Happy Ever After Page 20

  ‘I’m going to leg it, see you down there. Don’t forget, mine’s got a red ribbon on it,’ Karen declared, taking off at speed along the crowded concourse.

  ‘It’s almost impossible to see,’ Juliet complained, trying to edge in between two six-foot golfers who wouldn’t budge. ‘Bloody men,’ she muttered to Connie. ‘They’re all the same. Thank God I came by myself.’

  Connie laughed. She’d met Ken Davenport, and not been impressed with his loud, overbearing manner. ‘Sometimes it is nice to get away on your own, but I love going on holidays with Karen because I live on my own.’

  ‘Of course. Company is lovely, but living on your own . . . how peaceful that must be sometimes,’ Juliet remarked. ‘Do you know what I did, Connie?’ she confided impulsively. ‘I came away and never told Ken I was going, because we had a row. I didn’t fill the freezer, I didn’t do any shopping, I didn’t even do his laundry.’

  ‘Ummm . . . I’d say there’s a fairly disgruntled husband at home then.’ Connie elbowed her way between the golfers, to the edge of the carousel.

  ‘Yes, well, I was a fairly disgruntled wife coming to Spain. What’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander. It might teach him not to take me for granted,’ Juliet declared. ‘I’ve been too accommodating all along, but he pushed his luck once too often. And there comes a time when you just aren’t willing to put up with bad behaviour any more. Better late than never,’ she said dryly, having edged in beside Connie, as luggage careered along past them on the belt.

  ‘Oh! Well, you certainly made your point in no uncertain terms, I’d say. Good for you.’

  ‘I did, didn’t I?’ Juliet grinned. ‘As I say, it’s never too late, Connie. And if my husband doesn’t like it, he can lump it.’

  ‘Get me Derek O’Mahony’s file, not Dermot O’Mahony’s,’ Ken barked into the phone at his secretary before slamming down the receiver. He was in a foul humour. He had three patients in his waiting room. He was running late, and he had to make two important phone calls before he started seeing the people outside, and that stupid woman had brought him in the wrong file. Incompetent carelessness was not what she was paid a very good salary for.

  He picked up his mobile phone again and scrolled through his messages. No report to indicate that Juliet had received his text message. The damn woman hadn’t even turned on her phone.

  He played back her message to him. ‘Ken, I’m sitting on the plane for Malaga. We’re taking off in a few minutes. I’ve booked myself an open ticket. I don’t know when I’m coming back. I’ve had enough. I need a break to decide my future. Bye.’

  What the hell did she mean by that? I need a break to decide my future. Juliet looked at far too many rubbishy soap operas, that was her problem. Ungrateful woman. He was surrounded by them. Aimee had been most unhelpful this morning. She was his daughter; the least he could expect from her was some sympathy for his predicament and a cooked dinner or two. Not too much of a requirement, considering the business she was in, he thought sourly. Hadn’t he paid for her to go to catering college, for heaven’s sake, seeing as she hadn’t the brains to do medicine? If it wasn’t for him paying for her college course, she’d never have got a job in the first place. But, of course, did she ever stop to think of that? Did any of them ever stop to think of how hard he had worked to give them life’s luxuries? It clearly meant nothing to his wife. He sat, shrouded in self-pity.

  His secretary sidled in with the correct file, and he snatched it rudely from her. ‘File that other one properly and see that I have no interruptions until I’ve made my phone calls,’ he decreed imperiously.

  ‘Yes, Professor Davenport,’ she murmured respectfully, and scuttled out of the office with the offending file.

  He picked up his mobile and rang Juliet’s number. Infuriatingly, it went straight to her mailbox. The daft woman hadn’t even turned her mobile phone back on; she was surely well ensconced in the villa by now. He didn’t have the landline number handy. He knew he had to put in a 34 code, but that was all he remembered.

  ‘Would you kindly ring me,’ he clipped, leaving his second voice message in her mailbox. It was most disconcerting not knowing how long she was staying. They usually went to the villa six times a year, and sometimes she would go with some of her friends for a week or two, but to have bought an open ticket was completely out of character for Juliet, and he was beginning to wonder was she psychologically unbalanced. Could there be some physical cause for this uncharacteristic behaviour? He began to think of probable causes and stopped himself when he got to a possible brain tumour. This was not helpful. He needed to speak to his wife to try and evaluate for himself what her state of mind was. But she was uncontactable, and he was beginning to get worried.

  ‘Ring my villa and put me through,’ he ordered his secretary, and he beat a tattoo on his desk until she said down the line, ‘Ringing for you,’ and he heard the unmistakable long dial tone that signified a foreign number was being called.

  ‘Hola.’ At last, Ken thought with relief, as he recognized the voice at the other end of the phone. It was their Spanish maid.

  ‘Incarna, is my wife there please? I wish to speak to her.’

  ‘No, Señor, she not here. Ze señora she has gone out to ze lunch, and I will be gone when she come back. I leave ze message and get her to ring you, si?’

  ‘Si, thank you, Incarna,’ Ken sighed, defeated, and hung up.

  Gone out to lunch, had she? And not a thought for him. What had got into her at all? Inconsiderate and unacceptable, that’s what her behaviour was, and he’d be letting her know what he thought of it in no uncertain terms, as soon as an opportunity presented itself.

  ‘Bottoms up, girls. This was completely unexpected.’ Juliet giggled, a little tipsy, as she drank her second glass of chilled Chablis. They’d already had a G&T as they perused their menus.

  ‘To the perfect holiday,’ grinned Connie, clinking her glass with Juliet’s.

  ‘To no cooking, for ten days.’ Karen patted her stomach, replete after a meal of tapas starters and a pepper steak with roasted vegetables.

  They were sitting under an awning at a beachside restaurant listening to the swish of the sea as it lapped the golden curve of beach in front of them. It was one of those exquisitely clear, bright days which allowed you to see right across the glistening waters of the Mediterranean to the peaks of the High Atlas mountains in Africa. A massive white cruise liner glided serenely along the horizon towards the Straits of Gibraltar, and a sleek motor yacht sailed closer to shore on its way to Puerto Banus. A cooling breeze took the intense heat out of the day, ruffling the red-paper tablecloths, and a buzz of chat and laughter added to the holiday atmosphere as diners, in various stages of undress, enjoyed their meals.

  The ladies were totally relaxed, the hassle of airports and queues at car rentals already a dim and distant memory. Juliet was surprisingly witty and entertaining out of her husband’s shadow, and Connie found herself thoroughly warming to the older woman. She had invited Karen and Connie to lunch at the beach restaurant close to her villa and insisted that they all take a taxi from Karen’s apartment so that they could enjoy a few drinks with their meal. It was a most enjoyable start to their holiday.

  Connie’s phone tinkled, and she opened a text from Debbie reminding her not to forget to buy a couple of sarongs at the market. ‘I’ve to buy sarongs in the market in La Cala,’ she informed her companions. ‘Don’t let me forget them, Karen, my mind’s like a sieve these days.’

  ‘Do you think Ken would look good in a sarong à la Beckham?’ tittered Juliet, and Karen choked on her wine at the image that presented itself.

  ‘I bet he’s sizzling at this stage, turning a nice shade of purple.’ She’d given her two companions the gory details of events that had led to her early morning flit to Spain. ‘The flight into Egypt had nothing on me,’ she’d chortled as she’d sipped her G&T. She fished her phone out of her bag and turned it on. A half-dozen messages flashed up on the
screen. ‘See’ – she waved it around – ‘he’s as mad as hell.’ She dialled 171 and put the phone on loudspeaker.

  ‘What do you mean you’ve booked an open ticket and are taking a break? You’re behaving extremely childishly, Juliet. It does not become you! Ring me as soon as you get this message!’ Ken’s exasperated tones resounded around their table.

  Connie and Karen looked at Juliet, awaiting her response. Ken sounded absolutely livid. ‘Listen to that! “It does not become you,” indeed,’ she jeered. ‘Here’s the next one.’

  ‘Would you kindly ring me?’

  ‘He’s just barely holding it in,’ she confided giddily. ‘The next one’s going to be good.’

  ‘JULIET. TURN ON YOUR DAMN PHONE AND RING ME,’ Ken bellowed, and the three of them guffawed loudly.

  Juliet dialled straight into his mailbox. ‘Ken, I’m having lunch with friends, mostly liquid, if you must know. I’ll turn my phone on when I’m good and ready and may or may not call you, depending on the state of my hangover. Have a good day and don’t forget to put the green bin out.’ She turned her phone off and put it back in her bag. ‘That will give him something to think about. Who knows, he might get so mad he’ll have a coronary and make me a happy widow. Let’s have another bottle of wine . . . on Ken,’ she suggested wickedly, signalling to the waiter.

  ‘Oh God, I’ll be asleep if I drink any more,’ groaned Connie.

  ‘Weren’t you up before dawn? It’s not drink that will make you sleep, it’s tiredness,’ Karen soothed, taking another slug of hers. ‘What have we to do except go home and plonk ourselves on our loungers? We’re fed and watered.’ She waved her glass around. ‘We can unpack tomorrow.’

  ‘True,’ agreed Connie. ‘When you put it like that, what can you do only have another glass?’

  Juliet sniggered. ‘I’m having such fun. Eat your heart out, Ken. Aimee would be delighted if she saw this, she’s been telling me for years to do my own thing. And she was right. Just as well I came to my senses before it’s too late, Kenneth Bartholomew Davenport!’

  ‘Mum, have you been drinking?’ Aimee demanded as her mother answered the phone in a faintly slurred, dopey voice.

  ‘Yes I have. I was asleep, I’ll have you know. I had a long and very liquid lunch with Connie and Karen. I was up before dawn and I was having a siesta. I’m in Spain, remember? That’s what they do here.’ There was a faint edge to her voice.

  ‘You had lunch with Connie Adams and Karen?’ Was she hearing things, Aimee wondered.

  ‘Yes, I met them on the flight over. You know the way you can never fly to Malaga without seeing someone you know?’

  ‘Oh! How were they?’ Aimee asked, taken aback. She’d never told Juliet that she’d had words with Connie; her mother wouldn’t like that sort of thing. Barry’s ex must have been friendly enough with Juliet if they’d all had lunch. Aimee felt an uncharacteristic stab of envy. How jolly for them, being able to have a long, liquid lunch. She hadn’t even been able to keep down her breakfast, and it would be a hell of a long time before she could indulge in a liquid lunch again. And who would she have lunch with anyway, she thought morosely. She’d no real friends left, thanks to her race up the career ladder; she’d let them fall by the wayside because she hadn’t had time to have long girly lunches and go to films and the like with the crowd she’d socialized with.

  ‘They’re both in terrific form and looking forward to their holiday. You should take one yourself, Aimee. Come over for a few days with Melissa and Barry. I’m going to stay for a while,’ her mother urged expansively.

  ‘We’ll see,’ Aimee demurred, knowing that a holiday in her parents’ villa was not going to happen with Barry, not with the way things were at the moment. ‘Are you going to see them again?’ She was curious.

  ‘Oh yes. We’re going to have dinner in Orange Square some night, or maybe over at Da Bruno here at the marina, and we’re going shopping in La Cañada. Connie’s never been there.’

  ‘Oh! Right! And you enjoyed lunch with them?’

  ‘Immensely. We had a great time and, though I may be suffering a bit now, it was well worth it, I haven’t had such fun in ages.’ She yawned loudly. ‘I’m going to take this phone off the hook. Just as well you rang. I don’t want your father roaring at me – you should have heard the messages he left on my mobile.’

  ‘He’s fairly mad, all right. I had three phone calls from him before lunch to see had I heard from you.’

  ‘Don’t worry, darling, I left him one back telling him in no uncertain terms that I’d ring him when I felt like it, and that won’t be tonight, I can assure you. Don’t take any nonsense from him.’

  ‘I won’t,’ Aimee said slowly. ‘Mum, are you OK? Is everything OK? This isn’t like you.’

  Juliet laughed at the touch of uncertainty in her daughter’s tone. ‘Hark at you. Have you not been telling me to do my own thing, for years? Aimee, I’m sixty-four and still have a bit of go in me, so I’m going to take your advice and do my own thing, and your father better get used to it. He pushed it one step too far, this time. He said some very obnoxious things to me, which showed a complete and utter lack of respect, and now he can take the consequences. I should have stood up for myself and done what I wanted to do years ago. But at least I’ve taken the first step. Now let me go back asleep, and I’ll talk to you during the week.’

  ‘Enjoy yourself.’

  ‘I have every intention of doing so. Bye, dear.’

  ‘Bye, Mum. Well done,’ Aimee approved, replacing the receiver. What a very strange day today had been, she mused, clicking open an email from an Italian glassware firm she did business with.

  First her father’s phone call, then Roger’s candid confessions, and now her mother telling her about a liquid lunch with her sister-in-law and Barry’s ex, who Aimee detested. It was almost surreal. She yawned. A deep weariness assaulted her. How she longed to put her head down on her forearms and sleep for twenty minutes. She glanced at her watch. It was just gone four.

  She remembered Roger allowing her to buy him breakfast on expenses because he felt Ian had made a lot of money out of him. There were no flies on Roger, she thought admiringly. That money had been made for Master Ian because she had worked her tush off, so sod her boss, she decided, logging off her computer and picking up her bag and briefcase. ‘I’m heading off, something’s come up. I may not have my mobile switched on, so deal with anything that arises and I’ll sort any problems out tomorrow,’ she instructed her PA. ‘And,’ she added as an afterthought, ‘see what’s the availability on any Aer Lingus flights to Malaga the week after next. Check for two. I might take a few days’ leave; I haven’t had any since last year. I could do with taking Melissa away. Lindsay can fill in for me, at the Jennings Callely event.’

  ‘Sure, Aimee,’ her PA said, taking notes. Aimee struggled not to yawn in front of her. She was going home, and she was going to get into bed, and she was going to sleep her brains out. If her mother could make a stand, so could she. Chez Moi would manage without her for a couple of hours. And, she was going to go to Spain, she decided. If Roger gave her the go ahead, she’d hand in her notice immediately. If Myles nixed the venture due to her pregnancy, she still had a lot of leave to take anyway so, whether Ian liked it or not, she was going to take it. Melissa would be thrilled; she could hook up with Clara when she was out there and that would keep her happy. And it would be nice for her to spend some time with her mother. Aimee hadn’t made much time for her over the past few years, she thought a little guiltily. Besides, she was exhausted; the last two years of almost non-stop work was starting to take its toll. She badly needed to recharge her batteries for what was to come.

  ‘You had lunch with Juliet Davenport, and you all got pissed! Way to go, Mum.’ Debbie laughed as she chatted with her mother on the Dart on her way home from work. The line was excellent, and Connie’s voice was as clear as a bell. ‘Did she know about the row with Aimee at the church?’

  ‘She di
dn’t seem to,’ Connie said. ‘She was very friendly and entertaining. We had great fun.’

  ‘Well, that’s what it’s all about. What are you doing now?’

  ‘Sitting on the balcony watching the sun start to set and listening to the waves, and sipping yet another glass of wine. It’s a spritzer actually. We took pity on our heads. As soon as it gets dark we’ll be in our beds. It’s been a very long day, but most enjoyable. I feel thoroughly relaxed already.’

  ‘That’s terrific, Mum. Give Karen my love, and have a great holiday. You both deserve it.’

  ‘Thanks, love. I’ll be in touch, and I’ll get the sarongs at the market on Saturday.’

  ‘Great, love ya.’

  ‘Love you too. Bye.’

  Debbie glanced at her watch as the phone went dead. It was almost 7.15. She’d been stuck on a Dart for half an hour because a train had broken down further along the line and they were between stations.

  She wished mightily that she was sitting on Karen’s balcony watching the sun set. Her stomach was in knots. She’d sat at her desk earlier and worked out her and Bryan’s debts, not including their mortgage, and had been deeply horrified to realize that, between their credit card, a credit-union loan and the repayments for the car they were in debt to the tune of 55,000 euros. She felt sick with dread just even thinking about it. They were barely managing to pay off the interest. When were they ever going to start on the principals involved? What a way to begin married life, she thought dejectedly, and how was Bryan going to react when she told him they were really and truly on their uppers?

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  ‘I think we’ll put you on Prozac for a little while, Judith. Just to get you over the hump. All your resources are depleted, you’ve had a rough time. The Prozac will help to get you on an even keel again. Don’t worry about taking it. I don’t envisage you on it long term but, between your accident and what you’ve told me about your background, plus the fact that you’re at that difficult age when your hormones are awry and your oestrogens are declining, a little help is called for. Have you ever discussed HRT with your doctor?’ the psychiatrist inquired as he wrote some notes on her chart.