A Time for Friends (16 page)

Colette’s stomach gave a strange little lurch. When Des said this was big time stuff, she felt a flutter of apprehension. He would expect a lot of her. She would have to compete with all
the other corporate wives in the multinational company that was now dictating where they lived. New York society was a whole new ball game. She’d be up against wives who knew each other.
Women who had contacts and a whole social network behind them. She would be starting from scratch again as the outsider and it was daunting. Not that she’d ever let on to anyone that she was
intimidated, Colette thought, returning her husband’s kiss.

‘Congratulations, darling, I knew you’d get it,’ she said loyally. ‘You’re head and shoulders above Jerry Olsen. You played a blinder.’

‘So did
you,
my sweet. They were mightily impressed at that dinner we gave. Ginny Olsen doesn’t have any of your sophistication or savoir-faire and they could see that. You
could carry anything off. Image matters. Never forget that, baby. We’re a team, a great team. The Yanks won’t know what’s hit them,’ he grinned, taking a slug of her
drink.

Colette was warmed by his praise. Des was right, they
were
a team, and a premier division one at that, and it was something he always acknowledged. ‘Come on, I’m taking my
gal for a champagne dinner. We’ll be able to announce it to your folks tomorrow.’

‘I’ll enjoy that!’ Colette stretched languorously, the water rippling like warm silk over her smooth body.

‘Me too.’ Des grinned at her. ‘Papa will have to admit, his daughter married a go-getter of the highest order.’

‘He does think I married well.’ Colette soaped her limbs with Miss Dior bath lotion.

‘He looks down his aquiline legal-eagle nose at me, don’t kid yourself,’ Des scoffed. ‘When he’s visiting our pad on the Upper East Side and our summer rental in
the Hamptons he’ll change his tune!’

‘Imagine what the Palmer-Hicksons will say! They’ll be sick as parrots.’ Colette perked up, thinking of how a couple they socialized with but didn’t particularly like
would react to the news of Des’s promotion.

‘We’ll invite them to New York for our house warming! And Barty and Cecily Herne, and the Goffs!’ Des sat on the side of the bath and flicked suds at his wife.

‘Oh
yeess!
Tamara Goff is such a snooty cow sometimes, showing off with that place in the South of France. The Hamptons will trump that any time. She’ll be pea green! Oh
bliss, I can’t wait to tell her. This is going to be fun.’ Her exhilaration and the thought of outdoing the more competitive members of their social set ignited and she felt a burst of
adrenalin. ‘I might take a trip to Paris and buy a few pieces. We’ll probably have to do a lot of entertaining.’

‘Good thinking. Those American wives will recognize class when they see it. I’m going to order us up a bottle of bubbly! To get us in the mood! Back in a sec.’

I’m going to live in New York! Colette thought dreamily, her earlier misgivings evaporating as she finished her G&T and waited for Des to come back with the champers. There was no
stopping her now. The notion of her friends’ envy made the G&T taste even better.

‘So Des got the promotion, that’s great news, Colette. What an adventure. Jazzy will find New York a big change,’ Hilary commented when Colette revealed her
momentous news the next morning. Colette was all ready for a long chat despite the fact that her friend was in the midst of preparing Sunday lunch for her in-laws.

‘She’s very adaptable,’ Colette said touchily. Trust Hilary to be negative.

‘I know she is, I was just saying,’ Hilary said mildly. ‘It’s different when you have children. I could have gone to Moscow for a while when they opened the duty free and
Niall was there for weeks. Bahrain is next on the list so I might get over for a week.’

‘Well we’ll be going to
live
!’ Colette said edgily. Hilary’s jet-setting opportunities were only minor compared to hers, and Niall Hammond was a minnow in
comparison to Des.

‘It’s a big step. How do you feel about it?’

‘Thrilled. Absolutely thrilled. What an opportunity. Des is going to make
pots
of money. And the investment opportunities . . . the sky’s the limit. You can really climb the
ladder there. What’s not to love going to live in New York?’

‘Well good for you, Colette. You know I wish you all the best,’ Hilary said warmly.

‘Thanks, Hil.’ Colette softened a little. Her friend had such a good nature that Colette knew that Hilary truly meant her good wishes, unlike some of her two-faced friends.
‘Actually I’m a bit apprehensive as well, to be honest,’ she confessed now that the initial buzz of breaking the news had worn off.

‘I can understand that. It’s a huge, life-changing event,’ Hilary empathized.

‘I know. And Des expects so much of me. All that entertaining and networking. That can be hard-going. He’s even making plans for our house warming and we haven’t even moved!
And if it’s tough-going keeping up with the Joneses here and in London, it’s a thousand times worse over there. I’ve seen some of them in action. I swear to God, Hilary,
it’s not for the faint-hearted. He wants me to get onto charity boards and committees. You know they’re such a big deal over there. I’ll have to work my ass off. I’ll have
no time for myself!’ Only to Hilary would Colette confide her trepidations.

‘Oohh wouldn’t be too into that now, myself. Just having to buy clothes for all those events would be my worst nightmare. But you’re used to that kind of lifestyle, it will be
no bother to you,’ Hilary said bracingly.

‘Umm,’ Colette sighed. ‘I wish we could have had time for a real chat – why didn’t you get rid of that Jonathan yoke on Friday night? He was very insensitive. He
should have known we would have liked a private conversation,’ she rebuked petulantly.

‘Don’t be like that, Colette. I didn’t know you were coming and I couldn’t do the hot potato act to Jonathan. He’s a very nice guy,’ Hilary reproved.

‘He doesn’t know his place! I could hardly get a word in edgeways – he had an opinion on everything and he took charge of your kitchen as if he owned it, and you hardly know
him,’ she retorted huffily, not used to being demoted to second place by Hilary.

‘Sometimes you just know who’s going to be a good friend and he’s going to be a good friend of mine,’ Hilary said firmly
. And you were the one who took over the
conversation,
she thought crossly but kept it to herself.

‘Well I
am
your oldest friend! And we don’t get to see each other that often any more. You never come to London now.’

‘We’ll see each other at Rowena’s wedding next month!’ Hilary pointed out.

‘Aw hell! I forgot about that. I hope Des will be around for it. I’ll check it out. Anyway I’d better go. We’re calling in to Mum and Dad’s for brunch before going
to the airport, and I’m not finished packing yet. I’ll ring you before the wedding,’ Colette said hastily, glancing at her watch. ‘Just wanted to tell you my news,
byeee.’

Colette had completely forgotten about Rowena Ryan’s wedding, she tutted, neatly folding her clothes into the Louis Vuitton case that was open on the bed. Rowena, an old school chum, was
the last of their set to get married. She was having a glitzy late-June wedding and her father, a well-known developer, had hired out the new Mont Clare Hotel in Merrion Square for a two-day
bash.

Colette was looking forward to showing off in the wildly expensive black off-the-shoulder Christina Stambolian gown that Des had bought her for her last birthday. It was one of her
‘investment pieces’ as he liked to call them and he had been as proud as Punch when she had worn it to a gala night where he had been hosting a table for charity. ‘Princess Di has
nothing on you,’ he’d enthused when she’d modelled it for him. Des was a generous husband. He never begrudged the money she spent on style. He actively encouraged her and she knew
it was because it reflected well on him and the lifestyle he was able to afford. No way would Niall Hammond ever be able to afford Christina Stambolian and Catherine Walker gowns, and trips to
Paris, for Hilary to buy a designer wardrobe, even though he had a very good job, Colette thought smugly, packing away her toiletries. Hilary was too chunky for couture fashion anyway. It would be
wasted on her. She was at least a size 14 compared to Colette’s petite size 10.

If Des couldn’t go to Rowena’s wedding she’d go on her own, but she hoped her husband would be able to accompany her. It would be the ideal opportunity to let all their Irish
friends and acquaintances know they were moving Stateside and impress them.

‘Get a move on, sweetie, I’ve paid the bill!’ Des strode into the room looking extremely debonair and sporty in his pale blue Lacoste shirt and tailored cream trousers. Preppy,
very American, she thought happily, observing his tanned good looks with pleasure. He reminded her of a young Robert Redford with his tawny blond hair, blue eyes and square jaw. She
had
married well, Colette comforted herself, remembering the brown-eyed, black-haired, well-built medical student who had broken her heart. He could never carry off a preppy look – he was far too
untidy with his curly hair tumbling into his eyes, and his odd socks because he’d dressed in a hurry. But she felt a pang of longing remembering their lusty love-making, knowing that her
husband had never brought her to the heights of happiness that Rod Killeen had . . . or the depths of despair, she thought crossly, wondering why
he
had come into her head after all these
years.

Des shrugged into his navy blazer, slotted some floppy disks into his portable-computer bag, zipped it up and slung it over his shoulder. ‘I want to send a fax to London and NY. I’ll
send a porter up for the luggage and I’ll meet you in the lobby. Don’t be long,’ he instructed briskly. He was anxious to get back home to London to make a start on his
preparations for the big move. Colette felt herself begin to tense up as he hurried out the door. He’d be like a coiled spring, edgy and restless for the foreseeable future, and
that
she was not looking forward to.

She glanced out of the window across to St Stephen’s Green. A myriad of pink, blues, greens and yellows daubed against an azure sky. A Monet painting framed by green railings. The
Victorian park looked spectacular in the morning sun, the early summer bedding splashes of riotous colour against the green hues. It was a timeless, picturesque sight that brought back happy
memories. She had strolled around that park often with Rod, walking through the impressive Fusiliers’ Arch, and diagonally across to her favourite sculptures, the
Three Fates
, when
they were heading to O’Briens on Leeson Street for a teatime drink on Fridays to celebrate the start of the weekend. What a relatively simple and unsophisticated life she’d led then,
Colette mused, thinking how much her life had changed and how much it was going to change with the move to New York.

Who knew, in a few months’ time she might be looking out onto Central Park, the most famous park in the world. She might even see Jackie jogging around the reservoir, as was the ex-First
Lady’s wont, Colette thought with a thrill of anticipation at seeing the most stylish woman in the world and one that she greatly admired. Jackie Kennedy Onassis too, was a connoisseur of
fine art. She had made a superb job of renovating the White House when she was First Lady. New York was a treasure trove of antique stores. Perhaps, in the future, Colette might even open a gallery
and have a fine art business herself. She was certainly well qualified to do so. She had a lot to offer. She should stop feeling anxious about her place in New York society.

No one who knew her would ever think she was prone to moments of insecurity. They wouldn’t
believe
it of her. Only Hilary knew the
real
Colette. She could always tell her
friend her true feelings and worries because Hilary was no threat to her in any way, shape or form. Colette knew that she was brighter, slimmer, prettier, more elegant, and more successful and
infinitely wealthier than her childhood friend, and always had been, and that was the way of it. And that was why she could show her insecurities. She supposed it was like having a sister. Hilary
was the sister she had never had. If she needed a bit of bolstering in the Big Apple she could always phone her.

She took one last look at the view, wondering when she would see it again, before snapping shut the locks on her case, just as a young porter arrived to collect their luggage.

Their chauffeur-driven car was waiting at the hotel’s entrance and Colette smiled at the doorman as he held open the door for her. Had she ever, in all her sauntering around one of
Dublin’s premier locations, thought that she would take a chauffeur-driven car for granted? When they were in New York, Des always used a Town Car and put it on expenses. They had come a long
way from taking yellow and black cabs and she squeezed his hand as he got in beside her. ‘Let’s go impress the legal eagles with the news. I’m so proud of you, Des. You deserve
it.’

‘Thank you, darling.’ He leaned across and kissed her. ‘A lot of it is down to you too. We worked our butts off, and it paid off, and the best is yet to come.’

The best is yet to come.
She liked the sound of that, Colette decided, wishing that that little knot in her tummy she always got when she and Des were meeting her parents would
disappear.

‘But we’ll never get to see Jasmine! We hardly get to see her enough as it is,’ exclaimed her dismayed mother when Colette revealed their momentous news an
hour later as they sat down to eat in the sunny conservatory that overlooked the shimmering, silver-blue sea.

‘Cut back on work and come and spend summers in the Hamptons with us,’ Colette said smartly, knowing full well that work and ‘the Firm’ were sacrosanct.

‘We can’t do that, we’re up to our eyes in work, you know that,’ Jacqueline said tetchily, handing her a platter of crab, prawns, oysters and scallops.