Francesca's Party (53 page)

In the event both she and Mark attended the closing. It went smoothly. They signed the necessary papers and cheques and handed over the keys and then she was given the keys to the cottage and it was all over.

‘So,’ said Mark as they walked away from the solicitor’s office. ‘Do I say congratulations?’

‘No, Mark, I don’t think so,’ she said quietly. ‘It wouldn’t be appropriate.’

‘I suppose not,’ he muttered. ‘It’s a sad day for us.’

‘Yes,’ she said forlornly. ‘It is.’

‘I’m sorry about everything,’ he said slowly as they came to Baggot Street bridge.

‘Me too.’ Her lip trembled.

‘Oh, don’t cry,’ he said hastily.

‘Sorry,’ she whispered. He held her tight and she wrapped her arms around his neck. ‘It’s for the best, you’ll see.’

No
, he wanted to say,
it’s not
, but he kept silent. It was too late for that now.

Francesca drew away from him. ‘I have to go,’ she said. ‘Goodbye, Mark.’

‘Goodbye, Francesca,’ he said sadly and turned and walked away.

She didn’t look back.

December

‘WELL, FRANNIE, IT
was a long month’s trial, and you’re still with me.’ Ken smiled at her as they sipped champagne at a Christmas bash in La Stampa.

Francesca laughed. ‘I was so not what you were looking for. You oozed resentment. Poor Monica.’

‘I owe her big time.’

‘You do,’ Francesca agreed straight-faced. ‘We’ve had fun though, haven’t we?’

‘We’ve done well too,’ Ken said. ‘You know, I was thinking maybe sometime in the future we could employ someone else to look after the office and you could take on some accounts of your own. We could go into partnership. What do you think?’

‘Are you serious?’ Francesca was astonished.

‘Very. Kennedy & Kirwan PR. Sounds good to me. We can expand much more, you know that!’ Ken said earnestly.

‘Kenneth, you’re on,’ Francesca declared.

‘Right. We’ll discuss the nitty-gritties in the new year. Right now I’m going over to brown-nose Danny Logan. He could put a lot of business our way if he were so inclined. I hear he’s going into magazines. Taking on
Hello!
,
VIP
and the like.’

‘Go for it! I’m going to have a chat with Linda Williams. She knows everything there is to know about PR. I really like her style.’

‘Me too,’ Ken grinned. ‘Pity she’s happily married.’

Francesca laughed as they parted and she was weaving her way through the glittering throng when a familiar voice said in her ear, ‘Hello, Francesca.’ Her stomach lurched.

‘Ralph!’ she spluttered. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’

‘I was invited,’ he said sheepishly. ‘Please can I talk to you for a moment?’

It was a shock to see him so unexpectedly. And a nuisance. She’d actually forgotten he existed. He looked tired. There was more grey at his temples than she remembered.

‘OK, Ralph,’ she said quietly, ‘but I really have to go soon, there’s someone I need to speak to.’

‘I won’t keep you long,’ he assured her, steering her to a quiet corner. He cleared his throat and thrust his hands in his pockets. ‘Francesca, did I show up that night I was to meet you or did I stand you up? I’m afraid I have no memory of it,’ he confessed.

‘You showed up,’ she said flatly.

‘Oh!’ he said. ‘I was drunk then. I’m sorry you saw me like that. Did I say anything to upset you?’ he asked delicately.

‘It wasn’t very pleasant, Ralph, to be honest,’ Francesca said uncomfortably. She certainly wasn’t going to repeat all he’d said to her. ‘But look, it’s all water under the bridge now, let’s wish each other well and forget it,’ she suggested.

‘I don’t suppose I could prevail on you to put this behind us and to have dinner with me again?’ He looked at her hopefully.

‘No, Ralph, I think it’s best all round if we leave things as they are,’ Francesca said firmly. ‘And now I really must go. Please don’t think I’m rude but I have to speak to a few people. You know yourself. These things are work at the end of the day.’

‘I know,’ he sighed. ‘You look very, very well, you know. Did you sell the house?’

‘I did. I bought a cottage in Monkstown near the seafront. So I’m really close to the office, just a couple of streets away.’

‘Is that the road that has a few cottages on it?’ Ralph enquired. ‘That’s a smashing little place to live.’

‘It is, yeah,’ she agreed evenly, wishing he would move away. She had no desire to stay talking to him. She felt ill-at-ease, remembering his drunken suggestions. He seemed to be sober enough now, thankfully. He was drinking beer.

Ralph smiled at her. ‘Well, I won’t delay you, Francesca. The very best of luck with your new home. And once again, my apologies.’

‘Forget it, Ralph. I have,’ she said kindly, lying through her teeth. ‘Happy Christmas.’

‘And the same to you,’ he said sadly as she moved away to talk to one of the best Sales and Marketing pros in the business.

Later that evening, as Francesca sat on the swaying commuter train, her thoughts wandered back to her meeting with Ralph. It had been a shock to bump into him so unexpectedly but she felt she’d handled it well. She was glad the meeting had occurred. She’d known that inevitably they’d meet at some function or another. Now it was done and there was a closure of sorts. She was relieved. She had no desire to resume their friendship. It was clear Ralph had a drink problem. She’d experienced a very dark side of him. It was not something she cared to repeat.

She smiled to herself, remembering the frightened, tense, insecure woman who had sat on a train several months ago silently repeating
release, relax, let go
. She had come on in leaps and bounds, she acknowledged matter-of-factly. Did she ever think that the desperate, uncertain woman who had scuttled out of Allen & Co.’s office with her tail between her legs would be considering a partnership offer in a PR company? Ken’s suggestion made sense. She’d proved herself, proved that she was capable of handling her own accounts. They could really expand if they put their minds to it. They were a good team. Best of all, she had confidence in her own abilities.

She was a far stronger woman now than she’d ever been at any time of her life. She’d picked herself up and turned her life around and that was quite an achievement, she thought with satisfaction, smiling at her reflection in the window.

It wasn’t the right place to have made his apologies, Ralph thought morosely as he ordered a double
whiskey
in the Horseshoe Bar in the Shelbourne. Francesca had looked so vibrant. Her eyes and skin were glowing and the well-cut black trouser suit she wore had not concealed her tall shapely figure. She was such a sexy woman and she had no awareness of it.

Maybe if he could get her on her own he could persuade her to come to dinner with him again. He knew where she lived now. At least that was a step in the right direction. Now that they’d made contact again and got over the initial awkwardness, their next encounter would be easier. He’d be on his very best behaviour with her from now on, he promised himself as he finished his whiskey and ordered another.

FRANCESCA STUDIED HER
laden dining table and smiled broadly. Everything was almost ready. All she had to do was make the punch and have a bath and dress. A party in her new house. Who could believe it? she marvelled. This time last year she’d been a recluse, spending hours lying in bed crying her eyes out. Hating Mark, petrified to face the future. What a difference a year made. She poured herself a beer and sat down by the fire in her beautiful new lounge. Trixie snored delicately in her basket. The smell of fresh paint mingled with the scent of pine from the Christmas tree and the mouth-watering smells of cooking. A bough of pine and holly leaves along the mantelpiece sent forth the most glorious scent and festive red candles in shining brass candlesticks gave the room a very Christmassy air.

She looked around almost in disbelief. It was hard to imagine that this was the same shabby, uncared-for cottage that she’d walked into last August. Maple floors gleamed from beneath richly patterned rugs.
New
double-glazed windows reflected the sparkling lights of the Christmas tree. Smooth, freshly plastered and painted walls in warm buttercup made the room bright and airy. Pelmeted chintz curtains that matched the material on her big, luxurious sofas lent a warm country cottage air. Small pine occasional tables held vases of roses and berried leaves. Her
Omani Tribesmen
hung over the fireplace and on either side of the hearth small recessed alcoves held shelves to display her sparkling collection of crystal and a few favourite ornamental pieces. White-painted louvre doors folded back to lead into the dining room that was dominated by the large pine table and chairs and the beautiful pine dresser on which reposed her collection of china. It shone under the recessed lights and Francesca smiled at the sight of it. This house was so completely different from her old home, in décor and atmosphere. She loved it, she really did. It was a house of joy to her. And she’d only been in it ten days. It was hard to believe. She’d moved in the week before Christmas and the most wonderful thing of all, her sons had spent Christmas with her. The boys had approved mightily of the cottage. That had been her great concern, that they wouldn’t like it after the grandeur they’d been used to in Howth. She need not have worried. They followed her down the hall to their respective bedrooms and pronounced themselves more than happy.

‘And you kept all my gear, Ma. You’re the best.’ Owen enveloped her in a bear hug when he saw his precious guitar and CD player. It had been a joy to see them both. They’d spent hours talking and
reminiscing,
laughing and teasing just like they’d used to.

She studied the table critically once more. She’d eschewed caterers. This was
her
party. She’d cooked all the food herself. A pale pink salmon lay on a bed of lollo rosso, olives and lemons. Platters of honey-roast ham, cider beef, turkey and salamis stood on either side. Dishes of salads and dips lent a variety of colour. Baskets of breads – tomato, onion, nutty brown – were at one end. Dishes of sliced tomato, cucumber and olives drizzled with oil and herbs at the other. A pot of creamy, herb-seasoned pasta in a carbonara sauce sat on her hob ready to be popped into the microwave. A pile of plates and napkin-wrapped cutlery lay on the dresser beside the wine and champagne glasses.

She strolled into the kitchen that led off a small archway from the dining room. It was a peach of a kitchen, she thought, happily gazing around, still quite unable to believe that this was her new home. Fitted pine presses covered every wall. An eye-level state-of-the-art oven and a gleaming hob delighted her housewifely heart. The big fridge-freezer groaned under the weight of chilled beer, wine and champagne. A colourful trifle, plum pudding and brandy butter, cinnamon pears and blueberry and raspberry sorbets took up two shelves, for afters. But still she wondered if she had enough food. The kitchen was spotless, all dishes cleared away. One thing about living with Mark all these years, she’d learned to be organized when throwing a party.

But this was a different party, she mused as she stood looking out onto the garden that had been
tamed
somewhat. This was a party where she was inviting friends that mattered. Her nearest and dearest. This wasn’t about impressing colleagues at work. This was about fun and showing appreciation and giving thanks to all her stalwarts who had got her through the most difficult yet exhilarating year of her life: especially the boys, Millie and Aidan and their girls, Janet, Monica and Bart, Ken and Carla. Some of her book-club friends and two of her old neighbours in Howth who’d been especially kind. Viv Cassidy had
not
been invited. Her parents had gone to Galway for a holiday break; she was glad she didn’t have to invite them, even though that was an awful admission to make, she acknowledged guiltily. Her mother was still cool with her. Her presence would have put a damper on things. But she would have liked her father to be there.

The phone rang. ‘Hi,’ she said cheerfully, expecting it to be Millie.

‘Hello, Francesca,’ Mark’s deep voice came down the line. ‘I was wondering if Jonathan was there. I can’t get him on his mobile.’

‘No, Mark, he and Owen spent last night with the O’Reillys. I’m not expecting them home until later. I’ll get him to give you a call.’

‘I was hoping he’d come out for a drink and that perhaps Owen would come too, I know they’re going back to the States in a few days.’

‘They can’t go drinking with you tonight, Mark, I’m having a party and they’re the guests of honour!’ Francesca laughed.

‘Oh! Oh, very nice. I hope it all goes well for you,’ he said politely.

‘Thanks,’ she said warmly. On impulse she heard herself say, ‘Why don’t you drop in for an hour or two if you’re free? It might be a perfect way of breaking the ice with Owen. If he saw that we were civil with each other he might thaw out a bit.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t like to impose,’ Mark demurred.

‘Don’t be silly, Mark, I’d like you to come. You’ll know everyone, except Ken and his girlfriend. What do you say? I’d like you to see the house.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m certain,’ she assured him. ‘Any time after seven. It’s off the coast road, second turn on your right after the garage. You can’t miss it, my car will be parked outside. It’s the only newly done-up cottage on the street.’

‘OK then,’ Mark agreed. ‘I’ll see you. Thanks, Francesca.’

‘You’re welcome,’ she said, putting down the receiver.

People would get a surprise to see Mark arrive, especially Owen and Millie, but if she could put the past behind her so could they, she thought. Part of her was longing to show off too. To say to Mark:
Look what I achieved without you. See what you’re missing, you idiot
. She smiled. ‘Vindictive bitch,’ she muttered. But she was entitled, she told herself happily. Tonight was going to be a great night and if Owen and Mark could be reconciled that would be the icing on the cake.