Was it that easy? Once Janet had made her decision doors had opened for her. Listening to Katherine had been positively inspiring. The author
seemed
to have it all now. She had a new partner, her work, health and vitality and true peace of mind.
What about the boys? They had to be considered.
Francesca gave a wry smile. Owen certainly wouldn’t thank her for using him as an excuse not to make a decision and neither would Jonathan. She’d be surprised if Jonathan ever came back to Ireland to live. He’d made a very good life for himself in America and he liked it there. It was too early to say what Owen would do. But he had no time for Mark now and she could only hope that that would change in the future.
Nix that, Francesca, you can’t use the boys as an excuse
, she chided herself.
Release, relax, let go
. She stared unseeingly out of the carriage window, lost in thought. She’d like to follow the advice, it seemed so simple, but had she the nerve?
The only thing to fear is fear itself
. How did you stop being afraid?
Did she want to live in fear for the rest of her life?
No.
Did she want her independence?
Yes.
Did she want to make life difficult for Mark?
Not very nice, in fact vindictive would be an apt description of her reasoning there; it was most definitely not the way Katherine meant for her to be thinking but she wasn’t perfect and the answer to the question was very definitely a massive big YES!
Hadn’t she proved herself capable of doing her job?
Yes.
So went the internal dialogue as the train whooshed into Landsdown Road and a minute later sped off again.
Only a couple more stops, clickety-clack, clickety-clack, release, relax, let go. It’s time to close the door so the next one can open fully. Clickety-clack, clickety-clack. Release, relax, let go
.
‘OK then, go for it,’ she murmured aloud – to her own surprise and that of the woman opposite her.
‘Sorry,’ Francesca excused herself.
‘Not at all,’ smiled the woman. ‘Go for it.’
‘Thank you,’ said Francesca. ‘I think I will.’
‘SO IT’S BEST
of all, Mrs Kirwan, to have a chat with your husband and see how the land lies. Then let me know the outcome and we’ll take it from there,’ Jessica O’Farrell said briskly as she held out her hand and gripped Francesca’s in a no-nonsense handshake.
‘OK, I’ll do that,’ Francesca agreed. She picked up her bag and walked out of the solicitor’s office. Her heart was thumping. She couldn’t believe that she’d actually made the appointment and gone through with the meeting.
She’d asked Ken for a couple of hours off work, time she was owed, and he’d obligingly told her to take as much time as she needed. They got on extremely well, she enjoyed his wit and he’d told her more than once that he couldn’t thank his aunt enough for suggesting her for the job. Even though she’d only been working for a very short length of time the self-assurance the job had given her was a revelation to her. Thrown in at the deep end, she’d
handled
herself and the job with a confidence that had surprised her. Monica had been right, all her years of entertaining Mark’s clients had paid off. How ironic that she could now thank him for that. His disparagement of her work had been a real slap in the face but maybe it was the best thing to have happened to her, she brooded. It had motivated her to move on in a way nothing else had. But whether it had motivated her or not he still had an awful cheek. Patronizing bastard. She scowled, mad with him again.
Don’t shilly-shally
, she told herself sternly, and on a swift and sudden impulse she hailed a passing taxi and gave the address of Mark’s bank. It had to be done and the sooner she got it over with the better, she decided. Otherwise she’d go home and think about it and lose her nerve and it would all come to nothing.
Perhaps he was in Brussels, she thought suddenly. Damn! It would be a bit daft waltzing into the bank to confront her husband and then to find out that he was abroad. She took her diary out of her bag and found the bank’s main number. She swiftly tapped it in on her mobile. The girl on the switchboard was crisp and efficient: Yes, Mr Mark Kirwan was in his office today and yes, Ms Nikki Langan likewise, she informed Francesca.
If I wasn’t meant to do this they wouldn’t be there, Francesca comforted herself as her nerves began to get the better of her. She took out her make-up bag and studied herself in the mirror. She looked well enough. She still had her tan and it made such a difference. She was no longer wishy-washy and
pasty-faced.
Her eyes were bright and clear; a little bit of eye liner and a touch of mascara to emphasize them would work wonders. Her eye shadow was fine. She dusted some bronzing powder over her cheeks, attended to her eyes, retouched her lipstick, ran her comb through her hair and was satisfied. A quick spray of perfume on her neck and wrists and she knew she was as ready as she’d ever be. She was wearing a tailored check jacket and black cami with a black pencil skirt and she knew she looked smart and sophisticated. She was so glad she’d worn that particular outfit, it was very slimming and it made her feel good.
The taxi drew to a halt outside the headquarters of EuroBank Irl. and as she gazed up at the familiar building, her stomach tightened. How often she’d run up those marble steps to meet Mark for lunch. Who would ever have thought that they would end up like this? She paid the taxi man, took a deep breath and climbed out of the taxi. It wasn’t too late to reverse her decision. She could get right back in, give the taxi man her office address and forget the whole thing, but instinctively Francesca knew that if she didn’t follow through with what she’d started, she’d be unhappy for the rest of her life.
She hurried up the steps and the automatic doors slid open to allow her to enter. She knew where Mark’s office was, of course, unless he’d changed offices since they’d split up, but she didn’t know where Nikki’s was. She walked calmly over to reception and said to the receptionist, whom thankfully she didn’t recognize and who didn’t recognize her, ‘Just checking, Mark Kirwan’s office, third floor first on the left?’
‘That’s right,’ the young woman said politely.
‘And Nikki Langan’s?’ Francesca said nonchalantly.
‘First floor, fourth on the right.’
‘Thanks a million.’ Francesca moved away calmly to allow someone else make a query.
The lift doors were open and she didn’t have to wait, otherwise she might have taken to her heels, she thought, half shocked, half amused at her totally uncharacteristic behaviour. It was strange, her earlier nerves were gone. She felt calm and cool and in control, almost as if she were observing the whole thing at a distance.
The lift doors parted and she hurried down the carpeted corridor. Fourth on the right. There it was, that woman’s name plate, polished and gleaming. Francesca felt like spitting on it.
Before even thinking what she was going to do or say, Francesca knocked and marched in. A secretary working at a computer looked up, startled. Francesca held up her hand. ‘Just have to pop in to Nikki, she’s not in a meeting, is she?’
The secretary took her Dictaphone out of her ears. ‘No, whom should I say is here for her?’
‘This won’t take a sec, don’t worry. We know each other,’ Francesca said breezily as she kept moving towards the inner door.
‘Oh! OK,’ the secretary said doubtfully as Francesca knocked very lightly on the door and let herself into Nikki’s office.
The other woman was sitting in a cream leather swivel chair with her back to her. She was on the phone.
Francesca marched over to the desk just as Nikki
pivoted
around. Her jaw dropped and her eyes opened wide. She put her hand over the mouthpiece. ‘How did you get in here? Can’t you see I’m on the phone?’
‘I walked in here and not now you’re not,’ Francesca retorted coldly, whisking the phone out of the astonished younger woman’s hand and replacing it on the cradle.
Nikki jumped up furiously. ‘Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?’ she demanded, stupefied.
‘I’m here to have a little chat, just like you came to have one with me,’ Francesca snapped. ‘So shut up and sit down.’
‘How dare you speak to me like that?’ Nikki flared.
‘Oh, pipe down, Nikki, and let’s get this over, I’m a busy woman,’ Francesca drawled. ‘I came to tell you that I intend divorcing Mark. He’s all yours. You can have him. You’re welcome to him. I’m sure you’ll both live very happily together for many years to come. Don’t bother inviting me to the wedding, it wouldn’t be one I’d care to attend,’ she added bitchily. ‘Watching Mark make another set of vows would be just a little hard to swallow, but I’m sure it won’t bother you. Have fun,’ she said airily and almost laughed at the dumbfounded expression on Nikki’s face. She was utterly speechless and had not regained her composure as Francesca strode out of the office, exhilarated.
One down. One to go
.
She walked down the corridor smiling at one or two people she recognized. A young woman carrying a bundle of files stopped and did a double take and Francesca nodded politely. She recognized the girl
from
various bank events. News of her visit was going to spread around the building like wildfire, she thought with satisfaction. Good. The gossip would annoy Mark. She couldn’t care less.
She pressed the lift button and waited patiently for it to arrive. She was utterly calm now, almost detached. It was as though once she had made her decision and verbalized it, the whole thing had taken on a life of its own. No doubt Nikki would have phoned her husband to alert him of her arrival. Pity about that. She would have liked to surprise him. But her main target had been Nikki. Francesca wanted her to know that she was divorcing Mark.
It had felt good to give him away, she thought viciously. It had been a very powerful moment. Her husband had been reduced to nothing more than a commodity. She remembered the expression on Nikki’s face when she’d said ‘you can have him’. Shock and a flicker of fear.
Millie had been so right in her assessment of the situation, Francesca thought triumphantly as she rapped on the door of her husband’s office. Nikki, for all her sophisticated, career-woman image, was desperately unsure of Mark. That suited Francesca’s agenda just fine. Not only was she causing Mark grief, she was causing that bitch mega grief. Sauce for the goose was sauce for the gander, she concluded with immense satisfaction.
As Francesca let herself into the plush outer office she saw her husband standing at the door that led to his office. His secretary was not at her desk. Mark was grim-faced with anger as he silently held the door open for her and motioned her inside.
‘What the hell are you playing at?’ he said through gritted teeth as he closed the door behind her.
‘I’m not playing at anything, Mark,’ Francesca replied coldly as she sat gracefully in a chair and crossed her legs. ‘I’m simply here to tell you that I spoke to my solicitor this morning and I intend divorcing you, with or without your consent.’
‘DON’T BE RIDICULOUS,’
Mark derided. ‘That really is going over the top, even for you, Francesca.’
‘Excuse me,’ she said icily. ‘I’m deadly serious, Mark. I want a divorce.’
‘For what?’ he asked, nonplussed.
‘That should be obvious. I don’t want to be married to you any more.’
‘But what’s wrong with leaving things as they are? You have the house and a generous allowance, what more do you want?’ Mark demanded angrily.
‘I’ve just told you, Mark. I don’t want to be married to you any more,’ Francesca reiterated. ‘Nikki can have you. She can be the second Mrs Kirwan if that’s what she so badly wants. A dubious honour, I can assure you,’ she drawled, sticking the knife in good and hard. She was actually enjoying herself, she thought, half shocked. Mark didn’t know what had hit him.
‘I don’t want a divorce,’ her husband exploded.
‘Tough. You should have thought of that before
you
climbed into Nikki Langan’s bed,’ Francesca said nastily. ‘In case you’re in any doubt this is not about what
you
want, it’s about what
I
want. I certainly have grounds for divorce. The solicitor told me it’s pretty straightforward, so I want first of all to put the house on the market—’
‘No way, Francesca! No way. I’m not selling the house,’ Mark ranted. ‘It’s the family home.’
‘Now
you’re
being ridiculous,’ Francesca taunted. ‘What family? You’re gone. Jonathan’s in America for good and it wouldn’t surprise me if Owen stays too. So all that’s left of the
family
is me and I don’t want to stay in that big house all on my own. I want a fresh start.’ Francesca shrugged. ‘You can buy out my share if you don’t want to sell it. At market value, of course.’
‘I’m damned if I’m going to pay a fucking fortune for my own home. The home I paid the mortgage off on years ago because of my bloody hard work.’ Mark was getting more agitated by the second.
‘Oh, and of course I did nothing, just sat back like a lady and didn’t make any contribution. Get lost, Mark. I’m entitled to a half-share of the house and I want it. I’m entitled to a half-share of everything actually, but I’m not greedy. Sell the house and give me my share and you can keep the rest of the stocks and shares and the pension fund and the other investments that you’ve worked so
bloody
hard for,’ Francesca said in disgust.
‘I’m not giving you a divorce,’ Mark blustered.
‘I’m not
asking
you for a divorce. I’m here to tell you that I’m getting one whether you like it or not.’
‘I’ll contest it,’ Mark threatened.
Francesca gave him a look of such utter contempt he dropped his gaze.
‘You can do what you like, Mark. If you contest it – and let me remind you that you don’t have a leg to stand on since you’re the one who had the affair – it will only cost a lot more money so your pettiness will get you nowhere in the long run. And if you do contest it I’ll take everything I’m entitled to. The choice is yours,’ she said scathingly.