The Matchmaker (39 page)

‘I could phone you.’

‘Myles, to meet up as friends again back in Dublin would be lovely,’ she assured him, ‘absolutely lovely.’

The lamb was perfect, delicious and moist served with a sweet mint jelly. For dessert she had been tempted to try a pear and almond tart, promising Myles a piece of it. The food here, though simple, was better than most of Dublin’s finest restaurants and she could understand how it attracted those living in the locality.

‘Have you a photo of Patricia?’ she found herself asking as their waitress brought them coffee.

Myles passed her a photo from his wallet. ‘It was taken in Tuscany, outside a little villa we used to rent. Patricia loved the place.’

She stared at the tanned face of his wife with her cropped dark hair and merry eyes and flamboyant scarf. A row of tall cedars stood behind her.

‘She looks lovely,’ she said, returning it to him and reaching for her photo of Leo taken when they had hired a boat on the Shannon, six months before he died. Leo and herself were trying to steer the stupid boat and not ram the prow into the riverbank.

‘A man after my own heart,’ said Myles, studying it carefully. ‘They’re awful things to get the hang of but once you master it you’re away.’

‘It was a crazy week,’ Maggie remembered. ‘We were hopeless sailors! My sister Kitty and her husband Harry talked us into hiring the boat between us.’

He returned the photo to her and, putting it back safely in the compartment in her wallet, she sighed, relieved that it was out in the open. They were both totally aware of each other’s past and partners.

It being their last night they decided on a nightcap. Maggie opted for her favourite, a glass of Baileys on ice, while Myles went for a port. They took their drinks out on the deck, and sat overlooking the garden. The weather was still warm and the place was quiet; the Americans had already retreated to bed.

‘They’re early risers by all accounts,’ Myles said, pulling his chair close to hers as they began to reminisce about favourite holiday destinations.

‘What time are you leaving at tomorrow?’ she asked.

‘I’ve a meeting at ten o’clock in town, so I plan to get up and be on the road by seven thirty.’

‘I’m in no hurry so I’ll try and get a last swim in before breakfast.’

‘Actually I’d better call it a night,’ he admitted, yawning. ‘Let me walk you to your room.’

Maggie could feel her cheeks turn crimson. She hoped that he had no notions of joining her there.

As if reading her mind, he burst out laughing. ‘Maggie, my intentions are totally honourable.’

She giggled as he walked her across the huge lobby and down the glass-sided corridor to her room. His room was over on the other side of the complex.

‘It’s been great meeting you,’ he said sincerely, taking her hand, ‘and I’ll be in touch.’

‘I’ll look forward to it,’ she found herself saying as he kissed her cheek. ‘Goodnight, Myles,’ she whispered. She watched him walk slowly back down the corridor. Smiling, she turned her key and stepped inside, closing the door softly behind her.

Grace hadn’t expected Mark to turn up at Sarah’s party and though she had tried to avoid him, the minute he had taken her hand in his all her resolve had disappeared. She was like a moth drawn to a flame and they had ended up talking and dancing and smooching for hours. At the end of the night Mark had been annoyed when she refused to go back to his apartment and stayed with Sarah in number 23. That hadn’t been because she didn’t want to be with him, rather it was because she didn’t trust herself to survive his taking whatever it was between them so casually. He was the one who had disappeared for weeks with barely a word and expected her to be standing there waiting for him when he came back!

She was redraughting the air-conditioning system for Ray Carroll’s project when Kate arrived in her office with a massive bouquet of creamy white roses.

‘The florists just delivered these two dozen roses for you, Grace!’ she said, passing her the message card.

Grace touched the perfect fresh blooms as she opened the card.
Thinking of you, Mark
.

Fifteen minutes later, as she finished a call with a client, Mark phoned her.

‘Grace, will you come to dinner tonight?’

‘That would be lovely,’ she agreed as she thanked him for the roses.

‘I’ll pick you up at your place at about eight,’ he said firmly.

It was only when the call had ended that she realized she had no idea where they were going.

All day long she was filled with anticipation and found it hard to concentrate. What had she let herself in for going on a date with Mark McGuinness? Yet despite her reservations she couldn’t wipe the smile off her face.

She was like a teenager as she searched through her well-organized wardrobe, pulling on five or six of her favourite outfits trying to decide what he would like, and in the end opting for a simple black dress with a fine pink satin trim and a pair of black pumps. She stared at herself in the mirror, taking in the straight shoulder-length blond hair and blue eyes with her defined brows and full lips, dabbing a bit of her favourite Armani scent on her pulse points as he rang the bell. She ran downstairs to meet him as the danger was if he came upstairs they might never actually make it to dinner.

She could see his eyes widen appreciatively as he took in the dress and they greeted each other rather formally, Mark holding open the car door as she slipped into the passenger seat.

‘I thought we might skip town and eat in Caravaggio’s in Sandycove,’ he suggested.

‘That’s lovely, Mark; I’ve never been there before.’

‘One of my friends owns it,’ he said, glancing over at her. She suddenly felt herself tongue-tied and awkward with him, and was worried he must think she was a ninny not able to think of anything to say. Fortunately he asked her about Sarah and Evie and her family so she could rabbit on about her sisters.

The restaurant was upstairs in a house overlooking the sea and they were shown to a table right near the window.

‘Max always looks after me,’ he grinned as he ditched his jacket and sat beside her. He was wearing a pale blue shirt and a pair of chinos and smelled so nice she was tempted to touch him. Grabbing the menu she discreetly took the chance to study him, admitting to herself as she ordered that he was most definitely her type. She went for a mozzarella and tomato starter and a seafood tagliatelle, while Mark went for prawns and a creamy spinach and beef tortellini.

‘How’s the house going?’ she asked, interested as he explained the plans for it.

‘I’m thinking of putting a second tank in the attic and a booster . . .’

Fifteen minutes later he stopped, embarrassed. ‘You’re on a night out, Grace,’ he apologized, ‘the last thing you want to hear is more building specs.’

‘It’s all right.’ She smiled. ‘Honestly.’

‘No, it’s not fair,’ he said, topping up her wine glass. ‘Tell me about yourself.’

Grace swallowed hard. She hated talking about herself because although she had accomplished much on the professional scale her personal life was a shambles. ‘Well, thanks to my mother you know what age I am,’ she said softly, ‘and you know what I work at and some of the partners in the firm I work for, and let’s face it you know exactly the house I grew up in, have met half my family and you’ve even been in my apartment.’ When she thought about it, she was aghast at how much he actually knew about her already. ‘I’m single and into art and architecture and like to cook and dance and am a bit of a workaholic. My indulgences are well-made clothes, organic muesli and Evie.’

She smiled brightly at him, relieved the personal inquisition was over. ‘What about you?’ she asked, realizing that apart from the fact he was going to be her mother’s new neighbour and was good at flying kites she knew literally nothing about him.

‘I’m thirty-seven years old. I grew up in Rathmines and have one sister and one brother, both happily married, and two nieces and three wild nephews. My dad died when I was eighteen and my mum died last year of colon cancer.’

‘Oh Mark, I’m sorry,’ she said, reaching for his hand.

‘You would have liked her,’ he said, ‘everyone did. She was such an important part of my life; the other important person is my son Josh. He’s fourteen and lives in New York with his mum Belinda. She’s American. I normally get to see him three or four times a year. These past few weeks have been an exception.’

Grace took a soft breath. She hadn’t imagined Mark having a child – a teenager!

Without saying any more he pulled out his wallet and passed her a photograph of a tall curly-haired boy laughing as he tried to wield a baseball bat.

‘He looks a lot like you,’ she said gently.

‘He’s a good kid normally but this past year I don’t know what’s going on in his head. He got in with some weird kids in his school and started messing with dope. He got caught smoking a joint and drinking tequila with them, which got him expelled. The doctors recommended a rehab programme that’s set up for kids his age.’ He paused. ‘Belinda has done a great job raising him,’ he went on. ‘We met when I was on the J1. It was a Long Island summer romance but she got pregnant and like Sarah decided to keep the baby. I offered to make it legal but she wouldn’t have it. She got married to an engineer called Denis about ten years ago. He’s a nice guy, gets on well with Josh. Josh has a stepsister Katy who’s nine and a little brother Billy who’s five. They all get on great. But this past few months Belinda’s had her hands full with him and he’s my son . . . I had to be there for him.’

She watched as he refolded the wallet and put it securely back in his pocket, strangely glad that he had been upfront and told her.

‘He’s moving school in September and hopefully that will work out. If not Josh will come over here to me for a while, give Belinda and Denis a break.’

‘So that’s what’s been going on,’ she whispered, watching his face, seeing the emotion well up in his eyes.

‘For God’s sakes, Grace, he’s only fourteen; when I think of how things could have turned out . . .’

‘Josh will be fine,’ she said. ‘He’s got a dad who loves him very much and that’s the important thing – and he knows it!’

Mark reached for her hand. ‘When I think how different things were when I was a kid. I used to help my dad cleaning and tidying and painting up old wrecks of places. After college I worked in investment banking for a while and then realized I was making money for other people not myself so I jumped ship and bought another wreck, a Georgian redbrick on the Northside, renovated it and sold it on.’

‘Is that what you will do with Pleasant Square?’ she asked.

‘No,’ he admitted, looking at her directly. ‘That might have been my intention but now I want the place to be a home. I’ve my apartment in Donnybrook but a house would be great for when Josh comes to stay. Teenagers need a bit of space!’

The food was good and the conversation flowed easily. Mark regaled her with stories of a rival developer and his misfortunes with the revenue commissioners. She was surprised how many mutual interests they had, both declaring Roddy Doyle’s
The Commitments
one of their favourite films and Jack Yeats their favourite artist.

There were only a few couples at tables around them and gradually they realized that they were the only couple left as the waitress discreetly cleared plates and wine bottles. Mark paid the bill and they strolled outside. ‘If you want we can go on to a nightclub or a late-night bar?’ he offered.

‘I’m not really into nightclubs,’ she admitted as he took her hand in his, his fingers lacing through hers, both of them keenly aware that parting and saying goodnight was not something they wanted to contemplate.

In the car he kissed her and they found themselves necking hotly like two teenagers frantic to touch and grope each other.

‘I’m not sure this is a good idea,’ he said, studying her face and tumbled hair, ‘I think we might both end up being arrested.’

She burst out laughing, he joined in and the two of them got almost hysterical as they pulled apart.

‘My place then,’ Grace said softly, sitting back into the leather of the seat as Mark drove, his hand caressing her bare knee.

In the lift up to her apartment they kissed like crazy and her heart was pounding as they went up floor after floor. Mark pulled her into his arms the minute she managed to open the door, the physical rush between them so strong they fell straight on to her bed, casting clothes and all caution aside. The first time was quick and frantic and urgent, the next slow and generous, Mark holding her in his arms until he fell asleep.

Afterwards she lay watching the rise and fall of his chest and ribs, his black eyelashes fanned closed, his dark hair standing on end, and knew that he was the one.

The realization took her breath away and she felt overwhelmed. Mark had been more than a passionate and caring lover, he’d been the balance she had been missing, the perfect match her mother was always talking about. Scared, she turned on her side as emotion got the better of her, but Mark reached out in his sleep and pulled her close beside him, winding his arm around her. She pressed her cheek and lips against his skin, never wanting to be apart from him as she finally slept.

Grace woke at eight a.m. to find him fully showered and dressed but unshaven, standing at the end of the bed.

‘The alarm went off forty minutes ago,’ he said, smiling, ‘but I turned it off.’

‘Mmmm,’ she said drowsily.

‘I’ve a breakfast meeting in the Four Seasons but I’ll talk to you later.’

‘I’ll be dead late for work!’ Grace protested, suddenly coming to and struggling to sit up as he passed her a mug of coffee. ‘You should have woken me.’

‘Thornton’s will just have to survive,’ Mark said firmly as he bent to kiss her. She stroked his stubble with her fingertips.

‘I’ll shave in the car,’ he promised, ‘and I’ll see you tonight.’

She was about to protest again at his assuming she was free but seeing the candid expression of desire in his eyes knew that there was nothing that she would let interfere with seeing him again in a few hours’ time.