Francesca's Party

by Patricia Scanlan

  ‘OK then, if you really don’t mind driving across town.’

  ‘Don’t mind it at all,’ Ralph said cheerfully as he strode along carrying her bag.

  His car, a ten-year-old black Saab, was parked down the street. He held the passenger door open for her. Mark had always held the car door open for her when they’d first married but had grown out of the habit. It was nice to be treated respectfully, Francesca thought as she slid into the passenger seat.

  ‘Directions, madame?’ Ralph smiled as he sat in beside her.

  ‘Blackrock, Merrion Gates, Strand Road, East Link, right to Clontarf from Alfie Byrne Road and on straight.’ Francesca smiled back at him.

  ‘You have a beautiful smile, Francesca,’ Ralph said as he indicated and moved out into the traffic.

  ‘You’ve kissed the Blarney Stone,’ she murmured. She wasn’t used to such direct compliments. They unnerved her.

  ‘I’m a journalist. I’m only telling the truth,’ he declared. ‘So what possessed your idiot husband to shack up with someone else?’

  ‘How very inquisitive of you,’ Francesca chided.

  ‘I keep telling you, I’m a journalist. I have an enquiring nature. I like to get to the bottom of mysteries. And for a man to leave such a beautiful woman as you is surely a mystery.’

  ‘There was no mystery, Ralph. He was bored with me,’ Francesca said flatly.

  ‘He’s crazy.’

  ‘Maybe he’s right. How do you know that I’m not the most boring woman in the world? We’ve only met briefly. You don’t know me at all.’

  ‘True, I don’t know you. But I know enough to know that I want to get to know you. And I can assure you – and you can trust me on this, as I’ve pointed out, I’m a journalist and I’ve a nose for such things – there is nothing, nothing boring about you.’

  Francesca laughed. ‘Ralph, did you ever think of writing fiction? You’d be good at it.’

  ‘You don’t take me seriously at all, do you?’

  ‘Of course I do,’ she said in mock earnestness. ‘Now tell me how come you’re separated?’

  ‘My wife didn’t like my lifestyle. Lots of travel, late nights, that kind of thing. The girls were young and I wasn’t there as much as I should have been. I was trying to get as much work as I could. It led to a lot of friction.’ His answer was honest and she respected him for it.

  ‘Do you see much of them?’ she asked, curious.

  ‘Not as much as I’d like,’ he said sadly. ‘I was the baddie for a long time, because Jill was so angry with me.’ His mouth tightened. ‘I think it’s important not to badmouth a parent to kids but my ex doesn’t agree.’

  ‘I’m lucky. My sons are grown up. They’re in America. I didn’t have to deal with that. I think it’s an impossible situation.’

  ‘You married young?’

  ‘Yeah!’ Francesca sighed. ‘My husband saw that as part of the problem. He felt he hadn’t had a chance to sow his wild oats, I suppose.’

  Ralph glanced over at her. ‘Do you miss being married?’

  ‘Well, I’m still married, technically, but I know what you mean,’ Francesca said slowly. ‘I did very much at the beginning. I was lonely and scared and became quite reclusive. Then I copped on to myself.’ She gave a little smile. ‘I love this job. I’d never have done it if I’d still been with Mark. I feel reinvented somehow. And I like it. It’s a whole new adventure, and it’s my adventure. That probably sounds a bit silly,’ she added, embarrassed.

  ‘It’s not silly at all. One door closes, another opens, one more step along the road,’ Ralph remarked as he slowed to a halt at the Merrion Gates barrier. ‘Isn’t it the Chinese who use the same word for crisis and opportunity? It’s not what happens to you in life that’s important, it’s the way that you deal with it.’

  ‘I suppose that’s one way of looking at it. Personally I could have done without the shock and the hurt and the grief.’ Francesca yawned behind her hand. He was very easy to talk to and relaxing to be with. She felt comfortable with him.

  ‘You’ve come through it,’ he pointed out.

  ‘And have you?’ she asked.

  ‘I suppose I have,’ he said as the train thundered past. They chatted easily for the rest of the journey and Ralph whistled in admiration when he drove into the drive of her home. ‘Nice place, Francesca. Worth a bob or two. You’ll have no trouble selling it,’ he said as he pulled up outside the front door.

  ‘No,’ she agreed.

  ‘Well, the best of luck with it. And I hope you get the place of your dreams. I’m sure it’s waiting for you.’

  ‘Thanks, Ralph, I hope so too,’ she said warmly.

  ‘Sure you won’t come to dinner?’ he asked hopefully.

  He had a boyish quality that was rather endearing and impulsively she found herself saying, ‘I’m too tired to get dressed up to go out to dinner, but if you’d like to take pot luck when I see what’s in the fridge, we could open a bottle of wine and have something outside on the deck.’

  ‘You’re on,’ he said with alacrity, jumping out to open her door.

  Twenty minutes later they sat on Francesca’s deck, sipping white wine and eating brown bread, smoked salmon and a selection of cheeses. The sun was still warm. It was a beautiful evening. She had changed out of her suit and high heels into a simple sundress and sandals.

  ‘It’s a pity you couldn’t sell the house and take your garden with you, it’s like being in the country here,’ Ralph observed as he spread some Brie on a cracker and ate it appreciatively.

  ‘I know. I’ll really miss this. That’s one of the reasons I liked the mews I told you about. The courtyard was a sun trap.’ Francesca raised her face to the sun and lay back against her lounger.

  Ralph stretched his long legs out in front of him. ‘My apartment faces onto the canal. It’s nice enough, but there’s no privacy and the noise of the traffic is very intrusive although you blank it out eventually.’

  The ding-dong of the doorbell startled Francesca. She wasn’t expecting anyone to call. ‘Excuse me,’ she said politely. ‘I’d better see who that is.’

  ‘Tell them to go away. I want you all to myself,’ Ralph instructed.

  She slipped her feet back into her sandals and hurried out to the hall. Her heart gave a peculiar little lurch when she opened the door and saw Mark standing there frowning.

  ‘You’ve guests I see, perhaps this is a bad time.’

  What do I do? she thought in a fluster. Do I ask him in or tell him to get lost?

  ‘Francesca?’ Ralph appeared behind her and held out her mobile phone. ‘You have a call.’

  The two men stared at each other.

  ‘Hello.’ Ralph nodded politely. ‘Take your call, Francesca,’ he reminded her. ‘I’ll put your wine in the fridge so it won’t get warm.’ He sauntered back out to the kitchen.

  ‘Who the bloody hell is that?’ Mark demanded.

  Chapter Forty-three

  ‘MARK, DON’T BE so rude,’ she hissed, her hand covering the mouthpiece on the phone. She silenced him with a look. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hi, who was Sexy Voice who answered your phone?’ Millie demanded.

  ‘Hi, Millie. Look, can I call you back? Mark’s just arrived and I don’t want to delay him.’

  ‘And there’s another man there with a sexy voice who answered your phone and Mark got ratty and asked who the bloody hell is he?’ Millie queried.

  ‘Exactly,’ Francesca said succinctly.

  ‘Wow! Never a dull moment in your life. Call me the very second you can,’ her sister ordered.

  ‘Will do,’ Francesca assured her before hanging up. Mark had stalked down to the kitchen and was gazing thunderously out into the garden.

  ‘Who’s that joker?’ He jerked his thumb in Ralph’s direction. Ralph raised his glass and took a sip of wine.

  ‘Don’t be so derogatory, Mark. He’s not a joker. He’s a friend of mine,’ Francesca snapped, angered by his churlish attitude.r />
  ‘And how long has this been going on? It all looks like a very cosy set-up to me. Is he the reason you want to sell the house?’ Mark interrogated.

  ‘Mark, Ralph is a friend. There is nothing going on. And if there were it would be none of your business. I’m as entitled as you to enter into another relationship, seeing as you were the one who ruined our marriage.’ Francesca’s eyes glinted dangerously. ‘So don’t you dare even attempt to go down that road. You should be ashamed of yourself. How dare you give me a hard time?’

  ‘Sorry,’ he muttered, taken aback at her vehemence.

  ‘Now perhaps you’d be good enough to tell me why you called. I really would much prefer if you’d phone me and let me know that you’re coming.’

  ‘In case you’re in bed with your … er … friend?’ Mark retorted snidely. Her swift hard slap to his jaw caught him unawares. His eyes darkened with anger and he caught her roughly by the wrist.

  ‘Don’t you ever do that again,’ he snarled.

  ‘And don’t you ever speak to me like that again, you lousy bastard.’ Francesca’s voice shook with anger and shock. She couldn’t believe that she’d just slapped Mark in the face. But he’d deserved it for his low-down comment. ‘Get out of here,’ she raged.

  ‘If I don’t go will you invite pretty boy out the back to throw me out?’ Mark drawled.

  ‘You’re pathetic, Mark. That woman is welcome to you, you truly deserve each other.’ Francesca turned away and walked towards the french windows, intending to join Ralph on the deck.

  ‘Before you leave, I’m here to tell you that you can put the blasted house on the market. I wash my hands of it and you. It will be a pleasure to get you out of my life, because you’re a walking bitch,’ he swore, his face contorted with anger.

  ‘That’s rich, coming from a lying bastard,’ Francesca riposted before walking out into the back garden.

  Big deal, he was allowing her to put the house on the market. His solicitor had probably put the fear of God in him. And rightly so, she raged. Ralph stood up to greet her. ‘Everything OK?’ he asked in concern when he saw her face.

  ‘Just a bit of a spat with my ex,’ she said shakily.

  ‘Things do get a little better with time,’ he assured her kindly.

  Her face crumpled and two big tears slid down her cheeks.

  ‘Oh, don’t cry, Francesca,’ he said in concern, putting his arms around her.

  ‘I can’t help it,’ she sobbed. ‘He’s turned into such a shit, Ralph, I really don’t know him any more.’

  ‘Anger turns us into different people for a while, we get back to ourselves eventually, don’t worry,’ he murmured into her hair. He glanced into the kitchen and saw Francesca’s husband glowering out at them. Deliberately, Ralph drew Francesca closer and kissed the top of her head.

  ‘Shush,’ he murmured as if to a child. ‘Shush.’ When he looked up again, Mark had gone.

  ‘I’m very sorry about this,’ Francesca apologized with a sniffle as she drew away from him.

  ‘Nothing to be sorry about. Don’t forget I had a good head start on you. Been there, done that, worn the T-shirt. Now, why don’t you sit down and I’ll get the wine and we’ll finish it and then I’ll go on my way and you can go to bed and catch up on your beauty sleep,’ he suggested kindly.

  She sat down on her lounger. The sun was beginning to set. Even though the evening was warm, she shivered a little. She could still remember the sensation of her palm impacting against Mark’s hard jaw. It made her feel a little sick. She hadn’t thought herself capable of physical violence. This was her second time to have struck Mark. It was horrible.

  Strangely she wasn’t embarrassed to have cried in front of Ralph. He’d handled it all rather well, she thought admiringly as she watched him lope across the deck with the wine.

  ‘Here’s a clean glass. I took it from the press beside the wine rack.’

  ‘Not a lot for me, Ralph,’ she said tiredly. ‘I need my wits about me tomorrow.’

  ‘OK.’ He half filled her glass and filled his own to the brim. ‘Waste not want not,’ he joked, taking a long slug. He poured the remainder of the bottle into his glass and sat down in the chair beside her. ‘What did your ex want? Does he usually drop in unannounced?’

  ‘I wish he wouldn’t.’ Francesca frowned. ‘He told me that I could put the house on the market. I guess he had a talk with his solicitor and saw there was no other option. Well, I can tell you one thing, Ralph, I’m going to an estate agent’s first thing. The sooner I sell up and get a place of my own the happier I’ll be.’

  ‘Don’t go buying any old place just for the sake of it. Make sure it suits your requirements,’ he warned, draining his glass. He stood up. ‘I’ll call you, if that’s OK.’

  ‘OK,’ she agreed, standing up to show him out.

  ‘Thank you for tea. It was very enjoyable, Francesca. I hope we can break bread together again soon. I don’t have your home number.’ He took a pen and small notepad out of his inside pocket and eyed her quizzically.

  She called out the number. He had nice writing, she noted.

  ‘And the mobile? I’m covering every option.’

  Francesca smiled as she gave it to him. ‘Thanks for the lift.’

  ‘Any time.’ He patted her on the shoulder. ‘I’ll let myself out. Stay where you are and relax. Goodnight, Francesca.’

  ‘Goodnight, Ralph. Take care,’ she murmured as he disappeared through the patio doors, turning once to wave.

  She sat, numbly staring unseeingly into space. Mark had ruined her evening. An evening that had started off so promisingly. He had reacted surprisingly angrily to Ralph’s presence. But why? she wondered. Surely he’d be glad to see her with someone new? It would help lessen his guilt. That was if he had any. Sometimes she doubted it. He was hardly jealous. That notion was too preposterous for words. Wearily, she tidied up and carried in the crockery and remains of their snack. After she’d washed up, she’d have a nice long soak in the bath and ring Millie and tell her the latest developments because the past two days had been nothing if not eventful.

  Well, it hadn’t taken her long to pick up a fancy man, Mark seethed as he drove past the entrance to the golf club and headed towards the city. He couldn’t be bothered to go and play golf after what he’d witnessed. He should have gone straight to the golf club as he’d planned and then visited his wife. At least he’d have got a game in. It was pointless going for one now. He wouldn’t be able to concentrate.

  No wonder she wanted to sell the flaming house. She wanted to get a place of her own and set up a cosy love nest. How long had her little affair been going on? That bloke looked as though he was very comfortably installed. Rakish-looking bastard. Mark scowled as he drove like a maniac. The car was ancient. Obviously he wasn’t wealthy. He was probably after Francesca for her money. Who else would have her? he thought nastily. His phone rang. It was Nikki.

  ‘Hello?’ he growled.

  ‘Hi, darling,’ she said cheerily. ‘I’m terribly lonely without you. Do you want to come down for a night of unbridled passion? It wouldn’t take you more than an hour. It’s beautiful and peaceful down here.’

  ‘Where is it?’ he said heavily. He listened while she gave crisp, concise directions.

  ‘OK,’ he agreed. He didn’t want to be on his own tonight. Seeing Francesca so relaxed in the company of another man had unsettled him. The way she’d gone into his arms had hit him like a physical blow. That bastard knew Mark had been looking when he kissed the top of her head. He might as well have said: She’s mine now. He’d never thought of Francesca getting involved with another man. Stupid of him, he supposed. Why should she be on her own just because it didn’t suit him? Why did he feel so bad about it?

  That sundress was new, he hadn’t seen it before. It made her look youthful. And it revealed far too much of her boobs, too. He scowled. And whatever she’d done to her hair suited her. That bloke fancied her like mad. He’d seen the way
he looked at her. It was strange to think of someone fancying your wife. It made you look at her differently, he mused. He’d stopped paying attention years ago. Francesca was Francesca. She’d been part of his life for so long he’d taken her for granted. His attraction to and desire for Nikki had hit him like a thunderbolt and it had been mighty good. He’d felt alive. He still did when he was with her. He liked being with her, but seeing Francesca with that bloke brought a depth of feeling to the surface that baffled the hell out of him. What exactly – anger aside – were his feelings for her? The risk of losing her to someone else was not one he cared to think about. Why? How come he was reacting like this? Mark shook his head in frustration. Life was so damned complicated. And most of it was his own doing, which didn’t help.

  ‘So what does he look like? He sounds dead sexy.’ Millie was agog with curiosity.

  ‘He’s very attractive. He’s tall, which I like because it makes me feel less of an amazon—’

  ‘Tsk! Don’t be ridiculous, Francesca, you’re not that tall,’ Millie interjected. ‘And it suits you. Now tell me about Ravishing Ralph.’

  ‘He’s got lovely brown eyes, sort of sleepy looking if you know what I mean.’

  ‘Come-to-bed eyes, you mean,’ Millie corrected. ‘And?’

  ‘And he’s got a craggy sort of lived-in face. He’s been separated for two years, he has two young daughters. He lives in an apartment on the Grand Canal. He’s a journalist and he keeps asking me out.’

  ‘And why aren’t you going?’ Millie demanded.

  ‘Well, maybe I will after this evening,’ Francesca said.

  ‘Oh, I’d love to have seen Mark’s face when he saw him sitting out on the deck. What a kick in the ass that must have been,’ Millie gloated.

  ‘He was a real shit about it,’ Francesca said sourly. ‘Honest to God, I’ve never seen him act like this. I never thought he had it in him to be so obnoxious. He was horrible.’

  ‘Of course he was. Why are you so surprised? He’s jealous, you idiot.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ scoffed Francesca. ‘He’s just mad because he’s got to sell the house and he thinks it’s because I’m having an affair with Ralph.’