City Lives (31 page)

‘He’s nice, isn’t he?’ Devlin said dreamily as she watched him go.

‘Hmm. What do you think? I got a little china piggy bank and a little bracelet. Do you think that’s OK?’ Clearly Matthew hadn’t made the impression on Caroline that
he’d made on Devlin. Caroline held out her packages for inspection, but Devlin was gazing after Matthew’s retreating figure.

‘Devlin?’ Caroline queried again.

‘Oh! They’re lovely.’ Devlin came back to earth.

‘We should go. We’ll be heading into the rush hour. Andrew would go bananas if we missed our flight and had to book into a hotel for an overnighter.’ Caroline grinned.

‘Andrew’s a buzz-killer,’ Devlin retorted.

‘What?’

‘A buzz-killer. I heard Andrea Kearney saying it about Gary Nolan. Good, isn’t it?’ Devlin giggled.

‘It certainly describes Gary Nolan to a T.’ Caroline laughed. ‘He could do with a personality transplant, he’s such a stuffed shirt. It
does
describe Andrew a
bit. He takes himself
very
seriously. Do you know what I should do?’ Her brown eyes danced with mischief.

‘What?’ Devlin grinned.

‘You know the way he’s slightly suspicious – to put it mildly – of some of our new therapies? Well, I could have him come to my office and walk in to find me sitting
under a pyramid twirling a smudge stick. I’d love to see his face. Maybe I’ll give him a dream-catcher for Christmas.’

‘If he ever makes a crack again like he did the day he asked me what did Luke think of my plans, he’ll be getting a gift voucher for a colonic irrigation from me,’ Devlin
declared. She wouldn’t forget that slight in a hurry.

Relieved that the stress of pretending that everything was normal with Ciara was over, Devlin relaxed and unwound on the drive to the airport. Caroline was a great pal, she thought gratefully,
as her friend went to get them a cup of tea while they waited for their flight to be called. Having her take Ciara off her hands had been a big bonus that had made the day a lot easier on her. And
she’d done it in such a professional way, Devlin was full of admiration for her. Caroline was a great asset to the company as well as being her best friend.

She fell asleep on the flight home, resting on Caroline’s shoulder. And even in the car home from the airport, she felt drowsy and glad that she wasn’t driving.

‘Are you hungry? Would you like to stop somewhere and have a bite to eat?’ Caroline asked kindly.

‘I just want to go to bed, Caroline.’ Devlin yawned. ‘I’m so tired in this pregnancy. It’s unbelievable. It just washes over you in waves. You literally want to put
your head down anywhere and sleep.’

‘Don’t come in tomorrow.’

‘I can’t take another day off. And besides I’m taking Friday week off when we go to Powerscourt Springs. I’ll be in tomorrow. I’ll be fine after a night’s
sleep,’ Devlin assured her.

‘Well, just take it easy,’ Caroline warned. ‘We can manage to survive the odd day that you aren’t around.’

Devlin laughed. Of that she had no doubt.

An hour later she was tucked up in bed, sipping the hot chocolate that Caroline had made for her. Her eyelids drooped and she turned off the TV, unable to concentrate on the documentary she was
watching. She switched off the light and lay in the dark, reviewing the events of the day. Ciara had been so brazen. Didn’t she have any qualms at all about what she was doing? She had looked
Devlin straight in the eye with not a flicker of discomfort. She was a strange girl, that was for sure. How would she react when she was confronted with her wrongdoing?

Deny it all, probably, Devlin thought wearily as she closed her eyes and slipped into sleep.

Those fucking rich bitches! Just who did they think they were? Swanning down from Dublin. Taking over and telling her what to do on
her
patch. Ciara counted the
takings from the day’s business and with huge resentment put the cash into the safe ready to be lodged in the bank the following morning.

The day had been a disaster. She’d been stuck with Caroline Yates for practically the whole time. Caroline had wanted estimates of how many treatments the new wing could expect to cater
for. She’d wanted to work out how many new housekeeping staff would need to be employed. What ground staff would they need? Ciara had gone into all that in her report but Caroline had
nit-picked her way through it until Ciara was fit to be tied.

Devlin had gone ahead and had the meeting with Finn Kennedy and had made selections without even asking her opinion. That just wasn’t on. She was the manageress, for God’s sake. This
was her City Girl. She’d earned the right to be involved in all decision-making. Today she’d been treated like some little skivvy. And then to top it all she’d had to cancel
lunch. She’d been so looking forward to making an entrance into the restaurant with Devlin and Caroline. She’d told lots of those snooty dames who came to her for private treatments
that she was bringing Devlin to lunch. They all knew of Devlin Delaney, the celebrity from Dublin who was a
close
friend of Ciara’s. She’d actually told a few white lies to
several of them and said that Devlin was going to make her a director of the company.

And so she should be a director! Ciara scowled as she slammed shut her creditors’ ledger. She worked her butt off so that pair could live in the lap of luxury, wear posh clothes and drive
swanky cars. It was on the backs of Ciara and the rest of City Girl’s employees that those two were living a fabulous lifestyle, Ciara thought with mounting fury as she glanced through the
rota that the salon manageress had made out for the following day.

But her time was coming, Ciara vowed. One day she would have her own emporium and it would be far superior to anything Devlin Delaney could ever aspire to. She was biding her time. She wanted to
see how the new wing panned out. She wanted to see residential in action and she wanted to get names and addresses of customers that she would take the greatest pleasure in poaching when the time
came.

Ciara knew that her dream was not going to happen overnight. She would wait until everything was right. In the meantime she would line her pockets, absorb everything, and then the rewards that
she so richly deserved would be hers.

She hurried down the maple-floored hallway to the supply room beside the treatment rooms. She selected three soft fluffy towels in different colours. Devlin always insisted that they buy
best-quality goods. She needed a few new towels for her home treatments. A supply of new robes had arrived, she noted. Once Roisin, the salon manageress, had marked them off, Ciara would nick one.
She already had quite a supply for when she opened her own palace of luxury.

She switched off the lights and walked out to the foyer. The emergency lights cast a muted glow. Ciara stood a moment in the deep silence. By seven in the morning the building would be vibrant
and alive with career women doing their workouts and lapping the pool before heading off to their desks. Later the society dames would arrive for their facials and de-stressing treatments

And Devlin Delaney would be swanning around doing damn all really, except making even more money. Whoever said that life wasn’t fair knew exactly what they were talking about, Ciara
reflected as she turned the lock in the door and walked out to her company car with her nicked goodies under her arm.

She didn’t see the watcher in the distance or, later, note that she’d been followed home.

Caroline slid her key reluctantly into the front door of her apartment block. Home was the last place she wanted to be. She’d enjoyed her trip to Galway. It was exciting
watching the expansion of the company and being part of it. It was a terrible pity that Ciara Hanlon was defrauding Devlin. She was exceptionally bright and focused. Had the circumstances been
different, Caroline would have really got a buzz out of their morning’s work. She’d enjoyed Devlin’s company too. They didn’t often get a chance to spend a whole working day
together. They were a good team, she thought with satisfaction.

Now she was coming home to an empty flat. And when Richard did come in after visiting his mother he would be surly and uncommunicative and not at all pleasant to be around.

She took the lift up to the penthouse. She was feeling peckish. Devlin had been too tired to go somewhere for a meal and Caroline wasn’t in the humour for cooking. Besides, she needed to
do a shop, there was very little in the fridge and not a lot in the freezer either. She prowled restlessly around the rooms, before deciding to phone Olivia. Maybe her friend was free and they
could go and have a meal somewhere.

‘Hi, it’s me. I’m just in from Galway and I was wondering if you’d eaten. And if not would you like to come out for a bite to eat?’ she asked hopefully.

‘I’ve a chicken korma simmering on the pan. Why don’t you get your ass over and join us?’ Olivia invited hospitably.

‘No, no, I wouldn’t gatecrash your evening meal,’ Caroline demurred.

‘Don’t be silly. There’s loads. Come on. It’s been a while since we had a natter,’ Olivia urged.

‘Are you sure?’ Caroline wavered.

‘Of course I’m sure. See you in a while.’ Olivia rang off.

Caroline cheered up instantly. It was nice not to have to eat alone. She’d have a good laugh with Olivia. She unzipped the skirt of her grey business suit, unbuttoned her jacket and
grabbed a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt out of the wardrobe. Ten minutes later after a quick shower she was dressed and ready to go.

She wrote a note for Richard and left it on the hall stand. It was out of habit, really, when she thought about it. It made no difference to him where she was these days. He was giving her the
cold treatment.

As soon as their weekend in Powerscourt Springs was over she was definitely doing something about moving out. She’d had enough. Living with Richard and his resentments was extremely
draining. But it was her own fault for putting up with it, she told herself firmly as she locked the door behind her and set out to dine with her friend.

‘Richard, pass me that notepad. I’m going to write a list of instructions for Mrs Gleeson and you can give them to her tomorrow. And please check that she has
carried them out before I get home,’ Sarah ordered as she held out her hand for the notepad that was only inches away from her on her bedside locker.

Richard uncoiled himself from the armchair he’d been lounging in beside his mother’s bed and did as he was bid.

‘And turn down that television. I’m fed up with the North and Kosovo. And refugees. Is there no Christianity left in the world?’ she grumbled.

Richard turned down the news. He was looking very down in the mouth, she noted, as she began to write her instructions for the housekeeper.

‘You don’t have to sit here night after night.’ Sarah gave a martyred sniff. ‘If it’s an ordeal for you, I’d rather you didn’t come. I don’t want
to put you out, Richard,’ she added petulantly.

It was all right for him, he wasn’t stuck in a nursing home feeling weak and tearful, wondering what was in store for the future. That was, if she
had
a future. She was beginning
to have serious doubts. They’d brought her back to the hospital for a morning and given her a thing called a stress test and nearly killed her. It was outrageous. She’d written to the
consultant and the matron and given them a piece of her mind.

Mr Collins, her consultant, had been most apologetic after he’d received her missive. But he’d told her it was necessary and that the results had been better than he’d hoped.
He had told her that she could go home next week, but Sarah wasn’t sure that she was up to it. She liked knowing that there was a bell beside her bed which would summon help if she felt she
needed it. She wasn’t looking forward to spending the nights on her own. She was trying to pluck up the courage to suggest to Richard that he come and stay with her for a while, but she had
to pick the right moment. There was no point in asking him when he had a puss on him. He’d only say no and then she’d be stuck.

‘Would you like me to ask one of the night nurses to get you a cup of tea?’ She changed her tack.

‘No thanks, Mother. I had something to eat in town. I don’t want a cup of tea.’

‘Would that . . . that lazy lump not have a bit of dinner ready for you when you come in from work?’ Sarah injected a note of sympathy into her voice. ‘It’s a
disgrace.’

‘She works too, don’t forget,’ Richard said flatly.

‘Huh! A woman’s place is in the home. And a wife’s place is taking care of her husband.’ Sarah sniffed. Working women did not impress her one little bit. It was just an
excuse to escape their responsibilities and gad about.

‘You could always come and have dinner with me in the evenings, when I get home. I could employ Mrs Gleeson full-time and she could cook dinner for us.’ Sarah sat up straight in bed,
her eyes bright. If she got him to come for dinner she could always say that she felt a little weak and he’d feel obliged to stay.

‘Do you think Mrs Gleeson would take on the job full-time? Doesn’t she have family commitments? A deserted daughter or something?’ Richard countered.

‘She’d be delighted to take the job if the money was good enough. Those sort of people can never get enough money,’ Sarah declared confidently.

‘It would be good if she could work longer hours for you.’ Richard stood up and began to pace up and down.

Sarah suddenly realized that she had made a big mistake. If Hannah Gleeson came to work longer hours, Richard would feel he was off the hook and probably visit less and less.

‘Maybe not, though,’ she said hastily. ‘I find her tedious sometimes. We’ll see.’

‘But Mother—’

Sarah raised a hand. ‘Not now, Richard. I’m tired. You may go.’ She used her weaker-than-weak voice.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow then.’ Richard didn’t argue. He gave her a lacklustre kiss and hurried out as if he couldn’t wait to be rid of her.

Sarah lay in bed frowning. What was she to do? How could he even consider allowing her to go home alone? If he was married to any kind of a proper wife she’d ask Sarah to come and stay
with them for a while. But that was out of the question, with Madam Caroline. She had burnt her bridges and Sarah would never give her the time of day again.