The first viewers were scheduled to call the following evening. It would be far easier if she
weren’t
there. The thought of strangers trooping around her house, sticking their noses in her wardrobes and poking around her bedroom was daunting. She was absolutely dreading it.
A young man from the estate agent’s called around seven-fifteen and Francesca gave him the spare keys. The house wasn’t hers any longer, she thought a little sadly. Anyone who wanted to view it was at liberty to do so. It was thoroughly unsettling. She went to bed early but didn’t sleep very well.
She spent the following afternoon with a printer, sorting out business cards and headed stationery, before calling on a client to deliver a presentation for a proposed PR campaign. It was her first presentation and she was nervous but Ken had insisted that she do it. ‘Broaden your experience, Frannie. In case anything ever happens to me it will be good to know that I can rely on you to step into the breach.’
‘I thought I was supposed to be doing mainly secretarial work and the odd jaunt here and there,’ she pointed out.
‘So did I but you’ve shown such a flair for the job it’s a shame to waste you. Stop being a wussie, Francesca, and get in there and slay ’em. Wear that suit you wore when you were meeting hubby, it was cool.’ Ken grinned. He was incorrigible. Because of Ken and his job offer, she’d become a different woman, she thought gratefully.
It went better than she’d expected, apart from the first nerve-racking minutes when she was sure that her voice was wobbly. It was a small knitwear company and the management seemed impressed by her presentation. She felt Ken Kennedy PR were in
with
a very good chance. She was tired but relieved when she walked into the cool, elegant foyer of the Herbert Park Hotel. She was looking forward to her drink with Ralph.
Although she was ten minutes late, he hadn’t arrived either so she found a quiet corner and ordered a coffee and sat back and relaxed. She liked this hotel, she mused, looking around the stylish foyer. She liked the open plan design and honey-coloured façade, the attention to detail and the use of natural fabrics. She was proud to bring clients to the hotel, especially foreign guests. Katherine Kronskey had been very taken with the calm, minimalist setting and the marble reception area, enlivened with specially designed calligraphy rugs and a very good collection of modern Irish art.
She sipped her coffee and wondered what was keeping Ralph. He had such nice manners, he must have a good reason for his tardiness. When seven, and then seven-fifteen came with still no sign, she began to worry. She didn’t have his number. It was on the Rolodex in the office but a fat lot of good that was to her, she thought crossly, annoyed with herself for not having the foresight to copy it into her own Filofax. She’d give him until half past, she decided, and then she’d go. An hour was long enough to wait for anybody. There was no point in hanging on. He’d hardly arrive that late. She was just about to leave ten minutes later when she saw him ramble across the foyer, gazing around, looking for her. She waved at him and a smile lit his face. As he drew closer and she saw him weaving his way between tables and chairs her jaw dropped in shock as she realized that he was quite drunk. He
lurched
onto the sofa beside her and before she realized what he was doing he leaned over, muttered, ‘Hi sexy,’ and kissed her passionately on the mouth, a wet, loose kiss that made her instinctively rub her mouth with the back of her hand when it was over.
‘Ralph, stop it.’ She pushed him away. ‘You’re drunk!’
‘Just had a couple.’ He grinned woozily. ‘Oh Francesca, you’re a gorgeous woman, let’s go back to my place and ride each other ragged,’ he leered. Francesca was so shocked she was speechless. He took her silence for assent and stood up, swaying and pulling her to her feet.
‘Come on, beautiful, let Ralphie give you a night to remember. I can’t wait to suck those magnificent tits. It gives me a stiffie just thinking about it,’ he slurred.
Francesca couldn’t believe her ears. She was horrified and disgusted. ‘You
have
given me a night to remember, Ralph, believe me,’ she said icily, pulling her arm free. With as much dignity as she could manage she crossed the foyer. He made to follow, protesting loudly, but tripped over the low coffee table. Her last sight was of him sprawled on the floor cursing as he struggled to get up. Once out of the hotel, she took to her heels and ran, afraid he would catch up with her. Running in a straight pencil skirt wasn’t easy but she made it to the car and saw with relief that he wasn’t following her. It was only when she was in the car driving towards the East Link turn-off that her breathing began to return to normal and her heart stopped racing.
‘God Almighty!’ she muttered. ‘Thanks a million for that. Just what I needed.’ She felt sick. It was
impossible
to believe that the suave, charming, mannerly man who had taken her out to dinner and been so kind to her after her row with Mark was the same man as the drunken, lewd, foul-mouthed boor she’d left sprawled on the floor in the foyer of the Herbert Park Hotel. Wait until Millie heard about ‘Ravishing Ralph’. She’d phone her the minute she got home, she thought shakily. She was throwing her coins into the basket at the East Link when she suddenly remembered that Millie was on holiday in France. Inexplicably, Francesca burst into tears. Trust her to pick a dipso. She should have seen the warning signs. Mark would revel in it if he ever found out. Well, he never would find out from her, Francesca vowed as she wiped her eyes and blew her nose, trying to steer with one hand and coming perilously close to crashing into the roundabout at the East Wall Road.
She slept badly, unable to blot out the memory of his horrible remarks, and the following day at work she tensed whenever the phone rang in case it was Ralph. She didn’t want to hear from him or see him ever again. Ken could deal with him from now on when business required it. But he didn’t ring that day, nor the following, and by the weekend she decided that he’d be far too embarrassed ever to contact her again. That suited her fine. Maybe Mark wasn’t so bad after all, she thought ruefully. He’d never dream of treating her so disrespectfully.
No, he just went off with another woman
, her hateful little inner voice reminded her.
She was sitting at the breakfast counter the following Sunday morning flicking through the papers,
drinking
coffee and eating toast, when a photo in the social columns caught her eye. Her heart gave a lurch and her stomach twisted into a knot when she recognized Mark and Nikki smiling out at her. They were at the Galway races and they looked as though they were having a ball.
‘Well, fuck you, Mark,’ she swore. ‘How could you bring her there? That was our place.’ Millie was crazy to think that Mark wanted to get back with her. Right in front of her nose was the living proof that she was wrong.
She jumped off the stool and strode into the lounge, grabbed the yellow roses and irises out of the two large vases on either side of the fireplace and hurried into the kitchen and dumped them into the bin, pricking herself on the thorns as she did so.
‘You can stick these up your arse, Mark Kirwan! Or better still, up your tart’s!’ she yelled. The phone rang. She flounced over to answer it.
‘Hello,’ she said sharply.
‘Francesca, it’s me,’ a contrite voice said. ‘I’m really terribly, terribly sorr—’
‘Fuck off, Ralph!’ Francesca roared, slamming down the phone.
RALPH HUNG UP
the phone gingerly and rubbed his aching temples. There was no point in calling Francesca back right now. Experience had taught him never to try and explain anything to an angry woman, and she sounded rip-roaring angry, he conceded mournfully.
He couldn’t remember a damn thing except arranging to meet her someplace. Where, he couldn’t remember either, because shortly after he’d made the arrangement he’d bumped into an old mate and they’d gone on the tear. Either he’d stood her up or he’d met her sozzled. He dearly hoped it was the former. He wouldn’t like a woman he so admired to see him out of control. His wife had told him often enough that he was a nasty drunk with a mean and vicious tongue. He could have done or said anything. He groaned. It was so frustrating not being able to remember.
‘God! God! God!’ He put his head in his hands. ‘Why am I like this? I don’t want to be like this. Why
don’t
you help me?’ he demanded, raising his eyes to heaven. There was no answer. There never was. Ralph’s head sank to his chest and he cried like a baby.
‘Oh look, darling. Our photo’s in the paper,’ Nikki said gleefully as she folded the newspaper and passed it over to Mark. They’d arrived home from Galway an hour ago and were sitting relaxing, after the journey.
Oh shit!
he thought. He hoped Francesca didn’t see that. He hadn’t said anything to her about going to the races. It was something they’d always done together and looking at the picture in front of him, of him and Nikki smiling happily at the camera, he knew if she saw it, she’d feel he was rubbing her nose in it.
‘Very nice,’ he murmured, handing back the paper. He should never have gone to the damn races. He might have been smiling in the photograph but that had been a façade. He’d only gone to please Nikki because he was feeling as guilty as hell about the way he was treating her.
If, by a miracle, Francesca took him back, he’d be dumping Nikki in the not-too-distant future and she had no idea what was going on in his head. He felt like a heel! He
was
a heel, he acknowledged uncomfortably. He’d never realized that he was capable of such duplicity. If he had any guts he’d finish with Nikki whether Francesca took him back or not. He was only using the girl. But he couldn’t take that step, he thought miserably. If Francesca turned him down, he didn’t want to be alone.
She’s far braver than you are!
The unwelcome thought intruded. Francesca had been alone for the past eight months – well, until gigolo journo arrived on the scene, he amended. She’d gone and got herself a job and made a new life for herself, and here he was clinging like a limpet to a woman he no longer felt the same about. He was pathetic, he admitted as he flicked through the
Sunday Business Post
. He couldn’t concentrate. He stood up and went over to the french door and stared out of the window. The weather had turned bad again and rain battered against the windowpanes.
He’d want to make his move soon, he decided. The house was on the market. Offers would be coming in. Better to nip it all in the bud before things went too far. He’d call Francesca from work first thing in the morning and arrange a visit. What the outcome would be was anyone’s guess; all he could do was hope. He stared out at the rain hopping off the balcony wishing he didn’t have to hurt Nikki.
Nikki studied Mark surreptitiously as he stood with his back to her staring out of the balcony doors. The photo hadn’t gone down well, she thought moodily. He was probably afraid his precious Francesca would see it and be offended. She’d been delighted to have it taken. Everyone who saw it would see that they truly were a couple. Mark had met many of his friends and acquaintances at the races and introduced her to them as his partner. It had all happened the way she wanted it to but it didn’t make her feel any better.
He hadn’t enjoyed the races, not that anyone who
didn’t
know him very well would have guessed it. He’d put on a very good front. But he was on autopilot, being charming to her friends, greeting his own, chatting, laughing, just as if he were enjoying himself. He did it all the time at work. She’d seen him work a room full of strangers superbly well and very few people actually realized that they weren’t seeing the real Mark at all. Mark was an extremely deep, reserved man, she’d seen it straight away when she’d first met him. His reserve had challenged her. She’d been determined to get behind the façade. She wasn’t having much luck at the moment. He might have fooled everyone else in Galway but not her. She knew him better than anyone, she assured herself. They might as well have gone to the moon for all the good the day at the races had done them. She was still back at square one and where to go from here was anybody’s guess.
Christmas!
she told herself for the umpteenth time.
Christmas is all I’ll give it
. But even to her own ears, the threat was beginning to sound extremely hollow. She picked up one of the Sunday supplements and flicked through it, but she couldn’t concentrate either.
‘Coffee?’ she asked with pretended cheerfulness. Mark was so deep in thought he never heard her. Disheartened beyond belief, Nikki wandered into the kitchen and made herself a cup of coffee. She might as well be living on her own than living with him for all the company he was at the moment, she mused sadly. And for the thousandth time she asked herself where it had all gone wrong.
Francesca had taken Trixie to the Bull Island for a walk. Several viewers were calling that afternoon and she didn’t want to be in the house. They’d be gone by three-thirty, the estate agent assured her. The rain lashed down on the big golf umbrella she was holding, but she didn’t mind. Sometimes she enjoyed walking in the rain. The sea surged and ebbed, roaring up against the shore. She could feel the taste of salt from the spray.
So Ralph had phoned to apologize. Big deal, she thought sourly. He could get lost. She had enough complications in her life without getting involved with a separated drunkard. She wasn’t that desperate for a man. In fact, after seeing Mark’s mug in the papers this morning with his arm proprietorially around that woman, Francesca decided that she was entirely better off without the species.
She walked briskly enjoying Trixie’s antics. She was such a lovable little dog, she thought fondly. Buying an apartment would be out of the question, or even one of those outrageously priced egg boxes they called town houses. She’d had a look at a few of them and not been impressed. The mews had been lovely but the courtyard had been very small. Poor old Trixie would have been like a prisoner in it. Maybe it was as well that it had fallen through on her. Next weekend she would start serious house-hunting, she promised herself. She wondered if any of today’s viewers would put in an offer, or if they were just coming to look out of curiosity. She knew there were people who spent weekends looking at houses for sale who had no intention whatsoever of buying.