by Cathy Kelly
Morag might have called Howard ‘Mr Desmond’ to his face, but in her internal monologues he was always Bloody Howard.
While Morag went about her work, Birdie remained rooted to the bench in the kitchen, her thoughts veering from Howard’s infidelity to the forthcoming wedding and her darling Katy. Whatever happened, she couldn’t have Katy finding out about her father’s affair. Or affairs? Who knew.
The urge to protect her daughter allowed Birdie to conveniently numb any thoughts of how Howard’s deception was affecting her. She’d known for many years that she wasn’t what he wanted. He’d married her because she’d represented a world of class and prestige – albeit a world where the money had long since run out. Her family could trace their ancestry back hundreds of years, while Howard’s had never amounted to anything and had appeared to have left no trace in the Bridgeport annals. His father and grandfather had eked a living from the woollen mill, ploughing any profits into horses or booze. No wonder, then, that Howard and his mother preferred to draw a line under the past. All that mattered was Howard’s success now, what it meant for the family, how it had elevated them. Birdie had been a part of that, no doubt about it. And it wasn’t as if he’d married her only for the background that gave him a gentility he might not otherwise have had. He’d once seen beauty in her.
But adoration, kindness, pure affection – the things she noticed in other couples – those had always been absent from her marriage. And she’d accepted it. Being the sort of shy, self-effacing person she was, she had felt lucky just to have married. Yet despite all that – despite his mother being controlling and contrary and determined to criticise everything Birdie did; despite Howard’s obsession with the business and then with their beloved Katy – Birdie had somehow felt that together she and Howard were strong. As a couple, they seemed to fit pretty well, and if he grew irritated with her sometimes, she didn’t think that mattered. They were a family, and that had to be enough, surely?
But this … this was proof that they hadn’t been a real family for a long time.
Beside her, Thumper nudged her as if to say, Look at me. Play with me. Why are you so sad? Automatically, Birdie reached down to pet him. The warmth of his fur, the way he groaned happily at her touch should have made the tears come. Here was someone who loved her absolutely, in complete contrast to her husband. But no tears came.
Birdie had read about people who’d been betrayed; she’d seen it enacted on TV and cinema screens, always with a massive outpouring of emotion: tears, sobbing, yelling, screaming. She wondered how they could have got it so wrong. All she felt inside was an incredible emptiness, as if a massive hole had been gouged out inside her. And along with the emptiness had come a savage sense of loss, of feeling truly alone.
After Morag left, Birdie spent the rest of the afternoon wandering around the house in a sort of trance. She kept looking at photographs, picking them up and examining them carefully. Wondering what had really been going on in Howard’s mind as he pasted on a smile and posed for the camera. That holiday they had taken with Katy when she was eighteen – had he been seeing someone then? Had he been secretly texting Miss you darling. Boring as hell here. Wish I were there with you?
Birdie could remember all the places they’d stayed. She loved making albums of their holidays. Howard and Katy used to tease her about them.
‘It’s in the past, what do you want an album for?’ Howard would say dismissively, but Katy liked looking at them, and she liked showing them to Michael too. Sometimes the two of them would sit on the couch and Birdie would peek in from the kitchen to catch Katy saying: ‘… and that was when we went to the Rhône …’
Everything in the house seemed to have a memory attached, even the wallpaper in the dining room, the expensive Chinese wallpaper that had caused so much trouble. Howard had probably rung whoever he was seeing at the time and told them how annoying his wife was and how she was incapable of managing anything, couldn’t get the decorators to put bloody wallpaper up properly, leaving him to come in and fix it all.
She was driving herself mad thinking like this when Howard rang – or rather, Roberta did. Howard didn’t make his own phone calls. He didn’t have the patience to dial his home number and wait for her to pick up.
‘Hello, Mrs Desmond,’ said Roberta. ‘I’ve got Mr Desmond here for you.’
‘Yes,’ said Birdie faintly.
‘Birdie,’ it was the great man himself, ‘a bit of business has come up: I have to go to Dublin tonight. I realise it’s a pain, and I’m sorry, dear, I’m sure you’ve something very nice cooked for dinner, but it can’t be helped, I’m afraid.’
Birdie was utterly silent, but Howard didn’t appear to notice.
‘Fortunately the clothes I keep in the office for these eventualities will see me through, so I don’t need you to pack anything for me. In fact, there’s nothing I need from home, so I’ll set off from here. I should be back tomorrow evening, okey-doke?’
He paused for the expected response, but the obligatory ‘Of course, darling’ was not forthcoming.
Birdie thought of the years she’d spent jumping to Howard’s demands. Treading on eggshells. Desperate to say the right thing. But now there was quite simply nothing to say. Howard was lying to her. She knew it. Everything was a lie. Her ability to react had deserted her.
‘Birdie, are you there? Are you all right?’ demanded Howard.
‘Fine,’ said Birdie. ‘All fine here. You go to Dublin. Must dash.’ And she hung up.
Twenty-One
Where there is love, there is no darkness. BURUNDI PROVERB
Devlin popped his head around the door of Leila’s office to find her and Ilona having a meeting. His eyes met Leila’s across her assistant’s head, and before she could stop herself, she’d smiled at him, a dazzling smile that came straight from the heart.
Immediately her eyes widened and the smile vanished. What the heck had she done that for? The last couple of weeks she’d mastered the art of being cool, behaving as if they were just colleagues, as if she wasn’t secretly hoping he felt something for her … What had she been thinking?
Devlin stared at her, and Leila was beginning to curse herself for her stupidity when he bestowed his own slow, just-as-dazzling smile on her. It was like watching his face lighting up, and at that moment, Leila knew she hadn’t imagined it: she could see the warmth in his expression, the glow when he looked at her.
She wasn’t going crazy: he felt the same way, the way he’d felt in Rome. She wasn’t just any port in a storm in a hotel corridor. He felt something for her and she’d allowed herself to show him that she felt the same way.
‘Morning,’ he said in a formal voice, eyes still glinting. ‘Everything all right?’
‘Wonderful,’ she said and he grinned back.
‘Ilona,’ Devlin said, ‘can I have a moment with Leila?’
Leila had to stop a squeak of joy emerging.
Her phone rang. Wincing, she picked it up.
‘Hello,’ she said, professional again. ‘Yes, I’ve been trying to talk to you for a few days now …’
She smiled apologetically at Devlin, who shrugged and left her office.
‘Coffee?’ whispered Ilona.
Leila nodded. Coffee, not that she’d taste it.
Devlin had smiled at her.
It was amazing the sensations she felt at the notion that his piratical smile was for her and her alone. Blissful – that was it.
He was in meetings all morning, and whenever he looked around for her, she either had somebody with her or was on the phone. There was never a private moment, Devlin thought with irritation. This was probably why companies didn’t like their employees having relationships: offices weren’t the place for private moments.
Whatever, he thought, they’d work around that. He had decided to take her to lunch at one of the places he took important people to, only this time, he’d be bringing the most important person of all.
He rang Ilona. ‘
Does Leila have a lunch appointment?’ he asked, trying to get the correct note of brusqueness into his voice. ‘Or anything urgent after lunch, in fact?’ he added.
‘Er, no,’ said Ilona.
‘Fine. I have some things to discuss with her, might have to have a lunchtime meeting. Don’t say anything for the moment,’ he told her. ‘I need to organise it.’
He put the phone down, a wide grin on his face. Seeing that his own assistant was not at her desk, he rang his favourite elegant restaurant and asked for a table for two. ‘One of those banquette ones,’ he said, ‘in the corner at the back.’
‘Of course, Mr Devlin,’ said the person on the phone. Devlin was a good customer, spent shedloads and brought movie stars in. He could have whatever he wanted.
‘Thank you,’ said Devlin and hung up, his grin wider than ever.
Tynan was fed up. Leila wasn’t returning his calls or his texts or his emails and she’d blocked him from her Facebook account. What was going on? Where was the lovely compliant Leila of the past? It was probably a game, he decided. A game to teach him a lesson. Well, he’d learned his lesson and he was back; surely that ought to be enough? He decided that the grand gesture was what was required. Something she wouldn’t be able to resist. Something that would say to her that he loved her. And say it to everyone else into the bargain, he thought delightedly. Yes, that was it: she needed everyone else to see that he was sorry. Fine, if that was what it took, then that was what he would deliver. Red roses, he decided. An enormous amount of red roses. Or something different, maybe. He’d ask the florist. And perfume, too. His eyes glinted as another thought occurred to him: he’d buy her another little French coffee pot, a reminder of the morning coffees he’d made for her, a shiny new one so she could throw the old one out – now that she wouldn’t be able to resist.
He did, genuinely, miss her. Having thought about it, he wanted to move back to Dublin. He knew he’d been flaky and he wanted to show Leila it was worth another shot.
It was proving impossible to ask Leila to lunch. No matter how often Devlin stalked the area near her office, she was never alone. How the bloody hell was he supposed to ask her out when they couldn’t get a minute’s peace?
Finally he sent her an email.
Lunch, La Belle Jardin, 1 p.m.? We’ll leave at 12.45 in my car?
When the message pinged on to her screen, Leila, who was talking on the phone to a journalist, almost dropped the phone with excitement.
‘Are you still there?’ said the journalist, because Leila had stopped speaking mid-sentence.
‘Yes, sorry, something fell off my desk,’ she improvised. ‘Now, where were we?’
Inside, she was thinking of her outfit. Was it nice enough for La Belle Jardin? If only she’d made the extra effort today, but then, if she’d thought about it beforehand, she’d never have instinctively smiled at Devlin and broken down all those barriers they both seemed to have erected since Rome. Still, at least she’d washed her hair that morning, that was good. But more lipstick was definitely required – and mascara. She needed mascara, oh gosh.
Somehow she managed to get off the phone. Grabbing her bag, she made a dash for the ladies’, calling over her shoulder to Ilona, ‘Back in a minute.’ Thankfully there was nobody in there, so she was able to spray perfume and deodorant, adjust her trousers and look sideways at herself in the mirror to see if her belly was having one of its sticking-in or sticking-out days and cast a critical eye over everything to see how good she looked. Then she stopped. This was Devlin, not Tynan. She didn’t have to be what she wasn’t for him. He’d seen her in every situation and he liked her for what she was. There was no need for frantic puffing-up of hair or changing into shiny black leather trousers so she’d look like a rock chick. No, Devlin liked Leila Martin for being Leila Martin.
She grinned, cleaned her teeth and put on more lipstick, thinking about how lovely it would be if it was all kissed off in Devlin’s car.
At 12.45, she hurried out to reception, shouting: ‘I’ll be back later’ to Ilona without pausing at her desk, because it was all she could do to stop herself breaking into the biggest grin imaginable, and if Ilona saw it she would instantly know that something was up.
Through the glass door of his office Devlin could see her striding towards reception. He loved the way she walked in those high heels, the way her hips swung, the way her blonde hair shimmered down her shoulders. He got up from his desk, tried without success to quell his sense of excitement, and went to the door. After all the women and all the years chasing them, this was different. Leila Martin was the real thing. He couldn’t mess this up; he wouldn’t.
Why had she smiled at him today of all days? He’d been working himself up to asking her out but he was still nervous. Him, Eamonn Devlin, who had a little black book of enormous proportions, a book he had no interest in any more.
Rome had been such a disaster. After all the time he’d been thinking about asking her out, wondering would he cook her a meal, what could he do to show her she was amazing and she should forget about that waster husband of hers, because he would take care of her for ever. And then today, miracle of miracles, she’d given him that glorious smile and he’d known she felt the same way. As he paused to collect his coat, Devlin glanced out of the plate-glass window and felt a benevolence for all the people on the streets who didn’t know happiness the way he was feeling it right now.
Tynan had managed to get into the building by brandishing the enormous bouquet of designer wild flowers and twigs and the gift bag.
‘Delivery for Leila Martin in Eclipse,’ he said to the man on the desk, who made him sign in and sent him up in the lift. Not that Tynan didn’t know where to go – he’d been up to the Eclipse office many times in the past – but he didn’t want Leila to know that he was coming today. He wanted to surprise her. He imagined her face, the look of joy when she realised he was serious, that he was back.
And that everyone else could see it too. She’d been hurt, he knew that. Probably that was why she wasn’t returning his phone calls. Her pride was dented. Flowers like this would go some way to restoring that pride, he thought confidently. Cost a blooming fortune, though. Whoever said love was free had never been in a flower shop, that was for sure.
He got out of the lift and walked to the double glass doors of Eclipse, where he pressed the entrance button. Sinead, the receptionist, saw the big bouquet and let him in. At that exact moment, Devlin reached Leila in reception. Tynan laid the bouquet on one of the couches and saw Leila standing there, looking at her boss.
Tynan grimaced. He’d never liked Devlin. Still, he could go hang. It was lunchtime, Tynan was there for his woman and he was going to get her. He was wearing his leather jacket, the expensive one, and new boots he’d bought in London, fiercely hip and still on the waiting list for those not in the know. He’d also covered himself with her favourite cologne, spraying it everywhere, because you never knew when you were going to get lucky.
‘Hiya, honey,’ he said, giving her his rueful grin. ‘I brought you a present.’
It was hard to say who was more horrified.
Leila felt her blood chill at the sight of her ex-husband, whose phone calls, emails and texts she’d pointedly refused to reply to. Had he not got the message yet? It was over.
But what might Devlin think? Oh no …
Devlin stared at Tynan, the little rat, with his giant bouquet of flowers and some gift bag with silvery tissue paper spilling out of the top; then he looked at Leila, who wasn’t saying anything but was just staring at Tynan.
Devlin couldn’t read the look on her face, but he heard her whisper: ‘Tynan, what are you doing here?’
Tynan walked towards her. ‘Like I said the other night, honey, I’m back,’ and he reached up and cupped her cheek, staring deep into her eyes. Before she could stop him, he leaned in and kissed her, the sort of slow-burn kiss that would have once turned her to mush. Right now, it turned her to rage.
L
eila muttered something, but Devlin couldn’t bear to watch.
‘Sinead, I don’t think I’ll be back this afternoon,’ he growled, and stalked off, letting the reception doors swing shut behind him.
‘Tynan, get off,’ shrieked Leila, pushing him away and turning around frantically, but it was too late. Devlin was gone. There was no sign of him in the lobby.
He’d either got straight into a lift or he’d run down the stairs. Probably the latter, she thought, thinking of the pent-up energy that was Eamonn Devlin. The man she loved.
She turned and glared at Tynan.
‘Tynan, you’re a complete moron,’ she snapped. ‘I told you the other night I wasn’t interested, and I’m not, OK – don’t you get it? Did you really think that a big bunch of flowers and some stupid present was going to make it all better?’
‘Hey, babe, I’m just trying to tell you I love you.’
‘You don’t love me,’ Leila said. ‘You love you. That’s the biggest love affair in your head: Tynan and Tynan. You dumped me like I was nothing, and I’m not sure why you’re back, but I won’t be a part of it. I told you that the other night.’
She had, she knew, but she hadn’t infused the words with the correct level of dismissal. Tynan’s charm and the fact that he’d helped wash Pixie had made him think he was in with a chance. That would not be happening again, not ever.
She drew herself up to her full height and glared at him, thinking of all he’d put her through.
‘Now get out of my sight with those bloody twigs and your stupid present, and get out of my life: I do not want to see you ever again – apart from the bit where you sign the divorce papers.’
‘Babe –’ he began.
‘Don’t babe me!’ she roared.
She left him standing there open-mouthed, with quite a few members of the Eclipse staff watching open-mouthed too.