Never Too Late (73 page)

she’d run out of words. She slumped down on the edge of

the bath and stared at the floor.

‘Max said the oddest thing to me the other day,’ Vida

said slowly.

Evie looked up. Her every sense quivered, like an insect

with antennae sensitive to the slightest nuance of the

breeze.

‘Really?’

Vida seemed to be considering whether she should say

this or not.

‘I should preface this by saying that I thought the two of

you were getting close when we were in Spain. You spent

enough time hanging around together.’ She smiled at the

memory. ‘But I’m a great believer in letting life sort itself

out. I keep my distance over affairs of the heart. Don’t

interfere, that’s my motto. I also thought you were very

happy with your fiance and that you knew your own heart,

that you’d go to whichever man was the right one for you.’

‘How do you know who’s right for you?’ Evie said

despondently.

‘You just do,’ Vida replied. ‘I knew that Max’s father,

Carlos, was the right one, the same way I knew my second

husband wasn’t the right one. In my heart of hearts I knew it

but I still married him and, honey, you wouldn’t believe how

unhappy Dan and I were. I don’t know if I believe in hell but

I’m pretty sure I went through it during those years.’

‘Why did you marry him then?’ asked Evie, eyes glued

to Vida’s.

She put one of Olivia’s flurry white towels down on the

toilet lid and sat down gracefully on it, facing Evie.

‘We’d been seeing each other for a long time and I was

lonely. He’d been a friend of Carlos’s and I thought he was

being kind to me. He took me to Colorado skiing and to

San Francisco for weekends. I was numb after Carlos died

and Max was in Ireland studying … I guess I still don’t

really know how it happened but one day Dan asked me to

marry him and I said yes. I’d never really seen him that

way, as a husband, but he was a good man and I didn’t

want to end up alone. We got married and that was when

the trouble started.’

‘What sort of trouble?’ asked Evie gently, her mind

taken off her own troubles by this fascinating story of

Vida’s past.

‘Dan was a complete control freak,’ she said. ‘God, I’d

love a cigarette,’ she added, looking around as if Olivia

might have a packet and a lighter lying casually beside the

basin. ‘I used to smoke then and even talking about Dan

makes me yearn for one of my Gauloises. He hated me

smoking but it was the one thing I wouldn’t give up for

him. I did it for your father,’ she grinned, the love apparent

in every line of her face.

‘Dan couldn’t bear me to be out of the house unless he

knew exactly where I was and who I was going to be out

with. Charity work was fine because he was rich and

expected me to be a rich man’s wife and sit on endless

committees with all the other rich men’s wives. But, Evie,’

Vida’s eyes were suspiciously bright, ‘I’d worked all my life

in hospital administration, I couldn’t stop to sit around all

day or go shopping, with the odd committee meeting

thrown in to keep me amused. And Dan hated that. He wanted me to be there when he got home in the evening, the perfect little wife.’

‘He doesn’t sound a million miles away from our own

Stephen MacKenzie,’ Evie commented.

‘Got it in one, honey. I don’t like that man, I can tell

you, and I doubt he’ll ever change.’

‘Olivia says he’s getting counselling,’ protested Evie.

Vida looked surprised. ‘That’s great to hear. I’d be very

happy for Olivia if he does change. She deserves a good

man. Unfortunately for me, Dan would have needed more

than a shrink to change the way he thought. He’d have

needed a brain transplant.’

‘What happened in the end?’

‘After seven years of torture, he did us both a favour by

totalling his speedboat off Martha’s Vineyard. I wasn’t

with him at the time, thankfully, so nobody could blame

me for driving it into the rocks and jumping to safety,’ she

said, her voice raw with irony. ‘Although anyone who

knew us as a couple wouldn’t have been surprised if I had killed him.’

Evie couldn’t help but smile as she thought of her initial

and utterly insane impression of Vida: a glamorous black

widow who married and killed. How terribly wrong shed

been. And how unfair.

‘Do you think anyone in this apartment block smokes

and we could ask them for a couple of emergency cigarettes?’

Vida asked, emotionally worn out by her story.

Normally unflappable, she looked rattled.

‘I’m ashamed of what I was like to you in the beginning,’

Evie said earnestly.

Tish, we’ve gone over that before. It’s forgotten.’ Vida

waved a hand dismissively. ‘It was tough on you because

you loved your mother and because you’re so close to

Andrew. But look how well it’s all worked out now.’

“I didn’t have anything in my life, you see,’ Evie

explained darkly, feeling the need to explain. ‘I needed to

make my father terribly important, I needed somewhere to

go for weekends, someone to fuss over. You can’t fuss over

Rosie anymore: she’s too old. Dad was my project. I could

spend time with him and nobody would think I was

strange because I didn’t have a husband or a boyfriend.

People at work used to ask what I was doing at the

weekend and I could say, “Spending time with my father,

he’s lonely and he needs me”.’ She laughed bitterly. ‘He

wasn’t lonely, I was.’

‘Didn’t that change when you met Simon?’ Vida asked

softly.

Evie shook her head. ‘Not really, to be honest. He went

to his mother’s most of the time and I went to see Dad.

Business as usual. Then you came along and I lost it. I

couldn’t cope. It was the shock of realising he wouldn’t be

there for me in the same way, that I couldn’t drive to

Ballymoreen on bank holidays when everybody else was

with a partner and fuss around him.’

She stopped, remembering exactly when she’d got over

her father’s remarrying: on the very day of his marriage,

the day she’d met Max Stewart. Meeting Max had crystallised

everything in her head. She’d fallen crazily in love

with him and all the pieces of her life thereafter had fallen

into place. Andrew could stop being the focus of her

worries because he now had somebody else to worry about

him - and Evie now had somebody else to think endlessly

about, someone to dream about at night, someone to think

of as soon as she opened her eyes in the morning: Max.

Only he didn’t know how deeply she felt about him, and

now, he never would.

‘You know, I must be losing my marbles,’ Vida said,

getting up and splashing water on her face. Age is a terrible thing. I came in here to talk to you about my son and I’ve got weirdly sidetracked.’ She carefully patted her

skin dry with some tissue paper. ‘I asked Max would he be

around for your wedding because, as you know, your father

and I are having a little party for you before you go on to

your honeymoon, and he said he couldn’t bear to. He’d

rather be in hell than be here for that.’

Evie’s heart leapt.

‘He did?’ she said, her voice barely a whisper.

Vida nodded. Evie didn’t have to know she was lying

through her teeth. Max had said nothing to his mother but

she wouldn’t be much of a parent if she didn’t know he

was crazy in love with Evie Fraser. As it was now plain to

Vida that Evie returned the sentiment, a little fib was a

small price to pay for getting them together.

‘Yes, he did,’ she said fervently ‘He didn’t have to spell it

out for me, Evie. He meant he couldn’t handle being

around while you got married when he wanted to be the

guy in the suit at the altar with you.’

‘You think so?’ Evie could barely talk. Her throat was

overcrowded with frogs.

Vida put her arms around her trembling stepdaughter

and held her close. “I know my own son, Evie. I want you

to be happy and I’m not going to interfere any more than

I’ve done now. But,’ she held Evie away from her, determined

to get one message across for certain, ‘don’t marry

anyone unless you really, really want to. Rings, dresses and

gifts can all go back. Hurt and humiliation go away

eventually. It’s much harder to mend a broken heart ten

years down the road when it’s all gone wrong and the

marriage is over’

Evie bit her lip. You didn’t need to be a rocket scientist

to figure out what Vida was telling her: she shouldn’t

marry Simon.

She knew that herself, of course. She was merely terrified

she’d left it far too late to back out now. The

ceremony was in eight days’ time; the church was booked,

the reception too, and the honeymoon. Sixty people had

bought new outfits, borrowed hats, organised babysitters

and arranged to meet other friends, planning who’d be on

taxi duty that night when they were all plastered and

incapable of driving after celebrating Evie and Simon’s

marvellous wedding.

How could you cancel all that? And how could she ever

tell sweet, trusting, anxious Simon that she wasn’t going to

marry him after all?

Picking the venue was hell. People picked special places for

special moments and this was definitely a special moment,

unforgettable really, so she had to.pick somewhere special.

Somewhere he could cry if he wanted to; somewhere she could cry. Evie thought of the restaurant where Simon had taken her to propose. At the time, she’d wished he’d put a

bit more thought into the choice of venue. They’d had the

Early Bird menu, she remembered, and a child at a nearby

table had driven them mad screaming for fish and chips.

God, it all seemed like a million years ago. Had she really

said she wanted to marry Simon then?

Evie sighed. What Vida had said last night was the truth:

there was no other way. She had to call the wedding off.

‘I don’t think we’ve got the money to be buying paintings,

Evie,’ Simon said when she phoned and asked him

would he like to take a stroll around Merrion Square and

look at the marvellous street gallery that appeared there on

Sundays. Come rain or shine, every Sunday the railings

around the pretty garden square were hung with oils and

watercolours, big, small and indifferent. The artists sat on

deckchairs and talked among themselves while people meandered along, looking at oils of desolate Western landscapes and bright pictures of Dublin’s Georgian doors.

Evie used to take Rosie there on Sundays when she was

younger. It was fun and it was free, ideal for a broke single

parent.

She’d never gone to Merrion Square with Simon. The

place held no memories of them, which was why she chose

it. Probably neither of them would ever want to go there

again afterwards.

‘I’ll meet you there,’ she said, trying to finish the phone

conversation.

‘What would you want to meet me there for?’ he asked.

‘I’ll drive us.’

She panicked. They had to go there in separate cars so

they could go home separately. There was no way she’d be

able to cope with sitting in the car with Simon after she’d

told him the wedding was off.

‘No! I’ve got to go to Olivia’s afterwards,’ she said

hurriedly.

‘I don’t know why you’ve got this fancy to go to Merrion

Square all of a sudden,’ he grumbled. ‘There’s a special on

Sky One about the FBI and serial killers.’

You’ll probably turn into a serial killer yourself with rage

after I tell you the news, Evie thought sadly as she put

down the phone. She wished she didn’t have to do this,

wished it with all her heart. But she had to.

She parked her car at the Mount Street end of Merrion

Square as arranged and sat waiting for Simon to drive up.

Her heart was thumping along with nerves and her palms

were sweaty. Celine Dion was sweetly singing ‘Think

Twice’ on the radio, begging her lover not to end it. Evie

switched the radio off.

She should have had a drink or a tranquilliser or

something, anything, to help her through this. Simon was a

lovely, kind, decent man and he didn’t deserve this. She

was a bitch and a cow. She deserved to he sent to prison

for hurting …

‘Evie, are you staying there all day?’ Simon yelled in

through the wound-up window.

They joined the procession of people strolling around

the square.

‘I don’t like these type of pictures,’ he whispered to her

as they passed some modern oils, vibrant slashes of colour

painted thickly on huge canvases.

Evie barely saw the paintings. All she could see was a

horrible vision of the church where they’d intended to get

married, full of flowers and people, with Simon standing

open-mouthed at the altar.

‘If you want to buy some paintings for the house, I

don’t think we have the money,’ he added apologetically.

‘Budgets will be tight for quite a while. Of course, my

mother wants to get us something special and if you saw