City Girl Page 11

  Caroline drained her glass and placed it on a convenient table. Every hunger pang she had suffered during her diet had been worth it for this glorious moment of pleasure. She could now leave her class reunion with her head held high.

  ‘I really must be off, I’m meeting someone later, it was nice renewing old acquaintances.’ Giving a casual wave she sauntered through the crowd, aware that the noise level had dropped as the others had eavesdropped avidly on their conversation. She would be the topic of conversation when she left but she didn’t care. Let them talk! She felt compensated for all her years of fat misery. Ruth had envied her . . . it was there in her eyes and that had been the sweetest thing of all.

  With her head held high she walked through the door of the function room, across the foyer and out on to O’Connell Street and the blessedly cool night air.

  There was always an air of electricity about Dublin’s main street at night. Couples, happy in each other’s company, strolled hand in hand or gazed through jewellers’ windows at sparkling engagement rings. Caroline passed under Clery’s clock, a traditional meeting place for lovers, and observed several people waiting for their dates. Some were discreetly looking at their watches, little anxious frowns beginning to mar their made-up features. Others stared fixedly ahead at the GPO as if it were the most fascinating piece of architecture they had ever set eyes on. Two young itinerants taunted a girl who had obviously been waiting a while. ‘Hey Missus, has yer fella stood ya up? Hard cheese!’ The girl blushed bright pink and Caroline felt for her. She knew only too well the pain of being stood up. One young man tried vainly to conceal the large bunch of flowers he carried. He looked utterly uncomfortable. Typical Irishman, thought Caroline glumly, never having been the recipient of a bunch of flowers from a man, typically Irish or not. Her high had begun to dissipate as she was once again confronted by her manless state.

  What was this mysterious quality other girls had that could attract men? Even piggy-eyed sharp-tongued Ruth had secured one of these illustrious creatures and flaunted a wide gold wedding band on her left hand. Caroline’s thumb rubbed the soft skin of her naked ringless finger. Sometimes she wore her mother’s wedding ring for a while to pretend she was a married woman, holding her fingers up to the light to watch the band of glittering gold. To be left on the shelf was the biggest dread of her life. There was still such a stigma attached to being unmarried. And what horrible terms people used. ‘Old maid’ and ‘spinster’ sounded so barren and shameful. Her aunt and Mrs Canning, her next door neighbour, were always on at her. ‘And when are you going to give us a day out?’ Or worse: ‘Are you courtin yet?’ She was seriously contemplating going to a fortune teller. Devlin had been to one and had been informed that she would marry a wealthy man and bear him three children. Only the fear of being told she might never marry kept Caroline from going. Imagine! To be told you would never marry. She’d drown herself.

  She shivered as she left the shelter of O’Connell Street to catch her bus on the quays and a breeze as sharp as Ruth’s tongue blew around her ankles. Sighing, she paused for a moment to look down the winding moonlit river. Across Butt Bridge a Dart train was snaking lazily towards Amiens Street, its illuminated carriages glittering in the distance. Down the river a ship’s horn moaned a long low wailing sound and it brought a stab of loneliness to Caroline’s heart. There was something so melancholy about that sound. Starting to walk on, she passed several young itinerants listless and glassy-eyed from glue sniffing.

  ‘Got any coppers Missus?’ A child who couldn’t have been more than nine or ten stretched out a beseeching hand. She was thin, ragged and obviously malnourished. Her eyes had a defeated acceptance of her plight that shamed Caroline out of her self-indulgent despondency. At least she had a decent home to go to, which was more than many unfortunate people had. Giving the child fifty pence which she knew would probably be taken by her parents for drink, she carried on walking towards her bus stop. Just ahead of her an old wino lay curled up in a doorway, his weatherbeaten crumpled old face set in lines of desolate despair. Their eyes met and each recognized the loneliness of the other.

  Swiftly she passed him but had only taken a few steps when her fingers curled around the fiver in her jacket pocket. Not stopping to think she turned back, walked the few paces to where he was sitting, bent down and pressed the money into his filthy hand.

  ‘It’s all I have, but it will buy you a meal,’ she whispered half afraid that he was really scuttered. Caroline had never in her life spoken to someone like him before. Tired old eyes that had their own dignity looked at her and the old man said, slurring his words only slightly, ‘You’re a good lassie and thank ye kindly. May ye always have a roof over yer head and someone to keep ye warm.’

  ‘Thank you. Goodbye,’ Caroline murmured inadequately as she straightened up and moved away.

  ‘A kind hearted lassie,’ she heard him mutter as he stood up and staggered off in the direction she had come from. Maybe he would buy more drink, she thought, sadly watching the sad pathetic figure, his old coat flapping around his ankles as he disappeared off into O’Connell Street. It must be awful to be homeless, she reflected, trying to imagine what circumstances had forced the wheezing elderly man on to the streets. Well she had given him and the begging child her last penny and now she had to walk home. As she walked along the shadowed streets, keeping a wary eye open for drunks and potential muggers, she decided unhappily that Dublin, despite its charm, could be a mean and savage city. A decade ago a murder or rape could be talked about for days. Now such events were commonplace, rating only a column or two in the papers, and muggings and handbag snatches were two a penny. It was with a sigh of great relief that she reached the familiar security of her own front door in Marino an hour later.

  Caroline often wondered what had happened to the old wino as she walked to her bus stop every day after work. While waiting for answers to all her applications she had secured a temporary job in one of the big burger restaurants on O’Connell Street. Each day, dressed in her brown striped uniform and peaked hat, she dispensed tons of fast food to the rushed and hungry citizenry of the Capital. At first she had been utterly self-conscious in her striped uniform and cap but it gradually dawned on her that people didn’t even see her as they waited for their burgers and chips, being absorbed in their own thoughts and worries. Often she wondered why she had spent three years killing herself studying but any job was better than no job and at least she wasn’t one of thousands on the dole. She was going to apply for some Fás training courses if she didn’t get a job soon, she decided. She had her name on file in all the employment agencies; somebody somewhere must have a job for an honours student who could speak two continental languages.

  Her graduation day had been a day of pride for Caroline. For once in her life she felt she had achieved something and as she stood in her cap and gown to receive her parchment she caught sight of her father and Devlin smiling broadly at her. She had even gone to the booze-up after with Devlin in tow and had enjoyed it until one of her class mates had made a drunken pass at her. When she recoiled in disgust he had announced loudly that she was a real ‘frigid Bridget.’

  ‘Take no notice of that pissed bastard,’ Devlin had instructed firmly. ‘If he was sober you wouldn’t hear a squeak from him, the creepy little weed.’ Nevertheless it made her even more wary of men.

  Seven

  Caroline first encountered Richard Yates through a complete twist of fate – or so she thought afterwards. She had managed to secure a temporary position in a large firm of auctioneers to replace a girl on maternity leave. She worked in a section that dealt almost exclusively with apartment sales but because she was the most junior person in the office she was never actively involved in the selling of them. One weekend she got a call from her supervisor to say that Linda, one of the reps, was out sick and there was no-one around to replace her. Caroline would have to take over for the day. They were selling an exclusive complex of apartments on the north side of
the city and she would have to give details to prospective buyers. She would earn commission on any apartments she sold.

  Caroline was excited and a little daunted by the prospect. Linda was much more self-confident and sophisticated than she was but she didn’t want to be stuck in the office for ever and this might be her chance to be taken on permanently. If she was lucky she might become part of the team that sold apartments in Spain and the Canaries who often had to fly out with clients. This was her chance.

  She dressed carefully in a smart pinstriped navy suit with a crisp white high-necked blouse, informed her father and brothers that they would have to cook their own dinners and set out jauntily. Twenty minutes later, irritated beyond belief by the nonappearance of two scheduled buses, she retraced her steps home and asked her brother for a lift to the office. Caroline had often asked him to teach her to drive but he wouldn’t hear of it. Some day, she told herself, she was going to get private lessons and just drive up to the front door and savour the expression of amazement on their faces.

  Fortunately Declan was in a good humour so she didn’t have too much of a job persuading him to give her a lift. When she finally got to the show flat, having collected all the necessary literature from the office, there were several people waiting and she didn’t have time to be nervous. Some of them were young married couples, others elderly people contemplating their retirement and some young professional singles investing in their first home. To all she gave the information required and found herself enjoying the afternoon.

  ‘You’re the only one so far, dear, who didn’t try to avoid the negative side of apartment living,’ one elderly but obviously well off couple told her.

  ‘If there’s one thing that puts me right off, it’s people who ram the idea of buying down your neck,’ the wife confided as her husband did some mental arithmetic. ‘I think we’ll be buying. Aren’t they gorgeous?’

  Caroline was delighted with herself. There was no way she could compete with her colleague Linda for drive and sophistication but so far she had seen twenty people and five were seriously interested. By four thirty she was exhausted but happy. Everyone was gone and she didn’t expect anyone else to call but the show apartment was open until five so she decided to make herself a cup of tea.

  Caroline had just sat down when a tall tawny-haired man in his early thirties walked in. Dressed in a well-cut grey business suit, he looked rather suave and Caroline decided he was a doctor or accountant. He smiled pleasantly, showing even white teeth and said in a deep cultured voice, ‘I’d like to look around if I may?’

  ‘Of course,’ Caroline replied politely, beginning to clear away her tea things.

  He noticed and said easily, ‘Please finish your tea. I’m sure you’ve had a busy afternoon. Have you sold many?’

  Caroline smiled, a glow of triumph lightening up her brown eyes. ‘Well I’ve three definites and two mights.’

  The man nodded agreeably. ‘I think apartment living is here to stay. In Europe and the States they are the predominant means of housing.’ He smiled again and said crisply, ‘Apart from that it never hurts to have a prestigious address. Don’t you think?’

  ‘Oh never,’ she agreed, thinking he was a real dish as she watched him inspecting the apartment and as he did so, throwing questions at her. He must be pretty loaded if he’s thinking of buying one of these. Even the one-bedroomed ones were pricy enough, she mused, as she observed him discreetly.

  ‘So there’s a jacuzzi, swimming pool and floodlit tennis courts as well as a launderette and lifts to all floors,’ he read from the brochure. ‘It sounds very promising. Ideal for entertaining business clients, wouldn’t you think?’

  ‘Oh indeed,’ Caroline agreed enthusiastically, wishing she could afford the luxury of buying one. She had been thinking of moving out from home but could never quite bring herself to make the break.

  The man moved out to the flower-bedecked balcony to survey the view of Dublin Bay. Turning to Caroline he said reflectively, ‘I can’t pretend I wouldn’t prefer if these were on the southside,’ he said. A flash of irritation ignited in Caroline. Honestly the ridiculous snobbery some people had about preferring to live south of the Liffey galled her, it was so silly.

  ‘You’d pay a lot more if they were,’ she responded a little tartly and added, ‘On the northside you have the advantage of being nearer the airport and the car ferry terminals and just up the road you have direct access to the East Link Toll Bridge which will link you with the city centre and the southside within minutes. Or alternatively you could take the Dart.’ Thank God for the new rapid rail transit system. She was sure it had swayed some of her buyers to buy in the suburbs.

  ‘Mmmm, I hadn’t thought of that at all.’ He smiled a charming smile. ‘May I have your name; you’ve been most helpful. I must say I’ve seen other properties but this one does suit my needs.’

  Caroline smiled back shyly. ‘I’m Caroline Stacey and of course I do hope you end up buying here. They are beautiful apartments but they’re being snapped up like hot cakes so you wouldn’t want to leave it too long to make your decision.’

  ‘Of course,’ he agreed suavely. ‘I’ll make a provisional booking if I may. I particularly like the penthouse in the middle block.’

  Wow! The penthouse! Caroline thought in surprise as she pencilled in his name on the master plan and stuck a red strip across it. Richard Yates. That sounds nice, I wonder what he does? As if reading her thoughts, the man handed her a business card: ‘In case you need to get in touch,’ he said casually.

  Richard B. Yates & Co. Solicitors, it read, with a business address in Leeson Street. So her guess had been wrong. No wonder he knew all about first time grants and tax relief on mortgages. She had read somewhere in a newspaper report on the highest earners in the country that many solicitors earned more than surgeons, accountants or government ministers and obviously here was the proof. For someone so young – she judged him to be in his early thirties – he must have a very successful practice. Everything about him pointed to success and wealth: his superbly cut suit, expensive leather shoes, gold watch and tie pin. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring but then lots of men didn’t. Though surely if he was married his wife would have come along with him. No doubt he had a glamorous girlfriend on the scene. He stood back to allow her into the foyer before him and his manners impressed her. Thanking her once more, he strode to the lift and she was alone. Caroline did not expect to see him again but she knew it would be a great feather in her cap if she sold one of the penthouses.

  He did in fact buy the penthouse and her three ‘committeds’ and one of her ‘mights’ also purchased, a fact that did not go unnoticed by her superiors. From then on she frequently had to act as a rep and her confidence and self-esteem increased with every sale she made, especially as she became permanent on the staff after three months.

  Devlin was now also working and had decided to move into a flat. She urged Caroline to come with her, telling her it was about time she started to stand on her own two feet. Devlin always made it sound so easy. But Caroline’s heart would flutter in panic at the thoughts of leaving home. Not that she was particularly happy there. Her father and brothers, all with their own lives, were content to leave her to cook and clean even though she too was working. Yet there was security of a sort and any change in her lifestyle always seemed vaguely threatening to her, not like the big adventure it was to Devlin.

  ‘Come on Caro, it will be great fun,’ her friend enthused and so she had been persuaded. Their first flat had been an out-and-out disaster and they had only stayed in it a month but the flat in Sandymount suited them perfectly and life with Devlin was fun. She was such a free spirit, doing things on the spur of the moment, like hopping on the Dart and going out to the fun fair at Bray just because she felt like having some candy-floss. Caroline went to discos and night-clubs with her, although on the night she found herself dancing with a guy who insisted on holding on to his pint throughout the dance and who t
old her he was ‘on his second time round,’ Caroline wondered why she bothered. She went on several dates but because of her shyness found it somewhat of a strain to keep the conversation going and then at the end of the evening, an even bigger strain to avoid the roving hand syndrome. Was it just her, she wondered, or did other girls ever feel as she did? Still she was able to say with some pride to her aunt and neighbour and to the girls in the office that she was dating. It made her feel one of them.

  At first the girls in the office had taken her reserved shyness for aloofness and when she began to do well in sales there had been some jealousy, but gradually she settled down in her job and they got used to her. Most of them were married and their talk centred around their homes, their husbands and in some cases their pregnancies. Caroline envied them enormously as she heard how ‘Hugh always brings me a cup of tea in the morning’ or that ‘Donald was so supportive during the birth’ or that ‘Paul and Dermot booked a surprise dinner for us at the Shelbourne. Aren’t they pets?’ Why couldn’t she meet a Donald or Hugh or Paul or Dermot? She would observe these loving husbands and boyfriends collecting her self-assured colleagues after work and feel like an outsider on the edge of a privileged circle. More and more she longed for someone to fall in love and marry her, to remove from her for ever the stigma of spinsterhood. Seeing Devlin with men lining up to ask her out Caroline could not understand how her friend had not the slightest interest in marriage, while she, who was quite manless, longed with all her heart for the day when she would walk up the aisle and say to the world: ‘I am loved . . . I am no longer alone!’ It seemed to Caroline that people expected her to marry. Her father and brothers constantly dropped hints about her ‘getting over the hill’ and her aunt was in an agony of dismay over the fact that she was not yet sporting a diamond. Years later she would look back at her own insecurity and realize that she had been her own worst enemy.