She flinched at the irritation in his voice.
She’d let it go, disappointed as the forecast for the weekend was for glorious weather and Wicklow was beautiful at this time of year. So instead they’d stayed in Dublin, and what a disaster the weekend had turned out to be! David had gone out with the guys as usual on Friday night. She wondered why work hadn’t interfered with that weekly outing. He’d had to work all day Saturday and claimed he would have been too tired to see her that night. The only time she’d seen him was when he took her to brunch in Kitty’s, on Sunday, with all the gang from his work. Even then, they’d hardly spent five minutes in each other’s company. She watched him laughing and joking with the guys and wished that they could have been somewhere alone together. Directly afterwards, David put her in a taxi, saying he was going back to the office to work.
“Will I see you tonight?” she’d asked him as he’d kissed her goodbye.
“Ellie, for God’s sake, give me a break!”
His words had stung her and she’d felt very hurt. She’d had to steel herself to hold back the tears and not let him see her cry.
And now on the phone when she’d suggested that they go somewhere, just the two of them, for the following weekend he’d replied, “Oh, sorry Ellie, I meant to tell you, I’ve promised to join Will and the guys for a golfing weekend in Wexford. Maybe the weekend after?”
She didn’t think it unreasonable to be annoyed that he hadn’t remembered to tell her, but he seemingly did, and so they’d had another blazing row.Now, as she thought about their relationship, she began to feel very afraid. She didn’t know how to make things better. David had become a stranger and suddenly she was fearful of what the future held. She was glad now that she had agreed to go to Bordeaux with her mother. Maybe the time away from each other would improve things between her and David.
61
Kathleen O’Sullivan was scrolling down her Twitter messages when one in particular caught her eye. It was from @politicalscandals and it had a link to a blog Trouble in Paradise. Curious, she opened it andwhat she read made her very uneasy indeed.
Kathleen had spent forty years working as a cook for Rachel’s mother, Mrs Stewart.Now in her eighties, she was more or less confined to the house due to ill-health.Her main contact with the outside world, besides her television, was the computer that her son, Donal, had given her one Christmas. Every single day she blessed him as she surfed the internet, emailed her friends, skyped her children and grandchildren and tweeted. She’d made lots of friends on Twitter and was gaining new followers every day. It was wonderful! She was following all kinds of interesting people, even famous ones. She lived alone but Twitter made her feel like she had company all the time.
It had taken her a little while to get the hang of it but, though her body was frail, her brain was as sharp as ever. She’d had help, of course, from the local convent school. Their students had taken part in a scheme to help the elderly master computers, and the lovely youngster who came to Kathleen once a week had been a great teacher. That had been a godsend! She still popped in from time to time to see how Kathleen was getting on and followed her on Twitter too.
Now as she read the blog she had a suspicion that the politician in question was Rachel’s husband Carl. All the other newly elected politicians in North Dublin were older and certainly couldn’t be called handsome. Besides, Mrs Stewart had visited Kathleen last week and mentionedthat Rachel and Carl were holidaying in the south of France.
Kathleen hoped she was wrong and sat for a time, pondering what she should do. She decided to wait until Donal came in and ask him for his advice. He was home on holiday from Australia where he was a detective in the police force in Adelaide. He would know what she should do. When he arrived back that evening she showed him the blog and told him of her suspicions. His advice was to call Rachel’s mother and mention it to her.
“Whether it is lies or not, I think Rachel should be made aware of it.”
“I fervently hope it is lies,” his mother said vehemently. She shook her head sadly. “Carl seems such a genuine bloke. Just goes to show, it’s true what they say, you can never trust a politician!”
It was obvious to Donal that she believed the story to be true.
“You remember Rachel, don’t you?” she asked him as she picked up the phone to call Mrs Stewart.
“I remember a beautiful little girl with white blonde hair and dark-brown eyes who always wanted to chat with me whenever I went to collect you.I remember thinking that she was very lonely.”
“Yes, well, you should see what a beauty she is now –” Kathleen broke off as Rachel’s mother answered the phone.
Meanwhile, on the Côte d’Azur, Carl was oblivious of the events unfolding in Dublin. It had been a wonderful holiday and he felt that he and Rachel were in a much better place than when they’d arrived.
Rachel, for her part, had had a wonderful holiday and she couldn’t fault his behaviour, but at the back of her mind was the thought that he was trying too hard. He was so attentive to her every need that she feared it only confirmed that he was guilty of wrongdoing. However, they’d had a long talk and Carl had promised her sincerely that things would change when they got back home.
They were enjoying their second-last day in this idyllic place when Rachel got a call from her father.
“Rachel, honey, I don’t know whether I should tell you this or not but I’ve heard something and I think you should know about it. Maybe it’s all a load of rubbish. I hope so but anyway . . .” He paused, trying to find the right words.
Rachel knew that something really bad was about to happen.
“Well, Kathleen rang your mother this morning . . .”
Rachel could sense her father’s distress. “Go on, Dad!”
“Well, she said there is some kind of message on Twitter about a blog – Trouble in Paradise, she saidit’s called. Anyway, Kathleenseems concerned that it may be associated with you and Carl. Maybe she’s wrong – I don’t understand all this Twitter and blog stuff – but maybe you can check it out.”
Rachel felt fear clutch her heart. Her blood felt like it was running cold through her body.
“Okay, Dad, I will.”
“Listen, Princess, even if it is about Carl, you’ll survive it. Maybe it’s all lies. Let me know what happens and I’ll fly out there tonight if you want.”
“Thanks, Dad. I will. I’ll check it out this minute.”
She hung up and Googled the blogsite Trouble in Paradise. Her eyes blurred as she read down through it and her heart raced uncontrollably.
‘One of our newlyelected politicians from north Dublin, who is holidaying in the South of France with his beautiful wife at the moment, alsohas a mistress tucked away back home. Does his wife know? No prizes for guessing who the handsome young politician in question might be!’
There it was in black and white. The thing she’d suspected and feared. There was no question that it was Carl the blog alluded to. There was no other ‘young, handsome’ politician in North Dublin. No wonder Kathleen had immediately jumped to the conclusion that the blog concerned Carl. Rachel closed her eyes and grabbed the table to steady herself, afraid she might faint. She took a deep breath and sat down. She wondered who the woman in question was.No doubt that information would come out over the next few days. That was the way these things worked – teasing and tantalising until the whole country was agog to know the gory details.
Her instinct had been right, as always. She rang her father back. In a weary voice she told him that she’d read the article.
“It’s about Carl alright. As I suspected, he’s been having an affair which is why he’s neverbeen home lately. It’s no surprise really.”
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. Do you want me to come down there?”
“No, Dad, we’ll be home the day after tomorrow. There’s no point. I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure? I’ll collect you from the airport.”
“No, Dad, I’
d prefer if you didn’t. Carl can book two limos to meet us. I’ll call when I get home.”
“Okay, if that’s what you want, honey. “Are you sure you’re alright, Rach?”
“I’m fine, Dad.I’ll discuss what I want to do when I see you. One thing’s for sure. My marriage is over.”
Unbeknownst to her, a couple of Carl’s friends had contacted him to tell him of the blog article. He logged on to the website and knew instantly that he was the subject of the blog. This could destroy all the good that he’d achieved with Rachel over the past month. This could wreck not only his marriage but also his fledgling career. Who was doing this to him? Who knew about him and Zita? Could it even be Zita herself?
He texted her, the first time since he’d told her it was over: ‘Do you know anything about this blog? C.’
The reply came through straight away: Fuck off! Z.
He wondered if it was she who was writing the blog. If it was, he swore he’d throttle her.
Rachel went to bed early that night, pleading a headache. She was not about to let him know that she knew. There was no point in discussing it anyway. He would just deny it. She didn’t want to spoil the last day of the holiday for the children. Time enough to let him know their marriage was over when they got back home.
The following day, their last in Cannes, both Rachel and Carl logged on to Trouble in Paradiseseparately. Sure enough there were some more salacious titbits: ‘Which NEP(newly elected politician) showers his mistress with Krug Champagne and the best Burgundy and Bordeaux wines?’
“Damn her,” Carl said aloud, reading this. He was pretty sure now that it was Zita. She was clever, very clever. He had to stop her. He’d contact her the minute he got home and stop this craziness once and for all.
Rachel blanched when she read this latest blog. The reference to fine wine made her uneasy. Somehow she felt that whoever was writing this was trying to get to her.She couldn’t wait to get home to discuss this whole thing with her father. He would know what to do. She could always trust him.
They spent a last tense night on the Côte d’Azur, both lost in their own thoughts and anxious to get back to Dublinto sort things out.
62
Carl and his family arrived at Dublin airport on Sunday afternoon to find a photographer snapping them as they came out of the terminal building to the waiting limos. Carl wondered how he’d known that they were due in. Rachel tried to shield the children from the snapper as Carl ushered them into the first car. Carl wondered if he was being paranoid. Maybe this guy just happened to be there for some celebrity or other and happened to spot him and his family. He hoped this was the case. He detested the paparazzi. They were like vultures! Bloodhounds seeking blood! He hoped to God that they wouldn’t get wind of this latest mess he’d got himself into. He knew he would have to work hard and fast to end this blog and curtail the damage. He’d have to hope and pray that Rachel didn’t get to hear of it.
When they arrived home, Carl went immediately into his bathroom to open up the blog in private, dreading what he might read next. ‘So who is this attractive NEP who has been cheating on his wife? Watch this space and all will be revealed.’ Christ! She wouldn’t, would she? He felt sick.
He rang Zita immediately but got her voicemail. He left a message. “Please call me asap. We need to talk.”
She texted him back: We have nothing to talk about.
We bloody well do!was his reply.
You ain’t seen nothing yet! she answered him, sending him into a spin.
Rachel rang her father. “We’re home, Dad.”
“I’m on my way,” he said. “Keep that husband of yours out of my sight or I won’t be responsible for my actions.”
“He’s not here, Dad. He left immediately we got home. Probably to visit his mistress,” she added bitterly.
“Don’t worry, Princess. I’ll be with you soon.”
Her father arrived and was surprised when she told him that she hadn’t let Carl know that she’d seen the blog.
“I’m waiting for him to make the first move. If I accuse him he’ll only deny the whole thing. Let’s wait and see if they name him and then I can act.”
“That’s a wise move.”
“You know, Dad, when this happened I just wanted to get blotto. I wanted to drink myself senseless, but I didn’t. I kept my cool and resisted the urge and I’m really proud of myself for that.”
“That’s my girl! I’m proud of you too, Princess. You’ll get through this and come out stronger. Just you wait and see.”
She smiled at him feebly as she hugged him. He stayed for dinner and, as always, she felt that she could survive this with him on her side.
Zita was nowhere to be found. Carl banged on her door and kept his finger pressed on her bell but got no response. He rang Marcus’s bell too but got no response from him either. They could very well have been in there together, laughing their heads off at him. He had no way of knowing. There were no other tenants in the building, only offices which were closed up for the weekend.
He tried her cell phone every five minutes but she had it turned off. He visited all the places that he knew she frequented but there was no sign of her anywhere. Eventually, defeated, he returned home. Rachel was sleeping and he slipped into the guest bedroom so as not to disturb her.
63
Fiona had been thrilled to hear about Ronan being offered the manager’s position in Naas when he phoned her with the news.
“Gosh, that’s great. It will be good for Oisín to have you close by.” She didn’t add ‘and me too’.
“Are you absolutely certain that you won’t want to go back to Dublin?” he asked.
“Don’t worry, Ronan, my decision is made. This is the best place to bring up Oisín and I have all the support of my family and friends here.” She paused. “I’m delighted that you’re going to be nearer too. And my mother will be pleased!”
On his last visit, at Doris’s insistence they had gone for a drive up to the King’s River, leaving Oisín with her. By this time, Ronanhad realised that Doris was hoping he and Fiona would get together but he had no such intention. In any case, the hurt from his marriage break-up was too raw.
Ellie and Marie-Noelle had booked their holiday to Bordeaux for the last week in September. Her mother had insisted on asking Sandrine to join them but thankfully she said she couldn’t come due to work pressure. Sam would be in the city at the same time and would take Ellie to meet some of the producers of the Haut-Medoc.
When David heard the dates they’d planned he was quite upset.
“You can’t go then, Ellie. I’ve got the Chartered Accountants’ annual dinnerdance on the twenty-seventh. I need you there with me.”
“I’m sorry, David, but I just can’t change it now. We’ve already booked and paid for it. You never told me about the dinnerdance.”
“I can’t go unaccompanied,” he informed her. “I’d be the oddmanout.” There was nothing David hated more than being oddmanout.
“Why don’t you ask Sandrine? She can’t come to Bordeaux with us. I’m sure she’d love to go.”
“That’s an idea. I’ll give her a call.”
Sandrine rang Ellie that evening. “What’s this I hear that you can’t go to the Chartered Accountants’ Ball?”
It was elevated to a ball now, Ellie noted! “You know I can’t, Sandrine. Mum and I have already booked our trip.”
“Well, I think you’re being extremely selfish, Ellie. You always only think of yourself. Poor David is quite distraught. It is quite the most important event of the year.”
“To you and David, maybe, seeing as how you’re both accountants but going on holiday with Mum to Bordeaux is much more important to me.”
“Selfish,” Ellie heard her sister grumble.
“Anyway, hasn’t David asked you to go with him?”
“Well, yes.”
“What’s your problem so?”
“I just think you’re being awfully selfish,
leaving poor David on his own.”
Ellie snorted. “You’ll both have a great time.”
“Huh, no thanks to you,” was the reply.
Ellie could tell from her sister’s voice that she was delighted with the outcome.
“Have you ordered the wedding invitations yet?” Sandrine enquired.
“No. I have to show the samples to David. He’s been too busy to look at them this past week.”
“Honestly, you’re so disorganised,” her older sister complained. “It’s almost September already. You’ll really have to stop dragging your heels.”
Ellie threw her eyes up to heaven.
“And what about the hen weekend?” asked Sandrine. “I was thinking West Cork would be lovely.”
Ellie sighed. Stuck with Sandrine in West Cork for a weekend in December was not her idea of fun. She was thinking more of maybe a long weekend in Tenerife, brushing up the tan.
“We’ll think about that after Bordeaux. We still have plenty of time. I need to discuss it with all the girls.”
Now it was Sandrine’s turn to sigh.
64
Ronan had seen the blog too – it had gone viral and was quite a topic of conversation in the pub.He guessed it was Carl they were talking about. He realised that it was too late to have a talk with him now. Somebody was spilling the beans and he wondered if it was Louise who was the culprit. He would put nothing past her. Anyway, it was obviously out in the open now and he hoped to God it didn’t have a disastrous effect on Rachel. He was wondering whether she was home yet and whether she’d heard about the blogwhen he saw the photograph of her and Carl arriving at Dublin Airport. She was trying to shield the children from a photographer. He looked closely at the photograph and saw the strain on Rachel’s face. Carl looked pretty frazzled too. What a change from the happy smiling photo in the newspapers just two weeks ago! He hoped Rachel would call him.
Rachel checked the blog every five minutes the following day, waiting to see what juicy details they would leak to the world about her husband and his mistress.
Behind Every Cloud Page 28