Happy Ever After Page 28

  Melissa wasn’t telling fibs about feeling ill. She really didn’t feel well. Her stomach was tied up in knots, and she didn’t know if it was because she wasn’t eating, because she was making herself vomit when she did eat, or because she was worrying about what was going to happen to her parents. She got up and pulled her weighing scales from under the bed and carried them out to the terrace. She never put the scales on top of her bedroom carpet; it affected the reading. She stood on them and gazed at the small red screen that showed a loss of one stone five pounds. The only thing she had control of: her weight loss. It afforded her some small comfort from the worry of her parents’ rift and life in general. Her stomach rumbled and went into spasm. She was starving, but that was a good sign. It showed she was strong. Virtuous. In charge. The buzz of empowerment reinvigorated her. She went down to the kitchen and poured some lukewarm water from the kettle and squeezed some lemon juice into it, and sipped it slowly as she went back to her room. The tartness of the lemon made her wince, but she persevered, and the sharp pangs of hunger faded to a gnawing ache.

  She needed to buy new jeans, as she was constantly hitching hers up these days, a satisfying reminder of how much weight she was losing. She studied her reflection critically. Yes, she definitely needed smaller jeans, but she still had a good way to go before she got really skinny. If Debbie hadn’t texted, she might have changed her mind and met up with Sarah and her cousin after they’d eaten and then gone shopping, but she wouldn’t have time now, if she was meeting Debbie at 6.30. She was so looking forward to seeing Connie’s adorable little cat. She’d always longed for a pet, but Aimee wouldn’t have one in the penthouse, saying it was no place for an animal.

  When she hadn’t heard from Debbie after Connie had gone to Spain, Melissa had wondered had her half-sister forgotten their plan to drive out to Greystones. Getting the text earlier had lifted her glum spirits. If anyone understood how she was feeling, it would be Debbie. After all, she’d gone through her parents’ divorce and survived it. Melissa couldn’t let on to Barry and Aimee that she’d overheard their horrible argument, but she might confide in Debbie and see what she had to say about it. She went back into her bedroom and began to try on a selection of outfits for her jaunt in her half-sister’s sporty soft-top, turning this way and that to observe her figure from every possible angle.

  ‘So, Ian, I’m giving you a month’s notice, as required.’ Aimee handed over a crisp white envelope. ‘And I’ll be taking my annual-leave entitlement, which works out at three weeks and two days. I’ll spend the next few days going through my schedule with Rhona – I think you’ll agree she’s the most experienced one to replace me until you fill the position.’ She couldn’t help enjoying the moment: shock followed by dismay registered on Ian’s thin, fake-tanned visage.

  ‘Wha . . . what do you mean you’re resigning? You can’t resign; we’re up to our eyes. You have half a dozen major-league events in your diary,’ her boss stuttered.

  ‘I can and I just have,’ Aimee said coolly.

  ‘But why? What’s going on?’ He jumped up from his chair and walked around to her side of the desk. Two dull red spots appeared on his cheeks under his orange tan, and his little walnut eyes glimmered with panic. Aimee was convinced he’d had Botox; his forehead was as smooth and unlined as her own. Today, he was dressed from head to toe in black; almost priest-like, she observed as he stood in front of her. Black jeans, black Armani shirt, and a black cashmere pullover draped over his narrow, wire-hanger shoulders. He stuck his hands into the back pockets of his Dolce & Gabbana jeans and stared at her in disbelief.

  ‘You know, Ian, I’ve made big bucks for your company, especially in the last year, and you haven’t even had the decency to offer me a raise. The best you could do was to send me an email telling me to take a great big bow,’ she added dryly.

  ‘I’ve been meaning to get around to it,’ he blustered. ‘It’s just been so busy. Now calm down and sit down, and let’s take a moment to discuss your raise. You know I couldn’t run this company without you.’ He gave her a sweet smile, cocking his head sideways in a boyish manner, a mannerism that invariably melted any woman it was directed at. Aimee was unimpressed. She’d long since grown impatient with his poor-little-me-I-just-can’t-manage-by-myself act.

  ‘What are you offering?’ she asked out of curiosity, to see how far he’d go to keep her.

  ‘Um . . . an extra five thou?’ He arched a plucked eyebrow hopefully, and then saw the look of disdain on her face. ‘Plus a new company car,’ he added hastily. ‘Maybe seven,’ he amended when he saw her turn to walk away. ‘Come on, Aimee, you owe me, big time,’ he bleated. Aimee came to a dead stop.

  ‘No, Ian, you owe me. And, you know something? You never appreciated what I did for you or this company, but one of your clients did, and he’s made me an offer I simply can’t refuse. Double the salary I’m getting here, a top-of-the-range car and, even more important, an employer who appreciates my capabilities. I’m going to be MD of his company. I’d never have got the chance to run my own company with you. Ian, you get handed things on a plate. I’ve had to fight for every rung I’ve climbed up the ladder. I’ve brought this company and myself on to the top rung and, FYI, one thing you need to know for further reference: when you hire my replacement, patronizing, flowery emails are a big no-no. Money talks.’

  ‘Listen to yourself,’ Ian vented, all pretence of being lovey-dovey gone with the wind. ‘You’re beginning to believe your own publicity, just because you’ve had a taste of what it’s like to work for the mega rich. It was me and my contacts that got you where you are. I gave you your big chance, and this is the thanks I get – being left in the lurch without a backward glance. So, let me guess – it has to be Roger: he’s been going on and on about how wonderful you are. Has he got into your panties yet? Because that’s where he wants to be.’ His thin lips were drawn back in a sneer, and hostility oozed from every pore.

  ‘Really?’ Aimee gave him a withering look. ‘Well, don’t be jealous, honey. If he’s your type, there’re lots more like him out there.’

  ‘I beg your pardon? How dare you, Aimee Davenport!’ Ian was apoplectic. Little flecks of spittle flew in the air.

  ‘Oh get over yourself,’ Aimee threw over her shoulder as she marched out the door. Five measly thousand was his first offer, chickenfeed, for the amount of business she’d brought to his company the last year. And it was offered begrudgingly. He hadn’t a hope of keeping her with that sort of attitude.

  She knew she was being a real bitch, and she didn’t care. She began to clear out her files. She’d had enough of men pushing her around; it was good to hit back, even if wimpy Ian was a less than perfect target. He’d been disgusted at her innuendo, but it served him right for his nasty, scurrilous little remark about Roger. She shuddered. Sex with Roger was a revolting thought; their relationship would be a purely business one, and she felt he knew that very well. Ian was just being his usual bitchy self when things didn’t go his way. She was almost glad he’d lowered himself to make such remarks because, when she screwed him by taking half his clients with her, she wouldn’t feel at all bad.

  Her phone beeped, signalling she had a message, and she picked it up from her desk. Her lips tightened when she listened to what Melissa had to say. What did she want to be going off to Greystones with Debbie for? Why did she want to be getting so closely involved with Connie and her half-sister? Hadn’t she managed perfectly fine without them all these years? It was bad enough that the pair knew about her pregnancy almost as soon as she’d found out about it herself, she bristled. She was so bitter, volcanically angry and resentful these days. Those dark, seething emotions had consumed every cell and fibre of her. She was going to give Barry a piece of her mind about that when she got home later. If Ian was a less than perfect target for a tonguelashing, Barry was just the one for it. With any luck, he’d get sick of her bitchiness and run back to Saint Connie because, right now, as far as Aimee was concerned, t
he other woman was more than welcome to him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  ‘Hi Connie, how are things? How’s the holiday going?’ Barry asked, as his ex-wife answered her mobile phone.

  ‘Fine, lovely.’ Connie sounded surprised to hear from him.

  ‘I just wanted to let you know that Melissa and Debbie are going to drive to Greystones later this evening. Debbie texted her, so she’s thrilled. Debbie will probably call you later. I’m delighted about it, Connie, and I just wanted to thank you again.’

  ‘Ah, that’s great, Barry. I’m delighted myself, thanks for letting me know.’ There was genuine warmth in her voice, and he felt a sudden longing to be with her, to pour his heart out to her and tell her all his woes.

  ‘I suppose Aimee told you we met Juliet on the flight over, and we’ve been spending some time with her. It looks like she and Ken are headed for the divorce courts,’ Connie said conversationally.

  ‘You’re joking!’ He couldn’t hide his astonishment. Ken was a pompous boor, but he’d never figured he’d go the divorce route. ‘Is there someone else?’

  ‘Who’d have him? He’s obnoxious. Juliet asked him for a divorce, did Aimee not tell you?’ Connie was surprised.

  ‘Are you serious? She’s hardly spoken two words to me these last few days. It looks like Ken and Juliet aren’t the only ones heading for the divorce courts. Aimee’s talking about divorcing me. I’ll be looking for a place to stay; you might have to put me up,’ he said mournfully.

  ‘What?’ Now she was the one to be astonished.

  ‘She says she wants a divorce. She’s like a briar. She really doesn’t want this baby, you know. I’m at my wits’ end, Connie. I don’t know what to do or say. We’ve been having fierce rows. I feel she hates me. It’s horrible. The atmosphere at home is glacial, to say the least.’ It all erupted out of him, and it was such a relief to share his burden with Connie. She had always offered him such comforting solace when they were together in the early years of their relationship, before he’d felt trapped by marriage and walked away from her. Now, more than anything, he realized what a fool he’d been to let her go. There was nothing abrasive about his ex-wife, not even in their worst moments. ‘What should I do?’ he asked, glad that he had someone to worry about him.

  ‘I don’t know. Things might calm down, it’s the shock of her pregnancy—’

  ‘It’s more than that,’ he said dolefully, looking for succour. ‘It’s all work, work, work these days. She doesn’t spend any time with Melissa. Hell, she doesn’t spend any time with me,’ he moaned, enjoying feeling sorry for himself.

  ‘Look, Barry, you have to sort things, you’ve got Melissa and the new baby to think of. You need to talk to Aimee when she’s more amenable. Don’t let it slide,’ Connie said earnestly, and he could have hugged her for her concern.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said gratefully. ‘At least I have you to talk to. Give Karen my love, and have fun. I’ll keep in touch. Bye, Connie.’

  ‘See you,’ she replied, and hung up.

  Barry sat at his desk and felt as if a load had been lifted off his shoulders. He wasn’t on his own any more. Connie would be there for him, no matter what happened, and knowing that made life so much more bearable.

  ‘For God’s sake,’ Connie muttered irritably as she slipped her phone into her bag and stared out to sea. She was lazing on a lounger, in a garden fringed with bougainvillea, wisteria and flowering shrubs, overlooking a small, crescent, golden beach. She’d taken a lounger to one of the palm trees on the verdant lawns that rolled down to the sea, content to be alone. Karen had gone into La Cala to pay her taxes, and Connie had been up to her eyes in the latest Lee Child novel when Barry had phoned her.

  Could he have not kept his sorry tale to himself until she’d got home? And what was it with him telling her he might need a place to stay? She shook her head as she massaged sun-tan lotion into her arms. Did her ex-husband really think that he could assume she’d put him up if he and Aimee divorced? He could think again. She wasn’t getting involved, she told herself firmly. It wasn’t her problem.

  She picked up her novel and tried to get back into it. Jack Reacher was a very sexy character, and she’d been enjoying her book and feeling thoroughly relaxed until Barry had ruined it for her. It was so typical of her ex-husband to unburden himself and offload all his problems on her – and typically selfish to do it while she was on holiday. Why did he think, after all these years, and after him walking out on her, that she’d be interested or even care that he and Aimee were having problems? Had it been the other way around, and she was in a relationship break-up, would he have been so quick to help her out, if all had been well with him and Aimee? As far as she could see, Barry would always feel she’d be at his beck and call, until she had a man of her own. It was a pity there weren’t a few Jack Reachers waiting in the wings. That would put a halt to her ex-husband’s gallop. Some relaxing holiday this was turning out to be, between Juliet and Ken’s episode and now this.

  Connie lay back against her lounger and closed her eyes, feeling the heat of the sun on her limbs. The sea soothed her as her thoughts drifted and lethargy infused her. The heat of the early evening was less intense and stifling than it had been earlier. The balmy breeze whispered through her hair and, in spite of herself, her body sank into lassitude and her eyelids drooped. Jack Reacher reminded her of someone, she thought indolently, trying to remember whom. A strong, handsome, tanned face with a pair of deep blue eyes flashed into her mind. Oh yes, she thought, remembering. Drew. Very Jack Reacher. She couldn’t imagine Drew looking for comfort or a place to stay from his ex-wife. Drew Sullivan was a man who stood on his own two feet. It was a pity Barry couldn’t be more like him. Emotional blackmail would be well and truly wasted on Drew, from what she’d seen of him, thought Connie with a little smile, as her book fell from her hands and she fell into a languorous doze.

  ‘Oh, hi, Drew. Fancy running into you here. What are you doing in town?’ A petite blond woman stared up at Drew Sullivan, her green eyes raking him up and down, missing nothing.

  Drew felt a jolt of shock as he gazed down at his ex-wife, Marianna. They were outside the AIB in Wicklow. She was at the ATM, and he had just left the bank after making a deposit.

  ‘I still bank here,’ he said stiffly. ‘I didn’t know you were in town.’ He hadn’t seen her since Katy’s wedding, but she still looked as if she’d just walked out of a beauty parlour, all perfectly coiffed hair and lashings of make-up. She placed her money in her leather wallet, and he noted her blood-red nails. She’d got those talons deep in him once, and bled him dry.

  ‘Dad took a heart attack; I flew in the day before yesterday. I’m just going up to the Blackrock Clinic with Mama, and I needed some cash.’

  ‘Sorry to hear that,’ Drew said politely. Privately, he couldn’t give a hoot about his ex-father-in-law’s heart attack. He certainly wouldn’t be attending that old buzzard’s funeral if and when it happened.

  ‘I guess I’m gonna stay a couple of weeks. Perhaps we could have dinner some night and catch up?’ Marianna suggested, slanting a sultry glance up at him.

  ‘Busy time of the year for me; horses foaling and all that,’ Drew said crisply. The last thing he wanted to do was to have dinner with her.

  ‘Oh, you don’t have to make a firm commitment, Drew,’ his ex-wife drawled. ‘I was just suggesting a casual meal some time; surely you don’t spend your whole life in the stables? You must have some free time?’

  ‘Indeed I do, Marianna. I’m my own boss now, so I can come and go as I please,’ he said pointedly, hooking his thumbs into his jeans and staring at her.

  ‘So what’s the big deal about dinner then?’ she murmured seductively. Drew almost laughed. She hadn’t changed at all over the years. Still fluttering the eyelashes when she wanted something. She still showed off her boobs, too, and they’d been enhanced, to say the least, he observed, as his eyes slid over her décolleté. They looked like two round ba
lloons. He wondered if he stuck a pin in them would they pop. ‘Well,’ she said huskily, noting the way his eyes roamed over her, ‘what’s the big deal?’

  ‘No big deal. As I say, I’m a bit tied up at the moment. Hope your dad’s OK. See you around.’ He raised his hand in farewell and strode towards the car park, leaving her standing looking after him. Just his luck to bump into her, he thought grimly, as he headed towards SuperValu to do some grocery shopping.

  Marianna came home every summer, but he always had some warning when she was coming because the girls would mention it in their emails. He usually shopped in Greystones while she was around, and did his banking early in the mornings, knowing he wouldn’t bump into her before eleven. She’d never been an early riser. Wicklow was a small town, too small for comfort when his ex was home. It drove him mad that she expected him to be friendly and accommodating. Had the woman no conception of the grief she had caused him? He had missed his daughters’ childhood and missed being a big part of their lives because of her selfishness. Some things you could forgive and some things you could forget, but that loss was too deep-rooted to do either, and some day he was going to tell her to get lost and not be annoying him, thought Drew angrily as he flung bananas and oranges into his trolley, and made his way along the aisles scowling ferociously.

  Marianna Delahunt stared after her ex-husband as he marched away from her without a backward glance. He had aged so well, she acknowledged admiringly as she put her wallet in her handbag and followed him into the car park. He was striding along ahead of her and, if she wanted to catch up with him, she’d have to run, he was walking so fast.