City Lives Page 3

  Devlin and Luke had been to visit them just weeks ago and it did her heart good to see how much they were enjoying the experience. All the years of worry Gerry had endured because of Lydia’s drinking had gone, and her beloved father looked twenty years younger. Lydia too had a serenity about her that was so different from the brittle, agitated air she always used to have. To see them enjoying life and each other was a great comfort to Devlin, who’d worried herself sick over them when things were at their worst.

  Sometimes she resented Lydia for robbing her of her childhood and teenage years and making her grow up before she was ready. Shouldering the burden of an alcoholic parent had left its scars, Devlin reflected. Only the children of alcoholics could understand that gut-wrenching, stomach-knotting fear, dread and apprehension that was part and parcel of her daily life. Always waiting . . . always hoping that this time would be the last . . . always wishing for normality like the rest of her friends enjoyed.

  Her child would never know those fears . . . ever . . . she vowed. ‘Thank you, God for Luke.’ She murmured the heartfelt prayer as she often did, knowing how lucky she was. Of the three of them, Caroline, Maggie and herself, Devlin knew that in Luke she had a diamond compared to her friends’ spouses. Richard had beaten Caroline black and blue in their marriage before she’d found out he was gay. And Terry . . . Devlin frowned. Terry, who’d fooled them all with his boyish charm and devil-may-care ways. Terry in his true colours was every woman’s nightmare and Maggie’s in particular. Selfish, immature, lying, irresponsible, a womanizer. It was difficult sometimes to keep her mouth shut when she saw how unsupportive he was of her friend. Didn’t he realize how lucky he was to have a wife like Maggie? And three beautiful children. He was always bragging about how he’d filled a pram three times. Devlin felt like crowning him. Helping with homework, making time to play, being there for birthday parties were not high on Terry’s agenda any more. That was all left to Maggie. Terry might be the children’s biological father, but a father in any other sense he was not these days. Ever since Maggie’d had her first book published Terry had withdrawn his support. It was almost as though he was jealous of her, Devlin thought grimly. She was worried about Maggie and the stress she was under these days.

  A girls’ night out was definitely on the cards. She’d ring Maggie and Caroline over the weekend and arrange it. Caroline was her very able administrator and Human Resources manager and normally Devlin would see her every day, but she was on a few days’ leave and wasn’t due back in work until Monday. They all hadn’t had a good long natter in ages. And she’d be able to tell them her news. Devlin’s eyes sparkled. Instead of dressing up and going out, she’d have them over to the apartment for a cosy night in. It would be like old times. And they’d have loads of news to catch up on, they always had.

  She glanced at her diary. She had a budget meeting in fifteen minutes. At least they weren’t nightmares anymore. Andrew Dawson, the new accountant, could see the logic of spending money on expansion and development.

  She was going to suggest some refurbishing of the Dublin City Girl. So many new therapies were being practised nowadays. Reiki healing, soma therapy, bio energy, kinesiology, homeopathy, they were all in the mainstream now. City Girl had its own acupuncturist who also taught t’ai chi classes. They were always booked out. The reflexologist was excellent. Devlin had had many soothing treatments at her hands.

  She sat back in her chair, thinking, planning. For a long time now one of her projects for City Girl had been a small meditation room. The factor most common to the majority of clients who used City Girl was stress. Women had immensely stressful lives these days, she reflected. She glanced out at the street below her as a taxi beeped loudly and aggressively at another driver who had cut in. The traffic was brutal. Gridlock was all that people ever talked about. City Girl opened at six a.m. for the benefit of women who wanted to be in town earlier to miss the morning traffic jams.

  Athough City Girl had plush comfortable lounging areas and a well stocked reading-room and library, a meditation room would be perfect for anyone who just wanted a little time out to be still and silent. Candles, chimes, crystals, meditation music, very soft lighting, cushions on the floor . . . it could be beautiful. She was definitely going to have one built in the new Galway premises.

  Times were different. The hard combative buzz of the early Nineties when she’d opened City Girl had changed. True, she conceded, the workout classes and the gym were always full, but women were looking for more and she had to keep pace with clients’ requirements.

  Devlin picked up her phone. ‘Liz, after I get back from Galway I want you to schedule a meeting for me with the managers, I want to throw a few ideas around and see where they land. And would you get me a copy of the Irish Guide to Complementary Alternative Therapies, Caroline recommended it. I’d like to have a look at it. Thanks.’

  ‘Sure, Devlin,’ her PA responded cheerfully and Devlin grinned. Nothing ever fazed Liz. Devlin could guarantee that the book would be on her desk before the day was out.

  She glanced at her watch: she still had ten minutes to go before her meeting. There were calls she should return, Liz had given her a list, but she decided to wait. Something else needed her attention.

  Devlin walked over to the low coffee-table which held a selection of the day’s papers and several up-to-date magazines. She picked up the property supplement of the morning’s paper and settled back on the plush sofa with anticipation.

  Now that she was pregnant they were going to have to make a decision about where to live. London or Dublin. They’d been commuting for the past few years. Luke had a penthouse overlooking the Thames. A very elegant, spacious penthouse. But it wasn’t the place to rear a child. Nor was her own luxury apartment ideal.

  Devlin sighed. When she’d had Lynn and they were living in the Ballymun flats, the thing she had longed for most was a garden. She wanted to have a garden for this new baby. And she wanted a home that was hers and Luke’s. One that they would plan and decorate and choose furnishings for, together. It wasn’t that she didn’t feel at home in his place in London, or he in her apartment – Devlin knew that once he was with her it didn’t matter where they were. When she was with Luke she always felt she was in the place that was home to her mind, body and soul. But it would be nice for them to have somewhere that they had chosen together.

  In her heart of hearts she would prefer to stay in Dublin. She’d been glad to come back home with Lynn after her years of living in London. But Luke was a property developer and a very successful one. His base was London. Would it be easier all round for them to live in London and for her to commute to Dublin for two or three days a week to look after City Girl? Whatever happened, she was going to be up to her eyes. After the Galway expansion there were long-term plans to open City Girls in Cork, Wexford, and Limerick.

  Still, there was no need to get into a tizzy about all that now, Devlin decided as she cast her eye over the property supplement. Her priority decisions were where to live and what to buy. She and Luke would discuss it over the weekend, but in the meantime it was no harm to have a few places in mind for viewing, just in case Luke thought staying in Dublin was their best option.

  Five

  Luke Reilly handed his hard hat to his site manager and shook hands with him. ‘Excellent progress, Ronan. These babies will be onstream soon. I’m off to look at a site in North County Dublin, the land’s up for rezoning so I reckon we could be building some houses in the near future.’ He grinned.

  ‘OK boss, suits me.’ Ronan Williams smiled back.

  ‘Right so, keep in touch, you have the numbers if you need me,’ Luke said briskly as he strode over to where he’d parked his Volvo.

  He swung out of the docklands building site and headed up towards The Point. A flurry of rain, driven by a strong easterly wind, spattered the window and he switched on the wipers. The Liffey looked choppy, small white-crested waves eddying around the buoys. He wouldn’t mind heading dow
n-river in a twenty-thousand-tonner, carrying cargo to Africa or the States. He sighed nostalgically, remembering his days as a seaman when he’d traversed the world.

  How he’d love to bring Devlin on a voyage. To show her the sights that he’d seen. Sunsets and sunrises that would take your breath away. Seas that were smooth as glass one day, bubbling cauldrons, storm-tossed and angry, the next. The ports of Africa and the Far East, the unforgettable skyline of New York, he’d seen them all and sometimes he hankered for those days of freedom and adventure. Devlin and he were always so busy. They always had been ever since they met: he commuting from London, Devlin immersed in her business. A sea voyage would be perfect. He’d have her all to himself. Wouldn’t have to share her with City Girl. Luke smiled as he turned left off the Port roundabout and drove towards the Alfie Byrne Road. Trying to get Devlin to go to sea with him was pure pie in the sky, but it was a nice fantasy.

  The tide was in, when he turned right for Clontarf. Gulls circled and screeched, skimming the choppy water. Clontarf was a nice place to live, he mused. He liked looking out at the sea from Devlin’s apartment. He liked the fact that less than an hour’s drive from any point in the city led to the sea or the countryside.

  Now that Devlin was expecting a baby they were going to have to decide where to have a family home.

  He could always promote one of his managers to look after his English business. His most trusted manager, Joe Kinsella, was well capable of the job. Luke could concentrate on building up his Irish property portfolio. It was something he’d put on the back burner until he’d met Devlin. Now, with a booming property market, Dublin was the place to be. In a funny sort of way it looked as though it was all working itself out and the decision was being made for him.

  This field he was off to inspect sounded like a good prospect for development. A couple of miles from the airport, ten from the city centre. An ideal spot.

  Fifteen minutes later he drove under the M50 onto the North Road. The rain was easing off and the sun was doing its best to make an appearance. He was in the country now. Luke loved it. The nearest he got to the country when he was in London was Primrose Hill, he thought wryly, as he took a left turn and drove down a narrow country road. Halfway along he found the entrance to the field. He could see tractors driving up and down in the distance. Luke parked, opened the boot, and took out his wellies.

  Spatters of rain wet his face. He inhaled the air, sweet and fresh, with pleasure. He walked into the field, squelching into the muck. It was a fine field. Fourteen acres. At his feet red rooster potatoes stuck out of the mud. A field of spuds. A shame to think that by the time he was finished with it, it would hold over a hundred or more houses. Still, if he didn’t buy it someone else would. That was progress.

  Luke walked the boundary, listening to the birds chirruping and the sounds of the tractors in the distance. He thought of his father. How much he would have enjoyed coming out to view the field with him. Even now the memory of his much loved father could make him sad. After a while he got back in the car and drove back towards the city but when he reached the slipway for the M50, impulsively he swung left and headed up to join the fast-flowing stream of traffic that travelled eastwards along the motorway. Twenty minutes later he pulled up outside Sutton cemetery where his mother and father were buried.

  Ever since Devlin had told him that she was pregnant his parents had been on his mind. If only they’d been here to share his joy and his apprehension. They would have been so happy for him and they would have made wonderful grandparents.

  ‘Please God, let Devlin be all right,’ he murmured in prayer as he strode along the pathway towards his parents’ grave. He felt bad that he’d come empty-handed, but the flowers he and Devlin had placed on the grave a week ago still bloomed healthily.

  Luke stood, head bowed. The rain was battering down again, sleety, needle-sharp cold. He didn’t care.

  ‘Help me to be a good father. As good as you were to me, Dad. Help Devlin, Mam. Let everything go well for her. And look after our baby.’ His prayer was carried on the wind as he stood at his parents grave in the grey autumn dusk, his happiness tinged with sadness that they would never see this longed-for child.

  Six

  ‘Congratulations!! You made the list! I’m just about to kiss one of the most influential men in the country. What a THRILL!!! Caroline, darling, you look stunning. Richard, be still my beating heart. I envy this woman sooo much.’ Antonia Dunwoody, dramatic in crimson, swooped down on Caroline and Richard like a great flapping cockatoo, air-kissed them both and stood back to discreetly observe, in the huge bevelled mirrors of the restaurant, who was looking at her. Caroline’s heart sank. They’d left the cocktail party after several hours of boring social chit-chat, to dine quietly together. Antonia Dunwoody was the last person she wanted to see. Antonia enjoyed the limelight, being – in her own mind at least – one of Dublin’s most glamorous and influential socialites. Richard stood up politely. ‘Antonia, a delight as always. You look marvellous, as ever.’

  ‘Just back from Milan, darling. Spent a fortune. But then that’s what fortunes are for!’ She gave a tinkling laugh. She’d deliberately pitched her tone just a little higher so everyone in the restaurant would know she’d gone shopping, and, more importantly, that she had the money to do so. Some of the exquisitely dressed women dining tonight didn’t have two pennies to rub together unless they were given to them by their husbands, or, more often than not, their lovers.

  One matron, at the table opposite, liked to think she was impressing the set and had such a who-but-me air. But they all knew she’d put more men through her hands than she’d had hot dinners. She was practically a tart, and a mutton-dressed-as-lamb tart at that, Antonia reflected cattily. She turned her attention to Caroline.

  ‘That’s a divine creation you’re wearing – where on earth did you get it?’

  Caroline smiled sweetly. ‘I do like to support our own designers. I had it made up by a very talented young woman just out of college. She’s Charles Stokes’s niece.’

  ‘Oh . . . Oh . . . I see. It was tragic the way he died of cancer. A lovely man.’ Just who did Caroline Yates think she was? Snooty little cat. Supporting our own, indeed . . . Richard probably wouldn’t give her the money to go to Milan . . . or even Paris. He was a notorious tightwad when he was presenting bills. No such thing as friendship getting in the way of business. Discounts didn’t feature in his vocabulary. She shouldn’t have bothered to stop and draw attention to them.

  ‘Well, darlings, must dash. Have to make an appearance at Will Reid’s bash. You know how miffed he gets at no-shows. Obviously you weren’t invited. Pity. His parties, when they take off, are to die for. See you.’

  Antonia glided through the restaurant, throwing greetings right and left as she went.

  ‘Silly bitch. Well, I won’t miss that carry-on,’ Richard growled.

  ‘She’s something else.’ Caroline picked at her succulent scallop.

  ‘How are you going to deal with all the crap when I’m in Boston and the divorce comes through?’ Richard put his fork down and stared across the table at his wife.

  Caroline took a sip of her Ballygowan. ‘Richard, they won’t want to know me. The only reason they invite me to functions is because I’m your wife. And the only reason I go to them is to oblige you. If I never saw any of that lot again it wouldn’t bother me in the slightest.’

  ‘But it will probably be in the gossip columns. We’re a high-profile couple. Remember the carry-on when we separated. Remember what that awful woman did to Devlin a few years back? That was scurrilous,’ Richard added glumly, reminding Caroline of a dreadful article that had been written about Devlin.

  ‘Well I can always bring them to court and you can fly home and defend me,’ joked his wife.

  ‘No, seriously though.’

  Caroline groaned. ‘Look, Richard, if I start thinking like that and if I start thinking about all the problems that are going to surface, I’m go
ing to lose my nerve and probably not go through with it. I just want to deal with it one day at a time, the way they taught us in AA.’

  ‘I’m telling you, Caro, we don’t have to divorce,’ Richard said earnestly.

  Caroline stared at her husband with exasperated affection. ‘Look, Richard, we’ve discussed all this. We’ve agreed it. Why are you doing this? Why are you backtracking?’

  ‘I’m not, I’m not. I’m just thinking of you. I’m concerned about you,’ he muttered defensively.

  Caroline took a deep breath. ‘Richard, stop it. This isn’t about me. It’s about you, isn’t it? You’re thinking that if you go to Boston and you don’t like it and it doesn’t work out you can come back to me and go on the way we are. Don’t you see, neither of us will ever have the guts to move on if we hang onto each other as a safety net.’

  ‘You’re very brave, Caroline. You always were. I do want to go to America. I was very comfortable being gay there. If they ever found out about it here I’d be pilloried. In Boston no-one knew who I was. I had no image to maintain. Charles and I were very happy the few months before he died.’ He swallowed hard.

  ‘I know you were.’ Caroline reached out a comforting hand. ‘And I wish he hadn’t died. I miss him too. But he’s dead and you have to pick up the pieces. I wanted to die when my mother died. I used to go to bed at night and pray to die in my sleep. When I’d wake up in the morning I’d be so angry and so sorry that I was still here. But you have to get on with it. You have no choice. There’s no point in saying otherwise.’

  ‘I suppose I’m afraid of facing the unknown. I’ve always had you . . . Charles . . . my mother. Over there I’ve no-one.’

  ‘Well, it might not always be like that,’ Caroline comforted. ‘You might meet someone very nice. Anyway, there’s a freedom in having to answer to no-one. That has its own advantages. You might enjoy it. Talking of mothers,’ she arched an eyebrow at him. ‘When are you telling your mother?’