Finishing Touches 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, 1992

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

  A CBS COMPANY

  Copyright © Patricia Scanlan 1992

  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

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  222 Grays 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: 978-1-47114-107-2

  EBOOK ISBN: 978-1-47114-108-9

  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

  This book is dedicated to you, dear reader

  Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue 1991 The Invitations

  Cassie

  The Family

  The Friends

  David

  Book I 1969-1978

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Book II 1978-1985

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Book III 1985-1990

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Forty-One

  Forty-Two

  Forty-Three

  Forty-Four

  Forty-Five

  Forty-Six

  Forty-Seven

  Forty-Eight

  Forty-Nine

  Fifty

  Epilogue 1991

  The Party

  Acknowledgements

  In all thy ways acknowledge Him and He shall direct thy paths

  Thank you, God, for directing my path.

  So many people have helped and supported me in the writing of this book. I’d like to take this opportunity to thank them. Thanks to:

  My American publishers, Dell; my agent, Chris Green; my publicist and friend, Margaret Daly; my London publicists, Gina Sussens and Briony Harrison.

  All the writers who have given me advice and encouragement: Maeve Binchy, Deirdre Purcell, Ita Daly, June Considine, Alice Taylor, Anne Schulman and Sean McMahon.

  Those who advised me as regards careers: a solicitor friend, Donie Wiley, Aoibhinn Hogan of the Beauty Shop, Mary Street, and Paddy Crosbie, interior designer.

  David Stone and Pauline and Ann in Liverpool, Annette Tallon, Janet Rooney, Ciara Melligan and Anne Kirwan.

  The staff of Finglas Library.

  Helen and Gerry McCartney for lending me their mobile home in Wicklow to start this book.

  And especially my family and friends, who gave me such loyal support. For neglecting you so dreadfully while this book was being written, I can only apologize, and promise that I’ll be all yours – until I start the next book!

  Prologue 1991

  The Invitations

  Cassie

  No wind can drive my bark astray

  Nor change the tide of destiny.

  Oh Mary we crown Thee with blossoms today,

  Queen of the Angels and Queen of the May.

  Oh Mary we crown Thee with blossoms today,

  Queen of the Angels and Queen of the May.

  Cassie Jordan paused while sandpapering a dado rail, to listen to the words of that old, long-forgotten, much-loved hymn of her childhood. My God! she hadn’t heard it in years. That brought back memories.

  Cassie sat back on her hunkers and took a little rest. She would just do this last piece of rail before finishing up for the night. Tomorrow was going to be a long day – all her furniture and equipment was to be installed – so she had promised herself an early night. A nice cup of milky hot chocolate, a quick glance at the newspapers while listening to the rest of Late Late, and then she’d sleep like a baby.

  She was sleeping much better these nights. She was still not free of all the shackles of guilt, resentment and unhappy memories, but she was working on it! If Barbara, her sister, wanted to spend her life in a bitter feud, that was entirely up to her. Barbara had resented Cassie ever since they were children and it had spilt over into their adult lives, Cassie reflected, as she got a fresh piece of sandpaper and started rubbing more vigorously than was necessary.

  Well, the invitations had been sent out and would have been received by now. She sighed. It would be interesting to see who in the family would come to the official opening of her new interior design business. She had invited them all, even Barbara and Ian. John and Karen would be there, supportive as always. Would Barbara let bygones be bygones, and would Ian, the brother-in-law Cassie so despised, come with her? Would Martin, her younger brother and Jean, his wife, who had interfered so much in what was really none of her business? Would her sister Irene bother to get in touch from Washington? She hoped they would. Life was too short to hold grudges and she had no intention of letting the past ruin her future. She was going to get on with her life. And what a life it was going to be.

  A tingle of excitement ran through her. Starting her own interior design business was going to be the greatest thing! The correspondence course and all the studying were paying off. Although the official opening of Finishing Touches was next week – the premises were only just ready – her interior design business had been getting off the ground for the previous six months. It was one hell of an achievement and she had orders on her books right up to the end
of next year, from clients all over Dublin city and county! Word of mouth was a great thing. And nothing gave her such a high as when she designed a room or worked out a colour scheme or found the perfect vase or lamp or picture. It was lovely to see something dark and dismal transformed to light and airy by her creative talents.

  Sighing happily, she ran her fingers along the rail. It was smooth as a baby’s bottom, just right.

  Well, at last she had made her dream come true, despite all the opposition. David had kept her going, though, Cassie smiled to herself. David Williams had been the candle in her darkness for the last few years. Solid and dependable, he had come into her life when she was at her lowest ebb, seen her at her absolute worst and, despite it all, had fallen in love with her. And what joy that love gave her. David might be eleven years older than her, but he was the sexiest man she had ever met, with his piercing blue heavy-lidded eyes and that sensuous Welsh voice that she could listen to for ever, especially when he was whispering endearments to her during their lovemaking.

  ‘Cassie, where did you find him? He’s absolutely gorgeous. I could listen to him for hours!’ Laura Quinn had raved after she met David for the first time. Laura, a high-powered solicitor, was not easily impressed, and Cassie had smiled in amusement at her friend’s enthusiasm. Laura had carved out a career for herself in the legal world and become a partner in the solicitors practice where she had worked since the days of her apprenticeship. She was one of the best friends a girl could have and Aileen O’Shaughnessy was another. Just thinking of Aileen made Cassie laugh. She was as mad as a hatter, even now, but a truer friend could not be found.

  Aileen’s sister, Judy, was coming to work with Cassie. She hadn’t worked a day since her marriage to the wealthy Andrew Lawson but she was finally going to become a career woman, much to Andrew’s dismay. Judy was going to do PR, reception, and assist Cassie with the buying side of things. And she certainly had the contacts. There wasn’t a shop in Grafton Street and its environs that she wasn’t known in. Andrew Lawson’s wife used her credit cards with gay abandon. As she once confided to Cassie, ‘I was born to shop!’

  Stepping out of her overalls, Cassie ran a finger through her rich chestnut locks. She’d better get her hair done. After all, it was going to be her special day. Sitting in the small bay window of the landing of her little house, she looked out at the almost motionless waters of the Broadmeadow Estuary. She had been so lucky to get this house by the sea and she loved Malahide with its colour and charm and small-town friendliness. She had been right to sell up and move from Port Mahon, even though it was not very far up the coast. This was the place to start her new life.

  David would stay the night of the party. That would be something to look forward to. They’d discuss the evening, who had come and who hadn’t and what he thought of this one and that one. His dry, witty observations would make her laugh. David was a shrewd judge of character. Then they would make love in her big brass bed and she would fall asleep in his arms.

  But for tonight, Cassie was content to be alone with her thoughts, watching the moon glimmer on the estuary, wondering who would come to her party.

  The Family

  A fool is too arrogant to make amends; upright men know what reconciliation means.

  Proverbs, 14:9

  Barbara Jordan Murray was in a foul humour as she slogged away at an article that should have been on a magazine editor’s desk at noon that day. Upstairs the children were arguing, despite the fact that it was after eleven and her little girl had to get up for school in the morning. ‘Ian, for God’s sake will you do something with them!’ she snarled at her husband, who was in the adjoining room looking at wrestling on the sports channel. A resonant snore was her spouse’s thoroughly unsatisfactory response. Barbara gritted her teeth and bent her head to her work.

  She was writing an article on families, and who knew more than she about that subject? ‘Don’t talk to me about families,’ she muttered to herself, as she lied through her teeth and wrote that a united family such as her own was the greatest blessing.

  That Cassie! The nerve of her! Sending them an invitation to the launch of her interior design business. A business that was set up with ill-gotten money that by right should have been shared out among the whole family. If Cassie Jordan thought she was going to worm her way back into their good graces after her outrageous behaviour, she could just think again. What an opportunist Cassie was. Barbara wouldn’t put it past her sister to have bribed the judge in the court case. And that arrogant Welshman, David Williams, was in cahoots with her.

  But she’d find a way to deal with Mr Smarty David Williams. The pen was mightier than the sword, as she had found out many times. No better woman for the hatchet job than Barbara Jordan Murray.

  Only recently, hadn’t she reviewed a first novel by a male colleague in a way that had the so-called literati rubbing their hands with glee. Privately, she had enjoyed the book immensely. But to admit to enjoying a thriller would be the kiss of death. People looked up to her. She had to maintain high standards. Her opinions counted for something. A good review from Barbara Jordan Murray meant high sales. Not that her filleting of Christopher Brand, her colleague, would affect his sales. People just went out and bought that pulp! It was galling. Here she was, writing excellent prose daily, and Christopher Brand had sat down and dashed off a trashy thriller that was number one in the bestsellers and looked like making him undeservedly rich. If only the publishers to whom she had sent her own novel, The Fire and the Fury, would get in touch! They’d had the manuscript for months! Barbara knew it was a literary masterpiece, she just knew it. Barbara Jordan Murray was a perfect name for a potential Booker Prize winner! And that’s exactly what The Fire and the Fury was. David Williams and Christopher Brand could go take a hike.

  Barbara smiled as she pictured herself making her gracious acceptance speech. Kristi Killeen, her archrival in journalism, would be spitting with rage. Kristi was a mere hackette gossip columnist, Barbara preferred to call herself a ‘diarist.’ She was also editor of the women’s page of The Irish Mail! That really stuck in Killeen’s craw!

  Another delightful thought struck her. David Williams’s eagerly awaited biography of Margaret Thatcher was due to be published later in the year and she would be waiting! She’d excoriate him! No matter how good his book was – and his biographies were usually superb – he was in line for the worst review of his life. What joy! Whoever said revenge was a dish best served cold knew precisely what he was talking about.

  ‘David Williams, you’ll get what you deserve,’ she murmured. Cassie would be fit to be tied. She was absolutely crazy about the man. Barbara had to admit he was sexy. Those eyes! The way they studied you. And that mouth! So firm, yet sensual. Barbara felt a warmth suffuse her. When she needed inspiration for the love scenes in her book, she always pictured David. She was the fire to his fury. Desire ripped through her. Angrily, she banished his image from her mind. She couldn’t stand David Williams. Cassie Jordan was welcome to him. He’d be there at the party, to be sure, with his overpowering, disturbing presence. Well, let him. What did she care? She wouldn’t be there.

  No doubt John and Karen would go to Cassie’s bash. They were the greatest pair of arselickers. Well, Martin and Jean surely wouldn’t go and Irene was in America, so Cassie would just have to do without most of her family for her big night. She would find that they were not slow about turning their backs on her, just as she had turned her back on them.

  A thunderous crash shook the light above her head. ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph, if I go up to you two, I’ll wallop you with the wooden spoon!’ she yelled. Her threat had the desired effect. Barbara didn’t believe in corporal punishment as a rule, preferring to reason with her children – that was the ‘in’ thing – but tonight she was in no humour to reason with anyone. In the background, Ian’s snores reached a climax. Thank God he was tired, she thought wearily, as she typed the last full stop. He wouldn’t be looking for sex tonight.
No doubt David and Cassie were making passionate love somewhere. Well, if Cassie Jordan thought for one minute that Barbara was going to let bygones be bygones she could think again.

  The only thing was that if she went to this launch she’d see David again. It was so long since she’d seen him. She could wear her new Gianni Versace strapless ice-pink number that had nearly had Kristi Killeen swallowing her false nails in envy when she’d seen it on her at that big charity bash in The Royal Hospital, Kilmainham.

  Maybe she’d go; maybe she wouldn’t. She’d see.

  Karen Jordan added the hot chocolate to the boiling milk, let it simmer for a minute and poured it into two mugs. She could hear John removing his wellingtons in the back porch. Excellent timing, she smiled to herself. Her husband had been doing a final check for the night, making sure no foxes, cats or dogs could get at the hens and that the temperatures in the glasshouses were just right. He had been up since six that morning and she knew he would be tired. She was tired herself.

  Her husband arrived in the kitchen, wiping his hands. ‘Saw Cassie earlier on. She was on her way to Malahide,’ he informed her as he kissed her on the cheek, took his mug of steaming chocolate and followed her into the sitting-room.

  ‘How is she? All excited, I suppose?’ Karen asked as she cuddled up beside John on the sofa.

  ‘Yeah, it’s great for her, isn’t it?’ Cassie’s brother smiled down at his wife.

  ‘If anyone deserves success, she does,’ Karen said reflectively. She really admired her sister-in-law. Cassie had been through the mill these last few years and at last it looked as though all her hard times were over. Thank God John and she had stood by her all the way. At least they would always have a clear conscience about that. That Barbara and Irene could treat their own sister the way they had was unbelievable. But then, where money and land were concerned, nothing was sacred. She had seen it in her own family when her Uncle Jerry died and the family had fallen out over the will. Her father and his brother didn’t speak to each other now.