seams.
“I’d like to meet you to go over exactly what menu you’d like,” Aisling continued.
“Could you meet me on Monday at one-fifteen in the Harcourt Hotel?”
“Yes, yes, no problem. How will I recognise you?”
I’ll be the one with the bags under my eyes and the rose between my teeth, Aisling thought mischievously. She said, “I’m blonde and I’ll be wearing a navy suit.”
“Marvellous, thank you so much,” said the other woman.
“Ciao.”
Ciao? Did people still say that? Aisling wondered as she hung up. A mental picture of Carla De Paor came to her a cosseted wealthy wife with bobbed burgundy hair, a year round tan from too many hours in the sun and enough gold around her neck to settle Bolivia’s national debt.
Once, that type of woman would have overawed Aisling, made her feel gauche and dowdy. But not any more. In the last few months, she’d met more society types than she’d ever dreamed of as Reservations made a name for itself as a small but exclusive catering business.
She’d learned that the ones with the posh voices and the expensive clothes were just as likely to have grimy kitchen utensils and mice droppings in the saucepan cupboard. And, when she’d changed her clothes in a bedroom of one luxurious mansion in Foxrock, she’d passed the master bedroom and realised that the elegant lady who dressed in
chic clothes and sported French-manicured nails, left the same tangle of tights, discarded outfits and clutter of toiletries on the bed as any woman did. There was no doubt about it, Ireland’s most glamorous people were decidedly unglamorous when you got past the facade. Dealing with the De Paors would be no problem.
Aisling had just unpacked the shopping when the phone rang again. This time she picked it up.
“Hiya, Aisling. How are you, honey?” Sam’s voice hadn’t lost its faint transatlantic twang, a subtle variation on his native accent that made the endearment ‘honey’ sound deliciously sexy.
“I’m fine, Sam. Just been shopping and I’m going out to pick up the boys in half an hour. We’re going to have lunch with my mother.”
“Still on for tonight?” he asked.
“Of course,” she replied.
“It’s not every night I get brought to a charity ball, so I’m not going to miss it.”
“Are you finally going to tell me what you’re wearing, or is it still a big secret?” he asked.
Aisling stifled her irritation. Ever since Mark had asked them to accompany himself and Jo to the fund-raising ball for Chinese orphans, Sam had been wheedling away to find out what Aisling was going to wear.
“It’s a surprise,” she said.
“I want to dazzle you.”
“Dazzle!” said Sam suspiciously.
“Yes, dazzle.” Aisling could feel herself getting agitated.
What was the matter with him? Every time he mentioned the ball, he wanted to know what she was wearing, even though she’d told him it was a surprise at least four times. Which word was he having difficulty with, she wondered? Dazzle or surprise?
“I just want to know, that’s all.” Sam sniffed. Nobody could sniff like Sam. Each one was an Oscar winner, laden with meaning.
“Why?” Aisling couldn’t stop herself. She was annoyed by the
implication that she couldn’t pick something suitable for a posh ball in the Shelbourne without his help. She wasn’t some hare-brained bimbo who couldn’t tell a black-tie affair from a beery barbeque in somebody’s back garden. She was a working woman who’d just arranged another booking for her catering business. A business she’d set up thanks to her own cooking skills and entrepreneurial ability. So why the hell was Sam treating her as if she was an imbecile with no clothes sense?
Damn him. He was so square when it came to clothes. Not satisfied with buying her a ludicrously little-girl dress the first time they went out shopping, he’d subsequently surprised her with another maidenly outfit a ruinously expensive white Ghost dress that made her look like a milkmaid. He probably expected her to wear that to the ball. Well, he could forget it.
“I’d love to see you wearing my dress.” He sniffed again.
“You look beautiful in it, so elegant.” There was a pause.
“I’m sorry he added in a low voice.
“It’s childish to want you to wear my present.”
It was Aisling’s turn to sigh. Don’t be so hard on him, she told herself. You’re just out of sync with normal man woman relationships. Most men probably want their girlfriends to wear feminine outfits instead of knock-‘em-dead sexy dresses.
Perfectly normal, wasn’t it? She’d ask Jo, just to be on the safe side.
“I love the white dress you bought me she said. It was only a half-lie. She did like it, but it wasn’t the sort of thing you could wear into the office and it was far too impractical to inspire confidence in her catering clients.
“But I’ve bought a lovely dress for the ball and I want to wear it. You’ll like it when you see it, I just know it.”
He’ll hate it, she thought as she hung up. It was very sexy the complete opposite of the white dress he’d bought. A year ago, she wouldn’t have dreamed of wearing anything like it.
Mind you, a year ago she wouldn’t have fitted into a long oyster-coloured halter-neck dress. Especially one that moulded her body like surgical gloves. Still, Jo said it was going to be a very
over-the-top affair, so Aisling had felt justified blowing two and a half dinner parties’ worth of takings on the dress.
“Hello, Ash.” murmured Jo, walking into the kitchen rubbing her eyes sleepily. Eight months pregnant, Jo was very big and in her to welling dressing-gown worn over a large T-shirt, she looked as if she had a beach-ball tied around her middle.
“Did you sleep?” asked Aisling, pulling out a chair for her.
“Not really. I keep having to pee all night and she’s kicking like mad Jo sighed.
“I’ll make you a nice cup of tea and some toast offered Aisling, ‘and you can sit inside and watch telly.”
Thank you. What would I do without you, Ash?” Jo asked.
“You’d get out more Aisling replied, filling the kettle.
“I’m afraid the boys will soon think you’re their mother. You’re here more often than I am “I don’t mind babysitting at all. I love being with them.
Anyway, when you’re building up a business you’ve got to accept lots of work, at least that’s what Richard always told me she added drily.
“It’ll be easier when you’ve got someone to help full time.”
Aisling put brown bread into the toaster and placed a tray with Flora, marmalade, milk and sugar on it on the table in front of Jo.
“I’ll need to hire someone sooner rather than later she said.
“I’ve just got another job, a party for fifty on Friday week. For an awfully jolly-hockey-sticks-sounding woman called Carla De Paor.”
“Well done. That name’s familiar, though.” Jo said thoughtfully.
“Aren’t they the ones with the huge pile in Greystones and the garage business?”
“Don’t know said Aisling, making the tea. The only problem is that Sam will go ballistic when I tell him because Michael was taking the boys that Friday night and Sam and I were going to drive to Wexford and spend the night in a hotel somewhere.”
“You can do that another time Jo pointed out.
“You’ve got to make as many contacts as you can now to get yourself established.”
Aisling looked out of the kitchen window at the bird-table where a tiny robin daintily pecked at the nuts she’d put out earlier. It was a freezing November day, the last vestiges of frost still sparkled in the pale wintry sun.
“I know she said slowly.
“But Sam doesn’t seem to understand that. He knew what I wanted to do when we met, but now he really seems to hate me working at night. I don’t know why.”
“I’m afraid that’s a typical male reaction Jo said.
“Independence is wonderful, an attractive quality in fact. Like wearing sexy clothes, miniskirts or low-cut blouses. Until you become an item. Then, it’s “don’t go out wearing that dress, cover up your boobs, your legs, whatever, and turn into Little Miss Stay at Home.”
“You said it muttered Aisling, thinking of Sam’s fascination with her wardrobe.
“Mark isn’t like that, is he?”
“No. Not at all. I think it must be because he’s so confident and secure in himself Jo took her toast out of the toaster and plastered it with Flora.
“He loves the fact that I’ve made my own way in the world. But not all men are like that she added, licking a piece of margarine off her fingers.
“Why do I get stuck with the ones who want to turn me into the bloody housewife from hell?” demanded Aisling.
“Come on, Ash, give him a chance begged Jo.
“He’s probably trying to protect you. He can see that you’re stretching yourself by doing two jobs as well as looking after Paul and Phillip,” “You’re right. It’s just that…” she paused.
“What?” asked Jo through a mouth full of toast.
“I’m beginning to feel claustrophobic Aisling said finally.
There. She’d said it, actually said what had been rattling around in her head for the past two weeks.
In the three months since she’d met Sam, she’d had a marvelous time. Most of the time. Nearly all the time, really.
He was a handsome, attentive lover and that had doubled her
confidence, made her feel happy, relaxed and as secure as a recently separated woman could be.
Sam stayed at her house on the nights when the boys were with Michael and they made passionate love, before falling asleep wrapped in each other’s arms. On Sunday mornings, they sat in bed reading the papers never the News and had breakfast, before making love again, usually with toast crumbs sticking to their bodies.
Aisling was amazed at how quickly she’d got used to his presence in her life and her bed. When Michael left, she’d genuinely thought that she’d never want another man ever again. And here she was in a serious relationship with Sam.
He’d certainly improved her life made her feel better about herself in every way. But there was something not quite right about their relationship lately. She’d first noticed it one day when he rang her from his office to tell her that his trip to London the following day had been cancelled.
“I thought we could have a romantic dinner for two,” he suggested.
“Just you, me and a bottle of nice Chablis.”
“Sorry, Sam,” Aisling said. The boys have to finish a project by Thursday morning, so I said I’d help them with it tomorrow night. It’s on “Space”, which is great because they love watching Star Trek. They’re mad about anything to do with astronauts. Anyway,” she added, “I’m not really able to do late nights in the middle of the week. I’ll fall asleep at my desk if I don’t get a decent seven hours’ sleep. I do hope you understand.”
“It’s all right, I understand,” he said sharply. Clearly, he didn’t understand at all.
She could imagine how it looked from his point of view.
He’d offered her a lovely night out and she’d turned him down, rejected him.
Well, tough, she thought to herself. The boys are more important than a night out, they need me. There’s been enough uncertainty in their lives during the past year. They need a stable home life. I’m out often enough because of the catering business, so they need to know
that I’m there when they want me to help them with something, Sam had become even more annoyed the following weekend when Aisling couldn’t spend Saturday afternoon with him. She was cooking twelve huge vegetarian quiches and had to make a smoked trout pate which a client was picking up that evening.
“You can’t work all the time he growled.
“You’ve got to stop working so hard. This bloody business means I never see you.”
Aha, thought Aisling. That’s more like it. You’re not upset at the idea of me working too hard, you’re just cross because it means you can’t get what you want. Typical man. She’d been prepared to promise him a romantic evening at home when she’d cook his favourite peppered steak with all the trimmings. But she was damned if she’d do it when he was going to behave childishly.
He’d been so cold towards her the next time they met that Aisling found herself apologising for Saturday. She told him she’d consult him in future so her cooking didn’t infringe on their time together.
“I’m sorry, Sam she’d said. She sat beside him on the settee and cuddled up close.
“I didn’t think. I’m trying to make the business a success and when I get an order, I hate to turn it down. But I’ll check with you in future in case you’ve anything nice planned, all right?”
Even as she said it, Aisling knew she was making a big mistake. Making a rod for her own back, her mother used to say. She didn’t explain any of this to Jo, who was eating her toast hungrily.
“All relationships have their ups and downs Jo said comfortingly.
“It’s a bad patch you’re going through, that’s all.”
“So says the woman who is blissfully in love and hasn’t said a cross word to Mark for the past six weeks joked Aisling.
Jo beamed at her.
“Are we sickeningly in love?” she asked.
“You’re a living, breathing Danielle Steel story line
That bad!”
“No, I’m kidding. I’m thrilled for you both. Now, more tea?”
asked Aisling. “I’d love some.”
Aisling topped up the teapot with hot water and listened to Jo read something funny from the newspaper. But her mind was elsewhere.
“Well, what do you think?” Aisling twirled around in her oyster-coloured evening dress in front of Jo who was sitting on the bed in Aisling’s bedroom, sipping a glass of milk.
“Absolutely amazing. Fantastic,” praised Jo.
“You’ll be the belle of the ball. I wish I looked like that!” she added wistfully, patting her vast belly in Rhona’s velvet dress.
“You’ll get your figure back in no time,” said Aisling comfortingly.
“You’re naturally slim for a start and the weight will just fall off when the baby is born, I know it will.”
Jo grimaced.
“I do hope so. I feel like a supertanker in velvet.”
“You look great, Jo. Your skin is fantastic, your hair is so shiny and the dress is very flattering.” Aisling hugged her friend.
“It would want to be,” pointed out Jo, ‘seeing as how it’s the only thing I can wear out at night. This is the third outing it’s had in the last few weeks and if I meet anyone I know at the ball, they’re going to think I only have one dress she added gloomily. “Mark certainly thinks you look great.”
Jo’s face softened.
“He does, doesn’t he? He’s such a wonderful man. So different from Richard. Actually, talking of
The doorbell rang loudly, cutting across Jo’s voice.
“They’re early.” She glanced down at her watch.
Aisling hurried to the stairs, holding up the skirt of her long satin dress as she ran.
“I’ll let them in. Take your time coming downstairs, Jo.”
Mark and Sam stood at the front door, handsome in their dinner jackets.
“Aisling, you look … great,” said Sam in an astonished voice. He
stood back. His eyes travelled the length of her body, as he admired the clinging dress which showed off her curves. She’d spent an hour coaxing her blonde hair into soft waves and it rippled as she moved, the silver and golden colours perfectly matched by the shade of her dress.
In fact, the only spot of colour were her eyes, which Jo had carefully made up for her, their denim blue accentuated by smudged brown liner and thick dark brown mascara. Against the pale fawn colours of her hair and dress, her eyes looked hypnotic and intensely blue.
“You look beautiful, Aisling.” Mark leaned over to kiss her warmly.
“Sam’s going to have to spend the entire night fighting off competition from love-stricken admirers.”
Sam didn’t look pleased at the thought. They can look but they better not touch.” He slid one arm around Aisling possessively and kissed
“Is Jo upstairs?” asked Mark.
“Mmm.” Aisling couldn’t talk properly with Sam glued to her.
Mark took the stairs two at a time and met Jo as she walked out of the bathroom stuffing spare tissues into her handbag.
When he hugged her gently, careful not to squash her bump, Jo experienced that sense of complete happiness she felt whenever she was with Mark.
“How’s my favourite mum-to-be?” He dropped a kiss on the top of her head.
“Huge.” Jo snuggled her head into his chest.
“I’m afraid that someone’s going to come up to me tonight, break a bottle of champagne on me and say “God bless her and all who sail in her”.”
She could feel Mark’s deep laugh vibrate in his belly.
“Don’t be silly. You look great. You’re only a tiny little thing.
Will I carry you downstairs to prove it?”
Jo slapped him playfully.
“Only if you want to end up in casualty with a slipped disc, Mark.”
Downstairs, they found Aisling trying to set the video to record something while Sam stood boot-faced in the hall, holding her coat and looking at his watch.
“We’ll be late,” he said testily.
“I’m coming called Aisling.
“I just want to tape a film later.”
She reached the front door just as Mark opened it and both she and Jo gasped.
“A limo!” Jo said in astonishment. A gleaming black stretch Mercedes was parked in the drive, a black-suited driver holding open one of the back doors.
Mark grinned as he put on his black wool overcoat.
“I
thought we should do it in style tonight he said, ‘because it’s a special evening. A very special evening he added, glancing at Jo.
He and Jo sat facing the front of the car with Aisling and Sam opposite them.
“We could have had champagne, but since Jo can’t drink any, I didn’t order it Mark said, stretching out his long legs.
“I could have half a glass.” Jo leaned comfortably against him.
“Do you know what this reminds me of?” she said in a much softer tone so only he could hear.
“No.” Mark put his arm around her.
“Remember when we arrived in New York and the hotel limo was there to meet us? I’d never been in one before but I was determined not to appear unsophisticated and say so.” She settled herself even closer to him.
“I kept wanting to open the drinks compartment to see if there was actually anything in it.”
“You never cease to amaze me, Jo.” Mark said.
“I’ve never met anyone who can act as marvellously sophisticated as you do when you put your mind to it.”
“Acting comes in very handy sometimes she whispered.
“Especially when you’re chatting up the boss …”
When the limo pulled up outside the Shelbourne, Aisling was amazed to see three other equally long limos parked in front of the hotel. Their driver double-parked, ran around to open the door and helped her out as she stared at a tall woman in floor-length fur who was getting out of the limo beside her.
“Get a load of that coat Aisling whispered to Jo.
“Definitely ranch mink Jo whispered back.
“I bought her a mink and she wouldn’t feed it,” Mark pointed out to Aisling, doing his best to sound serious.
The two women burst out laughing. Madame Mink stared at them frostily.
“Silly cow for wearing fur in the first place said Aisling.
She walked into the ballroom with a spring in her step. She felt beautiful, sexy and gloriously confident. She could see people glancing at her, men openly admiring her beautiful, elegant outfit. It had to be the dress.
“It’s the dress,” she whispered to Jo.
“It’s you whispered Jo back.
“You look amazing.”
They found their table and the two women were just sitting down beside each other so they could gossip, when Mark arrived with their cloakroom tickets.
“Your lady in mink had a tantrum at the cloakroom. She insisted that they find somewhere extra safe for her coat,” he explained.
“Goodness.” Aisling fanned herself with the small dinner menu.
“I do hope you asked for the same treatment for mine.
It’s a family heirloom and I know Dunnes are unlikely to ever have anything as gorgeous ever again. I’d be distraught if anything happened to it. I mean, where would you get your hands on anything that nice for sixty pounds?”
“Was it only sixty quid?” asked Jo, astonished.
“It looks much more expensive.”
“Fiona picked it out for me Aisling explained.
“She has the most amazing eye for clothes. Nearly as good as you.”
Sam excused himself to talk to someone he’d spotted at another table. Aisling amused herself by looking around, gazing at the people at other tables. Men looked so handsome in dinner jackets, she thought, as she watched beautifully dressed couples weaving through the tables. Even the ugliest, scruffiest man looked better in a black tuxedo.
The women had obviously pulled out all the stops. Sleek blondes and brunettes in elegant black sheaths, vied for attention with women in flowing ball gowns A couple of very young and very slim women sashayed
across the room in spray-on lycra creations, one bronze and one a startling white that contrasted with the girl’s pale golden skin.
You had to be young and slim to get away with that type of dress. Aisling wondered what sort of underwear the girl in the white dress was wearing. All-in-one, vacuum-packed underwear?
No, she was thin enough to get away with ordinary undies.
A balloon floated into view, an oversized cream balloon with swirly gold writing on it saying something she couldn’t make out. Someone had gone to an awful lot of trouble with the decorations. The entire room was done in gold and cream, gold and cream balloons hung from the ceiling. Glass vases of tiny cream roses, tied up with gold ribbons, stood on the tables, and wreaths of gold and cream silk flowers were garlanded around the room and on the raised dais where seats and music stands were laid out for a band.
There was plenty of gold on the ears, wrists and necks of the female guests, Aisling noticed enviously. She fiddled with her plain gold bracelet and wished she had a gold and diamond necklace like the statuesque blonde in pink satin who was batting heavily mascaraed eyes at her companion.
Then Aisling saw him. He was walking towards their table, talking to another man, not really watching where he was going. He looked handsome, if a little tired, in the expensive tuxedo she’d helped him buy just over three years ago.
“It would be handy to have my own instead of renting one every time I need it,” Michael had said as they trawled Dublin’s most expensive men’s shops to find what he was looking for.
It certainly suited him, Aisling had to admit, although he’d put on weight and the buttons were ever so slightly strained across his stomach. Her gaze shifted to the two women who walked a couple of steps behind the men chatting animatedly.
Both were darkhaired. One had short, jet-black hair, offset by a brilliant ruby ball gown the other’s brown bob swung as she walked.
She wore a strapless white silk dress with a tight bodice which flared out into a full skirt much too wide for someone of her height. Pearl earrings and a pearl choker completed the outfit.
The dress must have looked stunning on the shop dummy.
But it was a major fashion mistake on the dumpy, short legged woman who wore it.
Aisling stared at her husband’s girlfriend and wondered why she didn’t want to grab her wine glass and smash it over the other woman’s head.
So that was Jennifer Carroll. The Jennifer Carroll. It was funny, Aisling realised, staring at her in an almost removed state of mind, but Jennifer didn’t look anything like the femme fatale she’d imagined. How had Fiona described her?
All red talons, glittery gold outfits and skirts cut up to her thighs. Something like that.
The woman who was now only a few yards away from her bore no resemblance to the predatory manhunter that Fiona had described.
In the flesh ~ the not inconsiderable flesh, Aisling noticed in amazement Jennifer Carroll was short, verging on plump. Her pale skin looked pasty against the gleaming white dress.
Aisling hated the smell of fake tan but, as she glanced down at her golden arms, she was pleased she’d put it on the night before. Jennifer didn’t look as if she’d bothered with anything much, apart from having her hair salon-blow-dried. “, But maybe Jennifer just hadn’t had the time to bother, Aisling reflected, because she was ironing Michael’s dress shirt finding his cuff links “They must be there somewhere, Aisling!” and trying to put her make-up on in front of the mirror while he poked about in the drawers underneath the mirror looking for a particular pair of black socks.
A cork popped loudly beside her. Aisling turned to see a waiter pouring frothy liquid into Jo’s glass.
“Let’s have a toast.” Jo turned to face Aisling with a half-full glass of champagne held aloft. To all of us and … omigod!
It’s … it’s Michael and … her!” Jo’s mouth formed a pale pink oval as she stared at Michael and Jennifer.
“I don’t believe it!” she gasped.
“Oh Ash,” Jo laid a warm hand on her friend’s shoulder, ‘are you all right?”
“Yes,” said Aisling, still not sure exactly how she felt.
“Stunned, yes. It’s strange but, I’m OK, honestly.”
“He looking at us,” hissed Jo.
“Look the other way!”
Aisling obediently twisted around in her chair and smiled warmly at a surprised Miss Pink Satin who obviously felt obliged to smile back.
“Have we had our toast?” Aisling said brightly to the whole table.
“Let’s toast the future!”
Everyone raised their glasses and drank. Aisling drained her glass in a couple of frothy gulps.
Jo’s mouth fell open again.
“If I drank that fast, I’d hiccup for a month,” she said.
“Are you sure you’re all right, Ash?”
“I’m not sure,” whispered Aisling, a fixed smile still glued to her face.
“In a few minutes, I’ll either be over at their table battering Michael and Jennifer with your handbag yours is bigger than mine or I’ll be perfectly fine. I don’t know which. Now, are they sitting down yet? Where are they sitting?”
“What are you two whispering about?” said Mark, leaning towards them. , “It’s Michael and his girlfriend hissed Jo, ‘over there.”
“Where?” demanded Mark.
“The second table on the left, beside the dance floor.”
Aisling turned her head slightly. She had no idea whether she wanted to talk to Michael or not.
The woman in that dreadful white meringue dress Jo told Mark, bridling like a mother hen seeing someone hurt her favourite chick.
“It’s a dreadful dress. Doesn’t she have a full-length mirror in her bloody house? I can’t believe anyone would go out looking like that.”
For the first time since she’d spotted Michael, Aisling smiled properly.
“You’re a howl, Ryan.” she said affectionately to Jo.
“You’re so protective.”
“Well, she ran off with your husband said Jo indignantly.
“I
mean, really!”
“You can only run off with someone who wants to run off in the first place,” Aisling said, in the tone of someone who’d spent an awful lot of time turning the whole situation over and over in her head.
“Look what’s happened to me as a result. Michael’s leaving changed my life. It was brutal, and not the sort of experience I’d recommend, but it worked. It changed my life and, boy, did it need changing. And now look at me.” She smiled and flicked back a lock of blonde hair.
“You’re one hell of a woman, Aisling,” Mark commented.
There can’t be many women who’ve coped the way you have.”
“Not to mention losing practically two stone and starting a new business,” put in Jo.
“How about a toast to you, Aisling and to Reservations?”
said Mark.
“Hello, guys.” Sam slid into his seat beside Aisling.
“What have I missed?”
“Oh, we’ve just been gossiping.” Aisling shot a warning glance at the other two.
“So I asked him why it was going to take two weeks to put down a wooden floor in the kitchen,” Jo said, ‘since it had only taken one week to replaster all the downstairs.”
“What exactly are you having done to the cottage now?”
inquired Sam idly.
Aisling stifled her irritation. Sam spent hours in her house and had listened to Jo and herself discussing the renovation of the cottage often enough to know precisely what was going on, down to the last nut and bolt. He obviously hadn’t listened to a word they’d said:
“It’s nearly finished apart from a few minor details,” explained Jo patiently.
Aisling remembered when she’d indulgently repeated herself every time Michael muttered.
“What?”
He usually said “What?” halfway through dinner when Aisling was
regaling him with details of her day or telling him about the funny thing she’d heard on the radio that morning.
Dinner chez Moran. Michael indifferently munching his way through Aisling’s delicious stuffed pork with one eye on the newspaper and one eye on his ratatouille to make sure that his fork didn’t miss his mouth and spill food down his shirt front.
Aisling couldn’t suppress a shiver. Had she really lived her life like that? Repeating herself endlessly. When Michael hadn’t been bothered to listen? Had she really been that quiet little mouse? A mousey mouse, she realised with a grin, running one hand through her blonde mane. A mouse with no confidence, no conversation and no waist. She took a sip of champagne to calm herself down.
Even her hands looked better nowadays, she realised, admiring the fingers that curled around her glass, the short, well shaped nails painted with a soft opalescent pink. They were never going to look like Vivienne’s perfectly manicured hands.
But they were improving. She’d been stirring chocolate sauce one night at one of her catering jobs when she noticed that, though her hair, clothes and figure were much improved, her hands let her down completely.
Now she made herself wear rubber gloves when she was cleaning the bath and scouring saucepans, something she hadn’t bothered with for years.
Aisling glanced over to Michael’s table.
Thank you, Jennifer, she said silently. Thank you. If you hadn’t come along, I’d still be living on automatic pilot, still worried about what to cook for dinner, still utterly depressed.
You’ve no idea what a difference you’ve made to my life. Or my hands.
Aisling, honey, what are you going to have to eat? Sam asked.
“I think the lamb sounds nice.” Sam was looking at the menu hungrily, the subject of Jo’s cottage obviously closed.
Aisling picked up the small menu. Each course of the five-course meal offered at least two choices. Raw oysters or roast pepper salad, two types of sorbet, consomme or rive mushroom soup, rack of lamb, salmon
cutlets or aubergine lasagne, dessert trolley or Irish cheese board. A wonderful menu. “Oysters make me sick and I hate peppers,” Sam muttered.
He sounded just like Phillip when he was sulking for some reason or other, Aisling realised. And Sam was certainly sulking. He’d been shocked at the sight of her daring dress, but he hadn’t been able to make a fuss in front of Jo and Mark. Instead, he was being charming to all and sundry, while being very cool with her. She hated childish adults.
Stop it, Aisling, she told herself sharply. He’s funny, kind, very sexy and crazy about you. Don’t ruin it.
“Maybe they can rustle up something else, a salad perhaps?” she said in a , placatory tone.
“I hope so.” He sniffed.
Aisling reached over for one of the bottles of white wine that had just been placed on the table and filled Sam’s glass to the brim. When he drank half, she filled it some more. If that’s what it took to keep him amused, then she’d keep filling his glass all night. It was like giving the boys 7-Up when they were sick, or Calpol when they were babies.
Could they rustle up a green salad or some alternative to the two starters? Aisling inquired.
When the waitress promised to bring a mixed salad for the gentleman, Sam didn’t even say thank you. Aisling felt her temper rise. If there was one thing she couldn’t bear, it was people who couldn’t be civil to waitresses, bar staff, whoever.
It drove her mad. She looked down to find that she’d shredded her cloakroom ticket.
By ten o’clock, the meal was practically over. A few people were still forking up the remains of some wonderful profiteroles.
The classical music, which had been piped through the room all through dinner, was turned off and a woman with a microphone announced that the charity auction would shortly begin.
“We’ve got a raffle for some marvelous prizes,” she explained.
“The top prize is a luxury holiday for two to Tunisia.” Everyone
clapped appreciatively. Tickets are five pounds each, or six for twenty-five pounds.”
“Oh, gimme a hundred, then,” Jo said under her breath to
The classical music was slapped back on and the organisers started to work their way around the tables, bearing books of tickets and cash boxes.
“What were you going to tell me about Richard earlier?”
Aisling whispered to Jo.
“He rang me,” Jo whispered.
“He didn’t!” said Aisling, aghast.
“Shush,” hissed Jo.
“I haven’t told Mark yet.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” demanded Aisling.
“What did he say?”
Jo leaned back in her chair and said nothing for a moment.
“Sorry. I just felt very faint suddenly,” she said.
“He rang me at work yesterday and he upset me so much, I didn’t want to talk about it. The pig. Hand me that menu, would you?”
Aisling gave her the menu and Jo immediately began fanning her face.
“He wanted to see me. He said he was sorry he’d left me and he wanted to try again.”
Aisling was stunned.
“I can’t believe it.”
“Neither could I. I told him he could get stuffed,” Jo said with relish.
“And I have to say,” she added, a triumphant smile hovering around her lips, ‘he was absolutely gob smacked when I said it. He honestly thought I’d welcome him with open arms and when I said “Get stuffed”, he was speechless.”
“I’m almost speechless at the sheer nerve of him,” Aisling said.
“Imagine phoning you for the first time in six months and having the temerity to think you’d have him back.”
That’s Richard for you,” Jo said, still fanning herself.
“He lives in a fantasy world where nothing ever goes really wrong.
If it does, he walks away. And to think I wanted him to be a father to my baby.” She shuddered.
“I’m so glad you have Mark,” Aisling said gently. “Me too. He’s involved, he wants to know how I feel and how the baby is doing every moment of the day.” Jo couldn’t keep the happiness out of her voice.
“He’s the real father.
Richard may be the biological father, but he’ll never be her real dad.”
Aisling didn’t want to upset Jo, but she knew she had to ask.
“What if he demands access to the baby?” she asked.
Jo absent-mindedly fiddled with a curl of her dark, glossy hair.
“I’m not sure,” she said.
“He’d have a right to see her, of course, but I’d hate it. I’d hate him having anything to do with her when he didn’t want me to have her in-the first place.”
“Have you talked all this over with Mark?”
“Yes,” Jo replied.
“We talk about everything apart from this latest bit of news,” she added hastily.
“I’m trying to find the right time to tell Mark so he won’t go ballistic.”
Knowing the sort of straightforward and honourable man Mark was, Aisling could well understand how this fresh example of Richard’s appallingly selfish behaviour would send him into a cold, controlled rage.
“We’ve talked about Richard wanting access and visitation rights,” Jo explained.
“Mark wants to do what’s right for the baby. He knows that she’s entitled to see her real father. But,” she broke off to emphasise the point, ‘he absolutely loathes Richard for what he did to me. If Richard has to come to my place to see the baby, I’ll need to lock Mark into the hot press beforehand so he won’t murder Richard.”
“Did someone mention that bastard’s name?” Mark turned to face them.
Jo blushed.
“I was just telling Aisling that we’ve been talking about Richard’s rights to see the baby.”
The muscles in Mark’s face tightened and his grey eyes grew icy cold.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” boomed a voice, ‘the auction is ready to begin.”
Saved by the bell, thought Aisling. The loud voice of the auctioneer drummed out of the speakers around the room and made conversation all but impossible. Aisling squeezed Jo’s hand affectionately before turning to face the dais.
“What am I bid for this football jersey?” roared the auctioneer.
“A jersey signed by all the members of the Irish team, a perfect Christmas present for the soccer-mad teenager.”
Aisling watched with interest as people bid outrageous sums of money for the oddest things. Two china plates with butterfly designs hand-painted in nail varnish made 1,000 because the artist in question was the lead singer of a rock band. Just as well she’d chosen singing instead of art for her career, Jo said with a giggle.
A beautiful piece of driftwood made into a piece of sculpture went for half that, even though Aisling felt it was ten times more beautiful than the garish butterflies. I know the money is being raised for charity, but why do the items have to be so bloody daft?” she asked Jo when the auctioneer was giving his vocal chords a brief break.
“I think it’s supposed to be more fun for the seriously wealthy bidders if the stuff is totally useless Jo replied.
“Presumably, there’s a certain cachet in being able to tell all your rich pals that you spent 2,000 on a biscuit tin which Oscar Wilde’s cleaning lady swore belonged to him!”
It was when a man at the next table successfully bid for a tiny water colour painting, that Michael finally saw Aisling.
They’d both turned to look at the purchaser and their eyes locked. Though she was quite a distance away from him, Aisling could have sworn he went pale with shock. Not surprising. The very idea of his estranged wife and new girlfriend meeting at a party would be enough to give any man an ulcer.
Michael probably expected her to race over to his table and throw something at him, or to scratch Jennifer’s eyes out.
Well, she wasn’t going to do that.
Aisling allowed herself a little pat on the back. She’d come a long way from the enraged, grief-stricken wife of six months ago. Let Michael panic. She wasn’t about to lose her cool.
Sam had loosened up after numerous glasses of wine and two brandies. He wanted to dance with Aisling.
“Do you think they’ll play the tango?” he murmured into her ear.
“I’m quite good at Latin American dancing.”
“We better wait till the auction stops and the music starts,”
Aisling advised, as he started nuzzling her ear.
She could feel one hand moving stealthily up her thigh, gently caressing her through the fabric of her dress.
“So you don’t hate the dress after all,” she couldn’t resist saying.
“It’s very nice. I’d prefer it if I was the only one to see you looking this sexy,” Sam said.
“You’re mine and nobody else’s.
Remember that.”
She wasn’t likely to forget it from the way he was holding onto her.
“Sam,” she began, ‘you’ve got to understand, I’m not a thing.
I’m a person. I don’t belong to anyone except myself.”
He wasn’t listening. The band had just launched into the first bars of Glenn Miller when Sam caught Aisling’s hand and pulled her out of her chair.
“C’mon, honey. Let’s show them how it’s done.”
Normally Aisling couldn’t have thought of anything worse than being practically the first couple on the dance floor, but for once she didn’t mind. She and Sam made a handsome couple and she wanted to give Michael the opportunity to see what he’d dumped.
When Sam spun her around, she could see Michael’s poker face. Jennifer sat a little apart from him, looking strained. Let them watch, thought Aisling, bestowing a warm smile on Sam. She’d put him straight about the question of ‘ownership’ later.
Sam may have looked good, but he was no dancer. After two fast numbers, she was ready to sit down and rest her bruised toes when the tempo of the music slowed. Sam immediately slid one arm around her waist and started to waltz clumsily, her body crushed against his.
“You look wonderful,” he murmured through boozy breath.
“Thank you,” Aisling replied with the sexiest smile she could muster. Now was not the time to remind him that he’d hated her outfit a couple of hours ago. She closed her eyes and kissed him, a long, passionate kiss more suited to the bedroom than the dance floor. God, but she was enjoying this.
She opened one eye and took a surreptitious look in Michael’s direction, delighted to see that he looked as if he’d just had a root canal done at the dentist and been presented with the bill into the bargain.
Another kiss, I think, she decided. Poor Sam was going to be beside himself with passion if she didn’t stop.
“We should go home early,” said Sam huskily when their lips finally parted.
That wasn’t part of Aisling’s plan.
“We can’t just go and leave Jo and Mark after they invited us,” she said hurriedly.
“Anyway, we’ve all tomorrow morning to lie in bed and … read,” she added with a meaningful grin.
“I’ve had enough dancing, Sam. I want to go to the ladies’ room,
OK?”
They walked leisurely back to their table. Aisling deliberately chose a route which avoided Michael’s table. She’d go over to say hello in her own time when she’d powdered down her undoubtedly shiny nose and put on more lipstick.
In the ladies’, she decided against giving herself another blast of perfume it would look too obvious. But she brushed her hair and slicked on plenty of the coral lipstick which made her lips look full and glossy.
“Hello, Michael, how are you? Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” she practised. No, that sounded wrong.
“Michael, darling, so nice to see you again.”
Too false. How about.
“Hi, Mike, nice to see you. Can’t stop.
My boyfriend’s insatiable and we have to get back to bed immediately. Bye.”
There had to be a right way to do it. Maybe there was a book How to Behave When You Meet Your Ex and His Lover for the First Time. And if there wasn’t a book, perhaps she would write it. It would be a bestseller, she was sure of it.
A woman washing her hands at the basins looked at Aisling enviously, a quick peep when she thought Aisling wasn’t looking. She was tall and heavily built, and wore the sort of size sixteen dress that Aisling
herself would have had to wear a year ago. Poor thing, Aisling thought, sympathetically.
She held the door open for the other woman as they left and smiled at
That’s a lovely dress,” the woman said longingly.
“I wish I could wear something like that.”
Thank you,” said Aisling with a friendly look.
“I’m still not used to being able to wear it myself, you know. Six months ago I wouldn’t have been able to get away with this, but I’ve lost loads of weight.” .
“Really?” asked the woman, with the fascinated gaze of the eternal dieter who knows the calorific content of every single type of chocolate biscuit.
“Really,” Aisling repeated.
“And if I can do it, anybody can. See you.” She walked off, thinking about the smile which had spread across the other woman’s face a there-is-hope-for-me-after-all sort of smile. I’d be great as a diet counsellor, Aisling thought happily. She was so busy thinking about how satisfying it would be to help other depressed and miserable women lose weight and regain control of their lives, that she almost didn’t realise she had walked straight up to Michael’s table.
Here goes, she decided. There’s no backing out now.
“Hello, Michael. How are you? You must be Jennifer.” She was amazed at how calm and steady her voice sounded.
“Hello,” stuttered Michael in shock.
Aisling didn’t know which of them looked the more stunned. Jennifer stared up at her with wide, frightened eyes, like a rabbit caught in the headlights of an oncoming juggernaut.
Michael looked utterly horrified.”
Relax,” Aisling said.
“I’m not going to bite. We’re adults, after all.”
“Of course,” Jennifer said breathlessly.
“Nice to meet you, Aisling. The boys are always talking about you.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Aisling said. Close up, the other woman looked tired and drawn, plenty of crow’s feet around her pale blue eyes. She had to be thirty-five or thirty-six.
“Would you like to sit down?” Jennifer asked politely, gesturing to
the empty chair beside her. Michael shot her a withering look and she flushed. Her eyes glistened with what looked suspiciously like tears.
They were having a row. Aisling couldn’t believe it. She hoped it was about her. She sat down gracefully, determined not to spoil the effect of her perfectly styled hair and beautiful dress.
“How are you both?” she asked graciously, feeling rather like the Queen at a garden party. All she needed were the elbow-length white gloves and the tiara.
“Fine!” said Michael sharply, shooting Jennifer another meaningful look. The other woman’s face fell and, for an instant, Aisling felt sorry for her. Michael had always been very talented in the withering-look department.
“Sorry.” Jennifer pushed back her hair clumsily and left, rushing towards the ladies’.
“Was it something I said?” asked Aisling, still with the serene smile on her face.
“No.” Michael sounded as weary as he looked. The band struck up The Carpenters’ Close to You.
“You always loved that song,” he said absently.
“And you hated it,” Aisling answered.
“Did I? I quite like it now.”
Aisling’s eyebrows shot up.
“Are you mellowing, Michael?”
she asked.
He snorted.
“No. Yes. I don’t know.” He ran one hand through his hair, leaving it standing up in dark peaks. Once, she’d have cried at this point, the point where she realised that she’d never smooth his hair down for him again. Not any more. Her hair-smoothing days were well and truly over.
“Did I interrupt an argument?”
“Sort of. It was a bit of a shock seeing you here, that’s all,” he admitted.
“You know why,” he said.
“You’ve never met Jennifer and she feels so guilty about everything.”
Typical, thought Aisling, she feels guilty but you obviously don’t.
“We have to meet sometime, why not now?” she said.
“I suppose he said, reaching for his cigarettes. Silk Cut purple, she noticed. Amazing. She’d tried to get him to stop smoking Marlboro for years. It took six months with another woman to have him down to a lighter brand. Things have been difficult recently and Jennifer got a shock when she saw you. You look amazing,” he added.
“You do, you know.”
“I know.” Aisling gave him her cat-devouring-a-meringue smile and prayed that she wouldn’t be struck dead for lying so blatantly. When did any woman ever say “I know to a statement about her looking good?
“Jenny’s been sick, she had a bug and she doesn’t look very good, so she was a bit freaked out to see you here looking like some bloody superstar.” He took a deep drag of his cigarette.
Score dix points to Aisling. He thought she looked good and so did “Jenny’. Marvellous. Make it douze points. At least that explained why Jennifer didn’t look like the stunner she’d expected. Perhaps she had better days. She’d want to.
“I shouldn’t be telling you any of that, I suppose,” Michael added gloomily.
“I’m afraid that there aren’t any rules for this type of situation Aisling said, a touch of sarcasm in her voice.
“So we’ll have to make them up as we go along. I’m sorry I don’t fit in with your version of the dumped wife a thirteen-stone heifer with a bit of a booze problem she sniped.
“It would have been easier for you if I still looked like that, wouldn’t it?
So you could tell “Jenny” that you couldn’t bear to live with me any longer and she’d have believed you. It’s not so easy when I look better than she does. Tough, Michael.”
Aisling gazed at him angrily. She hadn’t meant to lose her temper but she couldn’t help herself.
“It wasn’t like that he protested weakly.
“You know that!”
“I didn’t know anything,” she said. That’s the whole point.
You never gave me a chance. But,” she gazed at him contemptuously, “you did me a favour. After all those years of telling me I’d be no
good going back to work, I did.” “Aisling!” begged Michael, ‘let’s not go into this now, please.”
“Why?” she demanded.
“Am I causing a scene?” She glanced around. Despite the loud music, people were staring at them.
But she didn’t care. She’d waited a long time to tell Michael what she really thought and now he was a captive audience.
“Thanks to you, I had to go out and get a job. And thanks to me and my skills, I started up a catering business. Reservations.
It’s very successful actually she hissed.
“But I doubt if you and “Jenny” would be able to afford to hire me. It’s an exclusive business, no riffraff.”
“For God’s sake, Aisling, let’s be adults about this.” Michael looked shattered.
“Adults? If you want to behave like an adult, why did you bite her head off when she was behaving like one? Don’t tell me she snapped.
“I know. It’s because that’s the way you are, Michael, isn’t it? Difficult. That’s the polite way of putting it, anyway Aisling “added sarcastically. She looked at him with disdain.
“If Jenny’s worried that I’m going to steal you back because I’m no longer the frumpy wife, I can put her mind at rest. Our relationship is over, dead as a dodo, finito, finished, gone.” Aisling enunciated each word clearly and crisply.
“So she can stop worrying. Get her to come back and I’ll tell her she offered.
She was pleased to see that Michael looked hurt. There wasn’t a thing he could say.
“In fact, I’ll get her myself.” Aisling got to her feet abruptly.
She walked out of the ballroom. Jennifer wasn’t in the ladies’.
Aisling found her at the bar, gulping a gin and tonic as if her life depended upon it. Slimline tonic, too, Aisling noticed.
“You didn’t have to leave Aisling said.
“There’s nothing we have to talk about that you can’t hear. All we need is to wait another four and a half years and Michael and I can get divorced. So don’t worry about me wanting him back. I don’t.”
Even as she said it, Aisling knew it was true. She didn’t want Michael back under any circumstances. She’d had twelve years of marriage and
that was enough. It had taken many hours of sobbing to figure it all out. But she knew what she wanted now. Aisling had tasted freedom and she liked the taste. Loved it, in fact. There was no going back. Jennifer would find that out for herself. Sooner rather than later, Aisling reflected, if Michael was true to form.
“Would you like a drink?” Jennifer asked tentatively.
“No thanks. I’ve got to get back to Sam. He’s so possessive, he hates it when I leave him Aisling couldn’t help adding.
Was she really here, talking calmly with the woman who’d stolen her husband? No, not stolen, she corrected herself. The woman who’d been there when he decided their marriage was over and that he wanted out.
“You know, new lovers can’t wait to get you home to bed!” Aisling smiled wickedly. She idly wondered if the wild start-of-the-affair sex between Jennifer and Michael had dimmed. Definitely, if the strained atmosphere between them was anything to go by.
“See you soon.”
She walked away with her head held high.
“Where’ve you been?” Demanded Sam when she sat down between him and Jo.
Talking to my husband,” she replied sharply.
“What!” he screeched, pushing back his chair and getting to his feet.
“Where is he?”
“Calm down, Sam,” said Aisling tiredly. She’d had enough trauma for one night without Sam’s histrionics.
“What did he say to you? If he upset you, I’ll kill him! I’ll kill him, anyway,” Sam raged. His face was flushed with alcohol, his eyes were angry and he was actually balling his hands up into fists.
“What did you talk to him for?” He glared at Aisling.
She’d had enough. This was ridiculous. Sam was going to fight Michael over her, probably because he -didn’t like the idea of Michael seeing her in a sexy dress. Or merely because he wanted to fight with anyone who dared to look at her.
Aisling stood up until they were face to face. She didn’t even raise her voice.
“Listen, Sam. Who I talk to is none of your bloody business.
Michael is still my husband, not even my ex-husband yet, so we have a lot of things to talk about. Like our children, for instance. Do you understand what I’m talking about?” she asked him as if she was talking to a five-year-old.
“Aisling!” he shouted.
“Shut up!” she hissed.
“This is none of your business. Do you understand?”
“No. It is my business. I’m with you, I’m responsible for you!” he snarled.
“You’re not responsible for me, Sam. You never were and you aren’t now. Accept that or leave now!”
Shaking with controlled rage, Aisling sat down again.
“I’m so glad you’re back,” panted Jo.
“Are you all right?” asked Aisling, Sam forgotten as she took in her friend’s pale, damp face.
“No. I don’t think so. I feel very strange all of a sudden.
Mark went to the loo five minutes ago, and I’ve been feeling very strange since then.”
“I’m so sorry. I was so busy with Sam, I never noticed … Why didn’t you come and get me?” Aisling hissed at Sam.
“I didn’t know where you were!” he retorted.
“Oh Ash!” Jo’s cry was loud and scared. Her eyes were huge as she looked at her friend.
“My waters just broke! “