Foreign Affairs Read online

  Patricia Scanlan was born in Dublin, where she still lives. Her books have sold worldwide and have been translated into many languages. Patricia is the series editor and a contributing author to the Open Door series. She also teaches creative writing to second-level students and is involved in Adult Literacy.

  Find out more by visiting Patricia Scanlan on Facebook.

  Also by Patricia Scanlan

  Apartment 3B

  Finishing Touches

  Foreign Affairs

  Promises, Promises

  Mirror Mirror

  Francesca’s Party

  Two for Joy

  Double Wedding

  Divided Loyalties

  Coming Home

  Trilogies

  City Girl

  City Lives

  City Woman

  Forgive and Forget

  Happy Ever After

  Love and Marriage

  With All My Love

  A Time for Friends

  First published in Ireland by Poolbeg Press, 1995

  This paperback edition published by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd, 2015

  A CBS COMPANY

  Copyright © Patricia Scanlan 1995

  This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.

  No reproduction without permission.

  ® and © 1997 Simon & Schuster Inc. All rights reserved.

  The right of Patricia Scanlan to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  Simon & Schuster UK Ltd

  1st Floor

  222 Gray’s Inn Road

  London WC1X 8HB

  www.simonandschuster.co.uk

  Simon & Schuster Australia, Sydney

  Simon & Schuster India, New Delhi

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  PB ISBN: 978-1-47114-119-5

  TPB ISBN: 978-1-47115-297-9

  EBOOK ISBN: 978-1-47114-120-1

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY

  Acknowledgements

  Give thanks to the Lord for he is good.

  I give the Lord my thanks.

  To Francesca, Tony, Garry, Larry, Jenny, and Mark, my Bantam family who’ve made me feel so welcome.

  To Sarah Lutyens and Felicity Rubenstein – who’ve become like sisters to me.

  To Feile and Cliona Morris, Ger Conlon, Helen McCartney and Alil O’Shaughnessy. Thanks for all the info.

  To Kieran Connolly – a man in a million. Thanks for putting up with all the phone calls and listening to all the moans. May you get the Harley of your dreams!

  To Chris Green – for all the larks . . . and the ones to come.

  To Anne Shulman – who knows that it’s like.

  To Sally and the gang in O’Connell Street and to Ruth, Paula, Gary and the gang in ‘The Green’ for all the kindness and support.

  To Audrey, Brenda and Olive in Mac’s Gym – the nicest sadists I know.

  And to my godmother, Maureen Halligan who provided a wonderful haven when I needed it most. Thanks for that great week in April.

  Dedication

  I dedicate this book to the very special people who have supported and encouraged and gone out of their way to help me in the writing of this and my other books.

  To my lovely supportive family and especially to Ma, Da, Mary, Henry, and Yvonne who looked after me when I was really under pressure.

  To Breda Purdue, who combines motherhood, wifehood, and career superbly and still has time to be a great friend. I admire her enormously. Thanks Breda for being there from the start, it wouldn’t be half as much fun without you.

  To Margaret Daly, whose wisdom and friendship I greatly cherish.

  And finally and especially I dedicate this book to Deirdre Purcell – a truly kind and caring friend who in an act of unselfish generosity set in motion a chain of wonderful events that can only enhance my writing career. Thank you, Deirdre, I owe you one.

  Oh, the gladness of a woman when she’s glad!

  Oh, the sadness of a woman when she’s sad!

  But the gladness of her gladness

  And the sadness of her sadness

  Are as nothing to her badness, when she’s bad.

  Anon

  Contents

  Prologue

  Book One

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Book Two

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  Chapter Seventy

  Chapter Seventy-One

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  Chapter Seventy-Three

  Chapter Seventy-Four

  Chapter Seventy-Five

  Book Three

  Chapter Seventy-Six

  Chapter Seventy-Seven

  Chapter Seventy-Eight

  Chapter Seventy-Nine

  Chapter Eighty

  Chapter Eighty-One

  Chapter Eighty-Two

  Chapter Eighty-Three

  Chapter Eighty-Four

  Chapter Eighty-Five

  Chapter Eighty-Six

  Chapter Eighty-Seven

  The Holiday

  Chapter Eighty-Eight

  Chapter Eighty-Nine

  Chapter Ninety

  Chapter Ninety-One

  Chapter Ninety-Two

/>   Chapter Ninety-Three

  Chapter Ninety-Four

  Chapter Ninety-Five

  Chapter Ninety-Six

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  ‘Flight 507 will depart at twenty-three hundred hours. We are sorry for any inconvenience caused by the delay.’ The calm voice of the announcer floated over the Tannoy system. A collective groan came from the passengers assembled at gate twenty.

  ‘For heaven’s sake!’ Brenda Hanley fumed. ‘You’d think TransCon Travel would use a reliable airline.’

  Paula Matthews shot her a daggers look. It went against the grain to hear anyone, let alone Brenda Hanley criticizing the travel company she worked for.

  ‘Give it a rest, Brenda,’ Jennifer Myles said evenly. She was Brenda’s sister and she was heartily sick of her moans.

  ‘I don’t mind at all.’ Rachel Stapleton giggled. It was her first foreign holiday, she was tipsy, and she hadn’t a care in the world.

  The four women sat in silence, lost in their own thoughts.

  She never felt less like going on holiday in her life, Paula reflected as she stared out on to the concourse and watched their jet refuelling. She and Jenny had been away together and had worked abroad for several years. Paula had always loved the excitement of packing and going to the airport and treating herself in the duty-free. But not this time, she thought unhappily. Her life was a shambles. Not professionally. She was an extremely successful career woman. But she had made such a mess of her private life. Whoever said ‘love hurts’ didn’t know the half of it.

  She could hear Brenda grumbling away and she felt a surge of irritation bubble. The thought of being in Brenda’s company for the next ten days did not make Paula ecstatically happy. She had known Brenda and Jenny a long time now and it still amazed her that the two sisters could be so totally different. If she managed to get through this holiday without flying off the handle at Brenda, it would be a miracle, Paula thought glumly. She was suffering from a broken heart but Brenda would be suffering from a broken neck if she didn’t shut up. Paula scowled, opened her copy of Vanity Fair and tried to concentrate.

  Brenda sat silently raging. She’d seen the filthy look Madame Matthews had thrown her, just because Brenda had criticized her precious TransCon. Paula thought she was the absolute bee’s knees in her Lacoste sweater and her dark dramatic Ray-Bans. And so she might look like a film star, she didn’t have three kids and a husband dragging out of her like Brenda had.

  Well Paula or no Paula, she was going to enjoy this holiday. Ten days of no cooking, washing, cleaning, ironing and all the thousand and one things a busy housewife had to do, were not going to be spoiled by the Prima Donna on her right. What Jenny saw in the girl, Brenda could not fathom. But Paula and Jenny were more than best friends. They were as close as sisters. Closer than she and Jenny. The familiar flame of jealousy flared. Why couldn’t Jenny and she have that closeness? Paula Matthews was just a user and the sooner her sister realized it, the better.

  Brenda took out her nail file and began to shape her nails. She hadn’t had a chance to beautify herself, she’d been so busy getting the kids organized. She cast a surreptitious glance at Paula’s perfectly manicured varnished nails. Easy knowing she never did a tap of housework, Brenda sniffed as she filed with a vengeance.

  Maybe she might go and phone home, Jennifer thought. Just to see if he was all right. But then, maybe he wasn’t home yet. She sighed. She was missing her husband like crazy already and she’d only kissed him goodbye an hour ago. This delay was a drag. Jennifer glanced at Brenda who was filing her nails as if her life depended on it. She had a face on her that would stop a clock. Paula had her head stuck in a magazine. Keeping the pair of them from having an all-out humdinger of a row was going to be hard work. Keeping herself from having a humdinger of a row with Brenda wasn’t going to be easy either if her sister kept up her nonsense.

  She and Brenda had never been on holidays together before. Although they’d grown up together and shared a bedroom for years, Jennifer had to admit that Brenda was not an easy person to get on with. The trouble with Brenda was she couldn’t be thankful for what she had. She didn’t know how lucky she was, Jennifer thought sadly, as pain darkened her eyes.

  Don’t think about it now! She banished the memory and bit her lip to stop it from trembling. She had to think positive and get on with life. This holiday was a positive step, there was no looking back.

  Rachel had never been so excited in her life. This was all totally new to her. She was fascinated watching the huge jets landing and taking off. Soon she’d be on one of them. It gave her butterflies to think of it. Rachel didn’t mind a bit being delayed, it added to the sense of anticipation. She was having a ball! She’d spent a fortune in the duty-free, spurred on by the others, and she’d treated herself to three blockbuster novels.

  Rachel lifted her wrist to her nose and inhaled the fragrant scent of White Linen. It was a beautiful perfume. It was the first expensive perfume she’d ever bought herself. Normally she just used Limara body sprays. Well not any more, Rachel thought happily as she took out the bottle of perfume she’d bought only twenty minutes ago and sprayed another little bit on her neck. She was a new woman with a new image and this was only the beginning. She was going to live life to the full from now on. She caught sight of the packet of condoms nestling in the small side pocket of her bag. Even now, Rachel was surprised by her own daring. Her father would call her a lost soul if he knew, but let him, she didn’t care any more, Rachel thought defiantly. She was being sensible. If there was the slightest chance of her having a foreign affair at least she’d taken care of her own protection. That was a very Nineties thing to do, Rachel thought approvingly. For the first time in her life, she was standing on her own two feet, making her own decisions. It was a heady experience.

  She was dying to get to Corfu. The thought of blue skies, sparkling seas and golden beaches was heaven after the winter of gales and rain they’d endured. Rachel gave a little giggle. She was a bit tiddly. It was a nice feeling. She stood up and addressed her three companions.

  ‘I don’t know about you lot, but I’m going to have another brandy,’ Rachel announced happily. ‘To celebrate the start of the holiday of a lifetime.’ She giggled again and headed for the bar, much to the amusement of Paula, Brenda and Jennifer.

  Book One

  Chapter One

  ‘I’m afraid, Mr Stapleton, your wife has had a very difficult labour and it was touch and go for a while at the birth. However she has been safely delivered of a baby girl and both will survive. There can be no more children.’ Doctor Ward was quietly emphatic.

  William Stapleton drew a deep breath, the nostrils of his aquiline nose turning white. ‘I see,’ he said stiffly.

  ‘Her heart won’t take it and I’ve told her of the danger. You understand?’ Doctor Ward’s piercing blue eyes, not dimmed by age, stared into the eyes of the younger man. It was a hard thing to do, to tell a young man of thirty-three that his sex life was to be curtailed and two children was his limit. Normally he would have felt pity for any unfortunate in that position. But Doctor Ward just couldn’t take to William Stapleton. He had a way of looking at you as if he thought he was far above you and he treated his young wife like one of his pupils from the village school. The doctor gave William a stern look. There was no doubt in his mind that another child would kill Theresa, it was up to William to see that that never happened.

  ‘I don’t want to see Theresa in my surgery telling me she thinks she’s pregnant. I’ve told this to Theresa and I’m telling you now. Another child would kill her. And I won’t have that on my conscience. Now I’ve done my duty you must do yours,’ the doctor said gruffly. What that lovely young girl had married that dry old stick for, he could not imagine.

  Theresa Stapleton was a quiet, gentle, shy young woman, ten years younger than her husband. Thoroughly dominated by him, and unable to assert herself, she was smothered by her husband’s authoritarianis
m and felt herself inferior to him in every way. Her husband encouraged this belief. Doctor Ward, who was a shrewd judge of character, was quite aware of this. ‘You understand, Mr Stapleton?’ he repeated sternly.

  ‘Yes, Doctor, I do,’ William said coldly. ‘Thank you for all your help.’

  ‘I’ll be back tomorrow and every day for the rest of the week. Your wife is in a very weakened condition, she must have complete bed rest for at least a fortnight. You have someone to look after the little lad?’

  ‘My mother,’ William replied. God help us all, thought Doctor Ward as he slipped into his tweed overcoat. Bertha Stapleton was as bad, if not worse than, her son. God help that poor unfortunate up in the bed, with the pair of them.

  ‘Goodnight then.’

  ‘Goodnight, Doctor.’ William closed the door, not even waiting for Doctor Ward to get into his ancient Morris Minor. Stupid old codger, he thought sourly. What would he know, he was only an old country quack. Millions of women had children like peas popping from a pod, why did he have to marry a woman who made a production out of it?

  Slowly he walked up the stairs of the fine two-storey house he had installed his wife in when he married her three years ago. She had done well for herself, had Theresa Nolan. Married the schoolmaster. Lived in a house half the women in the village would give their eye-teeth for. Lacked for nothing. Had a fine healthy one-year-old son, and now a daughter. And what did he have? William thought irritably. Just responsibilities and burdens and now not even the comfort of the marriage bed to look forward to. He might as well be bloody single, he reflected as he opened the door to their bedroom. Still, he was not a man to shirk his duty. And his duty was to provide for his wife. She would not find reproach in his eyes when he looked at her.

  Theresa lay in the wide brass bed, her face the colour of faded yellow parchment. Two big bruised brown eyes turned in his direction as he entered the room. Curls of chestnut hair lay damply against her forehead and he could see the sheen of perspiration on her upper lip. In her arms she held a small swaddled bundle.

  ‘I’ll just go and make you a cup of tea, pet, while you show your husband the little dote.’ Nancy McDonnell, the village midwife, smiled as she gathered together her bits and pieces.

  ‘Thanks, Mrs McDonnell,’ Theresa murmured weakly, staring at her husband.