City Woman (52 page)

‘To tell you the truth, Maggie, it would be a pleasure – and I never thought I’d say that.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘Living on your own is a bit of a bummer. I miss
the kids. I didn’t appreciate them when I was living at home and I didn’t appreciate you, either. I’m sorry,’ he said honestly.

Maggie didn’t know what to say. So she just murmured, ‘Thanks for taking care of them; I appreciate it,’ and left him standing in the sitting-room while she went out to the
kitchen to make the tea.

To think that Terry Ryan had actually grown up at last! For her own part, she was happy enough with the way things were. Because she’d got used to depending on herself and getting on with
it, she could cope with their separation. Much better than him, obviously. Although living alone was lonely – he was right in that – at least she had the children for company. Would it
be simpler all round, she wondered, if she just asked him to move back in? He was spending a lot of time at home lately anyway and next week he’d be there for the full week.

Maggie glanced across the room to where her husband was laughing at something Nelsie had said. He’d be staying at home tonight. Fortunately they wouldn’t have to share a bed, because
her mother and father were having the master bedroom, and Terry’s mother, who had travelled over from the west for the launch, was occupying the guest-room. Maggie was sleeping with Mimi, and
Terry was sleeping with Michael. Maybe tonight would be a good night to ask him to come home.

It was the start to her new career. Why not let it be the start of a new life for them? Maggie was much too much of a realist to pretend that starting over would be an easy task, after all that
had happened between them, but if not for their own sake, they should try and make a go of it for their children. That was their one great bond. Terry had once accused her of looking for the moon,
and maybe he had been more realistic than her in his expectations of their marriage.

She looked at Devlin, her dearest friend. Devlin, who had told her straight that there were faults on both sides. She had been right. Maggie now knew that it was not fair to expect perfection of
anyone, and that looking for someone else to make her happy was a recipe for disaster. She had to find happiness within herself and right now she felt pretty good. Anything else would be a
bonus.

‘Devlin, excuse me, will you? I want to ask Terry something.’ She smiled at her friend and then, taking a deep breath, she walked over to her husband, tapped him on the arm and said
firmly, ‘Terry, could I talk to you a minute?’

Forty-Six

‘Lydia! You look divine!’ Lucinda Marshall air-kissed Lydia Delaney, who was arranging a display of satin and lace lingerie in her boutique, Special Occasions, in
the City Girl shopping mall. Lydia had got in some new Janet Reger and La Perla stock and soon, she realized, she would have to get in her Valentine’s Day stock of teddy bears and hearts and
‘I love you’ fluffy toys. Right now she was up to her eyes and could have done without Lucinda Marshall’s visit. Not that she let on, of course. Lucinda was a good customer, and
even after that unpleasantness when Devlin had refused to renew her membership of City Girl, she still bought her underwear at Special Occasions – although she no longer got the special City
Girl discount of ten per cent.

‘You look very well yourself, Lucinda,’ Lydia smiled graciously.

‘I just love what you’ve done here, Lydia; it’s a fabulous shop,’ Lucinda said enthusiastically, as she fingered a royal blue satin camisole-and-french-knickers set that
had a matching lace-edged négligée. ‘This is to die for,’ she sighed dramatically, using one of her favourite phrases. She always felt very West Coast USA when she said
it.

‘Oh I simply must have this.’ She pounced on an expensive gift-box stationery set and inhaled the fragrant lavender scent. ‘Lavender, isn’t it superb? It’s
Andrea’s birthday next week. This will be perfect for her: she needs cheering up with that family she married into.’

Privately, Lydia felt it was the family who needed cheering up, having acquired the manipulative Andrea as an in-law, but she refrained from comment and gift-wrapped the expensive
stationery.

Perfect, thought Lucinda as she took the exclusive Special Occasions bag from the other woman and handed across her Visa card. She’d present the gift to Andrea in the striking
pink-white-and-green striped bag with Special Occasions blazoned across it, and knowing her VBF, she’d be in like a shot to the boutique to find out how much it had cost. Seventy-five pounds
was more than a respectable sum to pay for a birthday gift and Andrea would be very impressed. It was a beautiful stationery set, with separate drawers for Thank-You and Thinking-of-You notes, and
fragrant quality notepaper with matching lavender envelopes and even a small bottle of lavender perfume. It was genteel, Edwardian-lady almost, and totally wasted on the social-climbing Andrea, who
hadn’t a genteel bone in her body. Lucinda realized this as she signed for her purchase with a dramatic flourish. When Lucinda’s own birthday came around, Andrea, who never liked to be
outdone, would have to buy an equally expensive present.

Yes, a good day’s work, Lucinda decided with satisfaction, as she put her expenses credit card back in her bag. No doubt accounts would query the sum but when Lucinda explained that it was
the carrot that got the horse, they wouldn’t be able to say a word. One expensive present bought one lunch in a posh eatery with Devlin Delaney’s mother and with luck a few revelations
about the proprietor of City Girl that would find their way to the article being prepared – an article that would show the successful young businesswoman in a totally different light.
I’ll fix you, Ms Delaney! Lucinda thought grimly. The humiliation of being barred from membership of the centre still rankled. Now if only Lydia would agree to be interviewed . . . Kevin
Shannon was interviewing Devlin right this minute up in her office, so at least she was out of the way. It would be too awful for words if she came down and caught her with Lydia: she might smell a
rat.

Lucinda popped a handmade chocolate into her mouth. ‘I’ll have a box of these as well, Lydia. Aren’t they just delicious?’

‘They’re Butler’s Irish chocolates,’ said Lydia, ‘and they really are one of my best sellers. Everybody loves them: people buy them for themselves as well as for
presents. I often bring a few home myself. Gerry goes mad for them. He has a terrible sweet tooth.’ Getting Butler’s to supply her had been one of her brainwaves. And what better way to
celebrate a special occasion than with rich chocolate with fresh cream fillings. Devlin was always nipping in and filching a few.

‘I’ll take your biggest box,’ Lucinda said. ‘I’m having a dinner party and they’ll go down a treat.’ She took out her expenses credit card again. Might
as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, she decided.

Lydia smiled. She was doing great business with Lucinda this morning, she thought in amusement. Obviously she was a woman who didn’t hold grudges: because when Devlin had told her she had
revoked the gossip columnist’s membership, Lydia hadn’t expected to see her again. Not that she was actually in the centre at the minute; the shopping mall was accessible to the public.
Further down the ceramic-tiled mall were the glass doors to reception. Only those with a membership card or members’ guests could enter there.

‘You know, Lydia—’ Lucinda turned to Devlin’s mother with wide innocent eyes ‘—why didn’t I think of it before? What an idiot I am!’ She gave a
husky self-deprecating chuckle. ‘I’m doing an article about women like us in their late forties-early fifties, who’ve made successful careers in their later years. You’d be
perfect! You’re an inspiration to us all.’

‘Oh I don’t know,’ Lydia demurred.

‘But Lydia, look what you’ve done: you’ve made a great success of Special Occasions and it’s
so
tastefully designed and decorated. I remember Devlin saying in
some interview or other that you had a great eye for decor. It’s super; I might even be able to photograph you here. It would be great publicity for the business,’ Lucinda added
slyly.

Lydia was hesitant. She wasn’t too crazy about being interviewed by Lucinda: she knew she should be extremely wary of her. Like everyone else, she read Lucinda’s column, ‘The
Grapevine’, and enjoyed it while still feeling sorry for the unfortunate victims of Lucinda’s poison grapes. No! Lydia decided, free publicity or not she did not want to feature in
‘The Grapevine’; she could end up being strangled by its vicious tentacles.

Lucinda saw the doubt in the other woman’s eyes. Damn, I’ve lost her, she cursed silently. She knew if she was to carry this off, she’d want to think of something quickly. As
well as everything else, time was running short. She thought fast. It was her forte.

‘Of course Lydia, you’re no doubt thinking of “The Grapevine”,’ Lucinda gave another husky chuckle. ‘This will not be a trivial or gossipy interview, my dear.
This is a new series we’re thinking of doing called “Women in Their Prime”,’ she lied frantically, although now that she thought of it, it wasn’t a half-bad idea.
‘It will be a full spread in the “Interviews, Reviews, and What’s New?” supplement and actually, thinking about it, I’d like to lead off with a serious in-depth
interview with you that will concentrate on the business side of things. You’re the epitome of the woman we are looking for. Oh, come on, Lydia,’ she urged. ‘Be a sport and
let’s show these successful yuppies that they’re not the only ones that can do it. Let’s show the world that you’re not over the hill just because you’re over
forty.’

It’s a long time since you saw forty, Lydia thought dryly, observing the other woman with her perfectly made-up face. She could not conceal the crow’s-feet around her eyes despite
the face-lifts, or the telltale sag around the chin and that dead giveaway, the wrinkly neck. Lucinda Marshall was a hell of a lot closer to sixty than she was to forty. Perhaps it was the blonde
hair that really made her mutton dressed as lamb. It was much too harsh; a nice ash blonde would have been more subtle. Lydia had to admit, however, that Lucinda’s figure was excellent and in
her Genny mini-skirted red-check suit, her legs were still passable. If you’ve got it, flaunt it, was Lucinda’s motto, and more power to her, thought Lydia in amusement. She herself was
dressed in a classically elegant Michael Mortell avocado two-piece which she had had for several years.

‘Lydia, come on,’ Lucinda wheedled. ‘We’ll have a jolly lunch. An hour or two will do the whole thing; it will be painless, I promise.’

‘Now?’ Lydia exclaimed.

‘Why not?’ Lucinda kept her tone light although she was beginning to panic that Kevin’s interview with Devlin would soon be over and she might make an appearance and spoil
everything. She felt like strangling Lydia.

‘Look, it’s just twelve-fifteen. How about we pop over to The Commons? It’s only five minutes away. City Girl is so central to all the good restaurants.’ Lucinda felt her
smile was stuck to her face. She could see that Lydia was wavering. People were so easily swayed when you preceded the word ‘interview’ with ‘serious and in-depth’. On
second thoughts, she decided hastily, The Commons was a bit too open for the interview she had in mind. There were too many distractions. The Ladies Who Lunch would be stopping by at her table to
greet her like the smarmy sycophants they were, in the hopes of getting a mention in the ‘Who’s Lunching with Whom’ section.

Not that everybody was eager to be written about in that column. Only last week she had mentioned seeing a well-known film director with a young actress from the cast of his current film. Mrs
Film Director had not been the slightest bit amused, by all accounts, to read in her Sunday newspaper that her husband was wining and dining a pretty thing who was young enough to be his
granddaughter, especially since he had told her he was seeing his accountant. The film director had accosted Lucinda and verbally abused her in the Horseshoe Bar in the Shelbourne, where he liked
to sit and pontificate to anyone who would listen to him.

‘I’ll put you in my next film, see if I don’t! You’ll be the laughing-stock of Dublin, you talentless hackette. You scribe of scurrility. You dispenser of trivia and
trash,’ he slurred, his ruddy face even ruddier than normal, his little pig-eyes glowering over the top of the half-moon glasses he affected.

‘Darling, if you put me in the film I can guarantee you an Oscar – and God knows you need one,’ Lucinda drawled, and a ripple of laughter had run through the bar from a greatly
diverted audience of movers and shakers. This was the kind of thing they thrived on. There hadn’t been a good to-do there since the episode of the drunken journalists.

‘You . . . you medusa of the back page,’ the outraged film director had howled.

‘Oh, go home and make a film about Mimsy and Pimsy – it’s all you’re good for,’ Lucinda said dismissively, referring to his penchant for boasting about his two
obnoxious Pekinese dogs, that were the greatest ankle-nippers this side of the Panama Canal.

The film director gave a strangled gasp and for one heart-stoppingly delicious moment the audience thought he was going to make a lunge for Lucinda and grab her by the throat. Unfortunately, his
bosom buddy and sailing companion, an ex-politician who had been in many scrapes, grabbed him by the arm and urged restraint. Both men lurched out the door, as drunk as skunks, the film director
clutching at his toupee, which was slighty askew. They left Lucinda the queen of all she surveyed.

No, decided Lucinda, a very small, intimate restaurant was what she needed for today’s lunch. She wanted no cock-ups, no interruptions, just Lydia Delaney on her own. ‘I
know—’ she placed a hand on Lydia’s arm, ‘—let’s go to The Seven Hills. It’s just opened. It’s very quiet and intimate and the food . . .’
Lucinda kissed the top of her fingers. ‘Magnifico. You do like Italian, don’t you?’

‘Well . . .’ Lydia reluctantly agreed, almost overwhelmed by Lucinda’s breathless enthusiasm. Now that she knew she wasn’t going to feature in ‘The Grapevine’
she was beginning to warm to the idea. It was flattering to think that Lucinda wanted her to be the first in the series of ‘Women in Their Prime’. And just think what a surprise it
would be for Gerry and Devlin. She wouldn’t tell them about it and then they’d be amazed when they opened their
Sunday Echo
. It would make Gerry proud of her. He was really
pleased and supportive about this new venture and to tell the truth, since she had given up drinking and Devlin and she were much closer after all their traumas, Lydia had been at peace and felt so
fulfilled. In a way it was like starting afresh, as much for Gerry as for herself. Gerry was a good husband and she had never been much of a wife – and as for being a mother to Devlin . . .
Lydia felt a stab of shame. She had treated her daughter so badly, and look how Devlin had forgiven her and encouraged her every step of the way with her boutique. She was a very special young
woman. She’d make sure to mention that fact, and acknowledge Gerry’s love and support for her as well, in the chat. The past was the past and Lydia was very glad to let it go. She
would
do this interview.