The taxi drew to a halt outside the headquarters of EuroBank Irl. and as she gazed up at the familiar building, her stomach tightened. How often she’d run up those marble steps to meet Mark for lunch. Who would ever have thought that they would end up like this? She paid the taxi man, took a deep breath and climbed out of the taxi. It wasn’t too late to reverse her decision. She could get right back in, give the taxi man her office address and forget the whole thing, but instinctively Francesca knew that if she didn’t follow through with what she’d started, she’d be unhappy for the rest of her life.
She hurried up the steps and the automatic doors slid open to allow her to enter. She knew where Mark’s office was, of course, unless he’d changed offices since they’d split up, but she didn’t know where Nikki’s was. She walked calmly over to reception and said to the receptionist, whom thankfully she didn’t recognize and who didn’t recognize her, ‘Just checking, Mark Kirwan’s office, third floor first on the left?’
‘That’s right,’ the young woman said politely.
‘And Nikki Langan’s?’ Francesca said nonchalantly.
‘First floor, fourth on the right.’
‘Thanks a million.’ Francesca moved away calmly to allow someone else make a query.
The lift doors were open and she didn’t have to wait, otherwise she might have taken to her heels, she thought, half shocked, half amused at her totally uncharacteristic behaviour. It was strange, her earlier nerves were gone. She felt calm and cool and in control, almost as if she were observing the whole thing at a distance.
The lift doors parted and she hurried down the carpeted corridor. Fourth on the right. There it was, that woman’s name plate, polished and gleaming. Francesca felt like spitting on it.
Before even thinking what she was going to do or say, Francesca knocked and marched in. A secretary working at a computer looked up, startled. Francesca held up her hand. ‘Just have to pop in to Nikki, she’s not in a meeting, is she?’
The secretary took her Dictaphone out of her ears. ‘No, whom should I say is here for her?’
‘This won’t take a sec, don’t worry. We know each other,’ Francesca said breezily as she kept moving towards the inner door.
‘Oh! OK,’ the secretary said doubtfully as Francesca knocked very lightly on the door and let herself into Nikki’s office.
The other woman was sitting in a cream leather swivel chair with her back to her. She was on the phone.
Francesca marched over to the desk just as Nikki pivoted around. Her jaw dropped and her eyes opened wide. She put her hand over the mouthpiece. ‘How did you get in here? Can’t you see I’m on the phone?’
‘I walked in here and not now you’re not,’ Francesca retorted coldly, whisking the phone out of the astonished younger woman’s hand and replacing it on the cradle.
Nikki jumped up furiously. ‘Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?’ she demanded, stupefied.
‘I’m here to have a little chat, just like you came to have one with me,’ Francesca snapped. ‘So shut up and sit down.’
‘How dare you speak to me like that?’ Nikki flared.
‘Oh, pipe down, Nikki, and let’s get this over, I’m a busy woman,’ Francesca drawled. ‘I came to tell you that I intend divorcing Mark. He’s all yours. You can have him. You’re welcome to him. I’m sure you’ll both live very happily together for many years to come. Don’t bother inviting me to the wedding, it wouldn’t be one I’d care to attend,’ she added bitchily. ‘Watching Mark make another set of vows would be just a little hard to swallow, but I’m sure it won’t bother you. Have fun,’ she said airily and almost laughed at the dumbfounded expression on Nikki’s face. She was utterly speechless and had not regained her composure as Francesca strode out of the office, exhilarated. One down. One to go.
She walked down the corridor smiling at one or two people she recognized. A young woman carrying a bundle of files stopped and did a double take and Francesca nodded politely. She recognized the girl from various bank events. News of her visit was going to spread around the building like wildfire, she thought with satisfaction. Good. The gossip would annoy Mark. She couldn’t care less.
She pressed the lift button and waited patiently for it to arrive. She was utterly calm now, almost detached. It was as though once she had made her decision and verbalized it, the whole thing had taken on a life of its own. No doubt Nikki would have phoned her husband to alert him of her arrival. Pity about that. She would have liked to surprise him. But her main target had been Nikki. Francesca wanted her to know that she was divorcing Mark.
It had felt good to give him away, she thought viciously. It had been a very powerful moment. Her husband had been reduced to nothing more than a commodity. She remembered the expression on Nikki’s face when she’d said ‘you can have him’. Shock and a flicker of fear.
Millie had been so right in her assessment of the situation, Francesca thought triumphantly as she rapped on the door of her husband’s office. Nikki, for all her sophisticated, career-woman image, was desperately unsure of Mark. That suited Francesca’s agenda just fine. Not only was she causing Mark grief, she was causing that bitch mega grief. Sauce for the goose was sauce for the gander, she concluded with immense satisfaction.
As Francesca let herself into the plush outer office she saw her husband standing at the door that led to his office. His secretary was not at her desk. Mark was grim-faced with anger as he silently held the door open for her and motioned her inside.
‘What the hell are you playing at?’ he said through gritted teeth as he closed the door behind her.
‘I’m not playing at anything, Mark,’ Francesca replied coldly as she sat gracefully in a chair and crossed her legs. ‘I’m simply here to tell you that I spoke to my solicitor this morning and I intend divorcing you, with or without your consent.’
Chapter Thirty-five
‘DON’T BE RIDICULOUS,’ Mark derided. ‘That really is going over the top, even for you, Francesca.’
‘Excuse me,’ she said icily. ‘I’m deadly serious, Mark. I want a divorce.’
‘For what?’ he asked, nonplussed.
‘That should be obvious. I don’t want to be married to you any more.’
‘But what’s wrong with leaving things as they are? You have the house and a generous allowance, what more do you want?’ Mark demanded angrily.
‘I’ve just told you, Mark. I don’t want to be married to you any more,’ Francesca reiterated. ‘Nikki can have you. She can be the second Mrs Kirwan if that’s what she so badly wants. A dubious honour, I can assure you,’ she drawled, sticking the knife in good and hard. She was actually enjoying herself, she thought, half shocked. Mark didn’t know what had hit him.
‘I don’t want a divorce,’ her husband exploded.
‘Tough. You should have thought of that before you climbed into Nikki Langan’s bed,’ Francesca said nastily. ‘In case you’re in any doubt this is not about what you want, it’s about what I want. I certainly have grounds for divorce. The solicitor told me it’s pretty straightforward, so I want first of all to put the house on the market—’
‘No way, Francesca! No way. I’m not selling the house,’ Mark ranted. ‘It’s the family home.’
‘Now you’re being ridiculous,’ Francesca taunted. ‘What family? You’re gone. Jonathan’s in America for good and it wouldn’t surprise me if Owen stays too. So all that’s left of the family is me and I don’t want to stay in that big house all on my own. I want a fresh start.’ Francesca shrugged. ‘You can buy out my share if you don’t want to sell it. At market value, of course.’
‘I’m damned if I’m going to pay a fucking fortune for my own home. The home I paid the mortgage off on years ago because of my bloody hard work.’ Mark was getting more agitated by the second.
‘Oh, and of course I did nothing, just sat back like a lady and didn’t make any contribution. Get lost, Mark. I’m entitled to a half-share of the house and I want it.
I’m entitled to a half-share of everything actually, but I’m not greedy. Sell the house and give me my share and you can keep the rest of the stocks and shares and the pension fund and the other investments that you’ve worked so bloody hard for,’ Francesca said in disgust.
‘I’m not giving you a divorce,’ Mark blustered.
‘I’m not asking you for a divorce. I’m here to tell you that I’m getting one whether you like it or not.’
‘I’ll contest it,’ Mark threatened.
Francesca gave him a look of such utter contempt he dropped his gaze.
‘You can do what you like, Mark. If you contest it – and let me remind you that you don’t have a leg to stand on since you’re the one who had the affair – it will only cost a lot more money so your pettiness will get you nowhere in the long run. And if you do contest it I’ll take everything I’m entitled to. The choice is yours,’ she said scathingly.
‘It seems I don’t have a fucking choice then, do I?’ he said bitterly.
‘Not really, no,’ Francesca agreed as she stood up to go. ‘You made your choice when you started seeing that woman. But she can have you now. You can marry her and make an honest woman of her.’ Her tone was acerbic and for Mark the last straw.
‘Listen, you, one marriage was more than enough, believe me. You’ve turned into such a bitch, Francesca, I wouldn’t wish you on my worst enemy,’ he burst out.
‘Oh dear,’ murmured Francesca. ‘Poor Nikki, she seems to have her heart set on becoming the next Mrs Kirwan. Still, it’s no skin off my nose and it’s none of my business. You sort out your affairs, Mark, and I’ll sort out mine.’ She dropped a business card on the table. ‘My solicitor’s name and address. She’s very good at family law, I gather. She’ll be writing to you.’
Mark picked up the card and threw it in the bin.
‘Don’t be childish, Mark, it doesn’t suit the image,’ Francesca advised as she walked out of the door. She was on an absolute high. Now Mark was the helpless one, she gloated, remembering her own fear and terror when she’d discovered him kissing that woman at Dublin Airport. Now he was the one who would suffer the torment of sleepless nights just as she had. She’d really hurt him where it hurt most. His purse strings. And best of all she’d heard him declare with his own lips that he wasn’t going to marry again. Nikki Langan was on a hiding to nothing and, what was more, she knew it, Francesca thought with immense satisfaction. Soon she’d know what it was like to be rejected. Soon she’d know hurt and pain and grief and rage and sorrow when she finally realized that Mark had only been using her. See how strong the relationship was now, Francesca laughed to herself. Having a lot in common would not be enough to keep a woman whose heart was set on marriage happy. She’d like to be a fly on the wall in the apartment tonight, she mused happily as she took the lift to the foyer and strolled out of the door, astonished at what she’d achieved.
Bubbling with adrenalin, she dialled Millie’s number. ‘Hi, it’s me,’ she said gaily when she heard her sister answer. ‘Guess what? I’ve just told Nikki Langan she can have Mark, I’m divorcing him. And I know I’ve just given my cheating husband the biggest squit attack he’s ever going to have. When I told him I was putting the house on the market and wanted half the proceeds he got such a shock I thought he was going to make me a widow there and then,’ Francesca gabbled.
‘What?’ shrieked Millie agog. ‘I don’t believe it. We have to meet. I want to hear every single syllable. My God, girl, but you don’t waste time. I can’t let you out of my sight for ten seconds and there you are, practically divorced. I take my hat off to you. What brought this on? What did Nikki say when you told her? Where did you meet her or did you meet the two of them together? This is so frustrating. I want to hear all about it right this second!’
‘Can you come into town on the Dart now? I could meet you for lunch in the Harbour Master in the IFSC,’ Francesca suggested.
‘You’re on. The kids are gone on a day trip to Butlin’s for their summer project. I’ll be there lickety split,’ said Millie. ‘Way to go, babe. Way to go. I’m dang proud of ya.’
‘Oh, Millie, I’m dang proud of myself. I feel scared and excited at the same time. I’m on a high now, I hope I won’t change my mind when I come back down to earth.’
‘And let Mark off the hook? Don’t talk rot,’ scoffed her sister. ‘See you soon.’
Mark sat at his desk with his head in his hands. His stomach was churning. He felt nauseous. Was he having the worst nightmare of his life? Would he wake up in a minute bathed in sweat but feeling utterly relieved? The phone rang, its discreet but persistent burr letting him know in no uncertain terms that he was wide awake and enduring a catastrophe.
‘Hello? … Oh, hi, Nikki,’ he said slowly.
‘Is Francesca gone?’ Nikki asked.
‘Yeah,’ he said wearily.
‘Does she really want a divorce?’
‘It seems so,’ Mark answered guardedly.
‘I see. You’d better get a good lawyer,’ Nikki advised coolly. ‘Oh, and by the way, it’s all around the building that Francesca was in, and it’s getting more lurid by the minute, seemingly. She could have had the decency to meet us outside of work.’
‘Well, she didn’t,’ snapped Mark. ‘Look, I have to go. I’ll see you at home tonight.’
‘What about lunch?’
‘I can’t,’ Mark responded. ‘See you later.’ He put the phone down and rubbed his eyes tiredly. He could have met Nikki for lunch but right now he just wanted to go into some crowded anonymous pub and nurse his sorrows over a pint. Not only was he going to have to deal with Francesca and this divorce whim, he was going to have to tread very carefully with Nikki. He could see signs of a major battle about ‘commitment’ coming up, especially after her tirade in Mamma Mia’s the other day. Mark groaned at the idea.
He truly didn’t want a divorce. It would make his life extremely complicated and life was bad enough as it was at the moment. He desperately didn’t want to sell his beloved house. How could Francesca want to leave it? He’d hated leaving it. He held it very dear. All the memories of their children were entwined with that house. He’d banked on sentiment keeping her there. He’d have to cash in a hell of a lot of his investments to pay Francesca her share of the market value of the house. Or else borrow. What a pain in the ass at his age.
And even if he did buy her out, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to live there with Nikki. That would seem strange, out of kilter in some way. It wasn’t a Nikki sort of a house. Besides, she’d want to refurbish and redecorate and that would cost another arm and a leg and it certainly wasn’t a house for the modern, minimalist-style décor she liked.
Mark shook his head, almost dazed. There had to be some way around this. Surely he could talk Francesca out of it. She wasn’t thinking straight, she couldn’t be. She wasn’t herself, he thought agitatedly.
But she didn’t look like a woman in disarray. She’d looked extremely well, better than he’d seen her look in ages, especially with the tan. But it was more than the tan that made the difference. There was a spark there that he hadn’t seen in a long time. Some of her old vibrancy was back. And there was a hint of steel that he’d seen rarely in their marriage. Now she was so cold and vengeful. Not the Francesca he knew at all. It was true what they said about a woman scorned. Mark leaned forward in his chair and picked the business card he’d discarded earlier out of the bin. Jessica O’Farrell. He’d never heard of her. According to Francesca she knew her stuff on family law. Mark knew enough himself to know that he was on very shaky grounds contesting the divorce if Francesca truly wanted one. He also knew that unless they were in agreement on all points it could be an extremely costly business. If they were going to divorce it was in both their best interests to be in accord. But surely she really couldn’t be serious about it. Starting afresh at this stage of her life must be a daunting prospect. Buying a house, taking a new job that paid buttons – why was she putting herself to such
trouble and upheaval when he had provided her with an extremely comfortable lifestyle and made no fuss about it either? He just couldn’t understand her reasoning. He’d have to think of some way around it. But what?
And Nikki? Did she really want marriage? She had it all as it was. Why on earth would she want to change the status quo? He didn’t want to marry her. It was nothing to do with his feelings for her. After his experiences with Francesca he simply wasn’t anxious to go down that path again. Maybe he could plead religion and pretend that he didn’t believe in divorce, he thought gloomily. He could say it was a deep-rooted conviction despite the fact that he didn’t observe any religious practices. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been at Mass. Nikki would never believe him. It was a pathetic cop-out, he conceded. He could hardly insult the woman’s intelligence with it.
His life was in total crisis, Mark thought morosely as he pulled on his trench coat. Maybe he’d be inspired over a pint. Because if ever he needed help and inspiration it was now.
Nikki chewed the end of her silver Sheaffer fountain pen, a gift from Mark. This should be one of the happiest days of her life. Francesca was doing exactly what Nikki had wanted her to do all along. She was divorcing Mark. He was going to be a free man. So why was she miserable? Why did she have this feeling of dread and what felt like a block of cement lodged in the pit of her stomach? Why was she so afraid that even though things seemed to be going just the way she wanted them to, it was all going very badly wrong?
It was the way Francesca had swanned in, looking not the slightest bit slobby but tanned, vibrant and very elegant – and, even worse, completely in control. Nikki had hardly recognized her as the same woman who’d opened the door to her in her dressing gown. The patronizing way she’d told Nikki that she could have Mark as though she were handing him over on a plate grated. Nikki grimaced. There was something almost spiteful in the way Mark’s wife had behaved. There’d been a look of triumph in her eyes that worried Nikki.
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