City Lives (39 page)

‘Oh, I love talking to you about it, Caroline. It makes you look at life with such a different perspective,’ Devlin said slowly. ‘And I just said those things back to you
because I figured you were in such a fog with all that’s happened, you forgot them or couldn’t see them. It makes such sense to me hearing you say it. I hoped I could do the same for
you.’

‘It’s much easier to read about it and hear people talk about it. But when it comes to the crunch and you have to try and apply it to your own life in a really difficult time like
the one I’m going through, it’s hard,’ Caroline confessed. ‘Everything you said is true. And I was judging Richard exactly as you said I was. And I’ve no business
to.’

‘Just don’t be so hard on yourself,’ Devlin said. ‘Mind, I’m someone to talk about spiritual arrogance, when I get my hands on Ciara Hanlon God knows what
I’ll do or say? Why would she pick the path of deceit and thieving?’ Devlin wondered. ‘It’s all terribly complicated, isn’t it?’

‘You can say that again,’ Caroline agreed wholeheartedly, as she geared down to observe the speed limit coming into Galway.

Ciara buttered her toast and sipped her orange juice. She yawned. She was dead tired. She’d been at a very glamorous party the night before and had got off with a fine
thing from Malahide. He was a banker, he’d told her. He was staying with friends in Galway for the weekend. He drove a fabulous Jag. His name was Robert McKenna. He was in his thirties and
most important . . . single.

He owned his own apartment in the Marina in Malahide. And it was obvious he was very well off. He was impressed when she’d told him that she was the manageress of City Girl. He knew all
about Devlin Delaney and her property-developer husband. He thought Devlin was pretty cool with a good business head on her shoulders.

He was also mega impressed when she’d given him an all-over body massage with lashings of oil, before she’d given him the ride of his life.

He was desperate to see her again. But Ciara knew the value of playing hard to get. She’d turned down his invitation to lunch and dinner today. He could drive over from Dublin the
following weekend and she might fit him in for dinner on Saturday but he’d have to ring to confirm, she’d told him.

He wasn’t used to being treated like that, obviously, and he’d been all over her trying to get her to change her mind and spend Sunday with him, but she’d been resolute.
Besides which, she had three clients booked in for appointments.

Thank God they weren’t massages, she thought gratefully, nibbling on a slice of banana. She was whacked. Massages were tiring to give. She had one four-layer facial. One manicure and
pedicure. And one eyebrow and eyelash tint and lip and chin wax. Her first appointment was at ten. She’d be home by one thirty. She was going to spend the afternoon in bed and catch up on
some much needed rest.

Ciara had no doubts that Robert would phone her. She had long-term plans for him. It would be very handy being involved with a banker when it came time to open her own emporium.

Maybe that time was going to come sooner rather than later. Maybe Robert McKenna would be exactly the step up she needed on the business ladder.

Ciara smiled at her reflection a little later as she applied her make-up carefully. It was extremely important to look well groomed and immaculately made up when dealing with clients. It gave
them confidence in you. They felt that they, too, could look that good after a treatment.

Brenda Regan was her first customer. She was a rich, raddled old peahen with suitcases under her eyes. A ten-layer facial wouldn’t have any effect on her leather skin, Ciara reflected as
she pencilled her eyebrows. Brenda was
so
superior. But she was a hell of a good tipper and she was right up there at the top of the social ladder. Her husband owned a chain of hotels.
Brenda was a regular and very valued customer.

Ciara glanced at her watch. Almost nine fifteen. She’d want to get a move on to have the heating on and the towels warming on the radiators to cover Brenda’s flabby shoulders. It was
just as well she had her private clients to keep her hand in doing treatments. As manageress she never did anything like that. Her work was all administration. She yawned again and looked longingly
at her rumpled bed. She’d got precious little sleep in it last night. She was going to work her butt off for the next few hours and make up for it this afternoon.

Andrew lugged Caroline’s boxes into the lift of the apartment complex that was to be her new home. He was followed by Devlin and Caroline with their hands full.

‘When the cars are unpacked I’ll walk over to City Girl and see if Ciara’s on the premises. As soon as I see a client go in I’ll phone you on the mobile and you can come
over and we’ll get it over and done with,’ Andrew suggested.

‘Maybe she won’t have booked in clients today,’ Devlin ventured.

‘Why should today be any different from any other Sunday, Devlin? She’ll have a client at ten, as usual. Ten, eleven, twelve, every Sunday morning. That’s the pattern
that’s shown up from surveillance.’

The lift doors slid open and Andrew groaned as he lifted the boxes. He was a slight, skinny man. Physical fitness was not his forte.

‘That will give you muscles, Andrew.’ Devlin grinned as she unlocked the door to the top-floor apartment.

Caroline looked around in pleasure. ‘This is beautiful, Devlin. Look at the view.’

The complex was set on the banks of the Corrib. The wide floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the weir at the mouth of the river. To the left was the Spanish Arch and the Long Walk that led to
City Girl. Luke owned several apartments in the block, including the one that was to be Caroline’s home for the next few months.

‘It’s handy being married to someone in the property business,’ Devlin smiled. ‘He has places everywhere. You should see the ones he owns in Cork.’

‘Belfast is the place to buy now,’ Andrew panted as he dropped his load to the floor.

‘He has some there too,’ Devlin said airily as she laid a bag containing Caroline’s shoes on the sofa.

‘Let’s have a cup of tea before we do anything else,’ Caroline suggested.

‘OK, you stick the kettle on and I’ll bring up the rest of the stuff,’ Andrew ordered.

‘I won’t miss him,’ Caroline said dryly as she opened the doors of the well-equipped kitchen cupboards and located cups and saucers.

It was after nine before they had their tea and a Danish. Devlin wasn’t really that hungry. She was dreading the ordeal ahead of her. Caroline only ate because she knew that Devlin was
watching her eagle-eyed.

‘You will look after yourself? And eat in the dining-room, and eat properly,’ Devlin warned.

‘I will. I’m just not hungry these days. But when I get into a routine I’ll be fine.’ Caroline rinsed her cup under the tap.

‘If you need more personnel, another secretary or whatever, let us know,’ Andrew said kindly, making Caroline feel like a heel. He wasn’t the worst really.

‘I will. Don’t worry,’ she assured him.

He glanced at his watch. ‘I’d better go. I’ll call as soon as the client goes in.’

‘This is horrible isn’t it?’ Devlin said twenty minutes later, as they waited for her mobile phone to ring.

Caroline looked up from where she was kneeling, on the bedroom floor, placing underwear into a pine chest of drawers.

‘That girl is such an idiot,’ she said angrily. ‘She had it all and now she’s blown it.’

The phone rang, its melodic tone making Devlin almost jump out of her skin, even though she’d been expecting it.

‘She’s there. And a woman driving a Merc has just gone in. Time to go,’ Andrew said firmly.

‘OK, we’ll be there in a minute.’ Devlin clicked off. She felt sick.

‘Are you sure you want to come? I’m the employer. It’s my business. I don’t expect you to, Caroline.’ She stood up to go.

‘I told you before, staff are my responsibility. Let’s get it over and done with.’ Caroline picked up her bag.

‘I’ve never sacked anyone before,’ Devlin said ruefully as they descended in the lift.

‘There’s a first time for everything, unfortunately. You’ve been very lucky, I suppose.’ Caroline held open the door of the foyer and a gust of salty sea air chilled
them.

‘How did she think she could get away with it?’ Devlin fretted as she got into Caroline’s car for the short drive.

‘Let’s see what she has to say for herself. It will be interesting, to say the least,’ Caroline said calmly as she started up the engine.

Devlin sat tensely, her hands clasped tightly for the couple of minutes they were in the car. Now that the time had finally come to deal with Ciara, she didn’t feel at all tough and hard.
She heartily wished that she was a million miles away.

Ciara smoothed cool cleanser over Brenda Regan’s face. She lightly massaged the area around her eyes. In the background soothing piano music played on tape. Squalls of
rain beat against the window. The room was snug and warm. Ciara stifled a yawn.

A smart rap on the door made her pause in mid-massage. She glanced up, startled.

Who the hell was this? She’d locked the main door.

‘Excuse me a moment,’ she said calmly to her client. Wiping her hands on one of the fluffy towels she walked over and opened the door.

Caroline Yates was standing outside. Ciara was gobsmacked. What on earth was Caroline Yates doing in Galway? She’d just been widowed. Her rich husband had topped himself. She stepped
outside and closed the door of the treatment room behind her.

‘How did you get in?’ she asked inanely.

‘I have keys, Ciara,’ Caroline said coolly.

‘I’m terribly sorry about your bereavement. It must be very tough.’ Ciara spoke in a low respectful tone.

‘Thank you. It is,’ Caroline said quietly. She changed the subject. ‘I’m sure you want to know why I’m here.’

Ciara’s brain raced into action. Something was certainly up, judging by her boss’s tone and cool demeanour. The best thing to do was to act as though everything was normal.

‘I’m giving a treatment at the moment, Caroline,’ she said calmly. ‘There was some mix-up yesterday and this woman was overbooked so I offered to do her myself today.
Overbooking’s so sloppy and it gives a bad impression. I wanted to reverse it.’

‘Is that right?’ Caroline had to admire the younger woman’s fast thinking. ‘Well, I’m afraid you’ll have to discontinue the treatment. You can give us the
client’s name and address and we’ll see that she gets a free treatment next week,’ Caroline responded evenly.

‘It’s a bit awkward, Caroline. Could you give me another twenty minutes?’ Ciara said smoothly. But she was beginning to feel extremely uneasy.

‘I’m afraid not, Ciara. Please convey our regrets and offer the client the free treatment and follow me down to the office when she’s gone,’ Caroline instructed
crisply.

‘Very well.’ Ciara was most put out. What the hell was going on? She watched Caroline walk back towards reception. It was imperative that she contact her other two clients and cancel
their treatments. Fortunately she had numbers for both of them. Just as well she’d brought her handbag with her mobile phone in it to the treatment room instead of leaving it in her office.
That would have been tricky.

‘Mrs Regan, so sorry for the interruption. Something’s come up and I can’t continue the treatment.’ Ciara oozed regret as she wiped the cleanser off her client’s
face.

‘Oh how annoying,’ Brenda Regan pouted. ‘And I was enjoying it so much.’

‘I know, but I’ll tell you what. I’ll arrange for you to have a free facial whatever day suits you next week. How about that?’

‘I’m very busy next week,’ Brenda said petulantly. She sat up and shrugged off the towels.

Oh shut up and get out
, Ciara thought agitatedly. ‘Well, whenever it suits you,’ she pacified.

Brenda got into her blouse and pulled on the lilac jacket of her Michael H. suit.

‘I take it I don’t have to pay for the
little
you did do?’ she said frostily, patting her hair.

‘Of course not, Mrs Regan, and I’m
terribly
sorry,’ Ciara grovelled as the other woman swept out of the room and down the corridor. Ciara unlocked the main door and
let her out. Caroline’s car was parked beside Brenda’s Merc.

Why she was in Galway, Ciara could not fathom. Unless she had come to get away from all the press hassle in Dublin. Maybe she was spending a few days in the Great Southern. But what did she want
in City Girl that had made her come on a Sunday? Ciara was mystified. Perhaps there was a simple explanation. Maybe Caroline had merely gone for a walk and seen the two cars in the car park and the
lights on in the building.

She was very pleased with her quick response about Brenda Regan having a treatment because of overbooking. That was inspired, Ciara congratulated herself, as she dialled the manicure and
pedicure client to cancel. She was extremely fortunate to reach both women and rearrange their appointments. That was a relief, she thought as she slipped her phone into her bag. One overbooking
was a reasonable explanation – if the other pair had arrived it would look a little suspicious.

Taking a deep breath to compose herself, Ciara hesitated outside her office. Should she knock, she wondered briefly.

Definitely not, she decided. After all, it was
her
office. She marched in only to come to a full stop when she saw Devlin, flanked by Caroline and Andrew Dawson, waiting behind her
desk.

‘Oh!’ she exclaimed, flustered. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Perhaps you might care to tell us, Ciara,’ Devlin said and her eyes were hard, her tone ice-cold.

‘What do you mean, Devlin?’ Ciara widened her eyes and feigned innocence but her heart sank.

‘Cut the crap, Ciara. We know all about your little Sunday sessions and your private treatments using City Girl stock, and we also know that you’ve been stealing from stores. Perhaps
you’d care to explain.’ Devlin stared hard at her.

‘There’s some mistake—’

‘There’s no mistake, Ciara.’ Andrew tapped a beige file on the desk in front of him. ‘We have dates, times, places. We have photographs and we have the figures to prove
that you’ve been running a very profitable little scam for yourself. We’ve had you under surveillance for quite some time now.’