City Woman

by Patricia Scanlan

  To her surprise, she enjoyed every mouthful of her lunch, as, she was pleased to note, did her mother. They laughed and chatted among themselves, ignoring the covert glances in their direction.

  ‘The jungle drums will be working overtime,’ observed Lydia with a smile.

  ‘Wait until they read the Chronicle tomorrow,’ Devlin said wickedly, as Luke paid the bill.

  Luke leaned across the table and gave her hand a squeeze. ‘Lucinda and Co, eat your hearts out!’

  ‘Speak of the devil!’ Lydia murmured, and Devlin turned to see Lucinda Marshall swanning through the restaurant in the direction of a well-known TV presenter, who was seated down near the big window at the end of the room. Lucinda was quite aware she was the focus of attention and, graciously accepting it as her due, nodded regally at people. When she saw Devlin, Lydia and Luke her step faltered, and her eyes widened in disbelief. A burgundy flush suffused her heavily made-up face as she encountered the stares of three pairs of contemptuous eyes. Thoroughly flustered, Lucinda stood for a moment as though rooted to the spot, before scuttling past their table.

  Devlin smiled at Lydia. ‘Thoroughly rattled, wouldn’t you say? I think lunch has been a great success.’

  ‘I think so too. I hope we’ve put her off hers,’ Lydia replied tartly. ‘Perhaps I should sent a bottle of champagne over to her table!’

  ‘Lydia, she couldn’t look you in the eye. I’m pretty sure she can’t look herself in the eye. Forget her; she’s trash,’ Luke said crisply, but his eyes were kind as he met Lydia’s distressed gaze and Devlin could have kissed him there and then for the understanding he had shown towards her mother.

  He stood up and pulled out their chairs. ‘Come on, girls. I can’t have you slacking here for the afternoon. It’s back to the grindstone for you pair, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I don’t feel like going back to work.’ Devlin made a face. ‘I’m not used to eating huge lunches in the middle of the day.’ Normally when she was out to lunch in the middle of the day she would skip the starter and dessert. Today she’d eaten everything. To tell the truth, after all the goings-on Devlin was beginning to feel a bit wilted.

  ‘I don’t really feel like going back to work either,’ Lydia said, a trifle glumly.

  ‘This is great!’ said Luke in mock-dismay. ‘What do you ladies want to do, then?’

  ‘I think I’d like to go to the pictures,’ Devlin mused. ‘There’s something terribly decadent about going to the pictures in the afternoon, especially on a Friday afternoon.’

  Lydia laughed. ‘Good Lord, it’s years since I’ve been to the pictures. Why don’t you go with Luke,’ she suggested to Devlin, ‘and you’ll have a nice afternoon to yourselves?’

  ‘If one plays hookey, we all play hookey,’ Luke said firmly. ‘What film would you workaholic lady executives like to go to?’

  Devlin giggled. She was beginning to perk up again. ‘Come on, let’s go out to the Omniplex in Santry and then we can have a stroll around the Omni Centre. You’ve never been out there, Mum. It’s very nice. There are good boutiques and I saw some lovely porcelain soap dishes and pot-pourri holders out there in one of the kiosks in the main mall. I thought they might be nice for Special Occasions.’

  ‘And if you behave yourself at the pictures, you can have popcorn and an ice-cream!’ added Luke.

  ‘You pair are a bad influence on me.’ Lydia laughed, suddenly feeling quite lighthearted. ‘But I’d love to go to the pictures with you.’

  ‘Let’s buy a paper and find out what’s on.’ Devlin linked her mother’s arm and without a backward glance at Lucinda they left the restaurant.

  Mick Coyle’s pudgy little fingers tightened their grip on the phone as he digested the information being imparted to him.

  ‘She did what?’ he bellowed, his red nose going atomic.

  ‘Oh, happy day,’ sang his secretary to herself. She had heard the Chronicle’s advertisement for Devlin’s own story on her Walkman at lunchtime and had been awaiting Mick’s reaction to the inevitable phone call once the news got around.

  ‘The little bitch!’ he swore. ‘The two-faced little bitch!’

  ‘Good on you, Devlin,’ the secretary murmured as she bent her head diligently over her typewriter. Moments like this made the rest of her days of drudgery bearable.

  ‘Thank you, Luke, for giving Mum and me such a lovely afternoon.’ Devlin snuggled in close as they sat in front of the fire watching the Late Late Show. They had thoroughly enjoyed the movie, having the cinema practically to themselves. Then they had strolled around the shopping centre before heading into Bewleys for mugs of milky coffee and cream slices.

  ‘Your mother really enjoyed the film, didn’t she? I wasn’t sure if it would be her scene.’

  ‘Mum’s a different person,’ Devlin said thoughtfully. ‘She’s learning how to enjoy herself again; she’s not half as uptight as she used to be. It’s really good to see.’

  Luke smiled down at her. ‘I’ll tell you what’s good to see. Watching the two of you together is nice. I saw Lydia looking at you a few times when you didn’t notice it. She loves you very much, Devlin.’

  ‘I know, and I love her,’ Devlin said with a smile. ‘This whole thing is much harder on her than it is on me. I wish she didn’t have to go through it.’

  ‘It will soon be all over. You both got through today with flying colours. I bet that Marshall woman is still shellshocked at seeing you in the restaurant.’

  ‘To think that I had the nerve to show my face in public – and in The Commons of all places. Boy, she nearly choked, didn’t she? I wonder how she’s feeling about my interview with the Chronicle,’ Devlin said with satisfaction.

  ‘Sick as a parrot, I’d say,’ Luke laughed, and then he bent his head and kissed her.

  The Delaney women had class, Lucinda had to admit. When she saw them in The Commons, she nearly died. Who would have thought they would have had the nerve to appear in so public a place with advertisements being broadcast on the hour on the radio telling everybody who cared to listen all about Devlin’s colourful past.

  Devlin had sure as hell outfoxed them, though. Doing the interview with the Chronicle was an ace move. Lucinda had been sure she would have handled it through her solicitors and had relished the idea of a legal battle and all its attendant publicity. But Devlin had gone for the jugular, scuppered the Echo’s scoop, and was obviously prepared to brazen it out. It was a wonder Mick Coyle wasn’t in a coronary care unit. He was sizzling with temper. Kevin Shannon had resigned when he had found out that his in-depth business report on City Girl and its glamorous MD was only a cover for an exposé. Idiot! He’d soon learn that sticking to your principles could be a costly business.

  That Luke Reilly guy Devlin was involved with was a fine thing, Lucinda mused, as she typed up an article on ‘Sexy Men and Where to Find Them’. She had watched them laughing and chatting in the restaurant and it was clear that he was crazy about Devlin, and so protective. The filthy look he had given her had turned her blood cold, even though she had been the recipient of many a filthy look in her career. Lucky old Devlin, she thought glumly. She had it all to live for. What did Lucinda have? A quiet gentle man who had no spark left. And if she wanted to live the life of comfort that she had grown accustomed to, it meant more and more sensational exposés and juicy gossip stories. The competition out there was cutthroat and orders had come down from on high that the gloves were off in the circulation battle.

  If she was to keep her position as queen of the gossip columnists, she was going to have to fight for it. Right now, with the memory of the disdainful stares she had been subjected to by Lydia, Devlin and Luke, it was a wearisome and depressing thought. She was getting too old for all that, Lucinda thought dispiritedly. Today she had completely lost her poise, something that had never happened to her before. It had been a thoroughly unsettling experience.

  ‘You should have seen that Marshall woman’s face,’ Lydia said to her husband as they s
ipped their hot chocolate before retiring. ‘She nearly died. She’ll rue the day she was so disgustingly cheap and underhand.’

  Gerry gave his wife a warm hug. ‘I’m glad you went to lunch with Luke and Devlin. I think Devlin’s handling the whole affair superbly.’

  ‘I’ll tell you one thing, Gerry,’ Lydia said seriously. ‘It lifts my heart to see Devlin so happy with Luke. He’s the best thing that ever happened to her and if anyone deserves a good man, she does. And I know the blessing it is to have a wonderful husband, even if I did realize it far too late in my life.’ Lydia leaned across the kitchen table and kissed her husband on the cheek.

  ‘If they’re as happy and contented in thirty years’ time as we are now, Lydia, they’ll be doing very well for themselves,’ said Gerry, smiling lovingly at his wife.

  ‘Congratulations, Devlin. More power to you.’ Trish Duncan, the well-known media consultant, held out her hand to Devlin, as she stood with Luke and her parents the following evening, sipping a drink in the Horseshoe Bar prior to dining in Guilbauds.

  ‘Thanks, Trish,’ Devlin replied warmly, returning the firm handshake. Her interview had appeared in the Chronicle and Sally had kept to the letter of their conversation. All day she had been receiving phone calls of congratulations and bouquets of flowers from people who wished her well. The warmth of the good wishes expressed by friends and acquaintances had taken her very much by surprise.

  As usual, the Horseshoe was packed with movers and shakers and Devlin and the others were quite glad to leave to make the short journey to the plush restaurant. It was nice to sit and linger over their meal, relaxed in one another’s company. Devlin was very happy that her parents liked and admired Luke. Later, she and Luke drove Lydia and Gerry home and stayed to have coffee with them. It was well after midnight when they left to go to Devlin’s apartment, and as they drove back over towards the northside, Devlin asked Luke if he would drive up O’Connell Street so she could get the Sunday papers from the vendor on O’Connell Bridge.

  ‘Are you sure you want to do this, Devlin?’ Luke was not keen on the idea. ‘I really don’t think you should even consider reading that trash.’

  ‘I have to read it, Luke,’ Devlin said grimly. ‘I’d prefer to know what’s in it.’

  ‘What’s the point in tormenting yourself?’ he argued.

  ‘Luke, I want to read it and that’s all there is about it,’ Devlin snapped.

  ‘Fine,’ he said curtly, and headed for O’Connell Street. They sat in strained silence. Reaching O’Connell Bridge, Luke slowed the car to a halt and bought a selection of papers, including the Sunday Echo. ‘There!’ He thrust them at her and started the ignition.

  A lump rose in Devlin’s throat. Her emotions were very near the surface after the strain of the previous forty-eight hours, and she felt terribly tired.

  ‘Don’t be mad at me, Luke,’ she pleaded.

  ‘I’m not mad at you, Devlin,’ he sighed. ‘I’m just trying to prevent you from getting hurt.’

  ‘I have to read it,’ she said. He said nothing, but a little later pulled the car in on the quay just below Butt Bridge and switched on the interior light. A silver crescent moon dappled the waters of the Liffey, which shimmered like silk as they lapped the quay walls. There was a high tide and the cream-and-black Guinness boats, long a feature of the river, undulated gracefully on the inky waters.

  ‘I love the Guinness Boats,’ Devlin commented. Now that the car was stationary, she was strangely reluctant to read the dreaded article.

  ‘I knew a lad who worked on them,’ said Luke, who was once a sailor himself and felt solidarity with all things nautical. ‘We kept in touch. He went deep sea and he’s going to miss his daughter’s Holy Communion this May. I couldn’t cope with that. That’s one of the reasons I swallowed the anchor.’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘Swallowed the anchor. It’s a sailor’s saying for when you get a job ashore,’ Luke explained with a smile. ‘It’s very hard to have a relationship or be married when you’re at sea.’

  ‘I’m glad you’re not at sea,’ Devlin said quietly. Then she picked up the Sunday Echo, saw the picture of herself emblazoned across the top and turned to the page of the interview. Silently, she read the scurrilous columns. One sentence jumped out at her. ‘Although the death of her baby daughter was very tragic, some good came of it, for it was with the massive insurance settlement that she received that Devlin was able to set up the hugely successful City Girl Health and Leisure Complex.’ Her face whitened and she gave a little gasp. Wordlessly she handed the article to Luke. He read it, his face growing hard and grim. Leaning across her, he opened her door.

  ‘Get out of the car, Devlin,’ he said gently. Mystified, she stared at him. ‘Come on, get out. I want you to do something.’

  Slowly she did as he asked her, shivering as the chill north wind penetrated her coat and dress. Luke got out and she joined him by the quay wall. He handed her back the paper. ‘Now,’ he said. ‘Throw this garbage in the river and say: “From this moment in my life I will never look back. I will live my life to the full in my present and I will look forward to my future with hope and anticipation.” ’

  ‘Oh Luke!’ She was so touched she could barely speak.

  He took her hand. ‘Throw it and say the words with me.’

  Holding his hand tightly, she flung the paper into the Liffey and spoke the words with his encouragement. Hand in hand they stood in the moonlight and watched her past floating, slowly at first and then faster and faster as it swirled in the current until it disappeared out of sight down the winding river towards the great open sea.

  ‘I really enjoyed that walk.’ Devlin shook the sand off her runners before opening the door to the foyer of the apartment. She and Luke had had a lazy day. They had stayed in bed until midday and then he had cooked her a tasty brunch, after which they had sat curled up in front of the fire reading the papers. Around four, Luke had suggested a walk on Bull Island. It was a wild day and they had had to put their heads down and battle against the elements. The wind whipped the waves up to a fury and the spray lashed them as they trudged along the seashore. Devlin’s ears, nose and cheeks were numb with cold but she didn’t care. She loved the wind blowing through her hair and the invigorating rush of blood to her cheeks as the salty, tangy wind cleared the cobwebs from her mind.

  She had her memories of Lynn. She had her career, she had her health, two loving parents, Caroline and Maggie and the joy of her life, Luke. She was lucky and she knew it.

  She tucked her arm into Luke’s. ‘Come on, let’s open a bottle of champagne and have a bath to warm us up and a night all to ourselves.’

  ‘You wicked wanton woman,’ he laughed.

  ‘Is that a yes?’ she twinkled.

  ‘That’s a very definite yes.’ Luke’s eyes were warm and loving as he held the door of the lift open for her. He kissed her soundly as the elevator glided up to the penthouse.

  ‘I’d better check my messages,’ she murmured, as she noticed the red light on her answering machine flashing insistently.

  ‘I’ll run the bath and pour the champagne.’ Luke brushed his lips along the nape of her neck, sending delicious tingles of desire up and down her spine.

  ‘Hmmmm,’ she murmured appreciatively, pressing the button on the machine.

  ‘Devlin,’ came her dad’s voice, sounding strangely tense and harassed. ‘I’m ringing from St Vincent’s Hospital. It’s your mother; she’s taken an overdose. Will you come as quickly as you can?’

  Fifty-Two

  ‘Why did she do it?’ Devlin was distraught. Gerry’s eyes flooded with tears and she flung her arms around him. ‘It’s all right, Dad, she’s going to be all right. Thank God you found her in time.’

  ‘Poor, poor Lydia.’ Gerry wiped his eyes. ‘If I could get my hands on those bitches . . .’

  Devlin was instantly alert. ‘What bitches?’

  ‘Oh, you know, Angeline Callahan and Jane Kelleher;
they’re on the committee to raise funds for that new unit in that maternity hospital where Colin Cantrell-King works. They had the nerve to call over this afternoon and demand Lydia’s resignation from the committee. The cheek of them. Lydia has raised more money for that unit than the whole bloody lot of them put together.’ Gerry, usually an even-tempered man, was beside himself with anger and hurt for his wife.

  ‘This is all my fault.’ Devlin was close to tears. Lydia had taken an overdose because of her and her past. She was swamped by a mixture of guilt, fear and terrible anger at the self-righteous society ladies who had humiliated her mother.

  ‘It’s not your fault, Devlin. It’s those bastards who set you up.’ Gerry held his weeping daughter in his arms as Luke stood in front of them, shielding them from view in the busy hospital corridor.

  ‘Why don’t we go and have coffee?’ he suggested. ‘Didn’t you say, Gerry, that they were keeping Lydia under observation and that you wouldn’t be allowed to see her for a while?’

  ‘That’s right, Luke. They’ve pumped her stomach but they want to keep an eye on her blood-pressure. It’s gone sky-high. She won’t be brought up to the ward just yet.’

  ‘I’ll go and get us some coffee, then. Why don’t you go and sit down and try and relax?’ Luke said kindly, as concerned for Gerry as he was for Devlin.

  ‘Yes, we’ll do that,’ Gerry agreed, relieved to let Luke take charge. ‘He’s one sound man,’ Gerry said to Devlin as they walked down the corridor to the TV room.

  ‘He’s kept me sane this weekend, that’s for sure,’ Devlin said shakily. ‘Poor Mum! I’ve ruined everything for her,’ she sighed.

  ‘Devlin, if that’s the kind of unchristian, uncharitable women they are, Lydia’s better off without them and their bloody committee. I think she really didn’t want to kill herself. I was in the lounge watching the sports highlights when I heard an awful thump and I found her collapsed half-way down the stairs with the tablet container in her hand. She was coming down to tell me she had taken the tablets: I know she was.’ Gerry was insistent. ‘You know your mother: she goes off at half-cock sometimes.’