He picked up the phone and dialled his wife’s number. ‘Hello, it’s me.’
‘What do you want?’ Jill’s icy tone boded ill.
‘I was hoping to pick Sally up from school tomorrow and take her out for the afternoon.’
‘I’m not going to say a word to the child. If you’re there you’re there and if you’re not, she’ll be none the wiser. I’ll go to collect her just in case. I’m not going to take the risk of you not turning up.’
‘There’s no need—’ he was in the middle of protesting when she hung up on him. Ralph groaned. A cranky woman was the last thing he needed right now. Jill never gave him a break. She’d always expected far too much from him. He was only human, for crying out loud.
Thank God for a lovely soft woman like Francesca. He was looking forward to seeing her again.
The doorbell’s chimes surprised Francesca and she almost nicked her ankle with her Ladyshave. She glanced at the alarm clock on her bedside locker. It was only six-thirty. Ralph wasn’t due to pick her up for another hour. It couldn’t possibly be Mark again. She couldn’t face another row. She slipped into Owen’s room to peep out the front window to see if Mark’s car was in the drive. It wasn’t. Unfortunately she couldn’t see the front door to see who was there. She wrapped the belt of her towelling robe around her and hurried downstairs. Her heart sank to her boots when she opened the door and saw Viv Cassidy smiling sweetly at her.
‘Francesca, dear. I got such a shock when I saw the “For Sale” sign being erected. I’m devastated to think we’re losing you as a neighbour.’
‘Oh, Viv, hi. Come in. I can’t offer you anything. I’m getting ready to go out,’ she said politely.
‘Anywhere nice?’ Viv twinkled.
‘I don’t know yet.’
‘Oh, a surprise. With someone special, I hope,’ she probed.
‘Just a colleague from work,’ Francesca murmured.
‘Dear, you were so lucky to get that job. It landed in your lap. Some women have such a difficult time when their marriages break up. You got along marvellously.’ There was a hint of accusation in the saccharine observation. Francesca felt like saying, Sorry for not collapsing in a heap, Viv, and ending up a basket case just to suit you. She said nothing.
‘And, dear, how much are you expecting for the house? It would be nice to have a guideline price should we ever consider moving.’
‘It will all be in the property pages shortly, Viv. Now I really must go, but thanks for calling.’ She ushered her nosy neighbour out the door.
‘But where are you moving to?’ Viv squeaked, discommoded.
‘Haven’t a clue. Bye, Viv,’ Francesca said cheerfully.
‘Are you sure you’re doing the right thing, dear? People can make big mistakes under stress. Very big mistakes,’ she added for emphasis.
‘I’m perfectly sure I’m doing the right thing. Bye now.’ Francesca waved, closing the door. ‘Nosy old bat,’ she muttered as she raced upstairs. Viv was one person she certainly wouldn’t miss. She went and stood in front of her wardrobe. Ralph hadn’t specified where they were eating. Should she dress up or dress down? Was it formal, informal or mega posh?
Five outfits later, she settled on a black sleeveless Dolce & Gabbana polo and a pair of cream linen trousers and a fitted black jacket. It was casually elegant. It would have to do. She slipped a slim gold bangle onto her wrist and inserted a pair of gold earrings in her ears. She didn’t want to overdo the jewellery. She studied herself critically in the mirror. She certainly looked better than she had three months ago, she acknowledged. She’d managed to keep the weight down but she could certainly do with dropping another half-stone at least. She still had a tan. Her eyes were bright, her hair lustrous. Not bad for a forty-year-old broad. She traced coral lipstick onto her lips and sat down to paint her nails.
Viv was such a begrudging old bitch, she reflected. Yes, the job had landed in her lap, and she hadn’t suffered any financial hardship, but that was due to luck and circumstances. It didn’t lessen the emotional trauma. At least she’d hauled herself out of her shock and depression and got on with things. And if Viv or anyone else didn’t like it, that was their problem. She was proud of herself, she decided. She blew on her nails to dry them. People were strange, for sure. Mark wanted her to stay in a rut, dependent on him for the rest of her life while he enjoyed a new relationship. Viv didn’t seem to like the idea of things going right for her. Well, tough! She didn’t have to answer to anybody now. She was her own woman, she thought with a grin. That sounded good. Her own woman!
She wondered if Ralph would be on time. She liked punctuality. Thought it showed respect. He had nice manners. Old-fashioned manners. He’d walked on the outside and held the car door open for her. That made her feel very feminine. Such a simple thing but she liked it, she thought with a little smile.
Ralph arrived at seven-twenty-nine. He carried a bunch of white lilies.
‘For you.’ He bowed gallantly.
‘They’re lovely, Ralph. Thank you.’ She was touched.
‘You look lovely.’ His heavy-lidded gaze travelled lazily up and down.
She smiled. ‘You look pretty snazzy yourself.’ He was wearing a casual beige suit and black T-shirt. It suited his lanky figure. His eyes looked tired and faintly bloodshot. He must have been spending a lot of time on his computer, she thought sympathetically.
‘Do you fancy the Trocadero? Or La Stampa? I haven’t booked anywhere, I thought we’d just take pot luck?’
‘We could always go out to Howth. The King Sitric does lovely seafood and we could go for a walk on the pier afterwards, if you’d like,’ she suggested hesitantly. Now that he was here, all dressed up, she felt a little shy.
‘Perfect! That would be very nice,’ he agreed. ‘I could do with a good blast of sea air.’
‘Stuck at your computer for too long?’
‘Yeah, you could say that, I suppose,’ Ralph replied. ‘Ready? I hope you’re hungry.’
‘I’m starving,’ laughed Francesca. ‘I have to confess I was a bit nervous about this evening so I didn’t eat much today.’
‘Nervous? You? Of going to dinner with me?’
‘Don’t forget you’ve had a year’s head start,’ she reminded him. ‘This is my first dinner-date since Mark and I separated.’
‘True. But I’m a pussy cat,’ he assured her as she locked the door behind her.
Dinner was a pleasure. They talked and laughed as though they’d known each other for years and the food was mouth-watering. Francesca had lemon sole with almond butter; Ralph stuffed sea bass. As she sipped a glass of chilled white wine, Francesca began to relax. It was most enjoyable to be in a man’s company again, she reflected. Ken was a pet, but he was younger than her as well as being her boss: it wasn’t quite the same. Ralph was mature, sophisticated, her own age and a very entertaining companion. She hadn’t laughed so much in months. It was only as they walked along the pier, much later, that she thought of Mark. This had been one of their haunts.
Ralph noticed her silence. ‘What’s wrong? Are you cold?’ he asked solicitously.
‘No, no, I’m fine. It’s a lovely evening,’ she murmured.
‘But?’ He eyed her enquiringly.
‘Oh, it’s silly really,’ she said in embarrassment. ‘It’s just Mark and I used to walk here a lot. It’s a little strange to be walking along the pier with another man.’
‘Do you still love your husband?’ he asked bluntly.
Francesca stopped walking and turned to face out to sea. The moon slanted silver rays on the indigo waters. How often had she stood here and watched the moon with Mark? Not so much in later years but during the good times of her marriage she’d spent many happy moments here with him. It had been daft of her to bring Ralph here. She hadn’t been thinking straight. And the craziest thing was that she felt a little guilty. That was the thing that floored her most of all.
‘Do you still love him?’ Ralph persisted, his
brown eyes staring into hers.
Francesca shook her head. ‘I don’t know, Ralph. I just don’t know. I wanted to go out with you, but the crazy thing is I feel I’m betraying him. Would you bring me home?’ she asked.
‘If that’s what you want, Francesca, I’ll bring you home,’ Ralph said, disappointed.
‘Thanks,’ she murmured.
She didn’t ask him in. She couldn’t bring herself to. She leaned over and pressed her lips lightly against his cheek.
‘Sorry,’ she whispered.
‘It’s OK. I’ll call you,’ Ralph said mildly.
‘Will you?’ she asked, surprised. She thought she’d blown it.
‘Francesca, what you’re going through is par for the course. But you’ll get over it. Believe me. It will probably be easier when you’ve got your new place and there are no memories. No past history. I had a lovely time with you and I hope we do it again.’
‘I had a lovely time too, Ralph. It was fun. I’m sorry I got maudlin at the end.’
‘Perfectly normal, I assure you. Or else I’m losing my touch,’ he teased. ‘Goodnight, Francesca.’
She watched him drive off and felt a tinge of regret. Why had she felt so uncomfortable? It was ridiculous. Ralph’s question rang in her ears as she let herself into the empty house. Did she still love Mark?
Francesca locked the door behind her and set the alarm. Trixie came bounding out of the kitchen to meet her. Francesca buried her face in her soft pelt. Was the sadness she’d felt out on the pier because she still loved her husband or was it because she finally realized that her marriage was well and truly over? A bit of both, she thought sadly. In spite of all that had happened between them, Mark was the father of her sons and he’d been her husband for twenty-two years. How could there not be a love of sorts there? It was time to stop the fighting. Time to try and heal the wounds. Time to make a fresh start.
Chapter Forty-six
DO YOU THINK we could have lunch and not fight?
Mark studied Francesca’s e-mail. He had to admit he’d been pleasantly surprised to receive it. It was such a change from her usual abusive tirades. It made sense to have lunch and discuss things, he supposed. They couldn’t be at loggerheads for the rest of their lives and, besides, his solicitor’s advice had been to conduct the divorce as amicably as possible.
He sat poised at his keyboard, then wrote decisively:
Tomorrow. 12-30 p.m. Dobbins? If you don’t, I won’t!
He waited impatiently for her response. Gratifyingly it wasn’t long coming.
1 p.m. Marcello’s? OK!
Mark smiled. Marcello’s had been a favourite of theirs. A small intimate restaurant on the canal. A perfect choice for a civilized lunch for exes. He swivelled to the keyboard and typed in:
Marcello’s fine. I’ll book. See you there.
Mark buzzed his secretary. ‘Book a lunch for two in Marcello’s on the canal. One p.m. tomorrow, please,’ he instructed. He felt a little frisson of anticipation. E-mailing Francesca had felt almost illicit. Nikki certainly wouldn’t be too pleased if he told her that he was lunching with his estranged wife. He wouldn’t mention their lunch date, he decided prudently. Life was complicated enough at the moment. It would be nice to have a lunch with his wife without warring. He’d make the effort, he promised himself. No snide remarks about lover boy. It would be hard, but if she was prepared to make the effort then so was he. He respected her maturity in sending the conciliatory e-mail. But then Francesca had never been one to hold a grudge. She’d always been the first to make up when they rowed.
Mark smiled. He was looking forward to lunch tomorrow. It was almost like going on a date, he thought in amusement. A date with his wife – who would ever have thought it?
Francesca studied her husband’s e-mail with satisfaction. Marcello’s was a restaurant that had many happy memories for them, and it was easier for her to get to than going into town. At least he was agreeable to her proposal. That was a start. He’d obviously calmed down since their last encounter. It was crazy to be fighting the way they were. It was too draining. Hopefully tomorrow they’d be able to solve their differences or at least be civil and discuss their financial situation. She wanted to look her best. Maybe she’d slip into town for an hour and buy something new for the occasion. She hadn’t bought anything for ages and she wanted to wear something he’d never seen before. Pity she didn’t have time to drop over to Diffusion in Clontarf. The boutique stocked clothes that were extremely stylish and classy, but unfortunately her time was limited.
She booked a cab. Time was of the essence, she didn’t want to waste it looking for parking.
At one-fifteen precisely the taxi dropped her at the top of Grafton Street. At one-fifty she hailed a taxi for the return journey, the satisfied possessor of an extremely chic Jil Sander suit. It was perfect, Francesca thought happily as she settled her carrier bags in the seat beside her and gave the driver the office address. A charcoal-grey pencil skirt and three-quarter-length fitted jacket that had a superb cut. It exuded an elegant, don’t-mess-with-me look. A silky black camisole, black high heels and her black Burberry briefcase and she’d look just as much the career woman as Miss Nikki Langan. If it was a career woman he wanted, it was a career woman he was going to get. She was going to get her hair blow-dried too, for good measure.
‘You get the works done, girl, and let him see what he’s missing. Personally I think you’re extremely forgiving. It wouldn’t be me,’ Millie declared as Francesca gave her an update.
‘I know. But it’s crazy to be at each other’s throats the way we are and I really did feel strange out in Howth walking along the pier with Ralph. I felt awfully sad that things turned out so bad between me and Mark,’ Francesca explained.
‘It wasn’t your fault,’ Millie pointed out.
‘I know. But what’s done is done. Ralph said something interesting the other day. He said it wasn’t what happened to you that was important, it was the way you dealt with it. I haven’t been dealing with it too good,’ Francesca said.
‘Francesca, you are not a saint yet. You are a mere mortal like the rest of us. Don’t go soft on Mark and let him walk all over you!’ warned Millie. ‘Especially as I’ll be gone next month and I won’t be here to advise you and put the iron in your soul.’
‘Millie, I’m just having lunch with him. I need to get the house sorted,’ Francesca said patiently.
‘Are you going to see Ralph again?’
‘I hope so. He’s terribly busy, you know. Deadlines coming out of his ears, he told me, but he said he’d give me a call.’
‘Do you fancy him? Would you like to snog him?’ Millie enquired in her usual forthright manner.
Francesca laughed. ‘He has a certain je ne sais quoi, I suppose. I don’t know, Millie, I’m not really looking for a romantic relationship. I kept thinking of Mark as we walked along the pier.’
‘Well, don’t go to places that you went to with Mark, you idiot,’ her sister exclaimed.
‘Right.’
‘And don’t, under any circumstances, kiss Mark. Remember he’s a shit!’ Millie ordered.
‘Stop it, Millie!’
‘Oh Lordy, Francesca! I worry about you,’ Millie said in alarm. ‘You’re going soft on him. You stick to your guns and sell that house.’
‘I have every intention of doing so, Millie,’ Francesca said tartly.
‘Good! Call me the minute lunch is over.’
‘I might!’ Francesca retorted.
‘Ah, Francesca, don’t leave me in suspense.’
‘I won’t, and stop worrying,’ Francesca reassured her. She wished she had Millie’s toughness. Sometimes her soft heart was her worst enemy.
She deliberately didn’t arrive at the restaurant on time. She didn’t want to look too eager and besides she wanted to see the look on her husband’s face when she walked in in her new suit. Ken had whistled long and loudly when he had seen her that morning.
‘You�
�re not meeting that journo, are you?’ he asked in alarm.
‘No, why?’ Francesca was surprised by his attitude.
‘Just be careful, he’s not very dependable,’ Ken said.
‘Well, that hasn’t been my experience,’ Francesca said evenly. ‘But I’m not meeting “that journo”, I’m meeting my husband for lunch.’
‘Reconciliation time?’ A thought struck him. ‘Oh no, you’ll leave me, and I can’t do without you.’
‘Selfish git.’ Francesca laughed. ‘I’m not leaving you, but for that little admission I’ll expect a massive bonus. I’m merely having lunch with Mark to try and sort out the house. OK?’
‘If you’re leaving I want a year’s notice.’
‘No problem.’ Francesca picked up her briefcase.
‘Go grind him beneath your stilettos, Frannie.’
‘Thank you, Kenneth. Don’t be a sadist. Bye.’
In spite of herself, butterflies fluttered around her insides. What if they ended up having another row in the restaurant? That would be a disaster. She’d make a special effort not to make any reference to Nikki. She’d try and keep the conversation general. Or specifically about the sale of the house and what he was going to do about his possessions.
She parked in the small car park at the side of the restaurant, sprayed some Carolina Herrera 212 on her wrist, took a deep breath and got out of the car.
Mark was seated at a table for two by the window. He stood up to greet her and she couldn’t help noticing the way his eyes widened in appreciation when he saw her.
Good, she thought with satisfaction. The suit had been worth every damn penny.
‘Hello, Mark,’ she said calmly. ‘So here we are.’
Chapter Forty-seven
‘HELLO, FRANCESCA,’ HE said slowly. ‘You look very well.’
‘Thanks.’ They smiled uncertainly at each other. His eyes crinkled up in that attractive way she’d always liked. He looked tired. Her heart softened. Mark worked too hard. She’d always been at him to take life easier when they’d been together. ‘This is a bit weird,’ she remarked, forgetting that she was being cool and poised.
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