‘Mark, there really is no need for you to phone me to tell me of your and Nikki’s social diary. It’s of supreme indifference to me, I can assure you.’
Mark could hear the contempt in his wife’s voice. He felt his anger rise. He was trying to do his best, for heaven’s sake. ‘Look, I just wanted, out of politeness, to let you know that we were going, that’s all, Francesca. I didn’t want you to be embarrassed.’
‘Mark, rest assured I won’t be the slightest bit embarrassed meeting you and your new woman in public, if that’s what you think. Why should I be embarrassed?’ she added pointedly. ‘Believe me, what you do with your life and with whom are no concern of mine any more. Is there anything else?’
‘No, not really.’ Mark sighed. ‘How’s Owen? When’s he heading off?’
‘He’s fine. He’s going soon.’ Francesca kept the information to a bare minimum. He wondered why he bothered. He tried once more.
‘Are you going to go to Karen’s bash?’
‘That’s none of your business. Goodbye,’ she said curtly and hung up.
Mark stared at the phone and shook his head. Francesca had not shown a scintilla of forgiveness since they’d parted. If anything she was even more condemning. Well, fuck her, Nikki was right. They were a couple now and if Francesca didn’t like it she could lump it. Mark opened the Bergmann file on his desk. He needed to keep on top of things. One of his colleagues had been sidelined recently to make way for a new up-and-coming hot shot; Mark was determined that wasn’t going to happen to him. He buzzed the intercom for his secretary. Rhona was youthful and fresh, in her early twenties. She made him feel ancient.
Her eager, Dart-accented voice answered immediately. ‘Yaas, Mark?’ He disliked the unmistakable southside cadence that was all over the airwaves these days.
‘Get me a coffee, Rhona, please, and you didn’t have the FT on my desk this morning. That’s twice this week it hasn’t been here, please don’t let it happen again,’ he said crossly.
‘They were all gone,’ Rhona said plaintively.
‘Well, Rhona, just make sure that you get in in time to get my copy in future,’ he retorted and clicked off.
How he missed Jenny. She’d always had all the papers for him and fresh coffee percolating and she’d known his humours as well as Francesca had. She’d known his job inside out, and always had her finger on the pulse. Poor Rhona was still only finding her feet, although she was quick, he had to give her that. Maybe he’d been a bit crusty. It wasn’t fair to take his bad humour over Nikki and Francesca out on her.
‘Sorry I barked,’ he apologized when she arrived with his coffee five minutes later. ‘Bit of a headache,’ he lied.
‘That’s OK. I can get you some Panadol if you want.’ Her helpfulness made him feel like a heel.
‘No, no, I’m fine,’ he said hastily. ‘Just get me Anton Chagall in the Paris office, will you? And book my flight to Brussels for next Tuesday.’ He smiled at her and was relieved when she smiled back. He didn’t want his new secretary thinking he was difficult to work for.
‘Yaas, Mark, I’ll take care of that straight away,’ Rhona said smoothly.
Why couldn’t she say ‘yes’ instead of ‘yaas’. It drove him nuts, he thought irritably as he watched her leave. Women were the bane of his life, he decided as he reluctantly directed his gaze at the sheaf of figures in front of him.
His mobile phone rang and his heart sank as he saw his father’s number come up. Gerald was being such a pain lately. He’d had a bad dose of indigestion and been convinced he was having a heart attack or angina. Mark had had to go over to him in the middle of the night and take him into Casualty. After a wait of six hours he’d been told to lose weight and sent home with a note for his own doctor.
It was only since he’d split with Francesca that Mark had realized just how demanding his father was. His wife had shouldered a lot of that burden and he’d taken it for granted, he acknowledged with a moment of remorse. The phone went into divert. No doubt there’d be a testy message for him. He’d listen to it later. It had been a bad morning so far; Gerald would only make him feel worse.
Francesca swallowed hard and her stomach clenched into knots as she hung up the phone. She was red-faced with fury. She shook her head at her reflection in the mirror over the hall table. ‘What a cheek,’ she raged. ‘Arrogant, smug bastard!’ Just where did Mark Kirwan get off, ringing her to tell her he was taking his fancy piece to Karen Marshall’s annual bash? Why did he still think that she’d care? Did he think that she was sitting at home pining after him? He’d always had a big ego and this was pure proof of it.
A thought struck her. She hadn’t received an invitation to the party. Karen had sent an invitation to Mark and Nikki and left her out. Tears sprang to her eyes as darts of hurt assaulted her. Karen Marshall had been one of the few to phone on hearing of the break-up, and offer kind words and solace. Obviously the donation from EuroBank Irl. was more important than friendship. Francesca felt betrayed. She’d known Karen for five years and had held coffee mornings for her various charities. She and Mark had moved in the same social scene as Karen and her husband Dennis, a client at EuroBank. They’d gone to the theatre and opera occasionally as couples. They weren’t bosom buddies, Francesca acknowledged bitterly, but she’d expected more from Karen.
She went into the kitchen, switched on the kettle and stood looking out of the window. The tree peony was in full bloom in the flower bed nearest the house. Mark had bought it for Valentine’s Day two years ago and she’d been thrilled. The rich reddish-pink blossoms were enormous, opening up to the sun. She felt like going out and pulling every single bloom off and mashing them into the ground. She hated him and every reminder of him.
Just when she’d be getting on some sort of an even keel after the break-up Mark would go and pull a stunt like this. He did it all the time. It grieved her to think of him and that woman swanning into Karen’s party, while she’d been deleted from the scene as though she’d never existed. How come he was having such a wonderful life and she was as miserable as hell? Where was the justice in that? She made herself a cup of coffee and buttered several thick slices of Vienna roll and ate them smothered in blackberry jam. An hour later she parked the car at Clontarf Dart station and hurried to get a ticket, afraid a train would thunder into the station before she got upstairs to the platform. She need not have worried, the monitor told her there wasn’t one due for another eight minutes, so she sat on the hard green metal bench and turned her face up to the sun. It was a warm, balmy day. She regretted wearing her black trouser suit. Francesca contemplated taking off the jacket, but the top she was wearing underneath was sleeveless and didn’t cover her ass and she was far too conscious of her weight gain to reveal her unwelcome pounds.
She was meeting Owen for lunch and she wanted to buy some gifts for him to take to Jonathan in America. She frowned, thinking of Mark’s enquiries about Owen. Her son had resisted all her urgings to ignore what was happening with herself and Mark and to make an effort to patch up their relationship.
‘Mam, I just don’t want to have anything to do with him, so just leave it, OK?’ Owen had retorted angrily the last time she’d brought up the subject and the underlying hostility in his voice had dismayed her. If she was furious with Mark, Owen was twice as wrathful.
‘It’s my treat, Mam, let’s go to Little Caesar’s in Temple Bar,’ Owen suggested as he met her off the Dart in Tara Street.
‘Whatever you say.’ Francesca smiled, her heart lifting at the sight of her beloved son. Remembering Karen’s betrayal, she felt at least with Owen she had one staunch ally at her side.
‘God, Mam, you’ll be baked alive in that,’ he remarked as they walked up along the quays. ‘Take your jacket off.’
‘I can’t,’ she murmured.
‘Why not?’ Owen glanced down at her, curbing his long, loping stride to suit hers.
‘I just can’t.’
He looked perplexed.
‘I’m too fat,’ she murmured.
‘Don’t be daft, Mam,’ he said stoutly. ‘Who cares if your ass wobbles a bit? That’s what happens when you get to your age,’ he teased.
‘You want to go headlong into the Liffey, boy?’ Francesca drawled.
‘You and whose army, Ma?’ Owen gave her a friendly poke in the arm.
She was breathless by the time they reached the restaurant. She’d got so unfit it was unbelievable. She was going to have to take herself in hand and do something about it. Maybe she’d join a gym, she thought unenthusiastically as she perused the menu and opted for nice, fattening garlic mushrooms for her starter.
‘Are you sure you’re going to be all right when I’m gone, Mam?’ Owen said after they’d ordered.
‘Don’t worry about me, Owen. I’m fine. Honest,’ she assured him. ‘It took me a while to get over the shock of it, but I’m getting by. I’d really freak if I thought you wouldn’t go to America because of me.’
‘I know. I just feel a bit mean about it. I’m afraid you’ll be lonely in the house on your own.’ Owen fiddled with the pepper and salt.
‘I might get a part-time job or do something for a charity a couple of mornings a week,’ Francesca said vaguely. ‘To be honest I quite like pottering about doing my own thing.’
‘Yeah, pottering about is OK for an eighty-year-old, Ma, for God’s sake. You’re only forty,’ he burst out, concern written all over his face.
Francesca couldn’t help but laugh. ‘I’m just taking a bit of time out, Owen. It’s nice to get off the tread-mill for a while. Life with your father was a little frenetic at times. All the social stuff, all the travel, taking care of his clothes and packing for him every time he went abroad. Looking after your granddad – and you know what a chore that was – not to talk about washing your filthy football gear,’ she said in mock rebuke. ‘It’s nice having time to myself. I’ve never had time to get to know myself. That’s what I’m doing now.’
‘Oh! I suppose I hadn’t thought of it like that. I just want you to be happy again, Mam. I know you cry at night. I’ve heard you.’
‘Love, I won’t deny I have rough days. I’m lonely sometimes. I miss what your father and I had. That’s life, I’m afraid, and I just have to get on with it.’
‘You could take in a lodger,’ Owen suggested brightly. ‘There’s a huge shortage of accommodation.’
‘Thanks but no thanks, Owen. I’ve got Trixie for company. She’s more than enough.’ Francesca chuckled. ‘Of course, I could always do a Mrs Robinson on it and seduce a younger man.’
‘Who’s Mrs Robinson?’ Owen demanded. ‘Never heard you talking about her.’
‘You idiot. Did you never see the film The Graduate with Anne Bancroft and Dustin Hoffman, about an older woman who seduces a younger man?’
‘Gee, Mam, that was in the dark ages, long, long before my time. Anyway, you’re not old enough to be an older woman yet. Can I have one of those garlic mushrooms while you have one of my chicken wings?’ The food had arrived and Owen was eager to tuck in.
‘Help yourself.’ Francesca proffered her plate, wishing that she could tell her son that she was dreading his leaving and that it was his love and support that had got her through the worst days of her life.
She was hot, sweaty and tired when she got home with her shopping later that afternoon. There was a pile of post in the hall but she left it on the table and hurried up to the bedroom to get out of her clothes and have a shower. It was only later, lying on her sun lounger on the deck, catching the evening rays, that she flipped through the bills and opened the slim cream envelope with her name on it.
Mortification shot through her as she read Karen Marshall’s kind handwritten note and invitation to her gala evening. So Karen hadn’t deleted her from the guest list despite Francesca’s unkind thoughts earlier. And she’d written that as Mark had been invited to bring a guest she was more than welcome to bring one too.
Francesca sighed. How she longed to be able to waltz into Karen’s party, a stone lighter, on the arms of a handsome hunk. Now that she was invited to the party she was going to have to get something new to wear. None of her posh frocks fitted her any more.
She could invite Millie as her guest, she supposed, but it did look a bit pathetic dragging her sister along as a companion when her husband would be with a glamour puss ten years younger than her. Maybe she just wouldn’t go, Francesca dithered. She had a few days to think about it, she’d make a decision by the weekend, she thought drowsily as her eyes closed and she fell into a welcome snooze.
Chapter Twenty-one
‘BYE, DARLING, I’LL see you in Paris on Friday evening. I can’t wait.’ Nikki wrapped her arms around Mark and kissed him passionately. ‘It’ll be great, Mark. We’ll have a real romantic weekend for ourselves. We deserve it.’
‘Yes, we do.’ Mark slid his hands into the opening of her silk dressing gown and felt the soft warmth of her body. ‘I’ll miss you,’ he whispered. ‘Five days is a long time.’
‘I know,’ Nikki murmured as she slid her hand down to his crotch.
‘Ah, Nikki, we haven’t time for this, the taxi’s outside.’ Mark drew away reluctantly.
‘Five more minutes won’t make any difference. He won’t care, he’s getting paid,’ Nikki said huskily as she unzipped his trousers and slid her hand into his briefs.
Mark groaned and drew her tight against him again, pulling down her silk panties. He pushed her up against the wall and thrust himself into her, supporting her as she wrapped her slender legs around him. ‘Oh Mark,’ she muttered as he moved rhythmically, frantically, ‘you’re the best lover I ever had.’
‘Nikki, Nikki, you’ll murder me,’ he muttered hoarsely when he’d come with a long shuddering sigh. They held each other, kissing tenderly.
‘I have to go, I really have to go or I’ll miss the flight,’ Mark murmured against her hair.
‘I’ll miss you. Phone every night, won’t you? We can talk dirty to each other.’
Mark laughed. ‘You’re incorrigible.’
‘And you’re dead sexy,’ Nikki purred as she straightened his tie while he adjusted his clothing.
‘Go back to bed, you still have a couple of hours before you have to go to work,’ Mark said as he ran his fingers through his hair and picked up his travel bags. ‘I love you.’
‘I love you too,’ Nikki assured him.
As Mark sat in the taxi on the way to the airport he felt invigorated. Nikki’s sensual farewell made him feel ready for anything. To find a woman like her at his age was a real bonus and he was going to make sure he kept her happy, he vowed. OK, so they’d gone through a rough patch but all couples went through those. They’d had to adjust to living together under difficult circumstances and they’d come through well enough. If only Francesca would be a bit more civilized about things and Owen would step down off his very high horse, life wouldn’t be too bad at all, Mark reflected, feeling more cheerful than he had in a long time.
He was looking forward to his trip to Brussels, he had to admit. He could flop in the apartment after work, read and watch videos, and catch up with old friends. He liked having time to himself. Francesca had come to Brussels regularly with him when he’d first started commuting but as time had gone on it had been easier for her to stay at home with the boys and he’d grown to like his time alone.
Five days to do his own thing and then a glorious weekend of eating gourmet food, drinking fine wines and making passionate love to Nikki. In Paris. Mark stretched and yawned. Life was definitely improving.
Nikki lay in bed exhilarated. She felt the relationship with Mark was finally back on track. It had been rocky going now and again and she’d felt at times that Mark was regretting his involvement with her. There were times when he withdrew from her completely and got moody and silent and it freaked her. It was stressful to say the least and trying to hide her anxiety about the whole situation from him was draining. Nikki felt she was in li
mbo and it was starting to do her head in. The episode over Karen Marshall’s charity do had been the straw that broke the camel’s back but since she’d lost her temper Mark had gone out of his way to be nice to her: it had been his idea that they spend the weekend in Paris after his week in Brussels.
When he’d suggested it, it had given her such a lift she’d been on a high for the rest of the week. This was more like it should be, she thought dreamily. This was the way it could always be, if only he’d divorce Francesca and put the past behind him once and for all.
Nikki shot up in bed. Why not? she thought to herself. It was a perfect time to do it. Why wait until that party to confront Francesca and have to worry about whether Mark would overhear or not? He was out of the country. She could take the morning off and go and sort Francesca out once and for all. Then they could all get on with their lives. Mark was far too soft to deal with the issue. He allowed that woman to blackmail him emotionally and it was very unfair on him. Nikki felt extremely sorry for him sometimes. It was clear he wouldn’t do anything about the matter. She would just have to sort it. She felt energized. Now that she had decided on a course of action she felt much more optimistic and in control.
‘Bring a suit.’ Francesca insisted.
‘Mam, what do I need a suit for? I’m going to be working in a bar. I don’t want to frighten away customers,’ Owen explained patiently as his mother unpacked his jumbled suitcase and began to place T-shirts and sweatshirts into plastic bags. ‘And what are you doing that for?’
‘It helps to keep them from creasing and it’s easier to sort them out when you’re unpacking and putting them away. Now get your grey suit, you never know whom you might meet or what job interview might come up.’
‘OK then,’ Owen submitted with bad grace.
‘Look, why don’t you go into town and do your bits and pieces and I’ll take over here.’
‘Mam, I want to travel light now, right?’ he warned.
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