Promises, Promises Read online

  Before she knew it, she was marched up the steps and into the foyer of the luxurious hotel. A wave of warmth enveloped them. Swiftly, discreetly, their coats were taken.

  ‘We’re joining Judge and Mrs Connolly for dinner,’ Mick informed the formally attired man at the desk. They were led into a lounge which had a huge fire flaming merrily in the grate. Cosy sofas dotted the room. A hum of chat and convivial laughter gave the room a friendly atmosphere. Sheila saw Vincent and Emma seated by a tall distinguished grey-haired man and a petite radiant woman, striking in rich emerald silk. Sheila was stunned. That couldn’t be Emma’s mother. She was far too young-looking. She was the most elegant sophisticated woman Sheila had ever seen.

  ‘Mam, Dad.’ Vincent stood up to greet them and make the introductions.

  ‘How do you do, Mrs Munroe?’ Her hand was taken in a strong clasp and Judge Connolly smiled down at her. He had nice eyes, Sheila thought, flustered.

  ‘A pleasure, at last,’ Pamela Connolly said graciously, offering a dainty, perfectly manicured hand. Sheila felt ashamed of her own work-worn paw.

  ‘What will you have to drink now, Mick? A whiskey?’ Judge Connolly said expansively.

  ‘That would hit the spot nicely,’ Mick approved, rubbing his hands.

  ‘A dry sherry for me, please,’ Sheila murmured.

  ‘And I’ll have another dry Martini, darling.’ Pamela smiled.

  ‘And a Babycham for me,’ Emma said. She was looking exquisite in black shantung. The drinks were served from a trolley and, after Sheila had taken a few sips of her sherry, she began to relax a little. Mick and the judge were chatting away about the building boom and land prices. Vincent was keeping a conversation going with Pamela and Emma. He was quite at home and relaxed. Sheila felt very proud that her son was at ease in such company.

  ‘Are you looking forward to the wedding?’ Pamela asked, smiling. She really was an exceptionally beautiful woman whose fine porcelain skin and big brown eyes were enhanced by her shimmering emerald gown.

  ‘I am of course, but then I don’t have the worry of it like you do,’ Sheila responded.

  ‘Oh we have everything under control.’ Pamela laughed. Sheila had no doubt she had.

  ‘I’m making the most of it. Emma is the last to go, so I’ll never get the chance again. Poor Edmund’, she smiled in her husband’s direction, ‘doesn’t know whether he’s coming or going. But of course you’ve been through it before.’

  ‘Well yes, when Ben and Miriam got married. But I suppose it’s not the same unless it’s a daughter who’s getting married. There’s no sign of my Ellen taking the plunge yet.’

  ‘She’s right,’ Pamela said, surprisingly. ‘It was different in our days. But nowadays young girls can do so much more with their lives. I’d love to have had a career.’

  ‘Really?’ Sheila was amazed. In her view Pamela had everything.

  ‘Maybe I’m just feeling middle-aged. It’s hard to believe Emma’s fleeing the nest,’ the other woman said a little sadly. Sheila warmed to her. She wasn’t at all stand-offish.

  ‘You don’t look the slightest bit middle-aged, my dear. You look more like Emma’s older sister than her mother. And just think when the grandchildren come along you’ll be able to spoil them. I know I do with my two,’ she fibbed. Sheila didn’t believe in spoiling children, but it seemed like the right thing to say.

  ‘I’m looking forward to that.’ Pamela smiled. ‘I would have liked more children. I had two miscarriages after Jane and before I had Emma. After she was born, I couldn’t have any more.’

  ‘How sad,’ Sheila murmured, patting the other woman’s hand. Pamela didn’t seem the slightest bit snobby. In fact, to her surprise, Sheila rather liked her.

  The waiter arrived with the menus. ‘We can order here, and then go in to the dining-room when our meal is ready,’ Pamela explained. ‘There’s a fish tank just off the lounge and you can select your choice of fish. The lobster and trout are divine. And for the first course I really do recommend the crêpe-de-mer. It’s out of this world.’

  Pamela did not exaggerate. The crêpe-de-mer was filled with mixed seafood in a mouth-watering cheesy sauce. It was the most delicious thing Sheila had ever eaten. They sat in the long dining-room, at a table by one of the large windows overlooking Stephen’s Green. Mick tucked into an immense prawn cocktail. Vincent and Emma chose smoked salmon and the judge and his wife had the crêpe-de-mer.

  Sheila gazed around her with interest. The dining-room was full and everyone seemed to know everyone else. It was like a private little club with regulars saluting each other, stopping to chat at each other’s tables. Everyone was dressed to the nines and jewels glittered on necks and wrists. A beautiful hand-painted pastoral mural decorated the length of the room. The tables were round or oblong, dressed in the finest white linen, with sparkling silverware and crystal. The waiters were formally dressed and most discreet. The atmosphere was one of gracious, timeless elegance.

  Mick and the judge were getting on like a house on fire. They had discovered a mutual interest in fishing and the talk was all of this fly and that, casting rods and sinkers, which made Pamela and Sheila throw their eyes up to heaven in mock bad humour. Sheila decided to be adventurous and had the wild duck in orange sauce, while Mick had a thick juicy steak that nearly covered his plate.

  They lingered over coffee, relaxed after the superb meal and fine wines. The ordeal which she had so dreaded turned into a most pleasurable occasion. One that Sheila intended to boast about for all she was worth to the ladies of the guild the following week.

  ‘Nice people,’ Edmund Connolly said as he belched behind his hand and eased himself into bed. ‘Mick’s going to take me to a river out his way to fish. It’s full of trout.’

  ‘Sheila was a bit out of her depth at first. She’d put on a grand voice and then forget. But she’s a good soul, even if they aren’t quite our sort,’ Pamela mused as she cold-creamed her face.

  ‘Emma will be all right with them. They’ve good values,’ Edmund declared. ‘Did you hear that that young rip Shaun Redmond is having an affair with Martin Desmond’s wife?’

  ‘Good God!’ exclaimed Pamela. ‘But he’s only married a year.’

  ‘I know. I’ll tell you frankly, Pamela, that set Emma mixes with is too fast. Vincent Munroe is a very nice young man. I’m glad Emma’s going to live out in Glenree. The Munroes might not be upper-crust but they’re decent people. I’ll worry much less about Emma knowing she’s married to someone like Vincent. To think that that young cur, Redmond, was sniffing around her before she met Vincent and she encouraged him. God knows where it would have ended. In tears I’d say.’

  ‘Well to be honest, I’d have liked Emma to marry someone like us, but I suppose you might be right.’

  ‘I know I’m right. Now hurry on and get in here beside me. My feet are freezing and you’re the only one that can warm them.’

  ‘Charmer,’ Pamela laughed but she snuggled in beside her husband and wrapped her arms around him. ‘If Vincent is as good to Emma as you’ve been to me she’ll be a very lucky girl.’

  ‘I think we need have no fears on that score,’ Edmund Connolly murmured and in seconds was fast asleep.

  ‘Wasn’t it wonderful? Some evening you and I will go there ourselves and really enjoy it. Did you see the cutlery and the silverware? And the style of the ladies! Did you see the woman sitting opposite us with the ruby necklace? It was exquisite.’ Sheila couldn’t stop talking. She was full of beans even though it was long after midnight and Mick was valiantly trying to stay awake over his cup of cocoa. The embers of the fire glowed orange as they sat in the sitting-room reliving their night out.

  ‘The poor soul had two miscarriages before she had Emma but honestly, it’s hard to credit that she’s the mother of two girls in their twenties. Did you see how youthful her skin was? And the tiny waist of her. And wasn’t the judge a good-looking man?’ A rumbling snore was all the response she got as Mick’s head
drooped on his chest. Sheila looked at him regretfully. She wanted to go over every second of the evening that had turned out to be such a delightful occasion. How silly she’d been to get herself in such a tizzy. Wait until she told the women of the guild how she’d been hobnobbing with high society.

  ‘Come on, Mick.’ She poked her husband in the shoulder. There was no point in waiting up for Vincent. He’d be in at all hours. She’d just have to go to bed and remember every delicious detail. She was far too wound up to sleep.

  ‘It went well, didn’t it?’ Vincent nuzzled Emma’s ear.

  ‘Dad got on very well with your father. They’re going fishing next week.’

  ‘Mam really enjoyed it once she relaxed. The sherry and wine went to her head a bit,’ Vincent grinned.

  ‘At least that’s over.’ She snuggled into his arms. They were sitting in the back seat of the car, high on a hill overlooking Killiney. ‘It won’t be long now to the wedding.’

  ‘Hmmmm.’ Vincent slid his hand inside the neckband of her dress and cupped one full breast.

  ‘Oh Vincent,’ Emma breathed. ‘I love when you do that.’ They kissed passionately and she slid her hand up along his inner thigh, feeling the hot hardness swelling against the thin material of his trousers.

  ‘And I love when you do that,’ he groaned, wishing it was their wedding night and he could throw caution to the winds and make love to her with all the passion he’d been suppressing for months and months.

  Chapter Three

  ‘I now pronounce you man and wife.’ The priest smiled benevolently on Vincent and Emma as they stood before him at the altar rails. Emma beamed at her new husband and he smiled back, squeezing her hand. She felt utterly happy. After all the hectic running around of the last few weeks, everything had clicked nicely into place. It was a beautiful spring day. The skies were as blue as the Mediterranean. There was a hint of warmth in the sun and, now that the ceremony was almost over, she was going to enjoy every minute of her special day.

  It had been extremely gratifying to hear the chorus of oohs and aahs as she walked up the aisle beside her father. She looked stunning. Her dress, a vision of silk and lace, looked like something from a fairytale. She’d had it made in a similar style to Princess Margaret’s dazzling wedding gown of almost two years ago. Emma thought it was exquisite when she’d seen photos of it. There and then she decided she was going to have something like it. Her dressmaker had done a superb job. It had cost a fortune but it was well worth it. And the diamanté tiara that Jane bought for her in London set off the yards of white veil to perfection. She felt like a princess today, Emma thought in exhilaration as she admired the slim gold band on her finger.

  So far so good, Pamela thought with satisfaction as she watched her daughter become Vincent Munroe’s wife. They were a gloriously stylish couple. Emma looked very beautiful and ethereal and Vincent looked extremely handsome in his grey morning suit. She would have liked him to wear top hat and tails, but he’d been adamant. Despite her disappointment, she’d been impressed by his polite but firm refusal. Vincent was his own man. Emma needed someone who wouldn’t stand for any nonsense. She was rather spoilt, Pamela acknowledged ruefully. The apple of her father’s eye.

  She cast an approving eye around the church. The florist had decorated it beautifully. Her theme was spring and the posies of crocuses and primroses and snowdrops and pansies entwined in curling ivy vines were exquisite. Emma had wanted roses on the altar but Karen Selby, Dublin’s new up-and-coming floral designer, as she liked to describe herself, told her that everyone had roses and she should dare to be different. Emma was persuaded so the altar bloomed like a spring garden with boughs of cherry and apple blossom and vases brimful of tulips and daffodils. Pamela noted Noeleen Farrell taking it all in. Noeleen’s daughter was getting married in May. The Connolly wedding would be a hard act to follow, Pamela thought a little smugly. Wait until they saw the room in the International! And as for the menu . . . she could feel her mouth watering already at the thought of fresh salmon en croûte with new baby potatoes and buttered asparagus spears.

  She glanced across at Vincent’s family and sighed. The one little fly in the ointment, she thought regretfully. Sheila’s hat was unlike anything she’d ever seen before. A multicoloured petalled creation that made Pamela wonder if its creator had been high on LSD. And that fur stole with the fox’s head was extremely passé. Poor Mick looked as if his morning suit was too small for him. And the daughter, Ellen, was wearing a low-cut empire-line dress which was quite revealing. Vulgar actually, Pamela thought crossly. There was an array of aunts and uncles and friends who obviously weren’t used to sophisticated occasions and were rather overawed by it all. If only Vincent’s family were more, well, suitable, it would have been the perfect wedding.

  Lucky cow! Ellen thought enviously as she watched Vincent slide the ring onto Emma’s finger. Emma was only twenty-two and she’d managed to snare a husband. Ellen was heading for twenty-nine and, unless a miracle happened, it looked as if she was going to be left on the shelf. It was extremely depressing.

  For years she’d gone out dancing every weekend with her pals. She’d had a wild time dancing and drinking and getting off with fellas. It was a great life. She hadn’t wanted to settle down, she was having too much fun. Then she’d started to go out with Joseph McManus two years ago and she’d sort of felt he was the one she’d marry. Nothing had ever been said, it was like an unspoken agreement between them.

  It wasn’t that she’d been madly in love with him or anything, Ellen sniffed, remembering her ex-boyfriend. He was nice, good company, worked in the civil service and didn’t take life too seriously. They were well matched. Or so she’d thought until he’d upped and left her for an eighteen-year-old child. A child who didn’t smoke or drink and knew how to behave in public. Traits that attracted him to her, he’d said coldly when she’d blown a fuse and ranted and raved at him for his duplicity. He’d been seeing this Lolita for six months before he’d broken it off with her. Ellen’s lips tightened and her hands clenched into fists as she thought of Joseph. His hypocrisy sickened her. She’d been all right to get drunk with and smoke with and have fun with, not to mention . . . have sex with. The bastard! Ellen fumed.

  About a year into their relationship, they’d slept with each other. Ellen hadn’t wanted to be the last of the red-hot virgins and besides she’d assumed that sleeping together meant a total commitment. Marriage in other words. Her friends thought she was very daring. Most of them had been virgins when they married. They thought she was modern and with-it. Ellen enjoyed their admiration. They looked up to her and thought of her as a woman of the world. What they didn’t realize, and what Ellen kept to herself, was what a disappointment sex was. She’d been so looking forward to it after all the months of panting frustration in the back seat of the Anglia when Joseph had done his best to persuade her to lose her virginity. All she’d read in romantic novels, all she’d seen in the movies, had led her to believe that, when she finally did it, it would be wonderful.

  The first time had been quick and painful. Ellen couldn’t believe it was all over when Joseph, flushed and breathless, had asked her had it been good for her.

  ‘It was great,’ she assured him, lying through her teeth, and all the time she was thinking, is this it? Is this what all the fuss is about? She’d bled, it being her first time, and Joseph’s expression of repulsion when he removed the condom did nothing to reassure her. She was sore for a day after, but nevertheless she looked forward to their next lovemaking, thinking that it would be much better than the first time. It wasn’t. Joseph came quickly, kissed her, looked at his watch and told her they’d make last orders down at the pub if they hurried. That was to be the pattern. Ellen thought it must be normal and blamed herself because sex disappointed her. Modern ‘with-it’ women were supposed to enjoy sex as much as men. At sex she was obviously a failure. It was a failure she would admit to no-one.

  Then Joseph dumped her for a
moon-faced nymphet who didn’t smoke or drink or make a show of herself in public and who most certainly would wait until marriage to be deflowered.

  The last six months since the break-up had been the most miserable of Ellen’s life. Most of her friends were now married and producing offspring at a great rate. She spent her time going to christenings, for heaven’s sake! She didn’t seem to have much in common with them any more. All they could talk about was baby’s first tooth, or worse, detailed descriptions of labour and childbirth. It gave Ellen the willies even to think about it, it all sounded so gory and painful. It was hard to watch friends who’d been a great gas and ready for anything on a night out, change into boring matrons, more interested in changing nappies and getting dinners than going out on the hunt for whatever man they fancied. It was difficult to accept that her friends were no longer free agents. It was hard to find someone to go out for a jar with on a Friday and Saturday. Much and all as she liked Miriam and Ben, they didn’t exactly set the world on fire when they were out for the night. Ellen felt more and more out of step with the world since her split with Joseph. If you weren’t married and either expecting a baby or rearing children, you were the odd one out.

  Surreptitiously she scanned the guests lining the altar rails for Communion. One fine thing caught her eye. He looked in his early thirties. He was of medium build, but taller than she, which was most important. He had dark brown hair and, when he turned to walk back to his seat and she had a closer look, she saw that he was quite good-looking. She wondered if he was eligible. He wasn’t one of Vincent’s friends, that she knew. Maybe he was a colleague from work or maybe he was one of Emma’s relations. That would be just her luck. To meet Mr Right and discover he was related to Ems.