Promises, Promises

by Patricia Scanlan

  Chapter Four

  Emma took a last look at the mouth-watering buffet laid out on her gleaming chrome and glass dining-table. There was enough food to feed an army. Her mother had kindly offered Emma Mrs Gilligan’s services. Mrs Gilligan was a superb cook. She’d worked for the Connollys since Emma was a child. Mrs Munroe had provided tarts and sponges and flans. Emma struggled against a wave of nausea. The look of the food was making her sick. She didn’t know what was wrong with her lately. Since she’d come back from her honeymoon, she hadn’t been feeling at all well. It was nothing she could put her finger on. Just a vague nausea and a lethargy that was unlike her. She must have picked up some bug in Italy. It was annoying because she wanted to enjoy her house-warming party. She’d been looking forward to it since they’d started building the house. The thought of the look of envy on Gillian’s and Frank’s faces as she graciously accepted their effusive compliments had given her many a pleasant daydream. Right now, she couldn’t care less about compliments or envious faces. All she wanted to do was to go and lie down and bawl her eyes out, she felt so ghastly.

  ‘Will I open the red wine to let it breathe?’ Vincent stuck his head around the door.

  ‘You might as well,’ Emma said dispiritedly.

  ‘What’s wrong, pet?’ Vincent walked over to her and put his arms around her. Emma nestled in close to him, enjoying his embrace.

  ‘I just feel a bit off. I don’t think I could eat a bite of food.’

  ‘I think you should go and see the doctor tomorrow. You’re not yourself this last few days. I’m worried about you.’ Vincent was concerned.

  ‘Ah, it’s some sort of a bug or something. It’s just a nuisance. I was really looking forward to tonight. It’ll pass.’ Emma tried to brighten her tone.

  ‘Tell you what! I’ll get you a brandy. That’ll settle your stomach quicker than anything.’ Vincent smiled down at her and Emma felt utterly protected. She loved Vincent very much. He was so good to her. She raised her head and drew his down to her and kissed him. His arms tightened around her. They kissed passionately, hungrily. No matter how many times they made love, Emma would never have enough of him, she thought happily as Vincent slowly traced his fingers down along her spine before encircling her slim waist with his hands. A discreet cough ended their kiss. Mrs Gilligan, cheeks pink, stood in the doorway bearing an enormous dish of trifle.

  ‘I’ll just put this on the sideboard,’ she murmured.

  Vincent winked at Emma. ‘I’ll go and look after the wine. Put on some music. Put on some Elvis.’

  ‘OK,’ Emma agreed. She felt a little better. The doorbell chimed. The first guest had arrived. She peered excitedly out the window and saw her parents-in-law. Her excitement petered away. It wasn’t any of the gang. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Vincent’s family. She just found them boring. The entire family irritated her. Miriam was an awful old granny and Ellen was too loud by far. Ben was nice enough. She would have preferred not to have had to invite them, but they were Vincent’s family and they only lived down the road. It would be very pointed not to. But they needn’t think they’d be invited every time there was a party, Emma thought crossly. If they wanted parties they could throw some of their own.

  She heard Vincent open the door and then the murmur of voices and laughter. Emma took a deep breath, banished the scowl from her face, and glided out to greet her guests.

  ‘Hello! Surprise, surprise!’ Miriam stood in shock as her sister-in-law, Della, stood beaming on the front step. Sean was coming up the path behind her.

  ‘Hello, Della, Sean,’ she said weakly, stepping back to let her unexpected, and if the truth be admitted unwelcome, guests into the house.

  ‘We had to come to Dublin for the day and we decided we couldn’t go home without calling to say hello,’ Della dripped with honeyed insincerity as her eyes darted inquisitively around. The hall was full of toys and Miriam was disgusted with herself for being caught with an untidy house.

  ‘Actually we were wondering if there was any chance of a bed for the night?’ Sean came straight to the point. ‘It’s a bit late to be trekking back home. We were delayed in town unfortunately. Della wanted to shop.’ He glowered at his wife. ‘And the kids are knackered.’

  ‘Don’t mind him, Miriam. You couldn’t come to Dublin and not do a bit of shopping. We just wanted to pop in and say hello. We’ll find a B&B somewhere. We can’t land in on top of you.’

  ‘Of course you must stay the night,’ Miriam said hastily. ‘But Ben and I are going out. We’ve been invited to Emma and Vincent’s house-warming and we have to put in an appearance.’

  ‘We’ll babysit!’ Della announced, giving the impression that her arrival was an answer to prayer.

  ‘I had got a girl from the village to do it but I suppose I could give her a ring and cancel.’ Miriam led the way into the kitchen.

  ‘Of course you will. You and Ben go off to your party and leave everything to Sean and me. Sean, go and get the children out of the car. We’ll have a bite of tea and I’ll get them ready for bed. Just show me where to go.’ Della began issuing orders. Taking over as usual.

  Miriam felt silent rage bubbling up. The cheek of Della McGrath making free in her house as if she owned it. And the cheek of her and Sean to arrive on her doorstep without a bit of notice expecting to be put up for the night. She wasn’t fooled at all by their protestations that they’d get a B&B. It was typical of them to take her so much for granted. If she did the same to them, she’d be given short shrift.

  ‘Well feck the pair of you,’ she muttered as she put the kettle on and started making preparations for her unwelcome guests’ tea. Miriam was not one to use bad language, but this was an occasion that definitely called for cursing.

  By the time she cooked a fry-up, changed the sheets on the bed, and got the children settled, she was in a thoroughly bad humour.

  ‘We’ll just go to Vincent’s for an hour or so,’ Ben said comfortingly as he changed into a clean shirt. ‘We’ll flop tomorrow when Sean and Della and their darlings are gone.’

  ‘I wouldn’t put it past them to stay for the weekend. Have I got “doormat” written in red ink on my forehead or something? I hate being used, Ben,’ Miriam fumed. ‘Did you see the way she was nosing around my kitchen presses? I ask you. Would you go into someone else’s kitchen and start poking around? She’s an ignorant cow and she always was. I hate the thought of going out and leaving her in my house.’

  ‘We’ll stay at home then?’ Ben paused in the act of knotting his tie.

  ‘Emma’d have a face on her if we didn’t go. And so would your mother. You know how she likes all the family to get together for things like this.’

  ‘Look, Miriam, if you don’t want to go we won’t go. Forget Ma and Emma’s hurt feelings. Do what you want to do, love.’

  Miriam sighed. Ben was always saying that to her. He was constantly telling her to stand up for herself. It was something she found extremely difficult to do.

  ‘Well?’ He eyed her quizzically.

  ‘Let’s go,’ she said decisively. ‘I don’t want to spend the night listening to Della pontificating.’

  ‘Me neither.’ Ben gave her a hug. ‘Let’s go and listen to Emma pontificating instead. Then we’ll stagger home singing and I’ll ravish you on the sitting-room floor and Della’ll think you’re a wild racy woman.’ Miriam laughed.

  ‘You’re a nutter, but I love you like crazy.’ She flung her arms around him and he gave her a bear-hug back. Ben always made her feel good about herself, and she’d been looking forward to this night out for ages. Besides she was dying finally to get to see the inside of the house. By all accounts it was something to behold.

  ‘What do you think of the four-poster bed?’ Ellen murmured to Miriam as she tried to spear a sliver of smoked ham onto a piece of brown bread. It was difficult to hold her plate and her wine glass and try and eat. The dining-room was jammed with people. There wasn’t a seat to be had in the sitting-roo
m. All the white leather sofas were full.

  ‘It’s gorgeous! All those fluffy pillows. Come on, let’s go and sit on the stairs,’ Miriam suggested. She was worn out after her tiring evening.

  ‘I bet she thinks she’s Grace Kelly with a bed like that and a house like this. Stuck-up little cat.’ Ellen scowled as they pushed and shoved their way out to the hall. She was most annoyed with Emma. She’d been trying to find out, in a roundabout way, if Chris Wallace was coming to the party. She’d casually asked while they’d been sipping aperitifs before the rest of the guests arrived.

  Emma gave a dry laugh. ‘Try and keep Chris away. I’ve warned him he’d not to go pestering people to take out life insurance but I can promise you he’ll have a client or two before the night’s out. He’s such a smooth operator.’ Then she’d stared at Ellen with her catlike almond eyes. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Oh, I was just wondering. I met him at the wedding,’ Ellen replied airily. But her heart was beating fast, and she was in danger of blushing.

  ‘A word of advice, Ellen,’ Emma said coolly. ‘Although he’s my cousin and I’m very fond of him, Chris is a shit. His last girlfriend caught him in bed with her sister. He’s dating a blonde secretary at the moment. Steer well clear of him.’

  Ellen was furious. Emma had just succeeded in making her feel gauche and silly. How dare she, a slip of a twenty-two-year-old, presume to offer her advice. And in such a cool bored tone. Ellen felt like slapping her face.

  ‘Emma’s right,’ Vincent agreed. ‘Ellen, if you know what’s good for you, don’t touch him with a bargepole.’

  ‘For God’s sake, I just asked if he was going to be at the party!’ Ellen exploded. ‘He’s the only one I remember from the wedding. That’s all. It’s no big deal.’

  Emma gave her a knowing look, but refrained from saying anything else. To break the awkwardness, Miriam babbled brightly. ‘It must be wonderful having a TV. Ben and I are saving for one.’

  ‘Any time you want to look at it, come over,’ Vincent invited. He was very fond of his sister-in-law. He failed to notice Emma’s expression of dismay. Fortunately the doorbell rang just then and a crowd of Emma’s horsy friends arrived. After that, every time the doorbell chimed, Ellen’s heart lurched in case it was Chris.

  She knew she was mad. She knew that Emma and Vincent were right about Chris. Deep down she wasn’t surprised to find out that his girlfriend had caught him cheating, although it was shocking to know it was with her sister. That was low. But, fool that she was, she still wanted to see him again. That was how much he’d got to her. When he’d come over to her and invited her to have a drink at the wedding, Ellen had felt that fate had intervened in her life. There was something about him, something about the way he looked at her, something about the way they’d laughed and joked all that day, something right about it all, especially after the way he’d made love to her.

  When he hadn’t phoned she’d been devastated. She hadn’t gone out once after work all that week in case he might phone. She’d cursed him and called him all the names under the sun and wished she’d never gone off with him that day. But she knew very well that she’d go out with him again if she got the chance.

  Her heart had soared when she’d heard about the house-warming party. Maybe he would be at it. She’d been sick with nerves all week, dreaming of the moment she might see him again. Tonight she was dressed to kill in skintight trousers and a red sweater that clung in all the right places. She’d even lost a few pounds because she couldn’t eat. She’d taken immense care with her make-up. Trying to get the kohl right had taken ages but it was worth the effort. It made her eyes look as luminous as Liz Taylor’s. Miriam had told her she looked fabulous.

  The doorbell pealed again. Ellen tensed. Emma went to open the door. Chris stood framed in the doorway. As handsome as she remembered. He had his arm around a stunning blonde. Ellen felt sick. Her heart landed with a dull thud in the pit of her stomach. The smoked ham in her mouth turned to sawdust. This wasn’t the way it was meant to be. The bastard! she thought frantically. How could he do that? Hadn’t he given a thought to the fact that she might be here? Had that precious day together meant so little to him? Ellen felt demeaned and worthless.

  Miriam gave her hand a sympathetic squeeze. Tears blurred Ellen’s eyes as she hung her head and hoped that Chris hadn’t noticed her sitting halfway up the stairs.

  He didn’t even look in her direction. He followed Emma into the sitting-room and disappeared among the throng.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Miriam whispered.

  Ellen shook her head and swallowed hard as she angrily wiped the tears from her eyes. ‘I know you think I’m mad but I really fancy him and I thought he fancied me.’

  ‘Maybe it’s just as well he doesn’t, after what Emma told you about him,’ Miriam suggested gently.

  ‘Why is it that bastards are always so bloody attractive?’ Ellen growled. ‘I’m going up to the loo to fix my make-up and then Chris Wallace and the blonde bombshell better watch out because I’m going to party. And how!’ She marched up the stairs leaving Miriam staring after her anxiously.

  Ellen closed the bathroom door and locked it firmly behind her. No way was she going to skulk off home. A girl had her pride. Let Chris be embarrassed if he wanted to. She was going to ignore him, have a couple of drinks to get her in the mood, and then she was going to boogie for the night.

  She stared at her reflection in the mirror. She wasn’t beautiful like Emma and the blonde dame but she wasn’t unattractive either, she thought grimly. She had nice hazel eyes with flecks of gold, ringed by long dark lashes. Her mouth was a bit too wide, her nose had a smattering of freckles but she had good cheekbones that gave definition to her face. Her hair was a rich dark chestnut and she wore it to her shoulders. Tonight it was tied back with a chiffon scarf which was all the fashion. It didn’t look as elegant as Emma’s soignée chignon, or as glamorous as the blonde’s bob, maybe she should wear it loose so that it would swing around her shoulders when she danced. Ellen whipped off the scarf and shook her hair. She wiped under her eyes where her tears had made her mascara run, then redid her make-up. She took a deep breath, and studied her reflection once more in the wide mirror of the bathroom unit. It was the best she could do. Head high she unlocked the bathroom door and descended the stairs. Of Miriam, there was no sign, so Ellen lit a cigarette, poured herself a generous gin and tonic, and prepared to mingle.

  ‘Everybody . . .’ Vincent tinkled a fork against his glass as he tried to get a bit of hush.

  ‘Sshh,’ Emma ordered.

  ‘Just a few words to say welcome to all of you, and we hope you’re enjoying the party—’ Loud whistles and hollers assured him that the assembled guests were indeed enjoying themselves.

  ‘I just want to say,’ continued Vincent, ‘that this is the first party of many and Emma and I want to thank you all for your good wishes. And, before we really get down to serious partying, would you all come out to the front porch with me?’ A murmur of anticipation rippled among the intrigued visitors.

  Emma looked at her husband in surprise. What was this all about?

  Vincent came over to her and put his arm around her. ‘Close your eyes.’

  ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘Just close your eyes, darling.’ Vincent took her hand and led her through the dining-room, into the hall.

  ‘Keep them closed.’ He flung open the front door and a gasp from the onlookers made Emma open her eyes wide. She saw a beautiful chestnut mare standing patiently on the marble steps, as a youth from the village murmured soothingly in her ear. A big yellow bow hung from her halter. Her coat gleamed russet and gold in the setting sun and her long silky tail swished from side to side as she gazed on the proceedings with huge alert brown eyes. A brand new horsebox stood on the driveway.

  ‘Oh Vincent!’ Emma squealed as she ran out and put her arms around the mare’s neck. ‘Oh she’s gorgeous.’

  Vincent smiled proudly at his
wife. He’d been planning this surprise for ages. ‘Do you like her?’

  ‘Like her . . . I love her. I can’t wait to ride her.’ Emma was ecstatic. She gazed around at her friends and said delightedly, ‘Haven’t I got the best husband in the world?’ There was a murmur of assent.

  ‘Pass me the sick bucket,’ Gillian muttered to her husband through thinned lips as people moved forward to get a closer look. ‘What a bloody show-off that Vincent Munroe is. Waiting until we were all here to give Emma her horse so that we could see how well off they are. Pretentious asshole.’

  Ellen gazed at the horse and wondered how it was that some women were steeped in luck. Emma had a little Mini to zip around in. Now she had a horse to go cantering around the countryside. Ellen had a High Nellie of a bike and, unless she found herself a rich husband, it was all she was ever going to have.

  Miriam grinned at Ben and said teasingly, ‘My birthday’s next week . . . beat that.’

  Sheila was as proud as Punch as she watched her son kiss his wife. What a pity Bonnie Daly wasn’t at the party to see this grand gesture. Sheila’d make sure to let her know all about it.

  ‘Sheila, let’s head for home and leave the young people to it. That racket is giving me a headache.’ Mick frowned. The sound of the Hollies blared from the radiogram. Modern music was not to his taste. The sight of all the young people jiving and twisting and worse, wrapped around each other, kissing and pawing, shocked him to the core. It was different when he’d been at parties in his youth. He wouldn’t have dreamed of treating Sheila with such disrespect. He noticed Ellen had started dancing to the beat of the music, swinging her hair and her hips. Making a show of herself.

  ‘Look at that one,’ he murmured to Sheila. ‘Those trousers are far too tight.’

  ‘It’s the fashion, dear,’ Sheila placated. She was somewhat shocked herself. She’d never been to a party like this. She’d gone upstairs to the toilet and spied a couple sneaking into Vincent and Emma’s bedroom. She was horrified. She told Vincent but he just told her not to worry about it. Sheila was glad Pamela Connolly wasn’t here to see the carry-on. She and the judge were in Cheltenham for the races. Surely they wouldn’t approve of such permissiveness. She certainly wouldn’t want them to get the impression that this was how Vincent was reared.