‘What are you laughing at?’ demanded Millie, starting to titter herself.
‘I was just thinking: if Ma could see us now, pissed as newts, me on the verge of divorce and you considering seduction and asking young boys if they want to grow up quick – what a disappointment we must be to her.’
‘Ha ha ha,’ guffawed Millie.
‘Ha ha ha,’ echoed Francesca, much to the amusement of the other diners. They chuckled heartily for five minutes before composing themselves enough to resume eating their meal and order another bottle of wine. It was that sort of night.
Nikki studied Mark surreptitiously over the top of her Business and Finance. He’d been like a bull this past week and she was mystified. ‘See the Euro’s not doing great,’ she remarked casually.
‘Umm,’ he muttered.
Nikki closed the magazine. ‘What’s up, Mark? You’re in very bad form,’ she asked bluntly.
He scowled. ‘Oh, nothing.’
‘Come on. Tell me.’ She went over and joined him on the couch and put an arm around him. ‘It’s not like you, darling. Usually you’re fairly up. I’m worried about you,’ she said tenderly.
Mark smiled at her and kissed her on the nose. ‘It’s nice to know that someone’s worried about me,’ he said dejectedly.
‘Who’s been getting at you? Tell Nikki,’ she wheedled, stroking his cheek.
Mark gave a sigh that came from his toes.
‘Come on … share,’ she urged.
‘No-one’s been getting at me exactly,’ he hedged. ‘It’s just, well, Viv Cassidy – a friend, or rather I should say an acquaintance of Francesca’s – phoned me last Monday looking for her. She couldn’t get her at the house and she didn’t have her mobile number. She’s a nosy old cow anyway, she likes sticking her nose in people’s business,’ Mark said crossly.
‘And?’ prompted Nikki. This wasn’t all about some nosy old biddy.
‘Anyway I wouldn’t give her Francesca’s mobile number. I bloody should have,’ he growled.
Nikki listened with growing interest. Francesca was in the doghouse, she inferred … with great pleasure. What was rare was wonderful.
‘I rang Francesca to give her the message and her sister answered. And she was pretty damn rude too.’
Better and better, thought Nikki happily but she stayed silent. Let him get it all off his chest. If she butted in with a comment he might clam up.
‘She said they were out and that Francesca was in the Ladies,’ Mark continued. ‘Anyway, I left a message with Millie asking Francesca to call me back.’
‘And did she?’ Nikki murmured.
‘She did and it transpired that they were in Portugal. Imagine! She never even had the manners to tell me that she was going.’ His indignation was a joy to behold. This was wonderful, Nikki rejoiced.
‘And when I mentioned to her that if she’d told me that she was going I’d have put a couple of extra bob into the account, she had the fucking cheek to insult me and tell me that she didn’t want my charity.’ Mark was still steaming about it. ‘I ask you, Nikki, there she is swanning around Portugal thanks to my generosity, and she can’t even show a bit of common civility. I’ve just had it up to here.’ He waved a hand under his neck, his eyes hard and angry.
‘That was extremely rude of her, darling. You’ve been so good to her financially. No-one could accuse you of being at all selfish. It really upsets me that she takes it all for granted and doesn’t treat you very nicely,’ Nikki exclaimed indignantly.
‘Well, I’ve had enough of her nonsense and bad behaviour. I’m going to have it out with her once and for all and tell her to show a bit of respect. I’m not mean, you know that, Nikki, but I can tell you I was damn nearly thinking of not lodging her allowance this month. Well, delaying it for a while even,’ he amended.
Yes! Yes! Yes! exulted Nikki silently. This was music to her ears. The worm was turning at long long last. Her patience was paying off.
‘You’d be well within your rights to. It might make her realize just how lucky she is that you’re decent,’ comforted Nikki, stroking his cheek.
‘Well, we’ll see,’ Mark said wearily. ‘I’m going to give her a good talking to in any case.’
‘You do what you think is best, Mark. Maybe it would be good to clear the air.’ She didn’t want to jump in and say that a good talk was a terrific idea. She didn’t want to sound too gung ho about it so she kept her tone light and casual, but the idea of Mark giving that lazy, selfish slob an ear-bashing was orgasmic. Maybe if they were at each other’s throats the idea of divorcing his precious Francesca might be more appealing, although she didn’t seem at all precious to him at the moment, Nikki thought smugly as she nibbled his ear.
‘Darling, it’s been a long week and you’ve had a lot on your mind. Why don’t we go to bed and I’ll light some scented candles and play some soft music and I’ll give you a nice relaxing massage?’ Nikki offered.
‘I think it’s just what I need, darling. The muscles in the back of my neck are giving me hell,’ Mark complained.
‘I’ll look after them,’ Nikki soothed.
‘You’re very good at looking after me,’ he said gratefully, drawing her close.
‘That’s because I love you,’ Nikki replied firmly.
‘And I love you too,’ Mark murmured, resting his head on her shoulder.
Nikki stroked his forehead. ‘You shouldn’t let it get to you so much,’ she murmured.
‘I know.’
‘Maybe you should disengage a bit and let Francesca get on with it.’
‘Maybe you’re right,’ Mark agreed.
‘Come on,’ she ordered. ‘Let’s forget it for now.’ She didn’t want to overplay her hand. Arm in arm they went into the bedroom and she undid his shirt buttons and unbuckled his belt. ‘Into bed with you now and I’ll get the oils and light the candles,’ she instructed. She undressed and slipped into a silk dressing gown and quietly lit the candles and put a CD on the player as Mark lay face down in the middle of the bed, his face resting on his forearms.
When she was ready, she knelt astride him and poured some oil into her palms. Slowly she began to massage his tense muscles and gradually he began to relax under her light touch. Although her movements were slow and rhythmic her mind was racing. She was exuberant. The cracks were getting wider and wider in the Kirwan relationship and that suited her just fine. Never before had Mark shown such naked hostility towards his estranged wife.
Madame Francesca might soon be getting her comeuppance and it wasn’t before time. Nikki smiled as she massaged a particularly tense spot, causing Mark to sigh with pleasure.
Francesca sat at the departure gate in Faro Airport waiting for their flight to be called. Millie was doing some last-minute shopping in the chocolate shop, to use up her escudos. She’d invited Francesca to spend the night with them so that she wouldn’t be on her own the first night home. Francesca had been tempted. It had been great having Millie’s company for the week and she was dreading the thought of opening the front door to an empty house. But it had to be faced and the sooner she got it over and done with the better. Besides, she needed to get her clothes sorted for work the following week.
It was hard to believe that the holiday was over. It had flown by so quickly. She’d enjoyed it though. For the first time in years she’d had no-one to fuss over or compromise with. Mark wasn’t a sun-worshipper like she was. He liked visiting art galleries and museums and touring around whatever country they were in. Often on holiday with Mark she’d ended up wandering around an art gallery, going bananas because the sun was shining outside and she longed to be relaxing in it. Not so with Millie. It had been glorious just to plonk herself on her lounger and read her books, knowing that her sister was perfectly happy to do the same. Now the idyllic few days were over and it was back to reality.
At least she had her job to go to, she thought gratefully. It was better than sitting home alone feeling sorry for herself. ‘Sure you
won’t stay the night?’ Millie sat down alongside her, laden down with bags.
‘No, Millie, I won’t, but thanks for asking,’ Francesca smiled.
‘Well, let’s have one last drink, to send us on our way even though the sun isn’t over the yardarm yet,’ Millie suggested, ‘loose lushes that we are.’
‘I’ll drink to that,’ laughed Francesca.
It was after four by the time she slid the key into her front door. She’d had coffee at Millie’s and enjoyed the excitement as her nieces had opened their presents. Trixie had greeted her joyfully, licking her all over and gazing up at her with her big brown eyes, her tail wagging furiously. She’d been very well fed during her sojourn with Aidan and the girls. She’d need some brisk exercise just like her mistress, Francesca thought wryly as she patted her silky coat. Aidan dropped her home and carried her case into the house and when she closed the door behind him, the silence dropped around her like a cloak and her heart ached with loneliness.
She walked through the rooms feeling the emptiness. Once this house had been her castle. She’d reigned happily as its queen. Now it was her prison. Maybe Millie was right. She should sell up and get a smaller place of her own. Close that chapter of her life and start a new one. It was much easier said than done, though. Selling the house would be an admission that her marriage was well and truly over and part of her wasn’t ready to admit that yet.
She unpacked her suitcase and filled the washing machine. The silence was driving her nuts. ‘Come on, Trixie, let’s get out of here,’ she muttered. She changed into a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. It was cold after the heat of Portugal. The sky was grey and the breeze fresh and cool as she walked out to the garage to get the car. She’d only had one G and T at the airport, and that was hours ago, like another lifetime ago, she thought, half shocked at coming back to earth and reality with such a bang.
She drove down to Howth Pier, parked and set off on a brisk walk with Trixie tugging on the leash excitedly. Gulls circled and screamed overhead as the trawlers sailed into harbour with their catch. The wind on the top of the pier was fresh and salt laden and she inhaled deeply as she walked along. This time yesterday she’d been sitting on her balcony in Oura Praia sipping a beer while Millie had her shower.
‘Deal with it,’ she muttered, head down as she hurried along pushing against the wind. On a whim, on the way home she drove into Corr Castle, an exclusive new development that still had apartments for sale. She drove around the well-laid-out complex and felt a stirring of interest. There’d be no harm in having a look at the show apartment, she decided. In fact she should start looking at the property pages just to see what was on the market. She wasn’t sure if apartment living appealed to her. She’d miss her garden. A dormer bungalow might be nice, she mused. It would be fun to decorate and furnish from scratch. She’d go for a completely different look to the plush elegance of home. Lots of wood and glass and light. That would be nice, she reflected as she drove back out onto the main road. She’d start viewing property and show houses at the weekends. It would give her something to do. There was no harm in keeping a weather eye open.
By Tuesday of the following week Francesca felt as though she’d never been away. There was a large backlog of filing to get through and 200 invitations to be enveloped and addressed when she arrived in the office on Monday morning and the phone never stopped ringing. She’d gone home that evening exhausted and fallen asleep in the armchair.
At four-thirty the following afternoon she headed across town to Smithfield to link up with Ken at Chief O’Neill’s for the launch of an art exhibition. Several artists were exhibiting and nerves were fraught as they argued over the right and wrong way to hang the paintings.
‘Look, why should Darina get prime position? I’m a far better artist than she is. At least I’m original. Picasso could sue her for plagiarism,’ a wild-haired, bespectacled young man ranted.
‘You obviously don’t understand the meaning of plagiarism, you illiterate little shit. Nor do you know anything about hanging paintings. Go back to your crèche and practise colouring in, it’s all you’re good for,’ Darina, a tall anorexic-looking girl, sneered.
‘Skinny bitch! Grow your hair a bit longer and they could use you for a paintbrush,’ the bespectacled one insulted her back, magnificently in Francesca’s opinion. Darina’s eyes glittered dangerously.
‘Listen here, you pathetic little nerd, the cavemen could paint better than you. We’ll see who sells the most paintings tonight and I can tell you right now it won’t be you.’
‘Do you want to put your money where your smartass mouth is?’
Francesca slipped away to find Ken, leaving them to trade insults. Her boss was on his mobile, left hand gesticulating wildly. Something was up. Ken only gesticulated when he was agitated. He saw her and waved frantically in her direction as he ended his conversation. ‘The guest of honour just phoned to say he’s got the trots and he’s waiting for his doctor to give him a shot. That’s all I need. Have you heard that lot?’ He indicated the arguing artists.
‘I have,’ said Francesca.
‘It’s going to be one of those nights. I hope the art critics savage them,’ Ken said nastily. ‘They’re worse than children. Oh hell, here’s the TV crew, they’re doing a spot for an arts programme. They’ll be wanting to set up lights and cameras. Francesca, would you make sure the bar is organized and sort out the caterers?’
‘Sure,’ Francesca agreed, looking around to find out where the drinks were to be served. She saw a long trestle table covered in white tablecloths and set off to do her duty.
By the time the unfortunate guest of honour had arrived and been introduced, the artists were well lubricated and all animosities were forgotten as they hugged and congratulated each other. Despite his affliction, the guest, an artist and gallery owner Francesca had never heard of, made a short, witty speech that was well received, and once the rest of the speeches were over and the photos had been taken, Ken pushed his way through the crammed, stuffy room towards her.
‘All’s well that ends well. They can do what they like from now on, our bit’s done and dusted.’ He rubbed his hands together happily and surveyed the vibrant throng. ‘Three newspaper critics, one art magazine writer, TV spot and radio interview, two social diarists. A good haul, Frannie.’
‘Stop it,’ she warned.
‘Spoilsport!’ he grinned. ‘Why don’t you head on home if you like? I can take it from here.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Do you really want to be here with this lot? Go on, it’s been a long day and you’re only back from your holliers.’
‘Are you insisting?’
‘I’m insisting,’ he assured her.
‘Thanks, Ken,’ she said gratefully. ‘I’ll see you bright and early in the morning.’
She eased her way through the crowd. Her feet were killing her. She’d worn sandals for the entire week of her holiday and her high heels were murder. It was starting to rain as she left the building and she hurried to her car hoping to avoid the downpour.
It had been clamped. She couldn’t believe her eyes. But there it was, the bright yellow wheel clamp like a limpet on her tyre.
‘You wanky, fucking bastards,’ she yelled as the heavens opened and she was drenched. She dialled the number on the notice and gave details of her whereabouts to the clamping firm. She’d been so busy sorting things out inside she’d forgotten to come out and feed her meter.
‘I hope you get the pox,’ Francesca cursed the unknown clamper as she sat fuming in her car waiting to be freed. She couldn’t bring herself to speak to the middle-aged man who unclamped her half an hour later and she wrote out her cheque in a fury before driving off like a bat out of hell.
She had just stepped out of the shower in her en suite and was towelling her hair dry when the doorbell rang. Puzzled, she glanced at her watch. It was just after nine, she wasn’t expecting anyone. Maybe it was Millie. She hoped it was, she needed someo
ne to unload to.
She slipped into her towelling robe and shoved her feet into a pair of mules and hurried downstairs. Trixie came galloping out of the kitchen, nearly tripping her up. She was barking excitedly.
‘Shush! Be quiet,’ Francesca said as she pulled her belt tighter around her and opened the door. Her heart sank when she saw Mark standing on the doorstep.
‘Well, this is a perfect end to a perfect day,’ she said sarcastically as she stood glaring at him.
Chapter Thirty-two
‘AS CIVIL AS ever, I see,’ Mark observed drily as he stooped to pat Trixie who was licking him ecstatically. Traitor, Francesca thought churlishly.
‘What do you want?’ she demanded.
‘I’d like to come in, if you don’t mind,’ he said coolly. ‘I don’t want Viv Cassidy out with her binoculars.’
Francesca stood back to let him in. He looked tired, she noted. He was wearing a beautifully cut grey mohair suit. New since he’d been with her. She wondered if Nikki went shopping for his clothes with him.
He walked into the kitchen and stood looking out at the back garden. ‘It looks really nice. And it’s so private. You never get gardens like that now. The roses are flying, aren’t they?’ he said wistfully.
No thanks to you, she wanted to say, but she kept silent. ‘I must organize to get the deck treated. It could do with a coat of something,’ he remarked casually.
Francesca felt resentment bubble. He was going on as if he still lived here. Why didn’t he just butt out of her life? If she wanted the deck treated she could get someone and bill him for half of it. He was being far too familiar.
‘It looks fine to me,’ she said.
‘There’s no point in letting it go, Francesca. It needs doing at some stage.’ He was speaking to her as though she were a ten-year-old.
‘Fine,’ she snapped. Maybe he was right. It would be worse if he refused to spend the money on it, she supposed.
‘Did you have a good holiday? You look very well,’ he said politely, turning to face her.
‘It was a lovely holiday, thank you, Mark, but I’ve had a long and tiring day. What was it you wanted to see me about?’ she said pointedly as she began to dry her hair with the towel it was wrapped in.
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