Francesca's Party (49 page)

She glanced at her watch. Three-twenty. She could start making tracks for home soon. The fire was lit in the lounge; she’d have a nice soak in the bath and then go downstairs and read the rest of the papers in front of the fire. She’d order an Indian or Chinese for dinner; she didn’t feel like cooking.

The house was silent and empty when she got home. The estate agent had been as good as his word. She bathed and groomed Trixie and then poured herself a beer and filled her bath. The hot scented water infused heat into her body. It had been cold on the Bull Island. She lay in the bath reading a magazine and sipping her beer and felt completely relaxed. One of the nice things about living on her own was the freedom to do exactly as she pleased. Her bath refreshed her and after she’d dried her hair, she pulled on a tracksuit, settled down in front of the fire and immersed herself in the papers. The doorbell rang around five. If it was a potential buyer they could make an appointment for a viewing with the estate agent, she thought firmly. She wasn’t inviting strangers into her house. She opened the door ready to politely tell the caller to go.

‘Good evening, Francesca. I hope I’m not intruding. I wish to speak to you on a private matter,’ her father-in-law said officiously as he stepped past her into the house.

‘Hello, Gerald, how are you?’ Francesca said half-heartedly as she closed the door behind him.
He
was the last thing she needed.

‘Oh, well now, Francesca, I’m sure you’re only asking out of politeness. You certainly made no effort to keep in touch once your marriage broke up,’ Gerald
accused
bluntly, his little beady eyes cold and unfriendly.

‘What can I do for you, Gerald?’ Francesca said coolly, determined not to let him rile her.

‘I’ve come here to tell you that you’re making a big mistake putting this house up for sale. One you’ll rue at the end of the day. That son of mine came to me asking if I could store his possessions in my spare bedroom and while I don’t mind doing it for him, I feel strongly that someone should talk sense to the pair of you. I know Mark doesn’t want to sell. It’s all your doing. You’re a fool if you sell this damn fine house,’ Gerald blustered.

‘Thank you for your input, Gerald, but basically it’s none of your business. Your son left me for another woman and I had to pick up the pieces of my life and get on with things. And that’s exactly what I did and will continue to do without any interference from you. Thank you for calling. Goodbye now.’ She opened the door pointedly.

‘Wait a minute, miss.’ Gerald was affronted. ‘You have a Wedgwood china set here belonging to my dear departed wife. If you’re intent on selling up I want to have it back. I don’t want Mark giving it to that other woman and I don’t want you giving it to anyone either.’

‘Mrs Kirwan gave us that china as a wedding gift, Gerald. You’d better see what Mark has to say about the matter. If he’s agreeable I’ll be perfectly happy to return it to you. Rest assured,’ she said coldly. What a horrible little man he was. Thank God she was well rid of him. She opened the door even wider for him to leave.

‘Well! Well, upon my word! The very least you could do is offer me a cup of tea,’ Gerald huffed.

‘Sorry! I’m busy. Good evening, Gerald. I’ll get Mark to call you about the china,’ Francesca said dismissively. Her father-in-law marched down the steps with bad grace but Francesca didn’t wait for any parting shot, she closed the door firmly behind him.

‘Bloody old rip,’ she muttered. The nerve of him, calling on her unannounced looking for his china back and a cup of tea into the bargain! In spite of herself she had to laugh at his cheek. She didn’t miss having him around constantly, that was for sure.

‘You did what?’ Mark asked incredulously.

‘I went around and gave your wife some damn good advice and told her she was a damn fool to put that house up for sale. She was bloody rude to me,’ Gerald snorted. ‘Never offered me a cup of tea, a sherry or nothing. Extremely inhospitable. And I was always very good to her—’

‘I don’t believe I’m hearing this. You had no business doing such a thing. She’ll think I was behind it. For God’s sake, Dad, what did you want to go interfering for?’

‘I wasn’t interfering, Mark. I was giving the woman some fatherly advice. But she’s pig-headed and stubborn. And what’s more I told her I wanted the Wedgwood china your mother gave you back. That’s an heirloom. I’m not letting it out of this family,’ Gerald declared.

‘My God!’ muttered Mark. ‘What are you going to do with it? Bury it in the coffin with you? I’m going. I need to phone Francesca and explain that this had
nothing
to do with me. Goodbye.’ He slammed down the phone in a temper. His father had gone too far. Francesca was probably like a demon. Just when they’d got back on speaking terms, too. Trust his father to interfere.

He flicked through his diary and found her work number. She answered the phone almost immediately.

‘Hi, it’s me,’ he said warily.

‘Oh! Hello, Mark.’ Was she frosty or just being extremely polite? He couldn’t tell. He wondered if she had seen the picture of him and Nikki at the Galway races.

‘Ah … um … I believe my father called over to see you last night,’ he said delicately. ‘I’m really terribly sorry, Francesca. I had no idea that he was going to pull a stunt like that.’

To his immense relief he heard his wife laugh. ‘That’s Gerald for you. What do you want to do with the Wedgwood?’

‘I want you to have it,’ Mark said decisively.

‘No, Mark. Let your father have it. There’s no point in upsetting him at this stage of his life,’ Francesca replied.

‘Well, if you’re sure?’

‘I am. The less clutter I have the better, when I get my own place.’

‘Look, how about if I come over some evening and we sort out our bits and pieces,’ he suggested. She was still clearly intent on moving. He
had
to persuade her to stay. It was best to play along though, for the time being.

‘OK,’ she agreed.

‘What night suits you?’ Mark asked. ‘What time?’

‘Wednesday or Thursday. Around seven?’

‘Wednesday,’ he said. ‘I’m lucky this week, I’ve no business trips.’

‘Fine,’ Francesca said lightly. ‘See you then.’

She was so self-possessed it was disturbing. She seemed to have her mind very firmly made up, he thought almost in panic.

‘Ah … would you like to have dinner or anything?’ he invited.

‘No, Mark. I’ll have something at lunchtime.’

‘Oh, OK then,’ he said, disappointed. ‘See you on Wednesday.’

‘I’LL BE LATE
home from work tonight, so we’ll take our own cars,’ Mark said offhandedly as he tied a knot in his tie and ran a brush through his hair.

‘Oh! Where are you off to?’ Nikki asked as she applied her eye shadow with practised ease.

‘Ah … just a golf-club meeting.’ Mark flicked through his briefcase to make sure he had everything he needed for his day’s work. ‘Bye, hon.’ He leaned down and gave her a peck on the cheek. And then he was gone.

Nikki put down her mascara and rested her chin on her hands. He’d been like a cat on a hot tin roof last night and this morning he’d spent at least ten minutes selecting the tie and shirt he was going to wear. He’d had his hair cut the previous day too, although it had been less than three weeks since he’d last visited the barber’s.

Something wasn’t right. That was the first time in all the months she’d known him that he’d ever gone to a golf-club meeting that she knew of. He was lying
to
her. Some instinct told her and she couldn’t ignore it.

It niggled at her all day. What was he doing tonight that he didn’t want her to know about? Who was he seeing? She began to get paranoid. Maybe he’d met someone else. Maybe he’d started an affair. That could be the reason for his moody behaviour these past few weeks. But who was it? Surely she’d know if it were someone at work. He was always pretty chatty to Sandra Daly in Treasury. And she was always pretty chatty to him. Nikki frowned.

‘Is Sandra Daly in Treasury involved with anyone?’ she asked Elaine when her secretary handed her some internal post. Elaine knew everyone’s business. She was the world’s greatest gossip.

Elaine’s eyes widened at this uncharacteristic enquiry. Nikki pretended not to notice as she flicked through the mail.

‘I don’t know. I could find out,’ her secretary replied helpfully.

‘Oh, thanks,’ Nikki murmured. ‘A guy I know asked me to find out,’ she fibbed.

‘
Really?
’ Elaine was thrilled with this bit of info. ‘Who? Does he fancy her?’

‘You don’t know him,’ Nikki said curtly, mentally kicking herself. Now it would be all over the office that a friend of hers was interested in Sandra. And if it got to Sandra’s ears she could very well want to know who was asking about her. That would be extremely awkward. Nikki looked up coldly at Elaine. ‘That’s all, Elaine, thank you,’ she said politely.

Snooty bitch, find out for yourself
, Elaine fumed as
she
walked into her own office. What a curious thing to ask though. As long as she’d worked with Nikki Langan, her boss had never asked her anything that didn’t involve the job in hand. She wasn’t into office gossip in the slightest. She’d caused enough of it though with her liaison with Mark Kirwan, Elaine thought smugly as she sat at her computer and began to type a memo for London.

Nikki sat staring into space. She was in turmoil. She had to go to London the following morning and she wasn’t at all prepared. It was so difficult to concentrate when all this was going on. She’d never had trouble focusing on her work before. This was disastrous. She picked up the file that had lain untouched on her desk. It was important she was up to speed on all the information it contained.

‘Concentrate!’ she muttered. ‘Concentrate!’

‘Ken, I need to be home before the rush hour. Would you mind if I left around four-thirty?’ Francesca asked her boss.

‘Four-thirty
is
the rush,’ Ken said sagely. ‘Leave at four, things are slackening off anyway. August is always quiet enough. Go at three if you want, even.’

‘Thanks, you’re a pet. Maybe half-three.’ Francesca smiled at him. She wanted to be showered and changed and totally in control and not rushing around like a blue-arsed fly when Mark came. He’d sounded a tad harassed on Monday. He’d clearly been mortified by his father’s visit. He wasn’t putting it on. She would have liked to have seen the look on his face when he found out about it. Gerald was such an interfering old busy-body. No wonder his
daughter
would have nothing to do with him. What her sister-in-law’s relationship with Mark was now, Francesca had no idea. Nor did she really care. Letting go of Gerald and his attendant baggage had been one of the pluses of her marriage break-up.

The day flew. She was glad she knew Mark was coming. It was so much better than having him arrive unannounced. It was strange to be in a dither because her husband was coming to visit, she reflected as she drove home along the Dublin Road. It would be good to sort out who was having what. Fortunately their reading and music tastes were completely different so there’d be no rows about books and CDs.

There were a couple of paintings that she was especially fond of, particularly the
Herbaceous Border
by Angie Grimes. Mark liked it too. She’d like to keep it if he was agreeable, and also the Catherine MacLiam silk painting,
Omani Tribesmen
. She’d like to keep some of the sparkling crystal pieces they’d collected over the years. Thinking in those terms made it all seem very final, but in the long run these things had to be sorted, she assured herself as doubts began to set in.

Thanks to the mega clean-out she’d had, knowing that her house was going to be open to the public, the house was ship-shape. Her cleaner had been in that morning and the furniture shone and mirrors gleamed. All Francesca had to do was shower and change and decide what to wear.

‘This is ridiculous,’ she murmured as she stood flicking through the clothes in her wardrobe. She didn’t want Mark to think that she was dressing up especially for him. Why on earth would she want to
give
him that impression? The sunny weather had returned after the wet, windy weather of the weekend; she’d slip into a sundress and sit out in the garden and give the impression of being oh so cool, she decided.

She showered, dried her hair and slipped the mint-green floral dress over her head. She’d bought it on holiday in Portugal. Its loose, easy lines flowed over her figure in a most flattering style. The spaghetti straps and low neckline showed off her tan. It was different to the more formal attire that she usually wore, but she was a different woman now, much more relaxed, and she was dressing to please herself. She’d just made herself a cup of tea when her mobile rang. She half expected it to be Mark cancelling. She was surprised at her feelings of disappointment. Fishing the phone out of her bag, she noted it was an unfamiliar number.

‘Hello?’

‘Mrs Kirwan, Stephen Boyle, we spoke about a mews in Monkstown that you were interested in a while back. A three-bedroom cottage in the same area has come on the market. Now, it needs some renovation but I think you might like it. I could send you out the details if you like.’

‘Don’t bother posting them, I can call in tomorrow and collect them. And thanks very much for phoning me,’ Francesca said warmly.

‘You’re welcome, Mrs Kirwan. As I say I think it might suit your requirements and there’s a very pretty garden at the back which is completely private.’

‘Excellent,’ Francesca said. ‘See you tomorrow.’

How interesting to get Stephen Boyle’s phone call just then. Perhaps because she was letting go of her old house, the door was opening for the new one to come in. She had the strangest feeling about the cottage, even though she hadn’t seen it. Maybe this cottage was meant for her.

Mark put down the bottle of L’Air du Temps reluctantly. It was one of Francesca’s favourite perfumes but he wasn’t sure how she’d react if he bought it for her. Perfume was an intimate gift. They were no longer exactly what you’d call intimate. He wanted to bring her a present but he couldn’t quite decide what. He’d bought a spray of blue irises and a bottle of Puligny Montrachet but he wanted some other little gift. Inspiration struck. She loved Leonidas handmade chocolates. He headed for the Royal Hibernian Way and spent five minutes choosing a selection of the rich, creamy chocolates and pralines. It was so ironic, he mused. He was on his lunch break buying gifts to woo his wife with, when once he’d spent lunchtimes buying gifts for Nikki. Life was very strange. It was almost as if it had come full circle.