City Woman (40 page)

‘Oh, it’s a bugger all right,’ Charles agreed, catching Richard’s eye. They laughed together, as the flames roared up the chimney, illuminating the kitchen with a warm
orange-and-yellow glow, as the sky darkened outside and the wind howled and great flurries of snow whitened the window panes.

Warm and contented, Richard and Charles ate their chowder in companionable silence, while across the world, Caroline battled through the first wave of loneliness and homesickness to hit her
since her arrival in Abu Dhabi. Richard and Charles had seemed so happy together and the picture Charles had painted of the blizzard outside and them inside with the roaring fire had left her
longing to be part of it. She missed them both. It was most unlikely that she would ever see Charles alive again. The previous time she had talked to Richard, Charles had been asleep and her
husband confided that the older man was deteriorating slowly.

They seemed so far away; home was so far away. She missed Devlin and Maggie badly. She had had letters from both of them in the previous week, giving her all the news. Caroline tried to
resurrect her earlier bubbly humour. She remembered Nell’s solution to homesickness and decided that tomorrow, her day off, she would go to the beach. Even in the few weeks she’d been
here, she had noticed a dropping in the temperatures. She might as well make the most of the warm weather while it lasted. It was starting to get much cooler at night. She was actually sleeping
under the duvet. Or maybe it was just that she had finally become acclimatized. The thought cheered her up slightly and she picked up the book Féile had given her as a present. It was called
Mother without a Mask
and it was all about the women in an Abu Dhabi family and all their traditions and culture. Compared to her own world it was like something out of the
Arabian
Nights.
Passing the palaces of the sheikhs and sheikhas now, having read over half the book, Caroline felt that much more familiar with their denizens’ private and hidden world. As she
read of the Sheikha and the Youngest Son and the Second Son and the Sheikha Grandmother and Um Hamed and her beautiful daughter Shamza, Caroline’s homesickness faded and she snuggled down in
her bed, knowing she could read as long as she liked. She didn’t need to be up at the crack of dawn. Tomorrow would be spent on the beach.

Thirty-Three

There was a howling gale and it was lashing rain. It had been a very cold night and Caroline thought grumpily as she scraped the burnt bit off her toast that if she’d
wanted this weather she could have stayed at home. The weather had been bad for the previous week and in the
Gulf News
that morning there was actually an article about the weather, giving
advice to the residents of Abu Dhabi about how to cope. A doctor in the emergency department of the central hospital was advising people to take Vitamin C and wear clothes that were suitable for
the weather. Caroline had seen people wrapped up as if for the Arctic. Fifty-eight degrees wasn’t that cold, she reflected, but she supposed that for the residents of the Emirates, this kind
of weather, which wouldn’t have aroused comment at home, was extraordinary.

Devlin had phoned a few days before and filled her in on all the news – and weather – from Ireland. She told Caroline that Maggie and Terry were having rough times between them and
that she couldn’t see the marriage surviving. Then she had mentioned that some journalist had been giving her a hard time. All in all Devlin had sounded terribly cheesed off.

Her call had left Caroline vaguely depressed. Now she was here a little over two months, and the euphoria of her first couple of weeks had worn off. Although she was enjoying herself very much
she supposed she couldn’t expect to be in great humour all the time. The uncertainties over the Gulf didn’t help. Bill had gone to Oman for the week.

The traffic was brutal, which did not improve her mood, especially as Filomena gave a superior sniff and glanced at her watch when Caroline arrived ten minutes late for work. Relations had not
improved between her and the other woman, as Caroline had become more accustomed to the job and had needed to rely less on the younger woman for information. Well, today, Caroline decided, she was
in no humour for Miss Filomena and her carry-on. There were two large cheques to be lodged. She’d give them to Filomena right away. That would get her out of her hair for a half-hour or so
while she and Maria got through typing several bulky contracts that had been on her in-tray for the last week. She was asking Maria to do them with her because she was a far better typist than her
workmate and was extremely careful and accurate. Nothing could be Tipp-ex-ed out on a legal contract and Filomena never seemed to be able to type a document without resorting to the magic white
bottle. Caroline filled out all the necessary forms and took the cheques over to Filomena’s desk. The sloe-eyed Filipino girl raised her head from what looked like a personal letter.

‘Yes?’ she said insolently.

‘I’d like you to take these to the bank now please, Filomena,’ Caroline said politely, handing her the envelopes containing the cheques.

‘Oh that’s Maria’s job,’ Filomena drawled, handing them back.

‘Maria and I are going to be up to our eyes with those contracts and as you seem to have nothing to do at the moment but write personal letters, I’d like you to go to the
bank,’ Caroline said firmly.

‘I’m the senior typist: I should be doing the contracts,’ said Filomena defiantly.

They stared at each other, and Caroline felt her insides quiver. If she backed down on this, she might as well admit failure in the job she was appointed to do and go home to Dublin.

It took every ounce of her willpower to keep her gaze and her voice steady. ‘You know as well as I do, Filomena, that both you and Maria have the same position in this office and that
there’s no such thing as a “senior” typist. You also know that there can be no errors in a legal document and I’m sure you’ll admit that every document that I have
asked you to type since I came here contained several typing errors. I’m afraid that’s just not good enough. That’s why I’m asking Maria to help me with the contracts. It
means she will not have time to go to the bank today.’ She handed Filomena back the cheques.

‘I’m going to speak to Bill about this when he gets back,’ Filomena muttered.

‘Fine,’ Caroline said coolly. ‘In the meantime, if you could lodge these and then start on the office supply orders, please.’

Furious, the younger woman grabbed the envelopes and her coat and marched out of the office, slamming the door. Maria gave Caroline a sympathetic smile. ‘Don’t mind her. Would you
like some coffee?’

‘I’d love some,’ Caroline said fervently, drained after the encounter. Normally it took Maria only about half an hour to do the lodgements, but Filomena strolled in two hours
later. Caroline said nothing but when lunchtime came she said to Filomena, who was sitting in icy silence at her desk, doing the office supplies, ‘I’m sure that since you took an early
lunch you won’t mind if Maria and I take ours now. We won’t be late,’ she added pointedly. Filomena’s jaw dropped. She was stunned at this behaviour to say the least. She
hadn’t figured that Caroline would exert her authority the way she had. She knew that if Bill found out about the way she had behaved today there’d be trouble. He had made it very plain
that Caroline was in charge when he was out of the office. Well, she wouldn’t push her luck, she decided, but she was damned if she would give that Irish girl an easy ride.

Richard was exhausted. Charles had not been at all well that day. When his brother called, he sat with Charles for several hours and before he left he took Richard aside and
said that maybe the time was coming when Charles would have to go to hospital.

‘He doesn’t want to go,’ Richard said agitatedly.

‘I know,’ the oncologist said kindly. ‘Cancer patients never do. I’ve increased his morphine dosage. Make sure that he doesn’t get dehydrated.’

Charles had fallen asleep that evening, but Richard could not relax, although he felt terribly tired himself. He was almost afraid to go to sleep in case he wouldn’t hear Charles if he
called for him in the night. In the weeks after Christmas, Charles’s condition had worsened and fear gnawed at the younger man. He knew the time was coming when he was going to have to face
the thing he most dreaded.

‘Don’t think about it until it happens,’ he muttered miserably, as he rubbed his neck muscles to try and loosen the knots of tension that had gathered there. He had
deliberately blotted out the future, planning barbecues and picnics for the summer. The planning of them had kept him going, postponing the thought of what was inevitable.

‘Richard,’ he heard Charles call weakly and was at his bedside in two steps. There was something different about his friend’s face. He couldn’t explain it, but it filled
him with fear.

‘Will I call Mark?’ he asked, taking Charles’s hand. It was icy-cold and he rubbed it between his palms, trying to infuse some warmth into it.

Charles shook his head and smiled. ‘There’s no need. I have no pain. I’d like to go into the sitting-room for a while and sit by the fire and look at the tree.’ Even
though it was mid-January, the Christmas tree was still up, because Charles liked sitting in the soft glow of the twinkling lights and watching how the flames from the fire cast warm shadows on the
walls and ceiling. His eyes couldn’t take harsh bright light any more, and if the tree had to stay up until June, Richard didn’t care.

He carried Charles gently into the sitting-room and settled him on the sofa in front of the still-flickering fire. He threw on some kindling and together they watched the flames rise brighter
and higher.

‘Thank you, Richard, for everything,’ the older man said, with a weary smile.

‘It’s I who have to thank you, Charles,’ Richard said fiercely. Why had those words of thanks seemed so final? Why did things seem so different tonight? They had sat here like
this many times before. Why did Richard have this feeling of dread?

Charles lay back against his cushions and Richard tucked the rug closer around him. ‘You’re awfully cold, Charles. Will I get a quilt?’ he asked anxiously.

Charles took his hand, and Richard grieved at how frail those hands had become.

‘A quilt wouldn’t make any difference, dearest Richard; it won’t be long now.’

‘Don’t say that!’ Richard said angrily. ‘You’ve got to fight it.’

Charles sighed, ‘I don’t want to fight it any more. I don’t mind now.’

‘But aren’t you afraid?’ Richard could not understand the other man’s attitude. He was terrified of death.

‘No.’ Charles shook his head. ‘You get a peace that takes all the fear away. I don’t fear going to meet my Maker. He made me what I am. I did my best in life, I tried
never to hurt anybody. That’s all anyone can do. Promise me, Richard, you’ll hold your head high and not be ashamed of who and what you are. God made you and me what we are. He’ll
give you courage as he gave it to me. Have a happy life, Richard. Look everybody in the eye as I did. Stand by Caroline, just as she’ll stand by you. Promise me.’

‘I promise. I promise.’ Tears streamed down Richard’s face as he held Charles close.

‘It’s not so bad,’ Charles murmured and, closing his eyes, he drew several short shallow breaths and then gave the smallest sigh. There was silence and Richard knew he was
dead.

‘Oh Charles, Charles, don’t leave me on my own. I’m scared, I’m scared as hell,’ Richard cried, great gasping sobs, knowing that he had lost the one person who had
truly loved him with a wholehearted, generous, undemanding love. The only person who had never expected him to be anything he wasn’t. Richard bowed his head over his best friend and
cried.

By the time Caroline got home she had a thumping headache. She was also feeling a bit queasy and she couldn’t decide if this was as a result of her run-in with Filomena
or the spare ribs she had eaten at lunchtime. She was due to go to her silk-painting class and normally it was one of the highlights of her week: she really loved her new hobby and she enjoyed
having a coffee afterwards with Pat Jawhary, who was a classmate. But at the moment she just wasn’t in the humour so she dialled Pat’s number with the intention of telling her that she
wasn’t going. The line was engaged so she went into the bathroom and ran a bath. Maybe it would perk her up.

Now that she was on her own, self-doubts began to set in and she brooded about the situation with Filomena. Would she be able to maintain her authority? What would she do if the other girl
openly defied her? How was it that she had never behaved like that with Nell? Caroline remembered her schooldays so long ago, when Ruth Saunders, the class show-off, had bullied her mercilessly.
Not physical bullying but the tormenting and needling that gave a whole new meaning to the term mental cruelty. Filomena reminded her of Ruth: she had that same sly malicious quality. She had got
the better of Ruth, though, at a class reunion. Caroline gave a wry smile as she stepped into the bath. She hoped she could do the same with Miss Filomena.

She had dozed off in front of the television set when the persistent burr of the phone jerked her back to consciousness. ‘Hello,’ she murmured drowsily.

‘Hello, Caroline. It’s me,’ she heard her husband say and, with a sense of shock that jerked her back to instant wakefulness, she realized he was crying.

‘What’s wrong? What’s wrong?’ she said frantically.

‘It’s Charles.’

‘Oh no! Oh God no.’ Caroline’s stomach gave a sickening lurch. Although she had known it was inevitable, now that it had happened it seemed unbelievable. At the lowest point in
her life, Charles had been like a father to her. He had been a strong shoulder to cry on when she had needed one and was always ready with an encouraging word and sound advice. Now she would never
see him again, would never experience the familiar tweedy pipe-smoking smell of him when he enveloped her in a bear-hug. Bereft, Caroline cried with her husband.

When he hung up, she felt terribly alone. How she wished she were at home. Then at least she could have gone to stay with Devlin or Maggie. She didn’t really know anyone here well enough
to share her grief with. How could she explain about the unusual relationship she had had with her husband’s lover. If Féile had been there she would have knocked on her door, but she
had gone home to Ireland for a couple of weeks’ holiday. Caroline knew Mike wouldn’t mind her calling him. They had seen a lot of each other at various functions, since that first
meeting at the Irish society, and Mike would have liked their relationship to develop further. But Caroline was happy just to be friendly with him: she had no desire to get involved with a man so
soon after her disastrous experience with Richard. If she rang Mike, he might get the wrong idea. He would see it as a deepening of their relationship and right now she didn’t feel she could
cope with that.