Two For Joy (58 page)

All's fair in Love and War.

But you didn't love him and she did.

More idiot she.

I did her a favour.

Oh, stop it. Can't do anything about it now.

The internal dialogue went on and on, until with relief they began to file out after the coffin to begin their journey to the church.

Lorna quite enjoyed the drive to the church in the funeral limo. It added to her sense of importance and she was definitely dressed for a limo ride, she reflected, as the car drove into the church grounds thronged with friends and neighbours. She climbed elegantly out of the limo making sure to show a discreet flash of toned, tanned thigh. She'd had a tanning spray job done the evening she'd found out that she had to come home – it had cost a fortune but it looked so real and so golden it was worth every cent. She looked as if she'd just come back from the Caribbean.

She saw Oliver Flynn's tall form in the middle of the crowd and remembered her conversation with Neil about his eligibility, now that he and his wife had separated. He was an extremely good-looking man, she decided. A real man, who didn't give a hoot what people thought of him. Not like Neil, to whom image was everything.

She wondered would he be here. She'd just play it very cool and ice-queeny, she decided. After all, she was flying back to NY the day after next and as she was in mourning she couldn't be going out socializing. That's what she'd tell him anyway, she determined as she followed her grandmother's coffin up the aisle, her impossibly high heels making a very satisfying click-clack as she went.

It was a little awkward at the top of the church. The front pew held her parents, her aunt and uncle, her grandmother's two younger sisters and their husbands. Grandchildren had to sit in the row behind. Lorna grabbed her two brothers and whispered, ‘Let me sit between you,' so that she didn't have to sit near her twin cousins who were also in the same row.

Strangely, when the choir sang ‘Be Not Afraid', she remembered how as a child her grandmother would take her to tea in the Lake View, before it had been refurbished, when waitresses in black dresses and little white aprons and caps would serve them beautiful scones with jam and cream. She'd always felt very important sitting beside her grandmother, sipping tea out of fine china cups. A lump rose in her throat and to her horror she started to cry. If she wasn't careful her make-up would be ruined. She could see her mother silently crying in front of her and that made her feel worse. Poor Jane had been having such a carefree time in New York and it had been cut short so abruptly. Once Lorna started working for SW, as she had started privately calling her new boss, she'd never have any time off for the next six months. Even if Jane did come back out, she would only be able to spend evenings and a weekend with her. Life was mean sometimes, she thought glumly as she slanted a glance through her glasses and saw both Ruth and Heather in tears. Once again a wave of loneliness enveloped her and she cursed herself for her weakness.

It took a good thirty minutes for everyone to come up and offer their condolences, and Lorna was rigid with tension wondering would Neil appear. She breathed a sigh of relief when it was done. Why would Neil come anyway? He didn't know her grandmother after all.

She emerged into the bright sunlight, glad to be out of the church. It was eerie to think that her grandmother was in the coffin at the foot of the altar. Little knots of people stood chatting in the warmth of the evening sun, and she saw Oliver Flynn lope over towards Heather. Why he should go to her first to offer condolences she had no idea, she thought sniffily. After all, she had been a full guest at his wedding. Heather had only made the afters. She watched them talking and smiling at each other. They seemed very comfortable in each other's company, she thought enviously, wishing she had someone to share the sadness of her grandmother's funeral with.

‘Well, Lorna! Dropped any
hot
potatoes lately?' Neil suddenly appeared in front of her and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

‘Don't be tacky,' she whispered. ‘This isn't the time or the place.'

‘Really,' Neil derided. ‘And when is there a time and a place? You made a fool out of me, Lorna Morgan.' His voice was rising, his face red with suppressed fury.

‘Shut up, Neil,' she hissed, aware that people, and especially Heather and Oliver, were looking in their direction, surprise written all over their faces.

‘You let me spend a fortune on yo—'

‘Oh, get over yourself, Neil,' she snapped, annoyed that he would doorstep her at her grandmother's funeral. No class. ‘If you want to play with the big boys act like one of them and stop whingeing and moaning every time you use your credit card. Grow up and cop on.'

‘You
bitch
!!' he roared. ‘You selfish little user, you had no feelings for me and yet you slept with me and let me spend a fortune on you. You know what that makes
YOU
?'

‘How
dare
you!' Lorna, incensed, raised her hand and slapped Neil hard across the cheek, leaving a stark red imprint.

Neil's eyes glittered and the veins in his neck bulged, but the next moment Anne Williams, outraged at the carry-on at her mother's funeral, marched over and said icily, ‘How
dare
you, the pair of you. If you want to behave like alley-cats don't do it at my mother's funeral. Get out of my sight, you,' she said to Lorna. ‘And as for you, Neil Brennan! You and she are well matched. Sly, slithery worms the pair of you. Get out of here and show some respect for the dead.'

Furious, mortified, Neil walked out of the church grounds knowing that he'd be the talk of the town tomorrow and, even worse, knowing that his image as a sophisticated, successful businessman had just been shot to hell.

Scarlet-cheeked that so many neighbours had witnessed her public humiliation, Lorna slipped into the black limo and scowled at the two smirking faces of her brothers. She could see Heather and Oliver laughing, looking towards the limo. They were laughing at
her.
The cheek of them! How dare they. She, who had come back home intent on making a dazzling impression, was the laughing stock of the town. It was too much to bear, especially when her father got into the car and gave her an uncharacteristically cold, unfriendly look and said icily, ‘I think you have some explaining to do, Lorna.'

Her sophisticated façade dissolved in an instant. She couldn't call it back. Sitting in front of her flint-eyed father, she felt about seven years old. She hated Kilronan and everyone in it, but most of all right now she hated Heather and Oliver Flynn.

*   *   *

‘Well, all doesn't look well in Love's Happy Garden,' Oliver whispered to Heather from where they'd been observing the fracas that had just taken place. ‘I know this isn't the place for it, but I bet that gave you some amount of satisfaction.' His eyes twinkled down at her.

Heather giggled, half with shock, half with amusement. Oliver was right. To see Lorna engage in a slanging match, and then to see Neil get his face slapped, had been deeply, deeply satisfying. And she didn't mind admitting it to Oliver – after all, he would understand it more than most.

It was obvious they were finished. She didn't care who Neil saw now. And then for Anne to interfere and send Lorna off to her limo with her tail between her legs had been almost too good. Both Ruth and her mother had had a go at Lorna. They must think she was an awful wimp not to be able to stand up for herself. But when she'd seen Lorna in the funeral parlour earlier, all dolled up like a dog's dinner, looking like someone out of a cheap TV soap, she'd thought how pathetic her cousin was and remembered Anne Jensen saying that she was jealous of all Heather had in her life.

All Lorna had were her posh frocks and silly notions. Heather couldn't even be bothered engaging with her. What was the point? She was back on track again, she had a great new job with a bright future ahead of her and the right man on the periphery of her life, or so she'd been told.

‘Will you take him back if he comes running?' Oliver was curious. His mother was standing among a group of pensioners, in her element, so he had time to stop and chat for a while.

‘Will I take him back? Are you mad, Oliver? What would I want him for?'

‘But didn't you love him?' he probed.

Heather frowned. ‘Oh, Oliver. I've been asking myself that question over and over. I thought I did. But I mustn't have loved him enough. Maybe I was in love with the idea of being in love. I don't know. If I'd really loved him I'm sure I'd want him back but I don't. I think my pride was hurt, more than my heart. That's a sad admission to make, isn't it?'

‘No, not at all. It's an honest one. So is this the end of the moping?' he teased.

‘Oliver Flynn, stop teasing me at my grandmother's funeral.' She couldn't help smiling.

‘Sorry, I thought you might have been a bit upset by the drama.'

‘Childish and mean-spirited though it is, as you can see I enjoyed it,' she said dryly. ‘But then again I'm only human. It was great to see them at each other's throats. When you've been the one who's been dumped for someone else, you never want the dumper to be happy with that someone else. It's a woman thing,' she explained with heartfelt honesty.

‘God preserve me from “the woman thing”! I don't understand you creatures at all.'

‘Oh, I think you understand us more than you let on,' Heather said astutely. ‘Will I make a date with you for the psychic?'

‘You will in your hat, Heather Williams. You're the one who's teasing me now. I'd better get this mother of mine home. I'm sorry about your grandmother, but I'm glad that you gained some satisfaction at least, on the broken heart front.' Oliver smiled down at her.

‘I'm glad
you
gained some amusement from it all. It was better than a TV soap,' she admitted ruefully. ‘Don't forget that couple from Dublin want to have one last look on Friday, before putting in a final offer. Told you we'd get a better offer than the asking price.'

‘Yes, little Miss-Know-All. I haven't forgotten. And I'll be on my best behaviour, not a beer can or brandy bottle in sight.'

‘Friday should see the end of it. I'll bring you for a drink to celebrate,' Heather declared. ‘I suppose I should go and thank people for coming.'

‘You should, you're being very remiss,' Oliver said gravely. ‘I'll look forward to the drink. See you.'

‘See you, Oliver.' She smiled as he strode off, noting that he had gone to the trouble to put on a smart grey suit and tie out of respect for the dead. It looked good on him too, she thought admiringly, before turning to go and comfort her grandmother's best friend who was standing quietly crying at the church door.

It so happened that by chance both she and Lorna arrived at the church together the following morning.

‘Let's hope you can remember this is a funeral and not a two-bit soap opera,' Heather drawled sarcastically, feeling immensely superior to her cousin for once in her life. After yesterday's episode, Lorna had lost all credibility.

‘You can have Neil Brennan back, I'm finished with him,' Lorna retaliated contemptuously.

‘Thanks, Lorna. I don't want your leavings. Being with Neil showed me exactly what I don't need in a man. In fact, I don't need a man at all.' Heather smiled sweetly.

‘It didn't look like that when you were giggling like a schoolgirl with Oliver Flynn,' Lorna retorted, eyes flashing with temper.

‘You know, Lorna, there's something you don't realize, and I feel sorry for you because of it. Men and women can actually be friends. It's not
always
a drama. Oliver and I have become good mates, really good mates. We do after all have something in common. Both of us have endured a parting of the ways, which wasn't of our choosing. But we're doing fine. We talk about anything and everything. And you know something? I
value
his friendship. And you know something else? There is no man or even woman in your life that you can truly say that you're a friend to, and I feel sorry for you for that. Grow up and get a life, Lorna, or you'll end up a sad, sorry, lonely old woman.'

Heather swept into the church on an absolute high. Never again would she feel inferior to her cousin. It was one of the best moments of her life and she couldn't wait to tell Oliver. She'd meant it when she'd told Lorna that she really liked him. It was always a pleasure to see him. She hadn't fibbed when she'd said that she could talk to Oliver about anything. It was true. And he clearly felt just as relaxed with her, which was nice. Her jaw dropped.

Good God! The man on the periphery.

Oliver Flynn.

It couldn't be. Or could it?

Why not? He was one of the nicest men she'd ever met. They got on like a house on fire. He was dead easy to talk to. He seemed to like her. Anne Jensen had said there'd be a great friendship first before the relationship turned intimate. And then she remembered. He couldn't father children.

If she fell in love with Oliver and he with her they'd be childless. Would she mind?

Calm down,
she ordered as she walked slowly up the aisle. Was she being totally ridiculous and over-imaginative thinking that any man that came into her sphere could be the one? Was she just looking for someone on the rebound? Feeling more confused than she'd ever been in her life, she touched the gleaming wood on her grandmother's coffin as she slipped into her seat.

‘My God, Gran,' she whispered. ‘Is it Oliver?'

A shaft of sunlight burst through the stained-glass window, illuminating the altar and the coffin, the choir began to sing ‘I Will Raise You Up on Eagle's Wings' and the soughing of the wind through the conifers outside seemed to whisper:
‘Yeessss.'