But tonight he wouldn’t be and he missed her. He sighed regretfully as he hammered away. Nor would he get to see her tomorrow. Talk about Murphy’s Law! Still she’d sounded really disappointed when he’d spoken to her on the phone earlier so that could only be good news.
Doug was ever the optimist. The thought cheered him because it looked like being a long night. He yawned as he secured the first support beam against the gable wall and cursed the builders who’d mucked up his night.
‘You’ve what!’ Suzy couldn’t believe her ears.
‘We’ve moved to an apartment near Herbert Park in case you phone the old flat and get a stranger on the line. I’m just letting you know in case you need to contact me in an emergency,’ Chris said coldly. ‘Get a pen and I’ll give you the number.’
‘Fine,’ Suzy said through gritted teeth. She laid the receiver on the hallstand and took a deep breath. She was deeply shocked. She could hardly breathe she was so angry. That fucker had just moved into a new apartment with Alexandra. Obviously the relationship was far stronger than she’d realised. She was wounded to the core. It was horrible. She felt as though she’d just been kicked in the stomach. Hard. Chris and Alexandra were serious about each other. They were a unit. She and the children were just irritations. Nuisances. Suzy was so distressed by this thunderbolt she started to shake. But not for one instant would she let Chris know how upsetting the news was to her. Oh no! She wouldn’t give the bastard that satisfaction. She took a deep breath to steady herself.
‘Give me the address and number.’ Her tone dripped icicles.
Chris was equally cold as he gave her the details. Her pen shook as she took them down, her writing spidery and uneven. It was hard to concentrate on what he was saying. It was very unsettling to think that her husband was phoning her from the home that he shared with his lover. Her ex-best friend. It was vulgar. Agonising. It took every ounce of self-control that she possessed to keep her voice from quivering. Only pride got her through it.
‘Thank you. And I’d prefer if you didn’t phone quite so late at night in future,’ Suzy snapped and hung up. Her heart was thumping. She’d never expected this. All right, so maybe she’d told him he wasn’t to come back home, but she’d expected him to get a place of his own, not move into a new apartment with that fucking husband-stealing cow.
‘I hate you, you lying poxy bastard,’ she raged as she walked back into the lounge and poured herself a stiff vodka. She was so angry she wanted to knife Chris and Alexandra. Her hands shook as she raised the glass to her lips. How could Chris do this to her? Cancel her and their past out as if it counted for nothing? Didn’t he have one ounce of remorse for what he’d done to her and the kids? How could he treat people so callously? Was this the way he’d treated that woman in Glenree? And countless women before and since? Had he no humanity in him at all?
Suzy shook her head unable to fathom the man she’d been married to for all these years.
And Alexandra! Didn’t she feel any guilt? Couldn’t she see that Chris had responsibilities to his children, whatever about Suzy? Didn’t that trouble her? Didn’t she miss their friendship at all? Had it meant nothing? Had Alexandra just used her all these years? Was it true that like attracted like? Well, if it was, they were well suited. But they wouldn’t get the better of her. She wouldn’t let those shits grind her down.
Suzy took a gulp of her drink. It burned the back of her throat but she welcomed the fiery shock. She needed it. No wonder there’d been no response to her postcard. Alexandra was obviously too busy moving into her new pad. It was still waiting for her at work. Suzy had been on tenterhooks all week waiting for Alexandra’s phone call. When it hadn’t come, she’d phoned Stuart and Stuart’s with the intention of hanging up when Alexandra came on the line, but she’d been told that Alexandra was out of the office for a few days. Now she knew why.
Had the card arrived? There was no reason that it shouldn’t have. Surely it would have been seen by several people. The gossip and speculation would be rife. Even better, Suzy thought savagely. The more people who knew exactly what a devious bitch Alexandra was, the better. Now that word was filtering out and people were commiserating with her she found she was exaggerating Chris and Alexandra’s affair wildly. She didn’t care. For all she knew it had been going on through their entire marriage. She wouldn’t put it past either of them. She wasn’t going to protect them in any way. She was going to say the very worst about them. She wanted their friends and acquaintances to think the very worst of them.
Suzy had been invited to a make-up party by Madeleine Conway, the wife of Victor Conway, a very successful businessman they knew through their set. Stuart and Stuart’s acted for him. He was Alexandra’s client. Victor, a white-haired ageing Lothario, was well known for his roving eye and Madeleine was famous for the tight rein she kept on him and the purse-strings. Madeleine’s money had financed the business at the beginning. She came from a rich background. She held a large amount of the company shares.
A timely warning to Madeleine about Alexandra’s husband-stealing antics was next on Suzy’s agenda. Madeleine would get so paranoid she’d freak. Heaven knew what consternation she’d cause.
Suzy poured herself another drink. What you sow, you reap was the old saying. And come hell or high water, Alexandra Johnston was going to reap the harvest of her duplicity.
Chapter Fifteen
Alexandra drove into the office car park, delighted to be back at work. She was on top of the world. She loved her new apartment. Yesterday she’d discovered that one of her neighbours was Martyn Whelen, an absolutely dishy hunk who was a well-known media personality. He was never out of the society pages. The most eligible bachelor in the country was living in the penthouse in her apartment block. Unfortunately he was just a little too young for her. She’d be accused of cradle-snatching if she made a play for him. Nevertheless the social cachet of having him as a near neighbour was an unexpected coup.
Last night, Chris had been extremely cranky after he’d phoned Suzy to tell her about their move. He’d gone all sulky and morose. But she’d soon sorted him out. She’d gone to the bedroom, taken all her clothes off, put on her thigh-high patent leather boots, draped a long, see-through black chiffon scarf around her and vamped it into the lounge. That had cured his cough for him.
Alexandra smiled at the memory. She loved making a man want her and then, when he was putty in her hands, taking control of him. What a challenge Marcus Lynn would be. She must schedule a meeting with him soon, she decided as she hurried up the steps to the office. Great sheets of sleety snow whipped around the building. She shivered. It would be a good day to get her head down and catch up on the backlog. Two weeks was a long time to be out of the office. Alexandra breezed through the revolving doors, full of energy.
Peggy, the receptionist, wearing the most ghastly long orange sleeveless cardigan over a blue maxi-skirt and a black skinny-rib, was gossiping with several typists. It irritated Alexandra. What sort of impression would that make on clients? It was unprofessional. They all turned to stare at her. Peggy gave a nervous titter. Alexandra eyed them coldly.
‘Isn’t it time everyone was at their desks?’ she said crisply. Lax office efficiency simply would not do. Reluctantly the typists moved towards the typing pool. They kept turning around to look at her. It was most unusual. Maybe they were impressed with her new Burberry coat. It was fashionably smart and businesslike. Perfect for this weather.
‘Peggy, kindly hold all my calls for half an hour. I want to deal with my post. Is there much?’ Alexandra pulled off her black kid gloves and untied her Hermès scarf.
Peggy blushed puce. ‘Oh, there’s plenty of post, Miss Johnston. It’s all on your desk.’
Alexandra looked at her curiously. What on earth was wrong with the girl? She was extremely jittery. ‘Thank you, Peggy. And remember. No calls for the next half-hour.’ Alexandra strode over to the lift. Something would have to be done about the front-desk personnel, she
reflected crossly. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she heard giggling. What was wrong with them all this morning? They were decidedly giddy. The lift was in use and she waited impatiently for it to descend. Moments later, the doors whooshed apart and Ron Evans, the accountant, stepped out.
‘Well good morning, Alexandra.’ He smirked at her. ‘And how are you?’
Not the better for seeing you, you baldy little weed, she was tempted to retort. Ron Evans was not her favourite person. In fact he gave her the creeps. He was a tight-fisted, penny-pinching, small-minded, skinny little fart of a man who had a puffed-up sense of his own importance. She wouldn’t trust him as far as she could throw him. It was well known in the office that Ron, who was thoroughly devious, was a master of sharp practice in his business dealings. He was universally disliked by the staff.
Each month when Alexandra handed in her expenses she could be sure of a visit from him, questioning each and every item. It drove her mad. What did he expect her to do? Bring her clients to Woolworth’s for sausage and beans? She was successful with her clients because she made them feel important. Nothing but the best for them. In the long run, it paid. Clients who were happy, and made to feel they were valued, stayed put and often brought in new clients. But Ron with his suspicious accountant’s mentality couldn’t see beyond his nose and his precious profit-and-loss columns. The man had no long-term vision.
He was the bane of Alexandra’s life and she wondered why he was being so overly friendly this morning. He knew she was well able for him. He was wary of her sharp tongue, especially after a particularly vicious exchange when she’d told him he was a Mickey Mouse accountant with the business sense of a gnat. He’d never forgiven her for that. Usually he stuck his sharp pointy beak in the air and pretended not to see her. Today, though, his beady little eyes were practically leering at her from behind his spectacles.
How are you indeed? What was it to him, the slimy little worm?
‘I’m fine, Ron.’ Alexandra swept past him into the lift and pressed the control panel. That horrible little toad in his ill-fitting pin-striped suit and lemon nylon shirt was enough to put anyone off their work first thing on a Monday morning.
The lift glided silently upwards. Alexandra liked this building. It was modern and with-it. Their old offices had had antiques for lifts. You’d be quicker walking upstairs. It was thanks to her that they’d relocated to a more modern building. The old offices off Wicklow Street were ancient and drab and totally unsuitable for the image they needed to portray. Malachy MacDonald, the MD, and, of course, tight-wad Evans hadn’t wanted to move. It had taken months to persuade them.
That was the trouble with cheapskates, Alexandra sighed. They hindered expansion.
Her office was beside the lift. None of the partners was in yet. The car park had been almost empty. She was just as glad. She wanted to get stuck in straight away. She’d see them for coffee at eleven.
Peggy hadn’t lied about the post, she thought idly when she saw the pile on her desk. It was enormous. She went over to the window and pulled the cord of the Venetian blinds. The leaden sleety sky offered little natural light so she switched on the strip light. She took her coat off, hung it up and went over to the oval mirror on the wall. She looked fine, she thought with satisfaction. All her bruises were gone. Her green eyes, outlined with Mary Quant black kohl pencil, were bright and alluring. Her chignon hadn’t a black hair out of place. Her Coral Dawn lipstick was luciously inviting on her full mouth. No wonder she drove men mad with lust, she thought in amusement. She could almost fancy herself.
‘Right, to work, Johnston,’ she said aloud as she sat into her black leather chair eager to begin opening her mail. Who knew what new clients wanted her to work her magic for them.
Oh! she thought in surprise as she picked up a pop-art postcard that was lying on top of all the brown and white assorted envelopes. She didn’t know of anyone who was on holidays at this time of the year, she mused as she turned it over and began to read.
‘Oh my God!’ she muttered, horrified, as her eyes scanned the bold clear writing. She thought she was going to have a heart attack as she read:
Dear Slut Johnston,
It’s bad enough when men abuse women. But when women abuse women . . . they are the lowest of the low. And when a so-called friend steals a woman’s husband like you’ve stolen mine, she is beneath contempt. You’ve seduced my husband and deprived my children of a father, but you’re welcome to him. Because he’s no better than you. You contaminate decent people with your deceit. So keep Chris tied to your bedstead, the way he was the last time I saw him. I wouldn’t have him back if he was the last man on earth. He’s all yours, seeing as you couldn’t even manage to get a man of your own.
You pretended to be my friend all these years, and then you lured my husband away from me. Some friend! I wish you the joy of him. He’s a lying, cheating, moody, selfish shit who doesn’t give a damn about anyone. He’s found his perfect match.
Suzy Wallace.
She’s crazy. She’s a crazy fucking stupid malicious bitch. Alexandra’s hands flew to her flaming cheeks. No wonder they’d all been looking at her so strangely, giggling and tittering at her behind her back. No wonder that beady-eyed little bollix had been leering at her. He was probably having a wonderful time fantasising about being tied to her bedstead.
Alexandra felt ill. She picked up the card between her finger and thumb and scrutinised the postmark with a sinking heart. It had been here for days. Probably floating around the office from person to person while they all made distasteful jokes at her expense.
She’d worked so damned hard to get where she was. To earn a reputation as the best in a man’s world. And to have it ruined by this! She tore the card into tiny bits in swift savage movements.
The revenge of a woman scorned. God! It froze her soul to think of the damage to her reputation. And all because she’d allowed her hormones to lead her astray in a moment of crazy madness. Chris Wallace wasn’t worth her reputation.
Alexandra lit a cigarette. She really had underestimated Suzy. She’d always been fairly malleable in the past but the worm had certainly turned. What was wrong with the silly bitch anyway? Everything Suzy’d written about Chris in that card was true. Why the hell was she so upset about their fling? He’d been cheating on her with someone before Alexandra. Probably that woman in Glenree. Would Suzy have made such a fuss over her? These things went on all the time. People got over affairs without making the huge song and dance Suzy was making about it. Alexandra felt a tinge of unease. If her erstwhile friend could do this, what more was she capable of?
She was certainly on the horns of a dilemma now, she thought agitatedly as she paced the beige-carpeted floor. She couldn’t turf Chris out because she couldn’t afford the rent on her own. Otherwise she’d kick his ass out so quick he’d see stars. What a damned mess. And the worst thing was, she was the author of her own misfortune.
‘Shit! Shit! Shit!’ she cursed aloud. What the hell was she going to do?
The first thing she was going to do was give Suzy a piece of her mind. She dialled the number with venom.
‘Hello?’ Suzy sounded as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.
‘How dare you, you silly little cow. Have you any idea—’
Click.
Alexandra stared impotently at the dead receiver. The bitch had hung up. She felt like flinging the phone out the window. She took some calming breaths. This situation had to be handled properly.
She wasn’t going to go around the office with her head hanging. The only thing to do was to brazen it out. She wasn’t going to have any silly little typist tittering at her. And Ron Evans could dream on – it was probably the nearest he’d ever get to any action anyway, she thought nastily as she ripped open the first letter in her mountain of post.
At eleven promptly, make-up immaculate, wafting Chanel No 5 behind her, Alexandra swanned into the office canteen. The hum of Monday-morning gossip died aw
ay as every pair of eyes turned to look at her.
‘Morning all,’ Alexandra drawled coolly. ‘I missed you all dreadfully . . . it’s a joy to be back. Mrs Walsh, I’ll have a cup of black coffee and a Marietta.’ She smiled at the canteen lady. Head high she strode between the tables to the one reserved for directors. Malachy MacDonald eyed her warily. He knew all about the card.
‘Morning, Malachy, I need a light.’ She placed a filter tip between her coral lips and arched an eyebrow at him.
‘Oh . . . oh yes of course.’ Malachy, taken aback by her aplomb, fumbled for his lighter and clicked it. Alexandra inclined her head to the flame and drew on her cigarette. Exhaling a long thin plume of smoke she turned to her MD and smiled silkily.
‘Well, Mal, I’ve been gone for two weeks. I’m sure there’s been lots happening. Do tell.’
The rest of the staff watched in fascinated admiration as Alexandra sat, cool as a cucumber, talking to the MD as though she hadn’t a care in the world.
Ron Evans sipped his sweet milky tea and dreamed of being tied to Alexandra Johnston’s bedstead. Some men had all the luck!
The nerve of her to phone. Even though she’d been expecting it, Suzy’s mouth had dried and her palms had turned sweaty when she’d heard Alexandra begin her tirade of abuse on the phone. Hanging up had given her a great sense of power.
So the card had arrived, she thought with immense satisfaction as she sat staring out at the back garden, battered by whistling winds and relentless driving sleet. Her garden looked the way she felt. Ravaged, neglected, stripped bare, withered away. Even the sweetness of revenge couldn’t lift her depression. Christmas was coming. The time of cheer and goodwill to men. Well, she was all out of goodwill. She hoped Alexandra and Chris rotted in hell and that their lives were riven by misery. Forgive and forget was not her motto. An eye for an eye was the very least that pair of snakes deserved.
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