City Lives

by Patricia Scanlan

  ‘Marcy changed the meeting to a lunch-time one. I’m meeting her at one in the Shelbourne which is a bit of a pain in the butt because I’ll have to rush home to collect Shona from school, so I probably won’t have time to come back over and tell you about it. I’ll give you a ring tonight.’ Maggie sighed.

  ‘Oh! I was dying to hear what’s going on,’ Devlin said regretfully.

  ‘Me too. It’s very unsettling, Dev. I can’t write. I’m worried about my new editor. What’s he or she going to be like? I’m taking a break after this one. I’m whacked.’

  ‘You can’t do that,’ protested her friend. ‘Your fans will go mad. The pages you brought over on Sunday were brilliant. Betrayal is definitely your best yet.’

  ‘Oh, do you think so, Dev? And you really liked the pages?’ Maggie said eagerly, always glad to get a positive response to a novel in progress. Her greatest fear was that it would never be as good as her previous novels and that she was losing her touch. Praise and encouragement always gave her confidence a boost.

  ‘I really liked them,’ Devlin assured her. ‘It’s going to be a great book, so stop panicking and keep writing. It doesn’t matter who your editor is, it’s you that’s writing it.’

  ‘A good editor is like a good husband, Devlin. Supportive, encouraging, keeping you on the straight and narrow when you can’t see the wood for the trees. I don’t have that in Terry any more, that’s why I valued Marcy so much.’ To her dismay, tears welled in her eyes.

  ‘Oh Maggie, Maggie!’ Devlin shot up, horrified, and hurried over to her friend.

  ‘I’m sorry, Dev,’ Maggie sobbed. ‘I don’t know where all this came from. It must be PMT. It’s just that I feel so stressed and then Terry goes and pulls the Al Shariff stunt and I know my feelings didn’t even enter his head when he invited them. All he was thinking about was the good time he’d have with Sulaiman and showing off in front of Alma. And I just wonder how much longer I can stick living with him without going crazy. I don’t want to be with him. I don’t want to be married to him any more. I feel so angry and resentful. If it was just me, I’d be gone. But I have to think of the kids. They were so traumatized the first time we separated, I couldn’t bear to put them through it again. But Devlin, if only you knew how much I long for a bit of support and thoughtfulness and kisses and cuddles. You know the kind of thing that makes all your hassles and troubles fade into the background, and you don’t care what’s happening on the outside because inside you feel cherished. I miss it, Devlin. I look at you and Luke and envy you so much, not in a bad way but in a way that makes me feel how empty my own life is. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It has to be PMT or something. I don’t usually do this.’ Maggie’s body shook with sobs.

  ‘It’s OK, Maggie. It’s OK.’ Devlin put her arms around her friend and stroked her back.

  ‘Do I have to live the rest of my life with Terry because of vows I made years ago? I believed them when I made them. I didn’t know all this was going to happen. I didn’t know I’d stop loving him. How can God be so cruel as to want two people who have no feelings for each other to stay together? There’s no love in that,’ Maggie raged. ‘I don’t understand any of it. I tried my best to be a good wife and mother but am I supposed to be miserable for the rest of my life because the Church doesn’t allow divorce? I feel completely trapped, Devlin. I feel all this pressure inside me. Sometimes I think I’m going to crack up.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say to help,’ Devlin admitted. ‘It must be horrible to feel so trapped. I’m sorry things are so bad between you and Terry. And I think it would truly be very wrong for you to feel that you have to stay with him for the rest of your life just so you can say “I kept the rules.” I think Caroline is right sometimes that we all come into each others’ lives for a reason and then we move on after we’ve learned whatever they have to teach us. Maybe Terry is teaching you that it’s not wrong to put yourself first sometimes. You should talk to Caroline, she’s good at this kind of stuff,’ Devlin urged, desperate to help.

  ‘Oh I don’t know. I couldn’t cope with being told that Terry is a great spirit and that we all knew what we were letting ourselves in for before we came to earth. Who in their right mind would have agreed to my life? If what she says is true, I’m sure I’d have wanted to be a perfect size twelve with straight hair, able to eat as much as I liked. And with someone sensitive, and supportive and dead sexy for a husband.’ Maggie sniffed, wiping her eyes. ‘Sorry, Devlin, this certainly wasn’t on the agenda,’ she said ruefully as she inspected the damage in the mirror. ‘Look at the state of me. I can’t waltz into the Shelbourne looking like this.’ Mascara ran in streaks down under her eyes. Her cheeks were blotchy, her eye-shadow smudged and her cheeks red and swollen.

  ‘Stay calm, I’ll get one of the girls to touch you up. Here, wipe off that mascara.’ Devlin rummaged in her bag and produced make-up remover and a cotton pad.

  ‘Thanks. You’re a pal.’

  Devlin gave her a hug. ‘All I can say is that Luke and I will always be here for you and we’ll do anything to help out when the Al Shariffs come.’

  ‘Thanks, Devlin.’ Maggie gulped. Where had that unleashing of sorrow and grief come from? What was wrong with her, losing control like that? ‘Sorry for bawling all over you. I don’t know why it happened.’ Her hands shook as she poured some cream onto the pad.

  ‘Maggie, you’re under stress. You’re unhappy. You’re tired and unsupported. Why would you not burst into tears now and again? I don’t know how you cope with the kids and your career and the state of your marriage. You carry it off really well. You’re entitled to a Good-Cry-And-Get-It-Off-Your-Chest-Day every so often,’ Devlin declared as she pressed a button on her intercom and asked for a beautician to come up to her office as soon as possible with her make-up kit.

  ‘I’m awful. I never even asked you how you got on in Galway,’ Maggie said apologetically. ‘Did you have a good trip? Is it all working out?’

  ‘It’s going to be great, Maggie. When it’s all set up we’ll go down for a pampery weekend,’ Devlin enthused. ‘I was talking to the architect. It’s going to be all wood and windows to make the most of that fantastic light. And the landscape gardener came up with some beautiful ideas. As well as making the most of the panorama he’s going to develop some secluded little nooks and crannies where clients can go and sit and be alone to read or just to sit and think. It’s going to cost a fortune and Andrew is whinging away but it will be worth it. But do you know something, Maggie? For the last couple of days this tiredness has come over me and I’ve just wanted to put my head down and sleep. I don’t remember having that with Lynn,’ Devlin remarked.

  ‘Oh I had that with the twins. I’ll never forget it. I used to be exhausted. I fell asleep at a dinner party in Saudi once. Terry was mortified. It passes after the first three months, though. And Devlin, my advice is, don’t run yourself into the ground and take naps when you need them,’ Maggie said firmly.

  ‘Yes, nurse,’ Devlin said meekly.

  Maggie grinned. ‘I mean it, Miss. I know you. Gadding about here and there, organizing this, developing that. This is the perfect time for you to learn to delegate—’ A knock on the door interrupted her lecture.

  ‘Perfect timing, saved from a sermon.’ Devlin wrinkled her nose at Maggie as she opened the door to admit a white-coated beautician. ‘Hi, Carla, can you do a quick repair job on Maggie? She has to be out of here in five minutes.’

  ‘No problem,’ the young woman said cheerfully. ‘If you just sit here in Devlin’s chair – the light is better – I’ll fix you up now.’

  Five minutes later Maggie, restored to her former glory, hugged Devlin. ‘Thanks for everything. I’ll be in touch.’

  ‘Let me know what’s going on. I’ll be dying to hear. And good luck. I’m sure it will all turn out for the best. Maybe your new editor will be dynamite! Maybe she’ll take you to creative heights you’ve never been to before. Sometimes change is good,’ Devlin encour
aged. ‘And don’t forget, Luke and I will help out any way we can when the Al Shariffs are over. OK?’

  ‘OK.’ Maggie smiled as she waved goodbye and closed the door behind her. The relief of unburdening herself to Devlin left her feeling much less oppressed. Her friend was right. Keeping things in didn’t help. A good cry helped the body and soul. The release of all that emotion had helped her clarify things in her own mind. She had finally admitted that she didn’t want to be married to Terry any more. And while it didn’t change her situation, the verbal acknowledgement of it meant that she could stop running away from it. That at least was something positive. And maybe Devlin was right about the new editor. She always had a very optimistic way of looking at things. Maggie hadn’t thought of it in those terms at all. Maybe her creativity would be enhanced and she’d learn a lot more about writing. Perhaps things wouldn’t turn out too bad after all.

  Maggie hurried down the steps of City Girl – she didn’t want to keep Marcy waiting. Then a thought struck her. Marcy had often kept her waiting. She slowed her pace. Typical of her, Maggie thought ruefully. Putting everyone else first. Well, not today. She wasn’t going to arrive at the Shelbourne out of breath and all flustered. Marcy could cool her heels for a few minutes for once.

  Seventeen

  The Shelbourne was buzzing. Movers, shakers. Businessmen and women. Ladies who lunch. Legal eagles. Men about town. Politicians. Journalists. They all ebbed and flowed through the busy hotel and there, in the lounge, engrossed in a conversation on her mobile, a sheaf of papers on her knee, briefcase at her feet, sat Marcy Elliot, the epitome of the Nineties career woman.

  Maggie had always admired her. Highly intelligent, sharp, tolerating no nonsense. Marcy was assertive and assured and always put herself first. Although she admired her, Maggie didn’t like her the way she liked Sandra Nolan, the sales and marketing director. Sandra was warm and bubbly as well as being superb at her job. Marcy lacked warmth and empathy and Maggie found that hard to take sometimes. Nevertheless she was an exceptional editor and Maggie knew how lucky she was to have been given such an excellent grounding for her first three novels. Marcy had taught her a lot.

  Today her editor was as elegant and stylish as ever, in a severe black suit with a cream camisole. Her cropped chestnut hair gleamed. Her make-up was impeccable. Her bright blue eyes shone with health. Marcy was one of the most health-conscious people Maggie had ever met. She neither smoked nor drank. Didn’t eat red meat, exercised daily and looked so fit and healthy that Maggie always felt stones overweight and sludgy and flabby beside her.

  Marcy saw her and beckoned imperiously for her to join her. Maggie hid a smile. Although she and Marcy were almost the same age, Marcy had an air of authority and self-assurance that made her seem years older.

  ‘I suggest that we try and find a window that suits both of us sooner rather than later, Monica. Get your secretary to call me when you’ve had a chance to check your diary. Talk soon. Bye,’ Maggie heard her editor say crisply before she ended the call. Marcy then turned her attention to her author and in her brisk, authoritative way said, ‘Maggie, good to see you. Love the hair. It takes years off you. Let’s head directly into the restaurant. I’ve booked a table in Number 27. I haven’t eaten there before. I’m looking forward to it.’ She swept her file of papers into her briefcase in one fluid motion.

  She stood up gracefully and Maggie tried not to be envious of her supple, well-toned figure. ‘I hope you’re hungry. This is going on Enterprise’s expense account and I, for one, intend making the most of it.’ She swept ahead of Maggie and led the way out of the lounge and into the restaurant.

  As they were shown to their table, Maggie, who hadn’t dined in the restaurant previously either, was conscious that the majority of diners were men. She looked around to see if Terry was at any of the tables. He often had business lunches here. She couldn’t see him, or, more likely in Terry’s case, hear him, but she silently applauded his choice of restaurant.

  Number 27 was spacious, airy and ornately elegant, the high ceiling with its beautiful intricate plaster work a tribute to the timeless refinement of bygone days. Chandeliers sparkled. Mirrors gleamed on the walls, reflecting windows adorned with heavy swagged blue curtains. Warm yellow walls lent a cosy air. The pile of the carpet was so thick she could feel her heels sinking into it. She must jot down a few notes to remind herself of the décor, she thought. She could use it in a novel.

  Pictures flashed into her mind’s eye. Tara, her heroine in Betrayal, could be having an unexpected business lunch, just like Maggie, and she could discover her skunk of a husband, Jonathan, engaging in yet another tryst. It would be a good set piece and another chapter, Maggie thought happily, as she visualized the hugely satisfying emotional scene that she would later write. There was eating and drinking in it. Maggie smiled. She loved it when inspirations like this struck.

  ‘What are you smiling at?’ Marcy asked as Maggie sat down opposite her and took the menu from the attentive waiter.

  ‘I was just thinking of a particularly meaty scene that I could write with Tara and Jonathan, set here,’ she enthused. ‘Tara could have a mid-morning meeting with a client changed to a lunch appointment. When she walks into the dining-room she finds Jonathan sitting with a stunning redhead gazing into his eyes, and this after he’s promised her he’s finished with the blonde bimbo mistress, Jill. And then—’ A thought struck her. ‘Oh but you won’t be editing me any more. There’s not much point in telling you about it,’ she added regretfully.

  ‘Let’s order first, Maggie, and then we’ll discuss what’s happening. Have whatever you like. As I said, Enterprise is paying for this and I don’t mind if they have to pay through the nose,’ Marcy instructed tartly. Maggie’s heart sank. She didn’t like the sound of this. Marcy had always been Enterprise’s champion. She had cared deeply about the company and had always been completely involved in matters pertaining to it. She and Jeremy Wilson, Maggie’s publisher and Marcy’s employer, were particularly close. There had been rumours of an affair. Watching them together over the years, Maggie couldn’t quite decide if this was the case. She was more inclined to think that their closeness was because of a shared love of books and commitment to publishing.

  Jeremy Wilson was not exactly God’s gift to women, and Marcy’s husband, Daniel, was rather dishy. If the relationship between Marcy and Jeremy was physical, Maggie would have been very surprised. Besides, Jeremy’s second wife, Claudette, a feisty Frenchwoman, kept a fairly tight rein on him.

  ‘I think I’ll have the mushroom risotto and the vegetable lasagne,’ Marcy decided.

  ‘Maggie?’ She arched an eyebrow at her author.

  ‘Oh . . . aah!’ Maggie had been so busy worrying about what was going on at Enterprise Publishing that she hadn’t really studied the menu. ‘Mmm . . . I’ll go for the Caesar salad and the fillet of beef, please,’ she ordered hastily, before handing back her menu.

  ‘Would you care for some wine, Maggie?’ Marcy asked.

  ‘I’m driving today. I won’t bother. Ballygowan Sparkling will be fine, thanks.’

  ‘Two Ballygowans with lemon and ice please,’ Marcy ordered.

  The waiter smiled politely, took the menus and glided away.

  ‘Why are you leaving?’ Maggie was direct.

  Marcy sighed. ‘It’s not my choice, to be honest. It’s not what I want or what I ever envisaged. I helped Jeremy build up Enterprise Publishing. I signed up great, talented authors, yourself included. But quality was always of the utmost importance to me. You know that, Maggie.’ Her tone was stern. ‘I want to be proud of our product. I demand high standards.’

  ‘I know that, Marcy. It’s always been a challenge and a comfort to know that you demand and expect the best,’ Maggie said warmly, and meant it. ‘So what’s changed?’

  ‘An awful lot has changed, unfortunately, and certainly not for the better. Some of the manuscripts that are being accepted now are, quite frankly, rubbish!’ Marcy t
apped the fingers of one hand agitatedly against the table in a sharp staccato. Maggie couldn’t help but notice. It was so out of character. Marcy was always extremely controlled. Maggie had seen her snowed under with work, a dozen books on the go, phones ringing non-stop. Constant interruptions. But she was never fazed. This was a totally new side to Marcy. She’d never seen her editor so fidgety or jumpy. It was unnerving.

  ‘Go on,’ she prompted.

  Marcy inhaled deeply. ‘You remember, a year ago, there were management changes. Jeremy remained as publisher but handed over the reins of MD to Claudette. Well she –’ the she was uttered in a tone of utter contempt, emphasized with flared nostrils, tightening of the lips and narrowing of the eyes that left Maggie in no doubt as to how her editor felt about the current managing director – ‘is making changes left, right, and centre. And, at the risk of repeating myself, none for the better. I can’t work with the woman. She has no feeling for books. Bucks is her goal. Excuse the pun. Quantity not quality is her aim and frankly, Maggie, with her at the helm, Enterprise is going to go down the tubes. Believe me!’ She waved a hand dramatically.

  Maggie could see how Marcy and Claudette would clash. Both were domineering and bossy but, previously, Claudette had always remained somewhat in the background. ‘But why did Jeremy make Claudette, MD?’ Maggie was curious. Jeremy had always been very hands-on.

  ‘He had chest pains eighteen months ago and was hospitalized for tests, as you know. He was diagnosed with angina. Claudette badgered him to make her MD. Not, I hasten to add, out of concern for Jeremy, she doesn’t give two hoots about him. But she wanted to get her claws into the company good and deep. Jeremy has a daughter from his first marriage and Claudette is determined that she’ll get nothing when Jeremy dies. She’s going to swindle her out of that company good and proper. Claudette is a gold-digger and always has been and she’s extremely manipulative.’ Marcy was so angry her cheeks were puce.