For Love or Money: A laugh out loud, heartwarming romantic comedy

by Clodagh Murphy

  ‘It’s not about the Manolos!’ Katrina chimed in, as if they were debating some invisible adversary.

  ‘Exactly!’ Lesley tore off a slice of pizza. ‘Carrie might be a bit of an eejit, but she earns her own money and she can spend it however the fuck she wants. It’s no one else’s business.’

  ‘That smug mummy is such a wagon,’ Katrina said, sloshing more wine into her glass.

  ‘Yep. Miranda’s right. She’s a fucking bitch!’

  ‘Miranda’s always right,’ Katrina said.

  Lesley smiled as she bit into a slice of pizza. This was going to be a piece of piss.

  They both cheered at the end as Carrie skipped down the street in her brand-new Manolos, bought and paid for by the shoe-shaming mom.

  ‘Ah, that was lovely,’ Lesley sighed. ‘A morality tale for our times. Right,’ she said, getting up from the sofa. ‘I’ll get another bottle, and you cue up the next one.’

  When she had opened another bottle of red and poured them both big glasses, she curled up on the sofa and Katrina hit play on the remote control.

  ‘Aw, I love seeing Miranda and Steve so happy together,’ Lesley said as ‘The Ick Factor’ started.

  ‘They’re the best couple,’ Katrina murmured before falling into a rapt silence as Miranda proposed to her boyfriend over three-dollar beers.

  ‘Now that’s what I call romantic,’ Lesley said. ‘It’s much more authentic than some contrived mushy bullshit.’

  ‘Miranda’s so cool,’ Katrina said.

  ‘I bet Tom would love if you proposed to him like that.’

  Katrina turned to her. ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘Totally.’

  ‘You know, sometimes lately I get the feeling that he’s building up to ask me.’

  ‘Do you want him to?’

  ‘Of course. I just wish he’d hurry up and come out with it. I think it’s stressing him out.’

  ‘Then why wait for him to do the asking? Be like Miranda. Don’t you want to be a modern woman in charge of her own destiny?’

  ‘Well ... yeah.’ Katrina took a sip of her wine. ‘But I’d kind of like a nice ring too. If I propose to Tom, I won’t get a ring, will I?’

  ‘I’m sure he’d buy you a ring anyway.’

  ‘And what if he didn’t say yes? It’d be mortifying.’

  ‘Of course he’d say yes. He’s nuts about you. But he’s so shy. If you have to wait for him to get up the nerve to ask you, you might be walking down the aisle with a Zimmer frame.’

  Katrina smiled. ‘I don’t know ...’

  But there was a gleam in her eye, and Lesley could tell the idea was already taking hold.

  17

  Stella sang along to the music playing in her earphones as she kneaded her bread dough vigorously, trying to focus on the task at hand and ignore the fluttering in her stomach. She’d been fidgety and on edge all day, ever since Peter had announced that Rafe was in town and he’d invited him over for dinner.

  ‘You don’t have to cook,’ he’d added quickly, perhaps picking up on her anxiety. ‘We’ll go out, or order something in.’

  ‘No, let’s stay in,’ she’d said. It was easier to stick to Peter’s diet if they ate at home, and, besides, she was happy to throw herself into menu planning and cooking to take her mind off fretting about meeting Rafe. While it would be nice to get to know at least one member of the family before she was thrown in at the deep end with them all in Nice, the cowardly part of her just wanted to put it off for as long as possible.

  So she concentrated on kneading and chopping, stirring and tasting, and pumped up the music in her earphones to drown out the negative thoughts that were trying to nudge their way in. Peter’s sons were bound to be suspicious about her motives for marrying their father. Would Rafe have already made up his mind about her, or would he give her the benefit of the doubt? It would be unbearable if they couldn’t get along.

  Damn it! As she found her mind straying again, she turned up the volume on her iPod and blasted Lady Gaga in her ears. She forgot her anxiety as she danced around the kitchen, singing along to ‘Just Dance’ as she took a perfectly risen tray of multigrain rolls out of the warming drawer and slid them into the oven. As the song came to an end, she raised her arms above her head, and gave one last full-body shimmy as she spun around – and froze.

  Rafe was leaning in the doorway watching her, arms folded, the hint of an amused smile playing around his lips.

  ‘Oh! Hi!’ Crap! How long had he been standing there? She felt her face heat up as she pulled out the earphones, already feeling at a disadvantage. She’d wanted to be calm and poised when they met, and instead she felt flustered and guilty, as if he’d caught her doing something wrong.

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.’

  ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’ She indicated the earphones dangling from the pocket of her jeans. ‘Have you ... been here long?’

  ‘Just since the second verse.’ He smiled crookedly as he shifted away from the doorframe. ‘Hi, I’m Rafe,’ he said, extending a hand as he moved towards her.

  Stella wiped her hands on her apron. ‘Stella,’ she said. ‘Lovely to meet you.’

  ‘Likewise.’ His hand was warm and dry as it clasped hers firmly, and he had the sweetest smile that softened his features and creased up the corners of his sea-green eyes. She was familiar with his ruggedly handsome face from movies and magazines, but up close in real life, the full impact of his square-jawed masculine beauty hit her like a physical force that took her breath away. At six foot, Stella wasn’t used to men towering over her, but Rafe was so big and broad, he almost made her feel petite.

  ‘Well, dinner’s nearly ready,’ she said, waving at the stove behind her.

  ‘Need any help?’

  ‘No, thanks. Peter’s in the living room. Why don’t you go in and say hello, and I’ll be with you shortly.’

  She sighed with relief when he was gone, glad to have a moment alone to regroup. She didn’t really need to spend any more time tossing the salad or watching the bread rolls bake, but she needed to catch her breath. Rafe taking her by surprise like that had left her feeling off balance. So she spent a few more minutes fiddling with things until she was ready to face him again.

  ‘This looks great,’ Rafe said as they sat down to eat. She had made a pear and walnut salad to start, served with the rolls still warm from the oven.

  ‘Stella’s a wonderful cook.’ Peter smiled at her proudly. He poured Rafe a glass of wine and set the bottle back on the table.

  ‘You’re not having any?’ Rafe asked, looking between Peter and Stella.

  ‘No, we don’t drink. We’re teetotallers!’ Peter told him with a delighted grin, like he was delivering the punchline to the most marvellous joke.

  ‘Really?’ Rafe raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Don’t worry, I haven’t had some road to Damascus-style epiphany. It’s doctor’s orders.’

  ‘So what’s your excuse?’ Rafe asked Stella. ‘Recovering alcoholic? Mormon?’

  ‘No,’ Peter said, ‘the darling girl’s gone out in solidarity.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ Stella said. ‘I don’t miss it. I’m better off without it anyway.’

  ‘Well, I suppose congratulations are in order,’ Rafe said, raising his glass.

  ‘Thanks,’ Stella said shyly as she and Peter clinked their glasses of sparkling water against his.

  ‘This is really good,’ Rafe said as they ate.

  ‘And it’s healthy too!’ Peter said. ‘Stella’s so clever.’ He turned to her. ‘You should have your own cooking show.’

  ‘Hardly!’ Stella laughed.

  ‘You should,’ Rafe said, smiling at her. ‘Just you, cooking and dancing. I’d watch.’

  Stella blushed and stood up to start clearing away the starter plates, glad of the excuse to escape to the kitchen for a while.

  ‘So, when’s the big day?’ Rafe asked as Stella served the main course – a Mediterranean f
ish stew, fragrant with herbs and garlic, accompanied by new potatoes.

  ‘We haven’t set the date yet,’ Peter said.

  ‘Well, there’s no rush, is there? You’ve got plenty of time.’

  ‘I’m not sure that’s true for me, dear boy,’ Peter chuckled. ‘Although the way this one looks after me,’ he said, nodding at Stella, ‘I’ll probably outlive the lot of you.’

  ‘We’re thinking about September,’ Stella said.

  ‘Yes, if we can work out the logistics,’ Peter said. ‘Obviously, we want the whole family to be there, so we have to see when we can round everyone up.’

  ‘Well, I’ll be around. Shooting doesn’t start until October.’

  Stella knew that Rafe’s next project was being filmed at Ardmore Studios and on location in Dublin.

  Rafe glanced at his father. ‘Actually, I’ve decided to move back to Dublin permanently. I’m going to get stuck into house-hunting as soon as I get back from Nice.’

  ‘Oh, that’s marvellous news!’ Peter beamed. ‘Well, you must stay here with us while you’re looking. Mustn’t he?’ He looked to Stella for confirmation.

  ‘Yes, of course.’ She smiled to cover her consternation. She wasn’t entirely comfortable with the idea of having Rafe at such close quarters in the long-term. She felt safe in her little bubble with Peter, and anything that threatened to pierce it seemed a bit scary.

  ‘Well, if you’re sure I wouldn’t be intruding?’ Rafe looked between his father and Stella.

  ‘Of course not. There’s loads of room here, and we’d love to have you. And Francesca too, of course,’ Peter added a little uncertainly. ‘It’s still Francesca, isn’t it?’ he asked with a frown.

  Rafe shook his head. ‘Francesca and I split up.’

  ‘Oh. Sorry to hear that,’ Peter said, not appearing at all surprised. Rafe was notorious for hooking up with his co-stars on whatever project he was working on at the time, but the relationships didn’t tend to last much beyond the shooting schedule.

  Rafe shrugged. ‘It’s fine.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘She found out she was pregnant.’

  ‘Oh!’ Peter reared back in his seat in shock. ‘Well, that’s ...’

  ‘It’s not mine,’ Rafe said quickly. ‘Turns out she was sleeping with her agent for ages. But he’s doing the decent thing now and leaving his wife for her.’ He drained his glass, reached for the wine bottle and poured himself another.

  ‘Oh. Is that the decent thing?’ Peter asked.

  ‘Francesca thinks so.’ Rafe smiled crookedly. ‘I doubt his wife would agree.’

  ‘Well, you certainly don’t seem too cut up about it.’

  ‘Fair play to her,’ he said. ‘She always wanted kids.’

  ‘And you didn’t?’ Stella asked, regretting the words as soon as they were out of her mouth. It was too personal. She’d only just met Rafe.

  He looked at her in silence for a moment. ‘Not with her,’ he said finally.

  ‘Wait,’ Peter frowned, ‘didn’t you and Francesca have the same agent?’

  ‘Not anymore. There’s a limit to my forbearance.’ Rafe grinned with relish.

  ‘Good for you! Hit him where it hurts, eh?’

  ‘Right in the heart of his fifteen percent.’

  Peter laughed. ‘Still, it’s a pity she won’t be coming to Nice. I thought she could be a friend for Stella.’

  ‘Yes,’ Rafe said, his eyes flicking to Stella, ‘you could have arranged a play date for them.’

  So he was going to be like that about it, Stella thought, her heart sinking. But Peter had made her sound like a child he needed to keep amused.

  Peter gave his son an admonishing look. ‘It’d be nice for Stella to have another girl her own age around.’

  Girl. She cringed at Peter’s use of the infantilising word. But of course that was how he thought of her. She was in the same age bracket as his sons, after all – his boys.

  ‘Anyway, Lesley will be there now,’ Peter said brightly.

  ‘Lesley?’ Rafe frowned.

  ‘Al’s girlfriend,’ Peter told him.

  ‘That’s new.’

  Peter nodded. ‘We had lunch with them last week. She’s lovely.’

  ‘What about Mum?’ Rafe asked. ‘When’s she coming out?’

  Peter hesitated, throwing Stella a cautious glance. ‘I’m not sure she’s going to make it this year,’ he said casually.

  Rafe raised his eyebrows. ‘That’s a shame.’ His eyes flicked to Stella.

  ‘Yes, such a pity,’ she said, lifting her chin. ‘I was looking forward to meeting her.’

  She excused herself to get dessert, hoping they’d have moved on from the subject of Jane when she returned. She was lying when she said she’d been looking forward to meeting her. She’d been shocked to discover there was any question of her joining them in France, and hugely relieved that she was probably choosing to stay away. She knew she’d have to meet Jane some time – as the mother of Peter’s children, she would always be part of his family – but she was in no rush for it to happen.

  She didn’t know if Peter had said something to Rafe, but there was no more mention of Jane when she returned to the dining room. She relaxed as they ate grilled peaches with honey and yoghurt, and the conversation turned to the neutral topic of the Dublin property market.

  Stella was surprised when Rafe came into the kitchen as she was stacking the dishwasher and suggested going to the pub for a nightcap.

  ‘Oh.’ She straightened. ‘What about Peter? Is he coming?’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ Peter said, coming into the kitchen carrying a handful of dishes, ‘but you should go, darling. It’d do you good to get out. And you can have a proper drink without worrying about making me jealous.’

  She had to admit, it would be nice to go out for a change.

  ‘Okay, then. I suppose we could just go for one,’ she said.

  ‘Just the one!’ Peter laughed, shaking his head. ‘God, I miss that.’

  ‘You could come,’ Stella said. ‘One drink wouldn’t do you any harm.’

  He shook his head. ‘I’ve never had just one drink in my life, and I’m not sure I’m up to learning new tricks at this stage. Best not to chance it.’

  ‘Okay, then,’ Stella said. She was nervous about being alone with Rafe, but if he was making an effort to be friendly, she wasn’t going to do anything to discourage him.

  ‘Besides,’ Peter said, ‘it’ll give you two a chance to get to know each other. As long as you don’t take the opportunity to tell Stella what a terrible old reprobate I am and warn her off,’ he added to Rafe.

  ‘She hardly needs me to tell her that,’ Rafe said. ‘A quick Google search would give her enough reason to run for the hills, if she’s so inclined.’

  ‘Which I’m not.’ Stella smiled at Peter. ‘Just let me finish clearing up this lot and I’ll go get changed.

  ‘You go,’ Peter said. ‘I’ll finish up in here.’

  Stella ran upstairs and quickly changed out of her jeans and T-shirt. They were only going down the road to the local pub, so she didn’t need to get dressed up, but she didn’t want to wear the clothes she’d been cooking in all day. She threw on a short green shift dress that showed off her long, tanned legs, tied a matching scarf in her hair and touched up her make-up.

  ‘You look gorgeous, darling,’ Peter said when she came down the stairs.

  Rafe said nothing, but she saw the admiration in his eyes and felt a little gleam of triumph. Rafe wasn’t going to be a problem, she decided. He was a man, after all. Even if he was unsure about her, she could get him on her side. Sometimes she forgot what potent weapons she had at her disposal. This face, this body – their power could still sometimes catch her by surprise.

  18

  It was a short walk downhill to the local pub. Some of Stella’s confidence drained away as soon as Rafe pushed open the door and they were greeted with a wall of noise, the background hum of conve
rsation punctuated by shrieks of laughter and the tinkle of glass. A group of five or six burly young men hugged the corner of the bar, pints of beer clutched in their fists. Stella felt their eyes flick towards her as she passed, and wished she hadn’t changed out of her jeans after all. She instinctively shrank into herself a little and clung closer to Rafe as he led them through the crush.

  ‘Are you okay?’ He frowned down at her.

  ‘Yes, fine.’ She smiled reassuringly at him to disguise her discomfort. ‘It’s just a bit noisy in here. I guess I’m not used to it – I haven’t been out in a while.’

  Rafe glanced at the group of men and guided Stella to a table at the back.

  ‘What’ll you have?’ he asked as she settled onto the squashy sofa.

  Stella had planned to just have mineral water, but now she decided it would be a good idea to have a proper drink to take the edge off. ‘I’d love a Rusty Nail. Do you have that here?’

  Rafe shrugged. ‘I’m sure it can be arranged.’

  When Rafe went to the bar, Stella glanced across at the group of lads. They were turned away now, talking loudly among themselves. They were perfectly harmless, she realised – just a bunch of friends in high spirits enjoying a night out together. They weren’t paying the slightest attention to her.

  Rafe returned with their drinks and sat beside her on the sofa instead of taking one of the chairs opposite.

  ‘Well, cheers!’ He lifted his glass.

  Stella knocked her glass against his and took a sip of her cocktail, feeling the warmth of it spread through her. It was delicious, the perfect ratio of Drambuie to whiskey. It had been a long time since she’d had a proper drink, so she should be careful. It’d probably go straight to her head when she was so out of practice.

  ‘Good?’ Rafe asked.

  ‘Really good. Thank you.’

  ‘You do drink, then.’

  ‘Yes, but not around Peter. I was never a big drinker anyway, so it’s not hard for me. It’s not so easy for him.’

  ‘Yeah, drinking was pretty much his favourite thing. He was good at it, too.’