Happy Ever After Read online

  ‘You’re fine, I’ll look after my own accommodation, thank you,’ he assured her every time. And though he made an effort when the girls were around or they were out for meals together, when he and Marianna were on their own, he didn’t indulge in idle chitchat, no matter how hard she tried to engage him. He’d never been a hypocrite, and he had no intention of starting because of Marianna’s desire to bury the past. No woman should ever put a man through what his ex-wife had put him through. No woman should ever separate a father from his children. Some things were beyond the pale.

  It had been a long, long time since he’d allowed himself to remember those painful memories which his conversation with Connie had brought up, Drew reflected as he drove into the stable yard. He had a great relationship with his daughters. They spoke on the phone and emailed each other constantly, Erin had been over for a visit just six weeks ago, and Katy and her new husband had spent a week of their honeymoon staying with him after their trip to Venice. He loved them dearly, and it gave him great satisfaction to know that, when he died, both of them would inherit a considerable amount of money when the stable, house and lands were sold. He’d provided for them well, and paid for Katy’s wedding, despite Marianna’s protestations that Edward would be very pleased to.

  ‘Katy is my daughter, Marianna. I’ve never forgotten that, even if you have,’ he’d replied calmly but very, very firmly. That had shut her up quick enough.

  He shook his head. What the hell was he doing, raking up the old coals of his past? He had plenty to concentrate on in the present. He cut the engine and got out of the car, hurrying into the stall, where the pregnant mare whinnied when she saw him. He ran his hand over her swollen belly. ‘It won’t be long now, my beauty,’ he said soothingly, and smiled as she nuzzled him affectionately.

  Women – you could keep them. He was happy with his horses.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘Hello, Mum, you look fabulous. Where’s Dad?’ Aimee looked around the crowded art exhibition, expecting to see her father’s handsome, leonine head or hear his booming tones discoursing on some topic or other.

  Juliet’s eyes narrowed, and her lips thinned. ‘He couldn’t come. He had to go to Larry Wright’s retirement dinner. It was essential that he be there, he informed me. He forgot about it when he agreed to come.’

  ‘Larry Wright? But he can’t stand him!’ Aimee tried to frown, but couldn’t because of her Botox.

  ‘Exactly,’ declared her mother tartly. ‘But he’d prefer to be at dinner with a man he can’t stand than come and see my “little art shindig”, as he called it himself. Never mind,’ she declared brightly, turning to embrace her son-in-law. ‘Thank you for coming, Barry. I hope you didn’t have to forego a golf game or anything.’

  ‘Wouldn’t miss your exhibition, Juliet. Good luck with it,’ Barry said cordially, privately thinking that his father-in-law was an even bigger plank than he’d previously thought. It was clear the older woman was very hurt by her husband’s non-appearance. He liked his mother-in-law. She was a ‘lady’, as his own mother called her. Pleasant, unassuming, easy to talk to and very much in her husband’s shadow. Juliet had never made any demands on Aimee during their marriage, and she was a far different kettle of fish to his ex-mother-in-law, Stella. She’d been an interfering old biddy, and he hadn’t been in the slightest bit sorry to lose contact with her when his marriage to Connie had broken up. And she hadn’t changed either, he reflected, remembering their frosty encounter at Debbie’s wedding.

  ‘Melissa! Hello, darling, thank you so much for coming – I’m sure you had much better things to do than come and see your old grandma’s paintings.’ Juliet turned to her granddaughter with a smile, noting her sulky, bored demeanour.

  ‘Don’t say that, Gran,’ Melissa protested weakly, hoping she wasn’t blushing. ‘I think they’re gorgeous. I really like the tiger in the jungle.’

  ‘Do you?’ Juliet couldn’t hide her pleasure. ‘Well, if it doesn’t sell, I’ll give it to you and, if it does sell, I’ll do you another. How about that?’ she offered.

  ‘Cool,’ Melissa exclaimed. ‘Thanks, Gran.’

  ‘Your cousins are here. Steven and Gemma and the girls came up from Kildare. Wasn’t that good of them?’ Juliet remarked, peering through the throng. ‘They’re down at the far end. See them?’ She pointed out her son’s gangly figure between a gap in the crowds. Melissa looked over. ‘Deadly – I’ll just go and say hello,’ she said, cheering up. She liked her cousins. Even though they were culchies and totally uncool and she had little in common with them, she secretly envied them their lifestyle. Her Uncle Steven was an equine vet, and her two cousins, Mandy, fourteen, and Anna, sixteen, both had horses. They had part-time jobs in one of the big racing stables near their home and had little interest in fashion and make-up or in hanging out in shopping malls or Starbucks. They weren’t even on Facebook or Bebo; their lives revolved entirely around horses. They liked school – unheard of! – and they had a lot of friends who liked the same things they did. They didn’t seem to have groups and cliques, which was so much the norm in her school. There was no edgy rivalry among their schoolmates.

  Melissa was fascinated by them. She’d always felt a touch superior when she was with them, feeling sorry for them that they lived in Hicksville, as she mentally termed it. Imagine having no Miss Selfridges, Topshop, Mango, McDonald’s or Starbucks. How seriously deprived was that? she’d said to Sarah when they’d been talking about them one day.

  Her cousins slagged Melissa good-humouredly and told her she was posh, with her D4 accent, and yet they were great fun. And she loved being with them. She felt she could be relaxed and giddy and not have to worry about making an impression. She called them Boggers, which they took with great good humour, and she wished she could have their self-confidence and joie de vivre.

  One of the best weekends of her life had been last year, when they’d gone to her Auntie Gemma’s fortieth birthday. Her cousins had brought her to the stables where they worked, and she’d helped muck out the stalls and fallen head over heels in love with a chestnut gelding called White Star. He had a beautiful white star on his forehead and melting, chocolate-brown eyes. He’d nuzzled his nose into her neck and eaten the apple she’d produced from her pocket, and she’d spent ages stroking his face, talking to him. She’d felt he understood every word she’d said.

  Then – treat of treats – her cousins had got permission for Melissa to ride him around the yard, her first time ever on a horse. She’d been so nervous she’d almost chickened out. But White Star had been patient and very gentle, walking sedately along, giving an encouraging whinny every so often, and she’d been exhilarated beyond belief.

  That evening, there’d been a big family barbecue and, as the sky turned fiery orange with the sunset and then the stars had come twinkling into the black velvet sky, there’d been singing and dancing, and then more food to warm them up as the night grew cool. Everyone had drawn up close to the glowing barbecue embers and watched shooting stars flame across the sky. They were meteor showers, Anna had explained, as one bright star left a dazzling burst of light as it streaked southwards. Every time Melissa saw one she made a wish that she could save enough money to buy White Star, and she’d fallen asleep against her dad’s shoulder, filled with optimism that the beautiful horse she’d fallen in love with would be hers one day.

  Mandy saw her and waved. ‘Hey, Posh,’ she called teasingly.

  ‘Hey, Bogger,’ Melissa called back, making her way towards her cousin, glad now that she’d come to the exhibition and dying to hear news of her beloved White Star.

  ‘Just as well the girls are here; she might have been bored.’ Juliet smiled as she watched her granddaughters embrace. ‘It’s good for them to spend time together, isn’t it?’ she said with satisfaction, beginning to relax and enjoy herself in spite of Ken’s absence. ‘Now, darlings, can I get you a drink? The nibbles are nice too,’ she advised.

  ‘Um . . .’ Aimee paused
. She shouldn’t really drink, she supposed, but if she wasn’t keeping the baby, what difference did it make? She needed something to relax her; she was as stressed as hell. Why not? ‘A glass of white for me,’ she decided, defiantly.

  ‘And I’ll have a glass of red, please,’ Barry added. One glass wouldn’t put him over the limit and he had enough food in him after his big dinner to soak it up.

  ‘I’ll be right back,’ said Juliet, gliding away, saying hello here and there to people she knew.

  ‘He’s such a bastard,’ Aimee muttered, watching her mother weave her way through the crowd.

  ‘Who?’ Barry asked, not following her train of thought.

  ‘Dad. The least he could have done was be here for her. It would have meant a lot to Mum. She supports him in everything he does.’

  ‘Indeed she does,’ he agreed dryly, but the sarcasm was lost on his wife as she began a rant about what a selfish, self-centred human being her father was.

  ‘Like father like daughter’ popped into his head; the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, as the old saying went, but he kept silent, and was glad when his mother-in-law returned with the wine, followed by Steven and Gemma, who greeted them warmly. It was a relief to talk to his brother-in-law, with whom he had a good relationship, although they didn’t see each other that often. He was relieved not to have to make small talk with Aimee, who was chatting to Gemma about the cost of keeping horses.

  A thought struck him. Seeing as they were at the exhibition, they should support Juliet by buying a painting. It would be expected, he would imagine. He’d buy the tiger painting for Melissa. If Aimee wanted to buy one, she could buy her own. But, knowing his wife, he doubted it would even cross her mind. Philanthropy was not a trait she was noted for, he thought sourly, watching her schmooze Bill Kerrwin, a wealthy film director. Barry knew she was chatting to him in the hope that he might potentially be a client. She never took her eye off the ball. She was always working. He’d been like that once too, he remembered, and wondered was it age that had blunted his business edge and made him less competitive.

  ‘Just going to buy one of your mother’s paintings for Melissa,’ he murmured to Steven, wishing he could stop comparing himself with Aimee. Ever since the wedding it had become an issue with him.

  ‘Oh, right. Good thinking.’ Steven nodded. ‘I should buy one too, I suppose. The girls liked the tiger—’

  ‘Sorry,’ grinned Barry. ‘That’s mine. In fact, I’m going to pay for it right now in case anyone else snaffles it. Excuse me.’ He made his way over to the wall where the tiger painting was hanging and noted that there was no little red dot on it, but two women were studying it intently, and he overheard one say to the other. ‘I think I’ll buy this one, it would look good in my dining room. The colours are perfect.’ That’s what you think, Missus. Barry made haste to the desk where the buying and selling was taking place and staked his claim.

  ‘The exhibition runs until after the weekend, so you won’t be able to take it tonight. I hope you don’t mind,’ the organizer told him.

  ‘No problem,’ he assured her. He wouldn’t tell Melissa he’d bought it. He’d just hang it in her bedroom for her as a surprise. He was walking back to join the others when he noticed a small watercolour of Greystones Harbour. It was a delightful little painting, and he immediately thought of Connie. On impulse, he went back to the desk and bought it. She surely couldn’t object to him buying her a little gift, and it might soften her attitude to him. He could do with someone to chat to and confide in these days, and Connie was very good at listening. A woman who listened was a prize beyond jewels. Aimee might listen to her clients, but she certainly wasn’t listening to him these days.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘Just once in all our married life I asked you to come somewhere with me, and you couldn’t—’

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Juliet!’ Ken Davenport interrupted exasperatedly, unhooking his braces and letting them fall on the floor. ‘How many times do I have to tell you? I had to go to that dinner. Larry Wright was retiring. He’s been a colleague for more years than I care to remember. It was expected of me,’ he blustered.

  ‘And I’ve been your wife for more years than I care to remember, and I expected you to be by my side after all the times I’ve been by yours.’ Juliet was so angry her voice was shaking. ‘Larry Wright is a pompous little toad. You don’t even like him.’ She stood in front of her husband, eyes bright with anger, her two hands clenched tight by her sides.

  ‘That’s neither here nor there, and it’s precisely why I had to go. I didn’t want any of that shower saying I wouldn’t go to his retirement dinner because I didn’t like the little bastard. Now, for God’s sake, give it a rest.’ Ken had had enough. He wasn’t used to angry tirades from his wife. And, by gum, he wasn’t in the humour for it now.

  Juliet was whiter than the Jo Malone candles reposing on her armoire. ‘How dare you talk to me like that? Just who do you think you are, Ken Davenport? That’s all you damn well care about, isn’t it? Your image. How you’re seen. The great consultant striding through the hospital corridors making life and death decisions—’

  ‘I bloody well do save lives, and don’t you forget it,’ thundered her husband, purple-faced with indignation.

  ‘You fool,’ she snapped back, disgusted at his arrogance. ‘Don’t you know, haven’t you realized after all this time that your gifts are God-given? He’s the one who decides who lives and dies. Why He chose two pompous asses like you and Larry Wright to be His assistants is beyond me.’

  ‘That’s it. You’ve gone too far. I’m sleeping in the guest room. I won’t put up with this nonsense a minute longer. What’s got into you? Were you drinking?’ He was mottled with rage. He grabbed his maroon silk pyjamas from under his pillow and strode out the door, his shirt-tails hanging over his trousers.

  ‘No, I was not drinking. I’m saying what I should have said years ago. And don’t bother coming back, stay there and do me a favour,’ Juliet hissed, outraged at his drinking slur.

  ‘And let me tell you something before I go . . .’ Ken turned and came back and stood in the doorway. ‘You’re acting like you’re bloody Picasso. Get a grip on yourself, woman. It was just an amateur art exhibition. I’m sure young Melissa could do just as well,’ he said cuttingly, before turning on his heel.

  Juliet sat down on the side of the bed, shocked. That last biting insult had been meant to hurt her. Her outburst was one of temper, a natural reaction to her disappointment. He’d had a few moments to think of something deliberately wounding and demeaning. He’d wanted to put her down because she’d had the temerity to lose her temper and be herself for once.

  Juliet took some deep breaths in an effort to calm her racing heart. She wasn’t used to confrontation. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d raised her voice to her husband. She was such a wimp really, she thought in self-disgust. Aimee was always telling her to stand up for herself and do what she wanted for a change. This night that she’d been looking forward to for so long had turned into a disaster. Ken had ruined it for her.

  And what was even worse, she thought with a sickening feeling as she took her gold earrings out, she’d let him dictate the way she lived her life for forty years, and that was unforgivable. She’d wasted her life on him. God, how fed up she was of being the dutiful little wife. How fed up she was of cooking and shopping for things he liked. How wearing it was, going to his functions and listening to him pontificate. Ken had an opinion on everything, and to hell with anyone else’s. He was such a bore.

  She slipped out of her silk blouse and black palazzo pants, folded them neatly and placed them on an antique chair beside the window. She’d have her housekeeping assistant, Gina, handwash them in the morning. Gina came in three mornings a week to clean and wash and do various other chores. ‘Our housekeeper gives me a hard time for smoking Havanas in the house. It’s my one little indulgence,’ Ken liked to boast at parties, letting people know
he could afford both a housekeeper (he never mentioned that she was part-time) and expensive cigars. He was such a pompous prat. How could she have ended up married to the likes of him?

  Juliet wrapped a light robe around her and sat at her dressing table smoothing cleansing cream on to her face. She didn’t look sixty-four. She’d kept herself well, but that didn’t negate the fact that she was in the last third of her life, and what had she to show for it? Three children, and a husband who took her totally for granted. She was merely an appendage to her larger-than-life spouse. His docile little woman who stood dutifully by his side, saying the right things, entertaining his friends when required in their elegant, detached Dublin 4 redbrick home. The perfect wife, who had no life of her own.

  Her one escape had been tennis and the social scene at the club. Ken had never played, his passion was golf, so it was the one place she was assured of not having to listen to him or take a back seat. She’d had to give up playing because of a knee injury, which had persisted despite intensive and expensive physio. Her friend Chloe had invited her to come to a silk painting class just a few months ago, and she’d taken to it like a duck to water. It had sustained her and given her pleasure and helped fill the big gap the loss of her tennis had left.

  The group exhibition tonight, that included four of her paintings, was her first. It had been her chance to shine. Assuming that Ken was coming, she’d told her classmates that her husband and family would be there to support her. Several of them knew Ken. Some of their husbands had been his patients at one time or another. Several of them moved in his golfing circles. And a few had used Aimee’s company to cater for their parties and weddings. But tonight wasn’t to have been about Ken and Aimee and their achievements. Tonight was about her, she’d thought with a hint of pride.

  Her husband’s non-appearance had been a real slap in the face. He was going to Larry Wright’s retirement dinner and it was her problem that the two events were on the same night, he’d said tetchily when she’d shown her disappointment. He was sorry for double booking, but there was nothing he could do. By his subsequent hurtful jeers, her husband had yet again put her down and exposed his disrespect for her.