Francesca's Party (26 page)

‘I’m heading into Blackrock. I’m going to Minsky’s to get us something for brunch. I thought you might prefer to eat on the balcony instead of going out,’ Nikki’s voice came crisply down the line.

‘Why don’t we go to IdleWilde and go for a walk on Killiney Hill afterwards? It’s a lovely day – I could do with some fresh air.’

‘Oh Mark, that would be great. A walk is just what we need. I’ll come home and change. Won’t be long.’ He could hear the lilt in her voice before he hung up
and
he smiled. They were going to have a nice day today. He was dying to tell her about the double-dealing that was going on behind closed doors in Geneva. Mark loved talking to Nikki about work. She was always so interested, far more than Francesca had ever been. Nikki loved the cut and thrust of banking and high-powered finance; in that they had a true bond, he thought happily. He was a lucky man to find a woman who was so intellectually stimulating and dead sexy with it.

He jumped out of bed and strode into the shower. He felt horny. Before they headed off to IdleWilde they could have a nice sexy interlude and afterwards he’d really be ready for a hot cup of La Scala and one of the café’s most popular orders, the big breakfast roll. He’d have his fry-up after all, he smiled as he stepped under the hot jets of water, hoping Nikki would be home soon to join him.

Francesca sat on the deck and turned her face up to the sun. It was a glorious morning. After breakfast she would take Trixie for a walk along Howth Pier. She poured herself a cup of freshly brewed coffee and buttered her toast. What was it that made eating outside so inviting? she wondered as she bit into the crisp toasted bread smothered in melting butter.

The garden looked lovely with masses of trailing roses along the trellis and a profusion of colourful bedding plants and shrubs in bloom. The breeze sent a perfumed waft of lavender drifting under her nose and she inhaled it with pleasure. She wondered sadly if Mark missed the garden. He’d always enjoyed sitting out, reading his paper or doing the crossword.
There
wasn’t much privacy on a balcony, she thought derisively as she flicked to the back page of the
Irish Times
weekend supplement. She couldn’t help the broad smile of satisfaction that creased her face as she saw the rather flattering picture of herself, with the Clarks, in the social column.

When she saw another picture and read the column in the
Irish Mail
she felt an even fiercer sense of satisfaction. ‘Stick that in your pipes and smoke it, the pair of you,’ she muttered as she reread the piece.

Flying solo but flying high, after several months of absence on the social circuit, since the break-up of her marriage from dishy international banker Mark Kirwan, Francesca Kirwan looked radiant in sequins at Karen Marshall’s cancer charity gala. Mark and his new squeeze, fellow banker Nikki Langan, were nowhere to be seen. Wonder why … as he has always shared the top table since EuroBank Irl. contribute generously to Karen’s good cause. Rumour has it the two ladies are at daggers drawn.
Quelle surprise!

Quelle surprise!
indeed, Francesca thought triumphantly,
her
transformation and new life had begun in earnest and she hoped her husband was reading all about her wherever he and his ‘new squeeze’ were having breakfast.

Would she ever have someone to share breakfast with again? she wondered forlornly as her spirits sank at the thought of Mark and Nikki eating breakfast and gazing into each other’s eyes in some ‘in’
eatery.
All she had for company was Trixie. Since Owen had gone the house seemed dull and empty. She missed him sorely. Missed his unquenchable exuberance and sense of fun. The house was as quiet as a morgue. Big and empty and quiet. It unnerved her sometimes going from room to room remembering when the boys had been growing up and the house had been filled with their friends. She and Mark had often retreated to his cosy study to get a bit of peace and quiet. He still had books and magazines and golf trophies that he hadn’t taken with him. Almost as though he had left part of himself in his study for the day when he might come back.

She didn’t want him back, she thought fiercely. Their life together was finished. She should insist he clear out all his rubbish and take it over to Ms Career Woman’s luxury pad on Mount Merrion Avenue. Mark had given her the address and asked her to redirect his post. She couldn’t bring herself to write
her
address on the envelopes so she sent it to the bank instead, much to his chagrin. Maybe she might meet an interesting man in her new job, she thought wistfully, trying to cheer herself up. How satisfying it would be to be with someone just to show Mark that she wasn’t past it.

‘Oh, you’re pathetic,’ she muttered crossly. Such an attitude to have at her age. If she were sixteen it would be understandable, but to be forty and want to have a man just to give the finger to her errant husband was the pits. ‘You’re a sad old boot,’ she told herself as she poured more coffee. Just as well she was starting a new job, things were really rock bottom when you started talking to yourself. She
held
out a bit of buttered toast to Trixie. Just as well, too, that the gossip columnist couldn’t see her now. Far from ‘radiant in sequins’. But she
had
started to get on with her life.

Francesca finished her breakfast and tidied up. She needed to sort out her clothes for the following week and get the car valeted if she was going to be collecting authors and the like from the airport. She took one last look at her photo and studied it intently, trying to view it through Mark’s eyes. Not a hint of depression or trauma, thankfully. In fact she looked as if life were a bowl of cherries. And it will be, she assured herself. It was said life began at forty. She was more than ready to test the theory.

Mark bit into a mouthful of sausage and egg and took a long slug of hot coffee. IdleWilde was buzzing and the atmosphere was laid back and trendy. It made him feel young, part of a scene he’d missed out on, tied down as he’d been with family and career. He smiled at Nikki. She was beautiful … and
wild
. They’d gone at it hot and heavy in the shower. Just as well the apartments were thoroughly soundproofed. He slid his hand along her thigh. He felt eighteen again.

‘How about we take a couple of days off and head down to Kinsale and spend a bit of time together?’ he suggested.

‘Oh Mark, I’d love to,’ Nikki enthused. ‘But I’ll have to check my diary. I’ve meetings in London next week that I simply have to go to.’

‘Oh! I was hoping we could go next week while the weather is so fine,’ he said, disappointed.

‘And what about your appointments?’

He shrugged. ‘I’ll reschedule.’

‘Mark, we’re at a particularly sensitive juncture in negotiations, I need to be there,’ Nikki explained.

‘Why? What’s happening?’

Nikki set aside her cup and began to detail the nitty-gritties of their latest takeover. Mark listened intently, interrupting occasionally with a pertinent question. They ate and talked and ordered more coffee and then Mark told her about the goings-on in Geneva and as Nikki laughed heartily at some witticism he made, he felt really glad to be in her company.

His mobile rang and he scowled as he noted the number on the screen. ‘Hello, Dad,’ he said patiently. He should have known the day was going too well.

‘Have you seen the papers?’ his father demanded.

‘No.’

‘Hrumph. It’s a bloody disgrace, that’s what it is. Disgracing the family name. That wife of yours going to parties on her own and you being discussed in most disrespectful terms. It just isn’t good enough, Mark. I’m damn annoyed. Thank God your dear departed mother isn’t alive to see this.’

‘Dad, the signal’s very bad. I’ll call you later,’ Mark said firmly as he switched off the phone. What on earth was his father talking about?

‘What’s wrong with your father?’ Nikki asked, half-heartedly.

‘Oh, he’s going on about something about me in the papers. Give us a look until I see what he means.’ He held out his hand for a paper. Nikki took the
Irish Times
out of her sun bag and handed it to him. She turned to the back page of the
Irish Mail
.

Mark felt his stomach give a little lurch as he saw Francesca’s familiar face smiling out at him. She looked very well, he thought in surprise as he read the caption. So she’d gone to Karen’s do. Somehow he hadn’t really felt she had the bottle to do it. And she looked as though she was enjoying herself too. Well, good for her, he thought ruefully as he saw Nikki’s expression change.

‘What does it say?’

‘I’m your “new squeeze”,’ she said caustically.

‘Let’s see.’ He read the piece. ‘Sarky bitch. Take no notice. It’s tomorrow’s fish-and-chip wrappings.’

‘I bet Francesca enjoyed it,’ Nikki retorted.

‘She’s not really into gossip columns,’ Mark said quickly.

‘Why do you always defend her?’ Nikki snapped.

‘I’m not defending her, Nikki. I was merely making a statement.’

‘You
do
defend her. All the time,’ she persisted. ‘She can do no wrong in your eyes. Get over your guilt, Mark, and take a good look at her picture. That woman is saying to you: I don’t need you. I can do this on my own. She doesn’t
need
you any more, Mark, so deal with it.’

‘Will you calm down, Nikki? There’s no need to get so agitated over a simple remark. Let’s finish our meal and go for a walk,’ Mark suggested. He really didn’t need a scene about Francesca right now. Why did Nikki feel so aggressive towards his wife? It was illogical. ‘Look, Bono’s just come in,’ he murmured, hoping to take Nikki’s mind off the subject.

‘Big deal,’ she muttered, studiously refusing to gawk.

‘I’d love to see his house. The views are stunning,’ Mark continued evenly.

‘Talking of property, I’m thinking of investing in the south of Spain,’ Nikki said coolly.

‘Oh!’ Mark was surprised. This was news to him. ‘Well, it’s extremely important where you buy, don’t forget. Location. Location. Location. Resale value, rental desirability and all of that.’

‘I’m not a fool, Mark,’ Nikki retorted snootily. ‘I know all that.’

‘Sorry! Of course you do,’ Mark apologized. That had been a stupid and patronizing remark. Nikki would have all options covered.

‘So where are you thinking of buying, and will you take me along for a dirty weekend?’ he teased.

‘Maybe.’ Nikki relaxed a little. ‘I’m thinking of Marbella—’

‘Great golf courses there,’ Mark interjected enthusiastically. ‘Go for it, Nikki. You won’t go wrong. And this is the time to buy. Property prices are rising in Spain and Portugal. Get in while the going’s good.’ Mark was delighted with Nikki’s news. It was good to see her investing wisely. He really admired her. There was a lot to be said for independent women.

Nikki sat leaning against a tree on Killiney Hill looking out to sea. It was a stunning view, she thought appreciatively as she looked south over the sparkling sea towards the emerald green coastline that curved down to Wicklow.

Mark’s head rested in her lap as he snored lightly. He had such long dark lashes and a mouth that was made
for
kissing. It was a very firm mouth, a masculine mouth. Nikki was particular about mouths. She hated loose-lipped men who slobbered all over you.

It was a peach of a day: the sun warm against her face, a balmy breeze rippling the trees and keeping the air cool in the intense heat of the sun.

Why had she made such an idiot of herself over brunch? She was furious with herself. It was so stupid of her to get rattled over Francesca’s picture in the paper, and to be affected by that silly gossip columnist’s remarks. Where was her poise, her dignity? No wonder Mark had got irritable. Men hated needy women who were always looking for reassurance. It was something she’d noticed in her own and friends’ relationships. She’d never felt the need for such reassurance before because she had always been in control. But this relationship with Mark was completely different. He was the one in control, although he didn’t realize it, so successful was the façade she’d created. It slipped sometimes though, she thought despondently. Like this morning. Disaster! She was turning into a pathetic co-dependent that all those ridiculous self-help books were written for. She despised such women. Women like Francesca. How ironic that she was in danger of becoming one.
Never!
Nikki vowed. She was going to nip this in the bud once and for all. She just had to keep a lid on her feelings about Francesca. But it was so damn difficult.

Nikki traced her finger over the relaxed line of Mark’s jaw and felt a wave of desire. He had taken her with some of the old hunger this morning and she’d revelled in it, arching and thrusting against him
as
the water sluiced over them until they could hardly see each other for the steam. She’d felt very cherished, wanted and loved and she’d been so looking forward to their brunch and walk. It had all been going delightfully until his bloody father rang whingeing about the piece in the papers.

And then
she’d
lost it.

Nikki exhaled deeply and looked down at the man sleeping in her arms. What did he truly feel for her? If Francesca hadn’t discovered their affair would it have continued? Would he ever have left his wife for her? Deep down she was half afraid to think too deeply about such things. In her heart and soul she felt the answers might be no and there lay the source of her insecurity.

She examined Mark’s handsome face, softened in repose, and felt a deep sadness. Were they going to make it as a couple or was she on a train to nowhere? He’d been genuinely delighted for her when she’d told him of her plans to invest. Was it because she was making her own plans for her future … a future that he wasn’t planning on sharing, or was it because he thought it was a good financial investment? He’d teased her about going away for a dirty weekend and she knew that he liked to play golf.

Maybe he did see them being abroad together. Maybe she was just being insecure. It was all so uncertain. If that stupid woman would divorce him and go on her way so that he could make his own plans without living in this ridiculous limbo it would all be so different. Then at least she would know one way or another how Mark truly felt about her. As long as Francesca was in the picture he had the
perfect
excuse for not committing. Much as she loved him, Nikki wasn’t at all sure that his feelings for her were strong enough to satisfy her. If she stayed with him would there always be this feeling of lack, this insatiable desire for more? Could she live with this driving need to be loved by him, day after day? Were the increasingly rare days of happiness worth the unrelenting misery that went hand in hand with her love for him?