City Lives Page 12

  ‘Don’t you know? And you’re a gardener. Pink is the colour of love. The love of my life always gives me pink roses.’

  Matthew looked frankly astonished at this piece of information. ‘Is that so. Well, I suppose that goes some way towards explaining your propensity for pink. I always thought red roses did the trick in that department.’

  ‘Oh no, I wouldn’t thank you for a red rose. Maybe in romantic terms red is considered the colour but a friend of mine who knows all about these things says that, spiritually, pink is the colour of love and my centre here is going to be serene and spiritual and a place of cherishing. And besides, pink is much more subtle and pleasing to the eye,’ Devlin explained.

  Matthew Moran stared at her for a long moment. ‘I see,’ he said quietly after a while. ‘In that case as well as making the most of the panorama, perhaps you’d like me to develop some secluded little nooks and crannies where clients can go and sit and be alone to read or just to sit and think?’

  Devlin’s eyes lit up. ‘Oh Matthew that’s a lovely idea! I love it,’ she said warmly.

  ‘Do you?’ He smiled then, pleased at her reaction, and she was struck by the kindness in his eyes when they weren’t guarded and remote. ‘Well then, we’d better see what we can do. I’ll get the plans from Brendan Quinn and then I’ll be in touch. Good day to you, and to you, Miss Hanlon.’ He nodded courteously in Ciara’s direction. Then he strode out the door and the office felt strangely empty when he was gone.

  ‘Were you winding him up, Devlin?’ Ciara giggled.

  ‘Well, I was in the beginning,’ Devlin admitted.

  ‘All that stuff about pink being the colour of love. That was a put-on, wasn’t it? Did you see his face? I think he thinks you’re for the birds. You know these culchies . . . haven’t a clue.’ Ciara prattled on.

  ‘Actually, pink is the colour of love, Ciara, and in the end I think he understood where I was coming from,’ Devlin said coolly. ‘And he might be a culchie, but he was a sexy culchie in a very masculine sort of way, don’t you think?’

  ‘God no, you’re joking! I like suave men in suits.’ Ciara made a face at the notion that she could be attracted to a countryman who wore jeans and a jumper and spoke with an accent.

  ‘You would,’ Devlin thought.

  ‘You know a lot about flowers,’ Ciara remarked. ‘I’d just about know a daisy from a dandelion.’

  ‘I don’t really. My parents are keen gardeners, I spent a lot of time in the garden with them when I was a child. Matthew is right though, some of my suggestions aren’t practical for the site and climate here. Not that I’d admit it, yet,’ Devlin explained as she gathered her papers together. ‘Right, Ciara. I’m off to catch my flight. A great day’s work all round. We’ll be in touch. Thanks for everything.’ She held out her hand and gave Ciara a firm handshake.

  The younger woman returned it limply. It was a real wet-fish handshake. So at odds with Ciara’s forceful personality, Devlin always felt.

  Her car was waiting in the drive and she sank back into the leather seat with relief, as a sudden unexpected weariness enveloped her. She had a desperate urge to lie down and fall fast asleep. Had she had this tiredness when she’d been pregnant with Lynn? It was such a long time ago she couldn’t really remember.

  It was a real effort to make conversation with the driver, who was full of chat. She’d be glad when she was home. The thoughts of the return flight and the drive home from the airport made her heart sink. Devlin longed for bed.

  Later, as she sat waiting to board, relieved beyond measure that there was no sign of the Obnoxious One, she took her mobile phone out of her bag and dialled Luke’s private line. Her number would come up, he’d know it was her.

  ‘Hi Devlin. How did it go?’ His voice had a smile in it and she smiled back.

  ‘I miss you, Luke,’ she said longingly, suddenly desperately lonely for him, as she walked over to a window out of earshot of the other passengers.

  ‘I miss you too, but it won’t be long until I’m with you,’ he said comfortingly.

  ‘Oh Luke, I don’t know if it’s my hormones, I’m blaming everything on them, but I’m as horny as hell and I wish I was in bed with you right now doing wild erotic things.’

  ‘Don’t say things like that,’ he groaned. ‘Now you’re making me horny. I might go out and jump on Dianne.’

  Devlin giggled. Dianne Westwood was Luke’s highly efficient, glamorous PA. Unmarried, in her late thirties, she’d always had a major crush on him, despite his efforts to let her know in a kind way that she was barking completely up the wrong tree. Dianne thought that she concealed her feelings extremely well but her crush was very obvious. She detested Devlin and was always businesslike but exceedingly cool towards her.

  ‘Well if you go out and jump on Dianne, I’m going to go back into Galway to jump on the landscape gardener I met today. He was really sexy,’ Devlin teased.

  ‘Who’s he?’ Luke asked.

  ‘His name is Matthew Moran. He was a bit of all right.’

  ‘You hussy. And a pregnant hussy at that. But a very sexy pregnant hussy,’ he added huskily. ‘I wish you were here. Let’s stop talking about sex or I’ll get nothing done for the rest of the evening and I’ve a meeting in ten minutes. I want to be able to concentrate. Tell me about what happened today instead.’

  ‘OK, just this once I’ll take pity on you but I’m going to talk dirty to you on the phone tonight—’

  ‘Devlin stop it!’ Luke laughed. ‘Tell me about today.’

  ‘I had a great day. I met Brendan Quinn and John Joe Connolly. Brendan had some excellent ideas. He’s really in tune with the whole thing, which makes it so much easier. And you know John Joe. As quiet as ever. But he’s sound.’

  ‘He’s a great bloke. I worked with him on the building sites here, he’d never let you down. I’m glad he’s doing the job.’

  ‘Me too,’ Devlin agreed just as her flight was called over the Tannoy. ‘Luke, I have to go, my flight’s been called. Ring me tonight.’

  ‘OK. Take care of yourself.’

  ‘You too. I love you.’

  ‘I love you too. Bye.’

  She was so lucky, she thought, as she walked towards the queue at the boarding gate. She had everything. Luke was her soul mate as well as her lover and when they were apart she missed him like hell, she thought as she handed her boarding card to the air stewardess.

  The flight home was smoother than the previous day’s flight and the seat beside her was empty, which made it more relaxing. The tiredness swamped her again and she fell asleep soon after take-off in spite of her best efforts.

  She woke to hear the captain announce that they were making their descent into Dublin airport and blinked rapidly, trying to focus. She hoped she hadn’t been snoring.

  The drive home was horrendous. The rush-hour gridlock was well under way. She got stuck in a traffic jam on the airport dual carriageway, and as the bumper-to-bumper traffic crawled along at a snail’s pace she had to struggle to keep her wits about her, she felt so lethargic. She cursed herself for not leaving the car at home and taking a taxi. But then the queues at the taxi rank at the airport had been huge too, so it was six of one half a dozen of the other, she reckoned, as she inched past Whitehall church.

  Peckish, but too tired to cook for herself, she stopped at the chippers and got a snack box.

  ‘If Dianne could see me now,’ she thought in amusement ten minutes later as she ate from the box with her fingers, not even bothering to put the chicken and chips on a plate. She dumped the empty box in the bin, had a quick shower, and was in bed by seven thirty.

  Still, it had been a most productive day. One of the best she had ever put in, she thought with satisfaction. City Girl phase two was ready to roll.

  Devlin picked up the phone and dialled Luke’s number.

  ‘Hello, love, I know it’s early, but I just can’t keep my eyes open. So do you mind if I don’t talk dirty tonight, I just have to
go asleep.’

  ‘Spoilsport! What happened, horny?’ he laughed.

  ‘Pregnancy,’ she murmured. ‘It’s amazing, Luke. One minute you’re flying around the place. The next you’re so zonked you’d sleep at the drop of a hat. I can’t remember being like this when I was pregnant before.’

  ‘Maybe you’re doing too much,’ he said, concerned.

  ‘No, no,’ she hastened to reassure him. ‘I’m fine, honestly. This happens in the first months. It passes, so I’m told. I’ll call you the minute I wake up in the morning and tell you exactly what I’d like you to do to me and exactly what I’d like to do to you. How about that?’

  ‘Sounds good to me, Devlin.’ Luke was smiling, she could tell.

  ‘I love you, good night.’

  ‘Good night, I love you too,’ Luke echoed tenderly down the line.

  Devlin fell asleep smiling, but it wasn’t Luke she dreamed of, it was Matthew Moran who was looking into her eyes and telling her that he loved her.

  Sixteen

  Maggie applied her make-up carefully for her meeting with Marcy Elliot. She had taken great care when dressing and looked very chic in a slate-grey tailored trouser suit worn with a pale pink silk camisole. Her editor was a stylish, elegant woman. Maggie always made an extra effort when she was going to see her. She gelled her fringe and fingered her hair, trying to achieve a feathery effect. It had grown too long. It was practically a bird’s nest. Time to get it cut. She noted with dismay the smattering of grey hairs among the rich gold and chestnut curls that tumbled to her shoulders. The time was coming when she’d have to consider her hairdresser’s suggestion about tinting.

  Maggie grinned. Her hairdresser, Nikki, was such a bossy-boots but she was the best in the world. Maybe it was time for a change of image, as Nikki was constantly suggesting. It might make her feel better psychologically. There was nothing like a new hairstyle to pick you up when you felt sludgy and unattractive and down in the dumps. Nikki wanted to cut her hair shorter but Maggie, for some strange reason, always felt naked if the back of her neck was bare. She’d get it cut before she went to Powerscourt Springs, she decided. And, of course, she wanted to look her best when Alma arrived. Alma went to the hairdresser and beauty salon at least three times a week. She always looked terrific.

  When Maggie had lived in Saudi, she’d done the same. It was a way of life. Now she was so busy she hardly had time to go to City Girl for a workout.

  The phone rang. Maggie hurried to answer it, glancing at her watch as she did so. It was early, nine fifteen. She was meeting Marcy at ten thirty in the Shelbourne. She needed to get her skates on. If it was Nelsie on the phone ready for one of her long chats, Maggie would just have to cut her short and her mother wouldn’t like that.

  ‘Please don’t let it be Ma,’ she murmured as she picked up the receiver. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Maggie, I know this is bad form and short notice but could you possibly meet me for lunch rather than at ten thirty as arranged? Something’s come up that I need to attend to,’ Marcy said briskly.

  ‘I’ll have to be back here for twenty to three, Marcy. I have to pick Shona up from school.’ Maggie tried to keep the irritation out of her voice. Did Marcy think that she was the only one with a hectic schedule?

  ‘Don’t worry, we’ll have a quick bite to eat and I’ll fill you in on developments.’ Marcy was as businesslike as ever. ‘How about if I meet you at one in the Shelbourne? We can eat there. I’ll book a table.’

  ‘OK, Marcy. See you then.’ Maggie sighed.

  ‘Fine so. Bye.’ Marcy was gone, leaving Maggie staring at the phone in exasperation. How typical of Marcy. She had a knack of making Maggie feel completely and utterly insignificant and inconsequential. It wasn’t at all deliberate. It was simply that her editor had such a sense of herself and her own importance, it was inconceivable that someone else’s time was just as important as Marcy’s. It would never dawn on the other woman that Maggie might be insulted or inconvenienced by her ‘something that had come up’. It would certainly never occur to Marcy that Maggie had to work around her children’s school hours, and that her time was as worthy of consideration as Marcy’s. But then Marcy didn’t have children. She had no conception of what it was like to rear children and run a household. Marcy lived in a posh apartment in Sutton with her barrister husband. They had a part-time housekeeper who cleaned, shopped, and ironed, leaving both of them plenty of time to aggressively pursue their career ambitions.

  What she should have done, Maggie thought glumly, was be assertive and say that the new arrangement didn’t suit. But knowing Marcy she’d probably have said ‘fine’ and suggested a meeting later in the week. Maggie was so on edge about what was going on at Enterprise Publishing she couldn’t wait that long.

  ‘I bet Josephine Langley won’t be palmed off with “a quick bite to eat,”’ Maggie growled as she tidied away her make-up. Josephine Langley was Enterprise’s most successful best-selling author. She’d made a fortune for the company and was the envy of every other author in the Enterprise stable. All of them, including Maggie, aspired to equalling her sales figures.

  ‘Oh stop talking to yourself!’ She glowered at her reflection in the mirror. She had a couple of hours to fill. There was no point in sitting down to write, she was too tense. She could change the sheets on the children’s beds and put in a wash or she could make a big pot roast and freeze a couple of dinners or she could mend the rip in Michael’s school pullover or . . . there were a dozen chores that needed her attention. None of them the slightest bit enticing. Besides, she didn’t feel like taking off her grey trouser suit to do housework.

  Impulsively she picked up her bag and car keys and hurried downstairs. Ten minutes later she was on the M50 heading for Glasnevin. If Nikki couldn’t fit her in for a cut and blow-dry she’d drive into City Girl and see if Devlin could arrange a hair appointment for her. The bird’s nest was getting to her.

  Fifteen minutes later she parked down the small side road adjacent to the Botanic Garden Nurseries. She’d seen a warden give a ticket to a woman parked on the double yellows outside her hairdressers and she wasn’t going to take the risk. She crossed the road and walked briskly past the off-licence and chemist. She needed Vick and junior aspirin, she remembered, she’d get them on the way back. She’d asked Terry three times to get them on his way home from work but he’d forgotten each time.

  The salon was busy and her heart sank. It was a bit much to come without an appointment.

  ‘Hi Maggie, you look the biz, are you off on a publicity thing?’ Nikki greeted her.

  ‘Well, I’m meeting my editor for lunch in the Shelbourne and the hair’s gone bird’s-nesty.’

  ‘You can say that again,’ the petite brunette said dryly. ‘Take a seat, I can fit you in, but you’re getting a radical change of image and you can start getting used to the idea right now.’

  ‘Not short,’ protested Maggie.

  ‘Short! Sit!’ Nikki ordered.

  ‘Yes, Nikki,’ Maggie said meekly. Despite her dread of short hair, the idea of a radical change of image was very seductive.

  Two hours later she was staring shell-shocked at her reflection in the big gleaming mirror in front of her. The curls were gone and the grey hairs too, replaced by a sleek sophisticated cut, styled back behind the ears, to draw attention to her eyes and cheekbones. A feathery fringe softened the image but she was shaken none the less.

  ‘It’s so short,’ she wailed.

  ‘It’s gorgeous. Very sexy.’

  ‘Takes years off you.’

  ‘It will be so easy to manage.’

  ‘It’s cool.’

  Jean, Pauline, Louise and Laura, the other stylists, crowded around to have a look as Nikki stood, arms folded, smiling smugly, having got her own way at long last.

  ‘It’s you, Maggie. It’s youthful and fresh and the next time you’re in I might cut it even shorter.’

  ‘In your dreams, Nikki.’ Maggie grinned as she pa
id her bill.

  ‘We’ll see!’ Nikki said coolly but she gave Maggie a warm hug before she left.

  Maggie hurried back to the car. Her neck felt cold. She’d buy a scarf in town. Her head felt so light and shorn. It would take a while to get used to. It was so nice to have stylists that cared about their customers. Maggie always left Nikki’s feeling like a new woman. Today she looked like one, she reflected, as she stared at her reflection in the rear-view mirror. The tint was nice though, rich but very natural-looking. Her first tint, that was a sure sign of middle-age and she wasn’t even forty, she thought mournfully as she slid into the traffic and headed for the city.

  It was just midday. She’d park in the City Girl car park, pop up and see Devlin and then walk across Stephen’s Green to the Shelbourne.

  ‘It’s fabulous, Maggie!’ Devlin exclaimed as Maggie walked into her office half an hour later. ‘Turn around. Let me see.’ Maggie laughed and put her hand to the back of her neck.

  ‘It’s too short.’

  ‘No it’s not. It’s so sophisticated,’ Devlin raved. ‘It’s so with it. It’s perfect for you.’

  ‘I got a tint,’ Maggie confessed. ‘I’m on the slippery slope.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ Devlin murmured. ‘It’s a beautiful shade. It’s very natural.’

  ‘I know, but still now that I’ve started I’ll have to keep doing it. I don’t believe in growing old gracefully. I’ll fight it tooth and nail.’

  ‘Me too,’ Devlin said firmly. ‘I don’t care what the feminists say. The first sign of wrinkles and grey hair and I’m nipping it in the bud for my own sake. Are we very vain and shallow?’ she asked, laughing.

  ‘No. We’re normal. We’re human,’ Maggie declared as she viewed herself in the mirror on Devlin’s wall. ‘Are you sure it’s not too short?’

  ‘No it’s perfect. Now how did you get on with Marcy Elliot? What’s happening at your publishers?’ Devlin sat on the edge of her desk, bright-eyed and full of vitality, oozing chic in a taupe tailored suit. Maggie reflected that her marriage to Luke had been the best thing that had ever happened to her. No longer restless and unhappy, Devlin had it all.