City Woman (13 page)

‘The cheek of you!’ laughed Devlin.

‘You’ve really taken to it, haven’t you?’ Maggie eyed them in amusement. ‘I wasn’t sure if you two high-fliers would take to the laid-back lifestyle. You
didn’t even bring your mobile phone, Devlin! You haven’t phoned the office once. I thought you’d have terrible withdrawal symptoms, you the well-known workaholic!’

‘I know. I’m chuffed with myself,’ Devlin said proudly. ‘I’m telling you, after two hours of being here I couldn’t have cared less. This is just what I
needed, and I’m going to come down again, if you’ll let me.’

‘You can stay for the summer if you want, the pair of you,’ Maggie laughed.

‘Wouldn’t that be bliss!’ Devlin sighed. She was so relaxed she couldn’t keep her eyes open. ‘Girls, I’m awfully sorry but I’m going to bed. It’s
this sea air: it knocks me out.’ She yawned mightily. ‘See you in the morning.’

‘Night, Dev,’ said the other pair, laughing in unison.

Ten minutes later, snuggled down in her sleeping bag on one of the soft sofas, Devlin was snoring gently.

‘The few days in Wicklow did you the world of good,’ said Luke as they drove back to Dublin the following Sunday evening.

‘God, Luke, I feel like a new woman!’ Devlin said happily. ‘It was perfect. We had a great weekend, didn’t we?’ she smiled at him.

‘I enjoyed myself immensely. Those kids are great. And that barbecue was super. Caroline really enjoyed it too.’

‘I’m glad she’s staying a few days longer with Maggie; it’s tough for her at the moment with this business of Richard and Charles,’ Devlin observed.

‘But she’s so much more her own woman now than she was when I first met her. Caroline will be fine.’

‘I’m glad you like my friends, Luke. It was very important to me that you should,’ Devlin said seriously. ‘We’re as close as sisters, you know.’

‘I know that,’ laughed Luke. ‘Offend one and you offend them all.’

‘Yeah, but wouldn’t it be awful if you didn’t get on with them. I don’t know what I’d do: it would be an awful dilemma.’

‘Well, that’s one dilemma you don’t have to contend with.’

‘You made a great hit with Mimi, I’ve never seen you with children before. You’ve a great way with them.’

‘I like children, I love their honesty. Whatever’s in their mind they say it straight. Mimi’s as straight as you’ll get. Did you hear her telling that obnoxious kid on
the beach who made Shona cry that he had no manners? That was before she pulled his hair. I felt like standing up and cheering.’ Luke smiled at the memory. ‘Let’s take them to
Funderland this Christmas,’ he suggested as they turned left at Rathnew.

‘Oh yes! that would be great fun!’

‘That’s a terrific place Maggie’s got there.’ He cast a glance at her. ‘We must ask her to see if we could go on the waiting list. Wouldn’t it be nice to have
a place beside her for when we have a gang of our own?’

‘Luke Reilly!’ exclaimed Devlin, not sure if he was joking or not. But the more she thought about it, the nicer the idea seemed.

Nine

Devlin was talking to Antoinette Phillips, the organizer of the charity fashion show to which she had been invited, when they were interrupted by a scruffy young man with
shifty eyes and a pimply chin.

‘Excuse me, ladies,’ he said cockily. ‘I need to speak to Ms Delaney.’

Antoinette threw him a scornful look. ‘It’s important,’ he declared, unimpressed by this subtle intimidation.

‘We’ll talk when you’ve finished with this . . . person,’ Antoinette said haughtily. She did not like being interrupted when she was in full flow. And she did not like
her VIPs being shanghaied by scruffy little chappies.

‘Certainly,’ Devlin said politely. In fact she was bored and dead beat. The day had been hectic and all she wanted to do was go home to her bed. She certainly didn’t want to
stand here yapping to this unknown personage who had something important to discuss with her, nor did she want to spend the rest of the night listening to Antoinette rabbiting on.

‘How can I help you?’ she asked with superficial politeness.

The young man shuffled uneasily and held out a hand. ‘I’m Larry Dempsey,’ he said chummily, in a tone which suggested to Devlin that it was a name she should know and, what was
more, that she should be honoured that he was speaking to her. It
was
a vaguely familiar name but she was too tired to try and remember where she had heard it before. He had a limp
handshake, too. Devlin hated people with limp handshakes.

She stared blankly at him.

‘Larry Dempsey, columnist with the
Sunday Echo
.’

‘Nice to meet you,’ Devlin murmured, wishing he would shove off.

‘Well, the thing is, I’m doing a series coming up to Christmas called ‘‘A Drink with Larry’’,’ he simpered, ‘and basically like, I invite
well-known celebrities of the female sex to come and have a drink with me and like, see how we get on, kind of thing. I’ve been considering you as one of my like, guests.’ He chuckled
inanely.

Oh shit! thought Devlin in dismay, suddenly identifying the nuisance she was talking to. Not even if City Girl were to go under in the morning because of lack of publicity would she do an
interview with Larry Dempsey!

‘No, thank you,’ she said. She was sorely tempted to say: ‘It’s like, not my scene,’ but she restrained herself.

‘Aw come on! Be a sport.’ Larry was leering now. ‘You successful women always play hard to get.’

‘No,’ Devlin said firmly. ‘Excuse me.’ She turned on her heel and walked away. Sexist pretentious little git, she thought. She wasn’t going to have herself
humiliated in his sleazy column, thank you very much!

‘Stuck-up bitch,’ Larry muttered, blushing to the roots of his lanky blond locks.

Devlin stayed for another half-hour before making her excuses and escaping to her bed.

Larry Dempsey was not used to being turned down. Most women he approached, after the initial playing hard to get and coy refusal, were perfectly happy to have him treat them to
a night on the town. The details then appeared several Sundays later in his widely read and even more widely admired column.

Larry was a name to be reckoned with in journalism – at least in his own mind. He just couldn’t figure this Delaney woman out. The way she had looked at him as if he had crawled out
of a piece of cheese! Who did she think she was? And what was he going to tell his editor? He had been very keen for Larry to get an interview with Devlin Delaney. Larry rather suspected that Mick
Coyle had a fancy for the leggy blonde. The dirty old lecher. Well, he might not be too impressed when Larry told him of her rudeness. Devlin Delaney was a stuck-up snob who thought she was too
good for Larry Dempsey. Well, he’d just see about that, Larry decided. Nobody made him feel like a worm and got away with it. He’d heard talk about Ms Delaney around town. And he was
just the lad to get to the bottom of a rumour. The pen was mightier than the sword. A little bit of malice here, a soupçon there – just enough to make mischief. Especially for one as
delectable as Madame Delaney. He had been looking forward to having his photo taken with her. Especially as he always made a point of having very close contact with his guest when it was photo
time. Everybody thought he had women falling all over him. If the truth were known the nearest he ever came to close contact with a woman was at those damned photo sessions. No matter how hard he
tried, he just couldn’t score with a broad. It was infuriating, decided Larry, drowning his inadequacies with another free drink.

‘Devlin, there’s a Kevin Shannon on the line. He wants to do an interview with you. He’s from the business page of the
Sunday Echo
.’ Devlin
came to with a start to hear Liz speaking to her. She had been daydreaming, remembering the precious week she had spent in Paris with Luke at Christmas. It had been a wonderful holiday, a year late
maybe, but that had made it all the more special, and ever since she had come back she had found it hard to settle down.

‘Well! What shall I say?’ Liz asked patiently.

‘Sorry, I was in Paris,’ said Devlin. ‘The
Sunday Echo
? That’s an awful rag, isn’t it?’ she grimaced.

‘I know,’ soothed Liz, ‘but it is the business page. They can’t do much harm on that and it’s not good to say no to a business interview. You never know when you
might need publicity, especially now that Galway will be opening.’

‘Why are you always right?’ Devlin said in mock-irritation.

‘That’s the reason you hired me, boss,’ Liz saluted. ‘I’ll tell him sometime next week?’

‘As long as it’s not that sleaze-bag Dempsey who accosted me at Antoinette Phillips’s charity thing before Christmas,’ Devlin sighed. ‘If you really feel it’s
a must, then go ahead.’

‘I do,’ Liz said firmly and closed the door behind her.

‘Bully,’ Devlin called after her, as she lifted the phone to call Luke. She just wanted to tell him that she missed him and was thinking of him.

Dianne answered his phone, much to Devlin’s disgust. She had wanted to hear his voice; she had wanted to tell him that she loved him and missed him.

‘He’s on site. Any message?’ Dianne asked snootily.

Yes, tell him I love him! Devlin was tempted to say. She knew Dianne didn’t like her and had a sneaking suspicion that Luke’s PA had a crush on him.

‘Just tell him I called,’ Devlin answered.

‘Certainly,’ came the frosty response.

‘Happy New Year, Dianne,’ Devlin said wickedly. There was a long pause.

‘The same to you, Miss Delaney,’ came the cool tones.

‘Thanks. Bye.’ Devlin hung up, smiling.

How dare that dame wish her Happy New Year as if they were bosom buddies or something, Dianne thought furiously. It really was galling to have to speak to that woman on the
phone. To think that she and Luke had been canoodling in Paris for a week. It was pretty clear that Luke and Devlin had become very close companions. Luke had come back from Paris looking totally
relaxed and happy. It had sent Dianne into the pits of a depression.

Suffering from unrequited love must be the most painful thing in the world. It was even hard to keep her fantasies going. Last night she had been watching a cowboy film starring William Holden.
He had been a captain in the US cavalry and he had looked magnificent in his uniform. She had spent a good part of the night imagining Luke as a cavalry officer in the blue uniform and lovely high
dusty leather boots, making passionate love to her under the stars in the desert, but it had been hard to concentrate. She kept imagining him and Devlin together in a four-poster bed in Paris.

Dianne considered whether she should let Luke know something of what she was feeling. She sat at her desk, chin propped on her hands, and pondered the problem. Then she sat up straight.
She’d tell him, that’s what she’d do. She’d tell him right to his face that she loved him. And then see how soon he’d forget Ms Devlin Delaney. Luke was just passing
time with the blonde bombshell. Dianne was sure of it. No, once Dianne had declared her love for him he’d have eyes for no-one else.

What would she wear when she told him? Something that was easily removed. Just in case Luke decided to make love to her there and then. She’d leave work early today, plead a headache
– that would make him concerned. And on the way home she’d treat herself to some really sexy underwear. Black stockings and suspenders. Dianne was sure Luke was a black stockings and
suspenders type. She was getting randy just thinking about it. She wasn’t going to wait a minute longer: she was going out right now to buy her treats.

‘I’m going home: I feel dreadful,’ Dianne told her astonished secretary. ‘I don’t know if I’ll be in tomorrow; it depends on how I feel.’

That should give Luke something to think about. In the three years she had been working for him, she had never once missed a day.

Feeling strangely exhilarated, Dianne left the office and began her quest for black suspenders and fine silk stockings.

The
Sunday Echo
had become a sleazy sensationalist rag that could compete with any tabloid of the gutter press. Of that there was no doubt. Though masquerading as a
quality paper, its ethics were non-existent, its news reporting pathetic, and its dirt-dishing far steamier than that of any other paper in the country.

That was why it sold so well! Peddling the details of people’s private lives was its stock-in-trade and nobody peddled so well or so thoroughly as did the hacks (who called themselves
journalists) of the
Sunday Echo
. Certainly, there were good articles by well-thought-of contributors, but in the main it had gone from a good newspaper to a rancid tabloid in disguise.

The
Sunday Echo
now had a brand-new sacrificial victim to help them on their way – Devlin. It had been decided at the last editorial meeting of the features department that Devlin
Delaney, who had kicked the gossip columnist of all gossip columnists, the
Sunday Echo
’s very own Lucinda Marshall, out of the exclusive City Girl Health and Leisure Club and who had
refused point-blank, and with even a hint of distaste, to go out on a date with Man About Town Larry Dempsey for his Christmas column, was to be the next victim of a hatchet job.

There were rumours circulating the hot spots about Ms Delaney, businesswoman and media celebrity, that were too juicy to be ignored. And one thing the
Sunday Echo
never did was to
ignore juicy rumours. Hell, when they had no juicy rumours, they just made some up themselves! But
these
rumours were really hot. She was supposed to have had a baby! Supposed to have
lived in Ballymun. Then there was supposed to have been a terrible accident. There were rumours that it hadn’t been an accident at all and that Devlin had got a massive insurance pay-out with
which she had opened City Girl. Rumours that no self-respecting hack could ignore.

Larry and Lucinda were dispatched with instructions to leave no stone unturned, no gutter unexplored, in the quest for the goods on Ms Delaney. Kevin Shannon of the business section was going to
be told to do a business interview which would give the article an air of respectability and around which they would slip in their juicy titbits. With all the resources of their horrible little
trade, Larry and Lucinda set off on the trail of the ‘to-lie-for’ scoop.