Woman to Woman (59 page)

“It’s all right, I understand,” he said sharply. Clearly, he didn’t understand at all.

She could imagine how it looked from his point of view.

He’d offered her a lovely night out and she’d turned him down, rejected him.

Well, tough, she thought to herself. The boys are more important than a night out, they need me. There’s been enough uncertainty in their lives during the past year. They need a stable home life. I’m out often enough because of the catering business, so they need to know

that I’m there when they want me to help them with something, Sam had become even more annoyed the following weekend when Aisling couldn’t spend Saturday afternoon with him. She was cooking twelve huge vegetarian quiches and had to make a smoked trout pate which a client was picking up that evening.

“You can’t work all the time he growled.

“You’ve got to stop working so hard. This bloody business means I never see you.”

Aha, thought Aisling. That’s more like it. You’re not upset at the idea of me working too hard, you’re just cross because it means you can’t get what you want. Typical man. She’d been prepared to promise him a romantic evening at home when she’d cook his favourite peppered steak with all the trimmings. But she was damned if she’d do it when he was going to behave childishly.

He’d been so cold towards her the next time they met that Aisling found herself apologising for Saturday. She told him she’d consult him in future so her cooking didn’t infringe on their time together.

“I’m sorry, Sam she’d said. She sat beside him on the settee and cuddled up close.

“I didn’t think. I’m trying to make the business a success and when I get an order, I hate to turn it down. But I’ll check with you in future in case you’ve anything nice planned, all right?”

Even as she said it, Aisling knew she was making a big mistake. Making a rod for her own back, her mother used to say. She didn’t explain any of this to Jo, who was eating her toast hungrily.

“All relationships have their ups and downs Jo said comfortingly.

“It’s a bad patch you’re going through, that’s all.”

“So says the woman who is blissfully in love and hasn’t said a cross word to Mark for the past six weeks joked Aisling.

Jo beamed at her.

“Are we sickeningly in love?” she asked.

“You’re a living, breathing Danielle Steel story line

That bad!”

“No, I’m kidding. I’m thrilled for you both. Now, more tea?”

asked Aisling. “I’d love some.”

Aisling topped up the teapot with hot water and listened to Jo read something funny from the newspaper. But her mind was elsewhere.

“Well, what do you think?” Aisling twirled around in her oyster-coloured evening dress in front of Jo who was sitting on the bed in Aisling’s bedroom, sipping a glass of milk.

“Absolutely amazing. Fantastic,” praised Jo.

“You’ll be the belle of the ball. I wish I looked like that!” she added wistfully, patting her vast belly in Rhona’s velvet dress.

“You’ll get your figure back in no time,” said Aisling comfortingly.

“You’re naturally slim for a start and the weight will just fall off when the baby is born, I know it will.”

Jo grimaced.

“I do hope so. I feel like a supertanker in velvet.”

“You look great, Jo. Your skin is fantastic, your hair is so shiny and the dress is very flattering.” Aisling hugged her friend.

“It would want to be,” pointed out Jo, ‘seeing as how it’s the only thing I can wear out at night. This is the third outing it’s had in the last few weeks and if I meet anyone I know at the ball, they’re going to think I only have one dress she added gloomily. “Mark certainly thinks you look great.”

Jo’s face softened.

“He does, doesn’t he? He’s such a wonderful man. So different from Richard. Actually, talking of

The doorbell rang loudly, cutting across Jo’s voice.

“They’re early.” She glanced down at her watch.

Aisling hurried to the stairs, holding up the skirt of her long satin dress as she ran.

“I’ll let them in. Take your time coming downstairs, Jo.”

Mark and Sam stood at the front door, handsome in their dinner jackets.

“Aisling, you look … great,” said Sam in an astonished voice. He

stood back. His eyes travelled the length of her body, as he admired the clinging dress which showed off her curves. She’d spent an hour coaxing her blonde hair into soft waves and it rippled as she moved, the silver and golden colours perfectly matched by the shade of her dress.

In fact, the only spot of colour were her eyes, which Jo had carefully made up for her, their denim blue accentuated by smudged brown liner and thick dark brown mascara. Against the pale fawn colours of her hair and dress, her eyes looked hypnotic and intensely blue.

“You look beautiful, Aisling.” Mark leaned over to kiss her warmly.

“Sam’s going to have to spend the entire night fighting off competition from love-stricken admirers.”

Sam didn’t look pleased at the thought. They can look but they better not touch.” He slid one arm around Aisling possessively and kissed

“Is Jo upstairs?” asked Mark.

“Mmm.” Aisling couldn’t talk properly with Sam glued to her.

Mark took the stairs two at a time and met Jo as she walked out of the bathroom stuffing spare tissues into her handbag.

When he hugged her gently, careful not to squash her bump, Jo experienced that sense of complete happiness she felt whenever she was with Mark.

“How’s my favourite mum-to-be?” He dropped a kiss on the top of her head.

“Huge.” Jo snuggled her head into his chest.

“I’m afraid that someone’s going to come up to me tonight, break a bottle of champagne on me and say “God bless her and all who sail in her”.”

She could feel Mark’s deep laugh vibrate in his belly.

“Don’t be silly. You look great. You’re only a tiny little thing.

Will I carry you downstairs to prove it?”

Jo slapped him playfully.

“Only if you want to end up in casualty with a slipped disc, Mark.”

Downstairs, they found Aisling trying to set the video to record something while Sam stood boot-faced in the hall, holding her coat and looking at his watch.

“We’ll be late,” he said testily.

“I’m coming called Aisling.

“I just want to tape a film later.”

She reached the front door just as Mark opened it and both she and Jo gasped.

“A limo!” Jo said in astonishment. A gleaming black stretch Mercedes was parked in the drive, a black-suited driver holding open one of the back doors.

Mark grinned as he put on his black wool overcoat.

“I

thought we should do it in style tonight he said, ‘because it’s a special evening. A very special evening he added, glancing at Jo.

He and Jo sat facing the front of the car with Aisling and Sam opposite them.

“We could have had champagne, but since Jo can’t drink any, I didn’t order it Mark said, stretching out his long legs.

“I could have half a glass.” Jo leaned comfortably against him.

“Do you know what this reminds me of?” she said in a much softer tone so only he could hear.

“No.” Mark put his arm around her.

“Remember when we arrived in New York and the hotel limo was there to meet us? I’d never been in one before but I was determined not to appear unsophisticated and say so.” She settled herself even closer to him.

“I kept wanting to open the drinks compartment to see if there was actually anything in it.”

“You never cease to amaze me, Jo.” Mark said.

“I’ve never met anyone who can act as marvellously sophisticated as you do when you put your mind to it.”

“Acting comes in very handy sometimes she whispered.

“Especially when you’re chatting up the boss …”

When the limo pulled up outside the Shelbourne, Aisling was amazed to see three other equally long limos parked in front of the hotel. Their driver double-parked, ran around to open the door and helped her out as she stared at a tall woman in floor-length fur who was getting out of the limo beside her.

“Get a load of that coat Aisling whispered to Jo.

“Definitely ranch mink Jo whispered back.

“I bought her a mink and she wouldn’t feed it,” Mark pointed out to Aisling, doing his best to sound serious.

The two women burst out laughing. Madame Mink stared at them frostily.

“Silly cow for wearing fur in the first place said Aisling.

She walked into the ballroom with a spring in her step. She felt beautiful, sexy and gloriously confident. She could see people glancing at her, men openly admiring her beautiful, elegant outfit. It had to be the dress.

“It’s the dress,” she whispered to Jo.

“It’s you whispered Jo back.

“You look amazing.”

They found their table and the two women were just sitting down beside each other so they could gossip, when Mark arrived with their cloakroom tickets.

“Your lady in mink had a tantrum at the cloakroom. She insisted that they find somewhere extra safe for her coat,” he explained.

“Goodness.” Aisling fanned herself with the small dinner menu.

“I do hope you asked for the same treatment for mine.

It’s a family heirloom and I know Dunnes are unlikely to ever have anything as gorgeous ever again. I’d be distraught if anything happened to it. I mean, where would you get your hands on anything that nice for sixty pounds?”

“Was it only sixty quid?” asked Jo, astonished.

“It looks much more expensive.”

“Fiona picked it out for me Aisling explained.

“She has the most amazing eye for clothes. Nearly as good as you.”

Sam excused himself to talk to someone he’d spotted at another table. Aisling amused herself by looking around, gazing at the people at other tables. Men looked so handsome in dinner jackets, she thought, as she watched beautifully dressed couples weaving through the tables. Even the ugliest, scruffiest man looked better in a black tuxedo.

The women had obviously pulled out all the stops. Sleek blondes and brunettes in elegant black sheaths, vied for attention with women in flowing ball gowns A couple of very young and very slim women sashayed

across the room in spray-on lycra creations, one bronze and one a startling white that contrasted with the girl’s pale golden skin.

You had to be young and slim to get away with that type of dress. Aisling wondered what sort of underwear the girl in the white dress was wearing. All-in-one, vacuum-packed underwear?

No, she was thin enough to get away with ordinary undies.

A balloon floated into view, an oversized cream balloon with swirly gold writing on it saying something she couldn’t make out. Someone had gone to an awful lot of trouble with the decorations. The entire room was done in gold and cream, gold and cream balloons hung from the ceiling. Glass vases of tiny cream roses, tied up with gold ribbons, stood on the tables, and wreaths of gold and cream silk flowers were garlanded around the room and on the raised dais where seats and music stands were laid out for a band.

There was plenty of gold on the ears, wrists and necks of the female guests, Aisling noticed enviously. She fiddled with her plain gold bracelet and wished she had a gold and diamond necklace like the statuesque blonde in pink satin who was batting heavily mascaraed eyes at her companion.

Then Aisling saw him. He was walking towards their table, talking to another man, not really watching where he was going. He looked handsome, if a little tired, in the expensive tuxedo she’d helped him buy just over three years ago.

“It would be handy to have my own instead of renting one every time I need it,” Michael had said as they trawled Dublin’s most expensive men’s shops to find what he was looking for.

It certainly suited him, Aisling had to admit, although he’d put on weight and the buttons were ever so slightly strained across his stomach. Her gaze shifted to the two women who walked a couple of steps behind the men chatting animatedly.

Both were darkhaired. One had short, jet-black hair, offset by a brilliant ruby ball gown the other’s brown bob swung as she walked.

She wore a strapless white silk dress with a tight bodice which flared out into a full skirt much too wide for someone of her height. Pearl earrings and a pearl choker completed the outfit.

The dress must have looked stunning on the shop dummy.

But it was a major fashion mistake on the dumpy, short legged woman who wore it.

Aisling stared at her husband’s girlfriend and wondered why she didn’t want to grab her wine glass and smash it over the other woman’s head.

So that was Jennifer Carroll. The Jennifer Carroll. It was funny, Aisling realised, staring at her in an almost removed state of mind, but Jennifer didn’t look anything like the femme fatale she’d imagined. How had Fiona described her?

All red talons, glittery gold outfits and skirts cut up to her thighs. Something like that.

The woman who was now only a few yards away from her bore no resemblance to the predatory manhunter that Fiona had described.

In the flesh ~ the not inconsiderable flesh, Aisling noticed in amazement Jennifer Carroll was short, verging on plump. Her pale skin looked pasty against the gleaming white dress.

Aisling hated the smell of fake tan but, as she glanced down at her golden arms, she was pleased she’d put it on the night before. Jennifer didn’t look as if she’d bothered with anything much, apart from having her hair salon-blow-dried. “, But maybe Jennifer just hadn’t had the time to bother, Aisling reflected, because she was ironing Michael’s dress shirt finding his cuff links “They must be there somewhere, Aisling!” and trying to put her make-up on in front of the mirror while he poked about in the drawers underneath the mirror looking for a particular pair of black socks.

A cork popped loudly beside her. Aisling turned to see a waiter pouring frothy liquid into Jo’s glass.

“Let’s have a toast.” Jo turned to face Aisling with a half-full glass of champagne held aloft. To all of us and … omigod!

It’s … it’s Michael and … her!” Jo’s mouth formed a pale pink oval as she stared at Michael and Jennifer.