by Anita Notaro
Libby wasn’t so sure. ‘You don’t know him, Annie. He’s very proud. He won’t be easy.’
‘I do know him, a bit. He’s lovely. Anyway, I’ve been listening to nothing else for weeks now and my liver is shot because of him so I hope he’s good at his job because he’ll be wheeling me in for a transplant if you don’t sort this out soon. Now, when are you going?’
‘I’ll go on Friday afternoon.’ Libby knew Annie was right. She wanted him back. She’d been a fool. ‘What if he can’t talk?’
It was like dealing with a toddler. ‘Then you simply tell him you’ll go and have a coffee and wait for him. Or come back when he has a break. Bring a book with you. Now, they’ve just called me for a recording. I have to go and have sex with a barrister. So I suggest you toddle off and practise being sincere.’
Libby changed her clothes five times. This was excruciating.
She’d had her hair blow-dried and then tossed and her make-up done professionally. ‘Be subtle with the war paint,’ Annie had advised in her usual forthright manner.
Eventually, she settled on one of her old reliables, a black trouser suit that still fitted her. The jacket was long and unstructured, but it hung beautifully and she teamed it with a sexy little T-shirt, hoping she looked a bit funky and girly.
‘No jewellery’ – another warning from her new friend. ‘The ice on your fingers is enough to intimidate Ms Dynamite.’
It was almost five by the time she pulled into the car park. She’d have given anything for a very large G & T but knew this was not the time to breathe alcohol fumes all over him – if he even spoke to her, that is.
Her heart was thumping a beat that was strong enough to set Ladysmith Black Mambazo dancing but she kept going simply because she couldn’t face a build-up like this again. It was worse than anything that might happen later.
She nearly got caught in the swing doors, such was her attempt to appear nonchalant. The main reception was facing her but the walk was at least a mile and a half and she was convinced everyone was staring at her.
‘Hello, I’m looking for Andrew Harrington.’
The receptionist was hassled, with phones in both hands. ‘Second floor, take the lift over there and when you get out it’s the third door on the right.’
‘Thank you.’ Libby scarpered.
As she pushed through the swing doors, and took the third on the right as instructed, Libby prayed with a fervour she rarely used that he wouldn’t be here. The smell she would always associate with the night David had died invaded her nostrils and settled in her already queasy stomach.
It was a sort of waiting room, filled to capacity and noisy. Another reception desk loomed large on the horizon and she felt unsteady as she made her way there, with a hundred or so bored faces following her progress. She was sure she could spot him at the desk, wearing a white coat and stethoscope. His back was to her but she knew the back of that head from weeks of watching him gardening. She passed a man talking to a nurse and made a beeline for the counter before she threw up.
‘Libby?’ She was almost there when she heard her name and it took her a second to realize it was coming from the opposite direction to the desk. Oh God, please don’t let me meet anyone I know. She kept her eyes firmly on the back of the neck she was looking at and when she heard her name again she turned aggressively to rid herself of the intruder.
Swinging round, she came face to face with him. Blankly she looked at the tall man she’d just passed, and was about to give him one of the special yeses she reserved for irritating fans when she realized it was Andrew. But not her Andrew. This one was still tall, still tanned, still had the same probing eyes but his hair wasn’t tousled and he’d borrowed someone else’s clothes. He looked sophisticated. Aloof. Different.
‘What are you doing here?’ He was surprised. The voice convinced her, yet still she looked around, afraid that someone was playing a trick on her. Where was the white coat?
‘Hi.’
‘Hi.’
The nurse was looking at her in an ‘I’ve seen you somewhere before’ way. Libby swallowed and licked her lips.
‘How are you?’
‘Fine. You?’
‘Great. I, eh, came to see you, actually.’ She laughed nervously. ‘But I can see you’re busy so I’ll, em, ring you later.’ Her eyebrows felt as if they were somewhere up around her hairline.
‘No, it’s fine. I’m just finished here.’ He looked at the nurse. ‘Could I talk to you about that again in the morning?’
‘Sure.’ She treated him to her brightest smile, then turned to Libby.
‘You’re Libby Marlowe.’
‘Yes, I am.’ Libby’s smile begged her to go away.
‘I love your shows. I’ve taped every one of them.’
‘Thank you.’ She just couldn’t be polite any more so she turned away from the fawning young woman. ‘Are you sure it’s not a bad time?’ she asked Andrew.
‘No, it’s fine. Thanks, Lorna. See you tomorrow.’ He took Libby’s arm and led her towards the door. ‘Would you like a cup of coffee?’
‘Yes, please.’ Anything just to sit down quietly and talk to him and look at him properly. And not pretend.
He held open a door and as she walked through it the heat and the noise hit them both instantly.
‘Feels like that restaurant all over again.’ It was a feeble attempt to remind him that they’d once been close.
‘On second thoughts, maybe a bit of fresh air would be better. There are lots of quiet places in the grounds. Would that be OK with you?’
She nodded and they walked towards the lift. It was full. Libby stood close to him and struggled to smell his normal, outdoorsy scent amidst the antiseptic.
He led her out a back door and over to a quiet corner where a bench nestled among the shrubbery. He waited for her to sit down, then sat beside her and slid his arm along the cold wrought iron. For a second Libby thought he was going to touch her and she had to stop herself sliding her arms around his neck. All her old longings returned, except now that she knew what he felt like to hold, the cravings were multiplied a thousand times.
‘How have you been?’ He was staring at her.
‘Fine. You?’
‘OK, I guess. How did you find me?’
‘Mrs O’Connell knew all the details. I wasn’t expecting to see you like . . . you look different.’ It was the understatement of the year. He was wearing a dark grey suit that looked as if it was hand made. Armani, she suspected. A snow-white shirt deepened his tan and a gorgeous pale grey Hermès tie completed the look. Even his shoes must have cost a gardener’s week’s wages.
‘I suppose I do. Still, I think I’d rather be in my jeans. Same person inside no matter what you dress them in, eh?’
‘You’re back working full time here?’ He was staring again and it made her heart somersault, now that she’d recovered enough to really take him in.
‘For the moment,’ he said.
‘I just . . . wasn’t expecting you to be so . . .’
‘So what?’
She wanted to say gorgeous or glamorous. ‘Clean’ was what came out, and he laughed.
‘I scrub up well. Still, you’ve seen me clean before.’ They were both remembering.
‘What do you do?’
‘I’m a surgeon.’
‘Oh. In what area?’
‘Cardiothoracic.’
‘Sounds more like a plant. What does it mean?’
‘Heart, lungs . . .’
‘So what exactly was a heart surgeon doing working as a handyman in my garden, earning a pittance?’ She felt even more of a fool now for thinking he’d sell their story. He was probably worth much more than she’d ever been.
‘As I think I told you, I took a year out. I’ve never been sure this was what I wanted to do. I’m not very happy cooped up indoors for hours on end, and being surrounded by people who are very ill can be difficult. Also, it’s a hell of a lot of pressure sometimes.’
‘So how did you end up here?’
‘My father. Did I tell you that already?’
‘Your father’s a doctor?’
He nodded wryly. ‘A cardiologist. He’s a hard act to follow.’
‘So why did you?’
‘I resisted for a long time.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me all this when we met?’
He shrugged. ‘I was going to, eventually. I hadn’t really sorted out my job in my own head, I suppose. I’m getting a bit old to be still deciding on a career, aren’t I?’ He gave the half-smile she knew so well. ‘Actually, I was all set to tell you the whole story on that famous morning after the night before. But things took a different turn.’ His smile changed and he looked far away for a moment. ‘When I met you I was just a gardener, and you know something? I liked it that way. What was amazing during the last year was how differently people treated me when I was nobody. Maybe it’s crazy, but I expect people to take me as they find me. Too much bullshit otherwise.’
‘You were never just a gardener.’
‘Deep down that’s exactly what I am. But after a year out I came back. I’m still not sure why. Maybe I don’t have the courage. Maybe deep down I like the profile that goes with this job. Pretty sad, eh, if that’s the case?’ Libby didn’t believe for a second that it was.
‘All I know is that I’ve met more rich people in my life that I wouldn’t spend a minute more than I have to with. Yet here I am, and my heart is elsewhere. I just don’t know if I’ll ever follow it.’
‘You should.’
‘Would you have treated me differently if you’d met me here, like today?’
‘Probably not.’ But they both knew she wasn’t telling the truth.
‘I don’t think you’d have been as quick to judge me.’ It wasn’t nasty, it was nicely said and it made her more ashamed.
As they sat in silence Libby wanted to break down and tell him everything but couldn’t find the courage. ‘I shouldn’t have said what I said that morning,’ she began.
He shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter any more.’ He looked straight into her eyes. ‘But it mattered a great deal at the time. You should have trusted me. You knew me well enough. But because you thought I didn’t have any money you assumed I might be desperate enough to sell you off to the highest bidder.’
That was the moment, she knew later, when she should have thrown herself at his feet and begged for forgiveness. But she didn’t know how to, wasn’t used to it, so she handled it in the only way she could. She backpedalled. ‘No, you’re wrong. It’s just that I have to be careful. The media would have a field day . . . I know now, though . . .’
He shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Can’t we try again?’ She had to ask. And he’d probably never know how much it cost her to say those words. Now that it was probably too late she knew that maybe he was her one chance of salvation. He was honest and open and real and that was what had been missing in her past life. It was so easy once you recognized it. Even her beloved David had been a performer for a lot of his life.
She looked at him. He wasn’t smiling.
‘Please?’
‘I’m sorry, but I think I’m going to have to pass on that one, Libby.’ When he used her name it felt like a caress, but his next words felt more like a whip. He didn’t take his eyes from her face and he was gentle. ‘I suppose I’m not sure . . . at least I don’t know if . . .’ It was his turn to be lost for words and she could see him struggle. He sighed and it was long and painful. ‘I suppose I think we missed our moment.’
Chapter Fifty-Three
‘AND WHAT HAPPENED next?’ Annie drew in her breath.
‘Nothing, really. There wasn’t anything else to say.’ They were sitting in Libby’s kitchen, their favourite haunt these days. ‘I just wanted to get away. I stood up and he walked with me to my car. And he guided me out of the parking space, even though it was a mile wide.’ She laughed. ‘He was probably afraid I’d burst into tears and crash and he’d be stuck with me.’
‘And he’s really a doctor?’
‘A cardiothoracic surgeon.’ She looked lonely. ‘God, you should have seen him. He made David Beckham seem like a wimp.’
‘I think I feel a heart problem coming on.’ Annie was trying to cheer her friend up. ‘Shame I don’t have private medical cover or I could book myself in there for a week.’
‘Oh Annie, what am I going to do?’ It was the million-dollar question and there was no answer that didn’t involve a lot of heartache.
‘I don’t think there’s much you can do, really, although I know that’s not what you want to hear.’ Annie was gentle. ‘All you can do is hope that when he thinks about things he’ll want to give it another chance too.’
‘I just wish I’d really pleaded with him.’ She looked at Annie. ‘Does that sound demented?’ The younger woman shook her head.
‘I’m so afraid of looking stupid sometimes, that I skirt around saying outright that I was totally and utterly wrong. I think he saw through me today and that’s what decided him.’
‘Well, he’s the loser. Just because you’re vulnerable where the tabloids are concerned.’
‘No, it’s not that. I suppose I’ve always seen myself as a bit superior underneath it all. How tragic is that? He doesn’t judge a person by what they are on the outside. I thought he was just a gardener and that he might need the money. I totally blew it. Does that all make sense?’
‘Yes, in a way. But you’re not like that, really – look at how you trusted me enough to invite me into your home so soon after we’d met.’
Libby looked at her friend and hoped she wouldn’t lose her by what she said next. But she reckoned she had to start somewhere. ‘The truth is, I think I did look down my nose at you a bit at the start. I was standoffish, don’t you remember? And the funny thing is that now I can’t imagine not having you in my life. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had and I hope what I said doesn’t send you packing.’
‘I’m not going anywhere.’
‘Thanks.’
Several big hugs later Annie came up with a plan. ‘I think you need to get out of this house. Get settled. Start again. When do you have to be out of here?’
‘I haven’t confirmed it but they’d want me out tomorrow, if they could have their way. I guess I’ll have to rent. You’re right. I need to stop feeling sorry for myself and move on.’ She looked like a child. ‘I think I fell a little bit in love with him though, and that’s what hurts the most. Especially as I never thought I’d feel that way about anyone after David.’
‘It will happen again, so.’ They were each lost in their own thoughts. ‘So, what’s the first thing on your new agenda?’
‘See that little cottage I told you about tomorrow. I’ve an appointment at eleven.’
‘OK, will you come to my house for breakfast? Tea and white rubber toast is all I’m promising, though. Then I’ll come with you.’
‘Thanks.’
Next morning, after a lazy breakfast they arrived at the cottage near Dalkey. They had approached it via a tiny road off the main street. It was one of just four identical cottages although the owners had treated them differently on the outside. They were detached and one was whitewashed, two had the original brick exposed and the one they’d come to see was painted pale pink. It was just two windows and a door but they were the genuine Victorian article and the white facia boards under the eaves added to the charm. It had a small front garden, with a pretty little gate and room to park one car at the side of the house, accessed through a separate, wider entrance.
‘This was done recently, obviously,’ Annie said.
‘Yes but they’ve done it well, the gate is a copy of the original front gate and they’ve used the same stone that’s on the little path.’
It was neglected. The windows were dirty and the plastic windowboxes empty. A once healthy rambling rose hadn’t been pruned in years and was now a leggy, spraw
ling mess without a single flower. Annie didn’t like it, Libby could tell, but she saw its potential.
‘It seems like a lot of money for what you’re getting.’ Annie was flicking through the brochure.
‘I know. It’s all about location.’
‘Can you afford it?’
‘Yes. Alex O’Meara has done the sums.’
The auctioneer greeted them at the door. Libby had used her married name so as not to attract unnecessary attention.
‘Good morning. I’m Vince Jones. I hope you won’t be put off but I’m afraid the vendor has decided to stay put.’
‘That’s fine, as long as we can look around freely.’
‘Of course. Come in.’
The hall was quirky but still had the original wood panelling, unusual in a house this size. The wall facing them was ugly, as if it had been boarded up. There was a living room with original beams and a surprisingly big stone fireplace. The kitchen and dining room had been knocked into one room with a big, old, rectangular table at one end and gorgeous french doors leading to the garden. The kitchen part was a disaster: someone had tried to modernize it and had failed miserably. ‘This makes my kitchen look like a show house,’ Annie whispered, running her hands over the cracked brown sink.
‘But look, it even has a pantry.’ Libby was intrigued.
‘That’s not a pantry, it’s a wardrobe,’ Annie laughed, turning up her nose.
‘No, look, it’s stone with the original wooden shelves. It’s lovely and cold – and imagine a granite work surface in here. Could be great.’
‘I don’t believe you, I’ve seen nicer dustbins.’
‘Come on, let’s look upstairs.’ Libby dragged her friend by the arm.
There was one decent room, with a small fireplace and two good windows. ‘My God, you can see the sea. Just what I’ve always wanted.’
‘You’ll be able to feel the sea too, I’d say. The gaps in these windows are bigger than the fillings in my teeth.’
The other two rooms were small. ‘But that’s all I need. One could be a study, this one, because it overlooks the garden. And this could be a spare bedroom.’ Libby was beaming. ‘For when you come to stay.’