* * *
Lacey danced around the kitchen the day Philip Sherman called over with Cora’s second reply. She had not told him – or anyone – about her trip across the Irish Sea. She had learned from it, though. The letter she had written on her return was honest and clear. She had explained that her only intention was to meet Cora, and not to invade her life. She explained that she knew any mother-daughter bond was probably fruitless at this stage, but perhaps friendship and support were possible.
Philip laughed heartily at Lacey twirling and jumping with joy after reading Cora’s letter. He insisted that he accompany her to meet her birth mother, and had looked a little taken aback when Lacey did not argue.
She felt like a different person now, more mature, more accepting of other’s wisdom – and definitely more grounded. Her instincts growing up of not belonging, of not fitting in with Lillian, had been right. Her decision to quit her job and seek her true potential had been the right thing to do, too. The challenge of finding Cora had revealed her own inner strengths and offered a new world of possibilities.
She began reading up as much as she could find about the forthcoming fashion show, and about Cora Maguire designs. Tickets were selling fast, according to the many advertisements she came across. The Sunday papers carried interviews with background staff, but Cora Maguire herself avoided interviews as much as possible. The media had little to report on her; there had been rumours of a past affair with a married businessman, but nothing concrete, no evidence.
Lacey counted the days to the show. Cora had sent a special backstage pass, so that she and Philip would have no issues with security.
Bursting with excitement, Lacey had told Robert and Aoife what was happening, and they were delighted for her. They immediately offered to attend the fashion show with her to provide support, but she explained that Philip was going to be there in the background for her on the night.
She was so nervous, it took all her effort to sit and eat meals; most days she didn’t feel hungry. But Aoife told her she must eat, or her skin would be spotty and grey and her hair wouldn’t be shiny or glossy when the great reunion took place. She even insisted on taking Lacey for a manicure and a facial, to ensure she looked her best.
Christmas and the New Year were around the corner, and the new positive spirit around the remaining family members hinted at happier times ahead and the chance to find the peace and the closure they all desperately sought.
No-one mentioned what might happen if Cora did not want further contact or – Heaven forbid – she cancelled the meeting. Any dark thoughts were pushed aside with the fuss to make sure Lacey looked her best for the occasion. Robert was kept entertained by the girls’ efforts to cover all beauty treatments and Aoife’s delight at learning Cora Maguire was Lacey’s mother. “If you both hit it off, there might be the chance of a discount for me when I come to choose my wedding dress,” she had joked.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
DECEMBER
The critics’ reports of Cora’s showcase were all favourable. There was an electric atmosphere within the fashion trade at having top designer Cora Maguire returning to Ireland for the first time in twenty years. All the glossy magazines carried previews and features, and all the models were clamouring to be photographed at the after-show parties. The event was a full weekend, with the rare appearance of Cora herself on the last night.
Philip picked up Lacey and they travelled together to the venue. There were bright spotlights everywhere, a red carpet entrance, and tables of champagne and orange juice inside the door, served by muscled, well groomed young men. Festive lights twinkled in the foyer, and a huge Christmas tree, tastefully decorated in creams and golds, stood proudly in a corner.
The previous week, Lacey and Aoife had gone shopping for the perfect dress to wear. They settled on a strapless, baby pink, satin, full-length gown. The soft material was layered and at the bust it was crossed over, leading the eye to her tiny nipped-in waist. She wore short drop diamond earrings and swept her silky hair into a bun. This showed her neck and shoulders off to perfection, and the understated elegance of the dress emphasised how stunning she was. Lacey, wrapped up in all the excitement of the night, was unaware of the attention she attracted, but Philip noticed the admiring glances cast in her direction as he led her to their seats.
They took their places for the show and studied the programmes left on each table. Lacey peeped into the goody bag and gasped at the wonderful items inside – vouchers for top spa treatments, discounts on fashion labels, free jewellery from Irish designers, and make-up from the latest range on offer. The wine coloured organza bag, with its delicate cream ribbon, was a real treasure trove. Lacey told Philip he must take one home to his wife, and she would give hers to Aoife.
The show was spectacular. The hostess for the evening – a presenter from RTE, the national television station – was both entertaining and professional. The garments themselves were spectacular, some so breathtaking that they attracted gasps and covetous sighs, followed by loud applause from the audience.
Lacey had not replied to Cora’s last letter. She had simply left things as Cora had suggested: she would be in Dublin, if Lacey decided that it would be a good time to meet, or they could leave it until a time that may be more suitable, if Lacey preferred.
As the end of the show approached, she grew anxious. Tonight – if it was what she wanted – she would meet her birth mother; it was her decision. Her hands trembled and she reached out to Philip as the clapping and buzz of the room suddenly became claustrophobic. She felt weak and uncomfortable. It was all too much; she needed air. She needed to get out. She couldn’t go through with the meeting after all, she was going to be ill.
Lacey rushed out of the room and straight to the ladies powder room, with Philip grabbing their belongings and following her out. People sitting nearby stared and whispered, unhappy at the rudeness of the young woman leaving as the show was in progress.
Hiding in the ladies’ room, Lacey felt awful. It was all too much and she berated herself for being stupid enough to think it would be easy. Her make-up was patchy so she splashed some water on her face and, grabbing the tissues close by, wiped it off. Then she tidied her hair and replaced a hint of lipstick, before going out to the busy foyer, where Philip was waiting. His look of concern was so touching she had to blink away the tears stinging her eyes.
“You do realise the headlines tomorrow are going to scream ‘Local Solicitor Exposes His Feminine Side’?” And he held up the two goodie bags he’d picked up before following Lacey out.
She gave him a feeble smile and hugged him close for support. “I’m sorry, I got cold feet.” Philip nodded and clapped her back gently.
“How do I look?” she asked in an uneasy tone.
“Pretty as a picture,” he reassured her.
Philip guided her to some nearby seats and they sat in silence. Waiters hurried in and out where the fashion show was being held, applause and music filtering out every time the double doors opened. Philip didn’t speak. He had told her clearly that he would not influence her decision about leaving or meeting with Cora. Any decisions would be hers.
The cool air in the foyer calmed her a little, and the heady atmosphere began to fade. Twenty minutes went by before the doors were opened fully and the crowd emerged, chattering excitedly about what a success it had been, how outstanding the creations were, and what a talented designer Cora Maguire was. Photographers snapped away as wannabe socialites stood around sipping their champagne. The talk was all about Cora.
“Well?” Philip whispered.
“It’s now or never, I suppose.” She looked with anticipation towards the room from which she had fled.
“I’ll wait here, or do you want me to go with you?” He spoke quietly, leaning a little closer to her.
“Whatever suits you, Philip.” She smiled weakly.
“Then I’ll stay,” he said, and settled into a chair.
“Are you sure I look okay
?” She had a pleading look in her eyes.
“You look beautiful. Now smile, and remember, confidence.” He gestured towards the ballroom to signal she should go.
Lacey picked up her clutch bag and walked towards the doors. She opened her bag and slipped on the pass which had a strap to wear on her wrist. Already the backstage workers were taking the catwalk apart and stacking chairs. A satisfied air filled the room of a job well done.
She picked her steps carefully through the cables and equipment scattered around. Beyond the stage area were two brown timber doors. On the first, a sign in red lettering had the words HOTEL STAFF ONLY; the other door was free of any sign but was slightly ajar. She stepped through into a hallway.
This was crazy. She didn’t even know where Cora was back here, or if she was even here at all. She needed to find out before she lost her courage. A noisy chattering led Lacey to another open door, and she pushed it slowly back to find a room crowded with models, stylists and make-up artists. Lacey stepped in and was amazed at how many people were packed into the room. There was constant chatter and laughter; a few turned and stared at her, their faces reflecting their curiosity of who the pretty young woman was.
She daren’t speak – her nerves were beginning to stir again. She backed out into the corridor and spotted a man further down the hall.
“Excuse me, is Cora Maguire around?”
A young lad of twenty, with shocking green hair, glanced at her pass before answering her. The security bracelet to go backstage hung on her slim wrist. He nodded towards a door further up the corridor.
“Thanks,” Lacey replied to the nodding, and walked on.
When she got further up the corridor, she noticed this door, too, was slightly open. The words CORA MAGUIRE – PRIVATE were stuck on it.
Lacey heard some shuffling of papers from inside, and hesitated. Should she knock or leave? Her heartbeat was pounding in her ears and her hands were sticky from anxiety. She had come this far, she couldn’t go back now. She took a deep breath and gently tapped on the door, but there was no response.
Try again, she scolded herself. She swallowed and knocked harder, pushing the door slightly further open. A woman sat at a desk filled with flowers, writing furiously into a book. Congratulations banners and cards were scattered around the room.
She watched the woman work. She had done it. She had found her mother.
Lacey gave a gentle cough. Without raising her head or stopping the task she was concentrating on, Cora Maguire replied tersely, “I’ll be out shortly to meet people, Tina. Just give me five more minutes, okay?”
Lacey didn’t reply. She took a step closer; her voice had deserted her. This was her mother, here in front of her right now. The tingling in Lacey’s body was electric and she felt a buzz as she stared at the woman seated by the desk.
* * *
Aware of someone staring at her, Cora turned to see who had entered the room.
“Oh my God!” she cried out. “You’re not...not Tina, you’re…”
Before her stood a mirror image of herself, of Cora in her early twenties. The dark chocolate eyes looking at her were her own, as was the silky auburn hair. This young version of Cora was smiling, a smile with echoes of Joe Taylor. The years melted away and Cora was stunned by this vision before her.
“Is it? I mean, is it really you?” Cora stood up, shaking. The resemblance was unbelievable.
“Lacey, my daughter,” she whispered in shock.
For a few moments the two women remained still, then Cora slowly moved towards Lacey with her arms outstretched. She stopped briefly as fear of rejection fleetingly passed through her, but the feeling disappeared when the young woman stepped towards her. They both laughed as the awkwardness between them melted into the air. There was no clumsiness between them, only longing. Cora could not believe the impulsive way she had reacted. But holding her daughter in her arms, finally, after all these years, brought her warmth and contentment.
Through the gathering tears that now filled Lacey’s eyes, she whispered in Cora’s ear,
“Hello, Mum.”
ABOUT MARY T. BRADFORD
Mary T Bradford has been writing mainly short stories for a number of years now and has enjoyed success with her fiction in many magazines, newspapers and anthologies both in Ireland and abroad. It was because of this success, Mary took the plunge and self published her first collection titled, A Baker’s Dozen (2012) and is available in both print and e-book format from Amazon and other sites. She decided to tackle a novel when one of her stories kept getting longer and the word count continued to climb and so ended up with My Husbands Sin. She has also branched out into writing plays and has seen her work shortlisted and performed.
When taking a break from writing and reading Mary loves to crochet or cross-stitch, crafts in general interest her. Living in County Cork, Ireland, she is married and is a mother of four children. Having overcome open heart surgery in 2008, Mary made the decision to dedicate more time to her writing as her children were almost raised and were starting to spread their wings. Family is important to her and her writing often reflects the ups and downs of life that all families go through daily.
Connect with Mary through any of the links on this page and that is something else Mary enjoys, chatting with people!
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My Husband's Sin Page 24