He would make his moods up to her. She loved Christmas and so far—a week out—there were no decorations up in their apartment. Not like her at all. Joe sighed. Maybe he had been an asshole to her lately. He grabbed his keys and went out. He would make this up to her, get her on his side. The last thing he wanted was to lose her.
After she and Sam had said goodbye, Ellie went to Carmel’s bar—Carmel was her best friend and her (sort of) adoptive sister. Carmel pushed champagne into Ellie’s hands. “You’ve got a new job, and it’s Christmas, so let’s get really drunk.”
There was a lull in the bar as people wandered off to find something for their supper. Carmel had always resolutely refused to cater for her customers, saying it was too much hassle and attracted rats. Ellie had argued the bar attracted rats anyway and that Carmel often had carnal knowledge of them so she shouldn’t complain.
“I can’t get drunk, I have my new boss coming for supper.” Ellie swigged the champagne anyway. Carmel looked surprised.
“Male boss? Does Joe know?”
Ellie looked away from her gaze. “Joe will have to put up with it.”
Carmel gave a sigh. “Sweetheart, why the hell are you still with that guy?” Carmel had never warmed to Joe, and the feeling was entirely mutual. Ellie met her gaze.
“Carm … I am leaving him. As soon as the check from Sam McMahon clears, I’m leaving. Our relationship is a joke, I know, it has been for a while.”
Carmel chewed this over for a few minutes. “Does he know? Joe, I mean? Does he know it’s over?”
“He knows it’s not working. Why?” Ellie looked at her friend curiously, and Carmel gripped her hand.
“I don’t think you should be alone when you tell him … Ellie, I’ve never told you this, but I’ve heard things about Joe’s temper.”
Ellie smiled at her. “Carm, don’t worry. He’s never been violent or anything with me, just rude when he wants to be. It’ll be fine.”
As she was walking home, though, she thought about what Carmel had said. Joe had never been violent … yet. But if she was honest with herself, it had been festering behind Joe’s eyes, especially when they argued. He’d punch a wall or the table with such force that she knew that was how much he wanted to hit her. She’d been waiting for it to happen for so long, she’d become used to the tension in her body. Ellie wondered how she had loved Joe for so long—or had she even loved him at all? Was it ever really love if the person you thought you loved really didn’t exist?
She and Joe wanted different things—he wanted the world to acknowledge him and his photography; he wanted adoration constantly. She just wanted to earn a living doing what she loved. That drove him crazy, especially when she achieved what she wanted. He was still slogging away at a lowly newspaper job. So Ellie had held herself back from going after the really exciting jobs; this job with Sam McMahon was her biggest opportunity yet.
Sam McMahon—she’d liked him the moment he’d smiled at her on that street that time. Tall and rangy, dark hair and blue eyes. She liked his presence, he was broad as well as tall, but his face was soft, kind, and the way he talked about his work and his obvious love of it was inspiring. She had tried not to look at him as more than her client, but she couldn’t help imagining those long, thick arms around her, that full mouth on hers. She was so comfortable with him even after such a short time, and she realized now; she couldn’t wait to see him tonight.
So she was grinning to herself when she unlocked her front door and walked in. “I’m home,” she called; hoping no one would answer. She wanted to think about Sam McMahon some more.
“Hey, darling. Come into the living room.”
She bit her tongue, disappointed, but when she walked into the other room, she stopped and gasped. Joe had decorated the whole room and set up a tree which twinkled with white fairy lights. Red and green garlands crisscrossed over the walls, and white candles flicked in their votive glasses around the room. Ellie felt tears of guilt prick her eyes.
“Oh, Joe, it’s lovely, thank you.”
He was smiling, and for the first time in months … maybe even years … Ellie saw the man he had been when they first met s.
“It was for us, for our Christmas together. I thought we could start tonight. Order in pizza, drink champagne, go to bed …” He leaned in and kissed her. “Remember our first Christmas, when we fucked under the tree with just the twinkle lights on …”
“I do,” she tried to smile, “and God, it’s such a lovely thought, but, Joe, I’m sorry, I invited my new client around for dinner tonight. He’s on his own and—”
Joe broke away from her with a grunt. “Fine. Sorry, I bothered.”
“No, Joe, don’t be like that. You’ll like him, I promise, and it will be fun, I can invite Carmel too …”
“Fuck, no, I don’t want that bitch here.”
Ellie went very still, and Joe realized what he said. She could see he was torn between apologizing and saving face. He chose the latter. “Fine. Do what you want.”
Ellie went into the kitchen and went into automaton-mode. She pulled the ingredients together for the chili and started to make it. A half hour later, she heard Joe grab his keys.
“I’m going out to get more wine,” he called in what she imagined he thought was a conciliatory tone.
“Fine,” she said shortly and then heard the door bang. And stay away, she thought darkly, don’t ruin my night with Sam. She shook herself. What the hell? You can’t just think this mess out of existence. Later, after Sam left, she would put an end to this. She could call, get Carmel to come get her, and move out. Fuck Joe, fuck his Christmas.
It was time to move on.
Ellie threw open the door. Sam’s expression cleared as she grinned happily at him and kissed his cheek. As she leaned in close, he could smell her perfume, a musky, heady scent and breathed it in, a strange feeling in his chest. Longing. He brushed the thought away and let her lead him into the room. Ellie handed him a beer and chatted animatedly to him. She seemed excited, maybe too excited.
“Are you okay?”
She nodded. “Sorry, Christmas spirit.” But he liked the way her eyes shone when she looked at him.
He threw a long swig of beer down his throat and looked around the room. It was a curious mix of the minimal and cluttered. One side of the huge room was stuffed with sofas, cushions, tables, books shoved in a jumble onto the shelves; the coffee table literature looked like it was actually read, rather than just for show. The spaces near the huge windows and the kitchen area, however, were sparse, clean lines. He liked it, the mismatch, as if they liked many ideas and just put them all into one room. Photographs and paintings fought for space and on the wall, next to the front door, they had put in a round window. Stained glass, a huge setting sun glowed, he presumed from streetlights outside. He nodded to it.
“Your work?” Ellie grinned and nodded.
“If I get an idea into my head,” she said, “I have to have a go. Don’t look too closely, but I think the overall effect kinda works.”
They were on the second floor, a ramshackle room, but Sam liked it. The walls, which had once been pure white, were peeling, revealing the underlying blue. Shabby chic. There was a small shelf, pots of blue paints in various shades, two old tables, littered with paper and leather-bound portfolios. He gestured to them.
“Can I?” She nodded, and he opened the first. He was looking through photographs, views of Dublin, of Wicklow. As he reached the back, he stopped. Five pages were taken up with pictures of Ellie. In one, she was wearing a white bikini top, a long white skirt, and leaning against a tree, staring insolently into the lens. Her eyes were heavily made up, gothic style, and behind her the sun shone, sending rays over her body. She looked staggering. Another showed her dressed as a hippie. Wearing a long black coat and Wellington boots, her legs were muddy, and she sat cross-legged, looking down at some bric-a-brac in her lap. He flipped the page. This time, a casual shot. Wearing a large floppy hat and la
ughing.
On the final page was a shot that took his breath away. Obviously naked, her entire body was in silhouette, save for the light that bounced off her stomach, her thighs, and the softly rounded tops of her arms. It was an incredibly sensual shot. He looked up to see her trying to ignore him. The photos revealed a new side to her, one, he assumed, only Joe saw. To save her further embarrassment, he closed the book and walked over to study her work.
Ellie talked him through some of it, showing him a serious of paintings she had done of Dublin, but in the style of her favorite artist, Edward Hopper. They were superb, although she called them her “experiments.”
On the far wall were five sketches of Joe. He walked over to study them. She watched him, knowing he would want an explanation.
Her voice was soft. “When I first met Joe, he was pretty heavily into recreational drugs. Nothing hard, just ecstasy. Maybe some uppers and downers. It was because ... he didn’t have a great home life before he came here. He wasn’t beaten up or anything, they just couldn’t be bothered with him. It was as if nothing he did or said mattered. He could have won a knighthood, and they wouldn’t have given a shit. Bastards. He had no confidence till he came to Dublin. His Aunt Kathleen took him in and for the first time, he knew what love was, parental love, family love. He started to come out of his shell, become more confident, less insecure. Then Kathleen died suddenly. A heart attack. Joe was devastated. He needed something and drugs were it.”
Sam listened intently. She walked to his side, gazing up at the paintings.
“I painted these to show him the choice he had to make. This one ....” Ellie pointed to a happy laughing Joe, “is him at the start, before Kathleen died.”
There was two paintings either side. Sam could see one side showed Joe getting deeper into drugs and ending up dead, the other side, his release from drugs and love and happiness the result.
“These are just for him.” She spoke quietly. “Just to remind him what he had been. I sometimes wonder if … never mind. Come up to the balcony.”
They sat, breathing in the cold night air. The noise of people leaving made Sam and Ellie peer over the edge of the balcony.
“Beautiful view,” he said, not entirely meaning the city rooftops they were looking at. He braved a smile at her. “I’m getting used to beautiful views, though.”
Ellie blushed and hid in her drink, but Sam didn’t care. The wine had made him brave. “You don’t take compliments well, do you?”
She shook her head. “No, but thank you anyway.” She deliberately changed the subject.
“How about you? Any long-term relationships to brag about?”
His smile was a little sad, she thought. “Just the one. Didn’t take. Mairead. We were together for fifteen years till she decided marriage, children, the whole deal wasn’t for her. Free spirit.” He set his drink down on the small table and gazed out over the city. “Still friends, though. Why wouldn’t we be? The love part was never in question.” He looked at Ellie critically. “The first time I saw you, you were running through the rain, free. You reminded me of her; she was as dark as you, though not as beautiful.” He’d made her blush again.
“God, you really go for the jugular, don’t you, Sam? Don’t hold back, get straight in there.” She was laughing at him now, and he smiled, relenting. There was a pause.
“It’s a matter of taste, though, beauty. It’s subjective. It doesn’t mean anything, not to me. I’d rather be known for being a good person, a kind person. Looks fade.”
“Hello.” Joe's face was in shadow, an unseen expression. Ellie jumped, her face a picture of guilt. Sam wondered how long he’d been there, watching them. Joe wandered out and kissed Ellie, an obvious way to mark his territory. Sam couldn’t help noticing Ellie wince.
Joe wound his arm around Ellie’s waist, his fingers biting into her flesh. “So, you’re the new client, huh? Ellie’s been really excited about the project, haven’t you, little one?”
Patronizing jerk, Sam thought, but forced a smile. “She deserves it; her work is exemplary.”
Wow, Joe really didn’t like that, Sam realized. The man was a seething mass of jealousy when it came to his girlfriend, and Sam suddenly felt very apprehensive for Ellie’s safety. He’d seen this a million times—and seen what carnage it could bring, what suffering, what death. What the hell are you doing with him, Ellie? He met her gaze and in it saw a million emotions flowing through her that he couldn’t read but he wanted to reach out and break Joe’s arm just to get it off her.
The chili was hot and good, and they managed to keep the conversation light despite Joe’s glowering presence. The atmosphere was so charged that when Sam finally said goodbye at the door, he wanted to take Ellie with him. As the door closed behind him, his stomach twisted with apprehension—for her. He did not want her alone with that man.
That man. Her boyfriend, who has known her a hell of a lot longer than you have, he told himself sharply as he walked along the cold streets of Dublin. The rain had turned to sleet now, and he shivered, tugging his coat closet. Your work, all those domestic violence cases, have made you too sensitive, he thought. Couples have fights all of the time. Ellie Aherne will be fine. An image of one of the crime scene photos sprang to mind, but he brushed it away.
But later, at home, he couldn’t sleep. Inside of himself, he felt a great disturbance, as if something unimaginable was about to happen, but he could not figure out what it might be. He drifted off to sleep and dreamt of a crack in the earth. It was a dark hole into which he was being dragged, only to find Joe at the heart of it, now a demon, a soulless wretch, devoid of emotion, with his hands on Ellie, tearing her apart, and her cries for help. He killed her without mercy.
Sam awoke with a start, and stumbling to the bathroom, threw up.
“So you didn’t leave him.” Carmel sighed and shook her head. Ellie had come around this morning, looking down, and told her about the dinner and Carmel had cursed about Joe for a good ten minutes.
“I’m telling you, Ellie, you need to leave, or that man will do you harm. Take my word. If he even thinks there’s another man …”
“There is no other man!’
“You’ve just told me you can’t stop thinking about this Sam McMahon,” Carmel fixed her with a glare, “and if Joe even sniffs a hint of that …”
Ellie was getting annoyed now. “There’s nothing to sniff at, Carmel. Joe won't let me out of his fucking sight most of the time anyway. Please just drop it.” She stopped, aware her voice was getting louder. Carmel took a deep breath.
“Okay, darling, okay. But promise me, if anything else happens, anything, you'll at least talk to the authorities.”
Ellie gave a tight nod and Carmel had to be happy with that. She hugged her friend. “You’ll always have a place to go, you know? Any time of the day or night, if you just need to get out, just come.”
Ellie said goodbye to Carmel and walked through the streets. Late afternoon and the main thoroughfares were lively, so she turned into one of the tiny backstreets, not wanting to go home just yet. She wanted to formulate in her head what to say to Joe, to explain to him how they had grown apart, that they wanted different things—to say that she was leaving without aggravating him. She couldn’t bear another day like yesterday or the day before or the day before. She stopped and looked up at the Christmas decorations, lit up against the gray sky. That’s our relationship now, she thought, my spark against his darkness. It could never work.
She walked up Fishamble Street and on a whim, made her way to Dublinia. The exhibition of Dublin’s history had always been a favorite haunt of hers, and nowadays she didn’t bother with the taped guide; she already knew the city’s history by heart. She roamed through the rooms, entranced by the reconstructions of early Dublin life. She climbed to the first floor and was pleasantly surprised to see a familiar frame fill the room.
“Sam.” He turned and smiled, equally as pleased to see her. He proffered his arm, and she too
k it.
“The tour, madam?” he said grandly.
They walked through the exhibition together, enraptured in Dublin’s history, giggling and feeling very childish when they got to the scene showing the victims of the Black Death. They grimaced at the fake black boils covering the victims’ bodies.
“I had the Plague just last week,” Sam joked. Ellie nodded in mock concern.
“That could really ruin your day,” she sympathized. “I know when I got beriberi last year, it put me behind for weeks.”
Eventually, they made their way up the ninety-six steps to the top of St Michael’s Tower and looked out over the panoramic expanse of Dublin. A haze had settled over the mountains, the sun glinting down onto the sea, traffic hooting and shrieking as it bombed around Christchurch Cathedral. Ellie turned to him, eyes shining. Late afternoon and the streetlamps were on as well as the rubies and diamonds of the vehicle’s head/rear lights. The city sparkled.
“Look at it,” she said emphatically. “I never get tired of this view. It gets more stunning every time I see it.”
Sam agreed wholeheartedly but about an entirely different view. Ellie looked up at the sky.
“I wish it would snow.”
“Really?”
She grinned at him. “Yes, you know why?”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve never made a snow angel. I’ve seen other people do it on TV, or in pictures, but it’s never been deep enough here to do it. Just a little ambition of mine.”
Masked Indulgence: A Billionaire Holiday Romance (Nightclub Sins Book 2) Page 97
