Between The Sheets (6 page)

Ian Wilson sat in his office looking at the long list of calls and emails he had to return. He should get stuck in but he couldn't get Dana De Lacey out of his head — or her beautiful, blonde assistant, for that matter. Walter Grimes was nagging him to organize some publicity for the author but it was next to impossible while the woman remained holed up in her room. He'd thought the night she'd gone to Lobo with Sylvie had marked the end of her reclusion but it seemed the woman was now worse than ever.

He picked up the phone and called Sylvie, hoping for some news. Even if there wasn't, it would be nice to hear her voice.

'Hello?'

'Hello, Sylvie. It's Ian Wilson.'

'Oh, hi, Ian.'

From the despondent tone of Sylvie's voice, it was clear that things hadn't improved. He could imagine her sitting at her desk, full lips pouting as she brushed her fringe out of her troubled blue eyes and stretched those long, lovely legs in front of her. He sighed.

'Ian?'

'Oh, sorry, Sylvie. I was just wondering if Dana was available for a quick chat.'

Sylvie gave a short laugh. 'No, sorry, she's not.'

'Tell me, is it just me she won't talk to or is she like this with everyone?'

'Don't take it personally, it's everyone, and I'm the one who has to deal with the fallout.'

'Poor you,' he said sympathetically. "So I take it there's no sign of her and the husband getting back together.'

'He's the one person who hasn't called,' Sylvie confided.

'Is she writing at all?'

'Are you kidding?'

Ian closed his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose. 'That's not good.'

'Tell me about it.'

'Perhaps if you and I put our heads together we could think of some way of getting her out of this rut. We could meet up later and discuss it over a drink.'

'If this is your roundabout way of asking me out, Ian Wilson, you can forget it.'

He laughed. 'Oh, well, it was worth a try.'

'Goodbye, Ian.'

She might have turned him down but he could hear the smile in her voice. He'd wear her down. It was only a matter of time. 'Bye, gorgeous.'

Sylvie hummed to herself as she took the bus home later that day. There was no reason for her good humour. Her day had been as boring as all the others lately and Dana's house was not a pleasant place to work at the moment, given it was as silent as the grave. The only highlight had been the call from Ian Wilson. He was a cocky, big-headed guy but at the same time he made her smile and he was quite attractive in an obvious, all-American sort of way. Pity he was broke. Not that you'd know that from the way he went on, but his car gave him away. Ian wasn't the successful businessman he presented himself as.

'Hi, Mum, I'm home,' she called as she put the key in the door and let herself into the modest but pretty little house in Ringsend.

'Hello, love, I'm in here.'

Sylvie followed the voice and found her mother in the kitchen, ironing and watching
Richard and Judy.

'You're just in time for the book club slot,' her mother told her with a smile.

'How's Dad?' Sylvie asked as she threw her jacket on the back of a chair and put on the kettle.

'Not bad at all today. Dana?'

Sylvie rolled her eyes. 'The same.'

'The poor girl.'

'I'm sorry but I'm finding it harder and harder to be sympathetic.'

'That's a bit hard, love,' Maureen Parker said, one eye on the television. 'It can't be easy for her.'

'Oh, come on, Mum, give me a break. She has a fabulous house in Dublin, a farm in Cork, a wonderful career and — if she got her act together — she'd be published in Ireland and the UK too. Have you any idea how long she's dreamed of that? And now,' she threw up her hands, 'now she's just throwing it all away.'

Maureen set down the iron and looked at her daughter. 'You sound a little bit jealous.'

'I'm not.' Sylvie threw herself down on the small sofa and stared sullenly at the TV.

'She may have money, love, but she's approaching middle age and she's just lost the love of her life. Money is no fun if you've no one to share it with. And,' she shook a finger at her daughter, 'you just remember that your health is your wealth.'

'Yeah, I'm sorry, Mum.'

'I know, love.' Maureen turned to the kettle and made a pot of tea. 'Take your dad in a cuppa and have a chat; that will cheer you up.'

Sylvie smiled. 'Okay. Where's Billy?'

'Down on the green playing football.'

'Shouldn't he be studying?'

It was her mother's turn to roll her eyes. 'He's been at it all afternoon; I threw him out in the end.'

'He has to study hard, Mum. It's important that he does well in his exams or he won't get a good job.'

Maureen poured the tea, shaking her head sadly. 'You have got to stop worrying about money, love; we'll manage.'

'Will we? If Dana doesn't start writing again soon, I could be out of a job. How on earth will we be able to afford to pay the mortgage, the insurance and all the other bills and be ready for the next brick wall that's around the corner?'

Maureen handed her two mugs. 'We'll cope.'

Sylvie took the mugs and crossed the hall to their living room that now served as her father's bedroom. He had been only forty-two when he was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis and though it had progressed slowly in the first ten years, the last ten had been a lot harder. As it became more difficult for him to walk, William was forced to retire and when the stairs became too challenging, Maureen had moved their bed downstairs.

'Hey, Dad.'

William Parker opened his eyes and smiled. 'Hello, love, have you had a good day?'

'Not bad.' Sylvie set down the mugs on the bedside table and bent to hug him. 'How are you feeling?'

'Grand, grand.'

'You always say that,' Sylvie complained, taking her mug and curling up at the end of the bed.

He chuckled. 'Do I?'

'Is the new medication working any better?' she persisted.

'Aye, I think so. My stomach doesn't feel as sick as it did on those other yokes.'

'Good. Did Amy come today?' Amy was the physio-therapist who came in once a week to help her father exercise his swollen limbs.

'She did and, Lord, that girl's a slave-driver.'

'You're mad about her.'

He smiled. 'She's a good kid.'

'And your knees?' Sylvie asked. Her father's knee joints had proved to be the most swollen and painful of all in the last couple of months and the GP was talking about joint replacements.

'Forget about my bloody knees and tell me about your day,' he said impatiently.

'Not much to tell,' she said, ignoring the flash of temper. He was a saint, really, putting up with all this pain and she knew that the confines of these four walls got him down a lot. He had been a very active man in his youth but now it was an achievement for him to make it as far as the car for his hospital visits. 'Dana's still spending most of the day in her room,' she told him. 'And I'm still getting my ear blasted off because she won't take any calls. Apart from opening the post and answering emails, I just file my nails or play solitaire all day.'

'What was the man thinking of?' William shook his head in wonder. 'She's such a pretty little thing.'

Sylvie laughed. 'Don't let Mum hear you talk like that or she'll kick you in your bad ankle.'

He glanced down at his wasted body. 'It's not as though I could ever get up to anything, is it?'

'Dana wouldn't look twice at you anyway,' Sylvie said, swallowing back tears. 'She's into the tall, fair and handsome type.'

William put a hand up to touch his bald head. 'Oh, well, two out of three ...'

Sylvie finished her tea and stood up. 'I'd better go and change.'

'Going out tonight, then?'

She shook her head, laughing. 'No, I need to clean the car, inside and out. Mind you, it's probably the dirt that's holding it together.'

His face darkened. 'I know it's an awful heap. I wish we could afford to replace it.'

'It's not so bad,' Sylvie said cheerfully. 'It gets us around.'

He stretched out a swollen hand to her. 'You're a good girl, Sylvie.'

She dropped a quick kiss on his thickened knuckles. 'Call if you need anything.'

'I'm not going this year,' Gus announced when Tom reminded him that the charity fashion show they were sponsoring was on in the Shelbourne the following weekend.

'You don't have a choice,' Tom retorted. They were having Sunday lunch in Tom and Ashling's kitchen and Tom swallowed his irritation with a mouthful of roast chicken, washing it down with some chilled Chardonnay.

'I went to the Architects' Dinner,' Gus reminded him. 'It's your turn.'

'That's not fair, you know I only missed it because Ashling wasn't well.'

'Yeah, sorry.' Gus shot Ashling an apologetic smile.

'I know you're not really in the mood for socializing,' Ashling said gently and pushed the dish of garlic and cream potatoes towards him, 'but it is for a good cause and you don't have to stay for the whole evening.'

Tom opened his mouth to protest but shut it again when his wife shot him a look.

Gus capitulated. 'Okay, then, if you think it's important.'

Tom reached over to take back the dish of potatoes. 'People are paying five hundred euros a plate, Gus. I think the least we can do is show up.'

'I just hate the fact that there are going to be reporters there,' Gus admitted. 'Now that Dana's made it public that we've separated, they're bound to want to talk to me.'

'I'll stay by your side all night and kick them in the shins if they get too close,' Ashling promised.

'And what about me?' her husband protested.

'You can go off and chat up the clients.'

Tom reached over to kiss his wife and pat her bump. 'Don't you worry about him. You just look after our son and heir.'

'Or daughter,' she pointed out.

'I don't care which,' Tom said happily.

'Ah, now, if you two are going to get all sloppy, I'm off,' Gus warned.

'I will not apologize for being a happy family man just because you've decided to become a bachelor again,' Tom told him.

'Leave it, Tom. You know Gus doesn't want to talk about it.'

Tom topped up his glass and, after a nudge from Ashling, topped up Gus's too. 'Yeah, sure, I mean why would he want to tell his best friend what the hell he's playing at?'

'Let's just finish lunch and decide what movie we're going to see,' Ashling suggested.

Gus wiped his mouth on a napkin and stood up. 'You know, I don't think I'll join you after all. I've a lot of paperwork to catch up on.'

'Oh, Gus, please don't go. I hate it when you two fight.'

Gus came around the table to kiss Ashling. 'We don't fight, do we, Tom?'

'Course not.'

'Thanks for a wonderful lunch, Ashling. Take care of yourself and Buster.'

'You can't keep calling it Buster; it could be a girl!' she protested, laughing.

Gus winked back. 'It could be twins.'

She shuddered. 'Please. I still haven't got my head around delivering one, never mind two.'

Tom stood up and led the way out to the hall. 'I'll walk you out.'

They ambled out towards the low-slung sports car.

'Are you sure everything's okay?' he asked.

'Fine.'

Tom turned to face him. 'I wish you'd trust me a bit more. How many years have we known each other? Ten?'

'Twelve,' Gus told him.

'Yeah, and you're like a brother to me.' Tom shifted from one foot to the other. 'We'd like you to be god-father.'

Gus stared at him. 'Really?'

Tom nodded. 'Of course, who else would we ask?'

'I'm honoured, really I am.' Gus patted his friend's shoulder awkwardly. 'Don't worry about me, mate. I promise that if I need to talk, you'll be the first one I call.' He grinned. 'Well, you or your wife.'

Tom pushed him towards the car and turned to go back inside. 'See you tomorrow.'

Gus felt fed up as he drove back to his new home. He'd always loved his time with Tom and Ashling but now it was proving hard to be with them. Their happiness was painful to witness and made him ache for Dana.

He turned into the car park of the small, city centre hotel that was currently his home. Though he had a large suite with every facility he could ask for, he was already tired of living in such impersonal surroundings. He needed to find somewhere more permanent but it seemed such a huge step and he baulked at taking it. He knew that his life with Dana was over; that though he loved her as much as ever, he could never trust her again. But he couldn't move on, he realized, until he talked to her brother. Though Walter had been able to tell him where Ed was, Gus hadn't managed to talk to him yet. It seemed Ed was a photographer who travelled a lot and would be out of the country for several weeks.

In the privacy of his suite, Gus threw his jacket over the back of a chair and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window that gave him a panoramic view of Dublin. He stared out at the vibrant city, its streets awash with people in summer clothes and sunglasses enjoying a relaxed Sunday afternoon. The Liffey sparkled in the distance but the beautiful view somehow served only to make him feel even more isolated.

He had lived alone for nine years — well, most of the time — before meeting Dana and he'd liked it that way. But within two months of meeting her, he'd moved into her house in Rathgar and the following year they'd bought their first home together in Ranelagh.

Dana had loved the house the minute she'd set eyes on it whereas Gus approved of it in a more objective way. With his professional hat on, he knew it was a good investment and, more important, in an excellent location. It was a lovely old house that had been built in the late nineteenth century. The previous owners had restored all its original features with taste and sensitivity, and yet he couldn't quite manage to fall in love with it. It was too big and too grand to feel like a family home, but their farmhouse in west Cork was a different matter altogether.

A city boy through and through, Gus had nevertheless been completely blown away by the wild beauty of Cork. As the taxi drove him from the airport out to Bantry, he had become more bewitched with every passing mile. Given it was a miserable winter's day, that said a lot. When the driver had finally turned into the lane and he caught his first glimpse of the plain stone building with the shinning view of Bantry Bay in the background, Gus decided to beg Dana De Lacey to sell him the property. Before he even put pencil to paper, ideas were crowding his head of how it could be restored and embellished to maximize the views and create an idyll that would inspire creativity. It quickly became a labour of love when he fell for the owner as hard as he had for her house.