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  Damn Chris and Ellen and Aunt Katherine. They weren’t going to stop Emma throwing a party that would be the talk of the town for its style and elegance, she decided there and then. Anyway it would be good for Aunt K to be taken down a peg or two. She was always so superior about everything. She’d actually told Pamela years ago that she’d been worried about Vincent and Emma getting married.

  ‘He’s not quite of our class,’ she’d declared. Emma had never forgiven her aunt for that. It wasn’t out of any egalitarian belief on Emma’s part. Katherine Wallace could have made such an observation about any other couple and Emma could very possibly have agreed with her. But she’d cast aspersions on Vincent. And no one was allowed to do that. Aunt Katherine would see just how of their class Vincent was. She’d never attend such an elegant soirée as she would for the Andrew Michael Edmund Munroe christening, Emma vowed.

  ‘Don’t you think you’ve been away from Andrew long enough?’ Pamela interrupted her thoughts, her tone faintly censorious. ‘He’s only home from hospital after all.’

  ‘Mother, I do have a nanny.’ Emma was defensive. ‘And she’s extremely capable. I’ve only been out a couple of hours and I told her I’d be calling to see you after lunch. She has your number if she needs to call me.’

  ‘Nevertheless, Emma, you should be there when he’s so young.’

  ‘Oh, don’t fuss, Mother, I’m going,’ she snapped irritably. She hated feeling tied down and she was annoyed with her mother for making her feel guilty. What was the point in having a nanny if you didn’t make the most of her?

  ‘Tell Julie Ann I send my love,’ Pamela instructed calmly, ignoring her daughter’s exasperation.

  ‘She’s getting to be so naughty.’ Emma wrapped her fur coat snugly around her. It had been a surprise present from Vincent after she’d given birth to Andrew. Gillian had been pea-green with envy when she’d seen it and Diana Mackenzie couldn’t even bring herself to compliment Emma on it, she was so jealous.

  ‘Of course Julie Ann’s being naughty. She’s looking for notice. Don’t forget, her poor little nose is out of joint. She’s been queen of the castle for so long and now she’s got this little intruder on her patch. Pay attention to Julie Ann, Emma,’ Pamela warned.

  ‘I do, Mother, I do. Believe me, it’s impossible not to,’ Emma retorted dryly.

  She thought about her mother’s words as she drove home. Julie Ann had always been hard to handle. Wilful, stubborn and a handful at the best of times, she’d become unbelievably naughty since Andrew’s birth. Emma marvelled at Vincent’s patience with her. She had none. It was just that Julie Ann always seemed unerringly to know exactly when to play up. Usually in front of Miriam and Ellen. It always made Emma feel woefully inadequate. Her two sisters-in-law had no trouble at all controlling their respective offspring. But when she told Julie Ann what to do, her daughter argued or refused to do what she was told or, worst of all, ignored her. It was mortifying. Emma often let Julie Ann get away with things for the sake of a quiet life. She knew she should be stricter with her. It wasn’t fair to leave all the chastising to Vincent.

  Emma sighed. Tonight she’d make a fuss of her. She’d read her one of her favourite Brer Rabbit stories. Emma hated reading stories and saying nursery rhymes. Miriam and Ellen were much better at that kind of thing, she thought ruefully as she overtook a Morris Minor driven by an ancient crone. She really wasn’t cut out to be a mother. If she’d never had any children it wouldn’t have troubled her in the slightest. Vincent was her life. He was enough for her. But she had two children now and she had to make the best of it. She really should be more motherly, Emma resolved. More like Ellen and Miriam, otherwise poor little Andrew might end up like . . . Emma cast around for someone suitably deprived of a mother’s nurturing care. Her eyes widened as she thought of Chris. Aunt Katherine was a distant sort of mother and look at the way he’d turned out. A charming, lying, cheating rotter. No! That would never happen, Emma comforted herself as she left the suburbs and drove along the winding road past St Pappin’s church. Andrew had Vincent’s genes in him. Not weak, shifty, feckless traits like Jeffrey Wallace. Traits that had very unfortunately been passed on to Chris.

  Andrew would be like his father. Strong, moral, dependable and very kind. The thought gave Emma enormous comfort.

  She had to accept her responsibilities as a mother, though. Pamela was right. And she would. Emma felt a surge of optimism. She’d start tonight. She’d play with Julie Ann at bath time, and read her a story and let her feed her brother. It was most important that Julie Ann should start caring for her baby brother. Emma was almost looking forward to it, she decided as she drove past the airport.

  The evenings were certainly getting short. Soon it would be time to start thinking about Christmas. But first she’d have to have the christening party. She’d sit Vincent down tonight and they could discuss it. She’d get a formal photograph taken too. She’d seen one recently of the Queen, Prince Philip and their children. It looked most impressive. Emma had a vision of herself, sitting regal and straight-backed, holding Andrew in his christening robe, with Julie Ann at her knee and Vincent standing protectively behind them.

  Full of good intentions she turned into her driveway and took pleasure in the still blooming roses and the rich-berried pyracantha that grew green and orange against the boundary walls. The lamps were lighting and the house was cosy and inviting in the deepening dusk.

  Humming, she let herself in. The house was very quiet. Emma peeped into the sitting-room and saw Mrs Murdock dozing on the sofa with Andrew fast asleep in her arms. They looked very contented. Emma smiled. What a nice scene to come home to.

  She could hear Julie Ann’s falsetto rendition of Edelweiss, à la Julie Andrews. Since they’d got her the LP of The Sound of Music they’d had to listen to it morning, noon and night. Actually Julie Ann had a good little voice and she was quite theatrical. Maybe she’d send her to classes to learn to sing and dance properly, Emma thought as she hurried upstairs to ask Julie Ann to keep her voice down. She didn’t want Andrew woken until she’d given her daughter her tea.

  ‘Darling, darling,’ she called quietly as she poked her head into Julie Ann’s bedroom. She wasn’t there. Emma saw the lamplight spilling out from her own bedroom. She tiptoed in and gave a shriek at the apparition that greeted her. Lip-sticked, rouged, mascaraed, Bette Davis and Joan Crawford couldn’t have done better.

  ‘You naughty, naughty girl! Just wait until your daddy gets home!’ she exploded, all good intentions gone with the wind.

  Miriam yawned as she ironed Ben’s shirt. She hated ironing and the pile in the linen basket was heart-sinkingly high. It was after midnight. Sometimes, when she was tired, she wondered if she had bitten off more than she could chew. She’d spent the day sewing aprons. The three of them had decided that overalls were a bit clinical. Aprons lent a more homely air. And they wanted their deli to be homely.

  Because she’d spent all day sewing, she’d been late getting the dinner, much to her son Daniel’s annoyance. He was playing a football match and he informed Miriam that he probably wouldn’t be able to run fast enough to score a goal because he’d be too stuffed after his late dinner.

  When she’d suggested he leave his dinner until later he’d exclaimed indignantly, ‘What do you want me to do? Faint from lack of food?’ Sometimes her son could be as dramatic as Julie Ann, Miriam thought in amusement.

  It was going to be difficult to keep to routines and have a full-time job. She’d just have to become more organised. Get up earlier to get her washing and cleaning done. And she’d have to start putting her foot down about making the kids help more in the house. They were all old enough now to make their own beds and wash up the dishes after their breakfast. She was too soft with them really, Miriam mused. When she’d been their age she’d been well able to polish and tidy and do washing-up. It had been expected of her.

  The extra money she’d be making would be spent on little luxuries like a holi
day in Butlin’s. A new spin-rinse that would halve washing time. A new Electrolux that would halve cleaning time. Miriam had seen one in Clery’s. It was as light as a feather and had great suction. She’d promised herself she was going to get one with her first week’s wages.

  They’d be opening shortly. Doug and his workmen were doing a marvellous job. The place was transformed from the shabby coffee room that had been there for years.

  Miriam felt a surge of energy. She lifted up her linen basket. She was mad, ironing underwear and tea towels and sheets. Pillowcases yes, but from now on sheets were only going to be ironed on the folded side.

  Sheila’d have a fit if she ever found out. Miriam couldn’t help the niggle of guilt that nagged as she skimmed lightly over the folded edge of the sheet with her iron. Sheila even ironed dusters! Well, it was none of her mother-in-law’s business, she thought defensively. Let her run her house the way she wanted to. Miriam was a modern woman. She was going to have a career. The Seventies were going to be the best of times for her. It was a great omen for their deli. A new business for a new decade. ‘The times they are a changin’!’ She hummed the Bob Dylan song and felt very with-it. If she really kept at it, she’d be finished in half an hour and then she was going to tumble into bed.

  ‘I was just thinking, Doug—’ Ellen stepped back a pace to look at the façade of The Deli. ‘Do you think I’d be a good candidate for hanging geraniums?’

  ‘Where? One in each ear?’ Doug grinned.

  Ellen guffawed and gave him a thump. ‘Behave yourself, you.’ She studied the doorway. ‘I think two hanging baskets would be gorgeous. Would you put up two holders for me? One on each side of the door?’

  ‘You could stick a couple of window boxes along the window sills as well if you like. I could put up a little edging to keep them secure and you could paint it the same colour as the door. Have you decided what colour you want the door and windows painted?’

  ‘We think we’d like to whitewash the walls and we’ll use either coral pink or pale blue on the door and windows,’ Ellen declared.

  ‘I see.’ Doug kept his face straight.

  ‘What’s the matter with that?’ she demanded.

  ‘Pink!’

  ‘Coral pink,’ Ellen corrected.

  ‘I should have known pink would get in some way. You’re a pink freak, Munroe.’

  ‘I know. It’s my weakness.’

  ‘Well, my good woman, if pink is what your little heart desires, pink is what you will have.’ Doug smiled affectionately at her. Ellen felt very close to him. She put her arms around him and gave him a warm hug.

  ‘You’re a real pal,’ she murmured against his chest.

  ‘Bonnie Daly’s coming down the street.’ He smiled down at her, his hazel eyes twinkling.

  ‘Who gives a hoot about Bonnie Daly, she thinks I’m a Jezebel anyway,’ Ellen scoffed.

  ‘You’re the nicest Jezebel I know. Is there steak and kidney pie for lunch?’ he asked hopefully.

  ‘Typical.’ Ellen gave him a dig in the ribs. ‘Here I am trying to say something nice to you and all you’re interested in is your stomach.’

  ‘It’s a most interesting stomach, especially if it’s full of steak and kidney pie,’ Doug teased.

  ‘Well, my good man, if steak and kidney pie is what your little heart desires, steak and kidney pie you will have,’ Ellen retorted.

  ‘See what saying yes to pink does?’ Doug kissed the tip of Ellen’s nose.

  She felt cherished. He was good to her. She knew that he’d been upset about Chris’s visit but he hadn’t gone all huffy or withdrawn. It was time really that she put the past behind her. She and Doug could make a go of things if she’d let it happen. She really enjoyed his company. They could talk for hours about everything. She was very comfortable with him. And just as importantly, so was Stephanie.

  The past was the past. It had held her a prisoner for far too long. It was up to her to close the chapter and move on.

  ‘Doug,’ she said quietly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’re the nicest man I know.’

  He stared down at her. ‘Ellen, don’t feel you have to say things like that to me. Promise me that you’ll never say anything to me unless it’s what you really feel.’

  ‘I promise, Doug. I’ll never tell you a lie about how I feel. I wouldn’t do that to you. And I really mean it. I’ve never known anyone, apart from my dad, who’s as nice as you. No one has ever been as kind to me as you have.’

  ‘You’re easy to be kind to, Ellen.’

  Doug held her tight and Ellen felt a rare moment of happiness. A feeling that she wanted more of. A feeling that she knew could be hers for ever if she could just put Chris Wallace behind her, once and for all. The choice was hers. Emma and Vincent were going to have a party for Andrew’s christening. She’d ask them if she could bring Doug. It would be a nice way of announcing to the family that they were a couple.

  Chapter Eight

  All that weekend she’d thought about them. Suzy just couldn’t get the images of Alexandra and Chris having fun, eating, sleeping and, most of all, making love out of her head. Thoughts of their intimacy consumed her every waking moment. Her anger was so fierce it made her feel ill. Schemes for revenge addled her brain. Though she hated Chris and despised him, she truly hated Alexandra more.

  She’d make Alexandra pay, Suzy vowed. She’d rub her nose in it, just as Alexandra had done to her. She’d make sure her erstwhile friend would sink to the depths of the abyss. She’d hurt her where it hurt most. Alexandra was a highly respected PR woman. She’d climbed the ladder of success the hard way. She’d elbowed and shoved her way to the top in a man’s world. Slept her way to the top, too, Suzy ranted as she hung out the washing. She didn’t care if the neighbours heard her talking to herself. She didn’t care about anything except getting even. By the time she was finished with Margarine Legs Johnston she’d be a very sorry woman that she’d tangled with Suzy Wallace.

  Suzy jammed a peg savagely onto her sexy lacy bra. It had cost a fortune and a fat lot of good it had done her wearing it. Her husband had cheated on her with a better-endowed woman.

  What would be the best way to smite her now sworn enemy? What would inflict lasting pain and damage? Her mind was a bubbling cauldron of malevolence as she sought ways to wound her betrayers.

  It was such a pity Alexandra was manless, except for Chris. It would have given Suzy immense pleasure to tell her friend’s partner about her infidelity. It was a shame the tart still wasn’t with that Will bloke – she could have caused a huge row.

  What could she do? Suzy’s brow furrowed in concentration. She could slash her car tyres, she supposed. But that would only be a temporary setback. Besides she might be arrested for criminal damage or something. No! It had to be something permanent and lasting. Something that would make Alexandra really hate her. Something that would come between her and her sleep.

  A germ of an idea glimmered in her brain. Suzy focused her thoughts. A grim smile played around her mouth.

  Yes! she thought exultantly. Yes! Yes! Yes!

  Alexandra glanced at the typed envelope that she’d found among several letters in her mailbox. It was Monday morning and she still felt she couldn’t face work. She’d phoned in sick earlier. It was unusual for her to be out sick so at least she didn’t feel bad about taking a few days off. She deserved them. Stuart and Stuart’s got far more of her time and attention than they merited, although it would be just like that miserly streak of misery Ron Evans to dock her wages. Alexandra loathed the company accountant. Her battles with him were not for the faint-hearted. He could never look her straight in the eye and she didn’t trust him an inch. With good reason. Ron had a very devious way of doing business. He’d tried to underpay her the first week she’d worked there, figuring that being new she wouldn’t question it. Big mistake. She’d soon sorted him out. And kept a sharp eye on him since. Alexandra sighed deeply. She had enough to contend with witho
ut worrying that Mister Sharp Practice Evans would do her out of her salary.

  She’d probably have to stay out for the rest of the week. Her bruises were a hideous yellowy purple. She couldn’t face the questions she’d undoubtedly be asked. Alexandra hurried back upstairs to the sanctuary of her flat although, to be honest, it was beginning to feel more like a prison. She was definitely suffering from cabin fever. Maybe later she’d wrap herself up in her coat and scarves and put on dark glasses and drive to Dún Laoghaire and go for a walk on the pier.

  She sat down at the kitchen counter, poured herself a cup of coffee and flipped idly through her mail. Two bills. A card from a friend on holiday in India. Junk mail from Reader’s Digest, and a letter in a cream envelope. Alexandra slit the envelope with a knife and perused the typewritten page. Her eyes widened at the contents and she sat up straight.

  ‘Bloody hell!’

  It was a letter from her landlord giving her a month’s notice to quit, due to complaints from other tenants about unruly and disturbing behaviour. There was also a complaint about her entertaining men overnight.

  Alexandra was horrified. That stupid cow, Suzy. Now look what she’d done! Surely the landlord couldn’t evict her? How mortifying. The letter made it seem as though she was some sort of cheap woman. It was intolerable. Could she sue for defamation of character or something?

  Who could she ask? She couldn’t very well ring her solicitor and tell him that she was being kicked out of her flat because her best friend had caught her seducing her husband and caused a fracas. She had an image to maintain. Image was all-important.

  Which of the tattle-telling brown-noses had gone scuttling off to the landlord with their breathless little tales? Alexandra seethed as she tore the letter up in bits and dropped it into her wastepaper basket.