Francesca's Party (4 page)

She was thirty-one. She was a manager in her division. She had her own apartment in Blackrock and drove a nifty Saab coupé. And now she was in a relationship that was challenging and satisfying, unlike any previous one that she’d had. The only thing was, she wanted more. Nikki sighed and snuggled closer to her sleeping lover. She knew that to show any sign of neediness or want would be disastrous. She kept Mark interested by
pretending
to be uninterested. Sometimes she would even tell him that she had an engagement and couldn’t see him, when she’d be
dying
to see him and spend precious hours with him.

She wanted to make herself so desirable, so indispensable to him that he would leave his boring, middle-class wife, with her book club and charity functions and silly dinner parties. Their kids were practically grown up, one son was working abroad, so it wasn’t as if she was taking him away from his children. There was nothing to feel guilty about there. His sons were starting to lead their own lives. He’d more than fulfilled his parental duty to them. Mark was so duty bound. She was trying
gently
to tell him that it was permissible for him to
enjoy
life.

She’d known almost immediately that he had never played away in his marriage. He wasn’t a ‘lad’. That was one of the traits that attracted her to him in the first place. He wasn’t like some of the flash gits that she worked with, all ego and arrogance. He took his work very seriously, as did she, and that was how they’d made their first connection.

After she’d worked with him for some months, she’d asked his advice about investing in share capital in a company controlled by the bank. He’d offered to go through the draft proposal with her and she agreed only on the condition that he let her take him to lunch.

He’d looked surprised at her invitation but had agreed and they’d fixed a date when they were both free. She’d booked a table in a quiet little Italian restaurant, forgoing the swanky A-list eateries that she usually took clients to. She wanted something more intimate and less showy.

He’d been all businesslike, going through the draft paragraph by paragraph, discussing the investment strategy and the risk factors with great thoroughness.

Although she had gone through the draft pretty thoroughly herself, and had more or less decided to invest, she let him talk on. Men always liked giving advice. It was a great ego-stroker and a strategy that had worked to her advantage many times. Mark Kirwan was no different. He was sexy though, Nikki couldn’t deny that. She found that she was becoming very attracted to him. Over the following months
they’d
continued to have regular lunch dates, getting to know one another, enjoying each other’s company, and Nikki realized with a firm certainty that she was going to go all out to capture him. Mark was the man she wanted. Mark was the man she would have. She could sense his restlessness, his boredom with his marriage. He was stagnating and he wanted more from life. She was just the catalyst for change. They had been walking under a windswept Merchant’s Arch on their way to lunch and she’d been laughing at one of his witty observations when he’d suddenly stopped and kissed her passionately, taking her completely by surprise as passers-by hurried past them. The hunger in him had startled and then excited her and she’d impulsively suggested that they get a taxi back to her apartment and have an extended lunch … in bed.

His desire for her had made it the most satisfying sex she’d ever had. As she lay close against him, in bed in their hotel suite, remembering that first wild afternoon, Nikki wondered how much longer it would be before he finally decided he wanted to be with her for good.

She’d never suggested that he leave his wife, she was much too subtle for that. That would have to come from him. But it was an effort to hide her impatience sometimes and keeping up her façade of indifference to their situation was getting more difficult to sustain.

He’d been very sharp on the phone to his wife earlier when he’d borrowed her phone. Nikki had pretended that she wasn’t listening and hadn’t noticed but it had given her immense satisfaction
to
overhear his obvious annoyance. It made her feel better about their own relationship.

Maybe things might turn around this week. Maybe all would change and he’d take the final step that would make him hers.

‘ARE YOU ON
holiday?’ the taxi driver was chatty as he drove out of Cork Airport and headed in the direction of the city.

‘Just overnighting before flying to London,’ Francesca fibbed. That would give a reasonable explanation for the two large, bulging suitcases in the boot. ‘In fact I’d like you to wait for me while I check into the hotel, if you wouldn’t mind. I want to go directly on into the city.’

‘Certainly, ma’am,’ the rotund little man said cheerfully. ‘I’ll take you wherever you want to go. Terrible cold weather, isn’t it?’

‘Mmmm,’ murmured Francesca, wishing that he would shut up. She felt extremely tense. Her palms were clammy and her heart was thudding against her ribcage at a rate of knots. She felt like throwing up. Imagine if she disgraced herself by barfing in front of Mark and that woman. She slipped a Polo mint into her mouth. It helped a little.

‘So, are you going on holiday to London?’ the taxi
driver
persisted, determined to get conversation going.

‘Yes.’ Francesca hoped her monosyllabic answers would give him the hint that she was not interested in conversation.

‘What part?’ he cocked an eye at her in the rear view mirror.

‘Aaahh … er … Kensington.’ This was crazy. Francesca bit her lip. Here she was on her way to catch her unsuspecting husband betraying her with his mistress, and to end their marriage for good, and she was engaging in the most inane, surreal conversation she’d ever had, with an absolute stranger. She had an urge to giggle hysterically.

‘You must be going to stay for a long time with all that luggage. Those cases weigh a ton,’ he commented.

‘My husband will carry them, I’m meeting him at the hotel,’ she said weakly.

‘Aah … that’s good. You could do yourself damage lugging them around.’

I’ll do you damage in a minute if you don’t bloody well zip it
, Francesca thought viciously.
No tip. Definitely no tip
, she decided.

‘You’ll probably do a bit of Christmas shopping in Oxford Street when you’re over there. Harrods and all of that.’

‘Probably,’ she agreed, curling her fingers into her palms. She had a mad urge to grab his grey wiry hair and pull hard.

By the time they pulled up outside the hotel she was hopping mad and fit to be tied.

‘Now let’s get those cases out.’ The taxi driver
eased
his plump frame out of his seat and took a deep breath in preparation.

I hope you give yourself a hernia
, Francesca fumed as she watched him struggling.

A doorman came down the steps to help. Francesca took a deep breath. This was it. There was no going back.

Mark leaned across the table and fed Nikki a fat, luscious prawn. They were sitting, relaxed and happy, dressed only in luxurious white towelling robes, enjoying a tasty room-service lunch.

‘This is the life.’ Nikki stretched languorously. ‘We should do this more often.’

‘We’ve got to be careful. If we take too much time off together, people might suspect something.’ Mark expertly eased the top off the Moët and filled her glass with sparkling champagne.

‘Hmm. But we’re very discreet at work. No-one would ever guess.’

‘Yeah, I suppose no-one would ever think that a beautiful woman like you would be bothered with an old fogey like me,’ he teased.

‘Don’t be silly, darling. You talk as if you were ninety. You’re my sexy older man.
And
you’re in your prime. Twice in half an hour, I know thirty-year-olds who couldn’t do that!’ Nikki smiled seductively and stroked her foot along his leg. ‘It’s so nice having time to spend together. I could get used to it.’

‘There’s an international bankers’ conference coming up in Malta, in February. If you came out on the last day, which happens to be a Friday, we could stay until Monday. How about that?’

‘Sounds lovely,’ Nikki enthused. ‘But what about Francesca? Doesn’t she want to go?’

‘I haven’t said anything to her about it,’ Mark admitted.

‘Oh!’ Nikki was delighted at this news. This was real progress. This delightful interlude and now a possible weekend in Malta. She felt her heart lift and soar. She was starting to feel very, very happy. Things were getting better and better.

It was amazing how calm she felt after her nerves during the taxi journey. Francesca smiled at the receptionist. ‘Hello. I’m just dropping my boss’s luggage up to him in room 311. He’s expecting me. He’s checked in. Mark Kirwan?’ She looked expectantly at the smartly groomed redhead.

‘Yes, indeed. Mr and Mrs Kirwan checked in earlier. John can help you there.’ She nodded towards the young porter who was hefting the cases onto a luggage trolley. ‘John, suite 311, please,’ she instructed.

Suite
311. Flash bastard, Francesca sizzled. He’d only booked a room for them when he’d brought her here for her birthday.

As she followed the young man to the lift, Francesca couldn’t believe how well her bluff was working. If Mark wasn’t in his room she’d get the porter to let her in and she’d be waiting to greet Mr and
Mrs
Kirwan on their return. The nerve of Mark! How dare he call his trollop Mrs Kirwan, how dare he dismiss Francesca’s right to the title so easily? she raged as she followed the porter into the lift. It glided silently to the third floor and her heart pounded in
her
chest as they walked along the carpeted hallway to her husband’s suite. Her little window of calm was disappearing fast.
God, please don’t let me disgrace myself. Don’t let me burst into tears when I see them
, she prayed, steeling herself for the ordeal ahead.

‘Just open the door, please, and put the cases inside,’ she said briskly, handing the young man a fiver.

‘Certainly, madam.’ The porter was delighted with his tip and inserted the key into the lock without further ado. With youthful vigour he deposited the cases in the hall, then departed swiftly, whistling to himself.

Francesca eased the door shut and surveyed the scene. How fortunate that the suite door led to a narrow entrance passage off which were two white painted doors. One no doubt was the bedroom, the other the lounge area. She could hear a woman’s laughter behind the door on the left-hand side. She and Mark were obviously in there and they hadn’t heard the main door being opened. All to the good for her purposes, she thought grimly. The woman laughed again, a happy, chortling sound. Francesca hated her. Then Mark’s familiar deep chuckle followed. They were certainly enjoying themselves. Pain and hurt ripped through her. Didn’t Mark care about her at all, that he could be so carefree? She took a deep breath, swallowed and opened the door. Mark and the woman looked over from where they were sitting, surprised.

Surprise gave way to shock as Mark recognized Francesca. He paled and jumped to his feet as she walked over to the table. The woman’s eyes opened wide and her hand went to her mouth.

‘
Francesca!
Francesca, what are you … I mean … Francesca, how … how did you know?’ Mark stuttered as he pulled his robe tighter around him and tied the belt.

Francesca stared at him. He looked so handsome and relaxed in the white towelling robe, his hair, still damp from his shower, curling against the collar. Up until now she hadn’t really believed what was happening. Had hoped against hope that it was all a big mistake. But there was no mistaking their intimacy. She was the outsider here.

The shock was very physical. She felt quite dazed. It was an effort to pull herself together. But she had to. For her own pride. Pride was all that would get her through this.

‘You are the lowest of the low, Mark Kirwan.’ She spoke in a cold, clear voice. Surprisingly strong. It took her husband by surprise and he lowered his gaze, unable to meet her contemptuous stare. ‘I hope our sons haven’t inherited any of your sly, lying, cheating ways. How dare you treat me like dirt? How dare you come from that slut’s bed to mine?’

She turned to Nikki and said icily, her eyes full of scorn, ‘Did he tell you that our marriage was over? That we weren’t making love any more? He lied. Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe you just don’t mind sharing a man. Well, I do. I have some self-respect. So you can have him … with pleasure. He’s obviously found his level in life and it’s pretty low.’

‘Now just a minute.’ Nikki stood up, eyes glittering. She turned angrily to Mark. ‘I won’t have her say things like that about me.’

‘Francesca, stop that,’ Mark snapped.

She turned on him furiously. ‘You. Don’t
you
tell me what to do. You liar. You sly shit. When she says jump, do you say how high? How pathetic at your age. Your clothes are in two cases in the hall. Here’s the keys to your car. It’s in the car park at Dublin Airport with your bloody mobile phone in it. I never want to see you again.’ She dropped the keys of the BMW onto the white linen tablecloth and turned on her heel and walked out.

The lift was still open and as the doors closed silently behind her, she exhaled a long breath. ‘Bastard. Fucking bastard,’ she whispered. The hurt and grief and pain were so intense, she thought she was going to pass out. She started to shake. Francesca bit her lip hard. She had to get control of herself. She couldn’t give in to it yet. She had to get herself home before she could give way to the anguish that threatened to engulf her. Then, if she wanted, she could collapse in private and crawl into her shell and never come out.

The lift stopped at the first floor and a couple got in. They smiled at her and she managed a weak smile back. Seconds later the doors opened onto the foyer and Francesca had to restrain herself from running out of the hotel. She nodded towards the receptionist, who looked up as she passed, and kept on walking.

Her little plump taxi man jumped out, beaming, and opened the car door for her when he saw her, and her heart softened at his gallant good manners.