City Woman (27 page)

‘Me too.’ She couldn’t keep the smile off her face.

‘When can I see you?’ He sounded so eager that Maggie was touched.

‘Can I call you? Is it still the same phone number?’ She tried to keep her voice calm and even.

‘Yes, Maggie, everything’s the same,’ Adam assured her, and she knew it wasn’t just his phone number he was referring to. ‘I’ll be at home all day tomorrow.
I’ve taken a few days’ leave; maybe you could meet me in the afternoon or something.’

‘I don’t think so. My little girl is in hospital,’ Maggie said regretfully. ‘I’m just heading off there at the moment. I’ll call you when I can.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that, Maggie. I shouldn’t have phoned. I was just dying to hear your voice and hear how things were going. If you get a chance and you feel like it, get in
touch.’

‘Oh I will, I will!’ Maggie assured him hastily. ‘I’ve some news for you.’

‘What kind of news? Are you getting a foreign divorce or something?’ She could sense that he was smiling down the other end of the phone.

‘I’ll tell you when I see you. I’ll be in touch. OK?’

‘Soon?’

‘Soon,’ she promised. ‘Bye and thanks for calling.’

Maggie hung up and took a deep breath. Her heart was racing and her palms were sweating and she couldn’t think straight. ‘See you, Caroline,’ she called and raced out the front
door. Terry would be going bananas. She was in such a tizzy she dropped her keys, and then, when she finally turned on the ignition, forgot that the car was still in gear. It jerked forward and cut
out with a shudder. Take a grip on yourself, you daft woman, she admonished herself as she started up again. And she
was
being daft, wasn’t she? Adam Dunne was a gorgeous, sensitive,
good-humoured six-footer. Adam Dunne was also single, almost a decade younger than her, and what he saw in her she could not imagine. Maggie, you’re a married woman with three children.
You’ve got responsibilities and commitments and you’re treading very dangerous waters, she argued with herself as she stopped at traffic lights in the village.

She saw a man in the car opposite her giving her a rather strange look. Well,
you’d
talk to yourself if you were considering having an affair with a man ten years younger than
you, she thought, and was quite relieved when the lights turned green and she sped off. She knew her face was the colour of a tomato. Imagine! Ringing her only ten minutes after he got home. He
must have been thinking of her all the time he was away. Wait until he heard about
City Woman.
He’d be delighted for her. She was dying to see him again, dying to see that lovely way
his mouth curved into a smile and his hazel eyes crinkled up at the side. That time he had kissed her before he had gone over to England to work he had made her feel like a young girl again. He had
been so gentle and loving and passionate. Just thinking about it made her feel sexy. What would it be like when she met him again? Would they stare into each other’s eyes? Would he take her
in his arms and kiss her passionately, hungrily – wanting her there and then? No, that would be more Terry’s style. Adam would seduce her, kissing every inch of her, sliding her clothes
off her eager body, kissing her with long slow hot kisses.

Her mouth parted, her eyes glazed and her hands tightened on the steering wheel. She would take his shirt off, running her fingers over every inch of his tanned muscled torso, and then she would
follow the line of hair that snaked down from his chest to his navel. Slowly, teasingly she would unbuckle his belt and unzip his jeans and . . . The driver behind beeped impatiently and Maggie
came to with a start to realize that the lane of traffic had moved on and she had not moved with it. He beeped again. ‘Oh keep your hair on, buster,’ she muttered, sorry to have been
jerked out of her gorgeous fantasy. She’d better keep her mind on her driving or she might end up as a patient in hospital and not a visitor. It was amazing, though, she reflected, as she
drove on towards Phibsborough, she hadn’t felt like sex for ages. Even when she and Terry
had
made love, it had done nothing for her lately. But just knowing Adam was home, even
listening to his voice made her feel as randy as hell. It was true: sex really was all in the head. Right now she was sorely tempted to turn left off the North Circular Road, and drive up to
Adam’s house in Drumcondra and . . . and jump on him.

‘Oooh,’ she groaned in frustration. She wouldn’t say no even to Terry right at this minute. Regretfully she carried on straight through Phibsborough and turned right at
Berkeley Road where she intended parking the car. She had a big lock and chain and hoped that would prevent any attempt to steal it. The walk down to Temple Street was never-ending in the deepening
dusk and the clip-clopping of her heels seemed to say Adam, Adam, Adam, Adam! Stop it, right now! she ordered crossly. Grow up! You’re not a teenager; you are a married woman. Married.
Married. Married. You made vows. You can’t break them just because your hormones are jumping around.

That’s what Terry and Ria did, she reflected; you’re not going to sink to their level. But I want to, she thought longingly. I don’t care any more. Adam appreciates me: he
understands what my writing means to me. He’s tender, loving, sensitive and kind. So was Terry when you met him first, her conscience argued. Maybe if you were married to Adam you’d be
going through exactly what you are going through with Terry. No you wouldn’t be; I know you wouldn’t be: Adam’s totally different to Terry. He’s not that different, the
voice would not be silenced. He knows you’re married and he’s pursuing you. Where are his ethics? Men are all the same, you know, especially where sex is concerned. Oh shut up! She gave
a mental growl, and a priest who was passing the Mater Private and about to salute her with a good evening, deemed it prudent to step smartly out of her way and keep his salutation to himself, when
he saw the fierce expression on her face.

Her high had evaporated as she struggled with her over-active conscience. Why could she just not go off and have an affair and enjoy it without complicating things? Thousands of people, millions
of people had affairs every minute of the day. Look at Ria Kirby: it hadn’t cost her a thought to get involved with Terry, right under his wife’s nose. Ria had flirted brazenly with
Terry in front of her, when they had been living in Saudi. Look at Marcy Elliot. Sandra Nolan had more or less insinuated that Marcy and Jeremy were having a rip-roaring affair, despite the fact
that Marcy was living with someone and Jeremy was married. Of course, Jeremy’s wife, Claudette, was having a fling with Finian MacMahon, who was twenty years her junior and Sandra’s PA
to boot! Claudette, a tall, slim, ash-blonde sophisticate, was showing all the signs of satisfaction with the affair. It was definitely working for her, much to Sandra’s chagrin. She
didn’t like the idea of her PA sleeping his way to the top and possibly into her job.

The internal intrigues and politics of Enterprise Publishing were enough to write a novel about, Maggie thought to herself as she ran grinning up the steps into Temple Street Hospital. But all
these people were having affairs, doing themselves the world of good and obviously not suffering from any guilts or complexes about it. Couldn’t she just do the same? Couldn’t she just
have a nice loving affair with Adam? And then they could go their separate ways and she could stay married to Terry and rear her children and write her novels.

Don’t be such an idiot, she chided herself as she queued up to buy a can of Coke. What happens if you fall in love with Adam and he falls in love with you? How are you going to cope with
that? What happens if Terry finds out? You know then he’ll feel he’ll have carte blanche to have an affair every time he fancies someone. What about the children? How would it affect
them? Children sense things. It could undermine their security. What if anyone saw you with Adam? She sighed. What if? What if? Who? How? Why? Where? You can keep on like this until you’re
blue in the face!

Maggie handed the girl at the cash desk a fiver and took her change. She walked slowly up the first flight of stairs towards ICU, still in turmoil. She continued silently to harangue herself:
the question is which will you regret more: having an affair and all it entails or not having one and regretting it for the rest of your life? Only
you
can make the choice; so make it one
way or another.

Twenty-Three

Three weeks later, Maggie and her children were ensconced in a mobile home in Wicklow. The Erythromycin had proved almost miraculous and Shona was out of hospital within
forty-eight hours of going on it. Maggie had not phoned Adam. She had lost her nerve. When she went into the ward that night, Terry had been waiting for her with a big bunch of flowers, a box of
chocolates, a bottle of champagne, and a sheepish grin. ‘Sorry, Mags! I didn’t mean to upset you. Here.’ He thrust the flowers and champagne at her. ‘Congratulations on your
book!’ She felt such a heel and when he had put his arms around her and given her a hug she had hugged him back warmly. From that moment, she had tried to put Adam out of her head – as
a matter of self-preservation. Any sneaky thought of him was swiftly banished because she could not allow herself to think about him or fantasize about him – that would be fatal. Nevertheless
there were times her heart ached and she had to resist a powerful urge to phone him, if only to let him know about
City Woman.

In any case, she had her hands full. As soon as Shona’s temperature returned to normal the specialist had told Maggie to take her home. She had been a bit taken aback because the child was
still very sick but the professor assured her she was much better off in her home and far less prone to infection than in the hothouse environment of the hospital. They’d had a few sleepless
nights with her and it was a while before her wheeze lessened. A fortnight after her discharge, she had a check-up and X-ray and it was found that the pneumonia was gone. The doctor had given
Maggie the all-clear to go off to Wicklow.

Maggie looked out the window of the mobile at her three offspring, all in shorts and T-shirts. She heard Shona chuckling at Michael doing handstands to entertain her and marvelled again at the
resilience of children. Apart from a pallor that a few days in the sun and fresh air would clear, Shona was almost herself again, and for that Maggie was deeply grateful. This was their second day
here and Maggie was not too enamoured of the site. She had wanted to rent a mobile in Digby Johnson’s in Redcross, but he had no vacancies. She was not really surprised as it was a superb
site, very clean and well kept. It even had a swimming pool.

Here the grounds weren’t very well kept. The grass between many of the mobiles was uncut, the shower rooms and laundry were so dirty that Maggie decided to hand-wash her clothes in her own
mobile. At least it had hot and cold running water and a shower. She lasted three days on the site. Barking dogs, noisy kids out until all hours at night and a gang in the mobile next to her who
used to come in singing every night from the pub proved too much for her. In desperation, she drove around every other mobile-home site in the area. She tried Johnson’s again and Digby
promised that if he had a cancellation he would let her know. In the meantime she took a mobile in a site along the coast which would cost an arm and a leg but was worth it until she could go to
the one in Redcross. At least when she was settled into the new luxury mobile she was able to sit down and start working on her novel.

Marcy had been quite displeased at their second meeting to discover that Maggie had got little or nothing done. However, they had finished editing the rest of the manuscript so now she was able
to settle down to some serious work. It was such a beautiful day that she decided to bring her typewriter out on the veranda in front of the mobile. The children were playing happily with a few new
friends so Maggie slipped into her bikini, got her notes and very soon was immersed in her characters.

She worked away happily until she came to the chapter introducing Ira Kingston, the bitch who stole her heroine’s husband. Marcy had insisted that Maggie make her a more rounded figure. I
can do that all right, Maggie had thought viciously, visualizing Ria Kirby, as she always did when she thought about the character. Ria was a fat tarty little slut, as was Ira. There’d be no
problem rounding her off: just add another couple of inches to her waistline. ‘She’d the look of one who’d seen too many ceilings,’ Maggie typed; then reflected on it, and
crossed it out. ‘She had been an early bloomer but she was fading fast.’ Maggie smiled to herself; that was much better.

She worked diligently, pausing only occasionally to look up and see if the children were all right or to feast her eyes on the sparkling blue sea that she could see just across the sand dunes.
Later on she’d bring the children to the beach. They’d love that. She might even go for a swim herself. Tomorrow was Friday; she’d have to go shopping. Terry was coming down for
the weekend so she might have more time to herself to get really going on the revisions. She wondered what Adam was doing. She cupped her chin in her hands and stared into space. She should have
phoned him, she thought sadly. She knew he would be very hurt that she had not called him back. But it was a risk she dared not take. What was the point in getting involved with him if they
weren’t going to have an affair? Maggie was enough of a realist to know that they could never be just friends. The attraction was too strong between them. They would only end up putting
themselves through torment and undoubtedly at some stage would end up in each other’s arms, and that would be her undoing. Let sleeping dogs lie, she decided, with a vague ache somewhere
under her ribcage. Bending her head to her work again, she carried on with her task of making Ira Kingston a more rounded character.

‘Hey! It’s a nice pad, isn’t it?’ Terry poked his head into the double bedroom which had built-in wardrobes, bedside lockers and wall lamps. ‘Look
at the kitchen. Fitted, all mod cons. I think we should sell up and buy one of these to live in. I could always commute.’ He smiled at his wife as he enveloped her in a bear-hug. ‘You
look good, Mags. The tan’s coming up a treat.’