Two For Joy (49 page)

‘Don't be wasting your breath, woman, it's not going to happen,' he growled, irritated by her remarks. ‘By the way, I lodged 25,000 Euro into your account. When I sell the house I'll send you the rest of your share.'

‘God Almighty, Oliver, there was no need for that! I certainly wasn't expecting it.' Noreen stared at him, horrified. ‘I'm not a moneygrabber, Oliver. I don't feel you owe me anything. I'm the one who behaved badly.'

‘Don't talk like that,' he frowned. ‘Whatever you think, I
do
have feelings for you and I'm not going to turn my back on you.'

‘Oh Oliver, you make me feel like a heel,' she said forlornly as they walked towards the security check.

‘That's enough of that now, Noreen,' he said in his best no-nonsense tone and she smiled in spite of herself.

‘Yes, Oliver,' she said meekly. They stopped at the barrier and he turned to her and put his arms around her. She nestled into his strong, hard chest and felt the steady beat of his heart under his shirt. They hugged tightly, unable to speak, then parted and walked away in different directions. Crying, Noreen showed the security guard her boarding card and walked into the security area without a backward glance. She was on her own now, but that was her own choice. She could have stayed under the mantle of her husband's protection but that would have been cowardly and unfair. To have found a man of his strength and integrity was a rare blessing. If only it hadn't gone so disastrously wrong.

*   *   *

So that was the end of it. Oliver clenched his jaws tight as a deep, painful sadness smote him. He felt a complete and utter failure. The prospect of a long lonely life ahead of him was daunting. He missed Noreen around the house. It was horrible going home to an empty house after a day's work. He had taken her a bit for granted, he supposed. If he was honest with himself, he'd deserved her crack at him about spending time with whatever new woman he fell in love with. Where did Noreen get her notions from? He glowered as he passed through the automatic doors at the exit. How could he even consider going with another woman with all his flaws? Sterility, impotence, who'd want him? And besides, he wasn't setting himself up for another fall. He never wanted to experience what he'd experienced with Noreen again.

It hurt that she was so determined to start afresh in London. He'd offered to just get on with things and he thought that was pretty fair of him, but she wasn't having it. She really did want to leave. She wasn't prepared to fight for their marriage. She'd given up so easily, it hurt. For better or worse had meant nothing to her, he thought bitterly as he dropped his coins into the parking machine. Well, he'd just have to get on with things. And putting the house on the market was first on his priorities. It was too lonely living there on his own. It held too many memories.

He'd better tell Cora too. She was giving out yards about Noreen being away ‘minding her sick friend'. He might as well get that ordeal over and done with. Cora would want him to go and live with her, but he'd have to stick to his guns there. He didn't mind looking after her, doing her shopping and running her here and there, but he was not going to live at home again, no matter what pressure she put on him. With a heart as heavy as a lead brick, Oliver drove out of Dublin Airport wishing he was going anywhere but home.

*   *   *

‘You're splitting up! She's going to live in London! Why?' Cora Flynn couldn't believe her ears. Although she'd never liked her daughter-in-law, she'd never foreseen her and Oliver ending their marriage. Shock was her main emotion.

Oliver thrust his hands into the pockets at the back of his jeans. ‘Ma, it was my fault we couldn't have a baby and we weren't getting on so well. It's the best thing,' he said resignedly.

‘Well, I don't think so. Couldn't you have adopted? You just don't up and leave your husband like that. Has she no consideration for your feelings?' Cora exclaimed indignantly. ‘What kind of a wife is she at all?'

‘That's enough, Ma. Whatever differences Noreen and I have are between us,' Oliver said sharply and Cora frowned. Even though that one had upped and left him he was still ready to defend her.

‘You'd better come to me for your dinner every day. I want to make sure you're eating properly,' she ordered.

‘Now we'll see, Ma. I'm up to my eyes at the minute—'

‘All the more reason to have a good dinner inside you,' Cora retorted.

‘Look, how about if you cook me the odd dinner now and again and I can heat it in the microwave,' he suggested. Cora's lips tightened. She had no time for these modern conveniences. Food didn't taste the same as fresh out of the oven or saucepan – still, if it meant she'd see more of him, it was better to agree, she argued silently with herself.

‘Right. You'd better take me shopping so I can get in a few extra stores.' She hopped up in a sprightly manner from her chair. She was in fine fettle these days, thank God, only the odd twinge of arthritis. ‘I'm just going to get my hat and put on a bit of powder. It won't take a minute.'

‘No rush,' he said, but it was clear that his mind was miles away. Cora pursed her lips and her nostrils flared. The cheek, the absolute cheek of that Noreen rip to dump her son. How dare she! Who did she think she was, treating the Flynns like that?

She was very vexed over the whole affair. If Oliver had thrown Noreen out, Cora would have been as happy as Larry about it. She'd be glad to see the back of her, but how could she be glad when Oliver looked as miserable as could be? What kind of a fool was he to have fallen for a biddy like her? He should have listened to his mother. Cora had always told him that Noreen wasn't the right one for him and now she'd been proved right. And the annoying thing was, it didn't make her feel one bit better to have been proved right. All she could see was her poor, fed-up son, looking like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. It wasn't good enough, and she was going to have serious words with the Sacred Heart tonight when she got into bed to say her prayers.

Oliver deserved to be treated much better and if she had that Noreen one on her own for a few minutes she'd let her have the sharp edge of her tongue and not mince her words either. Cora was hopping mad as she dusted her cheeks with powder and dabbed some Lily of the Valley on her wrists.

40

Heather was absent-mindedly cleaning table tops one wet and windy morning when Ray Carleton popped his head around the door of Fred's.

‘Good, you're on your own. Something brilliant has happened,' he exclaimed exuberantly, clenching his fists.

Heather laughed at him. ‘What?' she asked, tickled by his behaviour.

‘Joan Nolan tripped going into an old cottage half-way up White Heather Hill and she broke her leg and her arm and she's not coming back to work … ever. Oh happy, happy day! Oh there is a God, Heather.'

‘Stop that, the poor woman,' Heather giggled.

‘So?' Ray challenged.

‘So what?' Heather said, dimly.

‘So when can you start? You'll be doing a bit of everything but I would like to get you involved in the makeover side of the business. I'd like to get it up and running as soon as possible. I've made an arrangement with one of the big furniture shops in Navan to start up a fitting-out service for new apartments, houses and show houses. Oliver Flynn's developing a big site near the lake and I'm pushing him to let me do the show house. Are you on?'

‘Are you offering me a job?' Heather stared at him.

‘Well, of course I am, if you're interested. How can I let you go to waste? Can you drive?'

She nodded, flabbergasted.

‘You'll need a car – we have farms and houses for sale up to fifty miles away. Dad had customers far and wide. I'll sort one out for you. It won't be top of the range but it will get you from A to B. Can you start next Monday? Same salary you were getting in Crooks & Co?'

‘You bet,' Heather agreed excitedly. Ray's enthusiasm was infectious, and from talking to him he had high business standards, unlike her previous employers in the property world. The makeover scheme was up and coming in the bigger agencies, and she'd enjoy getting involved. Developing a website with him would be a challenge, something new to get her teeth into.

What had made her cross over the road that day to look in Ray's window at that particular time? Was this the serendipity people talked about, she wondered. Or was it one of her friend Margaret's growth opportunities? All she knew was, she'd gone into Mangan's looking for a job in accounts and had ended up back in the property business. This time it would be better. Ray Carleton seemed to have integrity and good business ethics; it should be totally different from the offhand carelessness that had pervaded Brooke, Byrne & O'Connell.

‘Well, you landed on your feet there,' her mother said with satisfaction when she imparted her news. ‘You deserve a bit of luck, Heather. I'm delighted for you.' There was a note of relief in her voice. Heather knew that she wasn't too happy with her working in Fred's. There was no future in it. It had been a respite from the real world, Heather acknowledged, but it had kept her going in those first, shock-filled days when her world had crumbled around her ears.

She gave Fred her notice that evening and he wished her well. ‘Told you you wouldn't stay too long. You go and make a success of that new job for yourself, Missy. You're a great worker and a very nice girl,' he wheezed, and beamed broadly when she gave him a hug. ‘Oh, and by the way, the chips will always be on the house,' he told her kindly, and Heather was touched by his generosity of spirit. He'd been good to her in her hour of need; she'd buy him a nice gardening book and a crate of beer, she decided.

That night as she undressed for bed, a thought struck her. Anne Jensen, the psychic, had told her that the man she was going to get involved with was on the periphery of her life and she'd also told her that she'd be using skills that she'd learned previously in her new job. Was Ray the new man? He was a nice chap, Heather acknowledged. They got on well. She liked him, and the psychic had said it would be a great friendship first. Maybe Anne
could
see things. Ruth swore by her. The job had come true, that was a start. And she was going to have a car. She hoped Ray wouldn't buy it at Neil's. A dart of sadness stung her: he hadn't even tried to woo her back. Had she meant so little to him? It looked like it. It looked as if he'd just been using her until something better came along. Forget him, she ordered. He was history.

For the first time in weeks she felt a bit like her old self. Felt in control of things. It would be nice to be out and about in her new job. Ray was interested in the job and ambitious for his company, and that was enough to motivate staff. The clients were there, and there was no reason why there shouldn't be a lot more on his books. She'd work her butt off and help him expand, she decided, and every time Neil Brennan drove past Carleton Auctioneers and Estate Agents he'd see what he was missing.

*   *   *

Neil was edgy. He was flying to America this very week and the days were dragging. He needed to buy some new underwear. It was quiet enough in the garage – he'd take a stroll up the town and see what was on offer.

‘Carol, just going up the town for an hour. Call me on the mobile if anything comes up,' he instructed his secretary.

‘OK.' She didn't lift her head from her computer. She wasn't half as interested as Heather had been. Neil knew she was just putting in the time until something better came her way.

He was walking past the church when a pale green Ford Focus drove into a parking space outside Carleton's and he saw a woman dressed in a navy suit get out. He stared in surprise as he recognized Heather. She was carrying a briefcase and walking purposefully into the estate agent's.

What was that all about? Was she looking for a place to rent? And where did she get the car? And what was with the briefcase? He couldn't help feeling a bit miffed. She didn't look too heartbroken any more, not like she'd looked when he'd had a go at her in Fred's. He nearly got a crick in his neck looking in the window but it was tinted glass and he couldn't see anything. Was she still working in Fred's, he wondered. He couldn't very well waltz in and ask. It was none of his business now, he knew, but he was just curious. She certainly hadn't bought the car from him. It was two years old and had a Dublin reg plate. Was she working in Dublin? But why would she be going into Carleton's if that was the case? He was quite preoccupied as he ambled into McMahon's Quality Man Shop in search of some designer boxers.

When he came back three-quarters of an hour later the car was gone. For some odd reason seeing Heather unexpectedly, all dressed up and businesslike, driving a new car, put him in a bad humour.

To cheer himself up, he rang the leisure centre in the hotel and booked a session on the sunbeds. He didn't want to be all pale and pasty going to see Lorna. He wanted to look his absolute best. He'd get his hair cut and perhaps have a manicure. He was a successful businessman, he assured himself. He wanted to look the part.

*   *   *

Lorna stood on the pedals of her bike, spinning furiously. All around her, lithe, toned, tanned bodies worked hard to stay with the pace. A guy on the bike beside her took a draught from his water without breaking his rhythm. She hadn't reached that level of competence yet. It was seven a.m. and her shift started at eight. She had joined a gym near Times Square and took spinning classes three mornings a week. Lorna felt it was a very NY thing to do. Her gym wasn't upmarket enough to meet an Upper East or West Side millionaire, unfortunately. There were a lot of resting ‘actors' among the clientele, due to the gym's proximity to Broadway. They were a dead loss: they spent their sessions admiring themselves in the big wall-to-wall mirrors that lined the gym. Totally narcissistic, she thought disdainfully as she started to pant.