‘I’m glad I amused you,’ Miss Bracken said dryly.
‘If you didn’t have a sense of humour in this job, you’d be in trouble, believe me.’ Connie couldn’t keep the faint edge out of her voice.
‘Indeed,’ Miss Bracken agreed. ‘I suppose you’re right.’ Their eyes met, and there was the tiniest hint of a twinkle lurking in Eunice’s. It was a triumph of sorts, Connie felt as she made her way to the staff dining room to have the much-longed-for cuppa and crisps.
Connie was bone weary when she finally got home. Her eyes were gritty with tiredness, and her lower back ached, a dull, nagging pain which always accompanied her period. The early shift was a killer, but at least she had a long afternoon to herself. She was greeted lovingly by her little black cat, Miss Hope. ‘Hello, my little pet.’ Connie scooped her up and buried her nose in her soft, silky black fur. ‘Let’s have a bite to eat and a snooze,’ she murmured, heading for the kitchen.
Working weekends as well as weekdays really took it out of you, she reflected as she boiled the kettle, buttered a slice of brown bread and cut a wedge of red cheddar. She was trying to get her finances back on track after the expense of the wedding and her cash gift to Debbie and Bryan. And she didn’t want to be scrimping and saving on her trip to Spain.
Once, working seven days straight had been no problem to her, but her energy levels weren’t as good as they used to be, hard as it was to accept it. ‘Ah, stop acting like an ould wan, you’re in your prime,’ she muttered, dipping her teabag up and down in her mug. ‘Even if you are talking to yourself and sending off ratty emails.’ She grinned.
She headed out to the deck with the mug of much-needed tea and sat down gratefully at the table, kicking off her shoes. Her mobile rang, and she frowned. Was ten minutes’ peace too much to ask, she wondered crossly as she took it out of her pocket. She was surprised to see her ex-husband’s phone number come up.
What did he want? The wedding was over, and she wasn’t too anxious to be in constant contact with Barry. She didn’t want to be reminded of their night of passion. She didn’t exactly regret it, but it was a one-off, and he didn’t seem to realize that. Both of them had been shattered after Debbie’s showdown with him about her feelings towards him. Connie had been very shocked that she’d not realized how deep Debbie’s hurt went. Their kiss of comfort had turned into much more than a kiss, but it was emphatically not going to happen again.
‘Yes, Barry,’ she said briskly, wishing the sun would come out from behind a bank of cloud which was casting shadows over her back garden.
‘Hi Connie,’ he said cheerfully. ‘How are things?’
‘Things are good. Off to Spain next week with Karen. I’m looking forward to it.’ She kept her tone light, offhand almost. Barry seemed to think that, because they’d had a quick shag, in a moment of weakness for her, prior to the wedding, he was now her best friend and confidant. It was an assumption Connie was eager to dispel.
‘Yeah, so I heard. I bumped into her the other day. My sister told me she plans to sleep, eat, drink and read. Sounds deadly boring to me.’
‘Sounds perfect to me,’ Connie riposted.
‘If that’s what you want, enjoy it. You deserve it, that’s for sure.’
‘Thanks,’ she murmured. Barry had just made her forthcoming holiday sound dull and dreary.
‘Listen, I hope you don’t think I’m being pushy, but I’d really like to build on the momentum of the progress myself, Debbie and Melissa made coming up to the wedding. I don’t want to let things drift.’
‘Sure, I understand,’ Connie agreed with a hint of warmth. She’d been so happy that Debbie and her father had finally, after years of bitterness, reconciled, and it had given her great joy to see the two half-sisters take those first faltering steps towards real sisterhood.
‘I was thinking it would be nice if we could get together for a coffee or a brunch or something but . . . er . . . I know you and Debbie and Aimee aren’t exactly hitting it off, so that would be awkward. And I don’t want Melissa picking up on it. She’s very loyal to her mother, so I was wondering if we could sort of “bump” into you?’
‘That would be nice, Barry,’ Connie approved, ashamed of her earlier irritability at his call. Barry had become a good father over the years, she’d give him that. Her ex-husband was right: these new, unprecedented relationships should be nurtured. It was just such a nuisance that Aimee and her bad behaviour was now the cause of awkwardness and had to be pussyfooted around. Until the wedding, Connie had got on reasonably well with Barry’s second wife, but after Aimee’s strop outside the church, when she’d complained about the cost and said that it was her hard-earned money that was paying for it, relations were at an all-time low.
‘Melissa and I often go for coffee and a Danish on Saturday mornings. How about if we go to one of the outdoor cafés along the Pavilion, and you and Debbie casually wander by? Or is that too obvious?’ Barry asked.
‘Um . . . I could ask Debbie to meet me in Meadows and Byrne – I could let on I was thinking of changing my sofa or something and would like her advice,’ suggested Connie helpfully.
‘Would you, Connie? That would be great,’ Barry said enthusiastically, and she had to smile. Barry was so naive really. He thought all the past hurts could be made better in an instant. He wanted them all to be one big, happy family.
Maybe he was right to be like that, she sighed. Maybe it was that easy to let go. She wouldn’t stand in the way of it. ‘I’ll give Debbie a buzz and try and sort things,’ she assured him. ‘See you.’
‘Thanks, Connie, really appreciate it.’
‘You’re welcome, Barry,’ she said and hung up. She supposed she should be glad he was making the effort. God knows it had taken him and Debbie long enough to sort their differences. She’d do what she could to foster good relations between father and daughter. And, besides, she’d grown fond of Melissa, having eventually got through that prickly teenage façade. It was important that Debbie and Melissa developed their friendship. A close relationship with a sister was more precious than gold. Connie would have loved a sister. She hated being an only child. In days to come it would be good to know the two girls would have each other to lean on. Connie gave a wry smile. There she was again, trying to sort everybody out. Some things never changed. Once Debbie and Melissa were on track she was giving it up, she decided as she gave up on the sun and went inside and lay down on her sofa. She had her own life to lead. She was asleep in minutes.
BARRY
‘Excellent game, Barry, most enjoyable. And I’m delighted we’ll be able to do business. A quarterly publication advertising our wine selections, gift hampers and special offers will undoubtedly increase sales and consumer awareness. Your package was competitive and high quality – my sales people were impressed, and so was I. We’ll let our people work out the finer details.’ Desmond Donnelly shook Barry’s hand before taking his leave.
Barry watched him stride out of the clubhouse and gave a deep sigh of relief. His stomach had been in a knot all morning, wondering if he was going to get the deal. With recession in the air, belts would undoubtedly be tightened, and contracts could be lost if companies felt that glossy publications were a luxury they could no longer afford.
It would be very satisfying indeed to go home and tell Aimee he had cut a lucrative new deal for his company. It would be good for his wife to know he was still a player and that she wasn’t the only one in town making a success of her career. He sat back in his chair, good humour dissipating as he thought of his wife and the current state of antipathy between them. Since their heated exchange at Debbie’s wedding over two weeks ago, the atmosphere between them was still decidedly frosty. This was the worst low in all their years together. Yes, there’d been troughs before, but they’d always been anxious to sort things and get back on an even keel, but this estrangement was different: harsh, biting words had been hurled which couldn’t be taken back, and the shards of bitterness were still embedded de
ep.
He wasn’t having much luck with his current and ex-spouses, he reflected gloomily. Connie, his ex-wife, was making it decidedly clear she wasn’t interested in progressing their relationship, despite their becoming close again in the run-up to the wedding. More than close, he thought wryly, remembering the ardour she’d shown when they’d had a hot and heavy, unexpectedly lusty encounter in the lead-up to their daughter’s big day.
He’d re-imagined it often, and it still made him horny. He wanted more. He certainly wasn’t getting hot rides from his wife; all he was getting from Aimee was the cold shoulder. Even before the row at the wedding she’d gone off sex. She was too tired when she got home from work. And she was bringing much more work home with her. His wife’s career trajectory was having a major impact on their marriage, and she couldn’t even see it, he thought bitterly.
It was because of that he hadn’t thought twice about sleeping with his ex-wife. He couldn’t understand why Connie was so reluctant to continue their delightful dalliance. She’d enjoyed it as much as he had, and he was fairly sure she’d been celibate for much of the time since their divorce. She was a sensual woman; they could have a no-strings-attached relationship: win-win scenario. Still, at least Connie had agreed to his suggestion to meet up with himself and Melissa. It was important that they all try and bond as a family, even if Aimee wasn’t happy about it. He finished his coffee and prepared to go back to the office.
‘Barry, how is it going? Haven’t seen you for a while. I heard your daughter got married. Have a wedding coming up myself. Have you any tips?’ a plummy voice asked from behind him.
Barry turned to see Jeremy Farrell bearing down on him. Suave, dapper in his sharp pin-striped suit, Jeremy was one of Barry’s least favourite club members. The older man loved the sound of his own voice, loved boasting about his business exploits and the famous names he’d dealt with during his stockbroking years. He’d recently taken early retirement because of heart problems, but he continued to work on a consultancy basis for his old company, Crookes & Co. He was constantly advising his golfing buddies on their investments, advocating this share or the other.
Eighteen months previously, he’d told Barry that AdCo, a private banking group, was being floated on the stock exchange and suggested he should invest a few bob. Barry had taken his advice, as his own accountant had agreed that it was a good bet. He’d made a fast buck on the tip, selling high a year later, making about five thousand. Buttons to the high flyers in the club, some of whom had raked in a small fortune. Barry had been sorry he’d been so conservative, especially when he saw the gleaming new Series 5 Beemer Glen Harris had bought out of his profits.
‘Jeremy! How are things?’ Barry put on his best hail-fellow-well-met voice and gave the other man a hearty handshake.
‘Good. Things are good, apart from this damn wedding. Three sons went up the aisle with no trouble. Now, my youngest, and only daughter, is on the move, and the difference is unbelievable. Tears, tantrums, traumas. All I’m getting is hassle and a fast-depleting bank account.’ Jeremy rolled his eyes.
Barry laughed. ‘Tell me about it. Thank God I won’t be going through that again for another few years.’
‘Listen.’ Jeremy leaned in conspiratorially. ‘Have you five minutes? I’ve a good tip for you if you’re interested. If you did well with AdCo, you’ll hit the jackpot with SecureCo International Plus. Are you interested?’
‘I’ll listen to what you have to say, Jeremy,’ Barry agreed.
‘Good man. Sit down there and I’ll sort out two coffees.’
Barry sat down. No harm in listening to what Jeremy had to say, and this time he wouldn’t be a wuss. If he felt it was worth while, he’d throw more than a few measly thousand at it. This time, he’d make a killing like Glen Harris had. A brand-new Beemer would go down a treat with Aimee and Melissa. His younger daughter liked swanky cars. It was crucial, she’d once told him, to keep up with the girls in her class. Was it possible she’d asked for him to buy them a holiday home abroad as so many girls in her class had one and she’d like to be able to say she was going to France or Portugal, or Spain or wherever? Melissa thought money grew on trees, he thought fondly, thinking he must ring her and check in to see what she was up to. She was on her summer holidays, and it was the first time she’d been allowed to stay at home alone without a childminder. Aimee had been having second thoughts about it after finding empty alcopop bottles on the balcony the day of Debbie’s wedding. His wife was seriously pissed off with their daughter, and Melissa knew that, if there was any more misbehaving, she was in deep trouble. He’d phone her as soon as he got to the car, he decided, clearing a space for Jeremy to place the steaming coffee cups and settling back to hear what the stockbroker had to say.
AIMEE
Please don’t let me throw up, please let me get through this OK, Aimee Davenport prayed silently as she took a deep, steadying breath and walked into the Four Seasons, her heels sinking into the luxurious deep-pile carpet as she walked towards the lounge area, where she had arranged to meet one of her biggest clients, Roger O’Leary.
Two weeks ago, she had overseen the arrangements for his daughter’s million-euro-plus wedding, her remit to showcase ‘The Best of Irish’. She had followed her brief to the letter, right down to the Royal Tara china, the Louise Kennedy crystal, the prime organic Kilkenny beef and lamb, the oysters, lobsters and salmon, the specially grown herbs. Everything had been superlative, the result of months of hard work and minute attention to detail. It had been a huge success. The O’Learys had been more than happy. Competition between the massively wealthy businessmen in the country to outdo each other, or at least keep up with each other, was intense, and Chez Moi, the events and catering company she worked for, and other such companies, were reaping the rewards of such rivalry. Aimee had received many compliments during the big day, which had been deeply satisfying.
Her boss, Ian Kelleher, the MD of Chez Moi, had sent her a gushing, patronizing email telling her to stand back and take a well-deserved bow. What a prat, she’d thought in disgust. She’d organized many such events for the company, and it was time he put his money where his mouth was and upped her salary.
Today, she was meeting Roger and some of his business associates, at his request, and she had a feeling something was in the air. He had a business proposal to put to her, he’d said on the phone when he’d called to arrange the meeting. She needed to be in tip-top form, not queasy and tired as she was feeling now. She made her way to the ladies’ room to touch up her make-up. Aimee had arrived early deliberately. It always made her feel more in control to be the one doing the greeting. She studied her reflection in a mirror, glad she had the luxurious restroom to herself.
Fortunately, she looked fine, showing no outward sign of the discomfort she was feeling. Her green eyes, fringed with a fan of dark lashes, were bright, and clear. Her high cheekbones emphasized her good bone structure, inherited from her mother. Her glossy black hair was coiled up in a classy chignon, giving her a very groomed, business-like air. The sharp grey Donna Karan suit she wore was softened by a pale lilac cami. A single strand of pearls adorned her throat, matched by two pearl earrings. Her make-up was immaculate. Understated, chic – sophistication was the look Aimee had gone for, and she’d succeeded, she thought, studying herself critically as she retouched her lipstick. No one would ever know she was below par, she decided, slipping a small mint into her mouth in an effort to quell the queasiness she was feeling.
It was on the day of the O’Leary wedding when she’d been overcome by a sudden wave of nausea, that she’d had the heart-stopping realization that she might be pregnant. It had been a bolt out of the blue, and she’d almost cried with misery that this could be happening. She hadn’t even taken a test yet. She’d bought one, but she didn’t need it to tell her what she already knew, and she didn’t want to see the ultimate proof of what she considered to be an absolute personal disaster.
Aimee felt despair engulf
her as she put her lipstick in her Prada handbag and snapped it shut. She emphatically did not want another child, with all the hassle it entailed. Melissa was more than enough to deal with and, now, with her career really going into orbit, bottles and nappies and sleepless nights, not to mention childcare arrangements, were the last thing Aimee needed or wanted.
What brutal timing. Melissa was at an age where she was old enough to look after herself without supervision, freeing Aimee up considerably to concentrate on her work. Children were so time-consuming and, right now, she needed all her time to capitalize on all her hard work over the past couple of years. The rewards were coming, and she wanted to embrace them and forge ahead.
She hadn’t told Barry she was pregnant – hell, she was hardly speaking to Barry. After the disaster of Debbie’s wedding, when she had embarrassed him in front of Connie and their daughter by bringing up the cost of the bash, there had been little thaw in the Arctic relations that currently existed between them.
She wished things were sorted. She missed their intimacy, their companionship. She was dying to tell him what was going on workwise. Until the lead-up to the O’Leary wedding, Barry had always shown great interest in her career, encouraging her, motivating her. That had all changed now. It was clear that he felt she was overtaking him in the career stakes, and he was finding it hard to handle. Now, he was sullen and withdrawn and moaning about having to do the grocery shopping because she was tied up. Had it all been lip service? It looked like it. Bitterness so sharp she could almost taste it swamped her. She’d never expected that sort of behaviour from Barry. It was his respect for her career that had tipped the balance as to whether or not she would marry him. It looked like she’d made a big mistake. But he had known what she was like when they’d married; he knew her goals. If he’d wanted a dull stay-at-home wife he should have stayed married to Saint Connie. Aimee sighed. As well as their problems over her career, they had the episode on Debbie’s wedding day to overcome. True, she hadn’t behaved very well, but there was no need to hold it over her head until kingdom come. Barry needed to get down off his high horse. Connie had given as good as she’d got; she was no shrinking violet. It had stung that he’d sat beside his ex-wife in the church and left her to her own devices. That was when she’d walked out.
Happy Ever After Page 2