Finishing Touches (55 page)

Much as she loved her little niece, Cassie had been exhausted the two previous weekends she had looked after her. A fretful child was no joke; a fretful child
and
a senile mother was
enough to tax the patience of a saint, and right now, with the state of her hormones and Nora’s increased restiveness, Cassie decided that enough was enough. If she didn’t put her foot
down with Barbara, she’d be minding Britt practically every weekend for the next few months, as Ian was going to have to spend weeks in hospital and he would be in no condition to mind a
child after he came out. But this was a problem Barbara was going to have to handle herself. God knows, she had been quick enough to wash her hands of Nora once Cassie arrived to take over
responsibility for her.

‘I’m sorry, Barbara, I just can’t help out this weekend. Mam’s very agitated; she’s up at all hours and I’m getting very little sleep. I have my hands full,
I’m afraid,’ Cassie said firmly.

‘But can’t you give Mam some more tranquillizers, for heaven’s sake? Britt will be no bother. All she needs is feeding and changing!’

‘Barbara, I don’t want to be pumping Mam full of tranquillizers; it’s not fair. A time will come when I’ll have to give her more than she’s getting now. I’m
being guided by Doctor Tyne about it. I’m sorry, I just can’t take the baby this weekend. Why don’t you ask Noreen?’

‘Noreen can’t stand children,’ Barbara said sulkily.

‘Judy?’ suggested Cassie, trying to keep the note of impatience out of her voice.

‘She’s gone to Madrid for a few days with Andrew!’

‘Maybe Jean would mind her.’ Barbara and Martin’s girlfriend had become very friendly. They both loved high fashion and mingling with the glamorous set. Jean was terribly
impressed by Barbara’s exciting job and lifestyle and Barbara loved impressing the younger woman.

‘I couldn’t ask Jean; she’ll be up to her eyes in wedding preparations.’

‘Sure, that’s not for weeks yet!’ Cassie retorted.

‘Believe me, a bride has an awful lot to do before her wedding.
I
know, I’ve been there,’ Barbara declared loftily, the implication being that Cassie in her spinster
state had no conception of what was involved. ‘I wouldn’t
dream
of asking Jean!’

But you don’t mind asking me, Cassie thought resentfully. I have damn all to do here. ‘I’m sorry, Barbara, I can’t do it. I’ve got my hands full with Mam,’
she said flatly.

There was silence at the other end of the phone. Then, ‘Well, thank you. I hope you’re never in need of a favour, Cassie Jordan!’ Barbara snapped before hanging up.

Cassie slammed down the phone. That girl was incredible. She had no idea of what Cassie was going through and she always made herself out to be the injured party. As long as Cassie could
remember, it had been the same. Anger and resentment surged through her. She felt like hitting someone or smashing something into smithereens. For some reason she had a strong urge to hurl a cup
through the TV set. It was PMT on top of everything that made her like this. When she went into the sitting-room and found her mother with her head stuck up the chimney carrying on a conversation
with someone, and soot everywhere, she let out a string of curses that would have put any man to shame.

By the time Mrs Bishop arrived, she had cleared up the mess and was washing Nora’s hair, much to her mother’s disgust. There was water everywhere as she struggled against her
daughter. Taking one look at Cassie’s face, Mrs Bishop put on her apron and said, ‘I’ll finish that. Get off down the town with you. I don’t want to see you for the rest of
the morning!’ Gently but firmly she took hold of Nora and ordered, ‘Be good now, Nora, and I’ll give you a nice cup of tea and some chocolate biscuits when your hair is
washed.’ Nora’s struggles subsided and she submitted to Mrs Bishop’s ministrations with hardly a murmur. Cassie decided to go while the going was good.

Although it had just turned September, it was like a midsummer’s day. Maybe she’d go for a swim on the way home. It would be very refreshing to feel the cool water against her skin
and it might clear her head a bit. Yes, she decided, she’d do her shopping, have her workout, go for a swim and perhaps she’d be in a better frame of mind when she got home.

Cycling along the sea road with the warm breeze blowing her hair off her face, Cassie wondered if Barbara had found someone to mind Britt. If she thought her sister were really stuck and that it
was for something urgent, she would probably have taken her niece. But for Cassie, a weekend in Ashford Castle, wining and dining, and mixing with this celebrity and that celebrity did not
constitute a crisis. When she got on the machines in the gym, she worked out with a vengeance, banishing thoughts of her family from her mind and just concentrating on what she was doing. If she
didn’t have a safety valve like this, she would probably have gone mad long ago.

She supposed she was really one of the lucky ones. After all, she had Mrs Bishop; she had John and Karen; she had a couple of hours of freedom every morning and a night off every week. There
were a lot of people in her situation who had no support at all. She knew of one woman in Port Mahon who had had to care for her husband for ten years. She had done it all by herself as she had no
family to rely on and her husband had been terribly abusive to her. The poor woman had died of a heart attack, and the husband was still alive in a home. He was well into his eighties but he had
the constitution of an ox. Imagine if her mother lived into her eighties! She could have years like this ahead of her. Cassie shuddered to think about it.

Stop it, she ordered herself, as she stood under a hot shower, washing off the sweat of her exertions. But the blues would not lift and she dreaded the thought of going home. She dressed and
collected her belongings, smiling goodbye at a girl she had spoken to in the gym earlier on.

‘Hello!’ said a vaguely familiar voice at her side. She turned to see her Welsh neighbour walking down the corridor beside her.

David Williams had gone to the gym feeling very pleased with himself. The chapter that had caused him so much trouble had been completed at three o’clock that morning and
the end of the book was in sight. Another six weeks’ hard work should do it. Of course the manuscript would have to be edited, typeset and proofread, but the worst would be over. Then
he’d be off on the publicity trail. The celebrity launch, TV talk-shows, newspaper and magazine interviews, signing sessions, the whole palaver. Criss-crossing the UK, and then a repeat of
the whole thing in the USA and Canada. It was hard work, no doubt about it, and once he had completed the Thatcher biography he was going to review his options. Still, today he felt good and he had
enjoyed his workout.

After his divorce, he had let himself go. With lots of booze and living on take-aways he’d put on two stone in no time. After buying the cottage in Port Mahon, he had turned his back on
his old life. Now he took plenty of exercise, ate properly and didn’t bother much with booze. A couple of pints now and again, but no hard stuff. He hadn’t felt so well in years!

He had been on the rowing-machine when he noticed the Jordan girl arriving. He could see the strain etched on her face. She was in terrific shape, though, he observed, admiring her long tanned
legs and her shapely figure in a pink leotard. She had been lost in a world of her own for her entire workout and had not noticed him at all. He felt a little put out, for some reason. What did he
care whether she noticed him or not? He wasn’t interested in women any longer, he told himself sternly.

He had a relationship of sorts with a woman from the PR firm who handled his books. Carla was a lovely, go-getting woman who was advancing up the ladder of success at a great rate. A husband and
children did not figure in her dreams and in that respect she and David were perfectly matched. She always accompanied him on his publicity tours. They had been attracted to each other and had
started an affair on a publicity trip to Edinburgh. It was very pleasant and suited their needs perfectly. When David was in London they got together, and occasionally she flew over to Ireland for
a weekend. It was undemanding for both of them and that was what they wanted – so why was he feeling miffed because he hadn’t been noticed by a complete stranger, albeit a very
attractive stranger? ‘Keep rowing, Williams!’ he muttered, taking his eyes off the woman in the pink leotard and putting his all into his rowing exercises.

It was just by chance that they both came out of the shower-rooms together. Again, she didn’t appear to notice him. She strode down the corridor and before he knew it, he had lengthened
his stride to catch up with her and found himself saying hello.

‘Oh! Oh hello!’ Cassie came out of her reverie.

‘How’s your mother?’ her neighbour was asking her.

Cassie grimaced. ‘Not the best,’ she admitted.

‘She didn’t catch cold, did she?’ he asked in concern.

‘Oh no, nothing like that. It’s just . . . it’s just that she’s a bit restless . . .’ She couldn’t really say that her mother was driving her round the twist
at the moment.

‘I see,’ the Welshman murmured. Cassie looked at him, really looked at him and noticed him. She had been too occupied with her mother to do so the day he had brought her home from
her escapade on the beach.

He was in his forties, she guessed, of medium height, a head taller than she was. He was wearing a white T-shirt and jeans and she could see the well-developed muscles of his chest and arms. His
face was tanned. He had a good strong jawbone, a nice straight nose, a firm well-shaped mouth and the clearest, bluest eyes she had ever seen. He wore his greying hair cut short and it suited
him.

‘I’m David Williams, by the way. We’ve never been formally introduced.’

Cassie smiled as she felt her hand taken in a firm grip. ‘And I’m Cassie Jordan. Thank you for looking after Mam the other day.’

‘It was nothing at all. I’m sorry to hear she’s not too well. You must find the going very tough sometimes.’

The genuine sympathy in his voice was Cassie’s undoing. To her absolute horror, a lump as big as a melon rose to her throat and tears welled up in her eyes. Bowing her head, she managed to
mutter, ‘Yes, yes . . . I must go now.’ She turned away, mortified at her behaviour. Imagine bursting into tears in front of a perfect stranger. She knew her hormones were awry but this
was a bit much. She was going to live on vitamin B6 and evening primrose oil from now on.

‘I’m terribly sorry. Please don’t rush away like that. I didn’t mean to upset you.’ David hurried along beside her, his face creased with concern.

‘Oh, no,
I’m
sorry. It’s not
you. Please
don’t think that,’ Cassie sniffed, desperately trying to regain her composure.

‘Maybe you’d like to have a cup of tea and talk about it. It helps just to talk sometimes,’ she heard him say sympathetically. Cassie stopped short, and blinked the tears away
from her eyes.

‘Not at all, David, I’m fine. Things just got a bit on top of me today for some reason. I don’t usually carry on like this.’

‘Of course you don’t,’ he smiled, and Cassie noticed that the smile made his eyes crinkle up and his face seem very kind.

‘I’ll tell you, there were a few days last week that I felt exactly like you do,’ David joked, ‘and if someone had asked me to go for a cup of tea and offered to listen
to my woes, I’d have gone like a shot! Come on,’ he said persuasively. ‘I’d only be worrying about you if you went home like this and it would interfere with my creative
processes. So, really, I’m being quite selfish.’

Cassie laughed. She liked his sense of humour, and, despite the fact that they were virtual strangers and she had just disgraced herself by bawling in front of him, she felt very comfortable in
his company.

‘Well, I suppose I couldn’t have that on my conscience,’ she agreed. ‘But I look a sight, I’m not really dressed up for going for tea.’ She was wearing jeans,
worn sneakers and a lemon T-shirt.

‘You look fine,’ he said, as they continued down along the corridor.

They emerged on to Main Street, and he quirked an eyebrow at her. ‘The Port Mahon Arms, The Sea View, Tum Tum’s, Mrs Hardy’s teashop? Where would you like to go?’ Before
Cassie could reply she heard a plummy voice and her heart sank. Mrs Carter, the gossip to beat all gossips, was bearing down on her.

‘Good morning, Cassie, and how are you? I haven’t seen you since you came home. And how is poor Nora keeping? It’s a very sad thing.’

‘Hello, Mrs Carter. Mam’s fine, thank you,’ Cassie said crisply.

‘Aren’t you lucky all the same that you have Mrs Bishop to help out, so you can get to your keep-fit with Mr Williams here?’ Mrs Carter smiled coquettishly.

Cassie was speechless. David, standing slightly behind Mrs Carter, tried to keep the amusement off his face. She turned her attention to David. ‘I suppose you feel the need some days to
get out from behind your typewriter.’

‘Oh indeed,’ he agreed. ‘I like coming into town; you meet some real characters.’ Mrs Carter looked slightly affronted at this. She wasn’t quite sure but she felt
she had just been insulted.

‘Yes, well, good morning to you both!’ she sniffed a touch frostily, and carried on down Main Street with her nose in the air. Bloody foreigners buying into Port Mahon. Why
couldn’t they stay wherever they belonged?
Characters
indeed. And that Jordan one was no better than him, with her high-and-mighty airs. Sure, the whole town knew Nora Jordan was
gone senile. I was only enquiring after her health, she thought self-righteously, as she spotted the bank manager’s wife and waved at her. Just wait until Lizzie heard about Cassie Jordan and
the Welsh writer! She’d be amazed. Thrilled with her scoop, Mrs Carter crossed the street to impart the exciting details to the town’s second biggest gossip!

‘It’s a pity,’ said David, as he watched Mrs Carter march down the street, ‘that I’m not writing fiction, I’d get plenty of material from the likes of
her.’

Cassie laughed. ‘That’s funny – I had exactly the same thought about you the other day. You
do
realize it will be all over Port Mahon that we were seen coming out of
the “keep fit” club together!’