A Year Like No Other

by Pauline Lawless

  Felicity couldn’t stop beaming at him as she sipped the champagne.

  “How did this happen?” he asked her.

  She explained that Ashling had inveigled her into the hair and beauty salon and then Jazz had joined them for the shopping spree.

  Thank you, Ashling and Jazz, he said silently.

  “You may not be so happy when you see how much I spent,” she told him, tremulously.

  “I don’t care how much it cost. It’s been worth every penny,” he assured her, stroking her cheek.

  He was still gobsmacked. To think that she’d had the courage to go along with it! He was extremely proud of her.

  Felicity sighed with happiness. Tomorrow she would be travelling back to London feeling like a new woman and seeing her girls once again. She wondered what they would think of her new look.

  Brandon felt his world was tilting slightly out of kilter and he could do nothing about it. He hoped Taylor wasn’t smoking again. That first night with Marilyn, they went out to a local brasserie to eat. Any time Marilyn wanted a smoke, Taylor went outside with her, so he had his doubts.

  Since then the two women had been on the tear, arriving home late every night, completely out of it and high as kites. He’d never seen Taylor so drunk. It worried him. Although he didn’t love her any more, he was her husband and felt a responsibility for her. He’d thought that having Marilyn here would help her settle in Paris, now he felt it might not have been such a good idea after all.

  As if all that was not enough to worry him, something strange was going on with Jazz. He suspected it was something to do with Yves who was obviously very smitten with her.

  She’d arrived into the office that morning looking more businesslike than ever in her navy pinstripe suit and white shirt. Her hair was held tightly back in a comb, no curls escaping on her neck and forehead as had been the case for the past few days. The only thing that hadn’t changed was the four-inch killer heels. Something had happened! Brandon didn’t know what but he was as curious as hell. Jazz was an enigma. A fascinating woman, actually, and he would love to know what was going on in that head of hers. He guessed he never would as she was the ultimate professional again now. She was acting like the hard-nosed female banker he’d expected in the first place. Women! You never knew where the hell you stood with them!

  “Is everything okay?” he’d asked her for the umpteenth time.

  “Fine, fine,” she’d replied, but it was patently obvious that everything was not fine.

  Then at lunchtime she’d upped and left, saying she needed to take the rest of the day off. She was heading to Germany the following day so he wouldn’t see her again till Monday. Yves’s face, when he told him she was gone, was the picture of misery. Seeing his dejection at this news, Brandon was convinced that there was something going on between them. Was Jazz out of her mind? Surely she could see that Yves was a serial womaniser? Brandon shook his head. He could never understand how otherwise intelligent, bright women stopped using their brains where men were concerned.

  The only bright spot in his life at the moment was Chantal. He couldn’t wait to see her again. She had texted him to say that she was very excited about seeing him tonight. Not half as excited as he was, he bet.

  And the wait was worth it. She was as lovely as he remembered and they made love three times, each time better than the last. She was so adventurous that even he was surprised at some of the things she suggested. She was totally without inhibition or guile. She loved her body and she loved sex and it all seemed so natural.

  They didn’t talk very much – there was too much action going on – and he felt a bit of a cad. This wasn’t how he usually treated women. He was a gentleman and he thought that he should show her some appreciation.

  “Would you like to come out for a romantic dinner with me some evening?” he asked, as they lay perspiring after the last session of lovemaking.

  “Non, merci,” she replied, stroking his face. “You are kind, but I like better to make love with you than go eat. I eat wiz my friends.”

  She was unbelievable. He’d never met a woman yet who turned down the offer of a romantic dinner. This was a first. Well then, he decided, he’d buy her something nice to show his appreciation. She clung to him as they parted.

  “I can’t wait till next time. I text you,” she said, kissing him lightly. He shook his head. She was amazing and very beautiful. She was just what he needed in his life at this moment. He left, wondering what would face him when he got home. Two drunken women and the stench of cigarettes, probably!

  Yves was devastated. He couldn’t understand why Jazz had left for the weekend without talking to him. He was crazy about her. What a body! He got aroused just thinking of her. She was passionate and sensual – everything he wanted in a woman. He thought of her silky olive skin, her strong toned thighs and her soft heavy breasts and felt himself go crazy with desire for her. And underneath it all there was a smouldering intensity that he couldn’t quite fathom. She was the most exciting woman that he’d ever been with and he’d been with hundreds – so many hundreds he’d lost count decades ago.

  He’d been thrilled when she’d agreed to meet him and more than surprised when she’d gone meekly with him to the hotel. Her unbridled passion had taken him by surprise and the sex had been awesome. She had enjoyed it as much as he had.

  He had hoped to catch her alone this morning but Brandon was always there. Finally, after lunch, he went into their office determined to get her on her own, only to find that she’d left.

  “Where’s Jazz?” he asked Brandon, looking around as if she might step out from behind a cupboard at any moment.

  “She had to go home,” Brandon explained. “Women problems, I suppose.”

  “Well, I’ll see her tomorrow then,” said Yves, disappointment in his voice.

  “No, she won’t be in tomorrow. She’s going back to Germany for the weekend.”

  Yves couldn’t understand it. Was she avoiding him? He was furious with himself for not getting her mobile number from her. He wondered why she hadn’t contacted him. She’d gone very quiet at one point the night before. Was it something he’d said? He was trying to remember but for the life of him he couldn’t. Still, there was something niggling in his brain. There was something disturbing him that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

  25

  Ashling stopped by Corey’s table in Les Deux Magots, to say hello.

  “I missed you yesterday,” he said, his face lighting up at the sight of her. “Why don’t you join me for a quick coffee and tell me what exciting things you were doing.”

  She sat down, laughing, as Remy placed her coffee before her. He was delighted to see her too. She told Corey all about Felicity and the make-over and the shopping spree.

  “She was like a different woman completely by yesterday evening.”

  “You’re the Irish Mother Teresa,” he teased her.

  “Go way with you!” she smacked him playfully.

  “Is this the friend you go to museums with every week?”

  “Yes. Felicity is from London. Sadly, she won’t be able to come with me any more as she’s starting a cordon bleu course.” Ashling made a face. “It won’t be as much fun alone, I’m afraid.”

  “Hey, why don’t you let me come in her place?” he suggested, his eyes lighting up at the idea. “I spend far too much time in here and I haven’t seen anything of Paris. It will do me good. What do you say?”

  She hesitated, but then seeing his dazzling smile and his delight at the idea, she succumbed.

  “Why not? That would be great,” she replied. After all, what harm was there in it? They would only be going to museums. “Well, better get back to some work,” she said, leaving him to start into her novel again.

  “See you for lunch?” he asked.

  “Sure.”

  Over lunch – yet another salad! – Corey suddenly asked, “Is your marriage happy, Ashling?”

  “Oh, yes,” s
he replied. “Kieran is great but he’s a workaholic. I don’t see all that much of him.”

  Corey heard the catch in her voice. “What does he think about you writing a novel?”

  “Well . . . em . . . I haven’t actually told him yet,” she admitted.

  Corey said nothing but raised his eyebrows in surprise.

  “But, I will, I will . . . soon,” she added.

  Corey wondered why she hadn’t shared such an important part of her life with her husband. It didn’t sound like her marriage was as happy as she was making out. He was growing fonder of Ashling every day. She was so warm and open, without guile, and she had a bright intelligent mind. She was a beautiful woman in every way – inside and out. He loved her company. She brightened up his life and the days he didn’t see her seemed dull by comparison.

  Marilyn and Taylor were drinking in the Crillon bar when they spotted the guy who had sent them over the champagne in the George V, sitting at another table with a friend. He nodded and smiled at Marilyn and within minutes a bottle of Bollinger appeared with a note from him, asking if he and his friend could join them. Marilyn smiled sexily at him and told the waiter to tell him it would be her pleasure. He came to their table and introduced himself as Louis and his friend as Christophe. They were obviously very wealthy and wearing very expensive clothes and jewellery. One didn’t hang out in these hotels drinking Bollinger unless one had pots of money.

  This was the start of a riotous evening as they went on to dinner with the two men. Halfway through the evening Marilyn noticed that Taylor was flagging and beckoned her to follow her into the ladies’. Once inside she took a mirror and small packet of white powder out of her bag and poured the powder on the mirror. Taylor watched fascinated as her friend made two little lines and, through a small straw, expertly sniffed the powder up her nose.

  Marilyn then made two more lines and handing a straw to Taylor, instructed her to do the same.

  “I’ve never done this,” she said, shocked yet fascinated at the same time. “What is it?”

  “It’s only cocaine, the party drug, honey, and we’re sure havin’ a party. Go ahead – you’ll feel a million dollars after it. Where do you think I get my energy from? Nourishing foods?” She pealed with laughter.

  Taylor did as she was told and couldn’t believe the effect it had on her. She felt her head clear, her tiredness fall away and a rush of energy engulf her.

  “This is wonderful,” she exclaimed to an amused Marilyn.

  “It sure is, honey. Everyone who’s anyone takes it nowadays.”

  Rejoining the party, Taylor felt like she was walking on air. She felt witty and funny and for the first time in over twenty years, really sexy. Why hadn’t she done this before? She hadn’t been living at all. Well, all that was about to change!

  Much later they fell into a taxi, waving at Christophe and Louis who had Marilyn’s promise that she would call him.

  Taylor didn’t know how her friend managed it. Men flocked to her like bees around a honey-pot. It was her looks that attracted them at first but then her zest for life and the knack she had of making them feel special had them falling in love with her within ten minutes of meeting her. No man was safe when she was around. If the Pope was present, Marilyn would have tried to seduce him – well, maybe not the present one, he was a bit long in the tooth – but all men were fair game to her.

  Taylor knew that many people thought Marilyn was a nymphomaniac, or at best a sex-addict, but it wasn’t the sex her friend craved, it was the love and attention of men. She needed them to want her and it made her feel complete when they succumbed to her charms. Marilyn equated sex with love and affection and so she sought it constantly.

  Her mother had been an alcoholic and her very handsome father had abused her from the age of eleven. Even so, she had adored him and had confused his abuse with love. He’d been obsessed with his idol, Marilyn Monroe, and eventually left his wife and the fourteen-year-old Marilyn for another blonde Monroe lookalike. Ever since then Marilyn had modelled herself on the tragic star – same platinum hair, smile and flirtatious ways. She even had that same vulnerability that Monroe had had and this quality drew men to her just as they’d been drawn to the star. She lived in hope that her father would return and love her again.

  It was quite sad, Taylor thought, but at least it hadn’t stopped Marilyn enjoying life.

  26

  When Jazz arrived at the apartment in Frankfurt, Hans was so pleased to see her that she almost lost her nerve but gathering sher courage she did what she knew she had to do. He made coffee for them both and when they sat down she broke the news as gently as she could.

  “Hans, I’m really sorry but being away has given me the time to think and I think we should call it quits.”

  “Have you met someone else?”

  “Yes,” she said, miserably, not wanting to lie to him. She reached out for his hand.

  “Well, that’s it then,” he shrugged, pulling away from her and wrapping his hands around his coffee mug.

  “We’ll always be friends, I hope,” she said gently. “You can stay on here until I return from Paris. That’ll be no problem.”

  “Are you absolutely sure, Jazz? What if it doesn’t work out with this guy?”

  “Whether it does or not I’m afraid it’s over for us.”

  “I’ll miss you,” he said glumly. “I honestly hope you know what you’re doing.”

  She collected her things and, giving him a final hug, left for Munich. Driving along the autobahn, listening to Michael Bublé on the CD player, she knew she’d done the right thing finishing with Hans. It was time to move on.

  Felicity was ever so excited about seeing her two girls again. She and Max had travelled across on the ferry from Calais to Dover so that they could pick Pippa up from her school in Kent, on their way up to London. They were outside the school, ready and waiting along with a lot of other parents, when all hell broke loose and 500 teenage girls erupted from its halls, whooping at the thought of the long half-term break. Pippa was one of the first out, long blonde hair flying, socks falling down her ankles, tie askew. In former times Felicity would have tut-tutted disapprovingly about her young daughter’s state of dress but today she ignored all of this as she waited with growing excitement to hug her little girl.

  As Pippa hurtled towards her, Felicity held her arms out but the young girl stopped dead in her tracks. Staring at her mother, her mouth open and eyes startled, she said, “Mummy, is that really you?”

  “Yes, darling. Don’t you like it?” Felicity became very apprehensive.

  “Like it? I lovvve it. You look fantastic. Really cool!” She threw herself at Felicity who hugged her tightly.

  God, she’d really missed her girls. She felt tears come to her eyes but was determined not to cry. Pippa would be mortified!

  Max stood by beaming at them and then Pippa was hugging him too.

  “Gosh, I couldn’t wait for this weekend. I’ve really missed you both,” the young girl said as she slung her bag in the trunk of the car. “And I’m dying to see Alex too. Tell me all about Paris. Mummy, you look fabulous, truly . . .” And so it went, all the way to London, Max and Felicity laughing at their youngest daughter’s exuberance.

  Alex was waiting for them at the house having come down from Cambridge the night before. They were touched to see that she had put flowers in the rooms and had stocked the fridge with food. She even had a bottle of champagne chilling.

  She was equally amazed at the change in Felicity.

  “Mummy, you look ten years younger,” she said admiringly. “You look really chic.”

  Felicity smiled in delight at her daughter’s words. “Thank you, Alex,” she said. “I’ve really missed you and Pippa so much.”

  Max and her daughters stared at her in wonderment.

  “Mummy, you just called us Alex and Pippa,” Pippa said, stunned. All of their lives their mother had insisted on calling them Alexandra and Philippa, which they hat
ed.

  “Yes, well, it’s time I called you what you like to be called,” Felicity replied sheepishly.

  “You’ll be calling me Max next,” her husband said laughing.

  “And why not? If that’s what you want.”

  “This calls for champagne,” Max beamed, getting out the glasses.

  Pippa was thrilled to be allowed one glass – her first ever.

  “A toast,” Max said. “To my lovely, chic wife!”

  “Merci, Max,” she replied, as they all laughed. This made the bubbles go up Pippa’s nose and they laughed even harder.

  Felicity smiled at the three people she loved most in the world and thought how lucky she was.

  Her sister, Penny (no longer Penelope) came around that evening with her husband and another bottle of champagne was opened. There was a real party atmosphere as she told them all about Paris and the people she’d met there. They were amazed at the change in Felicity. When she told them that she was learning French and was starting a cordon bleu course in a week’s time, they all congratulated her.

  “I’m green with envy,” Penny said, sighing.

  “My God, Felicity, you went away a mouse and came back a lion,” Penny’s husband, Jeremy, who was nothing if not blunt, remarked.

  “Jeremy!” Penny exclaimed, glaring at him, afraid that he might have hurt her sister’s feelings.

  “It’s okay, Penny. He’s right,” Felicity smiled at him.

  “Probably because you’ve got out from Mother’s clutches,” Penny remarked grimly. “She’s very put out that you’re not going to see her while you’re home.”

  “That’s too bad,” Felicity said coolly. “I offered to go down tomorrow, but that doesn’t suit her.”

  Alex and Pippa exchanged relieved looks. They dreaded visiting their grandmother as much as Felicity did. She tried to put them down at every turn too and they hated how she demoralised their mother.

  “At last, she’s standing up to the old bag,” Alex whispered to her sister.

  Taylor was exhausted. She just couldn’t keep up with Marilyn. Where did the woman get her stamina? All the drinking and late nights were killing her and if it wasn’t for the little white powder that Marilyn shared with her, she would never have stuck the pace.