Francesca's Party (45 page)

Ralph noticed her silence. ‘What’s wrong? Are you cold?’ he asked solicitously.

‘No, no, I’m fine. It’s a lovely evening,’ she murmured.

‘But?’ He eyed her enquiringly.

‘Oh, it’s silly really,’ she said in embarrassment. ‘It’s just Mark and I used to walk here a lot. It’s a little strange to be walking along the pier with another man.’

‘Do you still love your husband?’ he asked bluntly.

Francesca stopped walking and turned to face out to sea. The moon slanted silver rays on the indigo waters. How often had she stood here and watched the moon with Mark? Not so much in later years but during the good times of her marriage she’d spent many happy moments here with him. It had been daft of her to bring Ralph here. She hadn’t been thinking straight. And the craziest thing was that she felt a little guilty. That was the thing that floored her most of all.

‘Do you still love him?’ Ralph persisted, his brown eyes staring into hers.

Francesca shook her head. ‘I don’t know, Ralph. I just don’t know. I wanted to go out with you, but the crazy thing is I feel I’m betraying him. Would you bring me home?’ she asked.

‘If that’s what you want, Francesca, I’ll bring you home,’ Ralph said, disappointed.

‘Thanks,’ she murmured.

She didn’t ask him in. She couldn’t bring herself to. She leaned over and pressed her lips lightly against his cheek.

‘Sorry,’ she whispered.

‘It’s OK. I’ll call you,’ Ralph said mildly.

‘Will you?’ she asked, surprised. She thought she’d blown it.

‘Francesca, what you’re going through is par for
the
course. But you’ll get over it. Believe me. It will probably be easier when you’ve got your new place and there are no memories. No past history. I had a lovely time with you and I hope we do it again.’

‘I had a lovely time too, Ralph. It was fun. I’m sorry I got maudlin at the end.’

‘Perfectly normal, I assure you. Or else I’m losing my touch,’ he teased. ‘Goodnight, Francesca.’

She watched him drive off and felt a tinge of regret. Why had she felt so uncomfortable? It was ridiculous. Ralph’s question rang in her ears as she let herself into the empty house. Did she still love Mark?

Francesca locked the door behind her and set the alarm. Trixie came bounding out of the kitchen to meet her. Francesca buried her face in her soft pelt. Was the sadness she’d felt out on the pier because she still loved her husband or was it because she finally realized that her marriage was well and truly over? A bit of both, she thought sadly. In spite of all that had happened between them, Mark was the father of her sons and he’d been her husband for twenty-two years. How could there not be a love of sorts there? It was time to stop the fighting. Time to try and heal the wounds. Time to make a fresh start.

DO YOU THINK
we could have lunch and not fight?

Mark studied Francesca’s e-mail. He had to admit he’d been pleasantly surprised to receive it. It was such a change from her usual abusive tirades. It made sense to have lunch and discuss things, he supposed. They couldn’t be at loggerheads for the rest of their lives and, besides, his solicitor’s advice had been to conduct the divorce as amicably as possible.

He sat poised at his keyboard, then wrote decisively:

Tomorrow. 12-30 p.m. Dobbins? If you don’t, I won’t!

He waited impatiently for her response. Gratifyingly it wasn’t long coming.

1 p.m. Marcello’s? OK!

Mark smiled. Marcello’s had been a favourite of theirs. A small intimate restaurant on the canal. A perfect choice for a civilized lunch for exes. He swivelled to the keyboard and typed in:

Marcello’s fine. I’ll book. See you there.

Mark buzzed his secretary. ‘Book a lunch for two in Marcello’s on the canal. One p.m. tomorrow, please,’ he instructed. He felt a little frisson of anticipation. E-mailing Francesca had felt almost illicit. Nikki certainly wouldn’t be too pleased if he told her that he was lunching with his estranged wife. He wouldn’t mention their lunch date, he decided prudently. Life was complicated enough at the moment. It would be nice to have a lunch with his wife without warring. He’d make the effort, he promised himself. No snide remarks about lover boy. It would be hard, but if she was prepared to make the effort then so was he. He respected her maturity in sending the conciliatory e-mail. But then Francesca had never been one to hold a grudge. She’d always been the first to make up when they rowed.

Mark smiled. He was looking forward to lunch tomorrow. It was almost like going on a date, he thought in amusement. A date with his wife – who would ever have thought it?

Francesca studied her husband’s e-mail with satisfaction. Marcello’s was a restaurant that had many happy memories for them, and it was easier for her to get to than going into town. At least he was agreeable to her proposal. That was a start. He’d obviously
calmed
down since their last encounter. It was crazy to be fighting the way they were. It was too draining. Hopefully tomorrow they’d be able to solve their differences or at least be civil and discuss their financial situation. She wanted to look her best. Maybe she’d slip into town for an hour and buy something new for the occasion. She hadn’t bought anything for ages and she wanted to wear something he’d never seen before. Pity she didn’t have time to drop over to Diffusion in Clontarf. The boutique stocked clothes that were extremely stylish and classy, but unfortunately her time was limited.

She booked a cab. Time was of the essence, she didn’t want to waste it looking for parking.

At one-fifteen precisely the taxi dropped her at the top of Grafton Street. At one-fifty she hailed a taxi for the return journey, the satisfied possessor of an extremely chic Jil Sander suit. It was perfect, Francesca thought happily as she settled her carrier bags in the seat beside her and gave the driver the office address. A charcoal-grey pencil skirt and three-quarter-length fitted jacket that had a superb cut. It exuded an elegant, don’t-mess-with-me look. A silky black camisole, black high heels and her black Burberry briefcase and she’d look just as much the career woman as Miss Nikki Langan. If it was a career woman he wanted, it was a career woman he was going to get. She was going to get her hair blow-dried too, for good measure.

‘You get the works done, girl, and let him see what he’s missing. Personally I think you’re extremely forgiving. It wouldn’t be me,’ Millie declared as Francesca gave her an update.

‘I know. But it’s crazy to be at each other’s throats the way we are and I really did feel strange out in Howth walking along the pier with Ralph. I felt awfully sad that things turned out so bad between me and Mark,’ Francesca explained.

‘It wasn’t your fault,’ Millie pointed out.

‘I know. But what’s done is done. Ralph said something interesting the other day. He said it wasn’t what happened to you that was important, it was the way you dealt with it. I haven’t been dealing with it too good,’ Francesca said.

‘Francesca, you are not a saint yet. You are a mere mortal like the rest of us. Don’t go soft on Mark and let him walk all over you!’ warned Millie. ‘Especially as I’ll be gone next month and I won’t be here to advise you and put the iron in your soul.’

‘Millie, I’m just having lunch with him. I need to get the house sorted,’ Francesca said patiently.

‘Are you going to see Ralph again?’

‘I hope so. He’s terribly busy, you know. Deadlines coming out of his ears, he told me, but he said he’d give me a call.’

‘Do you fancy him? Would you like to snog him?’ Millie enquired in her usual forthright manner.

Francesca laughed. ‘He has a certain
je ne sais quoi
, I suppose. I don’t know, Millie, I’m not really looking for a romantic relationship. I kept thinking of Mark as we walked along the pier.’

‘Well, don’t go to places that you went to with Mark, you idiot,’ her sister exclaimed.

‘Right.’

‘And don’t, under any circumstances, kiss Mark. Remember he’s a shit!’ Millie ordered.

‘Stop it, Millie!’

‘Oh Lordy, Francesca! I worry about you,’ Millie said in alarm. ‘You’re going soft on him. You stick to your guns and sell that house.’

‘I have every intention of doing so, Millie,’ Francesca said tartly.

‘Good! Call me the minute lunch is over.’

‘I might!’ Francesca retorted.

‘Ah, Francesca, don’t leave me in suspense.’

‘I won’t, and stop worrying,’ Francesca reassured her. She wished she had Millie’s toughness. Sometimes her soft heart was her worst enemy.

She deliberately didn’t arrive at the restaurant on time. She didn’t want to look too eager and besides she wanted to see the look on her husband’s face when she walked in in her new suit. Ken had whistled long and loudly when he had seen her that morning.

‘You’re not meeting that journo, are you?’ he asked in alarm.

‘No, why?’ Francesca was surprised by his attitude.

‘Just be careful, he’s not very dependable,’ Ken said.

‘Well, that hasn’t been my experience,’ Francesca said evenly. ‘But I’m not meeting “that journo”, I’m meeting my husband for lunch.’

‘Reconciliation time?’ A thought struck him. ‘Oh no, you’ll leave me, and I can’t do without you.’

‘Selfish git.’ Francesca laughed. ‘I’m not leaving you, but for that little admission I’ll expect a massive bonus. I’m merely having lunch with Mark to try and sort out the house. OK?’

‘If you’re leaving I want a year’s notice.’

‘No problem.’ Francesca picked up her briefcase.

‘Go grind him beneath your stilettos, Frannie.’

‘Thank you, Kenneth. Don’t be a sadist. Bye.’

In spite of herself, butterflies fluttered around her insides. What if they ended up having another row in the restaurant? That would be a disaster. She’d make a special effort not to make any reference to Nikki. She’d try and keep the conversation general. Or specifically about the sale of the house and what he was going to do about his possessions.

She parked in the small car park at the side of the restaurant, sprayed some Carolina Herrera 212 on her wrist, took a deep breath and got out of the car.

Mark was seated at a table for two by the window. He stood up to greet her and she couldn’t help noticing the way his eyes widened in appreciation when he saw her.

Good
, she thought with satisfaction. The suit had been worth every damn penny.

‘Hello, Mark,’ she said calmly. ‘So here we are.’

‘HELLO, FRANCESCA,’ HE
said slowly. ‘You look very well.’

‘Thanks.’ They smiled uncertainly at each other. His eyes crinkled up in that attractive way she’d always liked. He looked tired. Her heart softened. Mark worked too hard. She’d always been at him to take life easier when they’d been together. ‘This is a bit weird,’ she remarked, forgetting that she was being cool and poised.

‘I know.’ He sat down opposite her. ‘I’m glad we can talk things over.’

‘Look, before we order, I just want to say I’m sorry I slapped you in the face the other day,’ she said impulsively.

‘That’s OK, I deserved it,’ Mark replied. ‘I’m sorry I called you a walking bitch.’

‘I suppose things have been a bit fraught between us,’ Francesca admitted.

Mark fiddled with his soup spoon. ‘I have to say I was surprised to get your e-mail.’

Francesca smiled. He was always a fidget. ‘Well, the “For Sale” sign is up for the house. It will be in the papers next week. We’re going to need to be in touch. And it’s horrible fighting all the time. The past is the past. You’ve made your decisions and now I’ve made mine and we just have to get on with it.’

‘I know.’ Mark grimaced. ‘I just wish the house didn’t have to go.’

Exasperation engulfed Francesca, followed by a pang of hurt. He felt more for the damn house than he did for her. Great for the ego! She stayed silent.

‘We should order,’ Mark said. ‘My treat.’

‘Dutch,’ Francesca said firmly. She was tempted to say
out of my pittance
, but she refrained. This was not the time nor the place. She was here in a spirit of reconciliation.

Mark laughed. ‘You’ve changed, you know. I’m getting afraid of you, you’re so assertive these days.’

‘That’s no harm,’ Francesca said crisply. ‘I don’t want a starter. I’ll have the lamb.’

‘Me too. Haven’t had lamb for ages. I miss your roast beef and mushy peas.’

Francesca raised an eyebrow. ‘Doesn’t Nikki cook them for you?’

‘She’s more into pasta and rice dishes,’ Mark informed her. ‘Healthy kind of food.’

‘You look well on it.’ Francesca couldn’t help the edge in her voice. What was he implying? That she’d cooked stodgy, unhealthy food for him?

‘Of course I’m working out at the gym too, that helps,’ Mark added hastily, realizing what he’d said. Fortunately the waiter came to take their order.

‘So.’ Mark sat back when the waiter had gone. ‘The sign’s up.’

‘Yeah. It’s weird looking at it. Unreal, almost. Viv Cassidy nearly broke her neck to come over and interrogate me. I won’t miss her in the slightest,’ Francesca said caustically.

‘I don’t miss her at all.’ Mark smiled. ‘Are you going after the mews still?’

‘It’s too late. They had a cash buyer. I’ll have to look elsewhere.’ She took a sip of sparkling water.

‘Oh!’ He had the grace to look ashamed. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t more helpful. I was shocked that you wanted to sell up. I got bull-headed.’

Francesca shrugged. ‘There’s plenty of properties out there. I’ll get another one somewhere.’

Mark leaned across the table. ‘Francesca, are you certain that you want to sell up?’ he said earnestly. ‘Have you thought it all through? Are you sure you’re not making an impulsive decision that you’ll regret later?’

Francesca shook her head. ‘Mark, I’ve been on my own nearly eight months now, I’ve had plenty of time to think about it, believe me. Our marriage is over. What’s the point in living in limbo? The house is too big for me and besides I want my own place. Psychologically it will be much better for me.’

‘As long as you’re sure.’