She paused, remembering the moment. Sadness darkened her eyes. Despite their little hand-holding incident, he’d gone home to Nikki and she’d gone home alone. He’d chosen Nikki over her a long time ago. Millie was mistaken. She couldn’t be right about him wanting to come home. But did she want him to come back to her if that was the case? Francesca wondered. After all that had happened between them, did she want her husband back? Don’t be ridiculous, he doesn’t want to come back, no matter what Millie says – and even if he does it’s too late, she thought, as she resumed packing her sister’s big black case.
The following Sunday afternoon she drove to her parents’ house. She couldn’t put off telling them any longer. The house would be in the property pages in the next few days. She wanted to tell them about it first.
Maura sniffed as she opened the door to her daughter. ‘Well, you’re finally able to fit us in.’
‘Don’t be like that, Mam. Now that I’m working I don’t have as much time to call as I used to,’ Francesca protested.
‘I don’t know what you had to go out to work for,’ grumbled her mother. ‘You told me Mark gave you a generous allowance.’
‘He does, but I want to earn my own money. I’m glad I’m working, Mam,’ Francesca declared as she followed her mother into the kitchen and kissed her father on top of his bald head.
‘There was no need for you to go out there killing yourself, sure there wasn’t. Ray?’ Maura looked to her husband for support.
Ray Johnson lowered his Sunday paper an inch or two. ‘If she’s enjoying it, what’s the problem?’
‘I do enjoy it. I enjoy it very much, as it happens,’ Francesca said animatedly. ‘For the first time ever in my life I’m standing on my own two feet and making all my own decisions and that’s a sad confession to make when you look at it. I’m nearly forty-one and up until now I was someone’s daughter, someone’s mother, or someone’s wife—’
‘Well, your father and I make joint decisions and it suits us very well,’ Maura said huffily as she filled the kettle.
‘I know, Mother, and that’s fine for you. I’m just saying that I like being my own woman.’ Francesca paused, searching for words that would not offend her mother. ‘Actually I’ve made other decisions about my future, some of which are going to take effect fairly soon. I’ve asked Mark for a divorce and we’re putting the house up for sale. In fact it’s going into the papers this week,’ she said baldly. There really was no easy way to say it.
‘Lord have mercy on us.’ Her mother stood stock still in shock with the teapot in her hand. ‘How can you get a divorce? The Church forbids it. Don’t talk nonsense, child, I won’t have the family name disgraced.’ She turned to the counter top and busied herself with teabags.
‘Mother, our marriage is over. Mark is with someone else and I want to have a life of my own and a place of my own and if the Church doesn’t like that, I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do about it. And as for the family name, if that’s more important to you than my feelings and needs I’m sorry about that too,’ Francesca said evenly.
‘Ray, talk sense to her.’ Maura was so flustered she put sugar into the teapot. ‘What about the boys? What about the relations? She won’t be able to receive communion. I can’t believe a daughter of mine, a daughter that I did my level best to rear as a good Catholic, would turn her back on God and the Church.’
‘Mother! I haven’t turned my back on God at all, although I did think that he had turned his back on me at one stage,’ Francesca demurred. ‘In a funny sort of way I feel that every step I take is being guided in some way. All this happened for a reason. What it is, I don’t know but—’
‘What kind of talk is that?’ snapped Maura. ‘It’s blasphemy to say that God is guiding you towards divorce. I never heard the like. Ray, speak to her.’
Her father lowered his paper and his face took on an uncharacteristically stern look. ‘Maura, leave Francesca alone. She’s old enough to make her own decisions and have her own relationship with her Creator. And for what it’s worth, I think she’s right to sell up and get a place of her own and sort out her situation, financially and emotionally. And I’m proud of her the way she’s come through all of this. God knows it can’t have been easy, and neither of us have any idea or understanding of what it was like, so make the girl a cup of tea and stop nagging her. That’s all I have to say on the matter.’ He raised his paper again but before he did so he gave Francesca the tiniest wink. Her heart warmed in affection for her quiet, non-judgemental father.
Maura stared at her husband, opened her mouth to say something and shut it again. He was too soft with the girls and always had been, but she never thought that he would go so far as to countenance divorce. There was no point arguing with him once he made up his mind. He might be quiet and reserved and let her do all the talking but he was the most stubborn man she’d ever met and when he made a stand like that, there was no talking to him. Maura’s mouth drew down in a thin line. The family name was going to be disgraced by divorce and it didn’t matter a whit to either of them, it seemed. Obviously her novena to St Jude, that Francesca and that rip of a husband of hers would get back together again, hadn’t worked. So much for being the patron saint of lost causes. She’d give St Rita a try instead, she decided as she carried the teapot to the table.
Francesca said nothing, but her father’s support had given her heart. The worst was over now. She’d told her parents. Owen and Jonathan were backing her decision. There was nothing to stop her.
Maura slapped a cup down in front of her with a glare. Tough, Mother, get over it, Francesca thought unsympathetically as she reached over and took a chocolate goldgrain. All her mother had been concerned about was the Church, the relations’ reactions and the disgrace to the family name. Francesca’s feelings hadn’t entered the equation. It was ridiculous to feel hurt, she told herself. She knew her mother of old. Why had she expected anything different? At least her father hadn’t let her down; his stalwart support of her decision reinforced her determination to move on and make a fresh start.
‘Don’t let Ma get to you, Francesca. She’d be the same with me. It’s not personal, you know. It’s her conditioning, she’s never learned to think for herself or work things out in her own head. Whatever the Church says goes,’ Millie said later that night as they sipped a drink at Dublin Airport.
‘I know. I’m not going to let it get to me. I wonder has Mark told Gerald yet?’ Francesca said.
‘What do you care whether he has or not? Neither of them are your responsibility any more. You just get on with your own stuff.’
‘Yes, Millie. If you say so,’ Francesca said agreeably.
‘I do say so and I mean it,’ Millie retorted.
‘Yes, Millie.’
‘Oh, go on, you! God knows what I’ll come back to after a month away. Do you think you’ll be able to visit us?’
‘I don’t think so. Even though August is quiet enough, Ken’s taking a week off so I’ll be holding the fort. Maybe the last week. I’ll let you know.’
‘Why on earth you’d want to visit bossy-boots is beyond me,’ teased Aidan. ‘I’d love you to come though. It would take the pressure off me. She’s a terror to live with.’
‘You have my sympathies, Aidan. I don’t know how you survive it.’ Francesca laughed as she got up from their table. ‘I’m going to head off and get myself sorted for work tomorrow. Have a brilliant time.’ She kissed them all and left in a flurry of goodbyes, knowing that she’d miss them sorely for the month that they were away.
The following afternoon she’d mistakenly deleted a press release she’d keyed in and was cursing loudly when the buzzer rang.
‘Yes?’ she said in exasperation.
‘InterFlora,’ came the muffled response.
‘Come on up,’ she said, wondering whom the flowers were for. Hardly for Ken, she reasoned. He’d taken a client to lunch and had told her he’d be late back. Just as well if the flowers were for h
er, he’d tease the daylights out of her. She sat waiting in anticipation as she heard the delivery man’s heavy tread up the stairs. The bouquet of yellow roses, blue irises and frothy gypsophila was enormous. Perhaps Ralph had sent them, she speculated with a little thrill of excitement as she signed the docket. The delivery man had barely left the office when she ripped open the envelope that came with the bouquet. Her jaw dropped when she read the note.
Lunch was lovely. It’s great to be friends again.
Let’s do it again soon,
Love, Mark
xxxx
Mark had sent the bouquet. This was totally unexpected. Francesca sat down at her desk and reread the note, stunned. It was his own handwriting too. He’d actually gone into the florist’s and ordered the flowers personally. He hadn’t done it over the phone or got his secretary to order them. She was impressed. He really was making the effort to end the bitterness between them. That was good. When he tried, Mark could be very charming and likeable. The flowers had cost a fortune. He wasn’t at all mean, she thought fondly.
She wondered how Nikki would feel to know that Mark had had lunch with her and sent her flowers. It would probably drive her berserk. Pity she hadn’t some way of letting her know, Francesca thought regretfully as she stuck the bouquet in the kitchen sink until it was time to go home.
She debated whether to phone Mark or e-mail him. Phoning was a little too intimate, she decided. Treating her to lunch and sending a bouquet of flowers was all very well, but she didn’t want him to think that all was forgiven. He had a long way to go before she’d feel like that. She sat at her keyboard and e-mailed him.
Thanks for lunch and beautiful flowers. You shouldn’t have.
She sent it off and waited for his reply. It came almost immediately.
You’re very welcome. I wanted to.
I wanted to, she read over and over again. Why did he want to send her flowers all of a sudden? Why was he being so nice? Was Millie right, had he ulterior motives? What was going on in his head? It couldn’t be because he was jealous of Ralph, she thought, confused. And if he were there was no need at all. Ralph, as far as she could see, had blown her out.
Chapter Forty-nine
‘LET’S GO TO the Galway races,’ Nikki suggested brightly as she and Mark drove home from the office. He had been terribly subdued the past few days. It was disconcerting. She knew what was wrong with him. The estate agent’s advert had appeared in the property supplement in full Technicolor. The accompanying piece had given a glowing description of the property. It would draw a lot of viewers. He’d gone very quiet when he’d seen it. She’d studied it intently, the pictures of the rooms especially, and couldn’t help comparing it to her stylish but far smaller apartment. No wonder he didn’t want to sell the house. He’d never be able to afford another property like it at today’s prices.
‘Ach, I’m not really in form for the races. It’s been a tough couple of days,’ Mark said wearily.
‘Look, I’ll sort out the accommodation—’
‘Nikki, you’re not going to get anywhere at such short notice, you can forget that. Everywhere will be booked out solidly,’ Mark informed her.
‘I’ve friends living in Galway, we don’t need to book anywhere. Come on, we’ll just stay one night. Let’s go for Ladies’ Day. I’ll drive,’ she wheedled.
‘Ah, Nikki, I’m not in form,’ Mark muttered.
‘Please, Mark. Let’s do something next weekend. We need to enjoy ourselves now and again. We haven’t done anything nice for ages. It’s getting to me,’ Nikki said quietly.
Mark gave a sigh that came from his toes.
‘Look, I know it’s not easy seeing your former home for sale in the papers. I know it’s not what you wanted. But it’s happening. Let’s go to Galway for the weekend to take your mind off things. Please don’t shut me out, Mark.’
He was silent a long time.
‘Mark, isn’t there anything I can do to cheer you up?’ she asked forlornly.
His expression softened. ‘Sorry, Nikki. It’s not your fault. I don’t mean to be a grump. We’ll go to Galway if that’s what you want.’
‘We’ll have fun, I promise,’ she assured him, hoping the change would bring him out of himself. He didn’t say much for the rest of the evening and he went to bed early. Nikki sat mulling over a report she hadn’t been able to concentrate on all day. She couldn’t concentrate on it now either, she thought unhappily. She was at her wits’ end. Mark had withdrawn into himself and there seemed to be no way of reaching him. Something was bothering him and no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t get to the bottom of it. The sooner that damn house was sold the better. Maybe then Mark would finally realize that his marriage was well and truly over and that all debts to that nuisance of a wife were paid in full.
Francesca’s mobile phone rang. She was swaying on the Dart as it trundled towards Landsdown Road. She rooted in her bag, trying to keep her balance. ‘Hello?’
‘Hi. Sorry I haven’t been in touch. I was in Cork,’ Ralph greeted her.
‘Oh! Oh, hi, Ralph. I’m on the Dart. Can’t hear you very well.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Coming into Landsdown Road.’
‘Get off and come for a drink with me, I can pick you up in five minutes.’
‘No, Ralph, I can’t. The estate agent is calling by for a spare set of keys I got cut. I have to be at home.’
‘Saw the house in the paper. It looks good. How about tomorrow?’
‘OK,’ she agreed.
‘I’ll pick you up at the office,’ he suggested.
‘No, I’m on the move tomorrow. Here and there. Ummm … how about the Herbert Park around six-thirty?’
‘Excellent. Smashing place,’ Ralph agreed. ‘See you there.’
Francesca put her phone back in her bag. It was nice to hear his voice again, even if he had left it a while to call her. She’d seriously thought that he wasn’t going to get in touch. She’d been disappointed. She was looking forward to seeing him again.
The first viewers were scheduled to call the following evening. It would be far easier if she weren’t there. The thought of strangers trooping around her house, sticking their noses in her wardrobes and poking around her bedroom was daunting. She was absolutely dreading it.
A young man from the estate agent’s called around seven-fifteen and Francesca gave him the spare keys. The house wasn’t hers any longer, she thought a little sadly. Anyone who wanted to view it was at liberty to do so. It was thoroughly unsettling. She went to bed early but didn’t sleep very well.
She spent the following afternoon with a printer, sorting out business cards and headed stationery, before calling on a client to deliver a presentation for a proposed PR campaign. It was her first presentation and she was nervous but Ken had insisted that she do it. ‘Broaden your experience, Frannie. In case anything ever happens to me it will be good to know that I can rely on you to step into the breach.’
‘I thought I was supposed to be doing mainly secretarial work and the odd jaunt here and there,’ she pointed out.
‘So did I but you’ve shown such a flair for the job it’s a shame to waste you. Stop being a wussie, Francesca, and get in there and slay ’em. Wear that suit you wore when you were meeting hubby, it was cool.’ Ken grinned. He was incorrigible. Because of Ken and his job offer, she’d become a different woman, she thought gratefully.
It went better than she’d expected, apart from the first nerve-racking minutes when she was sure that her voice was wobbly. It was a small knitwear company and the management seemed impressed by her presentation. She felt Ken Kennedy PR were in with a very good chance. She was tired but relieved when she walked into the cool, elegant foyer of the Herbert Park Hotel. She was looking forward to her drink with Ralph.
Although she was ten minutes late, he hadn’t arrived either so she found a quiet corner and ordered a coffee and sat back and relaxed. She liked this hotel, she mused, lookin
g around the stylish foyer. She liked the open plan design and honey-coloured façade, the attention to detail and the use of natural fabrics. She was proud to bring clients to the hotel, especially foreign guests. Katherine Kronskey had been very taken with the calm, minimalist setting and the marble reception area, enlivened with specially designed calligraphy rugs and a very good collection of modern Irish art.
She sipped her coffee and wondered what was keeping Ralph. He had such nice manners, he must have a good reason for his tardiness. When seven, and then seven-fifteen came with still no sign, she began to worry. She didn’t have his number. It was on the Rolodex in the office but a fat lot of good that was to her, she thought crossly, annoyed with herself for not having the foresight to copy it into her own Filofax. She’d give him until half past, she decided, and then she’d go. An hour was long enough to wait for anybody. There was no point in hanging on. He’d hardly arrive that late. She was just about to leave ten minutes later when she saw him ramble across the foyer, gazing around, looking for her. She waved at him and a smile lit his face. As he drew closer and she saw him weaving his way between tables and chairs her jaw dropped in shock as she realized that he was quite drunk. He lurched onto the sofa beside her and before she realized what he was doing he leaned over, muttered, ‘Hi sexy,’ and kissed her passionately on the mouth, a wet, loose kiss that made her instinctively rub her mouth with the back of her hand when it was over.
‘Ralph, stop it.’ She pushed him away. ‘You’re drunk!’
‘Just had a couple.’ He grinned woozily. ‘Oh Francesca, you’re a gorgeous woman, let’s go back to my place and ride each other ragged,’ he leered. Francesca was so shocked she was speechless. He took her silence for assent and stood up, swaying and pulling her to her feet.
‘Come on, beautiful, let Ralphie give you a night to remember. I can’t wait to suck those magnificent tits. It gives me a stiffie just thinking about it,’ he slurred.
Francesca couldn’t believe her ears. She was horrified and disgusted. ‘You have given me a night to remember, Ralph, believe me,’ she said icily, pulling her arm free. With as much dignity as she could manage she crossed the foyer. He made to follow, protesting loudly, but tripped over the low coffee table. Her last sight was of him sprawled on the floor cursing as he struggled to get up. Once out of the hotel, she took to her heels and ran, afraid he would catch up with her. Running in a straight pencil skirt wasn’t easy but she made it to the car and saw with relief that he wasn’t following her. It was only when she was in the car driving towards the East Link turn-off that her breathing began to return to normal and her heart stopped racing.
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