Semi-Sweet (3 page)

She swung her legs out and stood on the floor. She unwound her scarf and pulled off her coat, and let them both fall. She
tugged at the black dress until the three giant buttons popped, one by one, and clattered across the wooden boards. She dragged
the dress over her head, yanked off her tights and panties, and unhooked her bra. She threw everything in the vague direction
of the laundry hamper and reached under her pillow and pulled out her gray tartan pajamas. She put them on and regarded her
ruined face in the mirror.

He was gone. He was in another woman’s bed now. After fifteen months together he’d left her—and she hadn’t had a clue that
anything was wrong.

“He’s gone,” she said aloud, her voice sounding surprisingly steady. “He’s walked out on me.”

The shock of it was still raw, the abruptness of his departure still hard to take in. But of course, if she were perfectly
honest—and the dead of night was the easiest time to be honest—wasn’t the real shock not that he’d walked out on her but that
they’d ever gotten together in the first place?

He wasn’t her type, and she certainly wasn’t his. She’d been aware of him before they’d met—the man who had edited the local
paper for several years wasn’t averse to having his very photogenic features appear quite regularly in his own society pages.
He was also known personally to Joseph Finnegan, who owned the bakery where Hannah worked—and if he wasn’t exactly a regular
customer there, he certainly put in an appearance from time to time.

All the same, he and Hannah didn’t come face-to-face until she’d been working at Finnegan’s for the best part of ten years—and
that encounter might not have happened if she hadn’t taken an hour off one day for a dental appointment.

She’d arrived back at the bakery to find Joseph behind the counter, as usual. He was serving a customer as she pushed the
door open.

“Hannah, there you are. Do you know Patrick?”

His bulk took her by surprise; in the photos you wouldn’t realize quite how big he was. His woody scent was pleasant, if a
little overpowering. The smile came instantly and looked well practiced.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said, his big, warm hand not so much shaking as cradling hers. Turning back to Joseph.“Where
have you been hiding her, you scoundrel?” Hannah thought,
Flirt,
but felt the color warming her face all the same.

“Hannah works behind the scenes,” Joseph said. “My best baker.”

“Is that a fact?” Patrick released her hand. His navy tie was slightly crooked, his shirt very white. “I hope he pays you
well then,” he said.

She was aware of the numbness around her mouth, the dentist’s injection only half worn off. Her lips bare of any color; no
point in lipstick when you’re going in for a filling. She attempted a smile, hoping it didn’t look as lopsided as it felt.
“Oh, he does,” she said, uncomfortable under his scrutiny, waiting for him to switch his attention back to Joseph.

“I’m glad to hear it.”

The effortless charm of him; he was well used, no doubt, to getting what he wanted. The echo of his warm grasp still on her
hand. “Well…”

“Nice to meet you,” he said. “Better let you get back.”

Hardly an auspicious beginning—and their second meeting, three weeks later on the steps of the library, was equally uneventful.

“Well,” he said, his arms full of books, “if it isn’t Joe’s prize baker.”

She ignored the stab of pleasure—why shouldn’t he remember her? “Hello there.”

More casually dressed today in a gray flannel shirt and black jeans, a scattering of dark hairs at the open V of his shirt.
The same thick, green scent as before.
Nelson Mandela
, she read on the spine of the uppermost book.

She held the door open for him, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulders. “Many thanks,” he said, his shirtsleeve
brushing her arm as he passed. She left him at the desk and wandered among the shelves, glimpsing him occasionally as he browsed
through the history and politics sections across the room. By the time she’d selected her two novels, there was no sign of
him.

In the weeks that followed, he rarely crossed her mind. She saw his photo in the paper once, standing among a group of similarly
suited men and one red-haired older woman.
“At the Chamber of Commerce dinner,”
the caption read before listing their names. He was striking in a dark suit and a dazzling white shirt, the tallest in the
gathering. Probably had his pick of Clongarvin’s businesswomen.

His eventual approach, a couple of months after their initial meeting, took her completely by surprise. She was leaving the
bakery at her usual three o’clock, and as she turned out of the doorway, she walked straight into him.

“Oh—” She gasped, the momentum causing her hands to fly toward his chest to steady herself.

He grabbed her wrists—“Oops—” and for an instant they were entangled in an awkward sort of embrace, the intimacy of it, the
shocking closeness of him, bringing a flush to her cheeks before she sprang back.

“Sorry,” she murmured, flustered, half laughing, replacing her shoulder bag, smoothing her jacket. “Didn’t see you there.”

“Now, that’s not something I hear very often.”

He’d completely recovered his equilibrium—if indeed he’d ever lost it. Maybe the phenomenon of females flinging themselves
into his arms was nothing unusual. “Actually,” he went on, “it was you I was coming to see—looks like I almost missed you.”

“Me?” She regarded him in astonishment. “Why?” She couldn’t imagine what he might want her for.

He laughed. “Well, believe it or not,” he said, “I’ve come to ask you out.”

It was so totally unexpected, the last thing she thought she’d hear. He was practically the polar opposite of the men she’d
been involved with up to this, the unremarkable but generally dependable handful of boyfriends she’d gone through since her
teens. On the other hand, none of them had lasted beyond a few months.

But she hardly knew this man. Did he even remember her name? They’d met twice, for hardly a minute each time. It had been
weeks since they’d even laid eyes on each other. He was too good-looking, too confident. She’d be playing with fire.

“You don’t think it would be a good idea,” he said, still smiling. Clearly he was amused by her. She didn’t know whether to
be offended. “Even after nearly running me down just now?”

It was impossible not to smile back. “I hardly know you,” she said. “We’ve barely met.”

“All the more reason,” he said, “for us to go out. You can cross-examine me for the night and decide if I’m worth getting
to know.”

She wasn’t glamorous. She’d never appeared in the society pages dressed in something long and spangly. Surely he could pick
and choose—what on earth had made him choose her? And what could they possibly have in common?

“I’m quite eligible,” he was saying. “I’m pretty solvent, I have all my own teeth—and the hair is real, too.”

She laughed. “I did wonder about the hair.”

Then again, why shouldn’t he pick her? She might not be a raving beauty—and she certainly didn’t have the kind of figure that
stopped men in their tracks—but maybe he’d had his fill of those; maybe he was looking for someone with a bit more substance.

And really, what did she have to lose? Wouldn’t she enjoy an evening in the company of a man who was well able to amuse her,
even if nothing came of it?

“Where were you thinking of taking me?” she asked.

She should have known better. She should have trusted her instincts that day and resisted him. Because by the end of their
first date, she’d already been half in love with him—and because she’d known all along, hadn’t she, that he was going to break
her heart sooner or later.

She pattered across the landing into the bathroom, hardly aware of the ice-cold tiles under her bare feet, oblivious to the
tears that were trailing blackly down her face.

“I can’t believe it,” Alice said. “He walked out on her, just like that?”

“Just like that, no warning whatsoever.” Geraldine pressed keys on the calculator. “I don’t know how she kept it up at the
restaurant.” She turned the wine-colored stilettos upside down and crossed out
“€150”
on the sticker and wrote
“€100”
beside it in blue marker. “She said he’d got food poisoning; nobody suspected a thing.”

“Well, why would you? It’s the last thing you’d be expecting…Poor Hannah, though. How’s she coping?”

Geraldine replaced the stilettos and picked up a pair of chunky black platforms. “Badly. She’s very upset, naturally.” She
used the calculator again. “Less thirty percent is forty-eight ninety-nine. Will I round it up to fifty?”

“Do.” Alice watched as Geraldine made the change. “But how could he leave her now, when she’s just about to open the shop?
Talk about bad timing. Is there someone else, is that it?”

Geraldine’s mouth twisted as she turned the shoes right side up. “Apparently. He wouldn’t say who.”

“God, that’s awful.”

“Of course, I never trusted him,” Geraldine said.

It wasn’t true. They
had
trusted him, with his big job at the paper and his flowers every time he and Hannah dropped by, and going golfing with Stephen
just like a real son-in-law would have done. But it felt good to say it now.

“He never appealed to me. He was too charming by half. I always felt there was always something underhanded about him.”

“Mmm,” Alice said. “Well, there must have been.”

“Oh, there was. I mean, who’s to say that this woman was the first? If he strayed once, you can bet he did it other times.
Hannah’s well rid of him.” Geraldine replaced the shoes. “Have we the bottom row done?”

“I think so. What about the ones over there?”

“Anyway,” Geraldine said, taking her stool across, “there’s plenty more fish in the sea.”

“There is, of course—and a nice girl like Hannah won’t be waiting long, you can be sure.”

Alice hadn’t been at the dinner in the Cookery, and neither had her husband, Tom. Hannah had suggested inviting them, but
Geraldine had discouraged it.

You know what Tom’s like after a few drinks.

But Alice is your boss,
Hannah had said,
and Tom works with Dad, and they’ve both been hearing about the shop forever—and they got me the clock. They might expect
to be invited.

Why would they? They didn’t help get the place ready. They weren’t up a ladder with a paintbrush, or sanding and varnishing
floors like the rest of us were.

And that had been that, and Alice hadn’t been a bit put out, as Geraldine had known she wouldn’t. Alice would be the first
to admit that while Tom was great company, he could be a bit of a pain after one drink too many. He’d have taken over Hannah’s
night, and Geraldine wasn’t having that.

“I think it might be time for tea,” she said now, putting the blue marker on the counter.

“Absolutely,” Alice said.

Neither of her parents had noticed anything strange about Hannah in the restaurant. Both had observed that she hadn’t eaten
very much, but Geraldine had put it down to nerves at the thought of the shop’s opening at last, and Stephen had assumed that
it was yet another of his daughter’s inexplicable attempts to shed a few pounds.

So when Hannah had stopped by the following evening and told her mother in tears what had happened, it came as a complete
surprise.

He’s met someone else,
she’d wept.
He didn’t say who. He’s in love with her. I hadn’t a clue anything was going on.
Wiping her eyes with a paper towel, ignoring the plate of chocolate biscuits her mother had put out.
Can you believe it?

Oh, love,
Geraldine had murmured
, he doesn’t deserve you. You’re much too good for him.
Which probably didn’t help in the least but was all her scattered thoughts could muster.

When Hannah finally left, still in tears, Geraldine had gone into the sitting room and broken the news to Stephen.
I hate to admit it,
she’d said,
but it’s probably a good thing they didn’t get married after all.