Francesca's Party (20 page)

She could invite Millie as her guest, she supposed, but it did look a bit pathetic dragging her sister along as a companion when her husband would be with a glamour puss ten years younger than her. Maybe she just wouldn’t go, Francesca dithered. She had a few days to think about it, she’d make a decision by the weekend, she thought drowsily as her eyes closed and she fell into a welcome snooze.

‘BYE, DARLING, I’LL
see you in Paris on Friday evening. I can’t wait.’ Nikki wrapped her arms around Mark and kissed him passionately. ‘It’ll be great, Mark. We’ll have a real romantic weekend for ourselves. We deserve it.’

‘Yes, we do.’ Mark slid his hands into the opening of her silk dressing gown and felt the soft warmth of her body. ‘I’ll miss you,’ he whispered. ‘Five days is a long time.’

‘I know,’ Nikki murmured as she slid her hand down to his crotch.

‘Ah, Nikki, we haven’t time for this, the taxi’s outside.’ Mark drew away reluctantly.

‘Five more minutes won’t make any difference. He won’t care, he’s getting paid,’ Nikki said huskily as she unzipped his trousers and slid her hand into his briefs.

Mark groaned and drew her tight against him again, pulling down her silk panties. He pushed her up against the wall and thrust himself into her,
supporting
her as she wrapped her slender legs around him. ‘Oh Mark,’ she muttered as he moved rhythmically, frantically, ‘you’re the best lover I ever had.’

‘Nikki, Nikki, you’ll murder me,’ he muttered hoarsely when he’d come with a long shuddering sigh. They held each other, kissing tenderly.

‘I have to go, I really have to go or I’ll miss the flight,’ Mark murmured against her hair.

‘I’ll miss you. Phone every night, won’t you? We can talk dirty to each other.’

Mark laughed. ‘You’re incorrigible.’

‘And you’re dead sexy,’ Nikki purred as she straightened his tie while he adjusted his clothing.

‘Go back to bed, you still have a couple of hours before you have to go to work,’ Mark said as he ran his fingers through his hair and picked up his travel bags. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you too,’ Nikki assured him.

As Mark sat in the taxi on the way to the airport he felt invigorated. Nikki’s sensual farewell made him feel ready for anything. To find a woman like her at his age was a real bonus and he was going to make sure he kept her happy, he vowed. OK, so they’d gone through a rough patch but all couples went through those. They’d had to adjust to living together under difficult circumstances and they’d come through well enough. If only Francesca would be a bit more civilized about things and Owen would step down off his very high horse, life wouldn’t be too bad at all, Mark reflected, feeling more cheerful than he had in a long time.

He was looking forward to his trip to Brussels, he
had
to admit. He could flop in the apartment after work, read and watch videos, and catch up with old friends. He liked having time to himself. Francesca had come to Brussels regularly with him when he’d first started commuting but as time had gone on it had been easier for her to stay at home with the boys and he’d grown to like his time alone.

Five days to do his own thing and then a glorious weekend of eating gourmet food, drinking fine wines and making passionate love to Nikki. In Paris. Mark stretched and yawned. Life was definitely improving.

Nikki lay in bed exhilarated. She felt the relationship with Mark was finally back on track. It had been rocky going now and again and she’d felt at times that Mark was regretting his involvement with her. There were times when he withdrew from her completely and got moody and silent and it freaked her. It was stressful to say the least and trying to hide her anxiety about the whole situation from him was draining. Nikki felt she was in limbo and it was starting to do her head in. The episode over Karen Marshall’s charity do had been the straw that broke the camel’s back but since she’d lost her temper Mark had gone out of his way to be nice to her: it had been his idea that they spend the weekend in Paris after his week in Brussels.

When he’d suggested it, it had given her such a lift she’d been on a high for the rest of the week. This was more like it should be, she thought dreamily. This was the way it could always be, if only he’d divorce Francesca and put the past behind him once and for all.

Nikki shot up in bed. Why not? she thought to herself. It was a perfect time to do it. Why wait until that party to confront Francesca and have to worry about whether Mark would overhear or not? He was out of the country. She could take the morning off and go and sort Francesca out once and for all. Then they could all get on with their lives. Mark was far too soft to deal with the issue. He allowed that woman to blackmail him emotionally and it was very unfair on him. Nikki felt extremely sorry for him sometimes. It was clear he wouldn’t do anything about the matter. She would just have to sort it. She felt energized. Now that she had decided on a course of action she felt much more optimistic and in control.

‘Bring a suit.’ Francesca insisted.

‘Mam, what do I need a suit for? I’m going to be working in a bar. I don’t want to frighten away customers,’ Owen explained patiently as his mother unpacked his jumbled suitcase and began to place T-shirts and sweatshirts into plastic bags. ‘And what are you doing that for?’

‘It helps to keep them from creasing and it’s easier to sort them out when you’re unpacking and putting them away. Now get your grey suit, you never know whom you might meet or what job interview might come up.’

‘OK then,’ Owen submitted with bad grace.

‘Look, why don’t you go into town and do your bits and pieces and I’ll take over here.’

‘Mam, I want to travel light now, right?’ he warned.

‘Right!’ she agreed. ‘Go on now and get out of my hair. You’re interfering with my pottering.’ She grinned at him. ‘Oh, and by the way,’ she added lightly, ‘when I was speaking to your father the other day he was asking about you. Maybe you should give him a call before you go.’

‘Leave it, Ma.’

‘He is your father, love.’

‘Unfortunately,’ Owen said gruffly. ‘I’m off. I’ll see you later. Do you want anything from town?’

‘Don’t forget to get a couple of six-packs of Tayto for Jonathan.’

‘He’s e-mailed his list. Lion bars, Crunchies, crisps and Dubliner cheese. I’ll be like a little corner shop,’ Owen grumbled as he ran a comb through his hair and picked up his wallet and mobile from the chest of drawers. ‘See ya, Ma.’ He grabbed her in a bear hug, lifted her off her feet and swung her around. ‘Love ya,’ he said, exuberantly kissing her on the cheek before planting her on terra firma.

‘I love you too, now get outta here.’

Francesca struggled not to burst into tears. It was the day before Owen was due to leave for America and she was dreading it more than she had thought possible. She heard him run downstairs and only when the front door had closed behind him did she sink down on his bed and bury her hands in her face as the tears overflowed. What would she do without him? The house would be so lonely and empty. It had been bad enough when Jonathan had gone to America, she’d missed him for months and felt an emptiness every time she went into his room that had unsettled her. But at least she’d had Mark and Owen
to
buttress her. Now with Mark gone from their marriage and Owen leaving for the summer, she felt utterly bereft. Her life had changed completely in the past months. The rug had been pulled from under her feet and all she could see ahead of her was an empty, lonely existence.

Francesca shivered. She was frightened. Her life had no focus any more. What was she going to do with herself?

Wearily she stood up and continued folding and packing Owen’s case. She had just finished and was contemplating whether to have a cup of coffee or a shower first when the doorbell rang. She glanced at her watch: ten-thirty, it must be the postman. It could be a book-club selection parcel for her. She’d ordered several titles from a club they subscribed to. She ran her fingers through her hair and tightened the belt of her dressing gown and hurried downstairs to open the door.

‘Hi.’ She smiled, expecting to see the friendly face of her local postman. The smile froze on her face as she recognized the extremely glamorous, steely-eyed young woman who stood on the doorstep.

‘May I come in?’ asked Nikki Langan. ‘We need to talk.’

FRANCESCA STARED AT
Nikki, stunned. This was the last person she’d ever expected to see standing on her doorstep. Fear struck her. ‘Is Mark all right?’ she asked sharply, figuring that the only reason the bitch would come to her door would be to tell her that something had happened to her husband.

‘He’s fine,’ Nikki said coldly. ‘Well, not exactly fine. That’s why I want to talk to you. I think I should step inside, if you don’t mind. I don’t particularly relish a discussion on the doorstep.’

Her self-possession so rattled Francesca that she found herself stepping back obediently to let the younger woman in. She caught sight of her reflection in the hall mirror and cursed silently, raging that she’d been caught looking like the wreck of the Hesperus. Her hair was unruly and unbrushed compared to the other woman’s immaculate chignon. Her cheeks were blotchy and tearstained from her crying bout, her eyes red-rimmed. She looked an absolute disaster. Normally at this hour of the
morning
she’d be dressed and have her make-up on. Trust Miss Bloody Perfect to arrive the very morning she was in a heap.

She
was wearing a superbly tailored tangerine business suit that suited her colouring to a T. Her make-up was faultless, and very professionally applied, Francesca had to admit. Her slim black briefcase was a very elegant accessory as well as being practical. She looked like one of those glam lawyers out of
Ally McBeal
, Francesca thought enviously, wondering what on earth such a superbabe had seen in her husband, when she surely could have had any man that she wanted.

‘What’s wrong with Mark?’ she demanded truculently.

‘He wants a divorce but he won’t ask you for one because he’s afraid that you’ll go to pieces, basically,’ Nikki informed her crisply.

‘I beg your pardon?’ Francesca was horrified. Mark had never mentioned divorce when they were discussing her financial arrangements.

‘Mark wants to divorce you, but on past experience having seen how dependent you are on him he’s reluctant to ask you for one.’ Nikki eyed her up and down, contemptuously.

‘But you’re not?’ Francesca gritted her teeth, seething at the other woman’s utter cheek.

‘No, I’m not,’ Nikki declared. ‘After all, you must know how unfair you’re being to Mark, living in this enormous house on your own – now that both your sons have gone – and tying up a big asset. Expecting a generous living allowance every month and doing nothing to earn it. It’s parasitical. Have you no pride?
Aren’t
you able to stand on your own two feet? Look at you,’ she said disdainfully. ‘You’re not even dressed yet. Mark was up at five a.m. to go to Brussels to work like a dog so that you can be kept in the style to which you’re accustomed. You should be ashamed of yourself!’ Nikki’s voice began to get shrill. Francesca, incensed as she was, could see that her unwelcome visitor was not as calm as her apparently cool demeanour implied. ‘You can’t free-load for ev—’

‘Now just one moment,’ Francesca interrupted, determined not to hear another word of abuse.

‘No,
you
listen to me,’ Nikki insisted angrily. ‘Why
should
Mark have to carry you on his back? You’re not helpless. You’re not an invalid or disabled in any way. Isn’t it time that you made a life of your own and stopped sponging—’

‘Have you finished?’ Francesca demanded icily, restraining herself with the greatest difficulty from clocking Nikki one in the kisser.

‘No, I haven’t—’

‘Well,
I’ve
had enough of listening to
you
,’ Francesca snapped. ‘How dare
you
come to
my
home and lecture
me
on
my
behaviour.
I’m
not the one who muscled in on another woman’s marriage and broke it up.’

‘Excuse me.’ Nikki gave her a withering look. ‘
I
didn’t break up your marriage. You did that all by yourself. If your marriage wasn’t in trouble, Mark would never have gone outside it looking for what he gets from me.’

‘Get out of my house, you cheeky little tart,’ Francesca thundered, drawing herself up to her full
height
as she flung open the front door. ‘Under no circumstances will I divorce Mark and I think even less of him – if that’s possible’ – her voice dripped scorn – ‘that he didn’t have the guts to come and ask me for a divorce himself. You know something? You’re welcome to each other. You’ve both found your own level.’

‘Now just wait a minute—’

‘Out.
Now!
’ Francesca’s tone brooked no further argument and Nikki quailed at the ferocity of the anger sparking from Francesca’s grey eyes. ‘Get out.’ Francesca grabbed Nikki by the arm and roughly manhandled her out onto the front step. ‘And don’t you ever come knocking on my door again.’

Nikki blanched at being physically ejected, her mouth a round O of shock as the front door was slammed shut firmly in her face.

Francesca felt a surge of adrenalin. For the first time since she’d found out about Mark’s affair she felt in control. So he wanted a divorce, did he? He could whistle for one. He and superbabe would get married over her dead body. She’d never give in. This was her home and she’d live out her days here, she vowed as she picked up the phone and dialled Mark’s mobile number. She half expected it to be turned off as it often was when he was attending meetings but to her immense satisfaction he answered it with a note of surprise in his voice as her number came up.

‘Listen, you,’ she snapped, cutting off his greeting. ‘You tell your little tart never to come knocking on my door again. If you want a divorce you ask me for one yourself, you cowardly, despicable asswipe. But I can tell you here and now that you won’t be getting
one
from me, so go fuck yourself.’ Francesca slammed the phone down and marched upstairs. When it rang moments later, she ignored it. She wasn’t at his beck and call any longer. And she had just made very clear to Miss Nikki Langan that she was someone to be reckoned with. That tart wouldn’t make the mistake of treating her like a nobody again.